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Her stilettos clack against the glossy epoxy floors, her figure silencing murmurs of people and parting them like a sea as she walks by. Her face is rosy, with a small glisten from highlight on her cheekbones and nose. Like cherubs flying across the Sistine’s ceiling, she’s simply divine and not what anyone expected to accompany him as his date for the evening.
The soft amber glow from the crystal chandeliers overhead sets a romantic and warm ambience throughout the grand reception hall. At some point, someone accidentally knocks over a fluted glass — champagne bubbling across the floor — a dull crash drowned out by shifting feet and bodies brushing together.
Her silhouette is sleek in a navy dress, the fabric hugging her body and stopping mid-calf. Slowly, she stops in front of her date, who has one man pulling on his jacket, fistful of the lapel, and another man behind him, seemingly sandwiched in a moment of hostility. She gently tilts her head to the side in obvious wonder and a playful smile curving over her glossed lips.
The men, who appear to have roughly handled the man in the middle previously, lightly release him and step ever so slightly away upon seeing her, a little starstruck she thinks. She didn’t do much to gussy up for tonight, though. Her partner releases a sigh of relief and steps to her side, extending his elbow after fixing his jacket.
The room has one collective thought: perhaps Turo Industries isn’t lost after all.
Streaks of light just barely stream through the black-out curtains of this cold, wide and modern room. There’s no noise, and as his green eyes slowly blink open, he sees specs of dust floating in and out of the rays peeking through. His only source of warmth wriggles by his feet, a small whine and whimper as the pet resituates itself.
A small smile curves over his mouth, but just as quickly vanishes when he realizes he needs to get up for the day. Softly, his bare feet land on the chill floor as he sits on the side of his large bed, steadily moving to stand up.
This is the hardest part of his day.
A hand runs through his ashen blond hair, stopping midway for him to scratch it. A weird itch randomly hits his scalp. Often, he’ll scratch it in moments of bashfulness or when he has to make a hard decision. Similarly, he’ll ball his fist and clench his jaw. He’s too open of a book for anyone, he thinks.
That’s right, he’s nothing anyone would be interested in. Except, maybe, his money. But for who he is individually, what they see is what they get. His fingertips pull at the center of his loose t-shirt, attempting to vent some air in and out from the fabric as he walks from the bed to the door. As he makes his way out to the living room and into the kitchen, he passes by a small pile of catalog envelopes.
His stomach lurches a bit, catching a glimpse of the pile’s presence in his peripheral. The moment his 26th birthday hit, it’s as if he reached some magic number. This unfortunate magic number: marriageable age. Something about needing to meet a girl with a good “pedigree” like they’re his dog or something. Something, something. Something about a good background, education, something.
In his mind, truthfully, it’s a whole lot of nothing.
Not that he’s one to complain, he monologues aloud while pouring a glass of water from a crystal pitcher. “It’s not like you’ve accomplished anything of note, Arven,” he says, whipping his head to the side to face the fridge. “Some girl from an Ivy League is way better than I’d deserve I guess, right buddy?”
He makes a sheepish, joking smile down towards his dog, who looks up at him in wonder. Arven peers into the fridge, seeing pre-portioned food in different tupperware. He sighs, wondering when the housekeeper left them. He has no issue eating them, but he furthermore has no issue cooking for himself, in fact…
The young man catches his stream of thought and shakes his head. Nevermind . Better to not finish that line of thinking. Gently, his hand pulls out one of the containers, pops the lid, and shoves it into the microwave. He stands there watching the food rotate… and rotate… pointless, planned, passive. Him.
He realizes this — he knows this — as he sees his reflection in the window of the microwave when the light goes out and the timer beeps. Arven stands at the grand, marble counter of his kitchen, peering over a spacious living room with a penthouse view. As he eats, he eats another prepared meal, in a home cleaned by other hands, paid for by his parents.
Somewhere else, in a different high rise, two young women sit and lie about on a plush queen mattress. One of them’s texting, furiously tapping away with a furrowed brow while the other is standing up to go to the nearby vanity.
“Ugh, gosh no!” The one texting exasperates, slamming her phone into the mattress. She flops over onto her back, staring at the ceiling.
“Nothing good?” The slender one in front of the mirror asks, softly cupping a cheek and tilting her head. She’s noticed a new freckle. Not that she minds, adds character she thinks.
“You could say that. What are your plans tonight?” She responds, propping herself up with her arms momentarily while awaiting a reply.
“You know, the usual?”
“Any possibility… you could cancel and be with me instead? Pretty please? My dad wants me to go to one of these stupid meetings again, and I could really use the support,” she whines, her short bob lying against the mattress once again.
The brunette by the vanity turns around, a slight frown on her face. She sits down on the matching stool, a plump and velvety cushion which she sets her foot on and brings a knee to her chest to hug. “Pen, I love you, but… I’m not too keen on those kinds of outings…”
“Besides,” she continues. “I kind of swore off that stuff a while ago, remember? My business just started getting some reliable clients and to cancel tonight, well… Unprofessional don’t you think?”
“I get it, I get it, but you would rather hang out with some dusty old dudes than hang with me? ” Penny pleads once more, pouting as her way of putting a cherry on top.
“It’s not as bad as you make it sound, they’re honestly perfectly kind and well-mannered, they just need some pretty girl to sit next to them and laugh. And for the pay rate? It feels much better swiping my own credit card than someone else’s.”
“I know you seem to mind it, but I certainly don’t,” Penny replies, an eye drifting to her vast plushie collection in the other half of the room.
“Speaking of which, I have an engagement in an hour and then the one later tonight so I better go get ready for that! I’m sure you’ll kill it tonight, like you always do,” her friend says, heading for the living room and then regrettably the door.
“Oh something will definitely be killed tonight…” Penny groans to herself, now alone in her room.
Arven fidgets in front of his full-length mirror, feeling out of his skin looking at the stupid ensemble he wears. To say he hates wearing any type of formal attire would be an understatement, but this is the world he was born into. A world of suits, shiny dress shoes, and ostentatious watches. To make himself feel a little better, he forgoes a tie and watch, feeling a tad bit more casual.
