Fourteen
FOURTEEN
LUCAS
T he waiters arrive with our food and begin arranging an assortment of plates on the table. I take a moment to appreciate the vivid array of dishes laid out before us.
"I ordered the full Meza before you arrived. I hope you don't mind." My uncle's voice breaks the silence.
"Not at all," I reply, and Leora’s eyes light up with enthusiasm.
"Oh, I love tarator djej," she exclaims, pointing excitedly at the dish placed in front of her. My uncle and I exchange surprised glances, taken aback by her familiarity with the cuisine.
How did she know how to pronounce it?
She glances between us, sensing our astonishment. "My best friend is Lebanese, and her mother basically adopted me and made me an honorary Lebanese." She explains with a cheerful grin before she grabs the pita and scoops up some of the dish.
My uncle catches my eye, a knowing look shared between us, and his eyes twinkle with approval. " Smalla, aeleya, " he says, and a smile naturally curves my lips as I begin to eat.
Indeed, good on her .
As the meal progresses, I find myself becoming more and more lost in Leora's company. She laughs at my uncle's jokes and engages in lively conversation, and I can't help but feel a sense of pride seeing this play out and seeing him smile. I haven’t seen him this excited in a long time.
While we eat, Leora seems to be thoroughly enjoying all the different flavors of the Meza. She comments on the tanginess of the Tabbouleh, the spiciness of the batata harra, and the creaminess of the hummus. I'm glad she's enjoying the food and the company, and I find myself starting to relax. She isn’t as infuriating as I expected.
"We've decided to get married tomorrow," I announce confidently, watching as my uncle's eyes widen in surprise and Leora coughs, a piece of bread catching in her throat. My hand swiftly finds its way to her back, giving her a gentle pat to help her clear it.
"Tomorrow?" he repeats, his eyebrows lifting in genuine surprise and a pleased smile spreading across his face. The news seems to draw him in, and he leans forward slightly.
"Yes, we understand it's sudden," I reply, trying to maintain my composure, "but we both agreed to the arrangement. Why delay the inevitable?"
My uncle‘s gaze shifts between us, considering our request. Finally, he says, "I think this is a great idea. Like you said, why delay it?"
I don’t know why I thought this hastiness would make him change his mind. As if the reality of the situation would make him see how insane it is. But, of course, if anyone would be excited, it would be him.
"But isn't one day too short to plan a wedding?" he sits back, studying both me and Leora.
Leora and I exchange a nervous glance, but I quickly recover. "Oh, don't worry," I say confidently. "We will just head to the town hall to get it done."
His gaze turns to Leora, his attention completely ignoring me as though my opinion holds no significance. "Is that what you want, dear?"
"Yes." Her voice is confident, yet something tells me not to believe her. But despite my lingering doubts, I ignore it. A town hall wedding is the right way to go. Swift and uncomplicated. A means to an end.
"Well then, I suppose that settles it," he remarks, raising his glass of wine in a toast. Leora and I mirror the gesture, the clinking of glass filling the air.
Later, after we finish our meal and say our goodbyes, my uncle leans in closely, his words a hushed whisper, "Son, consider getting her a new ring. A woman like her deserves more."
My teeth clench, a resurgence of the previous annoyance bubbling to the surface. This is exactly why I asked her to exchange the damn ring.
Tomorrow, Camille will be getting her a replacement.
"Yes, Ammo."
Walking towards the car, my hand finds its place on Leora’s back. She turns to me, her green eyes shimmering in the moonlight.
"Thank you for tonight." Her voice is soft, genuine even. "I actually had a wonderful time. Your uncle is quite the gem."
I can't help but smile, relieved that the evening went well. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. And yes, he certainly is."
I open the door for her, watching as she gracefully climbs inside. I make my way to the driver's side, my thoughts churning as I start the engine.
Leora stares out the window, lost in thought, and I struggle to find the right words to say. The need for a conversation hangs heavy in the air, but the question remains: how do I initiate it?
I've never been good at small talk, not in my youth and certainly not now. The mere thought makes my skin crawl, yet for this charade to work, we must get to know each other. Or at least agree to some fabricated story. As much as I detest the situation, we’re in it now and we’ll have to do our best for it to be believable.
At last, I break the silence. "We don’t really know each other that well."
Leora nods in agreement, and I sense her relief. "True. What would you like to know about me?"
A smile creeps onto my lips, the tension easing slightly. "Let’s start with something simple. What’s your favorite color?"
Leora lets out a musical laugh—a sound I already yearn to hear again. "I know, I know, it’s a bit cliché," I admit. "But hey, we’ve got to start somewhere."
Her smile widens. "Blue. My favorite color is blue. What about you?"
"Black."
"That’s not exactly a color, come on." She challenges.
"What’s the color of your dress, Leora?" I raise a brow.
"Black."
"There you go."
"Alright then. Other than black?"
I pause for a moment, thinking. "Red." Feeling the urge to push the boundaries, I add, "Red would look good on you."
Her surprised expression doesn’t go unnoticed as a slight pink hue sets on her face.
"Red is a bit too bold for me," she confesses timidly.
"Bold is good," I say and I truly mean it. I envision how enchanting she’d look in a vibrant red dress, but as I glance at her, there’s uncertainty etched on her face. In that instant, I decide that I’m getting her a red dress for the hotel opening.
I wait for her to ask something in return but she doesn’t, so I continue. "What do you like to do for fun?"
Leora's face lights up. "I love to read. What about you?"
"Work."
"That doesn't count as something you do for fun," she retorts and the playful laugh is back.
"Okay, fair enough." A hint of a smile tugs at the corners of my lips. "I enjoy cooking."
"Really? Am I fake marrying a chef?"
"That’s a stretch," I say, and she smiles. "But I must confess, I can whip up a mean crêpe."
"I can’t wait to taste it."
My smile widens at her words.
I can’t wait to make it for you . The thought catches me off guard. What the hell is happening to me?
"My turn," she interjects, and I internally thank her for it. "Any siblings?"
"A younger brother, Liam. What about you?"
She hesitates for a moment. "Nope, only child." That brief pause indicates something, and I put it away in my mind to hopefully ask about it later.
Without realizing it, I pull up at the hotel. This might have been the fastest car ride in a while. I step out of the car and open the door for Leora. My eyes linger on her for a moment, taking her in, catching the way she bites her plump lower lip between her teeth.
"I'll see you tomorrow. Be ready at twelve," I say, my voice steady before I let go of her hand. Tomorrow isn’t just any day —it’s the day we’re getting married. I’m becoming a husband. Regardless of whether it’s fake, we’ll still be tied to each other in others’ eyes, and in my eyes.
"Goodnight, Leora."
"Goodnight, Lucas," she whispers, and I watch as she disappears inside the hotel.