Antecedents.
1291 Words
Betty.
The morning sunlight streamed through the villa’s expansive windows, casting a golden glow over the pristine dining area. I sat at the large oak table, feeling a bit small in such a grand setting.
My fingers idly played with the edge of my napkin as I waited for Harrison.
The soft sound of his footsteps made me look up. He strolled in, casually dressed in a fitted sweater and jeans that somehow still screamed wealth.
Yet, there was an ease about him this morning—a warmth that felt at odds with the stoic, business-minded boss I knew from work.
“Good morning,” he said, his deep voice carrying a cheerful undertone.
“Morning,” I replied, trying to sound composed even though my heart fluttered at the sight of him.
A chef emerged from the kitchen, placing plates of fluffy scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, and freshly baked croissants on the table.
There were also bowls of fruit, yogurt, and a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice. It was a spread fit for royalty, and I felt a pang of awkwardness.
“Don’t look so tense,” Harrison said, sitting across from me. It was almost as if he could sense my mood. He reached for a croissant, his movements relaxed. I want you to enjoy every moment we share together.”
“I’m not used to all this,” I admitted, gesturing to the extravagant breakfast. “At home, it’s just cereal or toast—maybe eggs on a good day.”
He chuckled, and the sound was warm, genuine.
“Then consider this an upgrade. Besides, I enjoy good food, but I prefer simple things, too. You’d be surprised.”
“Simple things?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
He nodded, pouring himself a glass of juice. “Like pancakes on a Sunday morning. Or watching old movies with a big bowl of popcorn. Or sitting in a park, people-watching. Not everything in my life is about extravagance, you know.”
I blinked, surprised. “I wouldn’t have guessed that about you.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he said with a grin, and then he launched into a story about a childhood mishap involving his attempt to make pancakes for his parents.
I couldn’t help but laugh as he described how the kitchen had turned into a war zone of batter and flour. His humor was disarming, and for the first time, I saw him as something other than the larger-than-life CEO.
“You were a handful as a kid, weren’t you?” I teased.
“Oh, absolutely,” he admitted, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “But enough about me. What about you? What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve done in a kitchen?”
I hesitated, then confessed to once setting a toaster on fire while trying to make a grilled cheese sandwich. He laughed so hard he nearly choked on his orange juice, and I couldn’t help but join in.
For the next hour, we shared stories—some funny, some vulnerable. I told him about growing up in a small orphanage, about the staff’s love for catering for orphans and homeless children, and how I used to help them pick vegetables on summer evenings.
Thinking about how I grew up in that orphanage brought back so many emotions that I had long tried to forget and bury.
“You know, there were days we would go hungry and not eat anything because funds were low, but somehow, one of the staff would go out on a date and bring back some takeaway packs and would happily share with everyone. Those days were pure magic, I always dreamed of giving back whenever the opportunity arose,” I explained.
“is that why you accepted my offer? The fact that you had always wanted to give back?“ he asked.
“partly, but I would still have accepted either way because I needed to do something spontaneous, live for the moment,” I said.
He listened intently, asking questions and sharing anecdotes of his own.
It felt surreal, sitting there with him like this, talking and laughing as if we’d known each other forever.
After breakfast, Harrison leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “How about a tour of the villa?” he suggested.
“A tour?” I echoed.
He nodded. “You’ve been here for a couple of days, but I bet you haven’t seen half of it yet.”
I smiled. “You’re probably right.”
He stood and offered me his hand. I hesitated for a moment before taking it, letting him guide me out of the dining area.
The villa was even more breathtaking than I’d realized. Harrison showed me the grand living room with its vaulted ceilings and massive fireplace, the library with shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, and the indoor pool that sparkled under a glass roof.
“This place is incredible,” I said as we walked through a corridor lined with artwork.
“It’s home for now,” he said. “But honestly? It’s just a house. What makes it special is the people in it.”
I glanced at him, taken aback by his candor. “You keep surprising me, Harrison.”
He grinned. “Good. I’d hate to be predictable.”
As we continued the tour, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place. The luxury, the opulence—it was a world I’d never imagined stepping into, let alone being a part of.
Harrison seemed to sense my unease.
“You’re thinking too much,” he said, stopping in front of a set of glass doors that opened to a stunning garden.
“Am I that obvious?” I asked, sheepish.
He turned to face me, his gaze steady.
“Betty, I brought you here because I wanted to. Not because I expect you to fit into some mold. Relax. Enjoy yourself. If you ever need anything, there’s a whole staff ready to help.”
The thought of having people at my beck and call made me uneasy, but I nodded.
“I’ll try.”
“Good,” he said, his smile softening.
The tour ended in a cozy sitting room with a panoramic view of the ocean. Harrison poured us each a glass of wine from a small bar in the corner and handed one to me.
“Thank you,” I said, taking a sip. “For all of this. For making this holiday so special.”
“We’re just getting started,” he said, his voice laced with a promise that sent a thrill through me.
“What do you mean?”
He leaned back against the bar, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Tonight, I’m taking you out for dinner. Somewhere off the villa.”
I blinked, surprised. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know,” he said. “But I want to. Consider it as my way of thanking you for making this place feel like home,”
The way he looked at me left no room for argument. My pulse quickened, anticipation bubbling in my chest.
“Then I guess I should get ready,” I said, unable to hide the smile that tugged at my lips.
Harrison raised his glass in a mock toast. “To a night you won’t forget.”
As I sipped my wine, watching the waves crash against the shore through the glass, I felt a strange mix of excitement and apprehension.
This was unlike anything I’d ever experienced.
But with Harrison, I was starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, I could let myself enjoy it.
- Writer
