I noticed a flicker of confusion pass across Robert’s face. Underneath the cloche was an unexpected dish: a simple plate of spaghetti and meatballs. A few murmurs of surprise echoed around the room. It was an odd choice, given the elegance of the setting and the anticipation of the expected fish course. But before I could ponder it further, Robert grabbed my hand, his grip firm yet gentle.
“We need to leave. Now,” he whispered, urgency in his voice.
I glanced around, noting other guests seemed equally perplexed but not worried. “Why?” I asked, trying to match his seriousness.
