"Thanks," I say to Catarina, my voice still hoarse. I walk over to the dining area and find no one there. At least I don't have to face him now.
I sit down heavily, laying my face directly on the cool, polished table, feeling utterly miserable.
Just then, a voice, so familiar and so cold it sends a shiver down my spine, says, "Sit up." I regret speaking so soon.
I sit up, pushing my hair back from my face. Vega is there, sitting down opposite me, his expression as unreadable as ever. The room falls into a heavy silence, broken only by the soft, rhythmic sounds of Vega tapping on his cell phone.
I can't stand it anymore. "You called me," I state, wanting to get this over with.
He doesn't respond for a while, his fingers moving deliberately on the screen. Just when I think he is going to ignore me completely, he speaks. "Had a fun night?"
I push my sunglasses even closer to my face, trying to project nonchalance. "As a matter of fact, I did. What, it's not allowed?"
"It is," Vega replies, his eyes fixed on his phone, "unless you do something like this."
He taps the screen.
Suddenly, my voice and Cici's voice blast from the phone, loud and utterly incriminating. "...cold bastard... stiff plank of wood... when I divorce him, I will get a handsome boyfriend..."
I reach over to grab the phone on impulse, my hand shooting out. But Vega is faster; he dodges my attempt effortlessly.
I am so embarrassed that I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole. Each time my own drunken voice says "cold bastard," I feel shivers run down my spine, a cold, sickening dread.
I snatch off my sunglasses and pull out my own phone. "How is that possible? I was calling—"
Vega cuts me off, his voice laced with icy contempt. "Chandler, correct? Well, before that, I called asking where you were. You picked up my call, and who would have thought this 'cold-faced bastard' would hear you talk behind his back." He pauses the audio, the silence now deafening.
I tap my own call log. Sure enough, the last incoming call before the Chandler attempt was an unsaved number, the one Vega must have used. I am completely exposed.
I look up at him, the embarrassment a hot, crippling wave. I am so apologetic. " You weren't meant to hear," I say, with a genuine look of remorse.
"Do you want to hear more?" Vega asks, his gaze like a scalpel.
Recalling the "soft lips" comment, I shout, "No! I remember what I said."
Vega starts to rhythmically tap on the table with one long finger, the sound driving a fresh spike of anxiety into my skull. It feels like I am facing judgment at the highest court.
"I can let this go," he says finally, leaning back slightly, "if you do something for me."
"Anything," I reply instantly, desperation overriding pride. "Name it."
"Quite cooperative today, aren't we?" he notes, a slight upward twitch at the corner of his mouth.
I clench my jaw. Holding back my natural reaction isn't a good feeling. It's suffocating. "Stop stalling and say it."
"Join my grandmother for tea tomorrow."
I freeze. I instantly recall that older woman at the wedding, the one who was so terrifying she reminded me of my fifth-grade teacher, all stone-cold judgment and zero warmth. Just thinking about it gives me the chills.
"Can't you pick something else?" I ask, my tone hesitant. I know I'm not in a position to negotiate, but damn, I'm willing to try.
Vega doesn't speak. He just presses play on the recorded call. As soon as my drunken voice starts coming through the speakers, I cave. "Okay, okay! I will go, just delete it!"
"Why?" Vega asks, getting up from the table. He walks toward the door, turning back with that slight, infuriating smirk. "It's fun."
My eyes widen at the fleeting, devilish grin on his face. Thump. That is the sound of my heart stalling in my chest.
"You smiled," I state, the accusation edged with pure shock. "You never smile! That's creepy."
The smile has long vanished, replaced by the familiar mask of contempt. "You are hallucinating," Vega says, immediately walking out of the room.
"You definitely smiled, I saw it!" I call after him, though he was already gone. I feel shivers all over my body, thoroughly creeped out by the brief sight of emotion on that man's face.
Catarina suddenly places a tall glass of green juice in front of me.
"That's... it looks gro— I mean, inedible," I correct myself, stopping just before insulting her to her face.
"Trust me," Catarina says earnestly. "This is my old mother's recipe. It cures all hangovers."
I am hesitant, but I have drunk worse things during my dad's experimental juicing phase. I take a sip. My face scrunches up instantly; it's sour and bitter at the same time, like drinking liquid grass mixed with regret.
"Drink it all, and you will feel better," Catarina urges, her hand motioning toward the glass.
I narrow my eyes in suspicion, but she just smiles sweetly. I lift the glass and chug it down. It is utterly insufferable. My face wrinkles up like an old grandma's. It feels like being forced to drink the witch's brew or they place a curse on you.
Catarina claps her hands, looking ecstatic. "One nap and the hangover will poof, gone!" I just stare at her, incapable of speech, my mouth tasting like lawn clippings and vengeance.
***
VEGA POV
I walk out of the dining room. My steps pause just outside the door when I hear Tyr call out, "You definitely smiled, I saw it."
I let out a soft sigh before continuing to walk away.
I head directly to my study and sit down in the leather chair. My frustration is evident in the sharp rhythm of my finger as I tap the table. I don't know what is wrong with me.
I had just smiled.