Sarah
I strut up to the counter, hips swaying, eyes glinting with mischief. Now that I have my prized possession, my mama's painting, I feel a lot better now.
"Two lattes, please. Extra hot," I purr, gaze sliding to where Vincent sits.
His eyes pin me in place, dark and fathomless. Waiting. Watching.
Always watching.
The chalkboard menu blurs before me as my heart pounds. Damn him. He still gets to me, even now.
The barista clears her throat. "Sorry, what kind of lattes did you want?"
I drag my gaze away from Vincent's, pulse racing. "Caramel macchiato for me, flat white for him."
That's what he ordered. It's not my fault that he is boring!
The barista nods and gets to work as I pay, with Vincent's credit card, of course.
My hands tremble and I clench them into fists. I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he affects me.
How much power he still holds.
When the drinks are ready, I saunter back to the table, hips swinging in exaggerated confidence.
Vincent's gaze darkens, fingers tightening around his cup.
Good. A crack in that aloof facade.
I slide into the seat opposite, nudging his flat white across the table.
"For you." My tone drips with sweetness.
His eyes narrow, staring at the coffee like it's a trap.
Which it is, in a way.
"What in the hell is this?" Vincent barks.
"It's a latte, of course," I speak to him as if I am speaking to a kindergartener.
"Why the hell is there a smiley face drawn on this?" he asks.
"To cheer things up," I say as I take a slow sip of my latte, watching Vincent over the rim of the cup. "And also to see you squirm." My voice comes out a hiss.
"It's stupid," he grumbles.
"Oh my god, try to enjoy the little things for once. Look, mine has a cute little kitten!" I chirp, pointing at my cup.
Vincent's intense gaze remains fixed on the latte and then he finally takes a sip.
"There," I croon, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "It's the best coffee you've ever tasted, isn't it?"
Vincent clenches his jaw. He flexes his fingers under mine in warning, and it only makes me smile wider.
"Admit it," I press. "You like it. The latte is delicious."
Vincent's scowl deepens. "It's delicious."
Vincent's admission brings a triumphant grin to my lips. "See? I knew you'd come around."
His eyes narrow, a hint of frustration flashing across his features before he schools his expression back into its usual mask of indifference. But I've seen the crack in his armor, however fleeting it may be.
I lean back in my chair, taking another leisurely sip of my caramel macchiato, relishing in the small victory.
Vincent's gaze remains fixed on me, unreadable. "So, what's the story behind the painting?"
Vincent's sudden interest catches me off guard, but I quickly compose myself. "My mom painted it when I was little," I reply. "She used to do shows in art galleries. But after she died, Dad sold and gave away all of her paintings except for this one."
"I see," Vincent says.
I sense a genuine curiosity in Vincent's voice, which surprises me. He's actually interested in something beyond his usual aloof demeanor.
"Yeah, it's the only thing I have left of her," I continue, my tone softening as memories of my mother flood back. "She was an incredible artist, you know? She could capture emotions and stories in her paintings like no one else."
Vincent's expression softens slightly. "She sounds like an extraordinary woman."
A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips. "She was. And this painting... it's like a piece of her is still with me, you know? It's comforting, in a way."
Vincent nods. "It's better than the clown painting."
There's a brief moment of silence between us before I start giggling. I forgot about that stupid painting.
The sound of the bell above the door makes me look up to see who has just walked in. My heart leaps when I see Jared.
Before I had the chance to react, my eyes locked with his, and his lips curled into a small smile.
Vincent follows my gaze and frowns when he realizes who I am looking at.
Oh great...is Vincent going to start drama since Jared is here?
"I see your boyfriend is here," Vincent says dryly.
I roll my eyes at Vincent's comment. "Jared's not my boyfriend," I retort, a hint of annoyance in my voice.
Vincent raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "Okay. The one you wish you married."
I huff, crossing my arms over my chest defensively. "Yes, that's right."
Vincent grins. "Go ahead. Go say hi to your little boyfriend. You know you want to."
