Page 48 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

Which means it’s time for drastic measures, hence why I’m now sitting at my parents’ usual table in my least favorite place in the world: Fernando’s.

Blondie sits across from me, a vision in a black Givenchy plunging neckline dress (one of a handful of dresses I bought her when we went shopping last month), and it’s a triumphant return to her Superman alter ego, which I haven’t seen since the night we fucked, when I was so blind—and drunk—I couldn’t even tell who she was.

Though I’m a diehard fan of her first-evolution Pokémon, Clark Kent, au naturel form, I can’t ignore how great she looks tonight; she clearly put in some effort when she was getting ready.

Her curls are pinned in a stylish updo, her glasses are nowhere in sight, and she’s even wearing makeup—to her chagrin.

On the way over here, she had grumbled about how I’d sprung this date on her at the last minute, about how she’d had to enlist Ronnie’s help to make her look presentable for such an upscale restaurant, and then went on in detail about just how torturous the whole experience had been.

She might have also muttered something about being treated like everyone’s personal mannequin lately, but I couldn’t quite make out the words with the way she was gnashing her teeth as she spoke.

I had hoped she’d leave her anger in the car once we got here, but she seems just as sullen this evening as I am.

Or maybe she’s just picking up on the negative energy radiating from this side of the table, and has opted for the ease of silence rather than trying to force uncomfortable conversation.

I risk a glance at her, wondering if she’s being quiet because she’s mad about how long it’s been since we last saw each other.

But why would she be? I ask myself. It’s not like she’s my real girlfriend, and besides, I sent her the cash I owed her for the whole month in advance just as she requested. If anything, she should view these past two weeks as generous paid time off from her employer.

The man in the corner who was strumming the arpa jarocha the last time I was here is replaced by an older woman singing Mexican ballads, accompanied by a rather dashing gentleman playing a flamenco guitar.

Although the music they’re creating together is beautiful, it provides a weird contrast to the tension pervading the air, the silence an almost tangible cord that’s pulled so taut it could snap at any moment.

“You’re unusually quiet tonight,” Blondie notes, giving that cord a firm yank. I can practically see it start to fray. “Something on your mind?”

I watch the easy movements of her knife and fork as they dance across her plate.

“Nah. I just don’t particularly like this place.”

Her hands still, and those gorgeous green eyes lift to mine. “Really?” Her attention dips to my own untouched dinner. “Do you not like the food or something?”

I heave a sigh, taking a generous sip of my wine. “More like…the general vibe,” I answer with a vague wave of my hand at the restaurant around us.

Blondie follows the gesture, then meets my gaze again, staring at me hard for a moment. She relaxes her grip on her utensils, setting them down beside her plate. “Okay…” she says slowly, her tone tinged with confusion. “Then why are we here?”

When I don’t answer, a familiar scowl settles across her face, pinching her brows.

“Seriously, Damian, what’s going on? I haven’t seen or heard from you in two weeks, and then you call me out of the blue for some fancy date at a place you apparently hate?” The What the fuck? I glimpse in her eyes goes unsaid.

Well, I guess that answers that question about whether or not she’s mad that I’ve been kind of ghosting her lately. Clearly, I haven’t learned my lesson from the last time I did it.

I slump back in my seat, the frustration of the past couple weeks scratching at me, like fingernails that keep obsessively picking at a scab, never giving the wound a chance to heal.

Blondie’s piercing eyes demand an explanation, but I can’t bring myself to meet them, not when guilt tugs at me alongside that annoyance.

Guilt that I might have turned her whole world upside down for absolutely nothing.

“I just… I thought this might get their attention,” I finally say, staring down at the pristine white tablecloth with the focus of a scientist examining microbials through a microscope. “This is their favorite place, and I figured…maybe it would make them notice.”

Blondie is silent for so long I start to think she isn’t listening, but then, after what feels like ten minutes but was probably closer to one, she whispers, “Who?”

My jaw tightens. “My parents.” That frustration now clutches me with a suffocating strength.

“I thought they would’ve shown more interest in our relationship by now.

I don’t get it.” I shake my head, my temper flaring.

It takes all my self-control to keep my voice from rising.

“I’ve been the good, obedient son they want.

