Aubrianne Ivanov
Interesting, Aubrianne thought. She had arched an eyebrow, and her eyes widened, then dimmed at the site, not that Daniel could see her face.
Next to the bed, about three feet away, more candles lit a pathway to a table and a chair on either side on a platform a few inches off the ground.
A shimmering white tablecloth spread over the table, and the cutleries were wrapped in a white cloth with lace material shielding it and clipped with a fancy silver broach-like clip, gorgeous white oversized oval-shaped plates.
So fancy, Aubrianne thought, her eyes slid across to two sets of glasses, one wine and the other a Champagne flute.
There was also a clear glass waiter with some condiments on them, medium-sized bottles of ketchup, garlic sauce, honey mustard, and pepper. Aubrianne eagerly wondered what dinner was, putting the bed behind her.
She was jumping to conclusions.