I resist the urge to snap at Vincent. I know he is just messing with me, trying to test me to see how far I'd go.
Ignoring Vincent's scrutiny, I turn my attention back to Jared, who's now making his way over to our table with a charming smile.
"Hey, Sarah," Jared greets me warmly as he approaches. "I didn't expect to see you here."
A rush of warmth floods through me at Jared's presence. "Hi, Jared."
Vincent's presence lingers in the background, a silent observer of the interaction between Jared and me. I can feel his eyes boring into me.
Jared pulls out a chair and sits down beside me, casting a polite nod in Vincent's direction. "Hey," he greets Vincent, his tone polite but guarded. "I didn't get to properly introduce myself the other night. I am Jared. Sarah and I have been friends since middle school," Jared tells Vincent.
Vincent nods in acknowledgment, his expression unreadable as he regards Jared. "I am her husband, Vincent," he replies simply.
Jared offers a friendly smile. "Nice to meet you, Vincent," he says, though I can sense a hint of skepticism in his tone.
I shoot Jared a quick glance. This is kind of awkward, to say the least.
Jared's friendly demeanor falters, replaced by a look of sadness. "How come you didn't invite me to your wedding, Sarah? I thought we were close," he says, glancing between Vincent and me.
I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. How am I supposed to tell him that he was the one I wanted to marry, but fate tied me to this jerk named Vincent?
"We got married in a rush. Didn't have the chance to invite a lot of people," Vincent replies on my behalf.
Vincent's response catches me off guard. It's not entirely untrue, but it's not the whole truth either. I shoot him a sharp look, silently urging him to stop speaking for me. This is my conversation to guide, not his.
Jared's expression softens, his eyes reflecting a mix of understanding and disappointment. "I see," he says quietly, though his gaze lingers on me for a moment longer before shifting back to Vincent.
"I should get going," Jared says, rising from his seat with a forced smile. "It was nice seeing you, Sarah. And meeting you, Vincent."
Vincent nods, a hint of something unreadable flickering across his features. "Likewise," he replies, though his tone lacks warmth.
As Jared walks away, a heavy silence settles over the table, punctuated only by the distant hum of conversation and the clink of dishes.
"I don't know what you see in that guy." Vincent breaks the silence.
"He's a nice guy," I retort, my tone sharp.
Vincent's gaze hardens, his jaw tightening as he meets my eyes. "I don't like the way he looks at you," he says, his voice low and accusing.
I scoff, incredulous at his audacity. "And how exactly does he look at me, Vincent? With respect? Kindness? Something you seem incapable of?"
Vincent's expression darkens, a storm brewing behind his eyes. "Don't push me, Sarah," he warns, his tone low and dangerous.
I narrow my eyes, refusing to back down. "Or what, Vincent? What are you going to do?"
Vincent's jaw clenches, his fists balling at his sides as he struggles to maintain his composure. "You know what? Forget it," he says finally, his voice strained.
He is jealous, I realize. Does he feel threatened by Jared?
"What did he do for you that makes you think he is kind?" Vincent asks, his tone still angry.
I groan. "Why are we still talking about this?"
"Answer the question, Sarah," Vincent says irritably.
I sigh, frustration mounting as Vincent continues to press the issue. "Fine," I relent. "Jared has always been there for me. He's been my friend since we were kids. He's listened to me, supported me, and never once made me feel like I wasn't enough."
Vincent's gaze softens slightly, a flicker of something similar to understanding crossing his features. "I see."
"All you do is be mean to me. Make me feel small and...used. You are punishing me for something my father did, and you won't even tell me what it is that he did!" The words spill out of my mouth before I can stop them.
Vincent's expression tightens at my accusation, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and hurt. "There are things you don't understand," he begins, his voice quieter now, carrying a note of vulnerability that I rarely hear from him.
"Then help me understand, Vincent," I implore.
Vincent leans forward. "You want to know? Then tonight, I will tell you everything about your precious father."