It’s a nice, beige linen suit with a white dress shirt. Makes his green eyes really pop, the suitshop told him when he was fitted for it months ago. His fingers unbutton the top two, he needs to breathe he thinks and he’s not wearing a tie so what does it matter? He pauses, looking at himself again, more serious. What does any of this matter?
It’s ridiculous he’s even entertaining his parents’ wishes in the first place, but what use does he have anyway. He’s stalled for as long as possible, even traveling for that one year after graduating university. He’s tried everything he can, breathing in air from every different country he could, thinking maybe it would change something in him. He’s evaded any corporate training for fear of lacking talent and in turn, his parents have evaded him at every opportunity. Every holiday, birthday, school break. It’s Arven and his Mastiff.
Randomly, he hears a loud thump in the unit next door. He flinches at the noise, hearing a muffled groan that sounds feminine, and almost—he almost wants to go over and knock to ask if they’re okay. But he can’t, because he’s Arven, and they just moved in last week, he wouldn’t want to disturb them. Especially since he has somewhere he needs to be soon, anyway.
His eyes glance at the analog clock on his nightstand, 6:09. This… meet-up is scheduled for 7. He takes a big breath and exhales it out, eyes closed. Arven looks over to his dog, his big body lying across the king bed they share (Arven just had to have the biggest bed once his buddy grew full-size) and slowly steps away.
“Now my buddy, you stay right there…” he says to him, whose head cocks up, ears perking and head tilting and… a massive string of drool dangling from its sagging gums. “You definitely, without a doubt, cannot jump on me or nuzzle me—!”
And with that, his extreme lunk of a dog springs from the bed towards its master, who has made his run for the front door. Hopefully with a little luck, he’ll arrive with sweat stains all over his jacket pits instead of drool marks.
By the time he catches a taxi, it’s 6:15. The dinner rush traffic should have cleared up by now, shouldn’t be more than a thirty minute drive to reach the other side of the city. And as each minute passes in the back of the car, he feels the moisture piling up on his hands. He rests them on his knees, almost clutching them in nervousness.
Why is he nervous? If he leaves a bad enough impression, perhaps she’ll walk away. She sounds eccentric enough, though. They’re meeting at this techno club that she co-owns. His heart starts pounding when the car finally stops at the destination. Did thirty minutes pass already? How? He might be sick, he thinks, as he hands the driver the money owed and shakily steps out, holding onto the door for dear life.
How lame. Or isn’t this what he wants? Maybe she’ll think he’s unbearably uncool. Or does he want to impress her? At this point, he doesn’t know what he wants.
Arven’s viridescent eyes bug out when he sees what he assumes is the bouncer… and the absurdly long line circling around the block. If he had known this beforehand, he would have left his place with much more time to spare! At the risk of being rude and late, he ponders if he should wait his turn in line or skip, looking like an absolute dipstick, by telling the bouncer he has an appointment with the owner.
Whilst having his personal dilemma on the sidewalk, a black sedan pulls up to the curb. The driver steps out and around to the back door, opening it for his passenger. A small, short young woman steps out, wearing sneakers and a hoodie, but underneath the hoodie a loose mini dress. Her face is mostly covered by large sunglasses and the hood from her jacket. She passes by Arven with a kitschy bag with a million charms, slides right by security and heads inside.
It’s that moment that a lightbulb goes off in Arven’s blond head — that’s the owner! …Or at least someone important, if they can head in so easily. His body moves without another thought, starting for the girl who slipped by and is obviously stopped by the bouncer.
“Oh, uh, wait!” Arven calls out without thinking, again, as security holds him by the shoulder. “Are you Penny?!”
Although she’s a couple feet inside already, she hears her name frantically called by an unfamiliar voice and turns her head. “...Do I know you?” She responds back, aloof.
“A-Ah, yes! I have an, uh, meeting? Appointment? With you at 7?” He says, flustered and out of breath, trying not to look like a madman.
“Oh.” All that leaves her mouth. For a moment, she just looks at him, sunglasses and hood on, and then waves her hand at the bouncer to let him in. Arven slips under the rope and she turns her head back to continue walking. He assumes this means to follow her.
They pass by a narrow hall with bathrooms and then come to a large room with a bar and dancefloor. The strobe and LED lights are not exactly his cup of tea and neither is the music they’re playing. Some people are… dressed up in costumes, role-play as Arven heard it called once, he thinks. They pass this large room to a stairwell, which they climb and then enter a private room.
Once the door is shut behind them (by security), all the noise, bumping, chatter, and music cease. It’s quiet, with a coffee table and two sofas placed on opposite sides of the table. The girl sighs very loudly, stretching her arms before she drops her whole body on the sofa furthest from Arven, who awkwardly sits on the sofa closest to the door.
Abruptly, she whips the sunglasses off her face and the hood off her head and looks directly at him. And he looks directly at her, a little surprised by her appearance. She has short bobbed hair that’s… bicolored? Arven blinks, never thought he’d see that.
“Let’s get this straight,” she says rather annoyed. Arven’s eyebrows knot in response to her tone. “I’m not interested. I’m here to make my dad leave me alone, besides—” her eyes give him a quick look-down. “You’re so not my type. No surprise that my dad would pick someone who looks as if he doesn't have a single blemish on his record.”
Arven wants to feel offended, but it’s the truth, so he can’t. It’s not as if she’s read him wrong. This fixes Arven’s first problem, which is that he also wasn’t interested in this girl, but perhaps she’d be willing to help him out with his other one.
“Then we’re of like minds,” he starts, clearing his throat a little. He balls his fists resting on his lap. “I was wondering though—”
“Nope, not interested,” Penny cuts in. “Whatever it is, not interested.”
Now he’s actually getting offended. Something about this girl’s attitude is really rubbing him the wrong way. He’s been perfectly polite this whole time and she won’t even let him finish a sentence? Arven takes a deep breath and then resumes speaking.
