The table erupted with polite laughter, but all I could do was gape at the audacity. Excuse me?
"Oh, aren't you charming," my mother giggled, and yes, she giggled. My mother—my strict, perpetually scowling, scold-you-for-breathing-too-loud mother—actually giggled. Was this real life? Did someone slip me into an alternate universe where my mother was suddenly auditioning for the role of giddy schoolgirl?
I pinched the bridge of my nose, internally screaming. Someone please help me look for the shame my mother left back at home. Clearly, she misplaced it somewhere between the living room and the front door.
Junior leaned closer, his grin widening as though he enjoyed every ounce of chaos he stirred. My mother beamed, touching his arm lightly, as if to confirm he was flesh and bone and not just the reincarnation of Prince Charming. "You've grown up well," she said. "Last time I saw you, you were what—five?"
"Far too young to remember you properly," Junior replied smoothly, eyes glinting, "but I'm certain I'll remember you well enough now. It's been too long."
"I am sure we'll be spending more time together these days," he added, "with the current arrangement underway."
My stomach twisted.
He turned to my father, going through what was obviously his well-practiced ritual of buttering everybody up. "Mr. Williams, I've heard great things about Wita. I'm sure we'll work wonderfully together."
My father's stern face twitched, almost forming a smile. Almost. His company was hanging by a thread, and this boy—this arrogant, perfectly groomed boy—was supposed to be the thread that tied our families together. I could see my father calculating silently behind his eyes: assessing his handshake, his tone, even the exact tilt of his jawline. Typical Dad—always a businessman.
Finally, he turned to me. My heart pounded so violently I swore it might leap right out of my chest and splatter onto the table. The chandelier lights overhead seemed suddenly too bright, burning spots into my vision. I pushed back my chair. Everyone's eyes flicked to me, but I forced myself to stand tall, determined not to crumble. I had to keep it together.
"You must be the lovely Nita," he said smoothly, extending his hand.
"Actually, it's Benita," I corrected, shaking his hand.
But then I looked up into his face and the world stopped. My lungs froze. My stomach did a backflip so violent I almost doubled over. It can't be.
It was him.
The face I thought I'd never see again. My throat constricted as if invisible fingers had wrapped around it. Memories of our last encounter slammed into me uninvited: the heat of his breath against my skin, the way he had left without a word, the devastation I buried deep so no one would ever see how much he had broken me.
The room spun. I couldn't breathe.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his charming smile faltering just slightly, a flicker of genuine concern breaking through his mask. That tiny crack in his polished façade nearly destroyed me.
My chest rose and fell too quickly, betraying me. Everyone was still watching.
"I—excuse me," I stammered, glancing around the room as if searching for an exit. Anywhere was better than standing here, suffocating in his cologne, drowning in memories I had sworn to erase.
I had to get out of here.
"I…" I started to say, though I had no idea what words were supposed to follow. The room tilted violently. My knees gave way before I could stop them, and then the world went black.
When I came to, I was sprawled inelegantly on the couch in the corner of the parlor.
"Did she faint because of me?" Junior asked, half-joking, but I could hear the way his ego inflated at the very idea.
I cracked one eye open, fighting the mortification burning my cheeks. "No," I muttered weakly. "I fainted because of your cologne. It's too strong. Like… chemical warfare strong."
He smirked immediately. "Noted," he said with a mock-serious nod. "We aren't even married yet, and she's already making a list of things I need to change. This marriage is going to be… spirited."
"Spirited?" I groaned, throwing an arm over my face. "Try catastrophic."
Before he could respond, Mrs. Numero leaned so close over me I thought she might check if my teeth were still intact. Her face was all widened eyes and pinched cheeks, positively glowing. "Oh, darling," she exclaimed. "If this is how you react to meeting him, we'd better stock up on smelling salts. Lots and lots of smelling salts!"
A chorus of chuckles rippled through the room—my father even grunted in what might have been amusement—and I wanted nothing more than to disappear into the couch cushions. I grabbed the nearest pillow, shoved it over my head, and groaned into the fabric. My life had officially turned into a sitcom, and somehow, against all odds, I was both the star and the punch line.
Because of course it had to be him. Of course the man I was to marry, the one who would supposedly rescue my family from financial ruin, was the very same man who had scarred me for life. The irony was so sharp it was almost laughable, except I wasn't laughing—I was suffocating.
Behind my closed eyes, the memories clawed their way forward. That night. That particular night. I could see it all as vividly as if it were happening again. My chest tightened. Every time I glanced in his direction now, those scenes played in cruel succession, a reel of everything I'd tried for years to forget.
And now… now he stood across the room, charming everyone but me. My family saw him as salvation. And me? I saw him as the storm that had once wrecked me.
Junior didn't recognize me. At least, that's how it seemed. Was it possible he truly didn't remember me? Or was he just such a practiced actor, playing dumb so well he could win an award? The thought made my stomach twist. After all, this was the same boy—now man—who had made my first two years in boarding school feel like a slow, living nightmare. Oh, fate was indeed a cruel prankster.