HAPPY | ✔

20.5 JOYCE: PROFIT AND LOSS

We were seated in some posh French restaurant, the name of which I couldn't pronounce.

I fingered the tablecloth and concluded that the white linen probably had a thread count higher than any sheet I owned. The chandelier looked to be an elaborate array of glass crystals worth more than I would make in a lifetime. This place made wood panelling look luxurious instead of rustic. Even the single flower at the centre of each table looked exotic. It was a brilliant yellow with numerous tiny golden petals.

"It's two Michelin stars," Daniel had said, "I hope it's satisfactory."

He had said it with a teasing smile, his hand pressing into my back as we followed the host to our table. His words had made me uncomfortable, when I had no right to be.

I had told him that this was what I had expected. He was merely giving me what he thought I wanted.

The truth is, all I had wanted was something green. Something I would not have felt guilty consuming in front of a man who had already seen all the imperfections of my body.

But Daniel Maranzano was one of those eccentric rich folk. One of the few to prefer fry chicken over caviar. That one had thrown me for a loop, and honestly, I hadn't known how to react. Instead of taking it in stride, in true Joyce Marshall fashion, I had put my foot in my mouth, spurting whatever nonsense that came to me.

I comforted myself with the thought that he did not hold it against me.

I ordered a simple Caesar salad and lemon water.

Daniel gave me a disbelieving stare that made me shift uncomfortably in my chair.

"If I wanted to feed you grass, I'd have taken you to a field," he had muttered to himself lowly. I knew he hadn't meant for his words to be heard by me, but my ears had tuned in to the sound of his voice and I was left with an unsettling emotion I could not describe.

He hadn't looked up quick enough to catch the fleeting hurt in my eyes. When he finally graced me with his gaze, there was nothing left in my expression to decipher.

"What, no truffles today?" he had laughed.

"Nope," I had popped the p in a conscious attempt to lighten the mood.

Not long after, our lunch arrived. He had ordered some savoury dish covered in what I presumed to be parmesan that looked ten times better than mine.

That was twenty minutes ago. He had not looked at me since.

His gaze fluctuated between his phone and his meal, and once in a while would flicker to his glass, but never higher. If it did, he would have perhaps realized that I had cleared my own plate five minutes ago, and had been staring at him ever since, like a creep.

He was the type of man poets would never recite sonnets about because fourteen lines would never suffice.

I stared intently for so long, I picked out features I had never seen before: like the freckles over the bridge of his nose or how his eyes managed to look more grey than green whilst downcast.

He was so beautiful it was annoying.

I wondered why he had gone through the trouble of dragging me here if he had no time for me. Why had he put in the effort to get me here if he had no intention of giving me a speck of his attention? Why even bother?

I pulled my cell from my bag and pressed the power button to spy the time. I had to be back at school in half an hour for my next class- a group of seniors that thought they were the shït and did not see the necessity in putting in effort into learning shït. Needless to say, they were my least favourite, but there were a few gems that made all my effort spent on planning and executing my lessons worth it.