“If you would ever so kindly let me speak, ” he emphasizes. “You can still reject my offer. I just need a date to this party my old man is hosting next weekend, and I thought maybe you could show up—”
“And why would I do that? I just met you, dude,” she deflects, rightly. For a moment, she pauses, as if considering something — maybe his offer, crinkles her brows and then shakes her head in rebuff. “I don’t have any inclination to go to big wig parties, the lighting makes me tired and heels are a drag. Sorry, I can’t help you out. If you want, you can use my driver to take you back since it’s dark out, but that’s all I’ll offer.”
Arven sits there for a moment, realizing he’s defeated. It was a long shot from the beginning anyway, he knew that, but as his shoulders melt and he trudges towards the door, he now knows he’ll look ridiculous without a date again this year. Right as his hand reaches for the doorknob, Penny adds in one last thing.
“By the way, if you need to, feel free to use the bathroom on your way out… they’re pretty nice for a nightclub.”
The young man looks at her, perplexed and almost fed-up with her version of “helpful” information. Feel free to use the bathroom~! His green eyes flutter at her blankly, and trying to still be an upstanding guy, he forces himself to give her a half-smile in gratitude before heading out.
As he heads towards the exit, he decides to stop in the restroom anyway. He might as well splash some cold water on his face to snap him out of… whatever it is he’s feeling. Perhaps hopelessness? He didn’t necessarily want to take that Penny girl, but seeing as he knows so few women, he doesn’t have too many options to start.
And he thought, maybe just maybe, if he brings some girl his parents picked out, maybe…
His hand pushes through the restroom door, his eyes scanning the place to find a perfectly normal bathroom. There’s two urinals, three stalls, and a handful of sinks. Pretty typical for a nightclub, the only thing Arven thinks is different is that it might be a little cleaner. He heads to the closest sink and runs the faucet on cold, quickly cupping his hands and throwing the water at his face.
He takes a deep breath and exhales, staring at himself in the mirror when he stands up from leaning over. He continues to pant, the water dripping down his face and his eyes are burning. Arven clenches his jaw, this is nothing to cry over. Why is he getting so worked up?
His eyes unfocus off the mirror for a second, catching a flyer on the wall to his right.
‘Need a partner for an event? Need a date to impress someone? Or better, make someone jealous? Just call the number listed below!
(xxx)-xxx-xxxx
…*Rates may vary upon event requirements…
**Inquires of sexual nature NOT accepted’
The last line makes Arven a little pink in the face, but he can assure whatever kind lady shows up he won’t be putting hands on her like that. Not even a little. He is a gentleman! Gentleman’s honor and all that stuff he heard growing up. He takes it seriously. His hands are trembling a bit when he pulls out his phone, with a big gulp of his Adam’s apple.
He’s never done something like this, hiring someone? Guess desperate times call for desperate measures. And boy, is he ever desperate, he thinks to himself. He taps the phone number into his phone… Maybe a text message is easier? If he were to call right now, his voice would not stop shaking. They would absolutely not take his request seriously.
Arven finally exits out of the building, gently knocks on Penny’s chauffeur who lets down his window. He informs him of Penny’s offer and the driver nods his head. As Arven sits down in the back, on sleek black leather, his fingers twitch while mulling over good word choice. He begins typing.
How do you do? No, no. Not that.
Lovely evening, innit? He’s not British, why try the accent?
I need a date. Straight to the point, as it should be.
He smiles to himself, admiring his cleverness for constructing such a tactful message. Although he’s nervous, he hits ‘send’ without another thought. A couple minutes pass, they arrive at his apartment and he hops out of the car all the while still looking at his phone. Arven was never one to have his face glued to a screen until now. As he steps onto the elevator in the lobby, he finally feels his phone pulse in his hand.
Hello, please tell me the type of event, day, and location. I’ll have to calculate your rate beforehand.
Jeez, this person sounds like a real joy to be around. His eyes squint in a little skepticism, what if she’s older? In her forties or so? Maybe he should meet her beforehand? His thumbs start tapping the screen.
Is it possible to meet and discuss in person?
He doesn’t receive a response right away as he walks down the hallway to his front door. He plugs the combination into the keypad on his lock, hearing a ‘bbrring brring’ with a green light on the lock flashing. Arven feels a vibration on his phone.
Meeting to talk over arrangements is charged at a fixed rate by minute. Are you willing to pay for that as well?
Cuts right to the chase about being paid. At least she’s upfront about it, after all it’s her job, Arven thinks, trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. He’s a customer and demanding her time, of course there’s monetary stipulations. He opens his front door and is greeted by his big lunk of a dog, happily sniffing his legs. Arven pets his big head with one hand, the other responding on his phone.
I am willing to pay double the rate if you would meet now.
Now?! Arven kind of wrote that half as a joke and half… he doesn’t know what he’s doing. At all. But it’s a Saturday night, 8:30 with nothing to do. It’s a long shot, but if he could have this sorted out by the end of the night, he would sleep so much better. He wouldn’t care what side of the bed his dog took, either.
Sure, please text me the address and where to go.
His eyelids double blink in surprise. She agreed to it? His luck must be turning around now. Quickly, he types in his address with his apartment number and his dog scampers off to lay on the couch for a snooze.
Levincia Lofts, Apt 57
943 Picnic Lane
Mesagoza City, PA 10597
She responds instantly.
Really? Nevermind…I’ll be over soon.
Standing in his kitchen once again, the light of his phone screen illuminating his face, he doesn’t believe what he’s done. He hasn’t even turned on the apartment lights since he just walked in and he hasn’t given himself a second to let everything sink in. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have the time to, anyway.
‘dinnng… donng…’
Arven slightly jumps in surprise at his doorbell sounding. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard it in the five years he’s lived here. It couldn’t possibly be the escort, as it’s been a literal minute since her response, so he wonders who it is. Quietly, and gently, he creeps over to the door to peer out the peep-hole, hoping they won’t hear him checking in case he decides to ignore it. What he sees puts him at ease.
