The Pretend To Be Agreement

Chapter Five

Grace

Breath in. Breath out. Inhale. Exhale.

My stomach churned, instant regret fueling through me as I shouldn't have had a second glass of champagne. I wasn't a light weight when it came to alcohol, but right now, I was stressed. My anxiety wasn't helping, and I was pretty sure if Will wasn't holding my hand -- which was keeping me steady -- I would've collapsed. Sitting down at the table was Mr. Reed, his wife, his daughter, grandson, and some mystery woman who scrowled when she saw me.

"Hello, Will. Grace." Mr. Reed greets, faking a smile.

I give a small attempt at a smile, flashing it at Mr. Reed. "Hello."

Will doesn't say anything as we take a seat. I take the particular moment to sit on his left, shielding him away from the mystery woman - who was just staring at him like he's the main course. I let go of Will's hand momentarily, but then our hands reconnect under the table, away from prying eyes.

I don't know why, but when I held onto his hand we both let out quiet sighs in relief. Mine was more out of the fact that I was sitting, and I'm pretty sure Will was just relieved that his father was being civil and not giving him a lecture like he's back in highschool and was in trouble. I would've been pretty damn relieved myself, but seeing as I spent most of my time in highschool studying my butt off and taking care of most of my family members, I wasn't used to the whole lecture thing.

"So, Will, who's the pretty little thing you brought tonight?" I look over at his mother, Katherine, her voice calm. She smiles at me - a real smile, and it surprises me. I smile back, waiting for Will to answer her.

He coughs, looking up into his mother's eyes. "This is Grace Thompson, the photographer who was supposed to be taking the pictures for my photoshoot a couple days back, but someone broke her camera."

I bite the insides of my cheeks, trying not to smile. By someone he meant his father, James, who was glaring at him. It could've gone unnoticed that Will had been implying his father, but that was until he returned the glare, his whiskey eyes going a dark brown, just like his dad's. We all looked at the two, our eyes staring as the two didn't stop.

Will's jaw becomes clenched, his cheeks go a light shade of rose red, and the grip he had on my hand tightened. There had to be a way to get them to stop, and I could already see Mrs. Reed trying to calm her husband by squeezing his hand and trying to get his attention, but nothing happened, he stayed still, not even looking at her, and if that didn't work on Mr. Reed then it probably wouldn't work on Will.

I look at him, concerned. I didn't know what to do, my instincts told me one thing, but my mind told me another. The thing that my mind told me to do was to try and get his attention, to get him to focus on me instead of his father, and then my instincts, which told me to let him work this out by himself. But, the second one could very well lead into a heated agrument that would probably involve a lot of yelling. Security could kick us all out, we get swarmed by the paparazzi, and nobody wanted that. Glancing over at Mrs. Reed I see she had her eyes closed, leaning back in her chair, a martini in her hand. She sipped on it quietly, giving up on her husband.

This wasn't going to end well, a blind person could even see that. It didn't surprise me when Mr. Reed reached over the table, grabbing his glass of Scotch, and downed it, all while not breaking eye contact with his son. He was possibly an old drunk; it wouldn't be a shock if he was, drowning his anger, bitterness, and self-pity in a alcohol. Bathing his Liver in Scotch, and probably any other manly drink.

A shock of pain is sent up from my gallbladder, to my ribs near my right breast, causing to launch forward, gripping the table. I wasn't very good in these situations, my anxiety racing as I thought everyone was looking at me -- and I pray to God their not --, but my sudden movement acts as a distraction as I feel a pair of hands grab my waist, pulling me back into the chair.