OLDER MEN | THE WEEKND

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He's looking her up and down, — each millimeter lower like a cold finger down her back, and Bella can't help but freeze in the doorway for a few seconds. His eyes end where the hem of her skirt begins.

She makes her way over to her seat whilst the clicking of the forks and the small chatter starts up again.

Luca doesn't take his poisonous gaze off of her, either. "Where'd you run off to like that? Was I that frightening, hm?" He mocks quietly once she's sat down. Bella doesn't dare raise her eyes from her plate.

Instead, she takes another bite of her ricotta. It's gone cold now, yet the flavors still fire up her appetite.

"Shut up," she says calmly through chewing her food. It's somewhat comforting — his presence.

  He came, Bella thinks, he's here, and her food is stuck in her throat again and there are butterflies in her stomach, in her lungs, she can taste their wings on her tongue as she finally raises her gaze — only to find The Weeknd in a feisty conversation with who Bella remembers to be one of his agents.

   She lowers her eyes back to her plate — and doesn't catch the sideways glance Abel Tesfaye throws at her, parting his conversation for the briefest of moments.

  She doesn't catch how his eyes turn to stone once they're set on Luca Nicholson.

Bella can hear the intonations of his voice clearly, — she'd never fail to recognize that voice anywhere, however, the topic of their conversation seems to be foreign, for she can't decipher a word. Instead, she focuses on taking small bites of the ricotta on her gold-rimmed platter. Her fingers tremble imperceptibly, her gaze focused on the plate, her mind — on him.

She wants to collect tonight into the black holes which are his eyes and drown herself in it.

She blinks. The room returns to her burning retinas, and Bella realizes with poorly obscured horror that her eyes aren't on the plate anymore — she's staring into the black holes which are The Weeknd's irises, and they, like those of a panther, are trained on her.

Her fork jumps out of her hand and onto the marble floor, and she's rushing to pick it up before any of the servers obtain the chance to attempt movement — she's lowered herself so that her face is touching the falls of the tablecloth, and there, she exhales roughly, she feels her cheeks burn, she feels as though she'd just seen too much and not enough all at once.

She'd just caught The Weeknd staring back at her.

She smirks to herself quickly and fixes her locks before letting the server approach and collect her fork from her hands. Now sat straight, from behind her eyelashes, she watches as Abel Tesfaye slowly returns to the conversation, however, the girl doesn't miss the inching of his neck — as though he'd just turned away.

"Hey, you alright?" Luca's whispering into her ear again. Bella feels her blood begin to boil, — why, why'd her father have to set her up like that?
She flashes Mohamed Hadid, at the head of the table, a nasty, grim glare, before giving Luca a once-over.

"No, I'm going to throw up if you don't get off," Bella hisses, her fork stabbing a lonely cucumber. She's imagining it as the boy's neck.

"Listen here, little fucking brat," Luca whispers back, a harsh, sharp inclination to his tone, "stop being a fucking snob. You have no right. I'm your guest, remember?"

"Unfortunately," Bella bites back. She chops the cucumber into quarters. "I wish I was sleeping. Or reading. Or—"

  Suddenly, Luca chuckles. "You you'd be a little less bitchy if you knew what I know."

  Bella stills. "What?"

Her eyes flutter over to The Weeknd's seat — he's engrossed into his conversation, once again.

  "I'll tell you...—" Luca trails off, clearly enjoying her unease, "—...if you come outside with me."

    Bella scoffs. "Yeah, right. So that you can punch me in the face, or something?"

  "Well, your father's not really going to be happy if you find out..." —he continues. Stares into her eyes. His pale and pointed face darkens. "I'd never hit you, Bella."

  She blinks. Something in his voice expresses sincerity, vulnerability, even.

And so, Bella agrees.

   She nods quickly — Luca's darkened face clears — and places her napkin from her lap back onto the table. She can feel a burn on her left cheek — she realizes it's The Weeknd's gaze, although she's not sure. Maybe she's just blushing.

   She gets up, Luca right behind her, and they exit the room together, Bella's gaze on the floor. She's afraid to see people seeing her all of a sudden, like a deer caught in headlights.
She rushes out of the room, Luca swift on her step, and pulls back the first glass doors of their mansion. Outside, it's chilly and the scent is of wet mowed grass and the night.
 
  She gives the starless sky a quick glance before turning back to Nicholson.

   "Well?"

The boy looks vulnerable once again — Bella can't help but notice his eyebrows furrowing together, as if he's making a vital internal decision.
 
  He looks up at the sky, too. "Pretty cold, huh?"

  There's something different in his tone. And then, he strides up to her, slow and unsure, as if he'd been lost in his thought for way too long, and he slides his arms around her — Bella can hear his shallow breathing, and he presses her into him.

   "I really—" he begins, his voice cracking, "I like you."

  Enclosed into his embrace, Bella can't seem to find the right words to say. She opens her mouth for a softly spoken rejection, but closes it, horrified, because she hears a clear masculine cough right behind her.

  Luca's hands tense on her waist, — the boy goes rigid.

  The cough is masking a laugh. Slowly, Bella releases herself from Nicholson's grip, and stares the man she wanted to see the least and at the same time the most tonight.

  "Forgive me for interrupting the lovely scene," The Weeknd purrs, his eyes mysteriously devilish. "Your father wants you home, kitten."

  There's a cold edge to his tone. Behind her, Luca mutters whah seem to be curse words.
The Weeknd's face goes blank. Behind him, Bella notes out the silhouettes of his bodyguards.

  The singer gives her his hand, and, before she can think, Bella takes it, her fingers slightly trembling. His hold on her is secure and yet somewhat vicious.

  She doesn't look back at Luca as she enters the dimly lit corridor.

  But she should.