Judgmental Flowers
1074 Words
Amelia
By Saturday evening, I was officially running on caffeine, stress, and poor decisions.
Mostly poor decisions.
The biggest one was currently named Ethan.
Not because I knew him.
Because he didn’t exist.
Tomorrow my family expected to meet my fiancé.
A fiancé I had invented during a moment of weakness and cheesecake.
I was beginning to suspect that cheesecake was responsible for most of the disasters in my life.
“Smile.”
I glanced at Chloe.
“No.”
“You’re representing your company.”
“No.”
“You need clients.”
“No.”
“You sound like a toddler.”
“I feel like one.”
Chloe sighed dramatically before dragging me into the ballroom.
The charity gala occupied the entire Grand Regency Hotel. Crystal chandeliers illuminated the ceiling while live music drifted through the room. Wealthy investors, business executives, politicians, and socialites moved from table to table exchanging smiles and business cards.
Everyone looked successful.
Everyone looked confident.
Everyone looked like they knew what they were doing.
I hated them all immediately.
The first hour was torture.
The second was worse.
By the third, I had been ignored by two potential investors, trapped in conversation with a man who spoke exclusively about himself, and received seven text messages from family members.
Seven.
I counted.
By then I was ready to throw my phone into the nearest fountain.
Instead, I grabbed another glass of champagne.
Then escaped.
The balcony was quiet compared to the chaos inside.
Cool evening air brushed against my skin.
For the first time all night, I relaxed.
A little.
A large arrangement of white lilies sat beside one of the benches.
I stared at them.
The flowers stared back.
Judgmental.
Extremely judgmental.
“You think I’m a disaster.”
The flowers remained silent.
Which felt suspicious.
I narrowed my eyes.
“Don’t deny it.”
A laugh sounded nearby.
I nearly jumped.
A man stood near the railing.
Tall.
Dark suit.
Dark hair.
And unfortunately attractive.
He looked familiar.
Very familiar.
Then I remembered.
The café.
The man I’d nearly walked into yesterday.
Wonderful.
Now a witness existed.
“What?” I asked.
His expression remained calm.
“Were they winning?”
I laughed despite myself.
The sound surprised both of us.
“Possibly.”
“That’s concerning.”
“The lilies are very critical.”
“I’ll keep my distance.”
I sat down on the bench.
My feet were killing me.
A second later, I kicked off my heels.
The relief nearly made me emotional.
The stranger sat beside me.
Not too close.
Just enough.
“You look exhausted.”
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”
“Nobody does lately.”
Another smile appeared.
Small.
Rare.
But genuine.
We talked.
At first about nothing.
The gala.
The terrible music.
The terrible food.
The terrible speeches.
Then somehow the conversation became easier.
Natural.
Comfortable.
Which was strange.
I didn’t usually enjoy talking to strangers.
Yet somehow sitting beside him felt effortless.
“What do you do?” he asked.
“I own an event planning company.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
“The gala must be useful then.”
“It would be if people stopped pretending they’re interested and actually signed contracts.”
A laugh escaped him.
A real one this time.
I found myself smiling.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
My phone buzzed again.
I didn’t need to look.
Family.
The source of all suffering.
He noticed.
“You should answer that.”
“No.”
“Important?”
“Unfortunately.”
His curiosity was obvious.
I sighed.
Then made a terrible decision.
Again.
“My family thinks I’m engaged.”
The words escaped before I could stop them.
Silence.
Then—
“Are you?”
“No.”
He blinked.
I groaned.
“I know how that sounds.”
“How exactly did that happen?”
“Cheesecake.”
He stared.
I stared back.
Then laughed.
“Okay, there was a family dinner involved too.”
To my surprise, he looked amused.
So I explained.
The questions.
The pressure.
The lie.
The imaginary fiancé.
By the time I finished, he was shaking his head.
“That’s impressive.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Nobody compliments me anymore.”
For a moment we simply sat there laughing.
The city lights sparkled below.
The music drifted through the open doors.
For the first time all week, I felt lighter.
Then the world tilted slightly.
I frowned.
The stranger noticed immediately.
“You okay?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“I skipped lunch.”
“And dinner?”
I considered the question.
Then sighed.
“Possibly.”
His expression suggested he was rethinking every life choice that had led him to this conversation.
Honestly, same.
An hour later the gala ended.
By then my head was spinning.
Not from alcohol.
From exhaustion.
When we reached the entrance, I checked my phone.
Twenty-three missed messages.
I almost fainted.
The stranger glanced over.
“Everything alright?”
“No.”
“Fair enough.”
Outside, rain had begun falling.
The streets shimmered beneath the city lights.
I climbed into my car.
Turned the key.
Nothing happened.
I blinked.
Tried again.
Nothing.
“No.”
The engine remained silent.
I tried a third time.
Still nothing.
The universe was truly committed to my downfall.
A knock sounded against the window.
The stranger stood outside.
I lowered it.
“Car trouble?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
He looked toward the dead vehicle.
Then back at me.
A few moments later he sighed.
“Come on.”
“What?”
“I’ll drive.”
Normally, I would’ve refused.
Tonight I was too tired.
Thirty minutes later we arrived at a massive gated property overlooking the city.
I stared.
Then stared harder.
Then stared some more.
“This is a house?”
The stranger looked confused.
“Yes.”
“It looks like a small country.”
For the first time all evening, he laughed.
The gates opened.
The car rolled forward.
And I suddenly realized two things.
First, I still didn’t know this man’s full story.
Second, I had somehow agreed to spend the night in a billionaire’s guest house.
Tomorrow’s problems could wait.
Tonight was already ridiculous enough.
And somehow I had a feeling things were only getting started.
- Writer
