14. Dara
14
Dara
Tonight has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. It’s one thing to lie to people that you don’t know, like this Jack Norton guy, but these are people I’ve known all my life. People who’ve watched me grow up. People who are good friends with my parents.
I know why we need to do it. I also know we’re not really harming anyone.
But still. Lying is lying.
I’ll admit it got easier after the first hour. Repeating the same narrative over and over, it became more rote, even though I still had to act the part. There were plenty of surprised faces, which I hope originated from the fact that no one had met Alex before, and not because I couldn’t possibly be engaged to a billionaire surgeon.
Admittedly, I am punching way above my weight.
But still, after the initial yuck factor, I had fun. It’s the first time I’ve seen Alex relaxed. He always seems so stiff and in control and rigid. Tonight, I saw a softer side of him. And yes, I will admit, I liked it.
When he lingered at my door this evening, I was certain he wanted me to invite him in. I nearly did, too, but then I chickened out. Instead, when I heard the engine of his car roar away, I dug out my cell and called Astrid.
“When’s the wedding?” she says, when she answers the phone.
“Good lord, that didn’t take long,” I gasp.
Astrid laughs. “Beth gave me a call as soon as she finished her shift. She was here yesterday to pick up a tonic and was surprised I hadn’t mentioned anything. Of course, I had to play dumb.”
“What did you say?” I ask, dropping my bag onto the table while I put the coffee machine on.
“Oh, that you wanted to tell people yourself,” Astrid continues, “and that I was to keep quiet until you got a chance.”
“That was quick thinking.”
“It’s my witchy reflexes,” she replies, the smile evident in her voice. “To tell you the truth, I was half expecting it. After you told me the other day that you guys were going out as a couple tonight, I knew someone was going to call.”
“Or maybe you’re just psychic.”
“Yes, I like that idea far better. Let’s go with that.”
I laugh, and I hear Astrid giggle with me.
“How was it?” she asks. “Was it as tough as you thought?”
“Worse,” I reply. “I know it’s all for a good cause, but lying to people I’ve grown up with was just awful.”
“I can imagine,” Astrid says sympathetically. “But you’re right. It is for a good cause, and maybe that’s the way you’ll get through this. You need to keep what your parents are doing at the forefront of your mind. They work hard, Dara.”
“I know. And that’s not a bad idea.”
We chat for another half an hour, and then we say our farewells. I feel better after talking to Astrid, but then, I always feel better after talking to Astrid. It must be the witchy spell she casts over me.
I had a refreshingly long lie-in this morning, and slipping out of my bed sometime after nine o’clock, I nearly feel guilty. But hey, my boss/fake fiancé doesn’t need me until lunch, so I’m taking advantage of it. When I say taking advantage, I mean I do my laundry, clean my kitchen, and vacuum and dust. Go me, living life on the edge.
Arriving at Alex’s house at eleven o’clock, I slip the key into the lock. “Hey honey, I’m home,” I joke.
But as I walk farther into the house, I hear him talking to someone, and he does not sound happy.
“I have done more than enough,” he barks. “More than is deserved, under the circumstances.”
I follow the sound, expecting to see someone else in the house, but then I see the phone in his hand, and Alex pacing back and forth with a face like thunder.
Maybe I should make myself scarce, but before I get a chance, he turns and catches me looking. I raise a tentative hand. He nods a curt greeting, and then turns his back to me once more.
“There will be no increase,” he barks again.
Yep. Time I beat it.
I head straight into the kitchen and get to work, but the conversation is so loud, I can’t help but overhear snippets. Clearly, Alex is getting frustrated, and from what I can tell, it’s something to do with someone’s lawyer and more money.
Maybe someone has taken a lawsuit out against him.
It’s none of your business.
No, it’s not, and so instead, I begin singing to myself as I work to try and drown out any further chance of listening.
I’m preparing a salad when my mind goes back to last night, and meeting Mr. and Mrs. Casey in the bar. They’ve run the local grocery store for as long as I can remember, and both nearly in their seventies, they’re still going strong.
“You’re a surgeon,” Mrs. Casey gasped.
“A plastic surgeon, yes,” Alex replied.
“So, you cut up people’s faces?” Mr. Casey said with a slight grimace.
Alex half smiled. “Well, not just as macabre as that.”
“Yes, you silly old fool,” Mrs. Casey said to her husband, giving him a whack on his arm. “He makes women look prettier.”
The older woman gazed up at Alex admiringly. “Maybe I could come and see you one day.”
Mr. Casey burst into laughter, but Alex ignored the old man and answered Mrs. Casey so perfectly I found myself stunned and impressed at the same time.
“No, Mrs. Casey.” Alex shook his head. “I refuse to change something that is already so perfect, and so I could not, in good faith, allow my scalpel to come anywhere near you.”
