The Arrangement Anthology 1(87)

Glancing around the waiter, I see a man sitting alone at a large table. His eyes are lowered and his head is tipped downward, like he’s reading something on the table. Dark messy hair conceals his face, but I know that hair. I know those shoulders and those cheeks covered in light stubble. This can’t be happening, runs nonstop through my mind. But it is happening and there’s no way to stop it. It’s like watching a train wreck. You see the two forces speeding toward each other, and they’re on a collision course. I swallow hard, trying to keep my pleasant face intact when we stop in front of the table.

Henry steps around the waiter and extends his hand, “Mr. Ferro, good to see you again. When I heard you were delayed in New York, I couldn’t believe my luck.”

Sean’s eyes lift slowly. He has amber liquid in a crystal glass, no ice. When his gaze falls on Henry Thomas, he seems all right, but when his eyes shift to me—awh, fuck. It’s everything I can manage to stand there and act like nothing is wrong. I’m fucked; like totally, miserably fucked. There’s no way tonight is going to turn out well. There is no way that Sean is going to act like he doesn’t know me. I told him to screw off the other day at the beach.

I hate Sean in that moment. I want to scream and yell, but I don’t. I can’t. I stand there with my plastic expression, pulled into a fake smile. Every ounce of dread that flows through my body is hidden by that grin, but it’s so fake that it wants to crack like a piece of dried out plastic.

The final straw falling. This will be the end of me. I’ll find out what Miss Black intends to do about my debt. I’ll find out what Gabe meant in the car earlier. There’s no way back, not now—not ever.

Sean stands and extends his hand to Henry and I. “Sit, please make yourselves comfortable. I took the liberty of ordering desserts since the chocolate soufflé here is worth crossing the pond for, is it not?” Sean smiles broadly at Henry.

They chatter more and we are all seated around the little table. A single candle flickers calmly in the center. My eyes fixate on the tiny flame. I wonder if I could knock the thing over and make it look like an accident. Then, I’d need to run to Schenectady and change my name to Mary Higgins or something.

Damn it. What do I do? Why hasn’t Sean said anything? My stomach twists tighter and tighter until I feel like I’ve been turned inside out.

I realize I zoned out and didn’t hear half of what they said. Henry is gently touching the top of my hand. “Sweetheart, Mr. Ferro asked you a question.”

I blink and my attention snaps to the hand touching mine, then up to Henry’s face. I can’t look at Sean. I can’t. “I’m sorry. It’s rather warm in here.” I take a breath and let it out slowly. It would help if I could actually inhale, but I can’t. The dress is so damn tight.

“Please, call me Sean.” Sean is leaning back in his seat. He looks stunning. The stubble on his cheeks is perfect. His hair has that naturally messy look that I find so appealing, but it’s his sapphire eyes that undo me. As soon as I glance up, I regret it, but I can’t ignore him any longer. For some reason, Sean hasn’t ratted me out—not yet. “And, it is rather stifling in here, Ms. Stanz. There’s a balcony around back that overlooks the park. You could walk the terrace and catch your breath, if you need a moment.” Sean holds my gaze as he says it. Each word feels like a nail in my throat. I’m transfixed by his voice, lost in his gaze.

I shake the sensations shooting through me away. “I’m all right, although it sounds lovely.” I smile at him and find my footing again. I’m worried about him blowing my cover, but I’m not doing a half-assed job and spending the whole night worrying about it. Today’s the day that I’ll have no regrets. I’ll do the best I can and that’s all I can hope for.

Henry and Sean order the food. I have no idea how to read the menu, since it’s not in English. I’ve never felt so stupid in my life. Henry leans in when the first plate is brought out and whispers in my ear, “It’s squid and snails in a wine reduction. Try it.”

I’m not really a seafood person. Are snails considered seafood? They crawl around in fish tanks, so maybe. Either way, I don’t like the booger texture when it comes to food that lives in the ocean.

I smile hard and pick up one of the forks. I think it’s the right one, but I’m not really sure. There’s a thingie on my napkin to hold the snail shell, kind of like pliers. Briefly, I examine them and wonder who makes these things? They’re pliers for rich people who like eating slugs in fancy restaurants. Who else would buy them? I poke my fork at the snail.