Date Gone Wrong

Ryan

"Oh, Ryan, you're here," Mrs. Smith greets, inviting me inside. "Hello, Mrs. Smith," I greet politely, rolling my eyes behind my shades. "Oh, son, don't be silly; call me mom or Sasha." I nod curtly. "Isabelle should be down any minute; make yourself at home." I nod again and take a seat, looking around as I wait. The house is well furnished, but it does not give off a cozy, family home feel. It feels like a movie set, and I'd expect no less.

Their whole life is a movie, waiting to be watched by millions. It's all a show.

Heels clicking on the ground catch my attention, and when I look up, it's Isabelle.

She honestly looks pretty. Her make-up is done well, and her red hair is curled lightly, but only a few know what's really under everything. She comes over to me in a blue spaghetti strap dress that stops mid-thigh, and given her over 5'5 height and with her slim, long legs, it appears even shorter.

I notice how artificially she's walking, as if trying to pull off a model walk and a seductive look on her face. When she stops before me, she bites her lips before speaking, "You look handsome." I nod and guide her out of the house, ushering her to the car.

When we get to the restaurant, I almost worship the floor; Isabelle has been talking nonstop about 'us' and 'our' future.

"Order whatever you want," I tell her once the waitress leaves. "This is going to be fun!" We order our food, and even when it comes, she's still talking nonstop.

A call from my phone interrupts her talking, and she looks at me annoyed. "Excuse me." I excuse myself and notice the caller ID. "Yes, Monique?" "Sir, Mrs. Williams was wondering if you can cut your leave one day short for the problem you both have together." Her tone is uninteresting yet professional, and it pierces my chest just a little.

"No, tell her that as soon as I'm back in the office, I'll contact her," she says, "ok," and cuts the call, and I return to my seat. "What was that?" She asks, sipping her wine. "My assistant." "Why is your assistant calling you right now?" She pries with an attitude, and I feel myself getting irritated. "My company doesn't halt even if I'm on a break."

When will this dinner end? I groan in my head, feeling fidgety at the flood of thoughts about Monique. Just one grand finale, the worst part. "Are you ready?" She nods with the widest grin I've ever seen. Of course, she's excited for this.

I get up from my chair, and as I'm about to go on my knee, I freeze. What am I doing? Who said I have to do this when it's fake? I chuckle to myself, realizing how I didn't think of this properly when Mr. Smith suggested it because a certain brunette was on my mind the majority of the time.

I sit back down in the seat, and Isabelle looks at me strangely, but I don't respond. Instead, I open the box and slide it over to her on the table. We'll have enough attention after the wedding. "What are you doing?" "Proposing," I say, fighting back my anger. "What?" "Isabelle, wear the ring and finish your dinner," I tell her, a little bit harsher this time. I don't care; I'm already miserable, and we're not even married yet.

"But." My head snaps up and glares, and she quickly draws back and eats. I should call Monique and check up on Mrs. William. No, I shouldn't; that's just an excuse to talk to her, and if I do, I'm going to want to see her.

Focus, Ryan; your fiancé is in front of you.

I gag at the title and decide to just eat with only one woman taking up my brain space.

I finish eating, waiting for her to finish, until she looks up and suddenly takes my hands. "I know you don't want this, but can we at least be on common ground, friends?" "No. I want nothing to do with you or your family. Being Mrs. McIntyre on paper should be more than enough until it expires." I pull back my hands and wipe them on the cloth.

"In case you forgot," her hand clasps on the table before she continues. "Remember what your dad said he'll do if you don't cooperate enough, and if I recall, your relationship isn't that good, so what's with a little puppy eye?" Blackmail? Really?

"And what makes you think I'm scared of what my old man says?" I ask, downing my wine in anger. "Didn't you bring StarCorps to the top rank on the charts? It would be a shame to have all that effort go to waste." "You sly-" "No, now I'm raising it; pretend to be a couple in public." I cock an eyebrow at the sudden change, and I don't miss her wide smirk. This isn't good.

I throw the tablecloth and get up, but she pulls me back down and says, "I'm not done eating yet." I glare at her smiling face and sit back down. I'll work my way around this.

In the meantime, I keep up a cold front, although I'm pretty sure the woman in front of me knows she has me where she wants.

I can't help but let my thoughts wander off to Monique being in Isabelle's place, looking spontaneously gorgeous or smiling shyly with pink cheeks for simply complimenting her.

What is she doing right now?

Is she talking to James?

On a date too?

My heart rate picked up speed at the last question, and I don't know why. Whenever I think about her with another man, it always does, and I suddenly become angry.

"Ryan." A voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I am one squeeze away from breaking the glass. "What?" I spit, and she shows me her plate. "I'm done, and I've been calling you for so long." "Let's go then," I say, annoyed. "Help me up." If I disliked her before, I hate her now.

I help her up, but she clings to me as we leave. This is no doubt going to be on the news tomorrow, if not tonight. Just what she wants.