Page 15 of Semi Sweet (Working For Love #1)

I went to my future in-laws’ for dinner the night before the Quitteros left for their business trip.

These meals were a near weekly ritual that I'd been required to attend almost immediately once Evan and I became a couple.

It was always authentic Italian that Grandma Benedetta worked on all day long.

The food was good, but I always felt on edge while I was there, even after all these years.

I imagined it was like what an animal felt like when they were trapped behind glass at the zoo.

I was on display to be dissected and I could never wait to go home and relax.

Tonight was no different. I glanced at the clock and played with my veal parmesan.

In a few hours, the family driver would take me home and the next five days would be mine.

I planned on binge watching anime and doing all the other things that Evan frowned upon.

That, and maybe figure out who was writing me poetry better than my own and sending me cupcakes.

I wasn't sure if knowing the answer to that mystery would help me or hurt me.

I all but jumped out of my skin when Evan's father put a hand on my arm.

He must have been talking to me and I hadn't been paying attention. He smiled at me like he often did, like I was cute and simple and would never amount to anything without the Quittero name attached to me. I wasn't sure if Evan had poisoned his mind with his hatred of writing and the other things I liked to do. Did he think I wasn’t serious or mature enough to be his daughter-in-law? Despite the weekly discomfort that came with these dinners, I’d stopped caring about what Evan's family thought a long time ago. Maybe I'd become numb to them.

"I hope that you'll be joining us the next time we do this," Evan’s father said.

I never asked what they did on these business trips. Was there a convention where rich business owners met and discussed what made them successful? Or maybe they went to a tropical island. I figured if I knew, I'd be in that much deeper.

"I don't know why she can't get a higher position now," Grandma Benedetta said in the way that often made my skin crawl.

"I was in charge of other people at her age.

Graduate school." She made a noise that was dismissive and I found myself picking at what was left of my plate as I tried to think of what to say and not be rude.

"I actually chose the marketing program to help you." I tried to say as sweetly as possible. "We want to keep Cash Value Market growing, don't we?"

It was a flat out lie. Grandma Detta didn't need to know I was doing marketing so I could sell my books someday.

Evan's mother smiled at me warmly. "See, Olivia is probably more prepared than all of us."

I was reminded that Mrs. Quittero had once been like me, an outsider of the family. That didn't make me any less wary of their intentions or dismayed that they allowed their son to be so mean to me sometimes.

After tiramisu and coffee, it was nearly time for the chauffeur to bring me back to my townhouse.

Grandma Benedetta had already gone up to her room and I had politely said goodnight and goodbye to everyone else.

Soon it was just Evan and me on the doorstep with a black Town Car idling in the driveway.

"Don't forget about me," Evan ordered softly.

"Never," I murmured, though my thoughts were elsewhere. On cupcakes and a disco masquerade.

"Now don't slack off while I'm gone," he continued. "You have plenty of work and wedding planning to do."

And Japanese dramas to watch. And writing to do. I thought to myself, but murmured some sort of agreement instead.

He kissed my hair. " I love you."

"I love you, too."

I had a strange epiphany when I smiled up at him and returned the gesture–Evan only kissed my lips when we were being intimate.

I guessed I'd been so closed off about my feelings that I hadn't realized.

When had that changed? Had it been when he got his corporate job?

Was it when he'd criticized my passion for writing for the first time?

It was hard to remember and that made me sad.

***

I barely recognized myself as I looked in the mirror.

I curled my sandy blonde hair and twisted it up into a knot.

I wore jewelry that dangled and sparkled, much flashier than what I normally wore.

The dress I’d picked was something Evan would have never have approved of–scandalously short, just barely covering my bottom, and a deep purple.

One sleeve was cut to look like a cape, while the other side had my shoulder exposed and bare.

The dress had been in my favorite boutique, which I hadn't been to in ages. I’d originally hoped to wear it somewhere with Evan, but I felt like it fit with the theme of the party.

I picked out tall wedges from my closet that laced up my shins.

I almost felt like I belonged at a disco.

More so, I felt confident, which I knew was probably going to be regrettable.

Despite the feeling that I could take on the world, I hoped most of my co-workers wouldn't recognize me even if I didn't wear a mask.

I took the train and found myself feeling jittery.

What if I finally got to meet my secret admirer?

What then? Would I go back to my old life or was I going to fall even harder for this man?

Would it get to the point where Evan found out and my life would become even more hellish?

I told myself to not do anything impulsive because last time, I ended up with no support and being dependent on Evan.

From the outside, the building looked unsuspecting.

The closing shift was wrapping things up for the evening and taking care of final customers.

Despite this, I heard bass pounding through a subwoofer in the distance the minute I walked in the store.

I wondered what customers thought as they saw people dressed like they were from the seventies all flocking to one place.

I carefully walked to the back of the store, the music growing louder and louder until I pushed through the swing doors and was greeted by the sight of what could have passed for a disco club.

What was typically the receiving area of the store was decorated with shag carpet, hues of orange and green, and tons of lava lamps.

It was also packed with people. Most held cups in their hands, but a few had whole bottles of cheap champagne, tipping their heads back and drinking.

Gloria Gaynor's I Will Survive blasted through a sound system that looked expensive while lights bounced off the walls and dance floor.

Someone handed me a cheap black domino mask to cover my eyes and I felt even more like someone else as I slipped into the party–the future wife of Evan Quittero, unnoticed.

I couldn't help but join in with the celebratory yell that sounded when Stayin' Alive by the Bee Gees began to play.

