Mom and I enter the restaurant, and we’re seated within minutes. I take the coat off and hang the bag with the dress and my handbag on the chair, looking around. It’s a pretty restaurant, very cozy with polite and kind staff.
“What are we ordering?” I ask, opening the menu.
“Whatever you want, your father is paying anyway.”
THIRTY-SIX
The dress fits me like a glove. My nails are freshly done in a French style, mid-length, and I think it looks rather good. I don’t want to overdo it with jewelry, so the only thing on me is the set Soren got from me.
But it’s been weird.
It’s Sunday, and I got home Friday night. Soren left for his parents' house around the same time, so I know he’s been busy with all this mess; however, I can’t help but get this nagging feeling in the back of my head like something’s terribly wrong.
He’s been ignoring my messages, and I think I sent around thirty across the weekend. The calls go straight to voicemail, and I contemplated whether or not to reach out to Kenzo, Aiden, or even Elias, just to see if he’s alive.
That’d just make me seem desperate.
“Still no word from him?” Grace asks from behind me, and I shake my head.
The event’s being held in our manor, because of course, there’sa special room for balls, parties, and such nonsense. Elliot outdid himself in finding people last-minute to decorate it to perfection, and the room looks as though it took weeks to complete.
Currently, Grace and I are upstairs in my living room, adding finishing touches to our looks for the night. She chose a pale blue dress that reaches her ankles, a pair of Louboutin heels that I’d never, ever try to walk in. I think it would feel like I have nails in my feet.
“Then, fuck him,” she snorts.
“I plan to.”
“I meant figuratively."
“I know,” I laugh. “I’m messing around. But it’s getting on my nerves. Do you think this is some sort of a game?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” I take a sip of the champagne, glancing at the clock. We have another thirty minutes before we need to get downstairs. “He’s always been the one chasing in this relationship — or whatever this is — so I’ve been wondering, is he trying to get me to chase him? Because that’s never happening.”
“I don’t think so,” Grace hums, adding some bracelets to her wrist. “Because he knows you’ll never chase. You’ll rather drown in sorrow over a hypothetical breakup than ever chase a man, no matter who it is.”
“Then, why is he not answering me?” I whine, finishing the champagne and pouring another glass. “What did I do?”
“I don’t think you did anything,” Grace says, but I don’t know how much I can trust her words. I could burn the world down, and she’d see no fault in my behavior. “I think something else is going on.”
“Alright, Sherlock Holmes," my words drip with sarcasm. “Hit me with your theory.”
“He’s not the type to be blackmailed by his parents,especially not after his sister did, so I don’t think it had anything to do with them. But maybe Astrid had something to do with it?”
“Like what?”
Grace shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe they made up.”
I snort. “Highly doubtful. He’s still angry with her for leaking the images, and especially for the Sawyer thing. Even if he’s no longer upset with her, he’s petty, so he won’t forgive her easily.”
“He’s bound to be here tonight. Corner him and demand an answer,” she offers, then pauses. “But avoid elevators, please.”
“You sound just like my mother.”
“A wise woman.”
“Yes, yes,” I roll my eyes, waving a dismissive hand. “Let’s just finish getting ready and leave.”
