The Art of Starting Over

Chapter 7 - The Wineless Lunch

I had been standing in front of the full-length mirror for at least five minutes. After much deliberation, I decided to go for a pale green blouse and a short, white skirt. But I didn't know whether to complete the look with a pair of white loafers or black, low-heeled pumps.

No, no, no, I couldn't wear loafers for lunch with The Boss. He was wearing a suit for God's sake! I slipped my feet into the pumps and tied my hair up into a long, tidy horsetail, frowning at my reflection.

Ugh! I looked like I was off for a business meeting. This wasn't a business meeting.

What the hell was this anyway?

I rummaged through my flats again and settled on a pair of white sneakers. My hand reached automatically for the lipstick drawer, but then I froze. Maybe the lipstick was a bit too much. I didn't even know where we were going.

Oh, screw it!

I snatched the neutral brown one—the one that was neither too bright nor too shiny—and dabbed it on.

There. Better. I thought.

I let my hair down and ran my fingers through it, shaking my head vigorously to give it some volume. It was still damp from the shower, but at least I didn't smell like an ashtray anymore.

Okay. That's it. Breathe, Ally.

I hurried down the stairs, hating the erratic pounding in my chest. Why was my heart doing that? I wasn't scared of him, was I?

No. No. More like, scared for him.

I saw Mr Cordina pacing around impatiently and typing furiously on his phone, presumably shooting emails all over the place and hopefully impervious to the fact that I had taken much longer than twenty minutes to get ready.

He didn't notice me coming down, so I slipped through the doorway on the left and into the kitchen where Millie was sitting quietly in her corner with a steaming cup of coffee in front of her. The radio was switched off, and the room felt weird without it.

"Hey," I whispered, squatting in front of her.

"Hey," she whispered back.

"We're going to get my car back from Saint Julian's and then we're grabbing lunch," I murmured, the panic still evident in my voice despite the fact that I was whispering.

"I know, I heard you," she said with a cheeky grin. "You weren't very polite. Why is your car in Saint Julian's?" she added as an afterthought.

"I ran into him yesterday and he made me get a taxi because he said I was too drunk to drive."

Nanna Millie furrowed her eyebrows in confusion before arching them. "Were you?"

"Of course not!" I tutted. "What am I going to do?"

"Get your car. Have lunch," she answered with a shrug. "Why are we whispering?"

"I don't know!" I replied.

"And why aren't you wearing heels?"

"Should I be wearing heels?" I gasped concernedly.

"Well," Millie started hesitantly, "he's in a suit. And he's very handsome. If he were taking me out to lunch, I'd wear heels."

My jaw dropped at her bold statement. "He's my boss! And he's very, very odd. Not to mention he's a bit old for—"

"I know exactly who he is, Ally. His father and I used to go to school together.

"Really?" I asked, surprised. But then again, maybe I shouldn't have been so shocked. This was Malta. Everyone knew everyone.

"Yes. I guess you could say we were friends. Then we grew up and went down very different paths. Your grandfather did a lot of work for Mr and Mrs Cordina when Jeremy was just a boy. He didn't have it easy, so don't be too rough on him. He's been through a lot. Now, go. He's been waiting long enough," she urged, waving me away. Then, just before I reached the doorway, she hissed, "Ally!"