Poison of love

Jessica

Emotion envelops me like a thin cloak, unstoppable and hard to ignore. The long-awaited day has finally arrived: my mother's art show. Yet, it feels as if the anxiety is mine, more than hers. In the whirlwind of my worries, I can't even decide what to wear. My closet, lacking suitable clothes for occasions like this, seems to mock me. Leyla, with her usual readiness, suggests we go shopping, but we only have four hours to find something appropriate.
To make matters worse, I still haven't bought a gift for Mason for Valentine's Day.
"I'm a terrible girlfriend," I confess to Leyla as I try on the fifth dress in the fitting room, already exhausted and hopeless. Nothing seems suitable, and the prices are out of my range.
Leyla, always proactive, throws out an idea: "We could go to London, call a taxi and..." But I interrupt her immediately, unable to hold back my frustration.
"Leyla, your stores are out of my reach, and we don't have enough time," I reply, sharper than I intended.
She looks at me, slightly surprised.
"I was just saying that for you." I quickly realize I've gotten the tone all wrong.
"I know, I'm sorry. It's just that... I'm really anxious," I admit with a sigh. I don't want Leyla to misunderstand; I know she just wants to help me. But spending everything I have on a dress I would wear for just one night is out of the question.
After trying on yet another dress, I step out of the fitting room, but Leyla is gone. I look around, confused, before gathering my things and leaving the store.
"There you are. Where have you been?" I ask suspiciously when I finally find her.
"I got a call," she replies vaguely, avoiding my gaze.
"Did something happen?" I ask, worried.
"No, nothing important," she says, taking me by the arm and leading me purposefully toward a small jewelry store at the corner of the street.
I have no idea what to get Mason. I still don't know his tastes, but I know his clothes are always brand name, something I can't afford even remotely.
"I want to find him something simple but special," I tell Leyla as we examine the windows filled with bracelets and necklaces for men.
"How about this?" she suggests, pointing out a woven silver bracelet.
I look at it for a few seconds, not quite convinced.
"It's nice," I say, but the tone of my voice betrays my indecision. Then my eyes fall on a necklace with an anchor-shaped pendant.
"Here! This is perfect!" I exclaim, finally excited. It's exactly the gift I imagined.
With the gift settled, only the question of my evening dress remains.
Back at the dorm, I open my closet again, desperately searching for something that might work, but to no avail. Just then, there's a knock at the door. Standing in front of me, on the threshold, is Charlie, Mason's driver, holding a large rectangular package.
"Hello, I didn't expect you so soon," I say, confused.
"I have a package for you, Miss White, from Mr. Mason," he announces politely, handing me the box.
"A package?" I mumble, surprised, and at that moment Leyla appears behind me.
"Perfect timing, Mr. Charlie. Thank you so much for the delivery," she responds in my place, as if she already knows everything.
Sitting on the bed, I open the box with trembling hands. Inside is a delicate and stunning dress, accompanied by a pair of shoes. I take it out carefully, observing every detail: it's a short dress, a deep blue, with a refined ring neckline, made of satin.
"It's beautiful!" exclaims Leyla, her eyes wide open.
"I can't believe it," I murmur, almost voiceless.
"And there's a note too!" says Leyla, taking it from the box and reading it aloud:
"Happy Valentine's Day, Jessica White."
"How romantic!" she exclaims, bouncing beside me.
"I can't accept this," I say, shaken. "Who knows how much it cost him."
Leyla grabs me by the shoulders, forcing me to look her in the eyes.
"Stop it. Wear that dress, those shoes, and get ready for your evening with Mason. This is what you deserve," she says with resolute sweetness.
"You knew everything, didn't you?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
She smiles, conspiratorial.
"Let's just say my prayers have been answered."
Leyla is truly a friend. I've never had anyone care so much about me, someone who genuinely wants the best for me.

Fifteen minutes to nine, and my anxiety grows with every passing second. I look at myself in the mirror: the dress fits me like a glove, and the shoes, with their delicate heel, are the perfect finishing touch. My hair is down, slightly wavy, and a line of eyeliner with a touch of mascara completes my look.
"Jess, turn around," Leyla orders. She takes a nude lipstick out of her bag and applies it to my lips with a light hand. "There, now you're perfect," she says, looking at me with satisfaction from head to toe.
I look at her with a slight perplexity. "What's wrong?"
"You need a jacket," she asserts, heading to her wardrobe. She pulls out a black fur coat that matches my outfit perfectly. She hands it to me, and as soon as I put it on, I feel complete.
Leyla smiles at me. "Now you're ready."
I join Charlie, who is patiently waiting for me outside the dormitory in the car. "Miss White, may I say that you look enchanting in that dress?" he politely confesses, embodying all the elegance of a true gentleman.