It’s a young woman, probably around his age, wearing a grey sweatshirt and her brunette hair is done up in a bun. She seems… kind. From what Arven can tell. But what does he know about people anyway. He stands there for a second, a little in awe that this pretty—well, polite-looking —girl is standing outside his door, and then stumbles back to reality. She’s waiting outside his door! The only other person who this could possibly be is the neighbor who moved in a week ago.
He rushes to open the door, his heart pounding in shock and wonder. The abrupt and loud opening of the door startles her, but she quickly regains composure upon seeing Arven.
“Uh… how can I help you?” Arven says, clutching the doorknob from behind the door hoping to conceal his nervousness. Brown eyes meet green in a split second.
With that, she holds up her phone to show her messages app. Arven glances at it a moment, realizing she’s the escort. Wait — she’s the escort?! How on earth did she arrive here so soon —
Sheepishly, she smiles. “Looks like we’re neighbors,” she breaks the awkward silence. “I took that unit because the company said you would be a really good neighbor, who’d have thought I’d have a client next door…”
Her eyes fall to the ground, then the wall, and then the ceiling, while waiting for Arven to say something. What he’s hearing… is that the escort he’s to hire is his neighbor? Whatever luck he thought he was running into has run away, because this only happens to someone like him.
“Well, um… Would you like to come in?” He asks, stepping aside and holding the door.
“Sure,” she answers, stepping right by him casually. Within the first two minutes that Arven has known her, he’s already envious of how relaxed and confident she seems to be. And it’s not an obnoxious, fake kind of confidence, it’s that true, deeply ingrained type of confidence that he’s only ever seen in one other person in his entire life.
He rushes over to turn on the overhead kitchen light, realizing he still hadn’t turned any lights on in his home. “Sorry it’s so dark, I just got home.”
The brunette looks over at him and tilts her head, “You’re completely fine, we live right next to each other so it’s not like I really gave you time to prepare.”
“Right.”
They stand across from each other on either side of his white marble island, in a graceless silence that almost burns Arven’s cheeks red. She softly places her phone down on the countertop and then her brown eyes make contact with his.
“So, you’re looking to hire for an event? Or do you not want to go through with it anymore since you’ve found out I’m your neighbor?” Her tone is matter-of-fact but still giving off a warm feel. It’s true he doesn’t know anything about people, but he can just tell she’s a good person.
“I would still like to go through with it,” he answers assuredly, nodding to her. “I’m sorry for springing a meeting on you so suddenly. Just kind of… desperate. I’m sure you’ve met loads of people with the same issue, though.”
She shrugs her shoulders, confirming his words. “It’s no big deal, sometimes people cancel to be your partner or other things happen, nothing to be ashamed of! And, while I’m at it, my name’s Juliana. I figure we should know each other’s names if we’re doing business.”
Her words are oddly affirming and comforting as she reaches across the island, her hand extended out cordially. Arven takes it, her grip is inviting and tender.
“Arven.” He gives her a shy smile when they let go of each other and she gives him a big toothy grin. It’s almost childish but extremely charming.
“So,” she lets out while stretching her arms upwards. “Want to give me the deets?”
Is this really the same person he was texting? All the formalities seem to have dropped once she rang his doorbell, not that he minds. Those social etiquette or pretenses have never really been his thing to follow.
“Yeah, so my dad is hosting this event next Saturday evening. You’ve probably heard of it, the Mirai Fair.”
Juliana’s eyebrows raise at the mention of the event. Arven’s able to clock that she’s definitely heard of it, but she seems to be thinking a little deeper about it. And almost a second later, her eyes go wide.
“Your dad is the CEO of Turo Industries?”
Arven’s eyes go to the side, obviously uncomfortable at the mention of his father and trying to avoid her gaze at the same time. A slight nod is all he gives her in reply.
“Oh sheesh, see why you’re desperate. Bringing a partner is one of the requirements for attendance.” There’s a pause between her sentences. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you, someone has already hired me for that night.”
His shoulders droop, understanding all of his luck has run out. “It’s all right, I understand it was a long shot from the beginning anyway—”
“But,” Juliana breaks in. “They still haven’t paid their fee. If you were to, say, pay first, I can cancel on them. It’s someone I’ve never met anyway, so I don’t mind.”
Immediately, Arven’s hands clutch onto the edge of his counter and he leans over frantically. “I’ll pay it, I’ll pay right now, no matter how much it is!”
His reaction catches Juliana off guard, but not in a bad way. His eagerness tickles her and she breaks out in a boisterous and infectious laugh. One Arven’s never seen or heard before, it’s so lovely and contagious he starts laughing too, feeling more and more relaxed himself. But her laugh catches the attention of someone else, someone who’s been awoken from a deep sleep on the couch.
Arven’s dog pops his head up quickly from the sofa and then tumbles off the edge in a scramble. His big paws clack against the floor as he makes his way as fast as possible to Juliana, which Arven is trying to brace for.
Instead of tackling her like his master had expected, he stops abruptly in front of her and sniffs her gently. Well, as gently as a big dog as he can do. He leaves a huge streak of drool across her sweatshirt, which embarrasses Arven deeply.
“I’m sorry, since you live right next door and if you’ll let me, I can wash your sweatshirt for you and give it back sometime,” he says to her while she greets his dog.
“Oh that’s all right! I don’t care at all! What’s his name?” She asks innocently.
“B… Boss…” Arven answers, stammering and blushing. He’s evidently abashed by the name, although Julianna can’t figure why.
“That’s a super cute name! Who’s a good boy Boss?” She chants, petting and rubbing the dog’s big head.
Arven laments for a moment, thinking about his dog’s name. “He was originally named that because my dad gave him to me, and when I was younger I really liked how my dad was, well, y’know, the boss. But now I like to think it’s because Boss is now the boss of my life. Where I go, he goes. It’s always been us two, always will be.”
