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“Because you haven’t accepted to be my fake fiancée. I can’t risk being seen with you on a date and then being seen with someone else later on if you say no. That doesn’t help.”
“Huh. That answer came too quickly.” Her eyes narrow.
“I think things over before I do them.” I let out a breath. “So where to?”
After a bit of thinking, she said, “Alfredo’s. They opened recently, and I haven’t been.”
“Alfredo’s it is.”
I turn on the ignition before asking, “Where is that again?”
“I’ll give you directions.” She looks ahead, but there’s a hint of a smile.
The car smoothly veers in the road, and just as I move, I catch a glimpse of a beat-up Toyota moving behind me simultaneously, but at a distance. One of the paparazzi must have followed me back to New Brooks. My eyes don’t leave the side mirror as we head to Alfredo’s.
***
“Here?” I ask as I slow the car down and stare at the small, red building.
“The one and only.” Layla tightens her painted lips into a small line like she’s regretting her choice to come to Alfredo’s.
The restaurant, hidden from the busy streets in an exclusive enclave, welcomes us. I park my car in the nearly empty lot and adjust my collar against the cold. Layla, unaffected by the chill, walks toward the open black door.
“Are you coming?”
Layla’s face replaces Deanna’s as I turn to face her. For a second, I see a passing resemblance between her and my dead wife. Her head cocks to the side, and her thick black brows are furrowed as she looks at me with curiosity.
“Sure. Lead the way.”
“I was, but you weren’t following. That’s why I asked if—”
“Lead the way,” I cut her off as I started toward her, suddenly pissed about the resemblance I saw.
Layla mumbles something that I can't quite hear. She opens the door, and laughter and the doorbell break the silence at Alfredo's. It has a cozy vibe with warm lighting, brown walls decorated with art and awards, and well-spaced tables covered in white linens with neat glassware and silverware. The scent of curry from the open kitchen, mixed with soft jazz playing in the background, gives the place a sophisticated touch.
“Surprising, right?” There was a chuckle in Layla’s voice.
“This is almost as good as the two-star restaurants in New York,” I said, unable to contain my surprise.
“I heard about it from a friend, but I never had the time to try it.”
I notice that Layla’s words are coming out in hushed tones. I can’t shake the feeling that she chose a restaurant that the townspeople don’t frequent so she won’t have to explain to anyone why she’s out with me.
I understand, and I don’t push further.
We reach our corner table, which is the farthest seat from the kitchen. We sit as the waiter sets the menu on the table.
“So, here’s the menu. One of the waiters will return in a few minutes to take your order.”
“Alone at last.” Layla chuckles uncomfortably and takes a long drink of the water placed on the table.
“Let’s get straight to the point, Layla,” I begin, my tone business-like, accustomed to cutting through the niceties. “Have you gone through the contract?”
“Uh, yes. I have.” She set the glass down, her fingers delicately wrapping around it.
“One month,” I say in a low tone, my legs crossed underneath the table. That’s how long this needs to go on. Those are the terms of the arrangement. You can take it or leave it.”
Layla watched me with her composure, unbroken. Her hands left the tabletop and settled under it. Her eyes didn’t leave mine as she waited for me to continue.
