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“I'm glad you agreed to meet here then, after such a long night,” the younger man keeps a close eye on his brother's wife.
It's clear these two are fooling around behind the old man's back.
“The best deals are made by the seaside,” the gray-haired man gestures toward the sea. “What a delightful view!”
“And the best sex, also right here,” Manasseh dips his nose into a glass of liquor, taking a slow sip, locking his gaze on me. “But for me, the only view I can never get enough of is my beautiful fiancée's body, who happens to be a preacher's daughter,” he raises an eyebrow and seems to indirectly provoke me, after earlier threatening me to behave.
Is this a test? Or one of his idiotic games? I don't see the point of this detail.
“Then you're a lucky man, having a saint. Women raised in a religious family are truly special.
“All women are saints until they find the right sinner,” Manasseh looks at me appreciatively.
“It's not just about religion, but the fact that they're delicate and untouched. A woman's virginity is like the cherry on top.”
“Too bad you didn't get to enjoy my cherry, daddy,” I look at him defiantly, and Manasseh almost chugs the drink he had hidden his nose in since we sat down.
I grip the wine glass tightly, the one I had barely tasted from, and I catch him visibly offended. I bite my lip with satisfaction as I feel him hit hard with my remark, and an uncomfortable silence falls over the table. Public humiliation is unbearable for Manasseh. But not only that, the thought that there were others before him consumes him. He wasn't the first, as much as he desires to be in any situation of interest, and for Manasseh, it's enough to set him on fire.
“I strongly believe that mine is more than just a little cherry. She might look like a saint, but she's the wicked witch in the story, and it doesn't matter if you have a 5-centimeter warrior or a baseball bat, Becca will make you feel like a damn eunuch. That's what I appreciate about her. This defiant attitude,” he gazes at me in return, and I truly find admiration in his gray eyes.
I don't deny it, this flatters me, and I almost regret humiliating him earlier.
“She's truly a rare gem then. She's bound to give you some handsome kids,” the older man conceals a chuckle and raises his glass.
“We've been quite active on that front already,” Manasseh raises the glass to his lips again and quickly downs it, signaling the waiter to refill it.
I feel like I'm burning from the inside, and the air suddenly becomes stifling. What the fuck is wrong with them? They're treating me as if I'm some breeding mare. During their unpleasant conversation, I've gone from one feeling to another in less than a few minutes. The other woman doesn't seem too impressed by their conversation, a sign that she's used to her husband's vulgar language. Manasseh and the two men talk as if I'm not even present. The way he looks at me, the detached and uninhibited way he speaks his mind, and the relaxed posture with his legs spread on the wooden chair, swirling the ice in his glass with one of the hands resting on the armrest, is simply nauseating.
“I wish I could be your age again,” the man says nostalgically and looks at his much younger wife. “I used to be one of those who heroically handled three or four matches a night. Now I can barely manage two.”
“You're doing well, like a guerrilla fighter,” Manasseh laughs, and I notice the flush in his cheeks.
I think he might have had a bit too much to drink. A drunk Manasseh would be a first.
After a few formal discussions about health, family, and daily life, when they turn to business, the woman takes me by the arm and we leave the table, descending towards the stone pier that stretches out into the open sea. The resort's lights turn on, just before sunset. I take a deep breath and enjoy the sea breeze after their disgusting discussions left me cold.
“Becca, isn't it?” She slings the chain of her Guess bag over her shoulder, stepping towards the end of the stone pontoon, the sounds of our heels scattering out into the open sea.
“Rebecca, yes.”
“So he finally found you,” she smiles and lets her long ponytail cascade from her shoulder down her back.
“I’m sorry, but what do you mean?” I blink quickly and glance over my shoulder at the Captain's Table, where Manasseh listens to what the man whispers in his ear, but his gaze is fixed on the pontoon, that is, on me.
“Last time he came alone, but now, with you on his arm, he seems fulfilled. Looks like someone managed to pull the stick out of his ass,” the woman says straightforwardly, and we both burst into laughter.
My ankles hurt, and I slip my shoes off when we reach the end of the stone pontoon.
“Manasseh talked about me?”
“Yes. He said he's waiting for you to come back to him. Did you leave the poor boy?”
“In a way...” I gaze at my reflection in the shimmering water and can't help but smile.
“You seem like a good girl, Becca. This world we're a part of is a cruel one.”
“What do you mean?” I stare at the brunette woman, dressed in a green satin dress with delicate gold chain straps, then down at my bare feet dangling, perched on the stone's edge, not really caring about staining my white dress.
