He’d probably record it and make a boatload of money. Just like he did of the single that was currently on the radio. A single that no one knew I wrote the lyrics.

A waiter in a black suit and white shirt arrived at our table. “What can I get for you this evening, sir?”

Lincoln rattled off the name of a wine I’d never heard of, which wasn’t surprising because I only drank the kind of wine that came in bottles with twist-off caps and tasted like fruit punch. The man gave him a nod and walked away.

“The steak is great. The fish is fresh. You really can’t go wrong with any of it.”

My entire body vibrated with the urge to bolt. “I don’t belong here. We should be at Cocko Taco or Sub Shack.”

My fingers trembled as I reached for my glass of water, and Lincoln clasped my hand before I could reach it.

“You’re better than that.”

And that was where he was wrong. I wasn’t better than that. There was nothing wrong with those places. They just weren’t expensive and fancy, part of a world where I’d never be comfortable.

But I couldn’t tell Lincoln that. Especially not right here, right now. From the corner of my eye, I could see a woman wearing more diamonds around her neck than I’d ever seen in my life. Her face was twisted into an expression that looked like she smelled something rotten.

Before I could think of anything to say, the man returned with the bottle of wine. He and Lincoln went through some fancy sniffing-and-tasting song and dance that seemed absolutely ridiculous.

When the man poured a measure into my glass, I stared at it like it was a foreign object. “I’m sure it’s fine. Thanks.”

He gave me a silent nod and left us again.

“I don’t know anything about wine,” I blurted.

“And you think I care about things like that?”

“I’m going to embarrass you.” I looked at all the silverware lined up around my plate. “I don’t know what half of these are for. I’m used to one knife, fork, and spoon. I can’t—” Before I could finish, another man stepped up to the table, and I shut my mouth so quickly that my teeth clacked together.

“Mr. Riscoff, it’s a pleasure to have you dine with us this evening, sir. The kitchen has been informed of your arrival, and all your favorite off-menu dishes are being prepped in case you would like one.” He looked at me. “And welcome to you, Ms. . . .”

“Gable. Whitney Gable.” When Lincoln gave him my name, it seemed like the entire restaurant hushed as he said it, and now my name echoed throughout the giant gilded room.

If everyone in the restaurant weren’t watching us before, they sure as hell were now.

The man’s dark eyebrows darted up toward his receding hairline and he cleared his throat. “Welcome, Ms. Gable. I hope Table’s cuisine is acceptable to you this evening.”