Page 7 of Vicious Temptation
I turn away, snapping another photo of the orchids.
“I wouldn’t want to be a burden.” I lower the camera, stretching my neck to one side and then the other. “Your apartment is tiny. It’s the size of a closet. I can’t impose on you like that.”
“You wouldn’t be a burden. We’d figure it out.” Clara gives me a concerned look, and I return it with a small smile.
“I’ll figure something out,” I reassure her. “It’ll be alright.” The last words come out forced, and I can see from the look on Clara’s face that she can tell. “Let’s get something to eat, okay? I’m hungry.”
I’m not really, but there’s a nice cafe in the gardens, and I know Clara likes it. I also haven’t eaten since the half of a smoothie and two bites of oatmeal I had for breakfast, and I know I need to eat more than that. I doubt being too thin is going to scare off my father’s prospects for a future marriage.
We walk to the cafe, which is a quaintly pretty arrangement of white iron and glass-topped tables with white wicker chairs. As soon as we sit down, a server in a black and white uniform brings us two menus on thick cream paper with black script lettering, fitting the pretty, French cafe-adjacent setting.
“Would you like anything to drink?” he asks, glancing between the two of us. I look down at my menu, instantly feeling as if the space we’re in is too open, too full of people, too noisy. I hunch into my clothes, knotting my fingers together on my lap, trying to reclaim the sense of calm that I had just a little while ago when I was taking pictures.
“Just water,” I manage. I can feel Clara’s eyes on me.
“I’ll have the strawberry lemonade,” she says. “And bring us a bread basket for an appetizer.”
“Coming right up.” The server walks away, and I glance up to see Clara looking at me.
“Are you sure you’re alright, Bel? I know this all must be stressful, but?—”
She trails off, because without her knowing the truth, there’s no logical explanation for how I’m acting. Stress doesn’t cut it. But I can’t talk about it. I just can’t.
Which leaves Clara looking at me, confused as to why her bright, energetic, bubbly, and outgoing friend of three months ago currently has her arms wrapped around herself, looking at her paper menu as if it might bite.
“I’m fine. I’m just tired. And the argument with my dad this morning took a lot out of me.” I manage to unwind my arms from around my waist, knotting my fingers together in my lap again, picking at my cuticles. “Everything just feels uncertain right now. I don’t know what’s going to happen next. And there’s been a lot of that lately.”
“I know that feeling.” Clara looks at me sympathetically. “My job just went through another round of layoffs. I know I have some job security, but it’s nerve-wracking, you know? And working in computers and coding is a pretty bulletproof field; there are always job openings—but that uncertainty really does get to you.”
“Your job would be stupid to let you go.” I look up at her, managing a smile. “You’re brilliant with computers. You know stuff that makes absolutely no sense to me, and it’s like breathing to you. It’ll be fine.”
“And any guy would be crazy not to want to marry you.” Clara returns the smile as the server walks back over to our table, depositing a bread basket, whipped butter, and two drinks in front of us. “Now, let’s get something to eat. I know you’re going to want to take at least two more laps around the gardens before you’re done taking pictures, and you need the calories.”
There’s concern, and caring, in her voice. It calms me a little more and reminds me that there’s always someone in my corner. No matter what, even if I can’t tell her everything, I have Clara.
It means a lot, knowing I’m not entirely alone.
—
I end up getting home just in time to go upstairs and change before dinner. My father will be upset if I wear jeans to the dinner table, so I hurry up to my bedroom, dropping my camera on the bed, and change into a long sleeve knit dress with a neckline that comes up to my collarbones and a hem that comes down to my calves. It’s a pretty soft blue and dove-grey stripe, one of my favorite dresses. I snuggle into it, swapping out my opal earrings for a pair of small, plain rose gold hoops that match the ring and bracelet I’m wearing.
My father is already at the dinner table when I walk into the room, a bowl of soup in front of him and another at a place setting for me—a chilled cucumber gazpacho. I sink into my seat, picking up my spoon, but the thought of our conversation this morning tightens my throat and twists my stomach until all I can do is drag my spoon through the soup.
“I heard you ran into an associate of mine this morning.” My father looks at me over his bowl, his gaze implacable. I can’t tell if he’s angry or not.
I can feel my face flush at the memory. “I’m sorry.” It seems like the safest answer. “I didn’t see him.”
“Of course you didn’t. You were too upset about the perfectly acceptable match I’ve arranged for you.” There’s a trace of irritation in his tone. “Did you tell him you were my daughter?”
I shake my head. “We didn’t talk much. I didn’t even get his name, actually.”
“Enough for him to find out that you’re upset with my plans for your marriage.” The irritation deepens. “Enough for him to decide he had a better idea.”
My head snaps up at that. “What do you mean?”
“He wants to take you out to dinner tomorrow night. I was skeptical, but he didn’t seem to want to take no for an answer.” My father purses his lips, frowning. “It’s not the way I’d have liked to handle this at all. But he seems to have different ideas than I do about how to go about it. So he’ll be here at seven tomorrow to pick you up.”
I set my spoon down, my head spinning. Suddenly, the entire interaction this morning with the man I ran into is framed in a new light. Those green eyes looking down into mine. His hands on my arms, keeping me from falling. Him listening as I told him about the impending engagement I don’t want.