The Runaway Groom

"Okay," Isaac answered softly.

They arrived outside a nice restaurant, and he threw the car keys to the valet as soon as he alighted before heading inside with an arm around Irene.

It was a Franconian restaurant with local specialties: beef bourguignon, foie gras, escargot, and the like.

However, Irene preferred Zidonian food—there were not that many foreign dishes that suited her palate.

Naturally, Isaac could tell that she did not like it. "I'll take you to a Zidonian restaurant next time."

"Good," Irene replied. "Our country's food is more to my taste."

Isaac raised a brow. "Our country's food is special in its way, but you should learn to accept different flavors too. It's a bad habit to be picky." "Am I being picky?" Irene asked.

"Yes."

Irene was speechless—how was she being picky? Just because she was not used to foreign food?

her stomach was Zidonian and rejected other food. "Here, you can have this," she

and ate the one she put on his plate before the

nag and told Irene, "Make it fast.

“I know," Irene replied.

brought her to the airport, she linked her arm around his. "I'l come back

you want.” Isaac pretended to

"What, going to have more business discussions with your pretty

his throat. "Well, work

his

at her sideways. "Are you threatening

hands to yourself if you

one arm and tousled her hair. "When did you grow

had claws. Didn't you know?" Irene said, gently biting him on the ear

was at once exasperated and amused.

losing to you otherwise, don't I?" "As long as we're clear on that," he said