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I type out a string of expletives and a colorful description of where he can shove it. But then delete it and decide no reply is the best reply.
Leave the bastard on read.
Bella’s Bistrois as sweet and charming as it sounds. A French American restaurant known for their long menu of crepes and decadent Sunday brunch. The decor is a mix of florals and antique finds.
The hostess points me toward the patio where Hudson is already waiting. I walk toward his table. The sun brings out the copper hues in his hair, his suit jacket folded over the back of the chair next to him. He has his back to me, and as I approach, I try to picture this being my life, my everyday reality. Meeting my husband for lunch at our favorite restaurant between meetings, because no matter how busy his day gets, he always makes time for us. The jasmine wound around the patio fence makes the air smell romantic and the aromas of the kitchen give it a homey feel.
But when I get close, he notices me and something about the fantasy of domestic bliss dulls. He smiles and stands, pulling out the chair across from him. I sit with a topsy-turvy feeling in my stomach, like maybe his teeth are a touch too white or his hair is coiffed a little too neatly. Like it all is just a mirage or a gilded front. Almost as if he isn’t gritty enough to be tangible, to be real.
“I was so happy to get your email.” He sits after tucking in my chair, his dimple popping as he smiles adoringly at me. It should make me feel beautiful the way he is looking at me, but instead it just makes me feel…played.I’m just a pawn in this game.
Which reminds me why I’m here. “I wanted to talk about the gala and what was said.”
He scoots back in his chair, sitting a little bit taller, “And what exactly was said?”And there it is.There is that slight gleam of chicanery in his eyes, a touch of guile in his voice. It’s something so subtle, barely imperceptible, if I hadn’t grown up surrounded by men just like him that developed my sixth sense for these things.
“You know exactly what you said. And I just want to make it clear that I will not be caught in the crosshairs of some dick swinging match.” His eyebrows raise, and I continue, “I’ll play the dutiful daughter and we will get married, then I’ll play the dutiful wife. But until then, you won’t be throwing around words likefiancéebefore it is mutually decided upon. Do I make myself clear?”
I unfurl my napkin and lay it over my lap to give my shaking hands something to do while I steady my breath. I don’t talk to people that way, especially not men who will soon hold my life in their hands. But there’s been something about going toe-to-toe with Finn lately that is making me want to push back against everyone and everything.
Or maybe I’m taking the stress of being blackmailed out on Hudson…
“Yes ma’am.” He chuckles and leans forward, pushing up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “As long as I make it clear that I will not be made a fool of. If there’s anything between you and that little Fox shit, shut it down. I don’t want scandal or…” he looks me up and down with an evil sneer, “a loose cunt.”
Sit. Smile. Nod. Sit. Smile. Nod—No, fuck that.
I push out of my chair, throwing my napkin down and pitching forward, slapping my hands on the table. “You need me more than I need you. Don’t forget that next time you think about speaking to me that way.”
I storm out the way I came, my heart pounding in my chest and cheeks aching to smile in victory. Riding the high, I pull out my phone and text the one number I should be avoiding:
Meet me at Peaches.
Then I walk down the block to a jewelry store and buy myself the most expensive engagement ring in the place.
The strip club smells like Clorox and overly-fruity body spray. I scan the floor. There’s only one dancer on stage and the crowd is minimal. Single men in trucker hats and groups of two of three in business attire. It is barely past noon on a weekday after all.
I suck in a breath as my eyes bounce around the edges of the ceiling, looking for cameras. It was a stupid fucking idea coming here of all places. But I was so high off telling Hudson to show some respect that I didn’t think. I wanted to confront Finn and knew Peaches was close by and it wouldn’t take much convincing to get him here if he wasn’t already.
And if I’m successful, I’ll have him delete any footage from the club today too.
I text him that I’m here, then remain standing and twiddle my new ring. The movement is subtle enough to make him think it’s subconscious but obvious enough he’ll catch it from wherever he’s lurking. The corners and edges of the club are dark, intended for patron privacy I’m sure. Most of the purple-hued light is trained on the stage. My skin crawls knowing he is watching me. I’m certain he is.
I can feel his presence as precisely as I can feel the hairs on my arms standing and I hate that it’s not all in dread. There’s excitement there too. It pulses when my phone buzzes with a new notification. He replied to my text.
Finn: I know.
Effie: Why do you have to be so fucking creepy all the time?
Effie: Come out.
I pop my hip and stop scanning the floor. Instead I stare straight ahead with a look that I hope mimics teachers right before they sayI’m waiting.If he wants to act like a child, I’ll treat him like one.
Finn: How was lunch? Ended awfully quick. I knew he wouldn’t be able to get you off, though I was looking forward to making you count for me.1
That’s it. I spin on my heels and storm toward the door. This is all a fucking game for him, a way for him to get his dick wet. But this is my fucking life he’s messing with. And I don’t say that hyperbolically. If those pictures get out, I wouldn’t be surprised to find myself dead in a ditch.
Which makes coming here even stupider. But I’m here now, so I’m going to fucking get what I came here for. I turn back around and make a beeline to a table of middle-aged businessmen. I pick up a high-ball glass and slam back whatever is in it, praying for something strong. I set the empty glass down and ignore whatever they’re saying as I saunter closer to the stage.
My foot hesitates on the first step as I look down and see my cherry-red skirt brushing across my knee. I wore this damn skirt to refine my innocent, obedient daughter image, and somehow I doubt that climbing on stage at a Fox-owned strip club will help.
