It felt like I’d become one of those rich people who dragged their personal assistants around while enjoying a shopping spree. I’d been seeing people like that since I was young.
[Deborah Quinn]
As it happened, there was a missed call from her. Thinking I should call her back—and rest my legs while I was at it—I went looking for a restaurant. I’d kept my stomach empty all day for the shoot, so I was hungry too.
I hesitated between a pizza place, a burger joint, and a sandwich franchise before wandering into an alley. There was an Italian restaurant with a pretty decent atmosphere. I passed the cramped terrace and took a seat inside.
“I’ll graciously give you the chance to share a table with me. If you’re so overwhelmed with joy that you start crying, go do it alone in the bathroom.”
Eden snorted softly and sat across from me. He neatly arranged the paper shopping bags and set them down beside him.
“Unfortunately, my tear ducts don’t function well enough to meet your expectations.”
“Maybe you should worry about your sense of humor instead. That’s the more urgent problem.”
“That thing was defective from the start.”
“And your tear ducts weren’t? Have you ever cried a lot? Did you cry often? Were you hurting?”
I’d meant to answer dryly.
But the moment the conversation wandered into territory I didn’t know, excitement got the better of me and the questions came tumbling out one after another. Before I knew it, I’d even leaned forward.
Disaster.
Eden silently watched my excessive reaction before removing his glasses and wiping them with his tie. If there’d really been dust on the lenses bothering him that much, then maybe fate had helped me out. And if it was consideration on his part to buy me time, then I’d rather pretend not to notice.
Eden cleaned his glasses with the solemn dedication of a master craftsman. Lowering his eyes, long lashes drooping, he carefully inspected the lenses. While he diligently breathed warm air onto them and polished away, I straightened my back and sat properly again. I shoved aside the unanswered questions and changed the subject.
“At least let me buy you one meal. The world’s not going to collapse over it. Besides, you accepted that lemon candy just fine yesterday.”
“I believe that belonged to Ms. Whitaker.”
“Susan gave it to me, so it was mine. If it bothers you that much, think of the meal as your daily wage or something. I’m making you work for me, after all. We’re basically half employer and employee.”
To someone so obsessively rigid that he’d accused me of using him and being a terrible person just because I tried to buy him clothes, I stubbornly forced persuasion onto him and scanned the menu. I ordered pasta, wood-fired pizza, and a lightly alcoholic cocktail. Eden chose a salad and a zero-calorie drink.
“Isn’t that too little? Though I guess you’ve always eaten like a bird.”
“I already had lunch while you were working.”
Traitor.
I spat out the expression practically synonymous with Eden Reed’s name like a curse inside my head and pulled out my phone.
“I’m going to make a call.”
As I got up to move somewhere else, Eden stopped me.
“Just do it here. I’m supposedly your stalker, remember?”
So he really intended to eavesdrop on the call too?
“Isn’t the perpetrator being a little too shameless toward the victim? You should be bowing and scraping while wondering whether I’ll even allow it.”
“If someone cared about common sense, they wouldn’t have become a perpetrator in the first place. And a victim becoming generous just because the perpetrator grovels would also make them someone outside the bounds of common sense.”
Being equally lacking in common sense, I slouched carelessly in my chair and made the call right in front of him.
“Can you hear it? Not hearing it? You can hear it now, right?”
When I kindly turned the volume all the way up for the stalker’s benefit, a familiar voice flowed through the phone.
—Somerset.
The volume was so loud it practically smacked my ears, so I lowered it slightly. Watching my fingers fiddle with the buttons, Eden covered his mouth with his hand.
Hey, if you’re gonna laugh, just laugh. Pretending not to laugh doesn’t hide it at all.
—Somerset?
I’d gone silent while glaring at him, so my name was called again. Before the other person’s pitiful patience ran out, I finally spoke.
“You called, Mom.”
Deborah Quinn. The woman who gave me my maternal genes. Even as an adult, I still called her Mom—not because we were close, but because she’d hated me calling her that in front of other people when I was younger.
I still had the childish habit of deliberately doing things my mother disliked.
So don’t go mistaking me for a mama’s boy just because of the title.
But judging by the slight flicker in Eden’s eyes, it seemed he’d already reached some horrible misunderstanding. He moved his hand higher and rubbed around his eyes, but it was too late. I’d already witnessed his disturbance. The moment this call ended, I’d have to clear things up properly.
—When are you free?
“Why do you need my schedule? I think it’s only polite to tell me the reason first.”
—Your father contacted me. Seems he has business in New York. He wants to see you for the first time in a while.
While I mentally checked my schedule, Eden dragged his chair over and sat beside me. He looked fully committed to eavesdropping on the conversation. Was turning up the volume not enough for him? I scratched at my forehead while glancing sideways at him. My neck stiffened for no reason.
“When’s he coming?”
—Next week.
“How about Tuesday or Wednesday evening next week?”
—Tuesday would be good. I’ll hang up now.
The moment the brief call ended, Eden moved back across from me. Following him with my eyes, I explained why I called my mother Mom. And because he didn’t look like he was really listening, I made sure to confirm it too.
“You get it now, right? Understand?”
“You’ve always been like that, though.”
“I was young back then. I’d only just become an adult.”
“Sure, that’s understandable. I get it. Though I’m not sure why my understanding matters.”
