Page 54 of A Win-Win Situation
When we reach the penthouse, not even the fear of the elevator could fill the space. Every unspoken word feels like a weight pressing down on my chest, suffocating me slowly.
"Goodnight, Leora." Lucas breaks the silence, but nothing follows as he walks toward his room and I stand still in the hallway, like the previous evening.
The sound of his door closing makes me jump. It's as if the closing of the door was the punctuation mark on the end of an awkward, and uncomfortable conversation that never happened.
As I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, my mind races with thoughts of what I could have done differently. Maybe if I had just kept quiet, or maybe if I had apologized yesterday . . . But it's all too late now, and I can't shake the fear that this tension will linger for the rest of the year.
The night passes slowly, with the weight on my chest refusing to lift. I toss and turn, unable to find a comfortable position, until finally, the first rays of dawn start to filter through the window.
TWENTY
LEORA
For today's brunch, with the very not-charming and untrustworthy Michel, I dress in an adorable white Zimmerman embroidered sundress with puff sleeves and I pair it with light beige Saint Laurent sandals.
I look at myself in the mirror, taking a moment to admire my outfit. It looks sophisticated and elegant; my hair is up in a ponytail and my makeup is light. Thanks to my tan, a little blush and mascara goes a long way.
Will he like it?The thought crosses my mind but I try to push it aside. I take a deep breath, trying to remind myself that what matters is what I think and today, I think I look great.
Before leaving, I grab my favorite accessory—my bag. The closet is not short on bags either, and I choose a Saint Laurent Mini Cassandra bag that matches my shoes perfectly. I slip on a pair of sunglasses but before I make it out, I hear a soft knock on my door. Opening the door, I’m met by an effortlessly handsome man in his white linen shirt and beige chinos. Lucas completes the look with matching boat shoes and Ray-Bans tucked into the collar of his shirt, exuding a sense of refined style.
His gaze scans me slowly, and there’s an approving look in his eyes.
However, the tone in his voice is curt. "Let’s get this brunch over with."
"Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed," I mumble under my breath.
"Excuse me?" Lucas arches an eyebrow, catching my muttered remark.
I respond with a fake smile, feigning innocence. "Oh, nothing, husband."
Lucas quirks a corner of his mouth at my sarcastic tone but chooses not to engage. With a casual gesture, he leads the way toward the elevator.
While we wait for the elevator to arrive, the mounting silence becomes too much this time and I can't help but blurt something out, "So, is the rest of the year going to be this awkward?" Lucas looks at me, his expression shifting to one of confusion.
"I'm sorry?"
Realizing he didn't catch on, I press further, "I said, are you going to keep giving me the silent treatment and only talk to me when you have to?"
His response is swift, his tone sharp, "I'm not giving you the silent treatment."
"Yes, you are."
Lucas watches me, a hint of irritation crossing his features. "If you'd pay more attention, you'd realize that not everything is about you." The words hang in the air, a weight settling on my chest. I don't respond, but I look at him, silently questioning if he's right. Am I selfish?
The elevator doors open with ading, saving us.We step inside, as always I take a deep breath to try to calm myself down, but it's pointless because of the fact that I might die from this elevator. I can’t seem to continue the conversation which builds up my frustration even further.Stupid elevator fear.
I'm just grateful I'm not alone in the elevator. If it gets stuck, at least there's two of us—we could put our heads together to come up with a plan. Oh, who am I kidding, I'd be on the floor crying.
As we exit the elevator to the garage, a sleek black car pulls up in front of us, and the driver steps out to open the door for us.
"You’re not driving?"
"No, I need a drink or two to get through this brunch."
We climb inside and settle into the leather seats. I try to sit as far away from him as possible, needing space, but he follows, choosing the seat in the middle and caging me between the door and himself.
"I really don’t like you today," I whisper so the driver won’t hear.
