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As the waiter arrives, Richard orders drinks, without even asking me what I would like, and I immediately get frustrated. Looking around, I see a few people I know, the Rothschilds included. I give them a smile and wave, and mentally remind myself to go over to talk with them at the end of their meal.
Two glasses of white wine arrive, and I don’t touch mine. I hate white wine; it always gives me a headache, and I have never drank it. The fact that Richard knows this and is completely oblivious, further cements to me that separating from him was for the best.
We make small talk, and the waiter comes back to take our order. Richard begins, but once again, before I can say anything, he orders for me and the waiter is gone, the whole process happening too quickly for me to point it out.
He is driving me crazy today. I am so frustrated, and I am not sure why he is all of a sudden interested in spending time with me, because he certainly wasn’t there for me these past few months when I was caring for dad. In fact, Richard has never been there for me. He always just looks out for himself, something I didn’t understand until a few months ago. I wonder how I could have been so oblivious to it all, because it is as clear as day now that I have had time apart from him.
Once the waiter leaves, Richard continues talking about his work and who he is meeting with and how his career is going. Working in finance law seems to thrill him, but it is so boring to me, so I tune out. It is a small firm, which he took over from his father a little while ago when he retired, and he’s working hard to try and elevate it to a top tier firm in D.C., but he has a long way to go. As he talks, I look past him to the tables behind him and notice his parents are not too far away. It is odd, but I guess not totally unusual. Fiola’s is a popular place.
“Don’t you think so, Issy?” Richard asks as he grabs my hand across the table and startles me from my thoughts.
“Sorry, I missed that,” I say apologetically, because I don’t want to be rude. But the fact is, I just don’t want to be here at all. Rubbing my hand with his, he starts to talk down to me like a child. “You know, Issy, you really need to start paying more attention to things. I know you have had a hard few months, but that is no excuse for letting your standards go.”
I am shocked and a little taken aback. A few hard months? Letting my standards go? What is going on here? Before I can say anything, the waiter returns—his timing has been impeccable tonight. Fresh gnocchi napoli is placed in front of me, and I take a deep breath in, smelling the fresh basil and parmesan cheese. My mouth is watering, and I can’t wait a second longer. I look across at Richard, and thank God he has started eating, so I dig in, pretending to be listening to whatever he is droning on about now.
As I take the last bite, my belly now nice and full, the waiter takes our plates, and my eyes once again wander the room. I stop short when they land on my mother and Brian sitting together cozily at a corner table, looking lovingly at each other. I stare at them. I mean, it has literally been less than a week since we buried dad, and here she is with her boyfriend out in front of everyone. My blood boils. What is going on tonight? Have I stepped into an alternate universe? Why is everyone here at Fiola’s?
“Sweetheart?” Richard says as he grabs my hand in his again, and I wish he would stop touching me.
“Yes, sorry, what?” I can see a vein in his neck throbbing, indicating to me that he is angry. He doesn’t often get angry with me, and I am glad for that, because he can be a little scary. I have seen him explode at other people, and I for one do not want to be on the receiving end. I just want to go home.
“Darling, I asked you here tonight because I know this is your favorite restaurant, and I have missed you. These past few months without you are ones I would rather forget, but they have shown me that I don't want to live another day without you by my side.”
“Excuse me, what?” I ask quickly, not sure what he is saying right now. We broke up. We are here as friends. What in the world is going on?
“Isabelle,” he says as he pushes back his chair. He stands and walks a few steps around the table and then kneels on the floor. I gasp as I realize what he is about to do. No no no no no no, get up, get up, I say to myself as I begin to stand. I need to run, but he grabs my hand like he knows what I am thinking, keeping me firmly in place, standing in front of him.
“Isabelle Rosalie Connors, will you do me the honor of being my wife?” He pulls a black velvet box from his pocket and opens it. The diamond is huge and glistens in the lights, and the whole room stops. Everything is silent, and as I look around the room, I see everyone is watching. My mother, who is only focused on her social standing, and his mother both have smiles on their faces and tears in their eyes. I spy a photographer or two in the wings, taking pictures, no doubt for the local paper, and I know the man kneeling before me was the one to tip them off—never one to miss an opportunity for self-promotion.
“Issy,” he says as he squeezes my hand, “now is the time you say yes, honey.” He grits out the words, anger and embarrassment slowly seeping into his body as he begins to realize that yes is not the answer I am going to give him.
I pull back my hand, and slowly shake my head. “I’m sorry, Richard,” I whisper as I grab my bag, before turning and running out the door. I hear the women in the room gasp behind me, but I don’t stop to look. I rush out the door and into a waiting cab, while camera flashes document my every move.
As soon as the cab pulls away from the curb, I let go of the breath I have been holding. I am horrified. How dare he put me in that situation, in front of everyone including paparazzi. Not even ten seconds later, my phone starts to buzz. Opening my purse, I look at the screen and hit decline as I send my mother to voicemail. I can’t deal with her right now. I put it back in my bag and ignore the pings and ringing coming from it, knowing that news travels fast in D.C., and within an hour, everyone will know what has happened tonight.
As the cab arrives at my house, I am no longer upset, I am livid. What a selfish asshole.
I pay the cab and make my way into the house. Slamming the front door, my cell phone continues to chime with messages and social media notifications. It rings and rings, and pulling it from my purse, I see Kelly’s name flash on the screen. I answer it as I stride around the house.
“What the hell?” she screams down the phone.
“OMG, Kelly he has lost his goddamn mind if he thinks I will ever marry him,” I say, completely exasperated.
“It is all over social media, he must have had cameras waiting in the wings,”
“He did. My mother and his parents were there, it was a total set up.” I walk up the stairs to my room, wanting to shut the door on the world. “This is going to be across every local gossip site by the morning. Just another thing I don’t need right now.”
“Are you okay?” she asks as I reach my bedroom.
I let out a sigh. “I will be. But I won't be in the office tomorrow, that is for sure.”
“It’s fine, we can handle the office. Plus, I think we have all proven that you working remotely can work, so it is a no brainer. Pack your bags and come over, I’m getting your room ready. You are staying with us tonight.”
“Thanks, Kelly,” I say softly in appreciation. I am grateful that I have at least one person in my corner.
“See you soon.”
As I hang up from Kelly, my eyes catch the letter sitting on my desk. It has been sitting there since the day before the funeral. Dad's friend Tony brought it over to me when he came to pay his respects. Apparently, dad gave it to him for safe keeping, for him to give me once he passed. I have been too scared to open it, fearing what words are inside.
