Chapter 60
TJ
Idon’t know what the fuck Weberly’s deal is, but I’m starting to think I’m being played.
I didn’t even want this dinner. It’s fucking unbearable having a front-row seat to watch the love of your life with another man.
And ever since Cornelia arrived, Weberly has been swooning over her—at least by Weberly’s definition of swooning.
The only thing she hasn’t done is compliment her outfit, which Cornelia looks stunning in.
I was breathless at how gorgeous she looked when she walked in, but that’s nothing new.
She always takes my breath away when she enters a room.
But we’re only three courses into this seven-course meal, so there’s still a chance Weberly will get around to it.
I think this whole dinner was Weberly’s plan to get on better terms with Cornelia.
After all, she’s the unofficial Queen B, and if Weberly ever wants to truly be part of the group, she needs to be in Cornelia’s good graces.
I would have preferred it if Weberly had told me the truth instead of bringing me here under false pretences.
But then again, if she had, maybe I wouldn’t have come.
The waiter is explaining the third course—Rice she’s doing it with him.
For a second, my heart races and rage grows as I think about how few times—and under what special circumstances—she’s done this with me. For Cornelia, this is more intimate than sex, and I can’t stop thinking about what it means that she’s doing it with Benedict.
But then I see her holding her pinky apart from her other fingers, the way she does when she touches something dirty or sticky.
She’s back to watching the waiter, but every few seconds her eyes flick to her finger, and I know she’s trying to forget about it but can’t.
She wants nothing more than to go to the loo and wash her hand, but she doesn’t want me to know.
My lips twitch slightly. The few times she did that with me, she never did.
Still, I’ve made up my mind. I don’t want to be him. I want to kill him. I’m the only one who should get to experience those things with her.
I want to punch him so badly that he’ll never want to be near Cornelia again. Or throw him out the window. I’m fine either way.
I get up from my seat. “I’m going to the restroom.” If I don’t get away from this table for a few minutes, I’m going to actually punch him, not just fantasise about it. And it’ll give Cornelia the chance to run to the loo to wash her hands, thinking I didn’t notice, but I did.