Bad Blood Books 1-3

Chapter II

Chapter II

WHEN THE DAY I’d meet Anthony finally arrived, I was so wired, I’d make an addict going through withdrawal seem mellow. I had been pacing my hotel room since 5 am. I tried having breakfast at some point, but my stomach couldn’t take more than a few cups of coffee. I changed outfits a few times and had completely redone my makeup twice already. It was barely 10 am and the meeting was not till 11. Anthony wanted to meet me and get to know me first, leaving the actual interview for Sunday. He’d suggested a walk on the beach and light conversation over some cold drinks. It was March but, apparently, the 24-degree peak temperatures of Malta were enough for cold drinks. I finally decided on black fitted jeans. They made me look good enough. I added a bright red, somewhat revealing top just because I was still quite proud of my breasts (having men drool and women ask if they were real kind of helped), and a black jacket. It clearly wasn’t hot enough for me to switch to iced drinks.

I went downstairs two minutes before the meeting time. I was never late if I was able to help it, but this time I had to make an effort not to be too early. I was heading for the exit when I heard my name called with that strange sound foreigners give to my Romanian name.

“Alexa, over here.”

I turned and saw Anthony in one of the armchairs in the lobby. He was wearing faded jeans and a white button-down shirt, and he had that very same smile I had noticed in his photo. The only difference was that he looked so much better in real life. I felt like jumping around him like any self-respecting groupie would do right after asking for a rock star’s autograph. Instead, I went for a neutral smile. Well, I hoped it was neutral.

“Hello, Anthony. Nice to meet you,” I said, holding out my hand.

“Likewise,” he said. Or, at least, I thought that was what he’d said. His touch was electrifying, melting all my coolness. But I was good with appearances when I had to and I could have sworn he never even noticed.

“Should we go, or do you want to get a cup of coffee first?” I asked when I was sure my voice wouldn’t betray me.

“Oh, I’d like to go for our walk, if you don’t mind. It’s lovely outside.”

So that was what living in London did to people? Pushed them to treasure absolutely every minute of sunshine they could get and wear short-sleeved, almost see-through shirts in 15 degrees Celsius weather? I had been under the impression global warming had changed that somewhat. But I couldn’t really complain. I could freely indulge in admiring every single muscle adorning his upper body, so I decided being thankful was the right approach.

“When did you start writing?” he asked when we got down to the beach, walking slowly near the waves.

“A long time ago. I’ve been writing stories and essays most of my life.”

“But you’re in a different line of work, isn’t that right?” he c****d his head and bore his intense black eyes into mine.

“That’s right. I take the same pleasure in coding that I take in writing. Different types of music, same keyboard.”

He looked at me and smiled warmly, but it was accompanied by a condescending huff. I instantly felt like a child being questioned by an older, wiser member of the village, who held the true meaning of life and was amused by the ramblings of the youngling.

I looked at the sea, focusing on the steady move of the waves. “What’s so amusing?”

“Oh, I just can’t understand what code and music have in common. Writing…that I can understand. But programming? Seems to me you’re just trying to make your job a little more interesting than it is,” he said, the same annoying smile on his face.

Why had I turned to him, again? I was better off staring at the waves. He was getting on my nerves, and fast. “That’s just because you haven’t seen me write code. My ex used to get a kick out of seeing me type my code or write my stories,” I blurted out, reminiscing on the past. “He said it looked just like playing the piano.”

“Then he knows nothing of playing the piano,” Anthony said, matter-of-factly.

I thought he looked very pleased with his wits and superiority. Naturally, it was time to cut him down. “You are probably right. What would a musician know about playing the piano? Or music, in general?”

I turned my back on him, wondering if I was better off cutting our time together short. I’d just about had it with his smugness.

“I have offended you.”

Brilliant deduction. Anthony should thank the gods he never chose investigative journalism. “Wrong. You’ve stepped on my toes by forcing me to defend my ex. These days, I have a hard time doing that, even when he’s right.”

“Sorry, that was not my intention,” he said, looking at his shoes and shaking his head.

“No, just the consequence of your need to act all superior and pretend you’re all-knowing. Unfortunately, you are not the only person on earth who thinks the world of themselves.”

“Usually, I am right. That can be my biggest weakness at times,” he replied, smiling shyly. I would have never taken him for someone capable of shyness.

“That’s all right. It is part of my heritage, as well. I was born being right. Or a smartass, depends on how you look at it.”

“Apparently, you’re better at dealing with it than I am.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. The guy I thought had a direct line to how my brain worked based on some lucky deductions about my book had no clue about me.

“The difference between you and me is that I clearly see all my flaws and everything that’s less than perfect about me.”

“And is that why you are not so taken with yourself?” His smile had faded and his lips were pressed in a thin line.

“On the contrary. That is why I am so taken with myself. See, unlike you, I see it very clearly, and I still believe I am as good as it gets. I am God’s gift to men, the perfect friend, and so on. My list of superpowers is very long.”

His eyes roamed up and down my body, as if trying to assess me, but in a way that was void of anything I’d expect from a red-blooded male checking me out.

“Very bold words for someone who likes herself so little.”

I couldn’t say what hit closer to home, the harshness of his words, spoken with no emotion, or the fact that it was all true. I didn’t like myself at all these days, but no one could ever say I couldn’t twist and turn words in my favor!

“I might currently dislike myself a little. But based on what I have told you, you should have guessed I believe I am the only one who really knows the limits of my… awesomeness.”

“Right. I was so mistaken to think you were modest,” he said, laughing whole-heartedly. It was a deep, masculine laugh that melted my bones.

