Chapter-12🌜 Selfish Asshole Belladonna
William's POV
I know my answer and I am about to send him that too. But why am I feeling this hesitation?
I am back home from Ryan's house, and I have my phone in my hand. SAB's contact open in front of me-
His profile picture is not visible to me yet-or maybe he doesn't have a pfp who knows?
Either way, I am damn sure it will suck. The way he carries himself-who would want his professional photo in a slick Armani suit and his gelled black hair pushed back? Not me.
And here I am-contemplating anything and everything but sending him the text, because ugh! What if he thinks I am afraid of him?
Or he can be persuasive in the future-because currently...it actually worked.
Oh My God! Okay let's send him a text.
I pick the phone back up-which I have legitimately dropped on the bed-as if it might explode, like my brain did, while planning all of this.
I start typing-and then delete.
Again type-and then well...delete.
This time was different-
Because this time...I type-and I am about to send it without even deleting-and my thumb brushes over the 'send' icon-
But at the end moment, I long press the 'x' icon, and it clears everything up.
Hush-such a relief.
Can you imagine? Spontaneous thoughts are not my thing.
I would have died from overthinking and anxiety.
But what if-I type it in a new way...
I edit it and then gracefully delete it.
Okay-okay, what's up with this nervousness? Send him a text, and forget. Now.
Be a man! Now.
I start typing again, and my fingertips and manicured thumb nails hit the keypad with unease.
There's apprehension in my mind. As if a part of me is actually anxious about it.
Anticipating it.
But then another thought comes in my mind to torment it.
What if he can see these three dots doing hulla-hoop?
He would feel like I am nervous.
Nope. Not happening here.
I send this one.
No greetings, no mention of what. Just straight to the point. Because, pleasantries are for casual conversation, not business meetings.
I wait-
Okay don't tell me that, because I definitely do not glare at my phone screen.
And most definitely not on his contact.
I can live.
In fact I open the calculator, and start multiplying
69 with 2021 and then add 10111111111 in it-
I. Have. Lost. It.
I wait some more, and pretend my phone is not mine.
And after some, five minutes and 300 seconds later. The read receipts tell me he has seen it.
The three dot bubble appears and he doesn't take time like I did-ahhh I would feel embarrassed about it later! Not now.
In fact his reply comes pretty quickly.
There's a pause, and I feel like he ghosted me...
But then he says-
What do you want?
Which cuisine do you prefer?
Hmm, will 8:00 P.M. tomorrow work?
8:00 P.M.?
On a Christmas night?
At a high-end Italian restaurant?
With my future husband? Yeah...
How bad will it be...
I'll pick you up at 7:30, kay?
Kay? Who says Kay? Awkward weirdo!
Okay-okay...I know I am projecting.
But damn, when he says it-it doesn't sound weird.
But when I do-ughhhh!
And also, pick me up? Hell nawh! It's not a date!
Just an okay? Excuse me?
Fuck!
And thank god, he agreed with letting me drive myself.
It won't be safe, if I go there with him, and he does something weird.
I'll be dependent on him, now this way-I will have to spend less time with him.
And I can just leave, whenever I want.
Yeah, that's it.
We are going on this 'not a date'.
??
I step out of the shower and look at my slick body, with a towel wrapped around my lower half-in the mirror.
I pick up a razor and sanitize it-because god knows how many bacterias are living in the blades.
I lather my face to shave, and take some shaving cream in my hand and then massage it on my wet scruff.
When I feel like the foam is enough, I smoothly glide the razor-and boom, I'm done.
I do my skincare routine-which Romie made for me.
And just like that, I feel sad again. I start remembering how she would make fun of me, for not having one.
And then how she herself taught me how to do every step based on my skin type and what would suit me.
Oh Romie... I miss you.
I miss you so much...
And look what I am doing.
Getting ready to meet your Killer...
But I will have to.
For Romie.
I wear my maroon red suit, because you know the whole Christmas and all. But now my enthusiasm is less than it was earlier.
I skip tie. Fix my hair with a brush and then blow dry my damp hair.
Put on some wax and yup, they are done too.
I put on my lenses, because my eyesight is shit, and I'm not in a mood for glasses tonight.
And with all that, I am ready by 7:30.
I take my car keys, make my way to my Mercedes Benz and unlock it.
