Edward
A crowd had gathered around our destination.
A crowd of journalists.
"Bloody hell," I muttered. "How? How did they find out? Who told them? We only agreed to this yesterday. They shouldn't even know we're here."
"Oh. I think I know the answer to that great mystery." Michael said with a satisfied smile, folding his arms across his chest.
"What?" I said, turning to him sharply.
"You heard me. Did you truly think this meeting would go unnoticed? Of course not. Some filthy papers would've written something dreadful about our dear Edward Moncler either way. So why not get ahead of it and shape what they say instead of letting ourselves become victims of nasty gossip?" He glanced between James and me. "So enough with the shocked faces."
He leaned straight across the driver's seat and slammed his hand against the horn several times.
The blast rang out across the street.
The crowd scattered in every direction, clearing a path for us. The driver wasted no time. He pulled the car over. The moment the wheels came to a stop, Michael threw the door open and stepped out.
I, on the other hand, remained where I was. My hand had locked itself around the door handle, refusing to let go.
I knew I had to get out.
I had to move.
But something held me in place, rooting me to the seat. Not a single muscle obeyed me.
Right when I was plucking up the courage, the bar door opened. Kazuo and Luka came outside.
I drew a deep breath, finally stepped out of the car, letting the door fall shut behind me.
The journalists erupted around us.
Camera flashes burst from every direction. Questions were shouted over one another. Voices blended into a single wave of noise.
I barely heard any of it.
My eyes were fixed on him.
Nothing else mattered.
My heart missed one beat after another. When I took my first step towards him, it seemed to stop altogether.
I had to summon all my willpower to walk that distance with a composed expression and reach out my hand.
"Hello. It's good to see you," I said, barely keeping my voice under control.
Luka gave a small nod. "Hello. Likewise."
There was nothing unusual on his face.
He wasn't blushing as he once had.
He didn't look frightened or angry… Just extended his hand in return.
And I was sure he had noticed the slight tremor in my hand.
Who wouldn't have their hand tremble in a situation like that?
For the first time in far too long, I could feel the warmth of his skin. His touch. His palm against mine.
There was a moment when I didn't want to let go. I wanted to stay exactly where I was. I wanted that moment to last forever.
But Michael intervened.
He thrust his hand towards Luka with exaggerated offence written all over his face.
"Oi, I'm standing in this queue too, you know. I've got every right to shake the hand of the great symbol of protest. Shift over a bit."
He gave me a small shove towards Kazuo, pushing me aside, then turned to Luka, flashing him an outrageously wide, flirtatious smile.
"My name's Michael. Absolutely delighted to meet you."
A powerful urge rose in me to grab him by the scruff of the neck and shove him back into the car.
I restrained myself.
Instead, I held out my hand to Kazuo, who looked every bit as calm as Luka.
At first glance, there wasn't a trace of emotion on his face. However, the illusion lasted right up until his hand closed around mine.
He wasn't calm at all.
"Nice to have such a big shot in our bar. Welcome, Mr Moncler." Kazuo greeted me with a trace of sarcasm in his voice.
I didn't say a word and merely forced a smile, as at that moment I felt pain in my fingers from the pressure of his grip. My knuckles protested. I could have sworn something cracked.
It took another considerable effort to maintain my composure. The last thing I wanted was for my mask to fracture now.
And I didn't pull away.
He had every right to hate me, so I allowed him to decide when that handshake ended.
James stepped forward to greet them as well, extending his hand towards Kazuo the moment my own was released.
Kazuo started to reach for it, but never got the chance.
Michael's hands landed on James's shoulders, dragging him backwards.
"You already get plenty of opportunities to shake each other's hands. Do we really need another one?" he said, looking Kazuo straight in the eye. "I'm Michael, by the way. We've met before. I'm sure we have. You remember me."
Kazuo appeared genuinely lost. His impeccably calm expression vanished, replaced by complete confusion. He stared at Michael for a second, clearly trying to work out what exactly had happened, then nodded and muttered something that sounded very much like, "Yeah, I think I vaguely remember."
Michael, meanwhile, looked entirely pleased with himself.
"Well then," he said, glancing around at the journalists still circling us. "How much longer are we going to stand here creating content for these lovely people? Why don't you take us inside?"
Kazuo blinked.
Then blinked again.
At last, he gave a short nod.
"Yeah. You're right," he said. "Let's head inside. No point standing out here."
With that, he turned toward the entrance.