The Don's Wife

56 | A Distant Acquaintance

- Rosalind -

"Cold-blooded, with silent grace, I use tall grass as my hiding place. What am I?"

- Ronan -

Read the note that came along with the box of tea set sent a couple days after the death of his loathly cousin. A scrap of paper with torn edges, most likely ripped off from a notebook, containing a juvenile riddle in poor handwriting. One that I crumpled and threw away mindlessly. One of the main reasons I am where I am.

Micah told me Ronan has a– 'fetish', as he pronounced it, for asian cuisine. I'm not quite sure what the word means exactly, another term for 'preference', perhaps? Hence why he tends to hold his meetings with Jamie at Asian eateries. Though I suppose his practice differ depending on who's who. With Lucas, he usually held it directly at the family's estate.

This time it's a Korean restaurant. Now, when speaking about restaurant, normally one would expect to find people dining at the place, if not many, at least a few, instead of vacant tables and seats. Waiters or waitresses greeting customers at the entrance, instead of one stationed behind the bar counter, polishing drinking glasses without regard for her surroundings. If not for the dull clinks of the glasses being set down onto the counter, we wouldn't have noticed her presence. The place is completely empty as far as we're concerned. Peculiar..

"Are you sure we're in the right place?" Scanning around the site, I asked Micah who's apparently just as confused as I was.

"Uh– yeah. I'm pretty sure it is." He glanced down at his phone, then up to the restaurant's name to re-check the given information. "I know that he's kind of a, well– a total nutcase to put it politely, including the weird ways he arranges meetings. But, this is the first time he's ever booked an entire place like this.."

Nutcase.. Polite indeed. Too polite at that. Crude, conniving, arrogant lunatic would be a more fitting description. The only redeeming quality about him is his brain, and even that is debatable.

"I'm here for Ronan Sullivan." I announced to the waitress, possibly the manager. Yet still continuing her polishing, sparing none of her attention whatsoever, she answered in a clipped tone ; "I'm sorry, but there is no reservation under that name."

Micah cleared his throat, sending me an apologetic look. "Milady, I think you have to use the code."

The corner of my lips twitched instinctively at the thought of having to utter that absurd phrase.

It's only a bunch of gibberish, Rosie.
For Jamie, this is nothing.

"I'm here for 'my–" My mouth hung open yet nothing came out, as if the words stuck at the back of my tongue. "–for 'my–" I tried again. Same result.

For Jamie.

With all my might, I swallowed my dignity as well as the urge to retch. Taking it from the top, clear, and in haste, I ripped the words off of me to get it over with.

"I'm here for 'my sugar pie'."
Alas, it didn't excuse me from humiliation.

Burst of snorts erupted behind me. I turned to the twins, flashed them an unblinking smile. What nearly became laughter converted into silly coughs.