She folds her arms under her chest, accentuating the curves of her body. Why has she bundled her herself up in that ugly dress?
‘He’d deserve it for leaving me to cater to the eager Friday night female population all by myself. Don’t you think that’s cruel?’
‘I can only imagine the level of responsibility you have taken on,’ she answers drily. ‘And I think you mean the female population minus one, seeing as Sonia is now out of bounds.’
I run my hand over my chin. ‘Minus two. Considering that
you’re not interested.’
What the hell am I saying? It sounds almost like I’m trying it on with her!
‘You’re right about that. I’m not the least bit interested,’ she confirms, without turning a hair.
Now, I know that I have said many times that she’s not my type. And she’s not. Not in any sense of the word. Categorically. Not for anything in the world. Ok? So that’s clear. I don’t like her.
And yet… her rejection offends me. Because it is a sincere refusal, not a tactic. It’s not like those women who pretend to resist you and five minutes later they’re on their backs. She is calm. She’s not trembling with anticipation, or gazing at me with desire, she neither admires me nor flatters me. She just sits there, on her end of the bench, resigned and tolerant. She is tolerating my presence! She, who should thank the god of love every night just for having the honour of sharing my air!
It is not possible. No-one can resist my charm.
No-one.
Why should she resist me? It is a question of principle. Of bloody principle. It cannot be that any woman, especially not one as unappealing as this, isn’t secretly longing to fall into my arms.
I consider implementing the Soulful Gaze, just to prove I’m not losing my touch, but there’s a problem: she can’t see properly, and besides, it didn’t seem to work earlier, when she had her glasses on. Should I resign myself?
‘You’re too quiet,’ she observes, jolting me away from my unlikely designs and back to reality. What was I thinking? It’s not worth wasting my time.
‘I was trying to work out if the massacre of the bridesmaids was over. But I still hear inhuman screams. What are they doing, preparing an altar for human sacrifice?’
Sara wrinkles her nose, listening to the noises coming from the villa. ‘I think more likely they’re delighting themselves with the group dances.’
I shudder at the thought. I did well to run away.
‘Oh God. That tribal ritual in which everyone pretends to be following the same steps and then stamps their feet at each other?’
She nods, with a half smile. ‘That’s the one! Where half of the group turns to the right and half to the left, and everyone ends up colliding. It’s just an excuse for overeating. No harm in that extra piece of chicken if you’ll be burning off the calories later.’
‘I know a much more enjoyable way burn to calories …’ I can’t resist… I have to know where I am going wrong and if I’ve really lost my appeal.
She looks up at the sky. Does not seem impressed. ‘I’ll ignore that. Can’t you be more original? I get that you’re proud of your… presence, but it’s really not necessary to remind me of it every five minutes. I believe you. You don’t have to try anything.’
‘I don’t want to prove anything to you!’ Of course, that’s exactly what I was trying to do, but there’s no need to be weird about it. My ego has taken enough of a bruising already.
‘It would seem the opposite, from where I’m standing,’ she replies, raising an eyebrow.
Ridiculous! Is she really accusing me of trying it on with her? Who does she think she is? I fold my arms across my chest and sit in silence. Unfortunately, silence and I are not well acquainted.
‘Anyway, what would you know about it? You don’t seem like an expert on human relationships to me.’ There, take that.
She doesn’t turn, but continues to smile that irritating, superior smile.
‘I’m sure I’m not an expert in the way you mean, but I’m close to enough people to understand some dynamics.’
‘You, close to people? They must be terrified.’
Her condescending smile turns dangerous. And damn it, the cruel curve of those lips makes me lose my concentration for a moment. I slap my forehead. I’m freaking out, no doubt about it.
‘Yes they are. And that’s how I like it.’
A shiver runs down my spine. ‘Don’t tell me you’re a sadist?’
‘I’m just strict, Teo.’
And I can’t help it. My mind processes conjures up the image of Sara with flashing eyes and a cruel sneer, subduing the first unfortunate who crosses her path. Disturbing.
‘So you keep people away?’
‘Only those that don’t interest me.’
‘And you’re not interested in me?’
She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and I can’t blame her.
‘I’d have thought that was obvious. Just like it’s obvious you’re not interested in me. Or are you?’
What is she trying to say?
‘Of course I’m not interested in you, I told you before, didn’t I? Anyway, I bet you kiss like my grandmother.’
Sara’s cold composure cracks for a moment. ‘I do not!’
I smile to myself, pleased to have hit a nerve. ‘Here we go! I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re the princess who resurrects the prince with the kiss of true love?’
‘That’s not even how it works. It’s the prince who resurrects the princess. I think you mean the one with the frog. Where the princess kisses the frog and turns him into a prince.’
‘But the opposite would happen here,’ I retort, gesturing towards the shapeless outline of her dress. I really am an arsehole, and I’m not sorry.
In reply, she crosses her arms again, highlighting her curves. I look away.
‘Besides, who’s to say the frog wouldn’t be a better kisser?’ And she flicks her tongue out at me.
I turn sharply to look at her. ‘Well, well, a dirty joke. So you do have a libido in there somewhere.’
‘Of course I do, except that unlike you I know to use it .’
‘So would you say you kiss as well as, or better than a frog?’
‘Better than you, that’s for sure.’
I shake my head. ‘I doubt that very much.’
‘Seriously, there’s no competition between us, and I’m not interested in getting into a debate about it, so I say we should just leave it at that and go back inside,’ she replies, getting to her feet and starting to walk… in the wrong direction.
I walk after her and grab her by the hand. ‘The ceremony is over there,’ I point out, and she blushes slightly.
‘I know that!’ she replies, trying to free herself.
I don’t move, continuing to keep her hand captive in mine.
‘What is it?’ she asks doubtfully.
‘I have a high opinion of myself.’
‘So?’
‘I can’t tolerate anyone telling me I can’t do something where I know I excel.’
She catches my meaning. ‘Do you want to kiss me to see who is best? Do you realise how ridiculous that is?’