“Oh,” Pet breathed, and then frowned down at her plate, trying to regain the equilibrium his words had stolen. She needed to keep a level head. He was immortal, she was mortal. He wouldn’t be here long, she reminded herself, and then glanced up to their waiter as he approached the table. He set a menu before each of them and then poured water into their glasses and asked what they’d like to drink. Santo said he was fine with water. Pet asked for white wine and then turned her attention to her menu.
“What is pâté?” Santo asked after a moment.
Pet glanced up and smiled at his bewildered expression. “It’s . . . Order it, I think you’ll like it,” she said in the end, deciding a description probably wouldn’t sound as appetizing as it actually tasted.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“One of my favorites,” she assured him. “In fact, now that you’ve mentioned it, I’m torn. I was thinking of ordering the onion soup.”
“We will both have onion soup and order the pâté as well then,” he decided. “What is good for the main course, do you think?”
They looked over the menu together and decided on the handmade ravioli and beef scaloppine with roasted potatoes and seasonal vegetables. The waiter approached with her wine the moment they set down their menus. He whisked away their menus as he took their orders. He didn’t write them down, simply smiled and walked to the island separating the open cooking area from the main part of the room and presumably gave the order orally. At least that was her guess. She couldn’t hear what he said. The far end of the table was close to the island, with enough room for someone to move past the chairs at the end even if they were inhabited. But she and Santo were at the opposite end of the long table that was large enough to seat up to eighteen people. She couldn’t hear the men talk and doubted the chef or the waiter, who had now moved behind the island to set to work, would be able to hear a word they said if they kept their voices down.
“It’s her, I’m telling you, Randall. I saw her come in here and—there! See, I told you it was her. Petronella?”
Pet had recognized that soft voice and stiffened at the first words she’d caught of the conversation as the door to the private room opened, but sighed with resignation as her name was called. Grimacing at Santo, she muttered, “Hang on to your hat. The ’rents are here,” and then standing, she turned to offer a reluctant smile to the couple by the door.
“Darling, I thought it was you!” Her tall, mostly still blond, and curvy mother rushed forward and enveloped her in her arms briefly before pulling back to frown. “What on earth is going on? I called Quinn and she said she was out of town at a conference and you were watching Parker because Patrick took off. But I’ve called the house several times last night and today and got no answer. We were starting to worry so much we were going to stop there on our way home after dinner.”
“You should have tried my cell phone, Mother,” Pet said calmly, thinking that Marguerite and the men obviously weren’t answering the phone at her sister’s house. But then that was probably a good thing. If Quinn called and a strange man answered, it would not be good. Her parents on the other hand, probably would have been ecstatic to think a man was there with Pet. They would have started planning wedding invitations. Rolling her eyes at that thought, she explained, “I took Parker back to my place. We’re staying there.”
“Why on earth would you roust the boy from his home when all his toys and things are there? And where is he?” she added, her eyes moving around the room as if expecting him to pop out from under the table.
“At my apartment,” Pet said, and then added quickly, “with not one, but two responsible adults watching him.”
Mary Stone’s eyes narrowed at once. “Why aren’t you watching him? You are the one supposed to be watching him.”
Pet felt her teeth grind. No matter what she did, her mother always made her feel like she was in the wrong. Raising her chin, she said, “Actually, Patrick is the one who’s supposed to be watching him, but he took off quite suddenly the morning Quinn was supposed to fly out for her conference and when she asked me, I stepped in to take care of Parker in his stead,” she said firmly.
“Then why aren’t you?” Mary shot back at once.
“Because I’m on a date, Mother,” Pet said with exasperation. “Good Lord! You’re always pestering me about finding myself a man and settling down. But here I am on a date, in the very expensive and very fancy private room of your favorite restaurant, and you’re interrupting it and giving me hell because I left Parker with babysitters for a couple hours.”
“Oh.” Mary blinked, her brain doing a regroup, and then she planted a smile on her face and turned to Santo. “I’m so sorry to have interrupted your—oh, my God!”
“Mary?” Pet’s father said with concern, finally moving away from the door to join them. Randall Stone had always taken a step back and allowed his wife to handle their daughters in situations like this. He stiffened, though, and grabbed her mother’s arm to pull her back several steps when he got a good look at Santo.
