Chapter Twelve
“Dim sum,” I tell her, twirling the last sip of wine in the glass. We’re having dinner again downstairs in Beau Ciel, because it’s the only restaurant she can visit. For now. “They have dumplings with pork and lotus root. It comes fresh from the kitchen, still steaming as they bring it around to the tables.”
It feels explicit to describe this food to her, especially the way her eyes have turned soft and sensual, the sage green she gives me when she’s going to come. “Don’t,” she whispers.
“You pick one up with your chopsticks. Have you used chopsticks before? No matter, you can use your fingers. The dumpling will be soft and round, but tightly held. You can bring it to your lips and—”
She makes a squeak. There’s no other word for the sound. Like a mouse. “I can’t go. I wa