For a moment, he forgets how vulnerable and personal he just became and then catches himself. He looks over to Juliana to see her reaction, which is soft and seemingly empathetic. Unsure as to why, he suddenly feels flustered, and uncertain as to how to continue the conversation. Obviously, things are pretty much covered, all he needs is to pay her. But strangely, for the first time ever, he has a guest he doesn’t want to leave right away.
“Well, if you’d like, we can discuss the pay—”
Juliana starts, but abruptly a large stomach grumble resounds throughout the kitchen. She brings a hand to her stomach and laughs nervously.
“Sorry,” she continues with a chuckle. “Originally, I had a booking tonight, but they cancelled at the last minute. Something about getting the girl he wanted or whatever to like him back. So I didn’t eat dinner and decided to continue unpacking this evening instead.”
Arven looks down at her stomach, feels a weird itch on his head and scratches it. “I…I could make you something… but only if you want! I have plenty of stuff in my fridge and pantry,” he offers awkwardly, his cheeks flushing. “I’m not too bad of a chef…”
She gazes back at him keenly and expectantly, “I’m not the kind of girl to turn down a good meal! I love food.”
He lets out a soft laugh, a feeling of fondness washing over him in her company. With that, Juliana takes a seat at one the barstools, talking to Arven whilst he prepares a dinner for two, because he doesn’t mind a light snack in the evening either. In the glow of his golden kitchen light, Arven smiles to himself while listening to her as he sautées meat and vegetables.
Later, he’s taking a seat next to her at the counter with plates in front of them. She makes a big deal about his food, something about how she can’t believe he does it as a hobby. Juliana moved to this high rise because her friend recommended it. He says he hasn’t had a neighbor the entire five years he’s lived there.
Boss has retired back to the couch, where — surprisingly after dinner — they head to while talking. Arven’s telling her about this cooking channel he loves watching, apparently his favorite segment is coming on soon. And as Arven surfs through the channels, the television light flashing over their faces, Juliana thinks to herself how this isn’t like her at all.
It’s strange, it was as if the moment she saw Arven’s face, the professional front had crumbled. There’s just something about the way how kind his face feels looking at it, something endearing about the way he becomes shy, and how he’s so transparent. She likes that, because in a job that’s all about appearances and façades, she could use a little truth.
A little ironic, since he’s paying her for an event next week. And the idea of that makes her uncomfortable. Weird, usually she just shows up and leaves. But he is her neighbor, of course she wants things to be amicable, she reasons with herself over her funny feelings.
She sits a little closer to Boss on the couch, thinking that he looks especially cuddly. He notices her scooch next to him and attempts to stretch out onto her, his big front legs falling off the edge of the couch and one of them landing on top of Juliana’s foot.
“Eeh, ow!” A wince escapes from Juliana’s mouth as she pulls her foot away from Arven’s dog.
“Oh man, I’m so sorry, I know his foot is heavy but I didn’t think it would hurt you,” Arven profusely apologizes, somewhat leaning forward in worry.
“Oh gosh, sorry, don’t worry, it’s not his fault at all!” She waves him off with a grimacing smile. She then slightly pulls down her sock, to show a dark bruise at the top of her foot. “I dropped a pan on myself earlier, it’s just a little tender.”
That’s what that was earlier, Arven thinks to himself. Abruptly, he stands up from the sofa and heads to the kitchen. A moment later, he returns with an ice pack.
“Use this, it might help a little bit,” he says and offers it to her, which she steadily takes from his hand. Juliana looks at the ice pack, and then at him. He gives her a reassuring smile and a thumbs up.
“You always have to be prepared!” He adds on.
“Heh, yeah,” she agrees, smiling at him. And suddenly, Arven’s not sure what it is, maybe the blue and white lights casting over her face from the TV, or the loose hairs from her bun falling on her cheeks — it could even be the way her chocolate eyes sparkle — but she’s simply breathtaking. He also knows he’s never felt the way he does now and he has not the slightest clue what to make of it.
More naturally than at dinner, they start talking about all sorts of things again. She reveals her mother owns a sandwich shop, actually a sandwich chain, and she didn’t want much to do with it, which is why she’s doing what she does now. Arven explains he’s not one much for business and innovation like his father is, and how it often makes him feel like…
“Well, you can probably make out what it’s like for me,” he tries to shake off his feelings. He doesn’t want to look too wishy-washy in front of his new friend. …Friend, yeah. “I feel like I’ve done all that I can to avoid taking responsibility, but I guess it’s time to face the music.”
“You don’t have to be miserable, you know,” Juliana says. “It’s scary putting yourself first, but once you do it, you won’t regret it. Sure, it was hard for me at first, and still is sometimes, but I’d rather be happy doing what I want than living someone else’s life. I want to live my life.”
Arven is in awe, he knew she was special the moment he saw her through the peep-hole, but she’s able to say it so simply and live her life so simply. Maybe, it can be the same for him.
“I mean, you wouldn’t believe what happened the first night after I left my mom’s—”
And he sits there, like a child happy, listening to her go on and on about her adventures. Taking in every word with bated breath, feeling like he’s free through her words. With every passing hour and tale, he begins to think it could be possible for him. She fills him with hope, something he hasn’t felt in a long time. Arven could curse every other inconvenient or awful thing that’s happened in his life, but if he knew it would lead up to this night, he’ll say it was all worth it. Perhaps luck really is on his side, this time.
They continue talking through the night, until eventually, they both fall asleep. Juliana’s last thought before her eyes close is that she wouldn’t be charging Arven for tonight, this isn’t business.
Not at all.
Over the next few days, they begin to see each other more often. In passing, she explains she has all different kinds of bookings. Accompanying men on business dinners, lunch dates with other couples for guys who were begged by their friends, fake breaking-up with men at a bar to garner sympathy, etcetera.
To say Arven’s impressed at her versatility would be an understatement. She starts coming over for meals every so often, talking about her day or whatever booking she has next. Juliana says she’ll never mention names, the privacy of her clients is important to her. Arven seems to be content just knowing she’s safe and takes the extra precautions to keep clients at a distance, or so she says.