“Crap,” Pet muttered, closing her eyes. She should have realized how they would react the minute they saw Santo’s eyes. And she should have maneuvered her mother away and back to the door where her father had been waiting before Mary could see that Santo was an immortal. This wasn’t going to be good.
She turned to see Santo’s raised eyebrows as he eyed her parents. He seemed stunned that they too knew about immortals.
“Petronella, come here at once.”
Pet turned with surprise at the fear in her mother’s voice, something she’d never heard before. Demand, command, disappointment, anger . . . those, she’d heard. But fear? Not her mother, the lioness. However, Mary Stone looked afraid and was holding her hand out almost desperately to her, while keeping her frightened gaze trained on Santo.
Sighing, Pet moved to join her parents by the door and said soothingly, “It’s all right. He’s one of the good immortals. Like Meng Tian.”
“Meng Tian got your mother killed,” Mary cried, clutching at her arm and trying to drag her to the door.
Pet’s mouth tightened at the accusation, and she dug her heels in. Refusing to move, she said stubbornly, “It wasn’t his fault.”
“She’d be alive today if she hadn’t got tangled up with him,” Mary argued grimly.
“I know, but—”
“There are no buts. This date is over, and I never want you to see that . . . man, again,” her mother said firmly, pulling harder on her arm.
Pet could have pointed out that she was a grown woman and could see who she wanted, and normally she would have, but the chef and their waiter were gawking at them, her mother was panicking, her father didn’t look like he was doing much better, and she gathered her mother’s strident tones were gaining attention from the rest of the restaurant because one of the other waiters had stuck their head through the door to look around to see what the fuss was about. In the end, Pet simply turned to Santo impatiently. “Will you take care of this, please? I know you can.”
He nodded solemnly and then turned his gaze first to the waiter at the door, who suddenly smiled and backed out. Santo then turned his concentrated gaze on her parents. Both immediately lost all expression and turned to walk calmly out of the room. Finally, he shifted his attention to the chef and their own waiter, who relaxed and went back to work.
When Santo then turned to her, Pet sighed and muttered, “Thank you,” as she returned to her seat. After taking a fortifying sip of wine, she asked, “What did you put in my parents’ minds?”
“That they ran into you here, were happy to see you, and left you to your date,” he said quietly.
Pet nodded just as solemnly and took another sip of wine, and then stilled when he said, “Will you now tell me how you know about immortals?”
“You didn’t read their minds while you were controlling them?” she asked, one eyebrow arched, because she was sure he would have, might even have had to while in their minds.
Santo nodded once in acknowledgment but added, “It made little sense.”
“What did you see?” she asked at once.
“Horror, fear . . . a child’s charred body.”
Pet blew out her breath and dropped back in her seat as his words brought her own unpleasant memories to the foreground.
After a moment, Santo asked, “Can you tell me now?”
“Does it matter?” she asked wearily. He was leaving soon anyway. Why did he have to open this can of worms? The very can of worms she’d wanted to avoid since realizing that immortals were staying next door.
“Marguerite seems to think it does,” he said softly.
Pet frowned. Of course, the immortal woman had read it from her thoughts. It was how Marguerite knew about the Brass Circle. Pet had forgotten how hard it was to keep secrets from immortals. It had been a long time since she’d lived with one.
“Everything about you matters to me.”
That made her stiffen and avoid his gaze as confusion swirled within her.
“She will tell me if I ask,” he added quietly. “I would rather you tell me.”
Pet almost told him to ask Marguerite, but just as quickly changed her mind. Though, she couldn’t say why. Sitting up again, she kept her gaze on the fork she’d taken to rolling in its spot as she cleared her throat and said, “My biological mother was married to an immortal and became one herself.”
Santo leaned back as shock rolled through him. He’d tried to think of possible explanations for her knowledge, but this was the last one he’d expected. A father who was immortal and a mother who was not? It wasn’t impossible. While it was rare for an immortal to impregnate a mortal woman, it happened on occasion, and if the mother was mortal, the child, or in this case, twins, would be mortal as well. “Your father is—?”