Page 39 of For his Surrender

“Median, to say the least” I reflect.

“Exactly!If he didn’t notice, he’s got his head up his ass.It doesn’t make any sense that you feel guilty that he has such a big ego that makes him unable to see obvious things.”

“Yea, maybe you’re right.”

“Maybe? I’m always right, Antonella!”

And, as if to contradict her, her phone rings.She takes the modern device out of her purse, looks at the screen, purses her lips in disgust and puts it back.

“Aren’t you going to pick up?”

“No. It’s just Bernardo...” she says, referring to her boss. “He had already sent some messages, apparently, now we got to calls.”

“And you’ll ignore the man?”

“I told him I’m sick. What else does he wants?” She takes the glass of champagne to her mouth, and I can’t help but laugh at my friend’s bald face.

“All right, Grazi, I’ll take that one,” I decide.I’ve always believed that clothes can be a silent statement of who we are.It’s been a while since mine said anything butI was on sale, orIt’s the best I could do with what I could afford.

But this dress undoubtedly screams out every single adjective I want people to see when looking at me.If, still, Marcos isn’t able to see me, maybe Grazi is right, and I really shouldn’t feel guilty after all.

“Great!Do you already have the answers to the questions I asked Asshole Marcos?”

“No. I haven’t seen him for long enough in the last few days...”

“You understand we’re running out of time here, right?”

“It’s a fake wedding, Grazi.It’s not the Queen of England’s.”

?

With my phone in hand, I knock on the door in front of me.

“Just a minute!” Marcos shouts, and I can hear his footsteps getting closer and closer.Moments later, the door is opened, and I wasn’t prepared for what’s on the other side, oh fuck!

What’s wrong with him?

Marcos has nothing covering his body but a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair is wet and there are some strands sticking up.The chest, muscular, smooth, has a single drop of running water and I just can’t keep my eyes off it for at least five seconds, even though I know that’s more than enough time to consider it inappropriate.

Good god...

I shake my head, casting away the rain of thoughts far beyond inappropriate that have taken over my imagination, clear my throat and focus my eyes on Marcos’. His serious face tells me he has no idea he shouldn’t answer the door dressed like this, I mean, not dressed, actually.

“I…” I start, but I get distracted by the damn drop, still standing on his chest.Will it run down? Damn peripheral vision! Damn it, what do we need her it anyway?Antonella, get your shit together!You came here with a purpose! Yes, I did! What was the purpose again?The wedding, Antonella! The fucking wedding! Oh, that!

“Antonella?” He calls me as soon as I can remember what I came here to do.

“Sorry... Huh... I need to talk to you about the wedding. I… We…”

“Ah yes! I was looking for you to talk about it. Come in, please.” He gets out of the front of door, making room for me. I blink, embarrassed by the naturalness with which he makes the invitation.I mean, it’s his room, and he’s probably naked under that towel.

“Are you okay, Antonella?” he asks, and I wonder if I have not turned green, honestly, it is perfectly possible.

I open my mouth, wondering how to tell him that I don’t think I’m able to keep my concentration levels high enough to hold a coherent conversation while he’s naked in front of me.

“I… You…” Is he doing this on purpose? Come on! I expel the air from the lungs and, along with it, the words. “Don’t you think it would be better to get dressed first?””

Marcos looks down and seems genuinely surprised, as if he is only now realizing what he’s wearing, or the absence of it.

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