20. Chapter Nineteen Gloria
Chapter Nineteen: Gloria
I have no idea why I said yes to a date with Giorgio.
Except that when Reginald hinted that London should ask me out, London looked like Reginald had suggested that he should move to Antarctica and take up penguin taming instead.
Which told me everything I needed to know. London has never liked me that way. Reginald just misread the signals he was sending me. All our banter and hugs were just that—a platonic relationship. Him being nice. Caring. Because he's a good guy.
But he’s definitely never thought of me romantically. I can't let myself believe that there's any hope for us.
Not after I saw the look on his face when Reggie said he hoped we would get together. He looked like he’d sooner move to Mars than date me.
So here I am, going on a date with Giorgio so I can put my feelings for London where they belong. In the rearview mirror.
I stand in front of the vanity, applying lipstick and mascara and a little bit of blush as if this is just any other date. It's not like I just realized my feelings for London are more hopeless than screaming 'share the floating door' at Jack and Rose in Titanic .
Giorgio is punctual. He shows up with a single red rose, a smile, and something in his grey eyes that I can't read. "Ready to go?"
"Mm-hmm." I don't use actual words, because seeing Giorgio on my welcome mat blares warning signs. That London should be here instead of him. That I said yes to the wrong guy—because the right guy never asked me out.
Giorgio doesn't notice the crushing despair welling up inside me. Instead, he talks nonstop about the Greek restaurant we’re going to.
As he describes their pork souvlaki and lamb youvetsis , I cheer up the slightest bit.
Giorgio isn't as awful company as my previous dates, and I can tell he's trying his best to help me enjoy myself.
It's not his fault I wish he was London.
"That sounds great," I say when he's finished his spiel. "Thanks for bringing me here."
He parks outside the Taverna. "Don't thank me yet. You haven't tried their spanakopita ."
"I'm sure it'll be delicious."
Giorgio doesn't get my car door for me. Which is fine, because if we make eye contact again, he might read my feelings for London on my face.
Why is the only man I’ve ever loved forever out of my reach?
We enter the restaurant and order. I get the lamb youvetsis on Giorgio's recommendation, but I can't help remembering the last meal I shared with London. How easy it was to sit in silence together, and just as easy to pour out our secrets to each other.
Giorgio smiles at a half-hearted joke I make, but London would have given me a full-blown laugh, more than my joke deserved.
We talk about music. I bring up my favourite P-pop bands. Giorgio tries his best to be interested, but he prefers heavy metal. An image of London and I jamming to SB19 in the car flashes through my mind. By the time the food arrives, I don't know if I want to leave, cry, or tear my hair out .
We're halfway through our appetizer—calamari—when Giorgio's phone rings. "Excuse me, I need to take this."
He wipes his fingers on a napkin and leaves to take the call. As he paces outside the cracked-open door, I catch snippets of his conversation.
"…waited too long… I warned you… Please don't beat me up…"
I frown. What is he doing? Is he collecting on a debt? Is he part of the Greek mafia?
He hangs up a few minutes later and returns to our table. Giorgio grins again, but his smile is strained. "Sorry about that."
"Who was it?" I pluck another calamari ring from the basket and dip it in garlic aioli.
"Work," he says hastily.
"Really?"
"Yep." He pops another piece of calamari in his mouth and fixes his gaze on the glass of water in front of him.
"Okay," I say. It's not like I'd actually date Giorgio long-term. Still, I might as well run through my boyfriend checklist with him. "Can you ride a horse?"
Giorgio takes it all in stride. "Yes. I grew up riding horses with Kostas."
"What about dancing? Do you know how to dance?"
"Why, Gloria Romero, are you interviewing me or are you asking me on a second date?"
I roll my eyes. "Answer the question."
"Yes, I can ballroom dance."
"Do you have any strange hobbies?"
"Define strange ."
"Legal but outside of the norm."
"Darn. There goes my hobby of defacing tombstones," he deadpans.
I chuckle, starting to loosen up a little. Even though I don't think I could ever have feelings for Giorgio, he is a good friend .
But why can't London just be a good friend that I'll never have feelings for?
The door to the restaurant flies open with a chiming of the bell. Giorgio looks over and the blood drains from his face before he stands up and waves. "Hey, London!"
London doesn't respond. Instead, he marches over to our table, pulls up an empty chair, and sits down. I've never seen him like this.
