Chapter 10
THE WEEK before the engagement party passed far too quickly for Gabriel. His confidence in Lucy had grown considerably, yet he still felt anxious about her meeting his family. Would they fall for their act? Could he convince them he was in love with the girl? He wasn’t worried about Lucy’s performance: she was showing herself to be an incredible actress. And the story she’d concocted about the way they’d met had been genius.
It went like this:
They’d literally run into each other in the entrance of the Szechuan Garden. He had knocked her down, accidentally, and she had thought he was a complete jerk. He’d helped her up, and was unsuccessfully trying to apologize when she’d kicked him in the shin and took off down the street, absently leaving behind her takeout order.
He’d scooped up the bag and rushed after her. “Like a creepy stalker,” Lucy had said. “He followed me to my car and invited me to join him in the park to split the bag of takeout food I’d left behind. What an arrogant pig!”
But somehow Gabriel had convinced her he was harmless, and by the time they’d gorged on the contents of the bag, which strangely had two fortune cookies in it (a romantic touch that made Gabriel want to gag,) they began to talk, and so was the beginning of their courtship.
He had to admire how she’d effortlessly organized some tidbits about him into an actual romantic scenario. Obviously the imagination of the average American high school senior was alive and well. Must’ve been the glut of cable television, practically how-to programs for those who wanted to rule the world through treachery.
Either way, it was impressive, yet deceptively simple and easy to remember. And even though Lucy was unabashedly greedy, Gabriel was finding her rather easy to like. He still couldn’t believe he’d told her about the tattoo. He had never told anyone that story, even though he displayed the photograph in his office. But somehow, he just seemed to want to tell Lucy things.
Actually, he hadn’t even told the whole truth of the tattoo to Delia… and she’d seen the real thing, not just a picture.
What did that mean? The question left him sitting alone in his office, in the dim light of evening, wondering what the hell was he really doing? Was he just confused by trying to act the part of Lucy’s fiancé? Or was there something he didn’t understand, something right there in front of him, so obvious it should be as big as a billboard, but somehow he just couldn’t see it?
And if what he was feeling wasn’t just an after effect of an act, if it was something real and tangible… well then what?
Had it changed the way he felt about Delia?
No. As he leaned into the leather couch in his office he knew for a fact that it hadn’t changed the way he felt about Delia. But somehow he just knew that the way he was feeling toward Lucy was so far different than what he felt for Delia that he should be ashamed. He should feel guilt ridden and wretched. Except thinking about Lucy didn’t make him feel anything but good.
No, not just good. He felt like he was overheating when he thought about Lucy. He felt like every molecule in his body was vibrating fast enough that he could just explode. And then there was how his mind felt around her. His usually cool, confident thought processes snagged and tripped clumsily around her… and he really didn’t seem to mind.
What the hell was happening to him?
He looked at his watch and saw the time. It was only an hour before the engagement party. He needed to shower and change into his tuxedo. Laurel had it hanging on the back of his office door with a little note tacked to the clingy plastic sleeve.
Congratulations Boss. Lucy’s great!
He smiled as he plucked the note from the dry-cleaning bag. Lucy really was great. But did that mean anything?
He grabbed the tux and started for the gym locker-room. He needed to get ready. And, deep down, he wanted to look good for Lucy.