‘And you, sir?’ the waiter asks, reluctantly turning from Imani to look at me. As soon as his attention is off her, Imani’s smile drops and she’s back to glaring daggers at mefrom the across the table. I know they’re fake and that this is all part of the ruse that I agreed to, but I still squirm in my seat a little.
Being on the receiving end of Imani’s ire isn’t fun.
I give my order and our waiter – Thomas, I can see from the thin name tag pinned to his lapel – swiftly disappears into the shadows once again, leaving us alone. Or, as alone as we can be given that half the restaurant are unabashedly staring at us now.
Imani’s well aware that we have an audience. She crosses her arms over her chest and leans back and curls her lips up into a sneer that doesn’t suit her. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you ordered the most boring thing on the menu. Asher Vouvalis, always taking the safe route.’
‘I know what I like,’ I retort, loud enough that the couple behind her, who have been pretending not to listen, both pause in the middle of raising their forks. ‘And I’m not in the habit of wasting my time.’
Her eyebrows arch like daggers, and for a second I could believe I’ve genuinely offended her. ‘This is a colossal waste of mine.’
‘And yet here you are,’ I shoot back. ‘Having dinner with me.’
‘Only because I was forced.’ She says this with the kind of venom that carries, letting it drop into the room like broken glass. Heads turn. Someone says, ‘Goodness.’ The man in the expensive suit beside us is practically salivating at the drama of it all.
We hold each other’s gaze, both of us simmering in manufactured disdain, until the plates arrive. Thomas places mine down with professional precision, but when he sets Imani’s in front of her, she smiles sweetly again, thanking him with warmth that isn’t even remotely faked. The contrast is dizzying.
Once Thomas is gone, Imani eyes my plate and then rolls her eyes dramatically. ‘Do you ever get tired of being so predictable? So mediocre?’
‘Doyouever get tired of hearing yourself talk?’
She gasps and clutches at her chest like I’ve wounded her. ‘You’re unbelievable.’ She leans forward and hisses with a stage-whisper, ‘You think you’re clever, Asher, but you’re not. Everyone knows you’re nothing more than your last name.’
That one lands harder than I expect, even though I know it’s for show. My jaw tightens despite myself. Around us, whispers ripple across the tables like a current.
Okay, that should be enough for tonight.
‘This was a mistake,’ I say. ‘Clearly you can’t be reasonable.’
Imani gives me a humourless smile. ‘I was just about to say the same about you.’
We finish the rest of our meal in brittle silence, though every action is still deliberate: her sighs, my cold stares, the way we both pointedly avoid any kind of conversation between us.
When the dessert menus are offered, I wave mine away. ‘Separate cheques,’ I say loudly.
A scandalised murmur rushes through the dining room as Imani lets out a sardonic laugh. ‘You haven’t changed.’
When we finally push back our chairs, it feels like half the room is openly watching us and I’m certain I see at least two phones pointed in our general direction.
We walk out in frosty silence.
I keep my eyes forward as we pass the maître d’, whose polite ‘Have a good evening, Mr Vouvalis, Ms Davies,’ comes with the faintest note of relief, as though he’s glad the tension is leaving his restaurant with us. I don’t blame him.
Our footsteps echo in unison down the narrow corridor until the heavy front door opens and the most exclusive restaurant in the city spits us back outside. A gust of cool air hits my face, clearing away the cloying scent of oud and expensive wine that clung to the dining room.
We barely make it ten steps away from the entrance before Imani breaks. A high-pitched sound bursts out of her and, for a second, I think she’s violently sneezing. But then she doubles over, clutching at her stomach, and I realise that it’s laughter spilling out of her. Pure, unrestrained laughter. She’s in hysterics.
‘Oh myGod. That was—’ She cuts herself off with another delighted cackle.
‘Yeah,’ I agree, a smile tugging at my own lips.
‘People weredefinitelyfilming,’ she says, after another bout of unrestrained laughter. A triumphant grin spreads over her face. ‘If we’re not all over the gossip pages by midnight, I’ll eat my shoe.’
‘I don’t think you need to worry about that. Did you see the guy next to us?’ I ask. ‘He wasn’t even bothering to hide his phone by the end. We’ll be on that account within the hour.’
‘Excellent,’ she says, straightening slightly as she wipes at the corner of her eye. ‘They all definitely think we hate each other.’
‘Oh, one hundred per cent.’