If she’s as thorough about keeping clients at arm’s length as she implies, she wouldn’t be sitting on his couch almost every day, or even borrowing a sweater here and there when she’s cold. That first morning, after Arven asked for her sweatshirt to wash it, she nabbed one of his in return. “It’s a placeholder,” she says as she’s held onto it for the last three days and Arven has already given her sweatshirt back same-day as washing it.
He doesn’t mind, though. He doesn’t mind at all. She’s suddenly catapulted her existence into his life and somehow he doesn’t know how he ever lived without it before. It’s now been five days, and she says she wants to go shopping together to find matching clothes for the event. Arven’s only ever been in a suit shop with his dad’s assistant, so he’s not exactly sure what he’s looking for.
Juliana says “Don’t worry,” as she looks through swatches and catalogues. And she certainly doesn’t instill confidence when she makes herself comfortable on one of the couches, giving the attendant a list of suits she’d like to see Arven try on.
If anything, over the next hour and a half, his face is as vibrant as cherries from the embarrassment. She’s cooing, going all “oooh,” and “hmm,” or “definitely not that one.” The rejected suits made him a little offended, but he’d rather she be honest than fake with unfounded flattery. There’s also a couple moments where she giggles to herself ridiculously, and he doesn’t know what on earth to make of that.
But finally, she says this pinstripe navy getup with a whole waistcoat is perfect for him. And as Arven also looks at himself in the mirror, he never understood the term ‘clothes make the man’ until now. Perhaps it’s just as special because Juliana picked it out for him, he nods to himself in agreement with his thoughts. That must be why.
After having the time of his life modeling, they head out for some food. They’re having a ball with jokes and sarcasm, but Arven’s wondering at the back of his mind why she never charged him for that first night, and why she still hasn’t sent him a quote for Saturday. As they become closer, he also starts to feel strange about the prospect of… paying for her company.
The sun begins to set in the distance, its orange hues streaking through buildings’ edges and alleyways. As they make their way home, Arven asks her a different question, not quite courageous enough to ask the ones that matter.
“Why didn’t you like those other suits? Were they that bad on me?”
A smile breaks over her lips as she turns to meet his gaze. “Absolutely not, I have to think about how it will match with me, too! And some of them, while it looked great on you, the colors wouldn’t do too well on me.”
Arven pouts his lower lip a little, his eyes looking off to the side, away from hers. “I’m sure any color looks perfect on you,” he mutters to himself.
Juliana doesn’t catch what he says as they wade through the dinner crowds on the sidewalk. And as the crosswalk sign turns green, the density of people seems to deepen and Juliana finds the distance between her and Arven growing. All of a sudden, she’s lost sight of him amongst the throngs of people walking against her.
Usually, people don’t bother her like this, but losing touch with him unexpectedly has thrown her into an odd fit of emotions. Out of nowhere, before she can reach for her phone to call him, skin touches skin — palm to palm — he’s grasping her hand. A wave of relief washes over Juliana at his contact.
She turns and sees him, a single drop of sweat sitting on his temple. Arven’s face is flushed with evident panic, even though they were apart for only a minute or two.
“Keep up, will you?!” He says somewhat distressed, his warm and large hand still clutching hers tightly.
The tension releases from her crinkled brows and she smiles back at him.
“Oh all right, if you insist,” Juliana replies to him with a grin, holding his hand back and whisking it in his face before dropping them down at their hips.
And just like that, they walk all the way home hand-in-hand. Like there’s nothing wrong with it at all. Like there’s absolutely something between them. And it has everything to do with how Arven feels when he says goodbye to her at their front doors and shuts the heavy wood behind him. He pushes his back against the door, slowly sliding down until his bottom hits the floor. He can only hear his heart pounding although his dog rushes to the front to greet him.
There’s only two more days until Saturday.
The next day, Arven doesn’t see Juliana at all. He doesn’t even hear her leave the apartment, but it must have happened before he woke up. Yesterday she mentioned how she would be out all day, something about important meetings. He makes the assumption they’re ritzy bookings with wealthy men, which tug at his mind a little.
It’s her job, of course she has to go out and do these things. He’s not sure why it bothers him so, and ends up spending the day trying to sort out his feelings to find out the answer. It’s not like him to feel so… territorial? Possessive? Arven shudders at just the thought of those words, they’re so negative and wrong. But he’s lying if he says they don’t somewhat describe what he’s feeling. Maybe they’re not exactly it, but they’re pretty damn close.
He sighs to himself, surfing through his phone for recipes to make for dinner tonight. Juliana’s not picky, and neither is he, so he enjoys being able to experiment and cook more often. Really, he hasn’t cooked in a long while, he’d long given up on it, but this past week has made him feel a real sense of satisfaction — not just watching Juliana eat his food, but with himself for completing the action.
Before he knows it, 4:00 PM rolls around and it’s time to start making dinner. Arven spends the next hour and a half constructing delicious braised duck. She’s usually knocking at his door around 5:30. He sits at the counter, watching the food grow cold and his dog has long since left, given up begging by 6:00.
She doesn’t show.
Arven decides to shake it off, putting the food away and into the fridge for better keeping. He resigns for the night, dismayed she did not show, but also worried since he hasn’t heard from her all day. After brushing his teeth and putting on his pajamas, he lies in bed with Boss at his feet. He stares at his phone, contemplating messaging her.
You doing okay? He deletes it.
Boss missed you! Deletes it again, this time with a pursed lip.
Good night, I hope you have sweet dreams. That’s good enough.
Even if this is the first day since they met that he hasn’t seen her, she can live her life. She doesn’t owe him anything, to answer him, to come over everyday. If anything, he owes her. Arven owes her everything, because while it’s only been six days, it’s felt like an eternity but a second all at once. He’s never connected with someone like this, the late night conversations, the laughs, the soul-bearing. He owes her everything but has given nothing in return.
Calmly, and desperately, he closes his eyes to fall asleep. He’s hoping to fall asleep soon because that means he’ll see her sooner. The prospect of even seeing his parents tomorrow doesn’t bother him at all, because not hearing from Juliana bothers him far more. Receiving his wish, he drifts to slumber with only a little difficulty.