"Thank you, Charlie. Isn't Mason with you?" I ask, noticing his absence with slight disappointment.
"Mr. Mason is waiting for you at the exhibition," he replies, opening the door with his usual courtesy. During the drive, I stare at the city outside the window, but my mind is elsewhere, wrapped in a whirlwind of thoughts. My anxiety grows with every meter we approach the long-awaited evening, and the imminent meeting between Mason and my mother makes me uneasy. I tremble, and Charlie, always attentive, notices my state.
"Don't worry, miss. I'm sure Mr. Mason will be speechless," he says gently, trying to calm me. Charlie is a special figure, one of those rare individuals who leave a mark. His elegance, discretion, and deep affection for Mason are evident to anyone who observes them. He's more than just a driver; he's a true friend to him.
"Thank you, Charlie, for your kind words," I reply with a grateful smile. When we arrive at the museum, Charlie opens the door for me again, wishing me a wonderful evening. As I approach the main entrance, I scan the surroundings, but there is no sign of Mason. Then, a familiar voice interrupts my thoughts.
"Jessica!" I turn around, immediately recognizing my mother. "Mom!" I exclaim, happy to see her.
"But look at you, where did you find that dress?" she asks, examining me with sparkling eyes. "I'm happy to see you too, Mom," I reply sarcastically, while a grimace appears on my face.
"Oh, sorry, sweetheart! Come here, you look gorgeous," she says, embracing me with that sweetness only she can convey. "Where's your date?" she asks, looking around.
"He'll arrive soon," I reply, trying to mask my concern over Mason's absence.
"Good, I need to go for a moment. In the meantime, enjoy the paintings." "I'm proud of you, Mom," I say, hugging her again, this time more intensely.
I approach the displayed works with a new awareness: my mother's talent, already extraordinary, has refined over time, and although I'm not an art expert, I can perceive the care and love in every brushstroke. While I lose myself in the details of a painting, I sense a presence behind me. Without needing to turn around, I immediately recognize that scent.
"You look enchanting," a deep, familiar voice whispers, brushing against my ear. I turn around, embarrassed but happy, and our gazes meet.
"I'm so glad you're here," I say with a smile I can't help but show. Mason looks more charming than ever. He wears an elegant blue suit paired with a white linen shirt, with a couple of buttons casually left undone, and light blue loafers. Every detail about him seems perfect.
"There's no other place I'd rather be, Jess," he confesses with an intensity that makes my heart tremble. Our words are superfluous; our smiles speak for themselves. His presence makes this evening even more special, not just for my mother, but for me as well.
Before we can continue, my mother sees us from afar and approaches with her usual warm smile. "Good evening, Mrs. White. I'm Mason," he introduces himself with a naturalness that surprises me. I would have been overwhelmed by embarrassment in his place.
"The pleasure is all mine. I finally get to meet my daughter's boyfriend," she says with ease. I gesture to her to let her know not to embarrass either me or Mason, but he, unfazed, responds confidently. "Yes, that's me," he declares, gently shaking my hand. My mother, visibly satisfied, walks away to return to her guests, leaving us alone.
Mason has handled the situation with an elegance that makes me feel more at ease. The evening continues with conversations about art and elegant people wandering about admiring my mother's works. The atmosphere is almost magical: the room illuminated by soft lights, the walls decorated in muted colors, and a refined refreshment set up in the adjoining room. Mason steps away to get drinks, but while I wait, a sudden voice calls me from behind.
"Jessica..." I turn around, surprised. "Josh? What are you doing here?"
"It's your mother's exhibition. I wouldn't miss it for the world," he replies, holding a glass of wine.
"Have you been here long?" I ask, noticing the half-empty glass.
"For a while. I saw you were busy and didn't want to disturb you," he replies with a bitter tone.
"I'm with Mason," I state clearly, fearing the situation will worsen. The thought of Mason seeing him makes me anxious.
"I need to talk to you. You haven't answered my messages," Josh insists.
"I don't think this is the right time," I interrupt him before he can add anything else. "You need to go now," I urge, knowing it's not wise for me to be seen with him.
But it's too late. Mason is already approaching with two glasses in hand. "Is everything okay?" he asks, scrutinizing Josh with icy eyes.
"Yes, everything's fine. Josh was just complimenting the paintings," I reply quickly, trying to diffuse the tension.
"Nice to meet you, Josh. I'm a friend of Jess," Mason says, but he doesn't return Josh's handshake.
"I know who you are," Mason replies in a cold tone. The air becomes heavy, but just then, my mother calls me. I have to leave them alone, even though I'm worried about what they might say to each other. When I return, Mason is by himself.
