WE ARE SEATED AT A table of ten, surrounded by common acquaintances of Gabriel.  He introduces me to all the men and women at the table. Thankfully none of them are the least bit scornful about my heritage like Celia Parker was. I wanted to slap her face when she tried to demean me. Hateful, disgusting, racist woman! These people though are quite warm and pleasant and the conversation flows between us all as the various courses are served.

The place on my right remains vacant until the third course when a tall, striking man approaches our table. He looks to be in his early thirties and has dark brown hair. He’s dressed to the nines in a dashing tuxedo and has an air of mischief surrounding him. The conversation halts and everyone turns to look at him.

“Apologies for being late,” he announces in a tone that doesn’t sound apologetic to me at all. “I hope I haven’t missed much.”

He greets everyone at our table and a few of them make teasing remarks to his usual and well-known tardiness. He takes the seat next to mine, turning to me immediately.

“Hello there, beautiful! I’m Jonathan Wright, Earl of Sommerfield.” He extends his hand out to me, his blue eyes sparkling.

I take it and smile. “Aaliya Singh.”

“Indian?” he asks, summoning a waiter to serve him champagne.

I nod.

“Nice, I’d like to visit your country one day. I believe it’s lovely.”

“Thank you, it is.”

“Beautiful women too,” he says leaning closer to me.

“You won’t find any argument from me on that,” I reply back, warming to him.

Gabe speaks forward from my other side, “Making a dramatic entry as usual, Jonathan?”

“Of course! You know me,” he says with a cheerful raise of his brows.

Gabriel points to me. “You met my friend Aaliya? She’s visiting from India.”

“I just did. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine.” Jonathan gives me a charming smile. “By the way, I’m the more interesting one,” he says with an absolutely serious expression, making me laugh aloud.

Gabriel sighs, shaking his head. “Ignore him, Aaliya. I usually do.”

Jonathan takes a sip of his champagne. “Damien and you ignoring me is nothing new, isn’t it?”

His tone is dismissive but his smile falters for a second and a sad expression crosses his face. But almost immediately his face clears, his lips purse and he stares at Gabe. I make a mental note to ask Gabe about this at a later time.

Gabe clears his throat. “Er...Jonathan, you know it’s not like that.”

“I say it as it is, Gabriel.” Jonathan continues to stare at him and they have some sort of nonverbal conversation, which I can’t understand.