12. Dara
12
Dara
The week has flown by, and I clamber into my car after finishing my last shift at Joe’s Diner, currently ran by a man named Chuck. I can honestly say, I won’t miss it, though I’ll miss Beth. She always brought joy to my work day.
In fact, the only time I’ve ever seen her look upset is when I told her I was going to be leaving.
Her sweet round face had crumpled. “Oh, Dara. But why?”
“This was never meant to be permanent, Beth,” I soothed. “We both knew that.”
She sighed heavily and nodded. “I know. I just didn’t think it would be so soon.”
She had asked where I was going, and I had told her the truth. There was no point lying. Word travels faster than Usain Bolt in this town. Besides, if I’m going to live a lie in the coming weeks, I want to try and remain as true to myself in as many other areas of my life as possible.
“The surgeon?” she had blurted. “But I thought you couldn’t stand him?”
“Well,” I said, trying to think of a reasonable excuse to give her that wouldn’t make her suspicious, “maybe I was a bit hasty. It’s good money, and I’ve kind of warmed up to him a bit.”
When I thought about that afterward, I realized that it was actually the truth. When I agreed to do his dinner party, I did it for the money. The idea of doing something that would get me closer to opening a place of my own could only be a good thing.
But since I’ve spent time with him, I’ve come to realize that maybe he’s not as bad as I thought. And no, my mind hasn’t been changed because he’s going to spring me the money I need to open a restaurant. I have better principles than that.
There’s been a few things that have brought me round. Making a fool of myself in my kitchen last week was one of them. But how was I to know that most of my parents’ funding comes from Dr. Alex Bennett?
And then, the following evening, he had surprised me even further with his talk of doing such great things for people without having to announce it to the world. The truth is, I think I’ve misjudged him.
You think?
Okay. Clearly, I have misjudged him. The man I presumed to be a grumpy billionaire is actually a pretty decent guy who makes great effort to help those in need. It’s also obvious that he’s a very private person, which I may, in my blinkered opinion, have taken for being grumpy.
Though I do think he ought to smile more. It really does make those brown eyes of his light up.
I leave for Alex’s house bright and early on Saturday morning. He tells me he eats after his run, and so I want to be there in good time. Pulling into his driveway, I check the clock. 7:15 a.m. I’m a little early, but I’m sure he won’t mind.
I climb the steps and ring the doorbell, but after a minute, there’s still no answer. I ring it again, and then I hear a thundering noise that sounds like he’s running down the stairs. A second later, the door flies open, and my eyes fall on the still wet and very naked upper body of my new boss.
I gawk at his rather firm looking pectoral muscles as they glisten against the light of the sun rising behind me. Like they have a mind of their own, my eyes lower to the six pack of his completely flat stomach, dark hairs travelling down and reaching the towel he has wrapped securely around his waist. Yes, my mouth has fallen open. No, I don’t care.
“You’re early,” he gasps.
Finally, I lift my eyes to meet his. “I’m so sorry. Did I get you out of the shower?”
“No, I always run about the house dripping wet,” he quips back.
Maybe there are more perks to this job than I thought.
Dara!
“Come in.” He waves a swift gesture, and still a little stunned, I stumble into the house.
“I’ll, er… I’ll go and start breakfast,” I say, swiftly turning and hurrying away. I don’t hear him reply and hope that he’s going right back to where he came from. I, on the other hand, need a minute to calm my thumping heart.
After a moment of flustering, I take a deep breath and gather myself.
Come on, Dara. It’s not like you haven’t seen a naked man before.
Sure, I have. I just don’t remember them looking quite like that.
Half an hour later, I hear Alex moving about in the next room, and with everything prepared, I stick my head through the door.
“Are you ready to eat?”
He’s sitting at the dining table where I’ve placed the cutlery and napkin, with his phone in hand. “Yes, please,” he says without looking up.
I plate the scrambled eggs, lean bacon, and tomatoes, and add the avocado toast on brown bread. In another bowl, I have strawberry yogurt sprinkled with blueberries. Grabbing the dishes, I elbow my way out of the kitchen, move over to the table, and place them in front of him.
He glances at the plate, and then does a double take. “Wow.”
“I’ll get your coffee,” I say, heading back to the kitchen.
I’m back in no time and place the cafetière and a small jug of cream on the table beside the other items. “Enjoy,” I say, without waiting.
I’ve already finished cleaning up when he strides into the kitchen carrying all the dishes.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, hurrying to take them off his hands. “That’s my job.”
“I know, but I wanted to come in and thank you. That was delicious.”
