2. Sophia
2
SOPHIA
What the hell are you doing, Soph?
My brain screams at me as I run my clammy hands over the dress Luna loaned me. Even my fanciest clothes aren’t suitable for this hotel.
This isn’t who you are. Paying someone for a date, really?
I’m trying hard to keep my inner critic in check, but it isn’t easy. So, I try to reason with it and think of the last week’s lunch with the New Year’s Gala committee, where the top musicians from our town were invited. A few will be selected to perform at the event. I was shocked to receive the invitation letter, which explained how a series of informal meetings are planned, where the committee will get to know the participants well before they go into the shortlisting round.
I was looking forward to the luncheon all week, and not even for a second imagined it would be anything less than spectacular. But once again, my big mouth ruined everything. My tongue was possessed when, in response to Nicoleta’s question of if I was single, I mentioned my boyfriend, who couldn’t accompany me due to an unavoidable work situation.
A boyfriend that doesn’t exist!
But hell if that fact stopped me from singing exquisite songs in praise of him—so much so that the head of the committee, Miss Tee, extended the invitation to next week’s dinner party to spouses and partners.
In my defense, Nicoleta had provoked me, as always. Seeing us now, I can’t believe there was a time when we were close. She was two years my junior at the In Tune Music Academy, and I often supported her whenever she struggled with assignments. But then she joined the same music school where I teach, as a sub music teacher. I didn’t even realize when our relationship dynamics changed from schoolmates to colleagues to rivals.
I close my eyes and like every day this past week, images of Nicoleta and her Italian boyfriend, Leonardo, flash before me. The way he charmed Miss Tee was both laudable and tacky.
No one’s asking your opinion, Soph.
He knew what he was doing, and he was exceptionally great at it, if Miss Tee’s scarlet face and girly laughter had anything to say.
“Are you ready to order, ma’am?” The sweet waiter visits my table once again. Not only the guests but even the servers are pretty in this place, as if being beautiful is one of the qualifying criteria for the job.
“I’m sorry. My… friend is running late,” I whisper, and he gracefully nods and leaves.
Where the heck is Jeremy? It’s fifteen minutes past eight. I straighten the strap of my watch and expectantly glance toward the entrance. Jeremy might not be European, but he’s my only hope. He works for Luna’s dad and from the pictures she has shown me, he is… neat.
Cropped hair. Lanky frame. I can at least joke with Miss Tee that I don’t need any chairs to reach the top shelves.
My only grief is that I’ll be shelling out my entire month’s salary at this dinner, because that’s what Jeremy asked in exchange of accompanying me as my fake boyfriend to Miss Tee’s party. The Queen’s apparently has the best holiday menu.
My eyes light up at the sight of a familiar face, as if it’s not Jeremy but Robert De Niro himself walking toward me.
“Hi. Sophia, right?” he asks and before I can nod, he pulls out a chair and flops down. I told him I’d carry the paperback of Little Women so he didn’t have to search around for me, and I guess that helped.
Proving he is nothing but professional, Jeremy doesn’t even ask how I’m doing and straight away waves at the waiter.
I follow his movement before a deep voice brushes my skin. “Leave.”
My head jerks up, and I come face to face with the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. My heart skips a beat as I take in the dark whiskey eyes, sharp nose, and perfect chin. A face carved by the gods, or perhaps he’s an incarnation of Adonis himself.
My shallow breathing has almost stopped, and I blame it on the lack of oxygen in my brain when I spot, after several beats, him gripping Jeremy’s collar.
“Hey, what are you doing?” I practically shout. “Leave him alone!”
“You know this guy?” The stranger stares down at me. His jaw is clenched so tightly that I can almost hear his teeth grinding.
“What’s your problem, man? I’m her date.” All of Jeremy’s attempts to get out of that tight hold end up in vain.
“I don’t think so.” The low warning in the stranger’s voice pulses in my veins. As much as my heart unexpectedly rattles like a wild animal in a cage, I’m not liking his actions, especially with the way he’s gathering attention from the neighboring tables.
“Sophia, I only agreed to be your fake date because you were desperate.” Jeremy’s pale face turns more pallid by the second. “I’ve no interest in dealing with your jealous ex, or whoever he is.”
“He is not—” The rest of my words don’t get a chance to see the light of day, as Jeremy takes a step toward the door as soon as the stranger’s grip loosens.
Panic squeezes my lungs as I watch my last hope slipping out of the ostentatious but beautifully decorated hall. I grab my purse and scamper off in hopes of catching up to Jeremy. I’ve just stepped out, no Jeremy in sight, when someone grabs my arm. Lightning sizzles inside me as I turn around to face the same stranger.
“He isn’t worth your time.”
I hold back the uncharacteristic slew of hate words forming in my brain. “What… Why… Who?” I struggle with which question to voice first.
“You are better off without a man who doesn’t even stand for his girl and scurries like a rat at the first sight of conflict,” he carelessly drawls, as if he has done me a huge service and not otherwise, causing irritation to flare inside me.
“I’m not his girl, you idiot. You don’t know what you’ve done.” My throat chokes as I stare ahead, hoping for Jeremey to return, at least for the food. I can convince him to be my fake date again. I’m sure of it.
“Then join me inside. We’ll start afresh and you can tell me why a pretty girl like you needs a fake date. And maybe you’ll find a better prospect.”
I’m lost for words. Just after sending my date packing, he has the gall to invite me for dinner.
I’m not a short girl by any measure. My five feet eight inches have given my fellow classmates enough occasions to call me by the nickname giraffe. But this man makes me feel short. His black tux isn’t loaned like my clothes. The phrase well fitted has lost its meaning. It seems someone sewed the suit on him. My stomach flips when my gaze returns to his face. A knowing smile and an arched eyebrow adorn his face. The words e ntitled and cocky are written all over him, from his neat hair to his shiny Oxfords.
“Let me guess, that prospect would be you?”
“If you think so, I can volunteer my services.”
Anger and pleasure mingle together, leaving me restless and jittery. I’m still staring at him when his head jerks toward the hall.
His lips purse into a thin line, but due to his towering height, I’m unable to look beyond him and identify what caused that smile to slip before he says, “Let me make it easier for you.” I don’t get a chance to understand his words as he dips his head and cups my face, his lips landing over mine.
In a flash, he does make it easier. Anger surges, drowning pleasure in its wake. I step back and leave, but not before my palm meets his beautiful face.