With that promised, she filled the glasses up with water from the fridge. He noted that she put ice in her stemmed cup but not in his. Perhaps she remembered that he preferred it that way.
Somewhat bemused, he took the wine glass filled with water from her and spent the next hour watching her cook. Save for when she ran upstairs to change out of her work clothes into a pretty yellow skater dress, she chattered the entire time.
“Sorry for talking so much. It’s been a while since I had the chance to speak with someone my own age,” she admitted sheepishly as she put the bulgogi in the bowls she’d set out. “Yaron and all my co-teachers at Young Souls are parents in their 40s. And the kids only want to talk about Yo Gabba Gabba and who did what at school. This is so nice—speaking of nice, the weather’s been amazing. Want to sit on the front porch? Which is, again, way more front porch than one person needs?”
Dawn didn’t wait for his answer. She simply handed him their bowls, filled with meat, rice, and various vegetables, and said, “Okay, lead the way.”
She grabbed a third bowl before following him out of the kitchen, Victor noted. Who was it for?
He soon found out. After he set the bowls down on the porch’s little table, she kept on walking toward the carport at the end of the long driveway where her driver was now parked.
He watched the way the short skirt of her yellow dress whipped around her much thinner legs in the evening breeze. And something in his stomach burned, green and hot, as he watched her lean through the front passenger window to hand the driver the bowl of food.
Their voices floated back to him on the same wind playing with the skirt of her dress.
“Here you go!” she said. “Sorry I can’t keep you company tonight.”
“That’s okay. Was he mad about me not being at the house when he got here?” the driver inquired.
“Why would he be mad?” she asked. “He’s the one who showed up out the blue. Seriously, don’t worry about it. How was Yara’s pre-school graduation ceremony?”
“Cute. Long though. Her teacher could’ve lopped a good half hour off.”
She laughed. And they talked over a few more subjects. His guard actually had to be the one to say, “You better get back over there. You don’t want to keep him waiting.”
Rage burned inside of Victor, hot enough to reheat the food she was letting get cold while she chatted.
But if she noticed his mood change when she returned, she didn’t acknowledge it.
“Ready?” She asked, her voice even more cheery and bright than it had been before.
Yes, he was ready, Victor decided, his black heart hardening as he took his own seat.
Ready to teach her a lesson.
8
DAWN
Yes! Operation Good As New was working! I just might get through this anniversary without losing my mind.
I peeked across the table at Victor. He still looked so unbelievably handsome. It was hard to look at him directly without missing a few breaths. He wore one of those looks that were so popular these days, a short-sleeved black collared shirt with a dove-gray button-up vest. His tattoo sleeve made the outfit especially on-trend. Replace the ruthlessly sculpted hair with a man bun, and he’d be a shoo-in for the cover of Hipster Hottie magazine.
I guessed that this was as close as a guy like Victor got to a springtime look. But it was still sinister as hell. Which was why I could barely believe my plan was working.
When I’d come up with the plan to simply treat Victor like he was still the boy I knew in Japan as we were taking that death march out of the Young Souls daycare, I wasn’t sure it would work.
He’d been so cold when he showed up out of the blue. So bent on punishment, I wasn’t sure he’d let me joke my way into making us dinner. And don’t even get me started on him throwing away my expensive bottle of wine. I wouldn’t call alcohol a crutch exactly. But I’d been depending on it to get me through dinner with my openly hostile guest.
Luckily, Victor had finally relaxed, and now here we were, eating dinner across from each other, perfectly cozy.
Yes, sure, I was doing most of the talking. And, okay, he was barely responding when I asked him questions. So dinner conversation wasn’t exactly scintillating.
“How do you like living in the States?” I asked him between bites of bulgogi.
“Fine.”
“Are Han and Phantom over here with you, too?”
“Sometimes.”
“Where are you living in New York? The state or the city?”
Long pause as if I’d asked him a complicated math question. “The city,” he finally replied.
Seriously, it was like pulling teeth. But I took another glug of water that I wished was wine and kept on trying. “Cool, how do you like living there?”
