The Nation's Jackpot Girl (BWWM)

Chapter 63

MARCEL'S POV

I watch how Jocelyn sips at her wine with so much daintiness and it has me wondering if she was born with a silver spoon. The way she pauses for a while to let the wine sink into her taste buds feels like she has been wine tasting for years.

   "You look like you come from old money,"

   She is about to take another sip when I make that statement and she stops midair, staring at me. "No," She laughed. "Why did you say that?"

   I shrug. "The way you taste the wine. With painstaking carefulness."

   She shakes her head. "I do not come from old wealth. My mother was able to make a bit of fortune during her young days and she loved wines and would drink with me, teaching me to know the difference of one taste to another,"

   I nod. "I think I like her. Wine lovers. I'd love to meet her someday,"

   I notice how her face immediately tightens. Her smile falters and she places the champagne flute on the table gently before sighing and pushing her hair to the back. She clears her throat. "I don't think you are ever going to meet her,"

   I am more confused at this point. "Err, you don't want me to meet her?"

   "Might be it."

   I laughed, feeling a bit devastated that she didn't like me enough to want me to meet her mother. "Why? You don't think I am worthy to be someone who would need your mother someday?"

   She gives me a look of confusion and before she can say anything, the waiter returns with a smile on his face. "Sir, Ma'am, have you made a choice on what to have as a meal?"

   Jocelyn's eyes widen and she quickly picks up the menu card. "Now, we haven't. I'll make a quick choice now,"

   I do the same. We had forgotten that we were going to have a meal and that was because we were so carried away by the conversation we were having. The menu card is filled with a lot of appetizers, main course meals and deserts. It's an easy pick for me because I frequent this restaurant a lot.

   Looking at Jocelyn, I notice that she seems to be having an issue with picking her meals. I think she looks so cute when she's confused. The way her nose crinkles and the way her eyes darts at the waiter as she throws in a quick apology. And when she finally picks her meal, she smiles and leans back against her seat before looking at me.

   "I nearly freaked out. There are so many meals! I didn't even know which to pick,"

   I burst into laughter, genuinely amused at how she sounds. "I saw the look on your face. You looked like you were going to cave in and say, "fuck it! Just give me something you think I'd love!""

   She laughs. "I nearly did that. I don't know how they expect me to pick just one meal from over a hundred meals. They should have different menu cards and section it so they don't get people like me confused,"

   "I totally get you. So what did you pick?" I ask.

   "Chicken soup and Bolognese sauce and pasta,"

   "Too simple. You don't want the complication of seafood and caviar,"

   "Is that what you picked?"

   I nod. "I enjoy sea meals a lot. Caviar is my absolute best,"

   She picks up the menu card and traces her hand over the meals and stares at me with wide eyes. "Two hundred dollars?"

   I give her a confused look. "What? Too cheap?"

   "Cheap?!" She exclaims and quickly covers her mouth as she looks around to see if anyone turned to look at her. When she looks at me to speak, her voice drops to a whisper. "That's really expensive. I can use it to feed for a week or two!"

   Now, it is my turn to look at her in sheer shock. Why the hell will someone feed on two hundred dollars for a week? "That's ridiculous, Jocelyn. Feeding on two hundred dollars for a week or two is impossible. I spent over eight thousand dollars on meals if I will be eating outside the house. Talk about two hundred dollars. That's crazy,"

   She burst into laughter but I see the slight shame in her eyes before she speaks. "Eight thousand dollars is outrageous, Marcel. I believe you're lying," She says and leans back into her chair before picking up her glass of wine to sip.

   I see how hard she's trying not to cave in and it amuses me. "I am being truthful to you. It's nothing compared to what foodies spend on meals every week."

   She shakes her head. "Absolutely ridiculous. Eight thousand dollars? Enough to rent a very nice apartment downtown Miami,"

   I close my eyes, sighing. "An apartment downtown Miami costs over ten thousand dollars every month,"

   "I am sure there are cheaper places. So we're talking about you spending someone's monthly rent in one week. Let's not even talk about other expenses. You're so lucky,"

   I shoot a brow in confusion. "Lucky, how?"

   "Aren't you? You get to spend what people work about two months for in a week. I don't think I've made close to that in a month since grad school,"

   "Yeah, the wide margin. If I wasn't as privileged as I am now, I wouldn't be spending so much,"

   She nods. "Yes, I understand what you mean. But it still doesn't mean that eight thousand dollars a week is outrageous,"

   "You bet?"

   She nods. "Yes! I am very sure." Then she sighs. "I should stop acting so surprised. You have all it takes to spend thousands of dollars; a thriving company and probably other businesses and stocks and shares. It should be nothing for you,"

   I stare at her long and hard. There's something about her that sparks something up in me. It's fondness. I like how we get to talk about anything without even having to make introductions. I love how our conversations flow easily.

   I can imagine her in my arms, talking about something random that excites her, eyes lit up with ardor and by God, I will listen to her for ours.