14. Chapter 14
Chapter 14
T he days passed quickly, and Friday morning was soon upon me. When Ellen canceled the weekly copyeditors’ meeting because half the staff was ill, I was ecstatic at first. I would be free to spend much of the day getting ready for tonight’s dinner! But my smile slipped as I realized that waiting all day for this double date to start—and for the pre-date nerves to dissipate—was likely to drive my nerves sky high in the meantime.
I needed someone to talk to or distract me. Jack wouldn’t understand.
From the comfort of my couch, I first tried calling Annie but reached voicemail. I texted Jenn, not expecting a response but receiving one almost immediately. Apparently the children were napping, and this was Jenn’s chance for “mom time”—usually time for cleaning, but Jenn was determined to make an exception today to hear all the delicious details of my life.
After thoroughly filling Jenn in on my situation, I waited for the verdict, biting a nail on my free hand before stopping myself. Another bad habit I did not need.
“Viv, this is perfect . I don’t even need to pick up a novel. I can just follow your life! Oh, I can’t tell you how happy this makes me.”
I laughed nervously. “Thanks, I think?”
“No, thank you. ”
I paused, trying to decide how to probe further. “Am I being an idiot? I mean, how bad is this?”
Jenn burst out laughing. “Oh darn, I really need to be quieter; I don’t want anyone waking up and denying me this absolute joy .”
“Jenn …”
“Sorry, Viv. It’s just, well, I needed this today. Let’s leave it at that.” She paused. “Are you being an idiot? Well, maybe.”
“What? You—”
“But who cares !” Jenn caught herself again and lowered her voice. “Aren’t we all idiots in love? I mean, sometimes it doesn’t work out and then we’re left with sorrow and still being an idiot. But sometimes we end up really, really happy.”
I laughed. “Look at you, right?”
“Viv, sorry to cut this short, because I am loving this. But I need a few quiet minutes to sink my teeth into some heavenly mini-cheesecake bites before the kiddos wake. Swear you’ll keep me posted?”
After ending the call, I grabbed my laptop and sank into the couch, deciding to write in comfort for once. I had some secondary characters to bring to life.
Fitz watched through heavy-lidded eyes as Liz walked away past the bar.
“I can imagine what you’re thinking. This place is so tiresome,” said Caroline Bingley, interrupting his reverie as she sauntered up to him and placed well-manicured fingers on his forearm. “Let’s get out of here.”
He pried her fingers from his arm, frowning. “No, I wasn’t thinking of leaving yet. In fact, I was admiring a woman’s beautiful form, her fine eyes in particular.”
Caroline’s eyes widened in a practiced look. “Fitz, you’ve never spoken quite so—”
“Her name is Elizabeth.”
“Liz Bennet? You—you are interested in her?” she sputtered. “How long has this been going on? I suppose I should offer best wishes.”
“It’s a bit premature for that,” he said dryly, finally looking at her for a moment. “But what do you know about her connection with that Wickham man?”
Caroline’s lips curved up slightly, and she looped her arm through his. “Fitz, love, let’s go out to the patio. I need some air.” She smiled flirtatiously at him. “And I’ll tell you what I know about her and Wickham.”
I awoke with a start. My cortisol rising sharply, I glanced at the clock. Why hadn’t my alarm gone off? After a three-hour nap, I was left with only one hour before I had to leave for the restaurant, and despite being a bit rusty in the dating department, I remembered that my pre–first date routine usually took a full two hours.
Frantic, I skipped my usual post-nap rituals, such as getting coffee or checking my phone and email, and instead headed to the shower. Fortunately, I’d laid out two possible date outfits earlier in the day, so that would help shave time off my normal getting-ready routine. Speaking of shaving, I’d better do that too if I didn’t want him to immediately be horrified and leave. Personal grooming was easily neglected when one worked from home, or so I always rationalized to myself.
