Helped by the Enemy

Chapter 1- Gluten or Not?

Vivi

If everyone's outsides matched their insides, then Luc LaRoche would be a wart-covered footbridge troll wreaking of old cheese and misery. Instead, I'm scowling up at an anatomical Adonis whose only connection to old cheese is the kind he eats on his pretentious charcuterie boards.

I've never encountered someone who makes me completely lose my sense of self and revert to the frustrated outbursts of a toddler. Only with Luc. A disturbing amount of I know what you are, but what am I energy passes between us.

Luc's irritated tone grates on every fiber of my nerves, twisting into a knot of irritation. "How was I supposed to know your date was gluten free? Listen Vivi, I already told you I'm sorry but his slice looked exactly like mine except it had more frosting, so sue me for switching them. It was a harmless mistake," he defends, hands in his Brioni suit pockets that I imagine are balled into fists.

Harmless mistake? My date's stomach might say otherwise. I make a note to never leave my food unattended around Luc while dancing the cha cha slide. I'm disappointed in myself because a part of me wishes he had intentionally switched the cake slices, if only to justify my current level of annoyance. Now I'm spending the rest of my cousin's big fancy wedding dateless since Luc had to be a greedy frosting troll. I resist the childish urge to call him Puke La Roach, plus I may have already used that material.

I tap my red off-brand heel, one hand poised on my hip, like an impatient mother disciplining for the thousandth time. "Who switches plates without asking first?! Just when I think you can't get any ruder. You're full of awful surprises. You're like a spider-filled piñata."

I know my argument is weak, but every hill is a hill to die on when I'm talking to this man. I realize if anyone else had made the same mistake my reaction would be one of understanding and forgiveness. But my storehouses are empty for Luc.

He rolls his annoyingly blue eyes before emphasizing, "It was an honest mistake, I guess you've never made one of those before. Maybe I did you a favor. Gluten allergies can be passed on to future offspring. Look, I might've saved you from a sad, breadless marriage."

Luc has the indecency to look amused with himself. And I wouldn't crack a smile for a lifetime supply of free bread. Not even my favorite buttered croissants.

My tone drips with sarcasm, "You know what, you're totally right. I should send you a thank you card. Dear Mr. LaRoche, Roses are red, you sabotaged my date. All because of cake and your affinity for hate. XOXO." Now I have the indecency to look amused at myself.

Luc narrows his eyes with a ghost of a smile. "You must be amazing at packing."

I loath the smug look he's sporting. I can sense a punchline but can't help to say, "Excuse me?"

"You must be good at packing," he slowly over-enunciates each word, as if I'm going deaf. "...in order to fit all that attitude in such a small package." His eyes rake over me top to bottom.

I'm glaring, and yes my neck being angled up with my heels on gives it a fresh sting. I'm not even that short! I'm five-foot-four, but everything is dwarfed in Luc's frame. Would stomping on his Italian leather clad shoe be hitting my newest low?

And he's wrong. No one would classify me as someone with an attitude. I'm usually the portrait of chill and amiable, I'm a human penguin! But Luc brings out the worst parts of myself. And if I were honest, he brings every insecurity I battle front and center. I don't think he realizes, and I'd rather eat arsenic flavored wedding cake than show him the truth. I wasn't insecure about my height three seconds ago, but now I find myself straightening.

"Well some of us have to get good at packing because we don't have maids paid for by daddy's money to do it for us," I quip, masking my regret. If this was verbal limbo, how low can you go? Maybe too low. I know Luc is some math whiz and his financial planning business successful, largely to his own credit. But no one can argue that getting a business started is much easier with a father to bootstrap your endeavor. Most of us don't have that luxury.