Page 80 of The Awful Truth

Her father, who was standing next to her mother, gave her a hard look, and then turned away. Petra assumed it was because she was late and her mother was upset. She made her way through the busy kitchen and down the hall to the washroom while Hermina ordered everyone into the dining room. As she patted her hands dry, Petra stared at herself in the mirror. She looked different this evening. She was different. She was no longer the obedient spinster daughter, destined to live with her parents until she was old and they were ancient. She was mysterious and daring and in love. She had a bright, shiny future ahead of her. At least she hoped she did.

“Petra! Hurry up!” her mother called.

“Coming, Mama!” she barked back.

Just as she turned off the light, she felt her trouser pocket vibrate. It was Luka. She pulled it out and read his message. Striking out here. You must have something by now, no?

She stared at his words. They were quite inconsiderate. Impatient. She scrolled through their messages from the last couple of days. Huh. He hadn’t responded when she said she wished she was there with him so they could sit in the hot tub and look at the stars. And now that she reread their messages from the morning before, she realized he wasn’t being protective when he told her to act natural. He was dismissing her fears about her boss catching on to what she was doing. He was telling her to go ahead anyway. Plus, he’d already ordered a beer before she got to the restaurant. Not to mention the fact that he hadn’t stood up to pull out her chair.

“Petra! The food is getting cold!” her father yelled.

“Go ahead without me! I just had an important work email come in!” She was screeching. She shouldn’t do that. It wasn’t her father’s fault that she was very likely being used.

Walking to her bedroom, she shut the door and sat on her bed. Everything he needed was right here on the USB stick in her pocket. It would make a hell of a popular season. Not just an affair, but the man doing the cheating and his wife were famous for being marriage therapists. And the victim was a billionaire married to a Hollywood star. It really didn’t get juicier than that.

There was only one way to find out if Luka was using her or if he loved her. Pretend she failed.

She quickly wrote him a message.

Got fired today before I could get you anything. Have been barred from the building. My parents are furious and are kicking me out. I’m now jobless and homeless, but at least we can be together now. Can I stay at your place tonight?

She hit send before she could rethink it, her stomach tightening. One checkmark to show it sent and immediately the second one appeared to show he’d read it. Oh God, what had she done? What if he did love her? Had she just ruined everything?

She chewed on her thumbnail, waiting for a response. If he truly loved her, he’d forgive her for testing him like this. After all, she was risking everything for a chance to be with him, and he had yet to risk anything other than the cost of a hotel room. She was just protecting herself.

She could see he started to type. Then stopped. Then the dots appeared again.

And then he left the chat.

It felt like a slap to the cheek, complete with the hot skin. Her heart dropped to the floor. She had her answer. Now all she wanted to do was crawl under the covers and never get up again.

FIVE MONTHS EARLIER

It was a cold, gray March afternoon as Petra hurried from her office to Zukko’s, the new coffee shop that opened up down the street. She tightened the sash of her wool coat and exchanged an Isn’t this weather the worst? look with a woman passing by. Everywhere Petra went, someone was ‘sick to death’ of the rain. She was sick to death of hearing about it. It was true that the bura had been especially brutal since Christmas, the sounds of the howling winds grating on Petra’s last nerve, but she didn’t need to talk about it incessantly. Wasn’t it better to ignore it? It’s not like complaining was going to change anything.

She stepped inside, the bell ringing above the door, and the warm air wrapping around her like a hug. She loved Zukko’s Coffee House. It was the closest thing Croatia had to a real Starbucks. It felt modern and cozy and very American. It was even overpriced, like the real thing. Her parents would be horrified that she was spending so much money every week on her afternoon pick-me-up, but she didn’t have rent to pay or children to support, so why not treat herself?

She glanced to her right and her heart fluttered. He was here again. The handsome blond man with the laptop. That morning, when Petra dressed in her red cashmere sweater and wool trousers that the saleswoman said ‘elongated her legs,’ it was with him in mind. He picked up his mug and took a sip, his eyes landing on Petra. His expression shifted to a broad smile when he saw her, and he gave her a little wave. She waved back and then took a couple of steps toward the counter as the line moved. Petra scanned the menu board, then checked her watch. She really didn’t have time for one of their specialty drinks. She would get an Americano. Less sugar than a lot of the other options.

A few minutes later, a bored-looking barista called out Petra’s name and pointed to the counter where her to-go mug and a paper bag containing a birthday cake pop were waiting. Petra walked over to the far corner and sat at the table next to one at which the handsome blond man was so busy working. She sipped her drink and burned her mouth (but pretended she hadn’t), then pulled out her cake pop and had a bite. Hmph, it was pretty dry, actually. And too many sprinkles. She should’ve gotten chocolate. She could hear her mother’s voice in her head: That disappointing bite cost you fifty cents.

Shut up, Mama. Let me enjoy myself for once.

The man glanced at her, then said, “How’s your dessert?”

“Delicious,” she told him, having read once in Cosmo that you should always sound enthusiastic about everything when you first meet a man. Men don’t want women who complain. They want fun, easy-going women.

“I’ll have to try one sometime,” he said.

She gave him a cutesy face that she’d been practicing in the mirror and lowered her voice. “I don’t know. It’s not that good.”

He let out a loud laugh, then said, “I appreciate your honesty.”

They each had a sip of their drinks and Petra tried to work up the courage to ask him if he wanted to join her. In the end, she decided it was too bold. That article said men like women who are bold, but not overpowering. They liked to feel as if they were in charge. Let them pursue you, and if they’re shy, at least make them believe they’re the ones doing the chasing. “What type of work do you do?”

He looked the tiniest bit offended by her question for a brief second, but then his smile returned. “I’m a podcaster, actually.”

“Really? I love podcasts. What type do you do? Maybe I’ve heard yours.”