“You were,” I agreed, smiling. “But my knowing how great I am is of no importance. I have learned my cruel lesson by now.”

“And what lesson might that be?”

“That what you really are and what people choose to see are two very, very different things.”

Hoping I’d puzzled Anthony, maybe even impressed him, I left him standing there and walked away.

“I don’t see how anyone could fail to see everything that you are,” Anthony said when he caught up with me. “I might be wrapped up in my own air of superiority, but I would never consider you anything short of amazing.”

His flattery sounded almost believable. “That’s what they all say…right before they get close enough and the first wave of imperfection changes their mind.”

Quietly, we made our way to a small café near my hotel. It was somewhat busy, as it was a Saturday, but not crowded enough to prevent us from finding a private and cozy spot. He ordered some mint lemonade, I asked for a hot cup of coffee.

“So what are you really doing here?” Anthony asked after the waitress brought us our drinks. “Taking the time to write your novel?”

“That’s what I’m going with.” I smiled, hoping he would leave it at that.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Off the record?”

“Must I?” He scowled, and somewhat he managed to make that look cute.

“You must.”

He really didn’t have to. He looked at me so intensely and with such a genuine smile that I probably would have volunteered more than I should have. Luckily for me, he didn’t try to push.

“So be it, then. Off the record.”

“The man I thought was the love of my life cheated on me, then when I was more than ready to forgive him, he rejected me. My closest friend betrayed me, as she turned out to be the person he cheated with. I was sad, broken, and distracted so business got tough to handle. I focused on taking it one day at a time until business picked up again. That took a few months and long days of hard work to make up for the times I just didn’t feel like getting out of my bed.”

I stopped to sip some of my coffee and take a few deep breaths to help calm me down a bit. “When the business aspect was stable, I did what any strong, independent woman in my situation would do.”

“And what was that?” he pressed, with a quirky smile.

“Use the decision to turn a dream into reality as a perfectly good excuse to run away from it all, of course.”

I probably shouldn’t have said that right when he was sipping from his glass of lemonade. He choked on it, spilling some on his lovely white shirt. When he stopped coughing, he started laughing so hard the entire café turned to look at us. I could feel the huge grin on my face. Being honest felt so liberating.

“Oh, god. I know a horde of women who would have you stoned for saying that about strong, independent women.”

“True.” I shrugged and hid my smile behind my coffee cup. “It sounds a bit off. But, if you stop to think about it, when you’re strong and independent, you can afford to run away to lick your wounds and grant yourself time to heal. It sure beats allowing yourself to be bound down by some crazy standards…stay home, work like crazy, put yourself out there to date, and pay a shrink to help heal your mind and soul.”

“That’s an interesting theory.” His features morphed quickly, losing their humor and turning serious. “And how are you doing now? Are your wounds starting to heal?”

“Oh, I don’t know exactly how I’m doing. I am definitely better. I’m moving from surviving to living. I want to enjoy life again, not just take it one painful day at a time. Some wounds take longer to heal though. And the scars never really go away, they just fade.”

I could feel my mood going sour and the tears lurking, waiting for the right moment to reveal my weakness to the world. That was best kept private so I changed the subject. I asked about his work, the magazine, where he’d been recently, and I slowly got us sharing travel tales from across the world. At about 3 pm, we realized we were starving and found our way to a small restaurant in the hotel.

Anthony seemed to have the shock of his life when I ordered, his eyes nearly popping out. He was still speechless long after I’d made my choice of food. The waitress had to ask him about his order a few times in her desperate attempt to get his attention. I had just ordered steak and French fries, a side salad and, of course, dessert. So unladylike!

“What?” I eventually asked, annoyed by his horrified look.

“Sorry. I am used to girls that only go for the side salad and a half-portion of the leanest meat they can find…boiled, if possible.”

“Oh, well, I’ll work out extra hard over the next few days. Besides, bread is my kryptonite and I did not order that.” I shrugged and dug into the side salad. “Besides, I read somewhere that if you work out, you can eat whatever you want.”

“And where exactly did you read this gem?”

“The Millennium Trilogy. Stieg Larsson sounded like the smartest man in the world at that point. Of course, I wanted it to be true.”

He didn’t seem to be buying it, judging by his careful analysis of how much of my food I really ate, but I didn’t care much.

“I’ve had my weight issues. I tend to gain weight when I’m unhappy and depressed. I finally got over them by paying more attention to what I eat and working out a lot. That also proved very useful in burning rage, disappointment, and rejection.”

“So are you a fitness fanatic like that policewoman in the book?” Anthony asked in between bites of his own steak.

So he had read it! Yes, I was impressed. He went out of the fantasy world or vampires once in a while. “Not really. I lack the discipline, I think.”

“I somehow doubt that,” he said, smiling warmly.

“You shouldn’t. I do lack discipline in just about anything. I am extremely lazy and count too much on my ability to do a lot of things at the very last minute.”

“It takes discipline to think of a novel idea and then put it in writing. It takes a lot of determination to start it and a lot more effort to keep going until you see it through.”

Those words rang true. I suddenly felt ashamed of my five-page-per-month progress. But at least the storyline was no longer fuzzy, and I had been working full-time during the past two months. Either way, the conversation was again getting dangerously focused on me and I needed to distract him. However, it was more like he was distracting me with his good looks and apparent awe. We stuck to small talk for the rest of the meal and parted for the afternoon, but not before he managed to yank a promise out of me: I would introduce him to Valletta’s nightlife later that evening.