Married to a retired playboy

One

“Where the hell is Carolyn and Why is she not here?” Vanessa wondered as the crisp white tablecloth felt alien beneath her fingertips.

Her eyes scanned the dimly lit restaurant which buzzed with hushed conversations and the clinking of glasses, looking for her best friend.

“Dressed to impress” so she is in a dress that flowed like midnight silk waiting for Carolyn to show up. Carolyn had invited her for a girl's night through a text, but the sly glint in her best friend's message and the cryptic "dress to impress, it'll be fun!" message had piqued Vanessa's curiosity.

Now, she is seated at a table meant for four, a single, flickering candle casting wavering shadows across the pristine white plates, Vanessa scanned the room and disappointment gnawed at her.

There was no sign of Carolyn face or her infectious laugh.

A waiter, his smile as polished as the silver serving tray he balanced, materialized beside her. "Can I get you something to drink, miss?" he inquired, his voice smooth as velvet.

“No,” Vanessa replied with hesitation. "Actually," she began, her voice barely a whisper, "I'm waiting for someone. My friend, Carolyn."

The waiter's smile faltered for a brief moment, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he schooled it back into professional courtesy. "Of course, miss. Please let me know if you need anything while you wait."

He retreated, leaving Vanessa alone with her swirling thoughts. She thought of different scenarios that may have delayed Carolyn. She knew her friend was a punctual person but she is surprised by her lateness today.

Had Carolyn forgotten about her plans? Or was this one of her elaborated prank? A pang of annoyance mingled with the disappointment gnawed at Vanessa as she sat on the table, waiting impatiently for her best friend.

She picked up her phone, the familiar weight a comfort in the unfamiliar setting. A part of her wanted to call Carolyn, to demand an explanation. But another part, a curious one, felt strangely compelled to stay. Maybe there was more to this evening than Carolyn had let on.

As minutes stretched into a quarter hour, Vanessa caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye. A man, tall and broad-shouldered, was approaching the table, a hesitant smile playing on his lips. He was holding a single red rose, its velvety petals contrasting sharply with his dark suit.

Her heart skipped a beat as the man walked towards her with an unwavering stare. Vanessa straightened in her seat, a nervous flutter rising in her stomach. She doesn't want to get herself involved in any man since what has transpired between her and Emmy.

The man's smile widened as he reached the table, the red rose held out like a hesitant offering.

"Vanessa? I presume? I'm Samuel, Carolyn's friend." His voice boomed, ill-suited to the hushed atmosphere of the restaurant.

“Damn it, Carolyn,” Vanessa mumbled underneath her breath as realization dawned on her. So this was the surprised Carolyn planned for her. A blind date disguised as a girl's dinner. She thought as she was looking at the man.

Masking her irritation, Vanessa offered a tight smile, her initial surprise morphing into a low-grade irritation. Blind dates were one thing, but a blind date with a man whose voice could shatter crystal was another entirely.

She could have left this unexpected date in the restaurant but Vanessa chose to remain respectful until maybe, after a few minutes. The next hour unfolded in a blur of forced conversation and Samuel's endless anecdotes, each delivered with an enthusiasm that grated on Vanessa's nerves.

She had learned about his extensive sock collection. ‘extensive’, she hissed. She also learned about his passion for competitive pigeon racing. Who the hell is interested in a pigeon race? Vanessa pondered with irritation. The most unbearable was his unwavering belief in the healing power of polka music.

With each passing minute of the forced conversation, Vanessa's smile became more strained, her polite nods less convincing. The image of Carolyn, cackling with delight at Vanessa's discomfort, flickered in her mind. Was this her best friend's idea of fun?

Finally, Vanessa was pushed to the edge by a particularly graphic description of Samuel's prize-winning pigeon.

Vanessa rose from her seat. "Thank you for the evening, Samuel," she said, her voice laced with forced cheer, "but I think I'll call it a night."

