VICTOR AND I had been talking on the phone for the past few days. Ever since I left his house after taking him soup, he’d been calling me. It was mostly talk about the mediation and him apologizing for canceling our meeting, which led to him thanking me profusely for bringing him soup. Bringing him soup, which I wasn’t sure was key word for a new page we turned or just literally bringing soup. It felt like a new page to me, though. With the late-night calls and the movie talk, and bowling challenges, and promises of surfing lessons, it felt like maybe we were becoming something. Something else. Something I wasn’t sure either of us knew or wanted to label. But all of that was gathered in just a few days, and I’d married a man I barely knew within just a few weeks once before and look at how that turned out. The reminder left a bitter taste in my mouth. I washed it down with the cup of coffee in my hand, gulping it until it was all gone.
Victor called me at six thirty in the morning to wake me up and make sure I’d be ready on time. The meeting was scheduled for eleven thirty. Who the hell calls somebody at six thirty in the morning? Ever since the girl from the ice cream shop ended up on the tabloids with a tell-all about Gabe and her, Victor had been on edge, trying to figure out how we could really stick it to him during the mediation. My dad had been livid. Chrissy and Talon were furious. “My wild night with Gabriel Lane” was the title on the tabloids. It was definitely catchy, and if I was being completely honest with myself, I didn’t care anymore. I was just . . . done.
Victor wanted to meet with me beforehand just in case I had any questions. I told him I didn’t. He insisted I had to as way of apology for the missed meeting and I agreed just so I could get him off the phone. At nine thirty there was loud knock on my door. Thankfully, I’d gotten dressed already and had just finished drying my hair. I walked downstairs and opened the door just as he was putting his hand up to knock again.
“You have absolutely no patience,” I said, gawking at him. He was dressed in a dark navy suit today, looking way too good to be my off-limits attorney. He gave me a quick, but thorough, once-over. I felt his gaze to the tips of my toes.
“You’re not ready.” He brushed past me and walked inside.
“I just need my shoes.”
I closed the door and locked it, turning around to find him looking up at the ceiling with his eyes closed and his hands in his pockets.
“What’s wrong?”
“Did you know there were photographers outside?” he asked, walking toward my kitchen.
“No.” I paused, looking out the open windows in the front of the house. “Right now?”
“I was bombarded with flashing cameras on the walk from my car.”
I rounded the counter and set up the coffee machine again before facing him, butt against the counter arms crossed. “Is that why you stormed in here like you were being chased by a White Walker?”
“A white what?”
“From Game of Thrones, you know?” I paused. “Didn’t we talk about this last night?”
“Yes, and I told you I don’t watch it.”
I shook my head. “Have you tried to watch it and you just didn’t like it? Because, I mean, this could very well be the moment I fall out of like with you, or whatever.”
His eyes roamed over my face, a slow tease of a smile splaying on his face. “Fall out of like with me? Did I miss the middle school memo?”
“I’m just saying.” I turned around when the coffee finished pouring in the first cup and replaced it with another. I held the cup in my hand as I walked over to him and extended it for him to take. “If I could go on any set for a day, it would be that one. Too bad I have no connections there.”
Victor took the cup from my hand with one of his and picked out something in my hair before looking back into my eyes. “Have you tried applying for a job there?”
“Have I tried?” I scoffed. “Of course I’ve tried. They have the best costume designers ever, though. I mean, Michele Clapton is a freaking genius. That’s like if Prada hired Kanye West or something.”
Victor chuckled, taking a sip of coffee. “So now you’re throwing Yeezy under the bus too?”
I smiled, trying not to laugh along. “I’m just saying. I’m good at what I do, but I’m not her.”
“I think you’re good,” he said, and added, “Really good.”
His words were serious, though the crinkles around his eyes were still present from his smile. I was tempted to run the tips of my fingers along each line. I loved it when he smiled like this, as if he were giving me a private showing of the Victor not many were allowed to see.
“I think you’re pretty good too,” I replied, smiling. “And for the record, I would have hated you in middle school. And also, I like Kanye’s music, I just think that when it comes to fashion, he thinks he’s better than he actually is.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter what you think. You don’t have the answers, Sway,” he said. I started laughing. Hard. And he joined in, setting his mug down in front of him.
“You know, for somebody who’s all business, and thinks his job is the most important thing ever, you can be pretty fun sometimes.”
He appraised me for a moment, his eyes dropping to my chest. “I’m fun a lot of times.”
“Sometimes,” I said, my voice beckoning his attention back to my face. “And you haven’t been much fun in that sense.”
“With good reason. Let’s try to get today out of the way.”
“And then you’ll be more fun?”