Only an hour later, I left my apartment in a rush, dashing down to the parking garage and nearly tripping in my heels, which were still stiff from lack of use. Maybe running late was a good thing. I didn’t have time to get nervous . I started my car and sighed.
Who was I kidding? I was obviously nervous, but imagine being late for the real Mr. Darcy—surely I could handle this .
At any other time, I might have cringed, but in my current excitement, I smiled. I was allowing myself to think unabashedly romantic thoughts, even referring to Gregory as Mr. Darcy. Throwing caution to the wind was something I rarely did, especially in my love life but also, I had to admit, in many other areas.
Arriving at the new restaurant, Shipsvold, I smiled, some of my nerves having been eased by my romantic fantasies on the way there. From the parking lot, the place looked small but cozy, with lights strung around the eaves. I’d heard this place started as a pop-up restaurant by some chef who’d been inspired by an actual small town in southern Minnesota, but I wasn’t sure if the rumors were true.
Before I could open one of the fashionably tinted doors to enter, two smartly dressed hosts opened them for me. Forgetting to thank them, I marveled at the atmosphere of the restaurant assailing my senses. The decor was a combination of rich, dark blues and varying shades of grey, white, and black amid a lighting scheme and ambience that seemed somehow both formal and romantic simultaneously. I might have to rethink my aversion to blue and grey decor. Instead of food, I smelled the expensive perfume of some expensively dressed guests nearby, whose melodic foreign words I could not understand, as they surely weren’t in English.
Eyeing the hostess behind a desk, I quickly looked down at my own outfit, an emerald green dress that was certainly not expensive but did look amazing on me. Confidence wasn’t exactly my strong suit, typically, but I held my head up and walked toward the hostess to announce my presence. The hostess, looking bored, gave me a once-over and then led me to a secluded table, where Gregory was waiting.
As he looked down at his phone, I fully indulged in staring at him for a few moments, drinking in every delicious detail. He was a stunningly gorgeous man, his smooth dark skin showing no sign of aging though he was probably at least mid-30s. His glossy hair was the darkest brown, not quite black, and I could easily imagine running my hands through it. He wasn’t even looking at me, yet the dim blue and grey lighting made him somehow even more impossibly handsome, even elegant.
I cleared my throat before greeting him with a bright smile and sliding into the round booth, partially secluded from the other diners by a curtain half drawn.
Gregory said hello with just the briefest of glances as he continued to type on his phone. My smile faltered as I waited for him to fully acknowledge me.
Please don’t ruin this, please don’t ruin this.
I wasn’t sure whether the plea should be directed toward him or toward myself.
When he finally looked up, I was treated to a brief look of surprise in his dark eyes as they swept over me. It wasn’t the look of unguarded lust that I remembered from the hotel, but I was fairly confident he liked what he saw. I bit my lip to suppress a triumphant smile.
“Hello, uh, Viviana,” he said, pausing to clear his throat. “I was not certain whether you would be arriving. You did not reply to my message.”
“What message?” I asked, tilting my head in confusion. “Oh, actually I haven’t checked my phone in a while. Things were a little hectic at home—” I pressed my lips together, fearing I could be admitting too much. I’d obviously had time to make myself look amazing, yet not enough time to check my phone? I shook my head with a slight smile.
“I merely asked if we should postpone,” he said, sounding a bit irritable.
“Oh …” My smile faded as my eyes scanned the area. “Why? Where are Annie and Brandon?”
He sighed. “You truly haven’t checked your messages. Evidently, they are delayed and would meet us later at the hotel. They said they would inform you hours ago, but because she had not heard from you, Annie suggested I show up and make sure you would not arrive and find yourself alone.”
Stunned, I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came. I never missed checking my phone. But I’d been so rushed. Getting ready for the date was far more important than checking my phone, which rarely held any urgent message. Honestly, I’d been terrible about not checking and replying to messages lately.
Darn, I still needed to read and reply to Lillian’s texts. I made a mental note to call my sister this weekend. I wasn’t ready to talk about the cursed Italy thing yet, but I was experienced at shutting down certain topics with my sister.
