Page 20 of Hunter

“Do you like the theater?” Hunter asks, startling me. Lost in my surroundings, I almost forgot he was there.

“I don’t know,” I say, glancing in his direction. “I’ve never been.”

“That’s a situation we shall remedy soon. A lady like yourself should have tasted all the city offers.”

“Perhaps, but you don’t need to do this.” I turn to face him in the seat. “This is fake, Hunter. We can attend public events and be seen. But at the end of the day, for both of us, it’s not real.”

His whole frame tenses as I finish speaking. He cocks his head to one side, and his eyes narrow dangerously. The boy I fell in love with all those years ago morphs into someone far more hazardous before me. He reaches forward and takes my fingers, his large ones wrapped around my hand, his grip firm but not uncomfortable.

“Bella,” he says, his eyes locked with mine. “This has always been real for me. Whether you were in my arms or not. You’ve always been my wife. And now you’re here, I will treat you as such for however long you stay.”

“The clock is ticking.” I pull at my imprisoned fingers, but he flexes his, not allowing my release. “Three hundred and sixty-four days, then I’m gone.”

“We will see…”

He leaves the comment open, perhaps waiting for me to argue with him. I won't give him the fucking satisfaction. Leaving my hand in his, I turn back to face the direction we’re going. He does the same, and we continue our journey to the restaurant with his fingers linked to mine.

After ten minutes of awkward silence, we stop at a corner restaurant in the city. From the outside, it looks every inch the luxurious establishment I would expect Hunter to frequent. The exterior is finished in gloss black, and the windows are frosted so those on the outside can’t see in.

A colossal gold sign hangs above the entrance, highlighted by two red floral arrangements. A matching carpet leads customers to the imposing golden door. Two doormen dressed in complete black with earpieces stand there, ensuring only those allowed can pass the threshold.

Hunter lets go of my hand and leaves the car. I sit for a second, waiting for a clue about what’s going on. He takes a moment to talk to our driver, who has also stepped outside. I’m unclipping my seatbelt to join them when my door opens.

Hunter stands above me, hand outstretched. I pause momentarily, unsure if I want to accept his help. He raises his eyebrows and smiles wide.

“People are watching, Bella,” he says. “Put on your mask, and let’s give them a show.”

After taking a breath, I place my hand in his and step out of the vehicle. He encourages me to his side, putting his fingers beneath my wrap and onto my waist. The warmth of his palm seeps through the thin silk. As we round the car, I notice a photographer standing on one side of the entrance. Hunter stops, pulls me close, and we smile at the camera before disappearing inside the restaurant.

“That will no doubt be on the front page of a local gossip magazine tomorrow,” he mutters as the attendants take our coats and show us to our table.

“Did you know they would be here?”

His eyes flick to me as he passes a fifty-pound note to the man buried under our jackets. “It was arranged, yes, Bella. This next twelve months will be a meticulously planned agenda of smiling at cameras and pretending you love me.” He moves to pull out my chair at the private table for two located at the back of the restaurant. It’s enclosed in a small booth disguised by vines and flowers. “Do you think you can do that?”

“Do what?” I ask, lowering myself into my chair. Standing behind me, he places his hands on my bare shoulders, and a jolt of electricity surges through me.

“Pretend to love me.”

The words hang in the air. We are not looking at each other; we are staring at the abstract painting on the wall, a swirl of black and red. His palms drop away, and then he rounds the table and sits down facing me.

“Canyoupretend to loveme?” My question doesn’t deflect the conversation as I hope it would, answering his question with another one. He sits back in his chair, dark eyes locked on my face as he considers what to say. After what feels like forever, he leans forward once more.

“Give me your hands,” he says firmly, and I comply. My body operates under an unknown command I never realized I would obey. “Bella, there is no pretense in my actions. I am a man in love. I always have been.”

“Don’t,” I whisper. The emotion his words bring forward is something I don’t want to face. “Don’t say words that aren’t true.”

“There is nothing untrue in what I say, Bella. There has only ever been you.” I try pulling my fingers from his, but he holds tight again. “Listen to me, my wife. You may not believe what I have to say. You may not want to believe it. But I love you and will take this opportunity to show you that’s true.” He lets go of my hands, then leans back. “Now, shall we enjoy our meal?”

A waiter appears at our side. She is a tall woman dressed in a crisp white shirt, black skirt, and waistcoat. Probably only in her mid-twenties, she smiles widely at Hunter with ruby-red lips.

“Good evening, Sir,” she coos, and I immediately straighten in my seat. “Can I get you something to drink?” Hunter looks from her to me, then back to our waiter.

“Good evening,” he says, his tone sickly sweet. “Please, could you find another staff member to serve us?” I narrow my eyes quizzically at him, and his pupils flit in my direction before returning to her. She freezes in position, taken aback by his request.

“Is there an issue, Sir?” she asks eventually after clearing her throat.

“I would prefer a waiter that can see,” he says, a matter of fact. “As you approached our table and only addressed me, it’s clear that your eyesight is somewhat poor. There is no way on this earth you could miss the presence of the woman sitting across from me otherwise.”

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