His reaction was disappointingly bland as he asked:
“The father mentioned on the call—was that your biological father?”
“Cedric Beaufort.”
“You made plans to meet with Mr. Beaufort?”
“Why are you so interested in me…? Ah, right. Because you’re a stalker. Of course you’d be interested. Yeah, I’m meeting Cedric. I’ll tell you once the time and place are set. You’ll follow me anyway.”
Despite the kindness I’d shown him, he remained indifferent. Honestly, he was impossible to figure out. A stalker who didn’t act like a stalker, then suddenly did, then made me think maybe he wasn’t one at all before going right back to stalking behavior.
More importantly, Eden was the stalker and I was the victim, so why was I the one paying more attention to him?
“Put your phone away.”
I said it to Eden, who was fiddling with his phone, and he obeyed.
“You already ordered. It’s too late to keep checking the menu.”
Again, he did as I said and looked away from the menu.
“It’s an alleyway. Hardly anyone even walks by. There’s nothing to look at.”
I nagged him while he stared outside. A server even came and placed the salad and drinks on the table, yet Eden’s gaze never turned toward it.
Nor did he spare even the smallest fragment of attention for me sitting across from him.
“Your food’s here. Eat.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t just answer me. Seriously, what are you looking at out there so intently?”
I swept my eyes over the alley too, wondering if there really was something there, but nothing stood out. It was just an ordinary alleyway, with tables and flowerpots set out on the narrow terrace. Even those were empty, and since it was an awkward hour, there weren’t any customers around either.
“I don’t get it.”
“There are things you can’t see.”
“You and I both have eyes, so what exactly can’t I see? And my eyesight’s better than yours since you wear glasses.”
“Well, maybe that’s true.”
After relentless persuasion, Eden finally turned his gaze toward me. He was the first to break eye contact and pick up his fork. The way he pushed around vegetables drenched in dressing didn’t look especially enthusiastic. He speared a piece of lettuce, shook it lightly, then asked:
“Is Mr. Beaufort someone trustworthy?”
I pictured a tall, broad-shouldered middle-aged man. Even the traces of age etched into his hollow cheeks somehow became part of his dignified charm. I could vividly imagine the way he dominated a room with sheer confidence. While people whispered and ridiculed him, I’d gladly stood on the side of the man who turned his back on the son taking the full brunt of scandal.
“He’s someone I see maybe once a year if that. I’ve never even been to his house in England. He never once considered giving me the Beaufort name. And he kept the fact that he was my biological father a secret, leaving my mother branded with the disgrace of having a bastard child. Though unfair, I guess that was an agreement between the two of them, so whatever.”
“……”
“Oh, and you can’t go spreading that around either. It’s kind of an open secret in high society, but there’s nothing online about it. Anyway, if we’re talking public credibility, he’s probably a decent enough person.”
After rambling all that out, I suddenly stopped.
“Why did I even tell you about him? I didn’t have to.”
The mistake had started the moment I blurted out his name after Eden asked if the person on the phone was my biological father.
But strangely enough, it didn’t feel like a mistake.
I trusted the damn stalker to keep his mouth shut. Even while repeatedly brainwashing myself into thinking the Eden Reed I used to know and the current Eden were different people, part of me still placed them on the same line.
Damn it. This is your fault for making things confusing. Entirely your fault. I didn’t do anything wrong, but you did. And it’s not like you’ve only done one thing wrong.
I was grumbling internally when—
“You didn’t have a say in that agreement.”
Eden spoke quietly and took another bite of salad. The way he neatly bit through the oversized greens suited him perfectly. When I only stared at him without speaking, he emptied his mouth and continued.
“You weren’t part of the agreement between your biological parents.”
Well, of course I wasn’t. At the time that agreement was made, I’d been inside my mother’s stomach, incapable of expressing any opinion whatsoever. It had even been uncertain whether I’d make it into the world or disappear quietly without anyone ever knowing.
Still, Eden was right.
I’d never agreed to Cedric Beaufort trying to exclude my existence from his life. Though maybe I’d contributed the tiniest little bit to my mother deciding that it was the right time to have a child by conveniently kicking at her stomach during the process.
For some reason, I suddenly felt cheerful.
My mood shifting instantly, I swung my feet beneath the table and sipped my cocktail.
“So you’re saying there’s no problem if I go around talking about it?”
“If we’re being technical, then yes.”
“Are you comforting me?”
“Did you think it was something that needed comforting?”
“Maybe I did until a little while ago. Don’t need it anymore, though.”
In modern society, where inherited class status from distant ancestors was laughable, I had absolutely no desire to belong to a man obsessed with noble bloodlines. If anything, I was pleased he hadn’t given me the Beaufort name he took such immense pride in.
[It won’t work with my schedule. And even if it did, I don’t want to meet.]
After sending the message to Mom, I wiped my hands with a wet napkin. The dishes I’d ordered had just arrived.
“This is good.”
The taste of an ordinary pizza felt incredible. The long stretch of cheese drew rich yet lively melodies, while the pepperoni seemed to dance tango inside my mouth. I almost ended up humming without any dignity while eating.
“Want a slice?”
“I’m good.”
“You must’ve had one hell of a delicious lunch.”
“My stomach’s just not that big.”
