Not For Love

9. A Romantic Comedy

I interlock my fingers nervously as Asher keeps scrolling through his cellphone.

   The car comes to a halt in front of a long lane with people bustling around the edges. I don't have time to decide why there are reporters when this is just another dinner party and nothing rare where a single family hosts tens of parties in a single year. Even if it's being held at the King's hotel. It makes me more suspicious than surprised. Why such a private family as the Kings would all of a sudden host a dinner party at one of their most prized places and attract so much media attention? Something is going on.

   I can't ponder for long when Asher steps out the car as if he doesn't care or already is aware of everything. He walks over to my door and opens it with a smile.

   I, on the other hand, frown. "What if I don't get out?" I dare to ask.

   "I'll pick you up anyways. Decide which one will be more embarrassing. You have two seconds," he says with no hint of humor.

   My eyes widen and before I even comprehend what's happening Asher slides his hand around my waist and other almost around my thighs. I jolt and stand up before he does it for me. "Okay. Okay."

   Asher's hand slips from my waist to my back, barely touching and he extends his arm to me. I grab it with the most amount of elegance I can muster and we walk—glide, if possible for me—inside.

   "You look like you're about to kill someone," whispers Asher as we walk.

   "There better be food inside, or I might." I warn, schooling my restlessness into a smile on my face. Camera flashes in front. Reporters suddenly seem to be more energetic as they shout for us to look their way. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of all the men my mother had to find me the most sought bachelor as a husband—now the most sought married man.

   "Your feet are shaking," The Most Sought Ex-Bachelor notices.

   "No, they're not," I lie. To think how my mother used to say my not socializing in places like this would one day come and bite me in the ass. I dismissed her knowing all well even if I were to marry it would be someone who shares my distaste for parties and love for staying home.
   It didn't turn out pretty well.

   "Warn me if you think you're tripping," Asher says, cutting in my thoughts.

   I smirk. "Why you'll save me, Superman?" A playful question, if not mocking.

   He lets out a bitter, hushed laugh. "I just want to make sure you don't take me down with you." A dull but genuinely mocking answer.

   "I won't trip, Cherauno. But don't worry I'll keep my hands open if your legs decide to bitch with you," I say, grinning as we reach a set of stairs. I instantly regret my words. Asher retorts to my comment but I don't hear him as I stare the stairs in horror. I hesitate in taking the first step but Asher's hand on my back keeps me from running. A part of me wonders if he really thinks I would.

   My thoughts go to Jess and how I explained to her that I most definitely would not like to explore my talent in resting my heel four inch above ground in front of so many eyes. But she begged to differ. Everyone will be watching. Her words have since latched on to my mind and refuse to be forgotten. Did she mean to comfort me with such words or threaten? I will never know. Because I'm not sure if I will ever survive this night.

   Whilst wondering I find myself on the seventh stair and smile. Maybe I won't trip after all, is what I think when the four inch heel scuffs at one of the stairs—ninth. But just when I think I'm done, Asher's hold on my back firms and his other hand grabs my arm. I'm brought back up before my body even thinks of following suit.