He’s not shocked, like he was in the hospital room with Reggie. Instead, he’s…
Angry?
I've never annoyed London enough to merit that expression. Even road rage doesn’t get to him. His fists clench as he sets them on the table, a prominent vein standing out in his neck. London’s furious gaze tracks between me and Giorgio, who sits back down.
"Hi, London," I say. I hate that my voice is as quiet as it is—that I feel like an interloper when he's the one who interrupted our date.
"Gloria," he says flatly. "Giorgio."
Giorgio clears his throat. "I'm suddenly not feeling well. I'm going to ask the waiter to box up my entree."
Before I can say anything, he counts out two fifties, laying them on the table before fleeing to the hostess stand.
"What are you doing here?" Now that the initial shock of seeing London has died down, indignation floods me. "How did you know where we were?"
It must have been the phone call that Giorgio was being cagey about. But why would London call him in the middle of our date? And why would Giorgio ask London not to beat him up?
Surely, London isn’t… jealous .
"Giorgio told me."
"Giorgio left in the middle of our date to answer your call, and now you forced him to leave," I say. "Why, London?"
"Were you even having a good time with him?" he demands instead, his dark eyes burrowing into mine. Usually, they look earnest and sweet, reminding me of rich hot chocolate. Now, they're dark, almost jet black, and remind me more of hardened obsidian, brittle and lethally sharp.
"Why is that any of your business?"
"Because—" He rakes a hand through his hair. "He doesn't deserve you."
"Then who does?" I snap. "It's certainly not you, because you don't even want me."
He blinks at me like I've slapped him. "What?"
"You don't want me. London, I saw your face when Reginald said he wanted the two of us to get together. You looked… disgusted. Horrified. Like it was unthinkable that you could ever want to be with me."
"Is that what you think of me?" he says, his voice low.
"Yes!" I shout, standing up and grabbing my purse. I don't even know how I'm going to get out of here—I guess I could call an Uber—but all I know is I can't stay any longer. "Because what else could I think of you? It’s not like you said anything when Reginald practically forced you to ask me out!"
London just stares at me for a long moment, taking me in from my curled hair to my three-inch heels. "I'll take you home."
"That's all you have to say?" I say.
"I'm taking you home," he says, "because the things I have to say to you can't be said in a Greek restaurant with every eye on us."
I glance around. Sure enough, everyone from the waiter to the bus boy to the other patrons are watching us like we're an episode of Real Housewives .
"Fine." I shove my chair back in, curiosity getting the better of me. "Let's go. "
London holds open the restaurant door for me. I race ahead to get inside before he can open my car door for me. I can't imagine what he has to tell me, but I don't think it will be anything good.
We drive without saying a word, and he has the stereo cranked up, a SB19 playlist blaring. Great. Now he's going to ruin my favourite P-Pop bands for me. I turn the sound system off.
My mind is too full of thoughts, wondering what he could possibly have to say that would warrant him showing up at a restaurant and ending my date, but I only draw blanks. Every muscle of my body locks up, forcing me to face forward, away from him. I should get checked for tetanus after this.
When we pull into the parking garage for my apartment, he parks in a visitor spot and kills the ignition. Then he unbuckles his seatbelt, and mine because I still haven't moved, and turns to face me. "You asked me who deserves you."
I nod because I don't trust myself to speak without screaming at him, finally relaxing enough to turn over to face him.
"It's true that I don't. But I do want you, Gloria." His voice is husky, sending shivers down my spine. My muscles uncoil the slightest bit. "I want you so badly, I can't breathe just thinking about you."
Who is this London, and what did he do with the tax lawyer who wears sweater vests?
"That's not true," I say automatically. "You've never shown me that you want to be anything more than friends."
"If I only wanted to be friends with you, why did I take horseback riding lessons? Why did I ask you to teach me to dance? Why did I make you dinner?"
The more he lists off the things he's done—things that seemingly have no correlation with each other—the deeper I descend into panic. Panic, and realization.
"You read my list ?" I yank the door of the car multiple times until I realize I have to flick the switch to unlock it. Escaping the car, I suck in deep breaths, feeling like I was going to suffocate in his Toyota Matrix.
London gets out too, and crosses the length of the car to keep up with me as I stride quickly toward the elevators. "I found the note tucked into my briefcase the day before we made that bet. You must have put it there by mistake, so I put it back on your desk."