Page 8 of The Physical Attraction Seminar
I follow her as she leads me over to a cozy booth in the back corner that’s tucked away from the main dining area. The sensation of a hand on the small of my back, followed by the aroma of amber and woody cologne, serves as awake-up call.
“You really don’t have to do this, you know? I don’t mind going back home and making my own?—”
“I wanted to,” he cuts me off mid-sentence.
I pause. Maybe it’s his smooth-talking or the fact that I’m already in too deep, but with a spontaneous choice, I slide into the booth across from him. The hostess places menus in front of us and gives us the usual spiel, saying a server would be right with us. All the while, I’m just hoping that Elliot was serious when he said I’m a shoo-in for the job.
As soon as she leaves, a heavy silence lingers between us. None of the conversation starters that came to mind seem worthy enough to blurt out loud, so I stay silent for a few minutes as the deafening silence seems to stretch on forever.
“So, are you—” I begin to ask at the same time he blurts out his own question, “What’s your?—”
“You first,” I insist.
“I was going to ask your name.”
I pause, feeling a rush of panic flood my thoughts because the idea of giving a stranger my full legal name makes me uneasy—no matter how hot he may be. It’s not like I’ll ever see him again, so if I indulge in a little white lie, he’ll never even know.
“Camila,” I reply after a beat. “You can call me Camila.”
“Camila,” he echoes the name back to me. His voice has a silkiness that sends shivers down my spine. It’s professional yet sincere and almost as mesmerizing as his presence.
An enthusiastic young waiter approaches our table, his smile reaching from ear to ear as he greets us. “Can I get you and your wife started with something to drink?”
I go slack-jawed for all of a second before I forcefully snap my lips shut so hard that my teeth clank together.
Oh, god. He thinks I’m this man's wife.
“I’ll take a glass of your oldest Lafite Rothschild, and my wife will have…” He nods to me with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.
There was something about the way the word “wife” rolled off his tongue that sounded effortless. It’s almost like he’s called me by the name a thousand times and will do it a thousand more. Just thinking about it makes my stomach do somersaults.
I’ve always pictured myself getting married, but I guess I always imagined that the first time someone would call me their wife, it’d be the man I'd marry.
“I'll have the same.” I give the young man a weak smile, and he nods as we share our thanks, then weaves through the tables before disappearing to the back.
“Your wife?” My eyes grow wide as the word slips out of my mouth. I struggle to hide the humor that tinges on my tone.
“I didn’t want to embarrass him, so I thought I’d just go along with it.”
I could’ve dropped it and left it at that, but at this point, if I don’t find amusement in how absurd this day keeps getting, I’ll teeter on the edge of tears. So, when the mischievous voice in my head urges me torun the idea, I do it. Because I could really use a healthy dose of fun right now.
I prop my elbows on the table, resting my chin on my fists, and peer at him through narrowed eyes. “Remind me… where was our wedding?”
“Sunset ceremony in Santorini. It was summer, and all of our close friends and family were there. Big reception afterward. Don’t you remember?”
“Must be a mild case of amnesia from our fall earlier.”
His seat creaks slightly as he leans back, and a mischievous smirk spreads across his face as he fastens his eyes on me. “And how are you feeling after that, by the way?”
“Amnesia aside, I’ll probably survive.” I crack a smile. “The doctor suggested trying to jog my memory. Maybe you should start with more details from our wedding?”
“Well, you wore white…”
“How virginal,” I joke with a straight face, and the two of us share a knowing smile before I press further. “How long have we been married?”
“Two years next month.”
“And are we happily married?”