His jaw muscles tense, he said, “We needn’t stay. We can indeed cancel and go home. I actually have a great deal to—”
“No, let’s stay,” I interrupted. “Ah, I mean, if you want to. That is, well, I … we … we could eat.”
He was silent at first, as if thinking carefully about his answer. “Are you certain? Do you not have work to do?”
“It’s Friday night; I can take the night off. Or at least a couple hours, or you know, however long this takes. That is, if you want to,” I added nervously, searching his face for signs of interest.
His eyes veered toward his phone briefly and then rose to my anxious face. “Fine, we shall stay for dinner,” he said evenly. “Let me just conclude this email briefly.”
I placed my purse on the seat next to me and waited patiently, figuring it was only courteous to do so, given that I’d interrupted his email writing when I arrived at the table. My fingers itched to unlock my own phone and frantically text Annie, demanding an explanation, but I assumed my friend wouldn’t answer. This was obviously a setup. Annie was encased in luxury at the Four Seasons, having a good laugh at my expense and probably some wild sex in a Jacuzzi or whatever one does with a lover in a ritzy hotel.
After several minutes, the server, an older but impeccably dressed man, approached the table. With a mild look of annoyance toward Gregory, who was still on his phone, I turned to greet the waiter and ordered chardonnay. The infuriating man chose that moment to finally glance up from his phone, only to order a mineral water.
What an odd choice . Mineral water is gross at any time, but it’s certainly unusual for a date .
The waiter placed one small menu carefully on the table, nodded briefly, and walked away. I took a deep breath and forced a smile as Gregory began studying the menu. “Apparently we have to share the menu,” I offered. When he didn’t reply or even acknowledge me with eye contact, I asked, a bit louder, “So, Gregory, how was your day?”
“My day?” As his eyes landed on me, he tilted his head slightly as if confused. “It was perfectly fine. I accomplished many things, and indeed, the day is not finished. Why do you ask?”
I flinched and sat straighter, my defenses rising. “Well, I don’t know. Call me crazy, but I believe it’s a social nicety to ask about someone’s day. Is it not?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“What do you mean you wouldn’t know? You don’t observe social niceties?”
“I have better things to spend my time and my thoughts on, Viviana,” he said, not without condescension. At my silence, he sighed and added, “I suppose I do on some level. Don’t we all? But it’s not something I actively think about. If I want to know about someone’s day, I ask, but typically I don’t find that particular information enlightening. The most common reply is merely ‘good,’ and when it is not, well, the answer still has little relevance to me. In either case, I would regret having asked. Of course, a strategic client meeting might necessitate greater attention to such niceties, as you call them.”
I stared at Gregory as the elderly waiter placed our drinks on the table, and then I burst into laughter.
“Something amusing?”
“Yes, I find you …” I trailed off. “You’re different. I’m not sure bluntness is always a good thing, but it can certainly be refreshing at times. Or amusing, I suppose.”
“How so?”
“Like that.” I took a sip of wine. “Your response there was merely intended to be polite, a common courtesy if you will. You’re not that interested in my answer, yet you still made an effort, albeit a minimal one, to pretend to be.”
“Indeed.” His phone forgotten for the moment, he met my gaze with a sort of reluctant curiosity, clearly unused to discussing his social skills or being assessed so frankly.
“I confess I’m not enamored with small talk either, so I suppose that’s why I find your view refreshing, if occasionally a bit too blunt for my taste.” I laughed, relaxing against the back of the booth. “How’s that for bluntness? See, you’re rubbing off on me.”
He eyed me silently for a moment, his expression giving away none of his feelings, before glancing at the waiter returning to our table. “I am surprised, as you seem to have a particular fondness for ‘small talk,’ as you call it.”
