Plight(30)

Danielle shuffled in her seat and dropped her hand to my lap. It surprised me. I never expected her to play along as convincingly as I would.

"He proposed with a Cheezel," she explained.

"Elliot Elijah Parker! Please tell your mother that you proposed with a proper ring."

"Whaaat? A Cheezel is a proper ring."

Mum dropped her head to her hands and then peeked through her fingers. "Is he serious?" She looked to Laura for an explanation.

"I'm not sure," my sister replied. "Elliot has a very good poker face."

I did.

And she'd be wise not to forget it.





I'd been a bowl of emotional soup when I'd turned up at Elliot's earlier in the evening. Nervous. Regretful. Determined. Excited. After having the revelation that I desperately wanted my best friend back and would stop at nothing to make that happen, I'd soon after near fled like Cinderella when noticing how lust-soaked his eyes had been when they devoured me shortly after he'd opened his apartment door. They'd stirred my anxiety and my fear that, I, too, wouldn't be able to resist him. But I'd pushed all of that aside. I'd mentally blocked out the deliciousness dressed in a tuxedo because, had I not, my eyes would've been just as lust-soaked as his. And now, at dinner, sitting opposite his pesky, persistent sister, I felt protective. She was a canon, firing one ball after another at him, hoping she'd tear a big enough hole to expose our lie. I didn't like it. I wanted her to point her relentless barrel elsewhere.

"Elliot! You need to buy Danielle a proper ring, ASAP!" Jeanette barked, almost loud enough for the people sitting at the tables surrounding to hear.

Elliot's fingers stopped tracing circles on my shoulder. "I will, Mum! Bloody hell!"

I shuffled closer to him in the hope he'd continue the delicious finger-spiralling, and in the hope it would calm him down. I don't know, maybe the wine was aiding the emotional soup, but all I wanted to do was help defend the family attack.

"Honestly, schnookums," I said, candidly, successfully keeping a straighter face than the last time I'd said the stupid word. "I don't want a ring. I'm happy with my Cheezels." 

Elliot nearly choked on his beer.

"Schnookums?" Laura asked, one side of her face lifting distastefully.

I nodded enthusiastically at her. "Yes! He loves it. He's my cuppycake, schnookums. My pumpy-umpy-umpkin, aren't you?"

This time, Elliot did choke, so I rubbed his back like the good fake fiancée that I was before playfully grabbing his chin. "Oh, don't pretend you don't love my nicknames," I added, my voice baby-like. Condescending.

He tried to bite my fingers, his pearly white teeth gleaming. "I love them just as much as you love yours, honeybunch, gumdrop, pookie-ookie cookie-pie."

Pookie-ookie what the fuck?

I bit my lip, my nostrils flaring, my cheeks stretching into an uncontrollable smile.

His eyes lit up. "You're going to snort-laugh, aren't you?

I shook my head.

"Yes, you are. Do it," he coaxed. "You know you can't fight it."

I bloody well could. The last thing I wanted to do was snort-laugh in front of Jeanette and Laura.

"Come on, let it out, pookie-ookie-"

"Stop!" I snorted. "Stop!"

Burying my face into his chest, I hid my embarrassment as I continued to honk and giggle quietly, each breath I inhaled delivering the intoxicating scent of his aftershave. He smelled good, oh so good. Fresh and musky. Clean and manly.

"Danielle," he whispered. "I'm not crack. Stop snorting and sniffing me."

I should've stopped. I should've let go of his crisp, white shirt and distanced my nostrils from him. I just  …  I just didn't want to. I was happily warm. Snug. I was in manly aroma heaven.

"Do I have to?" I murmured, inebriated by his fumes.

Elliot lowered his head, his lips brushing the tip of my nose. "No. I'm happy for you to stay right where you are, indefinitely."

The warmth of his breathy words and the heat from his body were all the fuel and ignition needed to set me alight from within, a raging inferno of desire blazing to the surface of my skin, scorching my cheeks and parching my mouth. I shouldn't be feeling this. I. Should. Not. Be. Feeling. This.

Slowly pushing back from his chest and sitting upright again, I gave him a shy smile, my hand dropping to safely rest on his thigh.

He glanced down at my fidgeting fingers for a moment then covered my hand with his, as if it was how our hands were supposed to be, and what was even stranger was that, in that moment, it felt as if they were.





After Laura's presentation, we didn't hesitate to make a hasty exit by delivering an Oscar-worthy performance that portrayed Elliot as a workaholic and married to a high profile case, and me as the super supportive fiancée that encouraged his dedication. It was perfectly executed and unchallenged by its audience. Well, everyone except Laura, who had insisted we stay for dessert.