Blind Carnival

MCP

2/2 of today's double update.

Love,

K. xx

***

She's too busy wondering what the next blow from her parents is going to be to try to figure out what made John so angry, when her Mother waves her hand in the air, beckoning a waiter. The poor chap pops up like a jack-in-a-box.

Her parents have always worked as an excellent team. Even when it came to ordering service, there were no better co-players. She's demanding, acidic; he's benevolent, generous with the tip, as if apologetic for her pickiness. No one can order better food than them. Olivia's used to just sitting back and waiting for her plate. They will always make a better choice.

Her Mother puts the poor bod through third degree interrogation regarding their escargot - Olivia hate them - and oysters - same reaction, by the way.

"I summon, judging by your cringe, my dear," Patricia suddenly turns to Olivia, "You still insist on... simple dishes." Gods forbid, the 's' word!

She sighs and continues, "She will have bouillabaisse then. John, I suggest you join Olivia."

He receives a brilliant smile.

"I'm allergic to seafood, Ms. Orwell. But thank you for advice."

Olivia notes the lack of first name basis. And how irked he still looks. Even being in her parents' proximity can't possibly make her ignore it anymore. She studies his face.

The waiter gallops away, eager to please, and Olivia squirms on her chair.

"So, John, we should chat." Patricia smiles at him almost flirtily. "After all, we see Olivia so rarely, and she isn't fond of letting us into her life."

She picks up her glass and samples the wine.

"Don't get us wrong," Demetrios chimes in. "She's a grown up woman. We just want to know she's happy."

He gives out a low, well tuned chuckle.

"Of course!" Her Mother gives her what she thinks is a loving, slightly reproachful look. "It's just funny that we found out of such changes in your life, my dear, from newspapers."

The guilt kicks in. Let's face it, she's their long time Pavlov's dog. All her 165 IQ can't help against their training.

"Well, didn't she find out about the changes in your status from a pixelated YouTube video?" John says.

Olivia's head whips towards John so sharply that she's in danger of snapping her own neck like a victim of Steven Seagal's attack.

Holy mother of monkeys! All those lords, picaroons, barbarians, Scots in kilts, and Texan oil tycoons she described in her novels - with their temper, clenched jaws, muscles dancing on them, narrowed eyes, disdainful lines of lips - have nothing on a quiet mellow architect in a soft knitted jumper on the chair near her. He's almost scary. And hot! Mama mia! He's so hot at this moment that she suddenly giggles.

Her Mother's lips form a surprised, childish 'o,' and Demetrios freezes with his fork mid-air. Olivia almost expects John to apologise - he's clearly gotten to them - but the more she looks, the less it seems he'll be inclined to. His face is cold and calm now. He turns to her.

"Liv, what do you want to do now? You should probably discuss with your parents what the legend is. And if you don't mind, I'd like to leave as soon as possible."

That, ladies and jellybeans, is how you do 'ignoring those who are right here.'

Olivia looks at her Dad. His usual mask of a relaxed, high class bon vivant is a bit shaken, but he's still managing.