As I opened my mouth to reply, the waiter cleared his throat impatiently and asked if we were ready to order. Gregory turned to ask a question about the menu, so I used the opportunity to stare at him. Somehow I was actually enjoying the conversation and beginning to relax a bit. As he placed his order, I smiled, eagerly awaiting more conversation.
The server looked at me with barely veiled impatience. “Oh, sorry. I haven't actually looked at the menu yet.” I saw that Gregory had set the single menu back in the middle of the table instead of handing it to me. He wasn’t very gallant, I confirmed.
“What will you have, ma'am?” The server was definitely irritated now, his lips a thin line and his eyes the same steely grey as his hair.
“I will have …” I scanned quickly. I didn't recognize the names of many menu items, so I merely pointed at one in the middle. “That. I'll have that.”
Without a word, the server clasped the menu and spun on his heel, apparently having given up all pretense of courtesy.
“Can you believe that man?” My brow furrowed as I turned to Gregory.
He looked up slowly from his phone. “Sorry, what?”
I glared at him. “Never mind.”
And just like that, he returned his attention to his phone. For. A. Long. Time.
My newfound optimism faded quickly. I couldn’t keep up with his changing nature and at times blatant rudeness.
When our dinner arrived, the intimidating server was nowhere in sight. I breathed a sigh of relief. Gregory simply set his phone on the table near his plate and arranged his napkin carefully in his lap.
Finally breaking the tense silence, I tried to ask about his culinary tastes, fully knowing that this sort of small talk would not endear me to him. But what else could I do? He essentially ignored my feeble attempts, instead dividing his attention between his food and his phone. A cursory glance or a one-word answer here and there was apparently all I would get from him tonight.
But I couldn't help staring. He was so … masculine. Both intellectual and sexy. And beyond frustrating. I didn’t know how to feel. His rudeness was so infuriating, even shocking, that I couldn’t even enjoy my new surroundings or the delicious food. But still—
Gregory abruptly set his utensils down and made eye contact—the first time he’d done so for more than a split second all night. My hopes began to rise until he initiated another round of questioning about my family life.
At this point in the evening though, the hot and cold, the abrupt changes, barely phased me. Fortunately, the second glass of chardonnay had begun to take the edge off, and I stopped caring after a while. I just wanted this miserable experience to be over.
Thank you, wine.
I glumly picked at my food and mumbled short replies to his questions about my parents and my sister. As soon as I mentioned that Mom and Lillian were scientists, he changed the subject again.
Does my leading man have a problem with women scientists? Is he a raging sexist?
No, surely not.
The haughty server returned once we’d finished our dinner, and he spoke only to Gregory, who promptly declined dessert on behalf of us both and requested the checks. Two checks. I shouldn’t have been surprised at that point, but it still stung. Embarrassed, I avoided eye contact with the server. And declining dessert without even asking me! Jack would never make that mistake.
I furrowed my brows at the thought. How was that relevant? Jack was a friend, not a dating prospect.
Moments later, when we’d paid both bills, I stood up to leave abruptly, not trusting myself to remain calm in this intolerable atmosphere any longer. But then he looked at me—actually looked at me. His dark, heavy-lidded eyes swept up and down until resting on my face, with a look conveying something like … feeling . And before I knew it, he was standing up too and placing his phone in his pocket to help me put my coat on, his fingertips lingering at my shoulders.
And just like that, he quickly removed his hands, as well as his eyes and his attention. “I will walk you to your car,” he said simply as he turned and headed briskly for the exit.
When we reached the exit door, I parted my lips to speak, but he spoke first.
“I hope you agree it was a pleasant meal. Goodnight, Viviana,” he said formally—or stiffly, with no hint of the living, breathing man I’d briefly caught a glimpse of inside.
“Wait, Gregory—could you—I mean, would you give me a lift to the hotel?” I asked, wincing. “I’m just a tiny bit tipsy.”
“To the hotel?” His eyes widened. “Why?”
I stared at him, realizing he must have misunderstood. “Not … I mean, because Annie wanted us all to hang out after dinner, right?”