While snoozing, the screen of his phone lights up on his nightstand. One message.
Good night! I won’t be around tomorrow either, so I’ll meet you at the party!
The next morning, when he wakes, he sees her message. And he sees that she sent it to him only a couple minutes after he went to bed. Arven curses himself internally and then hops out of bed to start his day. And his day, just like the day before, is rather uneventful.
He spends it reading up on culinary schools, the costs, etc. He researches and stumbles upon forums talking about living independently, how to afford groceries and saving money on a tight budget. His stomach begins to flutter with anxiety, thinking of how on earth this conversation could go with his parents. But then Juliana flashes into his mind and he scratches his head in frustration. He can do it.
Arven eats light meals, not feeling too much of an appetite with tonight on the horizon. He feels like there’s a lot to address tonight — what with his parents, and then there’s Juliana. Is she showing up tonight? She never gave him a quote, he never sent her a single cent, but she says she’ll be there. What does that mean? Does it mean what he hopes to think it means?
He walks into his room, staring at his navy suit on the hanger. After a thorough shower and blow drying his long hair, Arven meticulously begins dressing his body with the ensemble. He fastens his tie, just right. He fastens a silver watch to his wrist, hoping he doesn’t pinch his skin. And lastly, he fastens the laces on his glossy, leather dress shoes.
Green eyes stare back into green eyes as he eyes himself in the mirror. He wonders what Juliana would say, what she would think of how he looks now, tailored and trimmed. Arven, too, wonders what she will look like later tonight. He endures a throbbing in his chest, having realized in the time since last night and now, exactly just how he feels about her.
“I wish… you could be my actual date,” he says quietly to his reflection. And, just by imagining saying that to her, his face beats scarlet. If he can barely even say it to a damned mirror, how on earth could he actually say it to her beautiful face?!
The young man takes a deep breath and then exhales it with a loud yell. Maybe vocalizing it will help him feel better. And it does, momentarily, until he realizes he needs to grab a cab and make his way to the huge reception hall his father booked out. The drive over seems to pass by in a blur, watching the other car lights streak by in the evening twilight.
When he hops out of the car, he makes his way past the scattered people all standing around the entrance, everyone dressed in their suits and cocktail dresses. He could feel a few people’s gazes on him as he ascended up the steps to the entrance, but he knows that’s nothing compared to what he’ll experience when he steps inside. Arven meets security at the entrance, two men on either side, with a third checking invitations.
Arven never needed invitations to events hosted by his father; he only has to show his face. All personnel and security detail know exactly who he is, so they nod at him and allow him to pass by with no difficulty. As he enters the grand, expansive semi-circle foyer at the front, more and more people begin to notice him. And by the time he enters the main room, each step brings waves of hushed murmurs. He places his hands in his pockets, dropping his shoulders and his chin slightly to try and hide his face.
When he was younger, he seldom showed his face at places like this as he always felt out of place. He thought the same last year, when he attended for the first time as an adult, and his feelings haven’t changed no matter how much he ages. Everyone’s here to put on airs or make good with his father… and collectively look down on him.
He’s heard it all at this point, and as he tries to make his way across the room to where his parents are, he’s approached by two other executives who work closely with his father. The two men stand on either side of Arven, appearing cordial.
“Why, it’s the prodigal son!” The first one says in his robust and merry voice. Hassel, although exuding the appearance of someone quite intimidating, always reminds Arven of one of those vibrant and scrupulous art savants that frequent the museums downtown. “How goes the marriage hunt? There’s no lady on your arm tonight, unfortunately.”
Arven bites his lip as they walk towards a drink table with pre-poured champagne glasses. “It’s… going,” he quietly replies, which isn’t a lie. If he is to consider Juliana, it’s definitely not a lie. “My date is running late, she’ll meet me here.”
“O-Oh! So you have one! Isn’t that fantastic!” The other one finally breaks his silence in his soft timbre, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous laugh. “Your parents kind of sent me over with Hassel to see what the situation was, sorry about that.”
“I’d already assumed, don’t worry,” Arven shoots back, rustling the front of his jacket to make sure it is not crooked. Something sparkles in both sides of his peripheral vision, and his eyes turn to look at Hassel’s lapel and then Jacq’s. Some kind of matching pins, with the stupid logo belonging to his father’s company.
“What are those?” He asks harmlessly and thoughtlessly.
“Ah!” Hassel exclaims, looking upon Arven’s jacket. “It’s the gold pin given to mark all important attendees for today’s event, I suppose they must have forgotten to give you one at the door!”
Jacq’s eyes go wide at his colleague's words, who somehow wants to shut him up but cannot do so in front of Arven without being blatant. It’s no company secret that the relationship between the CEO and his son is… less than favorable. Hassel, however, has always been one to ignore the rumors in the air and blow past social nuances.
“That’s quite all right then, you can have mine for the time being and I’ll grab another later,” Hassel continues, unclasping the pin from his jacket and approaching Arven closer, who has yet to respond whatsoever.
Arven begins to tense up, feeling defensive about the pin. He doesn’t want to feel hurt about not receiving a pin, but he certainly doesn’t want to be given someone else’s out of pity. His tall body begins to lean back, away from Hassel, who ends up grabbing a fistful of Arven’s lapel accidentally. Jacq, who has picked up on Arven’s body language and Hassel’s pushiness, places himself behind Arven, unsure how to intervene.
In what looks to be a hostile moment between three men, Juliana steps in front of them, the heel of her shoe tapping into the floor. She tilts her head to the side in confusion and Jacq and Hassel spot her, stunned by her beauty and realizing that she is here as Arven’s date. Both men, collectively sharing the same thought at the same time (‘don’t mess up Arven’s date!’), step away from him and smile at Juliana.
“Wasn’t expecting you to be fashionably late,” Arven sighs, shrugging his shoulders to fix his blazer. He extends his pointed elbow out to her, which Juliana takes in kind. “I was expecting you to be fashionable, though.”