After sitting inside the car. I take a deep breath and then put the location of the restaurant on the map. And start the drive.
It shows I'll be there in 20 mins. Which means I'll be on time, if traffic isn't a bitch.
I haven't been to this restaurant, because this is the type of restaurant where only three types of people go-
Couples.
Business partners.
Families.
Now, none of them were in my favour. Sure, we have money to go there, but will we go on a family dinner together? Hell no.
Business partners? I don't even have a business.
And couples-well apart from Romie, even that category was null. And Romie didn't like such posh restaurants, so...
Anyway, until I am busy with my thoughts, the voice on the maps app says, "your location is just 100 meters away."
So yup, I have reached here by 7:55.
On time.
I get out of my car, and give the keys to the valet.
Here goes nothing.
I step inside, and the warmth of the restaurant hits me. It has such a sweet aroma here.
I make my way to the reception, and she greets me with, "Buonasera. How can I assist you today?"
She looks young, and I think she is Japanese, although she has an American accent, but anyway I answer her, "Buonasera. I am here to meet Mr. Zane Valentino Belladonna. The reservation would be under their name only."
My tone is polite and professional.
The receptionist says, "Sure, sir. I'll check." She types something on her system and says, "Yeah, it's an 8:00 reservation for two, under Mr. Zane Valentino. They have already been seated." And then she says, "Our Ma?tre d' will direct you to your table."
She gestures towards the man standing just a few feet away. And I walk towards him, we do the formalities and start walking inside.
Oh, so SAB has already arrived? Damn...
Now all the nervousness is back, along with the anger.
The restaurant is crowded. There are so many people, I mean it will make sense, seeing the whole Christmas rush and all.
But damn, am I actually meeting a guy in public? Especially when this many people are around?
Now I feel some other kind of anxiousness.
There are people just the way I described. From talkative couples to awkward first dates.
From professional corporate bosses to celebrities.
This place is packed, there is a constant sound buzzing inside the restaurant, basically people with millions and billions having a meal.
And a live music set up, where an Italian guy is playing soft violin. Although people are not that interested in him.
They are busy in their own world.
This place screams luxury. The place has a minimalistic set up, and seeing the Christmas occasion, there's a giant Christmas tree in the middle, with some ornamental gifts underneath.
The tree looks beautiful, indeed.
I see how the guy doesn't stop at the usual tables, where the people are eating but keeps walking, and I am like-has he forgotten I am still following him?
But still, I follow him, and then finally he stops at not a table-but a cabin.
Zane has booked a personal cabin.
And yes, it has to be ours because the devil himself. The one and only-SAB is sitting there.
Looking as calm as ever. He's wearing a bottle green suit, which looks like it was made just for him.
He is actually wearing a tie-I would have passed a comment like, 'how pretentious!', if it didn't look good on him or seeing the type of place it is-I should have worn it too...
Anyway, he stands up and says, "Hey, William." His greeting is short, but damn...it's in that deep voice of his that I despise!
A resonant baritone that echoed in this quiet room.
His tone was perfectly calm too...
And then the way our eyes intermingle is something I refuse to acknowledge.
I don't know who initiates the eye contact, but I can't stop staring at his eyes.
His eyes are a warm hazel with bursts of spring green blooming in the centers.
Confident. Unreadable. Sharp.
And I am not gonna comment on how my traitor of a body shivered under his gaze. I won't.
Must have been the wind...
Ugh, it's like god loves him the most, because there's no way he has every-fucking-thing, from money to power to looks and most importantly-constant peace.
And I just nod at him in reply, because what would I say? 'Hello SAB? What have you planned for tonight?
Murder behind a mask, or blackmail at gunpoint?
He comes forward and pulls out a chair for-what I suppose is-me.
And my face turns red, but without a word. I sit down.
Ahhhh-! It's not a date, so why is he treating it like one?
It's not, right?
A/N??
And damn, in today's episode-Will acts like a total manchild...
Irritating or did you find Will relatable? Tell meeeee.
Do you also type and then delete?
Or are you more confident?
Hmm... But at least we have one of them who's a little more balanced.
Did you feel the tension, during the eye contact or they doomed?
Thoughts on this chapter? ??
Comments? ??
Votes? ??
Wanna see how this date-okay I said it, now what? Wanna kill me? ??-will go? Read next chapter ??