I’m trying to get hold of the dishes when the coffee cup begins to slips off the plate, and as though in slow motion, I see it falling. I don’t know how I do it, but my hand flies out, and I catch it in mid fall.
“Bravo,” he says, grinning down at me. “Maybe you’re in the wrong profession.”
I roll my eyes and take the remaining dishes from his hands. “I like this one just fine, thanks.”
“Good. I could get used to a breakfast like that. Right. I’m heading into the office today, so I won’t need you for lunch. I’ll be back for dinner, though.”
“What time will that be?” I ask.
He smirks and says, “You sound like my wife already. It’ll be about seven,” he continues, already turning and heading toward the door. “See you later. Oh, wait.” He turns back to me and holds out a key. “You’ll be needing this. If you’re not cooking, there’s no need for you to be here, so let yourself in and out when you need to.”
Absently, I hold out my hand, reeling a little with such trust and responsibility. My surprise must be showing because he says, “I trust you, Dara. I mean, you’re my fiancée now, right?”
“Apparently so,” I counter.
“Good. See you tonight.”
Once I hear the roaring engine of his extremely fancy car pull away outside, I tentatively walk into the living room. He can’t sneak up to the house with that thing, so I’m safe enough. Maybe I shouldn’t be so nosey, but I can’t help it.
Well, you are his fiancée.
Sure. I’ll tell myself that.
I glance at the stairs but then turn away. That’s his private space, and I don’t belong up there. Instead, I wander around the rest of the house, noticing how sparsely furnished it is. Alex’s home couldn’t be more opposite to mine, and it’s not because he’s just moved in. The furniture that’s here—what little there is—is all brand new. It’s just so clinical. Everything perfectly in its place.
It certainly needs a woman’s touch.
It does. Which gives me a great idea.
I return to the house a little before six. Popping the trunk of the car, I lift out a couple of boxes and, one by one, carry them to the front door. When I’ve unlocked it, I bring the boxes into the house.
Deciding to go on a little shopping spree, I’ve bought some things that will make this place look lived in, and for the next half an hour, I strategically set them out across shelves and counters. Only then do I head into the kitchen to start making Alex’s dinner.
The roar of his engine is hard to miss, but I ignore it and put the finishing touches to the coq au vin. The table is already set, so once I hear the front door slam closed, I elbow my way out of the kitchen, meeting him as he’s just walking into the dining area.
He’s surprised and says, “Now that’s what I call impeccable timing.”
“That’s what I’m here for, right?” I say, placing the plate down.
But his eyes aren’t lingering on the food. He’s already looking about him, clearly spotting my earlier additions.
“What the heck happened to my house?” he says, taking in the soft flowers, and small plants I bought earlier.
“You mean your man cave.” I lift an eyebrow.
He turns to look at me. “Was it that bad?”
“There’s no way your future business partner would have believed a woman lived in this house. I know you guys are all about practicality, but still.”
Alex lingers for a minute more, and then nodding in seeming satisfaction, he drops his case and sits at the table.
A little later, he brings his plate into the kitchen. Clearly, I’m wasting my time telling him to leave it on the table, so this time, I don’t protest.
But before I turn to do the washing up, Alex says, “I’ve got something for you.” He pops open a ring box and presents me with a stunning ring.
“Oh, my lord,” I gasp.
As he places it on my finger, my eyes fly wide as the diamonds sparkle. Maybe they’re not diamonds. I mean. He’s not going to spend such a ridiculous amount of money on a fake relationship, right?
I’m still mesmerized by it, real or not. I lift my eyes to his, and we share a gaze. He’s still holding my hand, and as I get lost in the chocolate brown of his eyes, it suddenly feels like I want to remain there for far longer than necessary. I’m pretty sure he’s feeling it, too, judging by the intensity with which he’s looking back. But the feeling that’s growing in my stomach scares the living daylights out of me, and I have to break the moment.
“I can’t possibly wear this all the time, Alex,” I say, pulling my hand from his. “It will get ruined when I work.”
“It’s not real, Dara. Besides, you only need to wear it when we’re out together, or maybe when you know you’re going to be around people, just to keep up appearances.”
It feels weird on my finger, and I fiddle with it as I nod.
A moment passes, and then the pieces fall into place. Clearly, if he’s bought the ring, this is the start of it. I’ve been safely hidden away like Cinderella for the last week. Now, we have to gather our lines and be ready for the show.
“So, when are we going out?”
“How about dinner on Friday evening?”
“You know the only decent place to eat here is Joe’s Diner, and decent might be a bit of an overstatement,” I reply.
“We could eat, and then go out to the bar. We just need to be seen.”
“Okay,” I say, sounding far more confident than I feel.
It won’t be that hard, right?