When Fred turned onto Lexington Avenue instead of my apartment, which was in the opposite direction, I knew my guess was right. I just had a smooth ten-minute drive in a cool car that smelled like berries and brambles. The plush leather upholstery makes me feel like I’m sitting in the most sumptuous seat in the world.
Stopping in front of the Le Papillon, I notice Professor Sebastian’s car pulling over the driveway, and a valet opens his door.
Fred opens mine. “Ms. Anya.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, and then I step down. Ahead of us, I catch my professor’s watchful gaze, observing me.
I make my way toward him.
“You ready?” he asks.
“Yes, but we’re eating dinner here?” I know I asked the obvious, but having dinner with him here is not a good idea. Somebody from the school might see us.
“Yes. It’s late, and I’m hungry,” he says plainly.
Oh.The restaurant’s head waiter, Harold, welcomes us at the door.
“Good to see you again, Professor Sebastian—” he glances at me with slight confusion, “—and Ms. Anya.”
Crap. Of course, he’ll recognize me. I can’t help but wonder what thoughts are going through his mind right now, seeing me with the professor instead of Kristoff. Professor Sebastian’s brow arches at me.
“Hello, Harold,” I reply to his pleasantries.
“Good evening, Harold. My reservation, please,” requests the professor.
“Of course, sir. Could I take your coat and Ms. Anya’s?”
“Yes, please.” The professor takes off his khaki topcoat. I mimic him.
Harold collects our coats, hands them off to another attendant, and then leads us inside.
The restaurant is stunning and relaxed tonight, as it always is, and I very much enjoy dining here. The restaurant’s interior is adorned in a monochromatic scheme, featuring accents of lush green tropical plants and tiny flowers. The wood and black leather chairs add an elegant warmth to the space, but the walls are white, creating a bright, welcoming atmosphere. Clair de Lune is softly playing in the speakers at the ceiling, mixing with the whispering of the few people enjoying a delicious dinner.
Kristoff has always placed orders for me since I can’t read their menus.
As we proceed, Harold leads us down a hall lined with fine wooden doors. He opens the third door on the left, and a private dining room opens before us. I’ve seen these doors before, but I’ve never entered one. Naturally, the professor doesn’t want us to be seen together.
Regardless, I find it awkward to be under constant surveillance when sharing a meal with a celebrity. Even after being out of the spotlight for five years, Julian Sebastian might still be known by someone.
Then, the maître d’ takes us to the round table in the middle, where two wait staff members immediately set to work bringing us drinks and appetizers.
“We’re having seafood tonight, Ms. Scott. I hope you don’t mind. I’m assuming you’ve been here before,” Professor Sebastian says.
“I’m fine with anything. I’m not picky, and I love the food here.” Kristoff takes me here often, but never in this private dining room.
We have different courses of French cuisine served at our table. The shrimp-topped pasta is something I’m familiar with. It’s the Crevette a la Marseillaise. Kristoff tried it once. I didn’t forget the name because it sounded hot when he pronounced it with his perfect French accent. There’s also a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, chocolate truffles, bruschetta, and a platter of lobster coated in cheese and topped with a creamy sauce I’ve never had before.
“Good. I told him about this place,” he asserts.
“Oh, no wonder.”
“The dessert will be served later,” he adds, then calls Harold again to whisper something in his ear.
With that, Harold nods and leads his servers out of the dining room, leaving the professor and me alone in the spacious dining room. I suddenly feel more self-conscious.
“Please help yourself, Ms. Scott.” Professor Sebastian insists as he fills his plate with food.
I swallow dryly. I start by selecting a truffle and nibbling on a piece. When the chocolate touches my tongue, I hum slightly and close my eyes as I let cocoa melt in my mouth. Not wanting to waste a single bite, I lick my lips.
Oh, my goodness. Their truffles are always delicious.
I open my eyes again to take another piece, but I find myself gazing squarely into my professor’s eyes. His gaze is intense, and its connotations make him more than just a typical professor; rather, he looks like a man interested in a woman.
I avert my gaze. I know this because Kristoff always looked at me that way whenever we were intimate.
How could he possibly want me? He’s not only my professor—he isOr maybe it’s just me? Perhaps I’m being swayed by his intriguing sex appeal.
Geez. I don’t want to feel this way or even feel guilty about it. Because if I am, I am in denial. And If I’m in denial, does that mean I’m smitten? I shouldn’t be because it’s wrong.
“Tell me a little about yourself, Ms. Scott.” Professor Sebastian takes a sip of his wine.
I nearly choked. “W-What?”
“You heard me. So, tell me, other than having an excellent sense of hearing.” He pushes the pasta plate in front of me. “And, please, eat.”
I stare at the food before putting some on my plate. “Like what? I don’t have much to say.”
I realize now that having dinner with him is more daunting than eating in a public setting. His gaze follows me as I eat a forkful of pasta before asking again.
“How old are you?” he asks again.
And no professor has ever asked my age. This is a first. Also, a simple question.
“Twenty-three.”
His expression becomes somber. “And where were you raised?”