“I see.” He exhaled slowly and nodded, presumably in the direction of his car, and then turned.
“Thanks,” I mumbled and nearly stumbled in my heels while trying to keep up with his long strides.
A silent car ride and an hour later, I could scarcely enjoy the posh hotel bar and its mostly attractive (or at least rich) clientele. The decor was somehow both lavish and understated, and I felt out of place in such luxury. Mostly though, I was stewing with frustration, coupled with mild jealousy at how happy and carefree Annie and Brandon seemed to be. We scooted into their dimly lit booth in the corner of the bar. The plush ebony seat felt like sitting on a cloud, and I wanted to lean back against the cushy back. But relaxing around Gregory was proving difficult. He had hardly spoken to me, which of course was nothing new, but it still stung. Frowning, I had started to lose patience—and hope. Not for the first time, I asked myself why on earth I put myself through this. How was it even worth it?
Sensing the tension, Annie pulled me aside. “Are you OK? You don’t seem to be having a lot of fun.”
Fuming, I glowered at her. “I’m not. He has hardly said two words to me all night, and the restaurant wasn’t much better. It’s like he went on a date with his phone. And you guys are off in your own little bubble. Don’t get me wrong—I’m really happy for you, but it leaves me stuck talking to this guy who, well, doesn’t talk. I don’t even know why I’m here … I’m going to call for a ride.”
“Viv, no, not yet!” Annie grabbed my shoulders and pleaded. “Please, give it one more chance. I promise I’ll find a way to liven things up. Or to thaw him out.”
I sighed, ready to go home but unable to resist her pleas. “Fine. Just for a bit.”
As we returned to the men, Annie threw her arms up and loudly declared, “Drinking game!”
Both Gregory and I groaned, while Brandon grinned.
“This again? A drinking game? This isn’t a solution,” I hissed. “There’s a reason we’re not teenagers anymore, you know.”
Annie smiled widely. “This one isn’t for teenagers.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Somehow that doesn’t ease my mind.”
“Relax, let’s give it a try. But let’s go up to your hotel suite, guys.”
Looking doubtful, Gregory opened his mouth to protest but then simply sighed as he rose to his feet. He probably agreed to go upstairs to their rooms for the same reason I did: at least in their suite, we wouldn’t make a fool out of ourselves in public.
An hour later, we were all at least slightly tipsy, if not intoxicated, lounging on the deck of the guys’ spacious suite. Annie’s drinking game seemed remarkably similar to Truth or Dare, but she claimed it was for adults. The twist was that drinking a shot was always an option to avoid the truth or dare; one way or another, everyone would be acting foolish by the end, I assumed. At first, I dodged any invasive questions and dares by taking shots, but as I gained liquid courage, I started to loosen up and choose questions or dares. Gregory seemed to be on a similar, if slower, trajectory.
I even deigned to answer Brandon’s pointed question about what my ideal man looked like. Playing it safe, I described Firth’s Darcy rather than making a fool of myself by describing Gregory. At least I hoped that’s what I’d done—things were getting a bit hazy by that point.
Fortunately or not, the game didn’t last much longer. Annie was announcing the start of a new round when Gregory suddenly pushed back his chair on the deck. “I really don’t have time for this. I’m going to go inside and answer some emails.”
Annie merely stuck out her lower lip and turned to Brandon with a giggle.
As Gregory started to walk away, I stared at him in disbelief and then muttered, “You’re unbelievable.”
He halted and turned around slowly, seemingly a bit disoriented. “I beg your pardon?”
“I think you heard me,” I said, my lips set in a thin line.
“Indeed,” he said, looking genuinely confused, “though I do not understand the statement.”
I crossed my arms, despite knowing the gesture was immature. “Of course you don’t.”
Wide-eyed as she looked from me to Gregory and back, Annie rose from her seat and grasped Brandon’s hand. “Come on, Brandon. I think we should go inside and let them have it out … whatever this is.”
