ROSALINE
The door swung open, and I kept my head low, focusing steely on the magazine that I held like I hadn't just heard Gerald walk in.
These past few days had been a game of avoidance for us, and I'd done well with it. There was nothing to say or do together. Ever since I kissed him, his presence had always stripped sir from my lungs, leaving me vulnerable and bare, not to mention, guilty.
It didn't take a lot of time for the room to be engulfed by his sweet cologne, and it invaded my senses, derailing my attention from whatever was in the magazine that I wanted to see. Although it contained some of my father's company's new features, it begs the question, who still reads magazines?
My heart pulsated quicker when I felt him walking closer. The living room was wide enough for him to exist without getting into my space, but Gerald chose to ignore it, as expected. Was he going to throw a tantrum this late at night? I raised my head, finally acknowledging his presence.
I instantly wished I hadn't. My eyes met his, and my mouth suddenly went dry. I stared at him like a child before a cotton candy machine, wandering lost in his sharp, icy stare. His gray tie was loosened, barely hanging to the collar of a shirt that revealed more than it should on his chest.
My eyes raked over the open part of his skin, and I salivated, an urge growing within me to see more. Get it together, Rosaline! He looked like he'd had a long day, but I didn't ask, nor could I comprehend what was going on. It wasn't every day he walked in just to mope at me like that. Where was the sassy man I knew?
"What?" I attacked. "Did you keep something on my face?"
Gerald threw me a crazy look. No, he didn't look crazy. He looked at me as though I'd gone insane, and based on recent events, I couldn't completely disagree with him. I might have gone mad. I let my hands fall into his hands. His sleeves were neatly rolled up to his forearm, and he held a rectangular parcel in his hand. "This," he mentioned as he dropped it on the table before me.
There was nothing but skepticism etched on my face, and my lips pursed, tugging lower as I mentally perused the package. "What's that? A time bomb? Murder is not always the answer, Dahmer."
"Have ye of little faith," He rolled his eyes, somehow farther away from me than he initially was, and my heart sank for no reason. "It's cake. A close friend of mine opened a restaurant, and that's... for the wedding."
"Wedding?" I quizzed, feigning ignorance. "Who got married?"
"Our wedding," he clarified without arguments. That was certainly new. "I figured sugar should appeal to witches, don't you think? Even better when I have one under the same roof as me."
"Did you suddenly grow a sense of humor, or did you drink? I'd really like to think it's the latter." I pulled the package closer and fished out the box inside of it. Then, I slid the paper cover open. Inside it was a pinkish-looking cake with the most tantalizing aroma despite its minute size. I killed the smile growing on my face. "It's really... petite looking."
Gerald inclined his head in my direction, smirking. "Yeah, we have plenty of those running around."
I should have known he couldn't retain the decency of not having the last word. I rolled my eyes, imploringly with my taste buds to embarrass me less. "Thank you. It'll be in the refrigerator if you want a bite."
"You're not going to... taste it?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Why?" I echoed. "Technically, it's not every day your friend opens a new restaurant and gives you cakes, you know? I'll pass, thank you."
"Is that your excuse for not... trying it out?" Gerald probed, quickly adding to his words. "He said he wanted reviews too."
"Then you told him the cake was perfect," I responded, without sparing him another glance for my own good. I might end up looking into those enthralling eyes that drove one into submission. "Thank you for your cake, fiend."
I slid out of my chair and headed in the direction of the kitchen. I could finally breathe the moment he was out of earshot, and I felt my heart drop to my stomach. My legs weakened as seconds waltzed by, and his gesture replayed in my head countless times.
Certainly, a man getting one a cake didn't mean he loved you, or even cared about you. It didn't even mean he'd preternaturally forgotten about your lovely sister whose shoes I was desperate to fit into. I blinked repeatedly as though it helped slow down my heartbeat. It didn't.
I carefully carried the box out of the parcel, and a small piece of paper dropped out of it. It wouldn't be suspicious, but this was about Gerald. Everything about him required extra concentration. I picked it up and was met with more shock.
It was a receipt for the cake that he must have forgotten. He bought the cake? Why would he do that? Butterflies immediately hiked in my belly; this time, the feeling came with a bit of nausea and anxiety. He hated me, and I most certainly didn't fancy him either, so why would he buy me a cake and plot a nonsensical story about his friend?
I crumbled the receipt and tossed it in the bin, after which I placed the cake in the refrigerator and headed to my room like my thoughts weren't wholly enveloped by Gerald's existence.
The bed dipped with my weight as I sat and hugged my pillow, killing myself with questions I probably didn't want answers to. "Why would he do that?" I quizzed, my voice barely louder than a whisper. My fingers raked my hair in confusion.
His mixed signals were giving me a hard time, but I knew I couldn't afford to be foolish again, ever. I brushed it off. Well, I tried to. I picked up my phone and stared at the last text I'd gotten from Harry. It was an invitation to a friend's birthday, after the coffee date that I declined.
