How it was possible for him to shovel the creamiest and most cheesiest mashed potatoes he'd ever had the pleasure of putting in his mouth and it tasting like sand was beyond his comprehension.
And yet with each forkful, it felt like he was eating away at an entire sandbox and not a delicious five michelin star meal. The steak was no better.
It felt like he was chewing on rubber even though this was A5 wagyu steak and melted in your mouth like butter. It was rich, decadent, and everything you could ever want in a slab of thinly sliced meat.
But Kenneth couldn't bring himself to enjoy it. How could it when he felt like he and Lucien were à million miles away from each other even though they were sitting directly across from each other. How could he swallow and stomach what he was swallowing when the Saint-James's were talking up a storm of plastered smiles and thinly veiled snark?
