Page 63 of The Love Interest
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The drive across town is uneventful. Once I reach Juliet’s house, I park and walk up to the door. I knock on it once. I pull my fist back to knock again and the door swings open.
Richard is standing in the doorway, dressed in a navy suit over a pressed sky-blue button-down and a black skinny tie. His hair has been combed and his posture is more upright than it usually is, like wearing fancy clothes has increased his confidence.
He smiles warmly. His teeth are slightly yellowed in the way a lot of men’s his age are, probably from drinking too much coffee. “Caden,” he says, stepping aside to let me in. As I pass him he claps me on the shoulder. “Where did you get that suit? It’s stunning!”
“Honestly, I can’t remember. Are you going somewhere?”
Daphne steps down from the staircase. She’s wearing a gold dress and is clutching a white leather purse with a gold clasp. Her makeup is impeccable and her nails are covered in shiny red nail polish.
“Caden,” she says, grabbing me by the biceps and placing a dry kiss on my cheek. “You look so handsome. I’m sorry, but we have to run. We’ve got our own reservations at George’s. I think Juliet’s in the shed.”
She walks past me and then, together, they leave. I watch as they cross the yard to their car, a silver Mercedes convertible, and Richard opens the door for her. Hoisting up the hem of her dress, she steps inside. The sight makes me smile.
I realize I’m being weird, so I turn and walk through the empty house to the shed, rubbing my cheek with my sleeve as I walk. Inside, I can hear metal scraping against metal. It smells like burning rubber and acidic smoke. I pound my knuckles on the metal door, which makes a dull thud, but the sound of the machines continues.
I open the door.
“Hello?”
Juliet is behind a bench, partially hidden by a variety of scientific contraptions I have no hope of identifying. She’s got on a plain gray T-shirt and she’s wearing plastic goggles that make her eyes look absolutely massive. Her hands are stained with grease. She lowers the small drill she was holding and the sounds stop, making the entire shed eerily silent.
“Goggles,” she says, pointing a finger. She’s holding a bunch of black wires, peering intently at the exposed ends. I turn in the direction she pointed and find a shelf filled with goggles. I grab a pair, put them on, then walk over to her and offer the flowers.
“I got these for you,” I say. “It seems dumb now, I should’ve gotten you something you actually like, but…”
“They’re beautiful, Caden. But you’re early,” she says. “Too eager, huh? Too excited to try the pesto chicken?”
I shake my head. “Nope, I’m on time.” I show her my phone, which is displaying the time. Her face drops.
“You’re joking, right? You moved it forward or something.”
“What’s that old saying? About flying time?”
She drops the wires. I notice it’s the Bolt Gloves. Only now they’re darker, almost black, and the base mechanism is bigger.
I gesture toward them. “Bolt Gloves, right?”
She nods and pulls off her goggles. “Ever since the attack I’ve been perfecting them. But shit, that doesn’t matter right now. Caden, come with me, I need to…” She looks at her grease-covered hands. “… shower and, oh God, I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I lost track of time.”
I laugh. “Juliet, it’s fine. Take your time.”
I want to ask her about her leg, to see if she’s okay, but she was already pretty weirded out by the fact that she fell and I don’t want to draw attention to the set piece. It’s odd, I genuinely want to do something nice, but my ties to the LIC are preventing me from doing so. Instead, I take off my goggles and put them back on the shelf. Then we walk to the house.
As we step inside she says, “I bet you’ve never had this problem, huh? Never dated a girl as unorganized as me.”
Sorry, Caden, I know I said I would let you do this but I can’t help myself. Make sure you tell her you haven’t dated anyone. It’ll make her feel special. Okay, I’m shutting up now.
We walk inside and stop beside her bedroom door.
I scratch the back of my neck. “Um, this is kind of weird to admit, but this is my first date. I guess I just never met anyone I liked enough. Until now.”
“Huh,” she says as she steps into her bedroom. She grabs a white bra and a pair of underwear from her chest of drawers. I blush and stare at the floor. She passes me, and she smells like burning hair. “I’ll be, like, five minutes. You can wait in the living room if you’d like. Okay, I’m going to stop talking now because I’ve made us late enough as it is.”
She ducks into the bathroom. I lean against the wall, the back of my head resting against the cold plaster, my shoes sinking into the carpet. I’m about to go on a date with my Chosen. It’s strange, because I must’ve thought about this moment almost every night before I fell asleep while I was at the LIC. Back then, I imagined it would be straightforward: I’d play my role, she’d fall for me, and that would be it. I never imagined that I would feel bad for my Chosen, or that I would be this worried about what will happen to my rival if I win.
It’s my first date, so I should be nervous and excited, but right now all I feel is sorry for her. She’s in there, getting ready for a date with a boy who she thinks likes her. What she gets is me, liar extraordinaire. And, if things go my way, she’ll spend the rest of her life with me. She’ll never get a real date or a real partner. She deserves one, but I have to take that from her if I want to live.