A masked person came by carrying a tray of shots and I helped myself to one, enjoying the way it tickled all the way down to my stomach after I swallowed it down.

A few paces away from me, a man who looked just like a guy from frozen foods gave me a thumbs-up for handling my alcohol so well.

I smiled at him, and we spent a few minutes dancing around excitedly.

Another song later, I ran into Beth and Max. They'd been able to pick me out easily, and I hoped that meant everyone else wasn't watching my every move too.

"How did you know it was me?"

The pair exchanged a look like they didn't know how to respond. Finally, it was Max that offered, "Your sense of style is kind of hard to miss."

Beth nodded like she thought it was a great answer and blurted out, "You look amazing!"

"Thanks!" I looked at her huge bell bottoms and very authentic halter top. "So do you."

We went over to the bar, which had been set up by the cardboard crushing machine, and had two rounds of shots before I felt comfortable enough to admit why I was actually at the party.

"The person sending me the cupcakes–they're going to be here." In reality, they had only asked me if I was going, they hadn't confirmed if they were attending. I knew in my heart that he was here somewhere.

I watched Max almost smirk before Beth punched him in the arm. "No way. What are you going to do?"

I stared at my shoes and my face became warm, not just from alcohol. "Honestly, I have no idea." I felt like I was becoming fuzzy. "I guess I want to ask him why."

"What about Evan?" Max asked. "Isn't he the jealous, possessive type?"

For the first time all night and since he left for his trip, I saw my fiancé's face in my mind. I found myself scowling as I reached for a bottle of tequila, something different than before, and poured myself another shot.

"He's too busy squashing my aspirations and drinking bourbon to even know what's going on." I practically begged, "Please don't tell him. I know this whole cupcake thing seems insignificant, but it is literally my reason for waking up some days."

Beth looked concerned, but it quickly vanished when her companion mentioned something under his breath about getting written up and she stomped on his foot with an elevator shoe.

"Come on," Beth said as the music pulsed. "Let's dance."

I followed behind her, and noticed Max stayed planted at the bar.

He was confusing me anyway, so it was no love lost. I danced without a care in the world, forgetting Evan and even why I was there in the first place.

I couldn't recall the last time I’d drank four shots, maybe when I was in college, but my life had changed so much since then that I’d forgotten.

Somehow, I danced with so much fervor that Beth was nowhere to be found. I was in a new sea of people.

The song changed to an ABBA song that I remembered being in a movie musical I'd watched on a weekend Evan had been busy at corporate.

There had been a scene where the couple who were about to be married passionately declared their love for each other.

Even before all this cupcake business, I remembered thinking that my relationship never felt that way.

Did people actually paw at each other like that or was it all Hollywood and romance novels?

Someone knocked into me. I felt warm and giggly and decided that I probably should have stopped after three shots. I was drunk.

"Sorry," I managed to get out.

I froze in place when I heard someone's voice in my ear. "I think you should listen to the words to this song." The voice was deep and almost sounded like it was smiling.

My heart seized. Was it possible? I turned my head to see who was talking to me, but all the alcohol in my veins made my surroundings hazy.

It took several seconds for them to catch up to me.

I looked for anyone or anything that could give away my secret admirer, but all I could see and feel were bodies dancing around me.

I think you should listen to the words to this song.

As I stood even higher on my tiptoes to see the crowd, I tried to sing along.

The song was well known. The lyrics spoke about how the person wasn't the jealous type, but now they were so unhinged they were in trouble.

They needed the subject of the song to tell them they were the only one they had feelings for.

My eyes widened when I realized the song was a clue.

Not a clue, a confession. I bumped into whoever was playing this game with me.

Had he requested it? Had it been a coincidence?

I pushed through the crowd, trying to get to the edge, seeing if I would have better luck finding whoever it was from that angle.

I continued to listen intently. The song continued to talk about how they were head over heels for whoever they were singing about and how they were unsatisfied when they weren't around.

Was I unsatisfied? This particular verse spoke to me.

Here I was dying with anticipation to discover the identity of someone I thought I was falling hard for, while my husband-to-be was away on business trying to become a tycoon like his parents before him.

I might have been drunk, but I still should have been more nervous.

Or guilty. I was definitely unsatisfied and had been for years.

This ordeal had made me realize that, if nothing else.

"Would you like a shot?"

A guy in a mask had walked by with a tray. The voice wasn't the same. I scanned the crowd before I grabbed one and downed my fifth. I was going to feel shitty in the morning, but it was too late now. I'd made my decisions and now I had to ride them out.

I listened to the chorus of the song again and wanted to scream in frustration because the more I searched, the more the world seemed to sway.

I decided to keep listening, inching back towards the crowd, wondering if Meg and Ariana from the front end were whispering about me somewhere. I was too far gone to care.

I actually yelped when someone grabbed me by the wrist, my concentration broken.

This was the part of the song where the person admitted they were past the point of no return and the person they loved had become an obsession.

I looked up, slowly processing the tall man that was gently holding onto me.

In the darkness, through my murky head, I could have sworn I recognized his jawline or the broadness of his shoulders.

He wore a mask just like I did, with dark jeans and a black button-down shirt.

It was open a little, the only indication of the disco theme.

I shouted to be heard over the noise. "Are you him?"

The masked man smirked at me. I felt a jolt in my stomach at the sight of his smile. "I don't know," he answered. "What do you think?"

"WHO ARE YOU?" I pleaded.