Page 48 of A Win-Win Situation
Mom had flown back to her hometown in Lebanon, to visit my grandmother. With my uncle's help, my father had flown all the way from the United States to surprise her.
Instead of just driving up to her favorite place, Harissa, my father had planned something more adventurous: he took her on the cable car. When they reached about 500 meters above sea level, he went down on one knee, making the whole cable car shake, and my mum cry out in fear. They always joked about how my mum probably agreed to marry my father because she was afraid. When she died I kept her ring; it’s a precious memento of their love that I will cherish forever, and I’ve saved it for when my time comes.
Someday, I'm meant to find my match, but in recent years, I've simply been too preoccupied to actively seek her out.
"Okay, but let’s be serious for a second." Leora’s voice snaps me back to reality. The reality where I’m married to a girl I barely know. I can’t help but think that my mom would be disappointed in me, even though I’m doing it for the sake of our name and our hotels. She had so much love in her heart and she disliked anything business related—she thought it ruined people; that when money was involved, it took away from their values and morals.
Have I turned into the type of person she despised?
The thought leaves me with a pang of guilt. But I gather myself and give Leora a more realistic story we can use. "We started talking six months ago. I happened to find you on social media and thought you were beautiful, so I ‘slid into your DM’s.’ We started talking every day—joking and sharing parts of ourselves we’ve never shared with anyone else, and in the process, we slowly fell for each other. During my business trip to New York three months ago, we finally got to meet each other. We knew then and there that we wanted to be together. When you know, you know. So I took you to a beautiful rooftop and proposed to you under the stars. You accepted, and now you’re here. We both decided not to have a big wedding, but Antoine surprised us with the small gathering."
There’s a disappointed look on her face. The playful glow that was there earlier seems to have vanished.
"Okay." Her eyes are on me, quizzical. It’s as though she felt the shift in me and wants to know why. "Lucas, are you?—"
My phone chimes, interrupting her. I glance at my phone and see the front door calling.
"Looks like our pizza's here." I quickly excuse myself and tell them to send the pizza up. As I hand over the money, I can't help but feel relieved for the interruption.
"Got the pizza," I say, setting it down on the coffee table. "Hungry?"
Leora smiles, and her large, green eyes light up as she nods. "Starving."
I go to grab a bottle of wine. "White or red?"
"White, please." I choose aChapoutier Roussanneand bring it to the table with two glasses.
We dig into the pizza, and as we eat, the previous tension dissipates and the conversation flows easily between us. I learn that Leora dislikes seafood and black coffee—she prefers a Cappuccino—and has a peculiar obsession with a movie calledMamma Mia. When she found out I had no idea what she was talking about, her face lit up with enthusiasm as she launched into an animated description of the movie and how we have to watch it together. Listening to her talk about it with such passion was oddly endearing, and I found myself getting drawn into her excitement. To be honest, the movie sounds good.
When the conversation winds down, she turns to me, her eyes trying to hide their apprehension.
"Lucas, can I ask you something?"
"Sure"
"Did you recognise me when I approached you in the club?" Her question catches me off guard.
"No, I didn't," I reply, trying to sound casual, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable that I did, in fact, initially recognize her. I remembered her the moment I saw her. How could I forget a face like hers?
I see her shoulders slump and her gaze shift to the plate in her lap, a shadow of disappointment crossing her features. Fuck, wrong answer.
"Oh."
She doesn't say anything for a few seconds, seemingly lost in deep thought. When she looks up at me, her brows are furrowed and her spine is stiff, as if she's gathering her courage.
"Then why did you act like a complete douchebag?" Her voice is tinged with some anger, and there’s fire in her green eyes.
Me?
Douchebag?
Okay, let’s back up.
"You threw the drink atme," I retort.
"Because you were rude!" Her voice rises slightly, and the girl who looked sad just moments ago is now replaced with a hostile one.
"Do you throw drinks at everyone who’s rude to you? Or just the guys chosen for your ‘missions’, Leora? Is that how you handle things when you don't get your way?"
