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“Just don’t wear Prada next time.” Why he would ever wear a designer suit to art is beyond me.
“Why the hell do you have lime green paint in art class, anyway? What happened to primary colors?”
“The lime green glows in the dark. It is awesome, and the kids love it. Why stick to primary when you can have a rainbow, Ben?” I ask, almost in challenge, to try to get him to see that things are not always as simple as he thinks they are. His jaw clenches, but he remains silent.
“So, my darling, did you have a good day today?” I ask, pouring on the act, trying to let it sink into me. Reaffirming this is just pretend and not actually a real date. Aside from our date last week, it has been years since I went on a real date, and I can’t let myself get confused. I need to remain focused. Laser-like vision on the end goal. He looks at me, smiling at my change in subject. Our hands remain intertwined, him holding them on his lap.
“Work, work, and more work. You? How are the kids?” he asks, pushing the questions back to me like the talented lawyer he is, and whether he realizes it or not, his thumb is strumming across my hand, caressing my skin lightly, giving me goosebumps up my arm. I force myself to not think about it. He is obviously getting into the act, making it feel more natural, so I try to ignore all about the warmth spreading across my chest, and make small talk.
“Well. We had music today, along with story time at the library, so it was busy.”
“Music?” he says, cringing. “How does that not give you a headache?” His shoulders lower, his body relaxing. I like that talking to me relaxes him.
“It does. But it’s worth it. You should hear it when we do choir!” He squeezes my hand as he chuckles, making me smile. Then he’s bringing it to his mouth and kissing my fingers. The move startles us both as we lock eyes, and he freezes, my hand midair near his lips. What is going on? My heart thuds out of my chest. This all feels too real. Too good.
The car stops after traveling the short distance to the most expensive restaurant in the city, and Ralph jumps out to open the door. I watch Ben swallow, his grip on my hand still firm as he lowers it slowly.
“You ready?” he asks, breaking our stunned silence. He looks at me questioningly. This is the moment. This is the moment I should say no and get back to my suburban apartment, lock the doors, and pray this whole nightmare will go away. But as I take another deep breath, I catch his woodsy cologne, and as his eyes pierce mine, I put on my mental armor.
“Ready,” I reply, pushing my shoulders back and getting my bearings.
Ralph opens the door, and Ben steps out, waiting outside the car for me, then he grabs my hand again. I haven't been to this restaurant before, but they are all the same. The last time I was at a place like this was with Jeremy. The memory sends a shiver down my spine.
“Cold?” Ben asks as we walk into the restaurant, and he drops my hand, placing his around my lower back and tucking me into his side as we start this game of being life partners.
“I’m fine,” I say as I lift my head high, ready for the parade through the restaurant.
Ben speaks to the maître d', and we walk through the bustling room, weaving between tables and waiters. I don’t miss the stares we get and the quiet murmurs that now fill the air. Ben must feel me stiffen because he squeezes my waist. I feel his thumb again, rubbing so slightly against it, caressing my skin, which puts me at ease. Even though it should have the opposite effect.
When we reach our table, Ben pulls out my chair, and I sit, remaining elegant, pulling from all my history as I feel every pair of eyes in this restaurant on me. I take a sip of the water on the table, looking at Ben, who is far too calm and charismatic, sitting opposite me, as he pays no attention to the looks we are getting and instead orders us a bottle of mineral water. I realize he’s not choosing the wine tonight, knowing it isn’t my drink of choice.
“I have been meaning to ask you…” he begins, leaning back in his chair, looking into my eyes.
I raise my eyebrow, waiting for the question he is pondering. He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, a woman comes up to our table. Looking up at her, I see that it is Sasha, and even though I have only seen her twice, she is becoming an extremely annoying thorn in my fake relationship. I watch with interest as she completely ignores me.
“Ben, how great to see you!” she gushes, and Ben sits forward, grabbing my hand on the table, his thumb again moving across my skin almost absentmindedly.
“Sasha. How can I help you?” he asks in a cold and somewhat distant voice.
“Oh, I just wanted to say hi,” she says sweetly, her lame excuse falling from her lips. She still hasn’t acknowledged me, acting as though I am not here at all.
“I was speaking to your mother the other day…” she continues, and I get the feeling that these two must have dated for a while if she knows his mother. Ben sighs like the whole conversation pains him.
“I thought as much,” he murmurs, the smile that was on his face moments ago falling away.
“She was very surprised to hear that you were engaged!” Her eyes finally flick to me, a small smirk pulling at her glossy lips.
“Yes, I guessed she would be,” Ben grits out, not adding to the conversation with unnecessary information.
“She seemed to think I was incorrect about that fact.” I can’t believe the audacity of this woman.
“Well, this diamond on Emily’s hand would prove otherwise,” he says, lifting my hand and kissing my finger. I give him a small reassuring smile, deciding to help end Ben’s misery.
“Sasha,” I say to get her attention, and she looks at me as though I am a piece of dirt on her shoe. “It’s so great to see you again. But if you don’t mind, my fiancé and I are having a romantic dinner for two. If you can leave us to it, that would be great.” My tone holds a little more venom than I was expecting. But seriously, he is my fiancé, as far as she’s concerned. Take the hint!
I see Ben bring his other hand to his mouth and stifle a grin, clearly pleased that I stepped up to the job of possessive fiancée. Sasha looks like I have slapped her.
“Ben, save a drink for me at the end of the night. We both know I am the kind of woman you need to be with, not…” She doesn’t finish the sentence as she looks at me, her silence speaking volumes about what she really thinks. She looks back at Ben, flashing him her pearly whites and giving him a shimmy of her big breasts that are barely contained in her skimpy top. Turning, she gives me a brisk nod with fire in her eyes before she retreats. I have a feeling that won’t be the last I see of her.
