HIS FAVORITE GINGER ✓

EPILOGUE.

Alejandro

"Have a seat, my good sir." I rolled my eyes at his drama but nevertheless accepted the seat he extended. His gentlemanliness is kind of annoying because I'm not a girl and I'm capable of sitting, thank you. But it's what you're supposed to do on dates, right? I have no idea what this is anyway. He suddenly delivered an Alexander Amosu Vanquish II Bespoke that costs over $100,000 on my doorstep and next thing I saw was an unwanted limousine invading my veranda, two black suited and black spectacled men ushering me in. I knew exactly where I was going, because it had been like that since the past two months.

Finally paying attention to my surroundings, I observed that it was adorned with elegant, sparkly winter flowers that gave a luminescent expression. It was faint but some people were actually playing in the background, beautiful classic music that balmed my haggard nerves. We were at the highest floor of the building and the outside view was breathtaking, not that I've not seen better but the sight of Oxfordian cars and people moving around like miniature ants was cuter than cute.

The room itself was almost dark except for the dainty Chinese lanterns hanging above our heads and a particularly sumptuous one before us. It seemed to scintillate his cerulean orbs that grew brighter, sharper and more teal over the years. His hair, slicked down to the nape of his neck, possessed the glitz like the winter flowers' too.

Looking at him, I realized a lot of things really changed throughout the length of six years. He reminds of this American model-Lucky Smith is it?-except that Grayson's muscles, height quadrupled, he's almost albino-he pretty much looked like the human version of Jack Frost-and his lips were plumper; the lips were curled at the moment, probably teasing me for staring too hard.

Embarrassed, I looked away and to my own reflection on the silver bell jar covering my food. I haven't changed much though, my hair was just longer, curler and wilder, my nose pointier too. I got slimmer, taller-of course I'll grow taller, I'm almost twenty fucking three years old-and my skin got tanner. My irises got almost scarlet and my the dreaded ginger freckles dotted my entire face.

"You look hungry." He stated, with an almost blank face.

"Of fucking course I'm fucking hungry. The damn traffic drained every damn molecule of ATP in my damn body." I ranted, throwing my hands around the air while Grayson shot me disapproving looks.

"You're vulgar as ever, Alejandro." Grayson sipped his wine with unnerving prudence, his pinkie finger sticking out like mocking me.

"Oh sorry, my good sir. At least I don't have a damn paintbrush stuck in my damn ass."

"And I don't have a stethoscope stuffed into my ears twenty four hours a day while poking innocent women breasts." He retorted, wrapping a white handkerchief around his neck.

"Speaking of breasts," I stared spears at the secretary-who acted as the butler and lifted the belljar-and her inappropriate cleavage. "Why would you ever think of employing someone like that? Oh wait, you're Grayson Pusey, of course you can do it."

He chuckled, his tenor now deeper than the Pacific ocean. "You know me too well, babe. And don't speak of my last name like that."

"What made you change it, anyways?"

"Well for starters, I owe Taylor nothing and my mom everything."

"True talk." I agreed and advanced to dig in to my meal, well till I saw what the meal was. "Oh my god, Gray." I threw my head back in exhaustion and exasperation.

"What?" He lifted his head from the plate, his cheeks savagely full to the brim with food. So much for being a renowned artist.

"I'm allergic to chicken."