Disappointment flooded Samuel's face, momentarily eclipsing his usual bubbles. "Oh, of course! No worries at all. Maybe we can—"

He never finished the sentence. As Vanessa pivoted on her heel, her purse swinging wide, colliding with a passing waiter. A yelp escaped the man's lips as his tray went flying, a crystal flute filled with ruby red liquid arcing through the air.

Time seemed to slow down as the flute shattered against the wall behind a couple enjoying a quiet dinner, splattering the man's white shirt with a large stain. The woman with the man, her face contorted in fury, looked like she might erupt in fury.

Vanessa's cheeks burned with a mixture of mortification and anger. This was a disaster of epic proportions. A girl's dinner gone wrong by turning into a blind date, a ruined outfit of an innocent couple. Now, the man is left looking like an extra in a horror movie.

Steeling her nerves, Vanessa approached the unfortunate victim. “I'm… really sorry,” she offered a stammering apology, her voice barely audible above the stunned silence that had descended upon the restaurant.

Her eyes travelled around the man's shirt, the stain on his shirt worse than expected. “I am so incredibly sorry!" Vanessa stammered again, panic rising in her chest.

The woman with the man, clearly fuming, fixed a withering stare on Vanessa. With the threatening glare, Vanessa felt a desperate urge to crawl under the table.

“Please….” She tried again but before she could apologize further, the man himself spoke.

A smile played on his lips, amusement dancing in his eyes as she fixed his gaze kn Vanessa. "Easy there, don't worry about it," he said, his voice a smooth drawl.

“But,” Vanessa interjected, trying to apologize further.

"Spills happen." He looked down at his now ruined shirt, then back at Vanessa with a glint of something more than just amusement. "Besides," he continued, leaning forward slightly, "a little excitement might be just the spice this date needs." The man said without showing regards for his date.

His date decide to join the conversation so her presence can be known as well. “This is a brand new Armani!" she hissed, her voice laced with a sharp disapproval that seemed directed more at Vanessa than her date.

Vanessa opened her mouth to apologize again, but the man cut her off again with a gentle, placating gesture. "It's alright, honey," he soothed, turning from his date to Vanessa with a reassuring smile.

“Your shirt can be cleaned immediately” Vanessa suggested since his date won't let it slide.

“That's fine” he said staring at Vanessa, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “If you insist, I won't argue with a pretty lady like you,” he said as he rose from his position at the table.

Vanessa led the way from the scene of accident to the receptionist desk. Darryl followed her, enjoying the sight of Vanessa's behind.

“By the way, I'm Darryl Peter“ the man said as they walked towards the elevator leading to the hotel part of the building.

“I'm Vanessa” she replied, leaving no room for chitchat.

As the elevator doors open, Darryl Peter stepped out first, taking a moment to blatantly admire the way Vanessa's figure hugged her dress as he followed close behind her.

His thoughts and internal monologue was a whirlwind of possibilities, each one ending with Vanessa succumbing to his s****l advances. Oblivious of Darryl's thoughts, Vanessa took each step elegantly, swinging her hips as she search for the room number given to her.

Finally, she found the room, and she and Darryl became the latest occupant of the room. Inside, Darryl wasted no time, shrugging off his damp shirt, revealing a toned torso he clearly took pride in maintaining. Vanessa, however, remained focused. She bypassed the seduction attempt entirely, instead heading straight for the phone on the nightstand.

With a practiced ease that spoke of a life well-managed, she dialed a number and spoke in a no-nonsense tone.

"Laundry service, please. Yes, there's been a spill on a guest's shirt.”

“Room..." She took a quick glance at the door to confirm the number, "...412. Yes, white linen, urgent cleaning preferred."

Darryl, watching her with a now slightly deflated ego, attempted a cocky grin. "Efficient, I like that in a woman."

Vanessa gave him a withering look that could curdle milk. “Wouldn't you agree?" Her voice was polite, but the edge was unmistakable.

Darryl cleared his throat, the playful glint in his eyes fading. He hadn't anticipated this kind of woman. He was used to a more receptive audience, one that melted under his charm.

This one is probably the same, she is just pretending. Determined to get Vanessa by all means, he formulated a better plan. The type that Vanessa wouldn't be able to resist.