The restaurant was filling up. The clinking of crystal and the murmur of polite conversation filled the air. The lighting was dim and romantic.
Elena walked straight to the Chef’s Table.
Mark saw her coming. His smile vanished. He didn’t look guilty; he looked annoyed.
He stood up, wiping his mouth with a silk napkin. He stepped in front of her, blocking her path to the table, blocking the mistress from view.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he hissed, keeping his voice low but venomous.
“I came to get my son,” Elena said loudly. Heads turned at nearby tables.
“Lower your voice,” Mark snapped. He grabbed her arm, his fingers digging in. “You look like a disaster. Look at you. Jeans? In a Michelin-star restaurant? You’re embarrassing me.”
“Embarrassing you?” Elena laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “Mark, you left our seven-year-old son in a car for two hours.”
“He’s fine,” Mark dismissed, waving a hand. “He was being loud. This isn’t a daycare, Elena. This is a place of business. High-end business.”
The mistress, sensing the commotion, leaned forward. She looked Elena up and down with a sneer. “Is this the charity case you told me about, Mark? The one from the farm?”
Mark chuckled nervously. “She’s leaving. Right now.”
He turned to Elena, his eyes cold and hard. “Get out, Elena. Go home. Take the kid. We’ll talk about your allowance later. This place isn’t for country trash like you. You’re scaring the clientele.”
Country trash.
The words hung in the air.
Elena looked around the room. She looked at the gold-leaf ceiling. She looked at the imported Italian marble floors. She looked at the crystal chandelier that cost more than Mark’s parents’ house.
“My allowance?” Elena asked softly.