Mrs. Casey had blushed. And I had stifled a giggle at Mr. Casey’s reaction because he rolled his eyes so dramatically he could have won an Oscar. But I still looked at Alex admiringly.
For the longest time, I’d thought of him as this grumpy billionaire. But when I saw him genuinely interacting with people, I have known all my life, it only added to the pile of misconceptions I had about him. Alex Bennett is actually a pretty cool guy.
The salad and nutritious smoothie I’m creating is nearly finished, as is Alex’s phone conversation, I’m glad to hear. Tentatively, I peek my head through the kitchen door, but he’s nowhere in sight. I’m not going to hunt him down.
Placing the salad and juice on the table, I call out, “Lunch is ready.”
Given that it’s a salad, I don’t really mind that he’s not there, so returning to the kitchen, I begin the cleanup and think about what I’m going to make for his dinner.
It’s forty minutes later when he enters the kitchen. He leaves his plate on the counter while I’m cutting onions. I hate cutting onions. Not because I don’t like onions but because I am super sensitive to the juice. So, when he looks at me, there are tears streaming down my cheeks.
“You Okay?” he says, looking concerned.
I sniff. “It’s just the onions. I’m fine. Are you Okay?”
I don’t know whether I should ask that question, but I’m also worried about him. It’s the first time I’ve seen him so rattled.
“I’m fine. I apologize for earlier. I was a little rude.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. You were busy.”
“Dealing with things that I don’t want to have to deal with, for sure,” he replies, clearly still annoyed by the conversation.
“Want to talk about it, fake fiancé?” I say lightly, trying to cheer him up.
He flashes a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Not this time. But thanks.”
A minute later, he turns on his heels and leaves the kitchen, leaving me wondering what on earth the conversation had been about.
I spend part of my afternoon checking out the cupboards and fridge, making a list of things we need, and then I start preparing the vegetables for dinner.
As I’m slicing carrots, Alex wanders into the kitchen. He still doesn’t look like his usual self, and I’m tempted to ask him how he’s doing. But he had made it clear that I couldn’t help him earlier, and nothing has likely changed since then, so I keep my mouth shut.
He’s put the coffee machine on and is waiting patiently for it to finish when he says, “So, how do you think last night went?”
I shrug. “Probably as well as we could have expected. I think we’re Okay.”
“Me too. If nothing else, we’ve sown the seed.”
“Well, by this morning, there’ll be a whole field to harvest,” I joke.
He half smiles, grabs his cup, and then stops near the island where I’m working.
“There’s nothing more we can do,” he says, looking far more thoughtful than usual.
I glance at him when I reply. “Well, I think we did a lot. I think we did more than enough. And like you said—”
I wince as I feel a searing pain in my middle finger, and glancing down, I see blood spreading across the chopping board.
“Oh, lord, Dara,” Alex suddenly cries.
In two strides, he’s beside me, and with his large hand wrapped around my wrist, he lifts my hand to the same level as my head. “Keep it there,” he commands, guiding me over to the sink.
I laugh at his overly serious expression, and though there is blood pouring from my finger, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. “It’s just a nick, Alex. Honestly, get me a band-aid. It’ll be fine.”
He moves across to a cupboard and lifts the first aid kit down.
“You’ve cut the top of your finger off, Dara. Where I come from, that’s more than just a nick.”
I’m not sure he isn’t exaggerating, so I bring my finger down to take a look. Sure enough, the end of my middle finger is now missing. That’ll teach me to talk and chop at the same time.
“You might want to give those carrots a miss, unless you’re into cannibalism. Or, carrotibilism,” I giggle.
He cocks an eyebrow at me as he rummages through bandages. “Maybe you’ve lost too much blood already,” he says dryly.
“Maybe I’m just trying to stop you from panickin.”
“I’m not panicking. I never panic. I’m just looking after you.”
I’ll admit that hearing those words gives me a warm feeling inside. It’s been a long time since anyone was there to look after me. My last relationship was nearly five years ago, and the last six months of that was two people simply too scared to admit it was over.
“This is going to sting,” he says, holding my hand tightly with one hand, while coming at me with a vial of something in the other.
“Ah,” I hiss through gritted teeth. Well, he wasn’t wrong, though I think he underplayed the stinging part.
“Sorry,” he says gently.
“It’s fine,” I groan. “Just get it over with.”
I watch as he expertly bandages my finger, his brow furrowed in concentration. When it’s all over, I look ridiculous, but at least I’m not re-enacting a scene from the Rocky Horror Picture Show.
“Well, no more piano for me,” I quip.
Alex frowns for the slightest second, and then realizing I’m joking, he rolls his eyes.
“I will admit, I don’t think I’ve ever been around someone who stays so calm under the circumstances.”
“I’m a chef. It’s what we do. Besides, it could have been worse. I could have been cutting the meat. Then the whole dinner would have been ruined.”