I’ve turned things around. I’m showing the commitment they asked for, and yet, nothing.

Nada. Zilch.” I fling a hand in Blondie’s direction, nearly knocking over my glass in the process.

“I thought if I brought you here, sat at their favorite table, it might finally get their attention since nothing else fucking seems to.”

Silence again, aside from that haunting melody filtering into my ears, stirring something deep inside me. “Y aunque la vida me cueste,” the woman sings behind me. And even if it costs my life. Those words feel eerily prophetic at this moment.

My eyes snap up at the sound of the strangled breath Blondie blows out through her nose. “Wow.”

I blink at her, taken aback by her abrasive reaction. “That’s it? Wow?” I just opened up to her about a particularly sensitive aspect of my life, and that’s all she can think to say?

She clicks her tongue, her brows rising in disbelief.

“No, I just find it kind of baffling that you’ve actually convinced yourself you’ve turned things around when all you’re doing is pulling the same stupid stunts they’re already mad at you for.

I mean, Jesus Christ, Damian, do you hear the words coming out of your mouth? ”

Her scathing retort isn’t just a slap in the face, it’s a full-blown assault, reaching down my throat, and ripping the very air from my lungs. “What?” is all I can manage to say past the crippling breathlessness gripping my chest.

Those fierce green eyes narrow into disparaging slits.

“Tell me, what exactly have you committed to?” she asks.

“Nothing real, that’s for sure. What have you done that shows any actual growth?

That would make your parents—or anyone, for that matter—think you’ve changed, and that you aren’t still the immature fuckboy you’ve always been? ”

Fury rises inside me with every condemning word spilling out of her mouth. “What the fuck is your problem tonight, Dornan?” I snap, finally finding my voice. “Someone piss in your Wheaties or something?”

Her nostrils flare, her teeth gritting. “My problem is that you’re a spoiled brat, who’s so blind you can’t even see your own privilege staring you in the face.

I mean, what kind of asshole would rather lie to their parents and go to such elaborate lengths”—she gestures to the grand dining room around us—“than actually try just being a better person? Being a decent human isn’t hard , Damian. ”

Decent? Since we made this agreement, all I’ve done is try to be decent!

I hold up my hands. “Okay, now, I’m just confused. If I’m such a fucking awful person, and my actions are so detestable to you, then why the hell did you agree to help me?” I breathe in, then softening my voice, I ask, more calmly now, “Where is this coming from?”

Looking away from me, she pulls out her phone. Her finger flicks against the screen, and clearing her throat, she starts to read, “‘I’ve made many mistakes in my life, but none were as thoughtless and harmful as the now infamous ‘Fucket List.’”

A chill creeps up my spine, my veins filling with ice as I hear my own words spat back at me in Blondie’s voice.

“‘When I look back at it now,’” she continues, avoiding my gaze, “‘I can’t believe how immature and careless I was, not just with regard to my choices, but how those choices affected the people around me.’” A pause.

“‘But sometimes, life surprises you with second chances you didn’t earn. Though I didn’t deserve her forgiveness, Lexi saw something in me, and for reasons I’ll never fully understand, she gave me the opportunity to prove I could be better.

This isn’t just about her giving me a shot at redemption.

It’s about understanding that if someone I care about is worthy of respect and love, then so is everyone. ’”

When she pauses this time, she lets out a callous laugh.

“‘To anyone who has been hurt by my past actions, I am truly, deeply sorry. You all deserved better. I can’t erase what I did, and I don’t expect your forgiveness, but I promise to spend the rest of my life proving I’ve learned from my mistakes.

To Lexi, you didn’t have to take a chance on me, but you did, and it’s the greatest gift I’ve ever been given.

I’ll never have the words to thank you, but maybe these will do instead.

I love you.’” Her eyes seem to flash black in the dim light of the restaurant as she sets the phone on the table and lifts her gaze to mine.

“‘I love you’? Really ? And before you ask, no. I still don’t have Instagram.

Ronnie screenshotted your entire attention-seeking post and sent it to me. ”

“I don’t…” I start to say, then trail off as my brain rewinds back through what she just said, and another thought takes center stage. Attention-seeking? “Wait, are you mad about that?” I sputter, jerking my chin toward her phone.