He just wouldn't back off, would he? I deeply sighed as I typed in. I'm sorry. I have something tomorrow. I would have loved to, though.
That was a lie. I certainly wouldn't have loved to. In all honesty, I just want to be left alone.
Next morning and you might call me stupid for waking up an hour earlier to make breakfast for my paper husband and myself. In my little way, that was payback for his little cake rendezvous, but boy, was I surprised when Gerald walked into the kitchen and barely spared me a glance.
I cleared my throat, my little way of seeking attention without damaging my pride in the process, but he was keen on the coffee he made, after which he brushed past me and headed out without a single word. I was dumbfounded, not to mention hurt. I knew I promised myself not to be stupid, but that was exactly what I was, again.
It wasn't a pleasant sight, and I chunked down pancakes like my life depended on it, probably because it did. What was I thinking? One cake, and I was ready to loosen my guard and crumble my defenses. It was almost as though I'd been waiting for it, and my cheap behavior annoyed me more than Gerald's silence ever could.
I slouched in the chair, thinking of what to do next. I couldn't call Ava and begin to explain my foolishness, and neither did I want to speak to any of my parents. I wouldn't resume work until this little honeymoon phase was over, which led me to my next option. Harry, and the party he had invited me to. I was desperate to find an outlet, anything that made me feel less like shit.
I picked my phone up and called him. He picked up immediately, like he'd been sitting next to his phone, waiting for my call. "Hey, that birthday party you invited me to, is it too late to change my mind?"
"Too late? Nothing is ever too late for you, Princess. I'd pick you up?"
"No, no," I responded, "Text me the address, and I'll be there."
And there it was, my first futile attempt to repair my non-existent social life.
*
When Harry said it was a birthday party, he must have forgotten to emphasize a red carpet and the fleet of reporters and cameras swarming the place. It began to feel like my mouth had glued together when I stepped out of the car and sighted Harry waiting for me by the large doors.
The crowd made me die a little more, and my feet remained glued to the ground, unable to proceed further until he approached me. Harry was clad in a red tuxedo that did him justice, and he paused in his tracks when he was a step away from me.
"Wow..." He muttered, his eyes raking over me, and he sucked his teeth, a genial smile crawling up his face. "You look amazing, Rosaline. You look so... damn good. I mean, I expected nothing less but... I'm still stunned!"
My cheeks heated up, becoming embarrassingly red. I merely nodded. "Thank you. You don't look bad yourself," I complimented, looking around. "And you forgot to tell me this was like a massive ball that I'd need a butler for."
"Oh? These people?" He turned around for a brief second. "You know the fashion world, everyone is just trying to impress. And you, my dear, will blend right in."
I grinned, my hand tapping rhythmically against my thighs. "I mean, I can try. Red carpets aren't exactly my thing, but..." My voice trailed, and I looked up to a beaming Harry. "With you, I suppose I can manage."
"You'd do better than manage," He responded as he took my hand and linked it to his, and we walked down the thin trail of the carpet.
On several steps my feet chose to falter, but Harry was a good anchor. I was used to a life of flashing cameras and intruding questions, so it wasn't an entirely unfamiliar scene. After the torture of our little show-off walk, we arrived inside the enormous hall, and I was mortified.
It begged questioning. Was this really a birthday, or was someone getting married? It was a gigantic square hall with blinding white walls and chandeliers to match. The tiles were scrubbed clean, capable of showing my reflection, and it made me shrink.
"This place is so beautiful," I said to Harry, whose arm was still linked in mine. I reveled in the paradisaic aura of the hall, and it left a lasting smile on my face. Harry didn't respond, and by the time I tilted my head in his direction, he was already looking at me. "What?" My brows drew together as I asked.
"Nothing, you just... look really beautiful, is all," He slurred, never taking his eyes off me. "Like really beautiful and... I just have to tell you. Do you know how good you look right now, Rosa?"
My hand reflectively went up my cheeks. Thank you," I stuttered, feeling my stomach flip. His compliments were pleasing to the ears, and it made me wish I could see myself through his eyes, if his words were true.
I broke eye contact, immediately trying to find a topic replacement for whatever weirdness was in the air. "Would it be too early to ask whose birthday party it is," I joked. "It's very absurd that I came here without basic information."
"Oh, speak of the devil..." Harry pointed in the direction of someone I instantly recognized. Jonathan Wades, the son of Wades Fashion, the third-biggest fashion company in the country, immediately after my parents. "There is the birthday boy..."
Jonathan walked to us and shook Harry's hands. They seemed rather close. I hadn't expected Harry to be acquainted with big moguls in this business. His attention was finally deflected to me. Jonathan squinted as he extended his hand. "Rosaline?"
He knew me? He continued. "Youngest daughter of West Royal? Wife to Gerald Thorne. What did I do to deserve the presence of someone so gracious in my little space?"