𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 ━ shawn hunter¹

23│THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY ( CAME BACK )

"Mom!"

🌎🌎🌎

As Juliet got ready for dinner that night, she stayed in front of her mirror for longer than usual as she mentally tried to prepare herself for talking with man who had. . . fathered her. Her mother was right, in that regard; she wasn't sure if she could ever call Barron dad. That three-letter word was one she thought she'd never use for anyone and she'd only known Barron for a few months, most of which she had spent avoiding him.

She tried to think of all she knew about him as she fiddled with the bell sleeves of her dress. She knew he owned a bank and was the CEO of the company. She knew he was pretty well known in the banking industry and was quite wealthy. She knew he wanted to at least relocate her and her mother to a better home— Daly was, at least, reluctant to be indebted to him. And. . . that was about it. Juliet frowned as she reached up to smooth her hair from where her sunglasses had made it stick up. She didn't really know that much about him.

She turned away from the mirror in her bedroom and headed downstairs, but when she went outside, she stopped. Her mother had been right; Barron was delighted she was giving him a chance, or at least, she thought he was.

The table outside on the veranda was set for three with candles and flowers arranged artistically in the middle and fairy lights decorating the terrace above it. Barron himself had even dressed up for the occasion— though he was usually well-dressed in general— with a casual suit. Her mother had freshened up as well and was beaming proudly at her daughter from her spot at the table.

Moving quickly to the chair across from her mother, Barron pulled it out and gestured for her to sit down, only to pause her before she sat. Reaching down into the seat of his chair, he pulled out a small bouquet of roses and handed them to her, saying, "these are for you."

The redhead accepted them tentatively and shot the man an uncertain smile. "Um, thanks." She sat quickly, wanting the awkwardness to dissolve. Unfortunately, that didn't cure it.

He sat as well and the chef that had been hired out for the summer approached the table with the salad course. The trio quickly fell to eating it and a thick silence lingered in the air. Unbeknownst to the redhead, Daly and Barron were having a silent, back-and-forth conversation about who should speak first.

Before dinner, Barron had panicked slightly about the fact that Juliet had actually agreed to eat with them, exclaiming that he didn't even know how to talk to her. Daly had smiled, remembering in the past when he'd gotten easily flustered around other women (particularly her.) Despite his good looks, name and wealth, he wasn't entirely confident or egocentric as a stereotypical rich man would be. The only advice she had given him was that conversation would come naturally, which wasn't helpful at all.

As they neared the end of the first course Daly kicked him under the table, causing him to wince. Despite the discomfort, though, he couldn't help but remember the other times she'd "physically hurt" him to get him to do something (not anything that would truly harm him, just actions like a prod to the side to get him moving.) Tugging slightly at his sleeve cuffs, he started hesitantly, "how much do you know of your mom and me?"

Juliet looked up from the last bites of her salad, relieved the silence had finally been broken. "Um, nothing. Mom never talked about you before, well, you showed up."

She saw him wince and felt guilty. She hadn't meant to be mean, she was just to telling the truth. Before she could clear up her words, Barron was already speaking, "well, that just gives me a place to start, then. Is there anything in particular you'd like to know?"

The redhead considered the many questions she had. During her younger years, she'd spent several hours thinking of things she would have liked to ask her dad if he'd been around or her mom if she'd had the time. Now that she had the chance, it seemed as if she couldn't remember a single one. Finally, one came to her: "where did you get my name? I mean, I know it's from Shakespeare, obviously, but you couldn't have thought, 'oh, here's a thirteen-year-old girl who killed herself because she loved a guy. What a great baby name!'"