Mr. Romantic(The more you hate the more you love series)

Keep your friends close, sleep with your enemies if you can. It’s not the original quote, of course, but it would sure as hell have been if I had invented the quote.

If anybody understood the quote completely, it would have to be my parents. You don’t see people receiving dinner invites from their biggest rivals with such enthusiasm like they do. They chatter excitedly in the back of the limo about how much fun tonight’s dinner party, organized by the Sinclairs, founding family of one of the biggest real estate agencies in the country.

The corset on my red dress has been fastened to its tightest by my mother. The sheer sleeves were off my shoulders and loose, making me even more aware of the transition from fall to winter.

Something about the night felt out of the ordinary. It may have been based on the fact that my parents had always turned down invitations from the Sinclairs until that evening, and things were new for me, but I knew that wasn’t it. It was the look of worry my mother always failed to hide whenever she looked at me.

My heart dropped whenever we made eye contact. I was not in on something and I knew it.

“I still don’t see why we have to go to their dinner party. Don’t you two dislike them? We’re supposed to be rivals.” I brought the conversation up for the second time that evening as the limo slid through the wide gates of the infamous Sinclair mansion. I had never been there before, but I had seen more pictures of it than I had seen of my childhood self.

“We’re trying to make nice, Alexandra. Not everything has to be a competition. This could be great. Isn’t that right, Michael?” Mom nudged Dad, who nodded and shot me a smile that didn’t meet his eyes.

That cemented the list of reasons for my stomach to churn in unhealthy ways. My parents, who spent most of their days obsessing over the number of positive reviews SC Real Estate got compared to Liss Real Estate, our agency, were trying to “make nice”.

Something was not right.

That thought was immediately shoved behind as soon as we got out of the car. Standing in front of the mansion after being in the car for far too long was like suddenly being able to see after being blind since birth.

While my parents were almost as wealthy as the Sinclairs, they were minimalists. While the outside of our house was white paint, mini flower gardens and glass windows, the Sinclairs went all out with a Victorian royal palace dream.

The outside looked as stony as you would find it in an old castle, artificial vines creeping up the pillars up to the balcony which overlooked the fountain with the statue of a woman lifting her hands to the heavens. The water flowed from her palms into the fountain. Standing in front of that building was more overwhelming to staring at it through the screen of a laptop.

“Good evening.” Dad nodded at one of the buff security guards standing at the entrance, showing a man in a suit the invitation card.

“Ah, the Bennetts Our guests of honor. Welcome.” The man in the suit grinned at us as he crossed us off the top of the list of invitees.

“Guests of honor?” I mumbled to myself as we walked in.

Like a wave, it hit me.

“Are we merging with the Sinclairs?” I asked Mom the moment we found ourselves in the hall. Cameras flashed at us, Mom ignoring my question and smiling at them instead.

How didn’t I think of that? There had to be a major reason for a Sinclair dinner party, as always. My parents were attending one after months, if not years, of declining. We were the guests of honor. That had to be it. We were partnering up with SC.

I couldn’t believe they didn’t think to tell me, their heir. I always thought I had some form of authority and a right to know what was happening. I guess I did not.

We were led to our reserved table, which was close to the makeshift stage and unbearably close to the Sinclairs’ table. They hadn’t even arrived yet.

“Mom, are we becoming partners with the Sinclairs?” I asked again, refusing to let it die. I refused to find out what all of it was about from a crappy blog.

“It’s not exactly that.” Mom shook her head with a smile she probably thought was assuring.

I sighed in defeat, taking the hall in. There were more chandeliers inside that hall than there probably was in a chandelier shop. In their defence, the hall was huge. There were buffet tables lined up on one side of the hall, butlers walking around with trays of assorted drinks.

I was getting stressed out, my corset was too tight, I needed a drink.

I stood up, ignoring my mother’s whispers of my name as I took a glass of champagne from one of the butlers and asked for directions to a garden. What was a Victorian palace-like house without a garden?

Luckily, I found the garden. With the absence of the moon, it was dark enough for me to reach behind me and loosen my corset with a sense of privacy. I took a deep breath and sank onto the bench under a tree, dumping the champagne down my throat, the bubbly warmth only giving me a two-second-long relief.

I exhaled and closed my eyes, but the peace and quiet I was out there for could only last so long as I heard approaching footsteps.

The silhouette of a man came into view, accompanied by a smooth air of confidence and a mild scent of coconut. Both of his hands appeared to be in his pockets. I stood up, squinting to get a better view of whoever it was.

“Good evening, Ms. Bennett. I believe the dinner is taking place inside.” A tone of playfulness accompanied the familiar voice.

“I was just taking a breath of cool air.” I blinked twice as his features slowly came into focus.

He pulled his right hand out of his pocket and offered it to me. “Shall we?”

I switched the empty glass from my right hand to my left as I cautiously placed my hands in his warm ones, him leading me back into the hall.

As soon as the lights inside brought his full face into focus, it didn’t take me more than a second to recognize him. His dark and silky hair might be mistaken for someone else’s, but I would always recognize his even darker eyes which had the ability to pierce through a camera screen and into your skin.

I would know, through all of the months spent watching him host seminars and auctions on lands, houses and estates through my laptop screen.

And the charm he never left his room without. I couldn’t keep count of how many people he had lured into buying properties which cost more than they looked to be worth.

Adrian Sinclair, the current owner of SC, the billion-dollar worth real estate agency, ever since his father stepped down as chairman last year and handed every authority to him.

I found a butler and returned the empty glass I had been holding.

“We finally meet, Ms. Bennett.” Adrian found it a good idea to engage in a conversation with me as I stood close to the buffet tables.

“That we do, Mr. Sinclair.” I nodded, pretending not to notice how hard his eyes pierced the side of my head.

“I believe times like this are not usually when people meet each other. My sincere apologies. Then again, your family doesn’t seem to be interested in mine that much,” he said.

“People meet at dinners all the time, it’s fine.” I waved it off. His only response was a chuckle.

“I should go sit with my parents.” I turned, heading towards my parents when I felt him hold me by the wrist and pull me towards himself. “What the—”

“Don’t move.” He whispered against the back of my head.

“What’s going on?” I asked, making an attempt at facing him, but he held me in place so that my back was to him. I was starting to have enough. That was not the kind of position people whose parents could barely stand each other should be in. “Let go of me.”

“Your dress.” I frowned in confusion. “It’s loose.”