Chapter 17- The Dinner

MIA

I feel my palms getting hot. Sweaty. Every eye in the room is fixed on me. I'm a specimen under a microscope. A bug pinned to a board.

Alexander doesn't let go of my hand. His grip is firm. Steady. The only thing keeping me from bolting.

I take in the scene.

The man at the head of the table is terrifying. He looks like Alexander but older. The same sharp cheekbones. The same ice blue eyes. But there's white in his hair now. Silver at the temples. And his eyes—they could freeze the sea. They're fixed on me. Unsettling. Calculating. This is his father. Amon Morreti.

The Asian woman beside him must be his mother. Slone. She gives me a smile. It doesn't reach her eyes. It's polite. Cold. The kind of smile you give a stranger you're already planning to destroy.

The other two women are also intimidating. Not because they're powerful. But because they look like they belong here. The younger one—blonde, beautiful, perfectly dressed—glances at me. Then looks away. Dismissive. Like I'm a stain on the wall.

The older blonde has a bored expression. But her eyes are fixed on me. Sharp. Probing. Like she's trying to see through me. Uncomfortable. I shift my weight. Try to hide my discomfort.

Alexander leads me to the table. Pulls out my chair. I sit. He takes the seat next to me. His hand finally releases mine.

I sit stiffly. My back is straight. My hands are in my lap. I don't touch the food.

His mother says, "Since everyone is here, how about some introductions?"

The older blonde woman says, "Yes. Introductions are in order."

Alexander looks at his mother. Completely ignores the older woman's addition. He picks up his fork. Looks at the room. Pointedly at his father.

"This is Mia," he says. "My girlfriend."

He gestures to his mother. "My mother, Slone." Then to his father. "My father, Amon."

He deliberately leaves out the two blondes. The younger one frowns. A small, sharp movement. She doesn't like being ignored.

"It's nice to meet you," I say.

The older blonde speaks. "The pleasure is ours. We've been anticipating your visit."

I swallow. "It's long overdue, isn't it?"

"Yes." The woman's smile is thin. "Where are my manners? I should introduce myself first. I'm Monica Randall. And this is my daughter, Natasha. We're very close friends with the Morreti family."

Natasha. The name rings a bell. Alexander mentioned her. Briefly. The woman his mother wanted him to marry.

"I didn't know that," I say. "It's nice to meet you."

Alexander sets his fork down. "We should stop engaging in Monica's small talk and eat."

Monica's smile falters. Just for a second. Then it's back.

I pick at the food on my plate. My appetite is long gone.

Just then, his father speaks. His voice is deep. Commanding.

"So, Miss Scofield. How long have you and my son been dating?"

The question I prepared for. I take a breath.

"About seven months now. But we met before that."

His mother sips her wine. "Oh? Before that? How did you meet?"

I explain. The auction. The outbidding. The drinks after.

"Huh." Natasha rolls her eyes. A sharp, dismissive sound.

Alexander glares at her. She crosses her arms. Looks away.

His mother doesn't pay the drama any mind. "An auction, you say. Which one?"

Thank God I did additional research on auctions that took place nine months ago. This wasn't part of what we planned. But pressing for the unexpected is not a disadvantage.

I tell her. The name of the auction. The date. The location. The piece that was being bid on.

Alexander's father watches me. His eyes narrow. "And he outbid you?"

"Yes." I smile. It feels fake. "He paid double what it was worth. I was furious."

A small lie. A humanizing detail.

Monica says, "Interesting."

I grab my glass of water. My hand is shaking. I take a sip.

His father asks what I do.

Alexander says, "She works for Dean."

His father's eyes narrow. "I believe I was asking the girl, not you."

Alexander rolls his eyes. Sets his fork down.

His father turns back to me. "What do you do for Dean?"

I take a breath. "I work as a financial consultant at Deantel Co."

His father studies me. "So you studied business."

I correct him. "I'm studying business."

Monica's eyebrows lift. "Studying?"

"I attend Kingston Business School."

His mother sets her wine glass down. "The same school Alex is a professor at? Could it be that she's the reason he decided to teach there?"

That's far from the truth. In reality, it's just a coincidence. But right now, this is an opportunity. I'm definitely taking it.

