Page 48 of The Bitter Rival

Nick chuckles from across the table. “I’ll take the salad and a filet, medium-rare. Thank you,” he adds, handing her his menu. I notice the waitress takes her time gathering it from him, despite the platinum band on his finger. However, Nick doesn’t give her a second glance. She’s appealing, but I feel no interest in pursuing her as I might’ve in the not-so-distant past. Was Nick right? Was I not interested in these young women like I used to be because I secretly wanted more?

“Hey, there you are. We decided there was nothing we really wanted on that menu and came here for a burger and some fries,” Katarina blurts, dropping down into the seat next to her husband, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

I look up, shocked to see an equally stunned Isabella standing beside our table. Something tells me this was all Katarina’s doing. Glancing in her direction, I see a smile dancing in her deep brown eyes and a slight shrug of her shoulders.

“Sit down, Bella. You know Sebastian, right?” Kat directs. She doesn’t even try to hide her menacing grin now.

For fucks sake.

Isabella sits down wordlessly beside me. The not-so-subtle set up apparent to all at this table. I’m not complaining, but I don’t like that she appears to be here under duress.

Undeterred by our silence, Katarina flags down the waitress and places her order, and encourages Isabella to do the same. A John Legend ballad begins playing in the background, and I watch as Kat jumps to her feet, tugging on her husband’s arm.

“Come on, Nick,” she coos.

“Happy wife, happy life.” He laughs as he stands from his seat. From the smile on his face, this dance isn’t as troublesome as he lets on.

The silence is now deafening.

“Would you like to dance?” I ask, looking in her direction. She’s wearing a black shift dress which hugs her beautifully. Her hair is down in soft waves. Her makeup is natural, jewelry minimal.

“No, thank you,” she replies, never making eye contact.

Bzzz. Bzzz.

Looking down at my phone, I grimace, seeing my mother’s name.

“I’m sorry, I have to take this,” I advise as I stand from my chair. There’s no need for an audience for this phone call. “Hello.”

“Happy birthday, Sebastian.” My mother’s voice is chipper. I immediately wonder if she’s made this call with someone within earshot.

“Thank you,” I answer flatly.

“I’m sorry you missed the dinner party.”

I refrain from replying because she knows full well I have no interest in participating in that charade.

“Are you at least doing something nice for your birthday?”

I turn to look back at my table, Isabella gazing back at me questioningly.

“Yes, thank you. We were just sitting down to dinner.”

“We?”

“Mother.”

“Okay, okay. Well, I’ll let you get back to her.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the call,” I respond, hanging up before she can add anything more to this meaningless conversation.

“Sorry. My mother,” I share as I return to my seat. I’m not sure why I feel the need to clear the air but don’t want her mind imagining who the woman on the other end of the line was.

“That was an awfully short call. I hope everything’s okay.”

“That’s the only way to have a conversation with my parents,” I respond, looking in her direction. I continue to look at her in profile until she looks up, wanting her dark eyes connected with mine. “I’m happy to see you,” I add, trying to give her my most genuine smile.

Her look is guarded. Is she as nervous about me as I am about her? Is she feeling the desire formorebut fighting it too?

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