10. Gemma
Lingerie sketches are scattered across the floor and mattress in my room. In the last three hours, inspiration hit me, and I started drawing while thinking about how Elijah made me feel.
“Time to get ready for your date with your husband,” Mary shouts through the door.
“He’s not my husband.” I glance at the clock. Only one hour left until 8. Doable.
I rush into the bathroom, take a quick shower, and come back to ruffle through my closet, choosing a simple yet elegant dress that hugs my figure. Lastly, I apply makeup and fix my hair.
Will we end up in bed again? I press my thighs together as my body craves him.
An hour later, ready to go, I walk up to Mary. “How do I look?”
“You look stunning!” Mary gives me a once-over.
“Are you sure you’ll be alright? I can reschedule if you’d rather not be alone right now.”
“How will you do that? Do you have his number?”
“No, but…”
“Go enjoy your date.”
It’s already late. It wouldn’t matter, would it? I hesitate, grabbing my bag. “You sure?”
“Have fun and be safe.” She lies back down on the sofa, turning her attention towards the soap playing on TV.
“Call me if you need anything, okay?”
“I’m a big girl. Now scoot!”
I hold my hands up in defeat.
Drawing a steadying breath, I put on my coat and get to the restaurant.
Would he even wait? Maybe he’s not there anymore, or he’s angry and in a terrible mood.
By the time I arrive, it’s half past 8. Half an hour later than agreed, but I will make it up to him. Through the windows, I spot Elijah at a table near the back, a scowl on his face as he checks his watch.
He’s dressed in a dark suit accentuating his broad shoulders, one elbow propped on the table.
It’s now or never.
Hoping for the best, I step inside. The restaurant is a luxurious haven adorned with crystal chandeliers that cast a warm glow on the mahogany furnishings. The soft murmur of conversation mingles with the tinkling of silverware. As I scan the room, searching for Elijah, I falter.
There he is, sitting at the table in the back by the window, his eyes locked on a blonde woman beside him, who wasn’t there a second ago. And it’s not me.
It’s my high school enemy, Esther.
Another scene plays in my mind. Oliver cozied up with a different woman, enjoying a candlelit dinner. My chest tightens, breaths coming quicker.
Back then, I wanted to see the truth about Oliver with my own eyes, so I took a cab with Mary and Lil and followed him to his so-called business meeting. There, I caught him with another woman. I felt crushed, shattered into fragments, as if struck by a ton of bricks. And the only thought I had at that moment was, what did I do wrong?
What was I thinking? Of course Elijah would move on to the next girl if I was late. He’s a playboy, after all. All the signs were there. And yet, here I am, foolishly hoping for something more.
“Excuse me, Ms.?” The hostess approaches me. “Can I help you?”
“Uh, no.” I’m still staring at Elijah, unable to tear my gaze away from them. “I-I need a moment.”
Elijah leans closer, whispering something into Esther’s ear, who grazes his arm with her manicured index finger.
“Are you all right?”
I blink at the hostess, struggling to form a coherent response.
They’re all the same, aren’t they?
“No, thank you.” I stumble backward. I need to get out of here.
In my haste to escape, I collide with a waitress carrying a tray of drinks. The glasses crash to the floor, ice cubes and liquid splattering everywhere. Shit.
“I’m sorry.” I whip my head around, catching a glimpse of Elijah and Esther, their heads snapping in our direction. They can’t see me like this.
I drop down to help the waitress pick up the broken glass. As I clean up the mess I’ve caused, I lean forward to get a view of Elijah and—
A sharp pain shoots through my finger, and I hiss, blood dripping down onto the floor. Great, I’ve cut myself on a shard of glass.
The waitress notices concern etched across her face. “It’s alright, Ms.! Let me take care of this.”
The hostess also kneels beside me. “Accidents happen. Please don’t worry.” She wraps a napkin around my palm.
With one last furtive glance at Elijah and Esther, who haven’t spotted me in my crouched position, I crawl out the door.
“Please wait.” They call after me, but I don’t care. As soon as I’m outside, I stand up and haul a taxi.
This is so embarrassing.
As I get into a cab, I get another napkin from my purse and press harder on the cut to stop the bleeding while tears prick at my eyes.
My phone buzzes. Probably Mary checking on me. Perfect.
I pull out my phone, expecting to see Mary’s name. Instead, the display reads an unknown number.
“You’re letting your husband wait an awful lot of time.”
What?
My fingers tremble as I type an angry response, wanting nothing more than to tell him off for leading me on and then exchanging me with Esther of all the women he could have chosen.
Ready to hit the send button, I pause. No matter how much I try to ignore it, a small part of me still hopes that somehow, despite what I saw, there is an explanation.
Am I ignoring the signs again?
My thumb still hovers over the send button. This isn’t worth it.
Number blocked.