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Meaning, he takes care of himself only because he likes to.
Not because it’s his stupid job or like he’s a bodybuilder or God forbid, an athlete.
Not to mention, his shoes. Again Armani. And they’re polished to within an inch of their life and laced up just right.
As in, in a butterfly knot.
Which everyone knows is the right way to lace up your shoes.
All in all, my fiancé Ezra Vandekamp is perfect.
If I was going to be blackmailed into marrying someone, I couldn’t have asked for a better match for myself.
Currently, we’re at dinner. The one that my dad set up. And he’d be happy to hear that I made it in time. Well, almost. I was probably five minutes late but Ezra didn’t mind. He was busy with his phone, setting up meetings and whatever.
I take a sip of my cosmo as I ask, “So how’s your week been?”
I watch his golden head that’s still bent over his phone as if he didn’t hear me. Not that I mind. I may have lucked out in the forced engagement department but I still don’t want to be here. Probably because I don’t really know him — we got engaged like three weeks ago in a private ceremony, up in New York — or have any desire to know him, given our marriage is going to be a sham. But mostly because I don’t want to lie to him or dupe him like my father wants.
But it is what it is.
And I’m here to do a job.
So leaning forward, I try again. “Was it stressful?”
Finally, he gives me a non-committal hmm.
I keep smiling. “Your week. How has it been?”
Still, he keeps me waiting, his fingers going at such a high speed that I’m afraid they’ll break off. But he stops in the nick of time, puts down his phone and looks up at me.
“It’s been okay,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. “The usual.”
I wait for him to explain but he doesn’t.
He goes for his food — finally — and gets busy with that.
So not much of a conversationalist. Not that I thought he was the other couple of times that I’ve met him, but still. I need him to at least pay me some attention so I can start spreading my Jackson charm like my father wanted.
“So when are you going on your trip?” I ask, even though I already know.
My dad made sure that I memorized all the dates.
He finishes chewing, takes a sip of his drink. Then, “Next week.”
“And when are you coming back?”
Again I know. This one’s a long trip — he’s going to Korea for a merger and breaking ground on a new hotel his company is building — and it’s going to take him at least a couple of months before he comes back. Which is why my dad wants a new wedding date now.
Ezra shrugs, his eyes on his phone as he forks up some noodles. “A few months. Depending on how things go over there.”
And then, he goes back to typing on his phone while also chewing his noodles.
Damn it.
I keep hitting a conversational wall.
I’m usually pretty good at talking and getting other people to talk. But Ezra is a tough nut to crack. So I guess maybe he’s not all that perfect.
“You’re kinda busy, huh,” I comment, taking a sip of my own drink.
No answer.
Which was an answer in itself I guess.
Then, “I was thinking, what do you think about a spring wedding?”
Another non-committal grunt.
“I mean I know we have summer in our minds but I always wanted to get married in spring. Winter even actually. Or you know, when is it that you’re coming back again?”
This time it looks like he didn’t even hear me.
And oh my God, I’m getting super frustrated now.
Leaning forward, I go, “Ezra, are you listening to me?”
Nothing.
I lean forward all the way, my chest touching the edge of the table. “Ezra! You’re gay.”
That gets his attention.
I knew it would.
It also makes him frown. Very hard and in anger. Although I can see that along with his anger, there’s a touch of fear as well. Which is why instead of berating me, he looks around, trying to gauge if anyone heard me.
“No one heard me,” I tell him then, feeling a little bad for blurting out his secret willy-nilly.
But I had to do something to get his attention.
He looks back at me, his features reflecting only anger. “I’d ask you to refrain from saying such things in public.”
“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I know you’re,” I search for how to put this, “not open about it and for a good reason, of course. And I swear I made sure to keep my voice lowered. But I’ve been trying to talk to you and you haven’t been paying attention.”