Brandon grinned as he rose from the deck chair. “Yeah, let’s. I’m sure we can find something to do by ourselves.” Snickering, they went inside hand in hand.
After the sliding door was closed, Gregory spoke again, this time with a touch of impatience, crossing his muscled arms over his firm chest. “Explain. I don’t have all night.”
“Exactly this,” I spit out, standing up to glare at him at eye level. “Mr. Self-Important, no, Dr. Self-Important, who doesn’t have time for anyone, who is attached to his work emails day and night, who can’t be bothered to be, um, decent to anyone, who thinks he is so far—”
“Enough.” He put his hand up to silence me. “I see. I did not realize I was so intolerable to you.”
“You didn’t?” I glowered, resisting the urge to point a finger in his face. “Because I thought maybe you did. Your behavior towards me and, well, most people is so unbelievably rude that it almost has to be intentional. It’s not like you don’t know how to be polite, decent, not an asshole … or else you wouldn’t be as successful as you are. You just … you just … choose to be that way. Why, I can’t understand. Your conceit, sir, knows no bounds.”
As I scowled, he remained silent and stoic for a long moment. Suddenly his expression changed, becoming simultaneously more unreadable and more familiar. This was a Gregory I hadn’t seen before.
Or maybe I have seen it … that night, the night of the look, the one that—
As my head spun, he suddenly clutched my shoulders tightly and brought his lips to mine. Intuitively, I swayed into him, and he responded by gripping my arms more tightly, almost painfully. The kiss was hard, fiery, demanding , and my response was yielding. The intensity was beyond expectations even in my most far-fetched Gregory fantasies.
This man knows how to kiss.
My fingers found their way into his dark, silky hair as he deepened the kiss. Was the room spinning because this was an amazing kiss or because I’d consumed too much alcohol? I didn’t know or care. All I knew is that I had him. Gregory wanted me.
He wanted me .
This was a game-changer.
Abruptly, he tore his scorching lips from mine, his hands lingering on my shoulders for a split second before he let go and stepped back.
We stared at each other.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Still feeling a bit off balance, I gripped the back of a nearby deck chair to steady myself. My lips curved upward into a grin. “No need to apologize. For the kiss, that is. You can certainly apologize for everything before that though.”
His eyes pierced mine before his face again became a mask, devoid of expression. “I will not apologize for what I am.”
Brows furrowed, I looked at him and struggled for words. Interesting that he referred to himself as what rather than who . I took a deep breath, trying to sort out my thoughts. I was simultaneously giddy about the kiss and still irritated about his behavior both before and after the kiss.
Apparently assuming I had no more to say, he nodded to me— nodded to me! —and then turned to leave without a word. He didn’t even look back as he slid the door shut.
Stunned, I stumbled back into the closest chair and stared at the closed door for several long moments. What just happened? I didn’t know how to feel or what to think or … anything.
Did this even happen? Maybe I was more drunk than I’d realized.
But my lips felt … kissed. Explored. Sensitive, even. My hair was mussed. I hadn’t imagined this. He had kissed me, inexplicably. But why? And then his disdain afterwards, what was that about? I couldn’t even remember what I’d said to him.
When I finally decided to venture inside, I breathed a sigh of relief when it appeared that everyone had gone to their rooms. Realizing I couldn’t drive home yet, I scanned the suite, spotting a deep red or maroon sofa on the far side of the main room. Sinking into its luxurious depths, I pondered my situation. The last thing I wanted to do was wake up tomorrow and face him or, worse yet, face the whole group. Yet calling a taxi seemed like a great deal of effort. As I looked around the lavishly furnished room, my eyes landed on a blanket near the sofa, and my decision was made. I’d snooze on the couch but set my alarm very early to avoid any awkward encounters in the morning. Given my muddled thoughts and feelings, they wouldn’t want to see me like this—and the idea of seeing any of them, especially Gregory, was more than I could bear.