Why is he posing these questions to me? “Atlanta. I was born there, but my family moved to Queens when I was twelve.”
Before asking again, he picks a lobster tail. “And what about your parents?”
Of course, he’d ask. They all did. It’s a common question at Whitlock to see whether I’m someone significant. Well, I’m not.
But can I trust the professor with such personal information about me?
I continue eating.
“They’re no longer here... They, um, passed away.” So I guess I’ll go with the truth. Julian Sebastian isn’t a classmate. He won’t talk about it, and he doesn’t appear to be the type.
He stops moving his utensils, and his face softens. “I’m sorry, Anya. When?”
“I was sixteen years old.”
“Sixteen?” his voice rises two notes. Kristoff and Lora both had the same reaction. “Did a relative take you in?”
“I didn’t have anyone.”
“Then how were you able to survive? You were a minor.”
Why is he so curious? I’m not sure if telling him this is a good idea anymore. I don’t want anyone to think of me as pitiful.
“Professor, I don’t really share my personal information with anyone. I’m sorry,” I say frantically.
“Even if you already made me curious?”
I look at him and stop eating. His actions, generosity, and kindness to me all led me to a thought.
“With all due respect, professor. Why are you doing this? You were kind enough to offer a ride, and I’m grateful. But why did you invite me out to dinner? I’d like to think it’s because of Kristoff. You two appear to be quite close, yet this is too much. I genuinely appreciate this, but I just want to know.”
Professor Sebastian sets down his fork and knife before wiping his mouth with the linen. “Do you really want to know?”
“I would like to, please,” I state firmly.
“Because something about you, Ms. Scott, fascinates me.”
Uh oh.
“Y-You... I am... What?” I stutter breathlessly.
He brings his body forward and stares at me earnestly. “Keep this in mind. It won’t just be dinner the next time. However, I don’t cross a line unless I know I can.”
What the hell does that even mean? The only thing I get is when he says he’s fascinated.
I need a drink. I have a sudden tingling sensation all over my body. I glance over at the wine glass sitting next to my right hand. But god, why can’t I get it?
“Now, just answer the question and trust me.” He grins, amused. “Everything we talked about here stays with me.”
I breathe sharply, completely disoriented. I need to think. Well, I have something.
“I have a benefactor,” I continue, skimming over the details, despite not having anyone supporting me until two years ago. It’s too painful for me to talk about my past. It’s also probably best to tell him now before Kristoff tells him. “I’m on a full scholarship and receive a monthly allowance until I graduate, so everything is fine.”
“Does Kristoff know?”
“Yes, and Lora. Only them and now you. I don’t want people talking about me.”
“Why do you think people would talk about that? I find students in scholarships brilliant and strong because they’re not dependent on their parents.”
He thinks I’m brilliant, but I’m not that strong. I still can’t help a smile.
“I’m not ashamed of it, believe me. Professor Clarke knows, and she doesn’t like me very much. Even Kristoff’s family...” I press my mouth shut. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
A waiter comes in again, interrupting us, and this time he’s bringing the dessert. He presents us with a chocolate mousse cake in the shape of a saucer, topped with raspberries and dark chocolate cream.
Professor Sebastian takes a mouthful of his dessert. “Do you like your benefactor, Ms. Scott?”
“What is there not to like? He supports me.” I take the dessert spoon, pierce the cake, and taste it.
Hmm.It’s the same as with truffle’s creaminess but on a whole other level. Le Papillon definitely makes delectable desserts.
“John Pitch, right?” he asks again.
“Yes, but I’ve never met him. He’s probably just busy, but I’m still wondering who he is.”
Wait. I raise my eyes at him. I didn’t name my benefactor.
Did he possibly...?
Oh, of course. The competition! How can I be so stupid?
“We’ve met before, Ms. Scott.” His mouth curls to one side as if he can read my mind. He remembers me.
“Yes, once, at Barnett Music and Arts High School. You were on the panel.”
“BMA has outstanding music teachers, and the principal is my brother’s friend. There are also many promising young artists. I recall we chose five seniors from your school, and you were the one who performed a different version of Fantaisie-Impromptu. Did I get it right?”
I chortle. “We met backstage and had a short talk. I didn’t think you’d remember. You met a lot of people that day.”
“It’s easy. BMA made an impression. But who would have thought we’d meet here again?”
“Well, you’re my professor now. I’m also the only one of the five who attended WSM. There’s one at Juilliard, but I’m not sure where the others are.”
He grins. “That’s correct.”
The rest of the evening progresses into a more relaxing state. Professor Sebastian was as courteous as he was on Christmas Eve. It’s no surprise how Kristoff respects him so much. Yet, even now, his overwhelming presence leaves me vulnerable.
After I finish my dessert, I settle in with a glass of wine. There’s no way I’ll let this delicious dinner go to waste.
Shortly, Harold comes back with our coats, bills us, and then ushers us outside. Once we reach the door, the professor gently places his hand on the small of my back and walks me out. It’s snowing even more now, and only one of his cars is waiting for us. It’s the white one.