Unwanted Dinner

Chris took the opportunity to leave the place, when she saw him leaving, she wanted to slap herself with frustration, despite her efforts she failed to prevent that. However, the faithful Ruben remained in the room, concerned and willing to help in any way. When Rocco finished eating and fell asleep comfortably, she went out to go to the room reserved for her.

Aida, the servant, showed Lara the room reserved for her upstairs. Decorated in subtle shades of ivory and slate-blue, she remembered her own bedroom in the house, even though the furnishings here were far more than anything she could afford. Marble floors, a Savonnerie rug and fine antiques polished to a soft gleam exemplified wealth, good taste and comfort.

There is also a lady’s writing desk between the double French doors to the balcony. There was a fainting couch, its brocade upholstery worn to satin softness, its once-vibrant colors faded by time. A glass-shaded lamp spilled mellow light, and a vase of lilies on a table filled the room with fragrance.

What caught her more attention was the wide bed, dressed in finest linens. More than ten thousand kilometers, and over sixteen hours of travel with its inevitable delays, add to the stress she felt due to her patient's condition, had really exhausted her energy, and she had nothing else that wanted to do but lay down her tired body, pull the soft coverlet over her body and sleep through to morning.

She saw her luggage had been unpacked, her toiletries had been placed in the bathroom and her robe and nightshirt were lying on the bench in front of the dresser. But to her frustration, was the new underwear, and the new ironed cotton dress, one of the few clothes she had brought, hanging in the dressing room connecting the bathroom and bedroom.

And it was a hint that her desire to sleep early would not happen, Aida’s farewell statement provided the answer to her thinking.

“I have prepared your bath, Ms. Torres. Dinner will be served in the garden room at nine o'clock.”

Clearly daily protocol at the Imperial's residence is as elegant as the villa itself and eating a sandwich in her room that Lara had intended to request would definitely not be allowed.

The main floor was deserted when she made her way downstairs just a few minutes past nine, but the faint sound of music and a sliver of golden light spilling from an open door halfway down the central hall indicated where she might find the garden room.

But to her surprise when she entered she discovered that she was not the only one to eat.

A round glass-topped table, tastefully set for two, stands in the middle. A silver ice bucket and two cut-crystal champagne glasses glinted in the almost ethereal glow of dozens, if not hundreds, of miniature white lights laced among the potted shrubs lining the perimeter of the area.

What is the best finale? Christian Imperial, disgracefully gorgeous in pale gray trousers and matching shirt, which if she adds up altogether is worth the six months she paid for her apartment.

She was sadly out of her element, and surely looked at it. She was just thankful that the person she had to eat with was not wearing a black tie.

"I didn't know you were going to eat dinner with me." She said, the chaotic mind that all she thought and had succeeded in eradicating came back again when she saw him.

He took the open bottle of champagne from the ice bucket, poured it into the crystal glasses and handed it to her. "I didn't know I needed an invitation to sit at my father's table."

“That's not what I meant. You have the right—”

"How kind of you to say so."

She’d perfected the art of withering pleasantries, she decided, desperately trying to rein in her swimming senses. His smile along with his answer was tinged with ridicule and contempt. And she could not go wrong with the melody she heard of it accompanied by insults. “I didn’t mean to be rude, Mr. Imperial,” she said. “I was just surprised, that’s all. I thought you left the house. I know you have your own house in Baguio City.

“I do, by the way, aren’t big on honorifics. Just call me Chris. As everyone calls me.”

She doesn’t care about other people. What hurts her head is the fact that the two of them are left with each opening of her mouth as if she has nothing to say right about it.

"You have nothing more to say, Lara?" he asked, a deep smile twinkling in his beautiful eyes. "Or does eating with me make you upset?"

“It's not like that,” she said with dignity, “I'm just wondering why you chose to stay here, instead of in your own home. As far as I know, you and your father don't spend much time together.”

“Nevertheless, I am his child, and according to the last I heard, my choice to stay overnight at my father’s house cannot be considered trespassing. Indeed, due to circumstances I had to stay here often. Do you have a problem with that?”

Although she did not admit it but she knew that his presence would cause her distraction that she also did not know if she could handle, she said, "Not at all, as long as you don't interfere with the reason why I'm here."

"And what is the real reason?"

She stared at him. The sparkle and smile in his eyes were gone; they were as cold and hard as bottle green glass. "What kind of question is that? You know why I'm here.”

“I know that my father has become extremely dependent on you. I also know that he is a very weak old man who happens to be very rich.”

She took a deep breath to keep her anger from erupting at what he said, "Do you mean I'm only chasing him for money?"

"Are you?"

"Certainly not," she snapped. “But that’s why you stayed here, right? Not because you're worried about your father, but to watch over me and make sure we don't have a relationship and take his bank account.”

“Not quite. So, I am here, to watch over my father because, in his present condition, he cannot take care of himself. If you find my concern offensive--"

"I do!"