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“I guess you’re not Gabriella?” he asks with a snicker.
“She’s inside, packing for our honeymoon,” I boast, happy to entertain a lie. “We just got hitched, so time to start a family. You know how it is, mate.”
His expression falls. The wanker needs to back the fuck off, and judging by my arrogant tone, he realizes and doesn’t say another word, heading back to his van and taking off in a hurry.
I make my way inside the house, finding Gabriella walking around in circles, talking to herself while making mental lists. All I can hear is the word check repeated several times. She stops at the kitchen, instantly noticing the brown package in my hand.
“Let’s get on the road.”
She quickly shifts subjects, ignoring the parcel, rummaging through her purse one more time.
“Don’t you want to see what’s in the package?”
“It can wait.”
“Why won’t you open it?” I ask, curious as to what Prince Charming has sent her now. “What do you have to hide?”
“Fine,” she argues back, tearing the tape open.
Inside sits another box. She tears that one open as well, and inside sits another box. Then, she pulls off the ribbon to reveal a small blue box with the name Tiffany & Co. printed on it.
Opening the card, she reads it slowly and steadily. I’m watching her closely, every expression, trying to read her thoughts because the woman is killing me little by little, and my unwarranted jealousy is rearing its ugly head again. The burn is agonizingly slow. It’s crawling through the walls and into my chest, knife in hand ready to stab my heart into a million pieces until retaliation is imminent.
“Well, the suspense is killing me.” I clap my hands with an overly fake smile. “Open the box.”
“No, it’s okay.” She lingers, releasing a sigh. “Okay, fine.”
At a slow and painful pace, she opens the box, and inside sits a diamond ring, an engagement ring, to be exact. I can’t tell you what fucking type, but the sentiment strikes a nerve with my bruised ego.
“I’m assuming you’ve seen this ring before.”
She nods.
“Go on, put it on,” I coerce.
“I’m not going to put it on,” she bellows, frustrated. “I just need…”
“Time,” we say at the same time.
Silence echoes in the small kitchen. Our road trip is already off to a bad start and we have a fifteen hour drive ahead of us.
“Does he know you’re on this road trip with me?”
Gabriella doesn’t respond, her usually witty response is scarce.
“Does he know you’re coming back?”
More silence.
“So tell me, what does he know?” I ask, frustrated we are even having this conversation.
“Nothing,” she mutters, momentarily beyond words. “He knows nothing because I haven’t spoken to him in over a week. There… you happy?”
“Am I happy?” I repeat, my tone laced in sarcasm. “The audacity of you to ask such a thing. I’d be happy if you told him to fuck right off, tell him we kissed, and at least admit we’re friends.”
“What do you want from me?” she yells, shoving fruit into her bag like she’s going to starve to death in the car. “I’ve limited my communication with him. I’m creating as much distance as I can. Now get off my back, or we’ll never get out of here.”
She ignores my persistent glare, grabs her bag, and demanding we go now.
