Page 35 of Twisted Promise

Alessio muted the director’s contact at the red light, absolutely fed up with the nagging from the man and his never-ending requests for views.

Now, Anya’s phone was being blown up with short texts. He saw some from the corner of his eye while watching the flashing red countdown numbers.

“I wanted to give her a chance to talk to her husband. Love like that shouldn’t be left unresolved or could lead to a lifetime of regret.”

“Ah,” he voiced disdainfully. “You’re willing to give them a chance, is that right.”

Her lips twitched and wobbled as she gripped his scarf nervously on her lap. Grimacing, she rambled and tried to explain what she meant, but it only made the air tenser.

“This isn’t closure,” he said, firm like the way his knuckles turned white on the wheel, “nor reconciliation. Don’t even think about acceptance.”

She mumbled, defeated, “Then, what is this?”

“Us.”

* * *

The breakfast place was a quiet hidden gem favored by the locals.

Cameras were set up inside and outside the café, with the owner greeting them as she wiped her hands on her waist apron.

The trio took the outside table while Meryl and her husband sat closest to the register, leaving Anya and Alessio at the table next to the window.

A young man, no older than twenty, approached with the menu and a notepad for their orders. Alessio scanned the content briefly and gave his order, but Anya struggled to pick until she saw the poster next to the dart board.

The items weren’t listed on the menu, but the young man described the game she’d need to play to win one for free as part of their customer promotion.

A game of darts, he mulled, close enough to what he was good at.

He held out his hand for the dart in the middle of the explanation, and one immediately landed on his palm, the young man grinning ear to ear. He whispered that he was a big fan and asked if he could get a signature.

Alessio tossed the dart across the room and landed it perfectly in the center within seconds. While the onlookers were stunned, he grabbed the pen from the man’s hand and scribbled his name on the order pad.

“A man of action,” the young man muttered in awe before hurrying away with a red face.

“I could’ve done that.” Anya pouted, glancing back down at the menu.

“You have no aim,” he quipped truthfully.

She huffed and glared at the mirthful tug in the corner of his lips.

Their orders came relatively fast, much to his surprise. He didn’t touch his food but merely watched Anya try hers excitedly. The first taste furrowed her brows, the second chew made her pause, and the third bite, for certainty, caused destructive agony on her face.

She looked up with the fork trembling in her fingers, the same look she used to give him when she tried new food that her taste buds hated. A familiar plea arose on her face.

It wasn’t intentional, but the habit came from how much he spoiled her.

He swapped his untouched plate for hers, earning a grateful look from her in return.

A tingling sensation tickled the side of his head, and he followed it to find Meryl’s fiery sneer. She mouthed something, looking furious and no doubt thinking derogatory terms, but he merely turned his head away.

“So,” she murmured after a long pause. “How have you been?”

“Thought you didn’t like small talk,” he pointed out, his gaze drifting as the sun peeked through lumps of white clouds.

Perhaps even the director, watching the livestream, couldn’t stand the lackluster atmosphere at breakfast. Phones began ringing left and right, disrupting the café’s ambiance with no regard for the noise.

Now, a group date has been proposed. A demand of some sort.

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