Under His Rule ✔

Chapter 2 POV Elsie

It's now 7:18 in the evening, and Vincent and I are ordering food in the presidential suite.

He says he's hungry and wants to have dinner first.

After ordering, he hands the menu to me. I tell him that I haven't eaten here before and ask for his recommendations.

It's true.

I used to be very poor, and even now, I'm reluctant to spend money in a place that starts at six thousand pounds per night.

So Vincent takes the iPad back, asking if there is anything I don't like to eat.

"None," I reply.

Vincent nods, selects two more dishes, and clicks "Confirm Order" at the bottom of the screen.

I notice that he previously ordered a pigeon for himself.

While waiting for the dishes, I try to chat with him: "There's a restaurant in the city center that specializes in pigeon dishes. The meat is tender, and the owner even has a pigeon farm in the suburbs. Mr. Vincent, you can try it when you have time."

Vincent listens, nods, and doesn't ask for the restaurant's name; he just asks me, "Do you want the pigeon dish?"

"..."

I said so much, firstly to find a topic and lighten the atmosphere, and secondly, to make Vincent think I know how to enjoy life.

Not because I'm hinting at that.

We ordered four dishes in total. The restaurant is efficient; soon, waiters start knocking on the door, then wheeling in the dining table. Vincent nods, telling them to place the roasted pigeon on my side.

I feel a bit awkward, wanting to tell him he misunderstood.

But now that the matter has come to this, I can only force myself to say, "Thank you."

The waiters leave, and we sit facing each other.

I don't know if Vincent has a habit of talking while eating, so I don't try to start a conversation with him. Instead, I quietly stare at my own plate.

When I look up, I find Vincent leaning on one hand, staring at me with a somewhat strange expression.

What's wrong? Did I get something on my face?

I immediately pick up the napkin on my lap and wipe my mouth.

But it's clean, and there's nothing.

"Mr. Vincent, w-what's wrong?"

"Nothing." Vincent still stares at me, then suddenly says, "Your eyes are very beautiful."

I'm stunned. His praise is quite straightforward.

I smile and say, "Thank you," lowering my head to take a sip of soup.

Usually, to maintain my weight, I starve myself, shrinking my appetite.

So, I only eat a little for dinner. Surprisingly, Vincent, who suggested eating, now seems to have lost his appetite inexplicably, barely touching each dish.

We almost put down our utensils at the same time.

Vincent asks, "Are you full?"

I nod.

"Come here then."

Vincent stands up and sits on the distant sofa. His hand rests on the sofa arm, supporting his head, staring fixedly at me.

...Does he want to make love on the sofa?

My brain is momentarily blank, followed by some erotic images flashing in my mind.