Owned by Him (rewrite)

29. Entrance

Marvel usually has dinner outside with his business partners. But, tonight is probably my luck.

"How was the meeting with your guests today, Sir?" I smiled as I asked, pouring more wine into Marvel's glass.

The dining room carried a tranquil vibe interwoven with the aroma of the cuisine together. In that otherwise bare-essentials Marvel favored so much, was a solitary wine glass. It was his chosen luxury. Perhaps, a signal he wanted to eat and drink alone. Yet, to the contrary, he didn't let me leave.

"They're my business partners now, but were my childhood friends back in the days. And rather than talking about heavy stuff, we usually joke around while having some good whiskey. It's been a while, so it was fun."

Toward his response, my smile was floating faintly. What I know about is a group of men discussing a plot when even in this century, the Mafia has continued to be involved in a broad spectrum of illegal activities and evil schemes.

"You seem alright," Marvel resumed. "I guess you're fine with that amount of intensity."

His voice sounded proud, his eyes glittering while watching the wine slowly swirling inside the glass which the stem he was lightly holding.

"It was so rare of you to get excited, Sir," I felt no resentment toward his arrogance, bitterly smiling for every pain he neglected.

"You could tell?"

I nodded. "Was it because of the apron?"

"Hmm... Who knows."

It was such a long pause, but I was sure he would be saying yes.

There was an awkward silence where we were focusing on something inversely different. I glanced at his food and he was barely eating them.

"Aren't you going to finish your dinner, Sir?" I asked him.

"Do you want me to finish it?" He asked me back.

If I said yes, I got a feeling he would demand a reason. If I said no, that would be odd. At this moment, the silence was my best choice. The alternative was an attraction; an attempt to hold his entire attention.

"Come here."

With those words, to my amazement, this time too, Marvel spared me another answer. He crossed his legs and tapped his lap, signaling me to sit on it.

I didn't react immediately, doubting, but finally straddle him by the chair. Crowded. I as best tried to minimize my movement.

"Sir, I think you need to eat properly," I suggested, a bit worried about his health.

"What are you so uneasy about? It's not like I would die if I didn't finish this meal," he took a mouthful of the wine and I was watching the projection at the front of his neck jolting up and down as he emptied the glass. "But, if I were to die, what do you think would be the reason?"

Surprised by the question, I throbbed, but trying to compose myself and not show any shifts in emotion.

"It may be because of your enemy," I carefully studied his expression as he was putting the wine glass on the table.

"I got killed?" His voice was almost raised, seeming interested in my answer.

"Most likely," I was being honest.

"How?" He wanted to hear more.

"Gunshot," I abruptly judged with my logic. "Poison."

I came up with whatever crossing my head without giving much thought, almost nonchalantly, but for the next answer, my tone was a bit more careful and Marvel finally returned my stare. I could feel him gradually have the change of air since the moment I gave him my options, and as I had expected, I was the first to avert my gaze.