"Where's Josh?" I ask, trying to hide my apprehension.
"He left," he says simply.
"Why?"
"It doesn't matter. Let's get back to our evening," he says, smiling, wrapping an arm around me.
The room fills with a tense silence: it's time for my mother's speech. For days, it's been the talk of the town; I've heard her rehearse those words at least ten times a day, to the point that I now know it by heart. I'm excited and anxious for her, as if what's about to happen is the culmination of a long-awaited dream, not just hers, but also mine. Her success, her realization.
As I mentally prepare to experience that moment, I notice a figure a few meters away. My breath catches: it's a presence too familiar to be mere coincidence. "Dad..." I whisper, incredulous. Without thinking, I release Mason's hand and make my way through the crowd, passing among people like a shadow desperately trying to cling to something real. But when I reach the spot where I saw him, he's gone.
My heart races, my breath becomes shallow. I dart towards the entrance, quickly descending the stairs leading outside, still hoping to see him, to stop him. But there's no one. The London night envelops everything with its humid air and muffled sounds. I look around, my accelerated heartbeat seeming to echo in my ears.
Was it a mirage? A reflection of a long-buried desire? My father... why did he have to appear just now, after all this time? Right at my mother's exhibition, after years of silence and absence? I wonder if my subconscious is playing cruel tricks on me, that deep down, my heart still wishes he were here, celebrating my mother's success with us. But, deep down, I know it's just an illusion.
"Jess, what's wrong? Are you okay?" I turn around to see Mason approaching me, breathless.
"Yes... yes, I'm fine," I murmur, still shaken, my voice barely audible.
"Why did you run away so suddenly?"
"I thought I saw someone," I confess, still looking around, hoping to catch a glimpse of that figure I just saw.
"Who?"
"It doesn't matter... I must have been mistaken. Let's go back inside; I don't want to miss my mother's speech."
Here's the translation of your text into English:
I turn back toward the hall, holding his hand, but my mind still wanders, trying to decipher that fleeting moment that unsettled me. Inside, my mother is already on stage, ready to speak. Her voice resonates clearly and confidently, despite the emotions that course through her.
"I would like to thank everyone present—friends, colleagues, and guests—for being here to celebrate this special moment for me. A special thanks goes to my boss, Richard Collins, who believed in me and supported me throughout this journey. And, of course, to all my colleagues and friends who have stood by me during these years of hard work. But my greatest thanks go to my daughter, Jessica."
At those words, I feel a lump tighten in my throat.
"You have been my support all these years. Even when I doubted myself, you never stopped believing in me. You have been my rock, my muse, my greatest inspiration. I wouldn't be here today without you. You are my whole life. I love you, Jessica."
Her words wash over me like an emotional storm, and I can't hold back the tears. The love, gratitude, and bond we have shared for so long overwhelm me. I run toward her, enveloping her in a hug that contains all the strength of our relationship.
"I love you too, Mom," I whisper, unable to say anything more.
After the speech, the evening slowly moves toward its conclusion. The guests begin to leave the museum, still immersed in their discussions about art, while Mason and I walk toward the exit.
"Shall we go for a walk?" Mason suggests with a knowing smile.
I nod, eager for a moment of calm after so much emotion.
We cross Tower Bridge, with the Thames shimmering below us, reflecting the city lights. London at night has an indescribable charm, as if its breath slows and everything finds a perfect balance.
Mason hugs me from behind, holding me gently as we gaze at the view. His presence, warm and reassuring, is all I need at this moment. He rests his face against mine, and we stay like that in silence, enjoying the tranquility.
"Thank you," I say, breaking the silence that envelops us.
Mason stops, looking at me with a questioning gaze and a slight smile.
"For what?" he asks, tilting his head slightly.
"For the dress, for the evening, for everything," I reply in a voice almost a whisper but filled with sincerity.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Jess," he murmurs softly in my ear.
I turn to him, smiling.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Mason," I reply, shyly pulling out the small case I've hidden in my bag.
"For you," I say, handing him the gift.
Mason opens it, revealing the necklace with an anchor-shaped pendant. His smile grows even wider.
"It's beautiful, Jess," he says, examining the pendant closely.
"Why the anchor?" he asks, with a spark of curiosity in his eyes.
"Because I want to be your anchor," I confess with a shyness I can't hide.
Mason smiles gently, and with a delicate gesture, he allows me to fasten the necklace around his neck. Then he moves closer again, taking my face in his hands, and without saying anything more, his lips find mine in a long and passionate kiss. Everything seems to freeze in this moment, while the world, with its fears and uncertainties, dissolves around us.
In this moment, under the stars and with the river flowing peacefully, I am exactly where I want to be.