We sat and the waiting staff set the plate of salad in front of us.
“Oh, is it possible to have another one with no croutons, and with lardons and dressing on the side?” she asked, pushing her plate away.
I was used to women like that and this was common behavior, and yet tonight it annoyed me. All it did was remind me of Ava and how I often saw her wolf down food like she couldn’t care less. She was infuriatingly secure in who she was, which was completely justified.
I cleared my throat, resting my forearms on the table. “What’s the project Ava is helping you with?” I asked before forking some of my salad.
“It’s for my latest charity project—bringing second-hand designer clothes to poor people because, you know, fashion matters, right?”
I looked at her unblinking, my fork halfway to my mouth. She had to know how stupid her idea was, she had to.
But she was just smiling at me, her face full of pride as if she had just found the solution to solve world hunger, one Versace sweater at the time.
How little Ava must think of me after hearing Cecilia’s idea and how completely disconnected from reality it was. No wonder she looked disappointed when she left. I had to admit I was a little disappointed at myself too for having thought, even for a minute, that Cecilia could be my perfect match.
I shook my head and stood up. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“This, you, us.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”
She stood up too, her cheeks tainted with her rightful anger.
“Are you—” She stopped and frowned. “Are you sending me away?” She pointed at her chest. “Me?”
I nodded.
“If you do that, there’s no turning back. I won’t come back this time.”
We both knew that she would, but it didn’t matter. I let my feelings take my decisions once, I would not do it again. Cecilia didn’t matter, she never did. “I understand. Good night, Cecilia.”
I grabbed my wallet and keys from the counter and called the elevator down, feeling her presence right behind me, her glare on the back of my neck.
“Do you enjoy playing with people's feelings?” she asked as we stepped in.
“Not particularly,” I replied, looking at the numbers on the board going down painfully slowly, and regretting for the first time living in the penthouse of a fifty-seven-floor building.
“Then why did you do that?”
I turned to her and I would have felt bad if she looked sad or hurt, but all I could see was annoyance, reminding me that Cecilia's interest in me had never been a matter of the heart. It was a practical one—name, fortune and legacy. Little more mattered to her.
“Because I thought I could, and if it makes you feel any better, you might have been the only one in our world who had a shot at the goal.”
“What goal?”
“Having my ring on your finger.”
Her cheeks colored lightly with the embarrassment of being caught. Did she think she had ever been discreet about it?
“A little conceited, don't you think?” she asked, turning to face the door while holding her clutch tightly in her hands.
“Possibly,” I conceded with a shrug. “But it doesn’t make it any less true.”
The door opened to the main hall and I gestured for her to exit the elevator. “Jeffrey, please have a car take Ms. Hannover home,” I told the concierge before pressing the button for the parking garage.
I took to the busy streets of London a lot faster than I should have, my irritation more and more present at myself, Ava, Ethan and the whole mess of a situation.
She’d been clouding my thoughts, so discreetly poisoning my thoughts, making me dependent on her without even noticing it.