Chapter 4

The house was empty, save for Irene, the housekeeper. She hummed as she busied herself with embroidery, something she did in her free time. There were fifteen minutes left until 1 p.m. and I was still debating with myself on whether to go on the lunch date or not. I hadn’t sent a response to his texts since the night before.

Rosemill restaurant was an hour away on a good day. Even if I left in that moment, I wouldn’t make it before he would give up on waiting and leave. If I told him I was on my way, though, he could wait.

I sighed and sent a text of confirmation.

Me: I’ll be right there.

I stood up and informed Irene of my destination, something I had gotten used to doing almost every time I went out alone. I didn’t change out of my white jumpsuit. It was decent enough. I put on a pair of silver heels and stood in front of the mirror, assessing my looks.

I brushed my chestnut, shoulder-length hair until I decided it was okay. I used a bit of foundation and concealer to hide my light brush of freckles. I used to like them until a former classmate in high school told me they made me look goofy. Ever since then, I always believed they did.

I got into my car and drove off, hoping to make it in time while pretending that it didn’t matter to me at the same time.

By the time I arrived at the restaurant, it was one thirty. I beat the record time. I made it into the restaurant, my eyebrows raising at how utterly empty it was.

Rosemill was the center of fine dining in California. It was either crowded or too crowded.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Bennett. I’ll show you to your table.” A young girl who looked about nineteen welcomed me, leading me up the stairs designed to look like there was an aquarium inside each step.

“Excuse me,” I called out to her, walking side-by-side with her. “Is there really nobody in the restaurant?”

“It’s reserved.” She gave me an excited smile.

I almost scoffed. Of course he would reserve an entire restaurant.

“Here.” She gestured at the table set in the middle of the space as we reached the second floor. “Enjoy your lunch.” She bowed and scurried off.

I sat in front of the insufferable Adrian Sinclair, who had a blank look on his face. “If it isn’t Ms. Bennett.”

“Stop calling me that. My name is Alexandra,” I corrected.

“I’ll call you that when we’re informal enough. Right now, we know nothing about each other.” He opened the menu board in front of him, his eyes skimming through.

“We’re literally engaged,” I muttered, mirroring his actions with the menu board.

His eyes shot up from the menu as he stared at me for the longest time. “What is it now?” I asked.

“You’re not wearing your ring.”

“I forgot it.” I didn’t know where it landed when I had thrown it last night.

“Good thing we’re living in times when it doesn’t really matter, isn’t it?” He smiled at me. It was a smile you could tell something was behind but couldn’t really put your finger in.

“Do you really not know why your family’s doing this?” I finally asked.

“My family?” He frowned. “From what I know, your family initiated it.”

Both families told completely different stories. Of course. I wouldn’t expect his parents to tell him what it was they were doing. If he was telling the truth.

“If you know something you think I should know, you have to tell me.” He encouraged.

How could I word it? Your family’s full of conniving snakes would annoy him, but so would your family is manipulating mine.

It wouldn’t be such a bad thing if he was the one who called off the wedding, would it? His family would not hold it against us, right?

“You know something,” he noted.

“I have a lot I have to think about,” I simply said. I couldn’t trust him. Not just yet. The whole lunch date was a scheme to mess with me, for all I knew.

“Alright.” He didn’t bother to get the information out of me. “Are you ready to place your order?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. I knew what I was going to order before I stepped into the restaurant. That was how familiar I was with their menu.

As a waiter came and left with his simple order of bread and caviar and mine of spaghetti bolognese, I made a face at him. “I can’t believe you eat caviar.”

“I will not have one more person talk bad about caviar. What’s so wrong about it?” He had the nerve to ask.

“I don’t know, everything?” I raised a brow.

“Let’s just move on to favorite colors. Mine is mint green, and you?” He changed the subject.

“Purple,” I replied.

“Favorite or lucky number?”

“Seven, you?”

“Five.”

I nodded. We sat there, staring at anything but each other. No other questions came forth until the waiter arrived to break the silence.

I couldn’t believe I was sitting at the same table as someone who was eating bread and caviar. What kind of a psychopath was he?

“Can you restrain yourself from giving me dirty looks?” He gave me a pointed look.

“Yeah, sure.” I gave him a tight smile, digging into my food.

“I don’t like being judged more than once. If you see something you don’t like and you mention it once, don’t draw attention to it again. I like caviar, you don’t. I’m not forcing you to eat it.” His voice was stiff, calm, controlled.

“Oh, okay. Got it.” I nodded. “Great bonding.”

He sighed. “And you? What ticks you off?”

“Lots of things.” Getting married to you, for one.

“Nothing specific that you just don’t like?” He raised a brow.

I gave it a good thought and found something I always got worked up about. “Being pestered over something over and over. If I gave a response to something, I wouldn’t like to be asked about it again.”

“It’s about me asking you to come on this lunch date, isn’t it?” He smiled.

“Slightly, yeah.” I chuckled. “And a bunch of other things.”

“Great bonding,” he repeated my words.

“I’m overwhelmed with this much information.” I joked. He didn’t look amused. “You know, it irks me when people don’t laugh at my jokes, too.”

“Ha-ha,” he responded dryly.

“Screw you.” I narrowed my eyes at him.

“You’ll have to wait until our wedding night, love.”

“I’m not doing that with you!” My voice came out louder than. I would have liked. If there were people around, they would probably think he was suggesting something way vile and unhinged. Then again, sleeping with him was, at our positions.

“Relax, I didn’t mean it.” He chuckled. ‘What’s your favorite cake flavor?”

“Victorian sponge.” I smiled.

“Classic,” he noted.

“And yours?”

“I thought you would know that. It’s red velvet.” I almost rolled my eyes. Of course it was.

“Fair enough.” I shrugged.

A text from an unknown caller ID caught my attention.

Enjoying your lunch date? You have to enjoy it while it lasts.

I didn’t know I was frowning until Adrian asked if everything was okay.

“It’s…fine.” It had to be a prank or something. I was not ready for another major event. All I wanted was to finish my spaghetti and—

Another text from the same number came and I slowly picked up the phone.

I know what your grandfather did :)

I was out of my seat before I knew it. My hands were shaking and water had spilled out of a glass onto the table.

“What’s wrong?” Adrian asked, standing up with a look of alarm on his face.

Another text came in. I was sure my heart was on the outside of my chest. It could only take so much.

It was a jpg file this time. I downloaded it and the moment I clicked on it, I was hurrying out of the restaurant.

Someone had taken a picture of my grandfather from his house. Someone was in his house with him, and it wasn’t his nurse.