Roses

Chapter 8

Adam

Zoey Kirby looks every bit the delicious prey she really is, as she walks into the predator's den. She probably has no idea but I have to work really hard to maintain my confident composure. My heart is fluttering erratically with her every step and I wonder if it will burst when she is finally inside the threshold.

But it's not just excitement at seeing the first domino fall, there's something else. Something much more primal and far from the meticulous way in which my hate plays out for her. I choose not to find a name for it and neither to acknowledge it. That would complicate everything.

When I found out my father had convinced Manny to take him to see her at the park, I wasn't surprised. I knew he couldn't let her go. But this dinner invitation, I did not see it coming.

Not that I'm complaining. It's the opposite really. I'm glad he asked her and even more glad she accepted. Ever since he ran into her at the grocery store, my father has been very useful to my plan. I hope to keep it that way. Because if he finds out my true intentions, I bet he will keep her away from me.

And that's not an option.

I shake away all thoughts of her slipping from between my fingers and focus on my prize.

Once she is beside me, I guide her inside. I want to place a hand on the small of her back, let her know I will be the one deciding which way our relationship progresses. But I stop myself. It's too early and I can't risk making her wary of me again.

We make our way to the dining room wordlessly. I assumed she would say something upon seeing me. Why is she so silent? I thought she'd forgiven me. I paid for her groceries, didn't I?

Someone tell me what else I needed to do!

"You look beautiful," I start. It's easy to say. It's the truth. The second I saw her step out of the car I couldn't take my eyes off her. I have no idea what went through her head when she decided her look for tonight. But she wasn't playing. She fucking nailed it.

She turns her head slightly but she doesn't meet my eyes. "Thank you," she says in a voice so low I wouldn't have heard it if my eyes weren't fixed on her lips. And then she's back to staring straight ahead.

The hell? No 'you look good too'? Not even a single word for me?

Who am I kidding? She isn't even looking at me.

I can feel my temperature rising with her continued dismissal of me. And when the end of her braid brushes against my arm it takes everything in me not to wrap it around my fist and yank her head back. That would get her eyes on me.

I shake my head and change the course of my thoughts again. Because of her.

Thankfully we reach the dining room then and it provides a much needed distraction to me. I watch as my father gets up from his seat at one end of the table to offer her his hand. She shakes it firmly and then takes the seat beside him. They exchange pleasantries as I sit beside her. Normally I would take my place at the other end of the table. But I wasn't going to leave this opportunity to be in her space.

"I hope the drive was okay," my father says.

"It was. Sam is an excellent driver," she replies with a smile.

"And his father is an excellent cook. The food will impress you." My father offers one of his rare smiles. Before Zoey entered his life, I had only ever seen him smile while talking about two people. One of them was Manny.

But now things have changed. In the past ten days I have caught him smiling more times than I can count.

"I have no doubt about that. But I didn't realize Mr. Perez was your cook," she says while straightening a napkin on her lap.

"It's Manny dear," the man appears with a tray of appetizers. It isn't his job to serve the food. Honestly, it is nobody's job. I would do it myself if I could. But Rosa, his lovely wife, would chop my fingers and serve them to me if I tried to steal her job. Considering she is nowhere to be seen, Manny must have insisted to be the one serving when Zoey came. That's interesting. And combined with the knowledge he was the one to suggest Sam pick and drop her, I would bet good money my father has told everything to him. Now I know who else can't know of my plans.

"Just like it's Abraham," my father adds as he digs into his special appetizers, made only with the ingredients Dr. Peterson approved of.

"Right," Zoey murmurs, looking down. Is that a blush forming on her cheeks?

I don't miss the fact I'm the only one who hasn't spoken, or been spoken to, ever since we sat at the table. I have to remedy this, and the only way to do so would be to start the one conversation she could never resist.

"I'm really happy you could come tonight, Zoey," I speak between chewing a mouthful of crab cakes. I don't look at her, just like she hasn't looked at me so far, but I notice her angling her head toward me. Then she instantly snaps her head back to my father, as if it had been a slip up in the first place.

Satisfaction courses through my veins like a fast action drug at the possibility that maybe her entire behavior tonight is just a facade. I may actually affect her on a much deeper level than she's letting on.

"Me too. It was way too tempting not to."

She still looks at my father so I know she's expecting him to start spilling. I am curious to see what he is going to do now. I know he wants to elongate his time with her and giving her what she wants would mean she will have no reason to stay. But I don't think he has it in him to deny her what she wants either.

"Aurora," I don't miss the slight tremble in his voice, "and Bob," I don't think anybody would miss the rage, "would have wanted me to do this." Interesting way to phrase it, Dad. "They would have wanted you to know." The truth? I doubt it. But however Zoey deciphers his words does the trick. Her eyes shine like an ocean at noon. And I know she will stay.

"I used to meet your parents every Friday night at the local bar," my father says with his eyes fixed on a spot on the tablecloth. It's obvious he is reminiscing. But what, really? I don't even know if he's telling the truth.

I had thought I would have the upper hand the entire time during this dinner since I'm the only one who knows everything. But I suppose I was wrong. Either that, or my father is full of shit. I wish I was close enough with him to tell. But I am not.

"Your mother rarely drank anything other than soda water and citrus," my father's eyes shine much like hers. Except hers is a light growing and his is dying out.

He talks the most as our dinner progresses. I listen to everything he has to say. What he did with Zoey's parents during their Friday night drinks. Bob's choice in sports. Aurora's choice in books. But I am nowhere near as enraptured as the girl sitting beside me. Sure, the obvious reason is that it's not my parents he's talking about.

Though that's not it. The real reason is that I have no clue if my father is bluffing. If he is, it's a dangerous gamble. He has everything to lose if she finds out.

But for now it works. Zoey's eyes never leave my father's face since he begins speaking of her parents, even as she continues to eat. She only ever breaks her trance to provide the handful of inputs she has--a memory of cooking something with lemons with her mother and that of her mother reading poetry to her. They align with her mother's apparent fascination with citrus flavors and books, but they are far from the concrete proof I need to know my father is telling the truth.

Faded memories mould easily.

But I leave this pursuit of truth for the time being and only focus on Zoey.

For someone so curious that she drinks every drop of information my father has to give, she asks him no questions. She must have some, right? The dinner ends and I know she will want to leave soon. Will she come back for her questions?

I let my thoughts run wild on her account till I realize their conversation has ended and they are getting up to leave the table. I follow suit, staying behind as my father walks her to the door. Sam already waits for her by my car, holding the door open and something nasty uncoils within me. 

I don't think before speaking, "How about you judge my driving skills now?"