“I took the liberty of ordering our food,” he said, as if reading her mind. “In case you feel the need to argue, do it now so we can get it out of the way.”

Her mouth fell open, but no words came out. She had no idea what to say to something like that. Was this guy really telling her he’d taken the deeply sexist step of preemptively ordering her food for her?

“What if I want to order for myself?” she challenged.

“No,” he said simply.

“Just… no?”

He smirked at her. “Just no.”

She bit her lip, trying to decide the appropriate course of action. Should she storm out in a huff? Or should she let him order the food and allow their evening to progress? She knew which direction her heart and her girl parts wanted her to go in, but her brain was lighting up with worry.

“I don’t like when people make decisions for me without consulting my wishes first,” she told him, hoping she sounded mature rather than petulant. “I was raised to advocate for myself.”

He reached across the table and took her hand, then slowly… slow enough that she could pull away if she wanted… leaned forward and kissed her fingertips. “It’s my intention that you enjoy this place enough to want to come back with me, and I know the best they have to offer. The dishes I chose are not from the menu, but the chef will accommodate my requests.”

She didn’t have it in her to argue given the intensity of his gaze and the faint accent that rolled off his tongue like pure liquid sex.

“Trust that you will enjoy what I have chosen for you.” He released her hand and leaned back in his seat.

She felt bereft at the loss of his touch and had to remind herself to put her hand down when she left it hovering over the table long enough to look ridiculous.

“Okay,” she said in a whisper, then repeated it in a stronger voice so he could hear her.

The way he told her to trust his choices for her sounded more long-term than a meal. It was odd, but she had a sudden premonition of a future without choice. A beautiful, comfortable future, but also dark and sinister.

Only if she continued dating Volkan, she told herself. And only if he was interested in her beyond this one evening. She was happy that their server chose that moment to bring the bottle of wine.

He showed it to Volkan, then removed the cork at the table, pouring a small amount into Volkan’s glass. Volkan picked it up by the stem and a took a sip before nodding at the server, who then poured the wine into both glasses. He left the bottle in a bucket filled with ice.