"We work different jobs," I say. "It's almost hard to get ahold of each other during the day. He's always been the type to want to know my whereabouts. That's why he took the job."

Alexander, who was sipping his wine, chokes. He grabs a napkin. Wipes his mouth. His eyes find mine. There's something in them. Surprise. Maybe amusement.

Natasha finally speaks. Her voice is sharp. "That's definitely not Alexander. He's never been the clingy type. Nor is he the kind of guy who would stalk a woman."

I don't look at her. I keep my eyes on my plate. The truth is, I don't know him. But what is this woman's deal? Why is she coming at me so strongly about Alexander's case?

I ignore her. Based on what I've analyzed, this girl is a lovesick bitch. If I engage her, she'll cause problems. The last thing I want is for the contract to be breached from my end. I can't afford to owe him six million dollars.

I sip my wine.

Natasha says, "Of course you have nothing to say. Because you know I'm right. Nine months doesn't beat a lifetime. I've known him longer."

I turn to her. My voice is calm. "Yet you're sitting over there. And I'm sitting over here. Maybe knowing him was never the criteria."

Slone's eyes widen.

Alexander smirks.

Natasha's face flushes. She opens her mouth. Ready to fire back.

Monica cuts her off. "That's enough. You're causing a scene."

Natasha turns to her mother. "I'm sure she doesn't even know his birthday. And she has the nerve to talk to me like that."

His birthday.

Jesus. I don't know his birthday. Alexander left that important detail out.

Alexander speaks. His voice is cold. "That's a stupid assumption."

He turns to his parents. "Looks like the circus is in town. They brought entertainment to dinner."

That's cold.

Slone waves a server over. "We're done."

His father stands. "I want to have a word with you. Alone."

Monica and Slone walk out. Natasha follows, her heels clicking angrily against the marble floor.

Alexander looks at me. His eyes are soft. Affectionate. It's believable. But I know better.

"I won't be long," he says.

He pushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers brush my skin. My heart skips.

Feeling. I'm feeling. Why? Why with him?

He gets up. Follows his father.

I sit alone at the table. The candles flicker. The food grows cold.

— — —

ALEXANDER

I go to my father's study.

The door is heavy. Oak. I push it open. My father is already seated behind his desk. The room smells like leather and old books. A single lamp casts shadows across his face.

"Why did you want to see me?"

He leans back in his chair. Studies me. "Your fiancée is quite the character."

I raise an eyebrow. "Oh? Because she didn't let Natasha get away with badmouthing her? If that's the case, then she's a character indeed."

I didn't expect her to stand up for herself. The lie about me choosing to be a professor because of her—that was the chef's kiss. She turned what was supposed to be a coincidence into a story that fit the farce.

That was fucking impressive.

My father locks his hands together. Rests his chin on them. "When is the wedding?"

"I told you I have a girlfriend. I didn't tell you I proposed to her yet."

"What are you waiting for?" His voice sharpens. "I was serious about what I said. If you don't get a wife, forget about your inheritance."

I meet his gaze. "I didn't want to bring it up, but I'm planning on proposing soon."

"How soon?"

I think. She signed the contract. She's my fiancée on paper. I might as well get a ring. Keep the farce foolproof.

"Soon enough. You shouldn't worry. We won't be long."

I turn to leave. Stop at the door.

"Tell Mother to stop encouraging those Randall people. I was very serious when I said there's no way I would marry her."

I walk out.

The hallway is quiet. I head toward the dining room. But I see my mother and Monica in the piano room. Monica looks pissed. Her face is red. My mother is talking in low, soothing tones.

I ignore them. Not my business.

My business is the woman I brought here.

I find her by the balcony. She's standing alone, looking out at the grounds. The moonlight catches her face. She's texting someone. When she notices me, she puts the phone away.

"Hi."

She doesn't look nervous anymore. Something's changed. She's more settled. More confident.

I take her hand. Her skin is warm. Soft. Her fingers curl around mine.

"Ready to go?"

She nods. Her face is a little red.

Natasha is not far away. Staring. Her eyes are daggers.

Stupid obsessive bitch.

She rolls her eyes and walks away.

Mia looks from Natasha to me. "She's something."

I lead her out. "She sure is.”