Awkward First Date
1251 Words
SONIA
The evening air was cold, thick with the scent of rain that hadn’t yet fallen. I was asleep—if you could even call it that. My pillow was damp with tears, my body curled up like a wounded animal.
The sound of the doorbell forced me out of the bed.
I wasn’t expecting anyone.
Wiping at my swollen eyes, I sat up, running shaky fingers through my tangled hair. Whoever was at the door couldn’t see me like this. I wouldn’t allow it. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to my feet, straightening my nightdress as I walked toward the door.
When I opened it, a delivery man stood there, his face impassive.
“Good evening, Ma,” he greeted. “Are you Miss Sonia?”
I nodded.
He handed me a beautifully wrapped package, along with a clipboard to sign. After exchanging pleasantries, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing at my doorstep, staring at the package in my hands.
A sense of unease crawled up my chest.
Who sent this?
Stepping back inside, I locked the door and placed the package on my small coffee table. My fingers trembled slightly as I tore at the elegant wrapping. Within seconds, my breath hitched.
A deep blue leather dress lay inside, smooth and luxurious beneath my fingertips. Nestled beside it, a bouquet of fresh flowers, their fragrance filling my tiny living room.
But it was the card that sent my heart racing.
“Do you mind having dinner with me? If yes, location - Diamond Restaurant. See you soon.”
No name. No signature.
But I already knew who it was from.
My soon-to-be husband.
My cheeks burned at the thought. Was this really happening?
I wasn’t sure if I should be nervous or excited. The truth was, I wasn’t happy concerning this idea of marriage. Yet, here I was, elated that I had gotten a new dress.
Who was this man I was supposed to marry?
And more importantly… what did he want with me?
************
The Diamond Restaurant was breathtaking, all shimmering chandeliers and polished floors. It exuded wealth—intimidating and luxurious.
I had never been somewhere this grand, except on occasions where my father took me.
Clutching the card, I let my eyes scan the room until I found him.
He sat with his back to me, his posture impeccable. Broad shoulders filled out a sharp blue suit, matching my dress. The way he sat—calm, collected—told me everything. He was a man used to control. A man who got what he wanted.
I inhaled, gathering my courage.
“Hi, are you Mr. Adams?” I asked, my voice steady.
He turned.
And in that moment, my breath caught.
Sharp jawline. Perfectly styled dark hair. A pair of glasses perched on his straight nose, barely concealing intense, unreadable eyes. His lips were pressed into a firm line.
“Yes,” he said, his voice deep, smooth, but cold. “Are you Miss Sonia?”
I nodded.
He stood, pulling out a chair for me. I hesitated for half a second before sitting.
Despite the grandeur of the restaurant, an unsettling silence settled between us. The kind that makes you hyper-aware of your own breathing.
He wasn’t looking at me. Not really. His gaze flickered over me once, then away, like I was nothing more than a business deal.
“So,” I started, breaking the silence. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a realtor,” he replied, voice flat. “I run my family’s company.”
This meant he had money. Realtor business was a very lucrative business. Some realtors earned up to six figures.
I wondered if he was the type who looked down on people who didn’t earn as much as him.
“And you?” he asked, though he didn’t look particularly interested in my answer.
I hesitated. I didn’t want to tell him the truth, that my life was a mess, that I was barely getting by.
“I dance for fun,” I said instead, forcing a small smile.“And I love to cook. I always wanted to be a chef.”
He nodded slightly, offering the faintest ghost of a smile. It was forced, like he wasn’t used to smiling at all.
Then, without warning, he asked, “Do you really want to get married to me?”
His bluntness caught me off guard.
“Honestly?” I sighed. “No. I barely have my life figured out. My mom—” I cut myself off. I had already said too much.
He leaned back In his chair. “Same with me. The only difference is, my life isn’t a mess. But it will be soon.”
I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“My mother is forcing me into this marriage,” he admitted. “She thinks it’ll make me more responsible. She locked up my trust fund until I get married.”
Ah.
So he wasn’t here for love. He was here for money.
My stomach twisted.
“Didn’t ask for your opinion,” he added casually, sipping his wine. “Just telling you.”
Anger flared in my chest.
“Last I checked, I had freedom of speech,” I shot back.
“Let’s see how long that lasts,” he murmured, a smirk playing at his lips.
A chill ran down my spine.
“Do you hate the idea of marriage that much?” I asked, watching him closely.
He exhaled, his gaze finally meeting mine. And for the first time, I saw something—resentment.
“Hate would be an understatement,” he said.
I swallowed.
Something told me this wasn’t just about the trust fund.
I leaned in slightly. “Maybe if you were so tough, you’d stand up to your mother instead of being an asshole to me.”
His jaw tightened.
I had struck a nerve.
He let out a short, humorless laugh. “If you want to trade insults all night, be my guest. But I’m hungry.”
Petty.
But I had won that round.
We ate in silence after that. I couldn’t deny he was stunning, but that didn’t change the fact that he was rude, arrogant, and marrying me for selfish reasons.
Still, a small part of me—a stupid, reckless part—wondered if there was more to him than this cold, distant exterior.
When we finished eating, he offered to drive me home.
“No, thanks.”
“It’s not safe at night. There have been kidnappings lately,” he said, voice casual. “Not that I care, but I don’t want your blood on my hands.”
I hesitated. His words weren’t exactly comforting, but they worked. I got into his car.
The ride was quiet. Not the comfortable kind, but the suffocating, heavy kind.
Then he spoke.
“We won’t be having a white wedding. Just a court wedding. I hate crowds. Loud music is unnecessary.”
My heart sank.
“What?” I turned to him, disbelief flooding my voice. “It’s our wedding! How do you get to decide?”
He said nothing.
No remorse. No compromise.
I clenched my fists.
This wasn’t just some arrangement.
This was my life.
If he thought he could control everything, he had another thing coming.
There was only one person who was responsible.
My father, and that witch of his.
- Writer
