Isabella
The next day, I praise myself in the mirror, shifting to the side and posing out of complete admiration. My unbound hair has been freed from the usual frizz, now massaged with a rose-scented cream and sitting in pampered waves that pool around a tight crimson shirt. The shortness of the top means I can't tuck it into my waistband, and I don't mind, because it suits the black fitted mini skirt that's styled with a slash at my left thigh and bares an unneeded portion of skin which I delight in exposing.
The heels of matching dark-colored boots thump against the floor my whole trip down the stairs, each step cushioned by a base of soft soles. Thanks to Andreas' business duties that have removed a barrier between me and meeting other guys, I can unhurriedly make my way out the house and pause when a glance at my phone tells me Leo is notifying me of his arrival.
A few taps, and I've assured him I'll be out soon.
"Where you heading?"
I turn my head and find Blake perched on the arm of the couch, cigar in hand. An unfamiliar bloke with bleached hair is seated beside him. Rotating my body, I offer each of them friendly grins and eye the new guest who's smiling back at me.
"Meeting up with a dude," I answer. "Looks like we've got someone new here."
Blake draws out a wind of smoke from his mouth and pats the guest's shoulder. In turn, he looks up at him, a questioning expression forming on his smooth features.
"Isabella, this is Zac. Zac, this is who I've been talking to you about."
"You've been talking about me?"
Zac breathes out a lazy laugh, lounging into the couch. "We've been talking about your, um, safety."
"Safety?"
"Mhm." He exchanges a tough glance with Blake, and a wisp of wariness flutters around the room, racing down my spine. Their attention returns to me before they begin to imperceptibly grumble. I cross my arms, tapping my boot on the floor expectantly, and wait until they finish with their weird conversation to speak.
"Tell me," I order.
"It's nothing."
"Blake, don't―"
"Andreas has questioned your whereabouts for the past three hours. I told him you're stuck in his room and won't be getting out anytime soon."
"Next time he asks, tell him to fuck off."
"I already did."
"Thanks. Nice meeting you, Zac." I give brief nods for a goodbye and stomp away and into the splendour of the front yard's garden. The stone fountain, with vines dangling over the lip of each tier, is setting a tranquil tone through the crisp air as the water gushes. Winds are calm and far away from blusterous, ruffling leaves of hedges and trees and stringing out the dancing of flowers. A pond nestled beside a shallow protrusion of land dressed in moonlight has a pillar in its centre.
But the statue atop it...Through the night sky, I find the head of a cross-legged figure moving, tilting, breaking. The neck of the stone angel is severed, a loud splash emerging with the plunge into the pond. Ruining the scenery's artistic display.
I shut the iron-wrought gates behind me, spotting a red car parked down the street.
Leo approaches me fitted into a short-sleeved button-up and denim jeans.
"You look gorgeous." He takes my hand and completes a short perusal of me. "I can't believe I've been blessed with the opportunity to take you out on a date."
"And you look handsome," I laugh. "I'm disappointed this couldn't happen earlier."
In the car, he drives us to an outdoor restaurant. Wooden railing borders the open-walled enclosure, and within it, tables are distributed over a glossy timber floor, candles lit up over the top of them. The lighting is warm, coming from a large singular pendant hanging from the ceiling's center. We sit at a table away from the edges and open air.
"A very fancy choosing, don't you reckon?" I take a seat on an elaborately carved wooden chair, the touch chilly against the bare skin of my thighs.
"Maybe." He settles in front of me. "But I had to put on a good impression."
"You don't need to worry about that. My initial impression was as good as can be." I subconsciously recall that our first interaction began with a package of boxers he'd thrown on the front desk interrupting me from my knotty thoughts.
"It may have been better if not for your boss."
I scoff and pick up a decanter from beside a candle, filling up a quarter of my glass. "He enjoys taking advantage of his control. Both in the workforce and indoors."
"What do you mean by that?"
I whirl the red liquid in my glass, staring as it rebounds off the sides and splashes back into itself. It isn't until I replay my words in my head that I realize what I said could've been comprehended obscenely.
I reassure him. "Not much. Just overly hygienic and whatnot. Always cleaning my uniform after work, redoing the layout of his desk, making sure dishes are never stacked in the sink."
"You...live with him?"
I clear my throat and set down my glass. "We...live in the same house. But it's not like that. Our friends are there too, so it's not just the two of us residing there, and if it were, then I'd have never been there in the first place." A half-lie―and poor attempt at humor.
From the look on Leo's face, I know he's having second thoughts about us, and I can't blame him for it. He's taken interest in a woman who sleeps in the same confines as her boss on a date and had been glared at for having a harmless encounter with me. I lean forward on the table and take his hand for the rest of the time we talk. It would not be ideal to have Andreas disturb I and Leo's rare chance of meeting together even when he's not here to monitor or separate us.
Leo elaborates on his decision to become a vegetarian, the grim work he does at an auto repair near his place, and how a friend had surprised him with a new tabby on his birthday that had passed not too long ago. He continues to converse until the waiter, clothed in an elegant tuxedo, jots down our order. While I tried explaining that I wanted my steak cooked all the way and not rare, I learnt about Leo's workout routine and how difficult it is waking up at 6:00am to go for a mile run.
"So, do you think you'll come to the party tomorrow?" I sample my chive loaded mashed potatoes, then roughly cut into my steak.
"Most likely. The only thing holding me back is your unapproachable boss." He avoids the mushrooms in his pasta, and I roll my eyes—not because he's a full grown adult and a picky eater, but because I realise Andreas will always ruin my love life for the time that I'm with him.
"You know, if you pick me up early enough," I tilt my head and offer a light grin, "then maybe you won't have to face him."
We exchange knowing glances.
All that's required of me to evade Andreas is sending Leo a message early enough that when he finally arrives, my cranky boyfriend will be too occupied getting himself dressed or brooding in his room like a loser to notice I've left. If he's not, then I'll get ready and leave while he's in the shower, though that'll require squishing my preparation time of two hours to thirty minutes. Perfect.
"Give me an hour's notice."
"Thank you, Leo."
After both a straining and pleasant half hour of general discussion and cleaning up our plates, we're finally heading away from the refined restaurant, and I'm driven back to the house with a gentle kiss on my cheek for a goodbye.
I had been offered to be taken home to his place, but I claimed that I had work too early in the morning. Reality was Andreas gave us the day off to spend it on preparing and unwinding before the uncultured festivity. It'd been constructed purely for people to drown in delirious, drunken yearly interactions.
I get a ping from my phone walking up the stairs. A message.
Andreas: Aya told me you went shopping at the mall. The mall isn't open at this time.
I pause in his room. Of course I didn't even think about fabricating justification as to why I was going to be away. I had startled Seb and Aya in the middle of a cuddle, ordered them not to inform Andreas of my whereabouts, then abandoned them with no further explanation.
My thumbs hover over the screen hesitantly until I decide to ignore him.
I drop my phone onto his spotless desk and appreciate the cleanly state of the room that I know isn't upheld by my practices. The navy bed is all done up, scented with a lavender laundry detergent I ordered he uses, his onyx drapes have been recently washed, and the dark wood dresser, bed, and floor were polished through a cleaning session conducted last week. To introduce imperfection to the orderly space, I yank off my boots and toss them to the side.
But there's a vibration from my phone, then I'm suddenly rushing over to his desk and carrying my eyes over a few exciting words.
Andreas: You shouldn't ignore me, baby. I'll see you soon.
Another minute; another message.
Andreas: You tell me to stop if you need it. Respond with your understanding.
So I tell him I understand. Then brace myself for what's to come.