Page 21 of From the Ashes
“If you’re around next week, I’m, um-” she murmurs.
No fucking way.
“Lunch, my place, any day,” I offer in one breath. There's silence before she answers.
“Your place?” She arches her brow. “Is it…far? I’d have to get back to work around two.”
“Fifteen minutes from here, I’d say.” I don’t mention that the distance from her house to mine is exactly thirteen minutes and forty-five seconds. Depending on the traffic lights. Whatever. That's creepy, I think. And Vox and Ares said no stalking, no creepy behaviors, so...
“Okay, then yes, is Wednesday good for you?” I nod, blood leaving my face. “Can you text me the address? I’ll go there straight from my morning shift.”
“I don’t have your number,” I say.
“Oh, yes, wait. Here.” She gives me her phone, open on a new contact form. I type my number and my name, then save it as if fireworks weren’t knocking at the doors of my chest. “Thank youagain, and for the sweater,” she says with a smile before glancing at the house, “goodnight, Carter.”
I remain frozen, stiff as a tower of bricks, managing only an unintelligible grunt as I watch a light blush color her cheeks. She glances at me, pupils dilated, inhaling deeply, then shakes her head gently and heads to her door. I stay there for a minute, making sure she’s safe in her house, before mounting my bike and heading off to the highway for a much-needed ride to clear my thoughts from the breathtaking woman who just filled every corner of my mind.
Lana.
Will I stand a chance with you?
LANA
2 years ago
“Don’t react, baby, but my boss is sitting behind you,” whispers Ben excitedly.
“Oh.” I’m unsure whether this is a good thing or not. He insisted on us dining in this fancy over-the-top restaurant downtown with crystal chandeliers and waiters pouring wine and giving you mini pieces of bread each time you finish them. Classical music fills the room with abstract paintings and weirdly shaped plates. I don’t even know which fork to use. Should I take the first one on my left? Or maybe the third. Damn it, why couldn’t we go to a steakhouse? I’m underdressed in my navy boho dress with balloon sleeves, large flowers, and my wavy brown hair falling on my shoulders. I should have gone for a straight black dress with an updo. Something classier. To look more put together, as Ben calls it.
“He’s coming. Fuck, that’s so good,” he mutters like an excited child, and the sight of it makes me want to vomit. What is it that I’ve found attractive in this man to marry him three years ago? I’m searching, but I can’t find the answer. Everything that he does repulses me. A fake, bright smile spreads on his lips as he stands from his chair, his hand already ready to shake his boss’s.
“Mr. Miller, what a wonderful surprise,” he yaps loudly for everyone to hear.
“Ben! I didn’t know you came here, it’s my wife’s favorite place,” he says, his voice equally as fake as Ben’s. I wonder if his wife is sitting at his table next to an empty chair and waiting patiently for him. Should I stand too? The man is behind me, and I don’t know the etiquette in these kinds of places. Standing up, I turn to shake his hand, choosing politeness over a little mistake.
“Lana, what are…” Ben faces turns livid as if I had stolen his fifteen minutes of fame. “That’s my wife.”
The man smiles at me with warmth and shakes my hand. “Delighted to meet you, Mrs. Matterson. You’re a lucky woman, your husband won a large public offer for us this year.”
I nod, not knowing if Ben will chide me for speaking.
“I am, sir. Ben is the best.” I cringe at my own words.
Ben is the best.
The best abusive husband of the year, sir.
No one gives punches like he does, that’s for sure.
That’s what lingers on the tip of my tongue. But I remain the perfect picture of a happy and docile wife, just like Ben wants me to be. Quiet, pretty, invisible.
“You can sit down now, honey,” Ben commands me with a tone that I know all too well. Chatting some more about numbers and quarters of things I couldn’t care less about, I wait patiently like a green plant on my seat before the waitersarrive with the main meal and his boss dismisses himself. Three little raviolis are staring at me from the plate, and I know that my hunger won’t be satiated with whatever fancy food this is. Doesn’t matter, I’ll eat a sandwich when we get home. Ben sits back and smooths his dress jacket, his advertising smile disappearing all of a sudden.
“You just couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could you? ” he mutters, but I hear him loud and clear.
“I just wanted to be polite. Wouldn't it be weird to not say hello?”
“No, he’s an important man; talking to him is a privilege. You had no…” he clenches his jaw before hissing between his teeth, “I’ll deal with you later.” A shiver runs down my spine at the thought of how he will deal with me.
