Struggle For Power [✓]

Chapter 18

Selena's POV

I don't know what Michael was contently talking about. Majority of it just fell in the abyss of nonsense I couldn't concentrate on. All I knew right now was he didn't seem to stop and if he did, it was only to laugh at the topic or to fill up on some alcohol. I recognised some story from the country club, but that was it. I just felt disconnected from Michael, tonight and just myself in general. Nothing seemed to merge right.

While Michael tucked into his king prawn linguine, I was trying to search for the appetite that vanished the moment I entered the aroma of the restaurant.  The Casereccia Pollo Piccante that was placed in front of me didn't seem to alter my appetite in the slightest, no matter how glorious the smell was and how appetising it looked. My fork just kept playing with each pasta piece and small cut up spinach.

Luckily, the live band that was entertaining us was a smooth jazz act and in my opinion, was one of the only decent things I could pinpoint right now. There were moments where I just wanted to close my eyes and let myself float in my thoughts to the sound of the brass instruments. Smooth jazz was always a personal favourite kind of music when eating for an unknown reason. And sometimes when I'm in an awful mood and just need something to chill and recollect myself.

But I couldn't recollect myself properly or let myself into any conversation, any chord progressions that would make me want to sway lightly side to side. Instead, I was facing a towering wall of emotion which couldn't be knocked down easily. All I knew was the food on my plate was starting to lose its heat and delicious flavour if I didn't tuck in.

"Is everything alright, dear?" Michael mumbles through his half-full mouth. He politely wiped his mouth with the napkin once he finished. The fork that was being fiddled in my hand just collapsed quietly to the deep plate and I just shake my head. "You don't seem extremely talkative this afternoon."

"I just don't feel that hungry right now," I confess with a small sigh. 

"That's not like you to pass on food, especially Italian." He touched my hand and gently squeezed my fingers in his grasps, spreading a little wholesome feeling in me. The smallest of gestures really did make me feel comforted in strange ways. "You know you can tell me anything you want, right?"

"Babe, honestly its nothing serious. I just woke up feeling a little rougher than usual and it's just ruining my appetite." I reassured him. I tried to nibble on a single piece of pasta, just to keep him at a peace of mind. One-piece turned into multiple until it was nearly gone. I was a sucker for Italian and this mixture of ingredients are sublime. One taste and I was weak. I can really think of another situation simular that involves the wrong guy.

He doesn't say anything after that, pleased with himself that I was at least eating something. He only motions his head to show he understood what I spoke and carried on with his meal as well until the decoration of parsley on the plate was the only thing remaining. 

But just as I thought the mood would fade into the music, Michael lets out a sharp breath all of a sudden.

"We get married a week today and we still have so much to do before the day arrives."

I pull myself up slightly from my seat. I don't think my focus on the wedding was been entirely 100%. The wedding really entailed a lot of work, and with our tastes being on the opposite spectrum, perfection was so hard to obtain especially with a man where the middle ground had to be more on his side than others. 

I admit I felt useless with everything. I was basically thrown into the shadows with the organisation despite being the bride. At Michael's request, he was sorting out the caterers, the wedding cake, the music, everything else with little of my input - he would show me a quick photo of something to add my personal touch - though I trusted his judgement would intertwine with my taste as well somewhere. I just seemed out of place, so I could see why the worry was directly on his shoulders - he took on too much.