Diamonds Are Not Forever

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Juliette

"You're not going to tell me you're not hungry again, are you?" Elliot scowled at me across the table, his fingers laced together in front of him atop the fabric napkin placed alongside his cutlery.
He'd brought me to a little Italian bistro a few streets over from Main Street, it was quaint and clearly family run, another very un-Elliot place he seemed to like. This man was full of surprises, it seemed.
Elliot had ordered for me, like he had in the diner, though this time I didn't put up as much of a fight. I was still thinking about that diamond.
"Talk to me." He urged, his face softening.
I let my gaze drift from the wall of artificial flowers that I had zoned in on, white roses and ivy that crept up the back wall of the restaurant, and back to him. "Today has been very...Italian." I mused.
Elliot let out a masculine snort. "What do you mean?"
I waved my hand around in the space between us, "Italian silk dresses, Italian jewellery designers, Italian speaking fake boyfriend..."
"My family are originally from Italy. My father and my uncle were born here, it was my grandparents that emigrated to England from Tuscany." Elliot showed little emotion as he spoke about his family, something I had become accustomed to.
"Truman isn't a very Italian sounding surname." I pointed out, picking up my knife and inspecting it so I had something to do with my hands.
Elliot nodded, his eyes still shining a perfect blue even in the dim lights of the bistro.
You could tell he wasn't used to sharing insights into his life, he was very much a closed book. But as his jaw strained and he brought his hand to his temple, I knew he was forcing himself to be more forthcoming, something so unnatural to him.
"My family name is actually Trabucco, but my father changed it when he started his company, he wanted to sound more English."
"Elliot Trabucco." I tested the name on my lips, it surprised me how much I liked the sound of it.
"Elliot Charles Truman." He corrected me, his forehead puckering as he leant back in his chair.
"I dunno, I think I'd prefer to be Mrs Trabucco." I teased.
Mrs Juliette Trabucco, it had a likable quality to it.
"Well, you won't be a Mrs for very long, so you can go by any name you want." Elliot deadpanned.
"Ouch." I brought my hand to my chest and feigned hurt.
"You know what I meant." He rolled his eyes at me as we fell into silence, one that was quickly filled with a waiter placing a plate of pasta in front of each of us.
It was a spaghetti dish in a creamy white wine sauce, it smelt amazing, but I didn't make a move to tuck in even after our server left the table.
Elliot narrowed his eyes at me, a fork full of spaghetti hovering in front of his mouth. "Juliette. Eat."
Not this again.
I stuck my fork in the centre of the plate and started to twist, distracting Elliot with more conversation so he wouldn't notice I wasn't eating.
"The diamond is beautiful, by the way. I can't believe you're trusting me to wear it."
Elliot chewed and swallowed his mouthful of food before he answered me. "It makes sense that you wear it, my mother would be suspicious if I proposed with anything other than a ring that had the family diamond in it."
"You said it was hers last, did your father propose with it?" I started to separate some of the strands of spaghetti around on the plate, moving it around so it looked like I had made a dent in the hefty portion.
"Yes." Elliot watched my every move, like I hadn't fooled him for a second, but he didn't call me out on it.
"Won't she be upset, that she doesn't have an engagement ring anymore?"
He mulled over the thought. "Maybe," he placed the fork down and gave me his full attention. "But she knew she would have to give it up when I eventually decided to marry. She actually gave it up before I decided, she's been wanting me to settle down for some time."
I nodded along as I took a sip of water, hoping the liquid would curb the groaning in my stomach.
He continued. "My father and the board at Truman & Sons want to see me settled before they feel they can trust me with the responsibility of running the company." A flash of annoyance flared in Elliot's eyes. "But my mother...she wants me to get married and start making her grandchildren, all that white picket fence bullshit. She says it will be good for my soul." His voice was dripping with disgust.
"And you don't want that?" It wasn't a surprise he was so averse to the whole picture-perfect nuclear family stuff you saw in cheesy rom-coms and TV comedies. We'd met in a bar, got drunk and had a one-night stand for christ sake, hardly the actions of a romantic.
"I know what you're doing." Elliot's words cut through me; his eyes blazed with accusation when I looked across the table at him.
I tried for innocence, twirling some more spaghetti around the end of my fork. "What's that?"
"Trying to distract me so I don't notice you're not eating. Why wont you eat Juliette?"
Busted.
I gently placed my fork down and rubbed the tension building in my temples. "Its complicated." I breathed.
Elliot's face darkened as he ran his finger along the length of his jaw. "Tell me, maybe I can un-complicate it."
To Elliot, I was just another problem that could be fixed by him. There was no room for anything less than perfection in his life, the Agreement terms were a perfect example.
Some things couldn't be so easily fixed.
As the silence stretched between us, so did Elliot's impatience. "If you think I won't force feed you, you're greatly mistaken." His voice rose an octave, causing a few members of staff and other customers to look over to our table.
"Why are you bothered?" I grumbled, crossing my arms across my chest like a kid having a tantrum. All I had to do was hold my breath and I'd be the complete petulant child. "Why do you even care?"
That was clearly the wrong thing to say to him, Elliot's nostrils flared in response.
"Juliette." My name was a warning on his lips.
"Fine!" I squeezed my eyes shut, collecting my thoughts, and putting together words to form sentences in my head, so I could properly articulate my stupid self-hatred.
"There was this thing in school, where if you finished your dinner and there was food left after second sitting, you could go get the leftovers..."
Elliot was hung on my every word, his eyes burning into me as I continued. "And I always did, because money was tight at home, and I knew my parents would appreciate it if I didn't come home and eat the whole fridge. Well, as you can imagine, I was a chunky child. The other kids used to whisper and laugh at me, they called me Jiggly Jewels or oink at me like a pig every time I got up for the leftovers."
Vivid memories rushed forward, the raw humiliation flooding through me anew.
"Eventually, I just stopped eating on dinner breaks, because I felt them judging me with every mouthful I took. I associated me eating with me being fat, like I can't be seen to be enjoying my food too much because I'm chubby and people instantly think I'm greedy or overindulging. I don't eat in front of strangers, or people I don't know well, because I know what they will think about me. Just another fat girl stuffing her face."
My eyes burned as I looked everywhere except in Elliot's direction, willing myself not to cry in a restaurant full of strangers. I felt better for getting it off my chest, but it still ached from the feelings that had been rehashed by giving my insecurity a voice.
After a moment of silence, Elliot reached over the table and covered my hand with his. "You don't ever have to be self-conscious around me Juliette, do you understand?"
I nodded as tears still threatened behind my eyes.
He pulled my hand closer towards him, coaxing me to look at him. "Juliette, I will never judge you. Do you understand?"
When I finally met his face, his look was strong and exact. The kind of look you knew was telling the truth because it had no reason to lie. "Don't let the cruel things people did in your past dictate your future. They don't deserve to live in your life rent free like that."
I pushed a small tear from the corner of my eye and gave him a heart-achingly sad smile. "Thanks."
Elliot released my hand from his and brought it back down to his side. "Now, will you please eat something?"
"Did you just say please?" I teased to lighten the mood; this was all too heavy for a Thursday lunch time.
He flashed me a warning glare, a non-verbal sign telling me not to push my luck.
Picking up my fork, I took a small bite of my spaghetti and Elliot instantly relaxed.
It wasn't much, but it was a start.