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CHAPTER TWO:ALEXANDER

She came.

She was able to do this.

Emma Taylor opened the glass door of La Fontaine, appearing mysterious, as if she was looking for something. The woman looks amazing in a black cocktail dress. Loose curls. Guarded eyes. She moved around as if she wasn't sure if she should be sitting or running away, and every movement was controlled. Simply watching her proved to me that I had made the best choice.

She moved her eyes all over the private dining room, checking every part of it. This place was quiet and no one played music. People are not talking to others at their tables. The only sound was quiet, and the only illumination was candle flames. I wanted privacy, so I reserved the room, and it wasn't about pride, but because I needed to be focused on her, and expected the same from her.

"Miss Taylor," I greeted her as she came near. "You're punctual."

Her face was stern, but her voice was not unpleasant. She replied: "You have something that belongs to me."

I pointed at the table with my finger. "Please. Sit."

She hesitated. Long only enough to look at the option of going back. Soon the man sat, keeping in place, alert, and straight against the leather upholstery. Smart girl.

I got up to order champagne and then sat opposite my mother.

What I'd like to hear is a straightforward response that explains the issue.

I looked at the photographer with a smile and moved the memory card onto the table. "As promised."

She looked at it as if it was ready to explode. "That's it? All you do is just return it?"

"I did not steal from you, Emma."

"No," was all she said as she dropped the note into her purse. A man who forces women to go out for dinner with him.

"Negotiates" was how I correctly phrased it next. I allowed them to stop. You accepted."

She pressed her lips together, but she kept eye contact. Brave. Suspicious. Focused. Exactly to my taste.

Champagne came, and it was chilled at nine degrees Celsius, as was requested by name. I replied by giving a little head nod. He carefully put the bottle in its cooler and then disappeared as silently as a shadow.

I was by myself again.

"I have no clue about what this is," Emma shared, resting her hands on the linen napkin. There are many simpler methods to meet me if you want to.

I said, "Easier women are available, don't you know?" I didn't feel interested in those activities.

Her face got a little warm, but she stayed comfortable. There was just a small feeling, and I didn't know if I was being humiliated or intrigued. So you set up a crime to make it look like a theft. Followed me. I placed it on the new memory card. Why?

I said, "I saw you," and my voice became softer. At the Sullivan wedding that took place three months back. You seemed as if you had nothing to do with the people around you. Always watching. Always silent. You can see things that others are not aware of.

My profession is photography. This is the part of being a pilot.

"No," was my reply. She uses that reason.

She blinked. Not defensively—analytically. Figuring out how much my words differ from my true intentions. Then she moved back a bit to breathe some fresh air. Distance.

I looked through your portfolio and liked what I saw. I later shared it with them. Not only weddings, but also small events. The concerns are addressed on the streets. The candids. Chasing after photographing beauty rarely works out. You take images of reality. Occasionally, it's painful, but we still choose to enjoy it anyway.

Did you look through the research I have done?

I wanted to know more about you."

She faltered. It was not in her words, but in the tense way her shoulders were shaped, that I could tell. She closed her fingers around the glass but didn't want to try the drink.

She muttered finally, "You could have simply texted me."

So if I had indeed experienced the same thing? Would you personally be here today?

She paused. "Probably not."

"That's how it is done." I kept the silence going for some time. At times, finding a different way is better than making the first choice.

As she looked at me after that, it wasn't the ordinary spark of a woman's gaze, but filled with a more analytical air. A puzzle. A threat is an issue that is only partially understood.

"Who were the men standing on the terrace?" she wanted to know. We attended the wedding of Donovan and Pierce.

I slightly turned my head. "Associates."

"Business associates?"

In other words, they deal with aspects of my life I don't get around to.

Her look became sad. This is not a response that is useful.

I said, "No." "It's not."

Scallops were the dish that was served to her. The food was not an order from her. She was not obligated to do that. I knew. With time, you begin to understand someone's tastes and things they dislike, so mysteries turn into facts.

She took a moment before she picked up her fork. "You should not know so much about me."

I have gained knowledge as I progressed through life.

Emma picked up a small morsel, chewed it and then swallowed it. After that, place the fork away from your plate.

"Why me? Was it because I broke the family rules and looked within the treasure chest?"

"Initially, yes."

"And now?"

I paused. Truth hovering delicately on the sharp end of a knife. This makes me wonder. You're different. Not just a casual way that some people use the word. You notice a threat, and you decide to stay rather than escape. That's rare."

"That's stupid."

"That's not always the case," I added while looking at her expression. Sometimes, it's the only way of being brave that counts.

She was not sure if I was just lovely or a bit twisted as she looked at me. I give her the chance to figure things out for herself. My experience was complex and could not be explained by one answer.

"Alexander, what do you require from me?" she asked as words left her mouth very clearly.

I told them and said, "I want to see you again." "Exclusively."

The news about a baby was enough to stop her. "Exclusively?"

I do not like to share my things.

She smiled and laughed. Even so, there was a sense of pressure in her laughing. And what if I deny participation?

I said respectfully, "Whatever you decide will be just fine by me."

Her mouth opened as if she were about to say more, and she stopped there.

She replied, "You always get your way."

I can only do it when I am truly motivated.

Do you have similar feelings about this?

I checked her out. Looked. She was doing her best to leave things simple: a piece of blackmail, a date, my return of the card, finished. Still, the place was not like it was before. The fish was already caught in the lines. Her gestures, her glance, and her lack of silence showed she had been analyzing me the whole time.

"I believe so," I added.

She held her wine glass and swiped her fingers along its stem. It seems to me that I ought to go.

"Of course."

Yet she didn't change her position.

"Tell me one question," she requested. Why should I use this type of card? Why couldn't you request my opinion when we're together at the wedding?

This is because you noticed something. I wanted to find out the type of woman you were. Some people would not think twice about deleting the pictures. Some people would have gone ahead and reported them. You decided to interrupt, step away, and keep up with your tasks.

What was the result of your focus on him?

"That you act sensibly. But you display courage just like I do too.

As she looked around, it seemed her curiosity was overwhelmed by some uncertainty.

"I knew that you would come," she replied. That is clear.

I gave a barely noticeable smile. "Of course you did."

She held her mouth tight and pinched her lips. It did not attract the public's attention much. Still, it took place. Doubt. Conflict. Curiosity.

"Will I look back and wish I had not done it?"

I kept quiet instead of answering.

I had no idea at that time.

I partly still hoped that she might have a change of heart.

It would mean that I had cared about her enough to break into her heart.