“I think we make quite the couple, don’t we?” Juliana says, following alongside him.
And all Arven can think is, are we a real couple? A fake couple? Anything at all?
Now that Juliana has arrived, he can deal with the most problematic part of the evening: his parents. And the sooner he deals with it, the sooner he and Juliana can leave and possibly go eat ice cream somewhere.
They make their way to the other side of the reception hall, where Arven’s parents inevitably reside. With each step, he can feel more and more of the room observing him, and the feeling in his feet begin to fade in nervousness. Right as they step up to his parents, he almost gags at the saliva catching in his throat.
Juliana squeezes his bicep, her hand still holding onto his arm. He snaps from his anxiety to look at her face, her eyes are calm and peaceful. Arven takes a deep breath, he can do this.
“G-Good evening, mom and dad,” he starts first, losing all feeling in his face. He’s not sure if he’s forgetting to breathe, too. “This is my date, Juliana.”
His parents look at him, then Juliana, then to him again. His dad seems to express good spirits over his presence, while his mother gives a small smile and nods behind him. Juliana smiles back at them, and she and Turo shake hands congenially.
“It’s always wonderful to have you here, Arven,” Turo replies, observing his son’s appearance. He thinks, for the first time, his son looks like a man. His brown eyes catch the pin on his son’s lapel. “Where did you get that?”
Arven looks down to his own chest, following his father’s vision. “Oh… Uh, this? Hassel gave it to me, he said they forgot to give me one at the door, but I know they probably wouldn’t make a mistake like that, if you don’t want me to wear it, I can take it off...”
Arven tries to explain himself, frazzled and trying to not get anyone in trouble for wearing it. He would never assume he’s someone to be marked at an event like this, and without a doubt his dad wouldn’t want him assuming some kind of important either—
“You should take it off, because I have a different pin for you,” his father says, looking to an assistant on the side to come forward.
“Wait, what?” releases from Arven’s mouth, stupefied. His father takes a small ring box from the employee, opening it and then extending it out to Arven, who takes it out of reflex.
“You’re the son of the CEO, of course your pin should be different from everyone else’s. You are the only person second to me, and one day, you may be me.”
Arven stares down at the especially made pin, carefully sitting within a velvet box. He suddenly feels an itch on his scalp. His eyes turn up to meet his father’s. It’s time to finally be honest.
“I… I don’t want to be Turo’s son anymore...!” Arven raises his voice, clenching his fists. “I want to just be your son, and be myself. I want nothing to do with this company, I never have, and you’ve always known that.”
There’s a pause and he swallows before continuing in a lower, calmer voice.
“…I want to explore cooking, and what that could look like for me in the culinary arts. I could fail, I could succeed, I don’t know… But what I do know is that I won’t ever find out unless I try. And I’ll do it, with or without you supporting me… because I know I have other people who believe in me.”
Juliana’s face is speechless, unsure how to proceed with what Arven has just confessed. His parents, particularly his father, do not exactly seem phased, however. In fact, strangely enough, and to Arven’s frustration, Turo smiles. Arven assumes this means his father has failed yet again to take his words seriously, or let alone see him as a man. After all, how could he? Arven can’t stand in front of him on his own two feet equally, he never could—
“Well, I guess I’ll just have to find you a replacement then,” Turo says, placing a hand into his pocket. “Isn’t that right, Miss Juliana?”
“Huh?” Arven’s shoulders seemingly rest, his body turning to her in confusion. She looks to him, sheepishly smiling and bobbing her foot back and forth on the heel.
“About that…” Juliana starts, avoiding Arven’s striking green eyes. “You know those meetings I told you about yesterday? I actually met with your dad. Turns out he and I knew each other before the fact anyways! I had been selected to do a really special internship under him my senior year in college. It was really easy getting in contact. He and I had conversations about what he saw for the future of his company and when I met you and found out you were his son, well I…”
A moment passes, and Arven still hasn’t spoken. She can’t read his expression and feels guilty for going behind his back. In a way, it helps them both out, but perhaps this isn’t entirely what he wants, of course.
“I-I’m sorry, I know I didn’t ask you beforehand. I should have. But I just thought this was the easiest way, I can’t continue to be an escort if we’re going to be together, and you’ve expressed so much dislike for taking over the company. Now I’m just rambling and you’re still not answering me—”
“...What?” Arven finally cuts into Juliana’s blathering, rosy tint spreading over his face.
“What…?” She responds in kind.
“Us? T-Together?!” He stammers, and as he struggles to contain the blushing, his father tilts his head at the others listening around to scurry off. Turo makes himself scarce, Arven’s mother following in tow, a little and mischievous smile across her balm-stained lips. Perhaps his parents have never been against him since the beginning — but that’s a thought for him to tackle another time.
“Oh, I guess I messed up again, didn’t I? How embarrassing, I usually can read people so well, Arven I’m so sorry if I’ve assumed you had feelings for me, I mean the other day with the hand-holding I was so sure—”
In the midst of more Juliana over-explaining herself, Arven approaches her gently and takes a hand, softly holding it between both of his own.
“It’s not all in my head?” He asks, his eyes are tenderly welling up with tears of happiness.
The girl before him is dumbfounded, unsure how her own feelings could have come across as anything less than interested. She breathes out into a smile, looking up at him and her face dripping with only affection.
“Unless it’s all in mine,” Juliana answers cheekily, shrugging her shoulders.
The two embrace each other fully and contentedly, with Arven sweetly placing his chin atop Juliana’s head. He closes his eyes, breathing in a very different kind of air for the first time in his life. Something truly life-changing, something incredibly worthwhile.
Something lucky.
That same evening, in a high rise elsewhere, there’s a girl lying on her stomach in bed. She’s in the dark, surfing the internet on her laptop. Doomscrolling, she calls it. The laptop illuminates her face with shadows accentuating her features, the computer reflecting back in the lenses of her glasses. She grabs a plushie and sticks it under her chin, propping her head up. A headline pops up and she reads it with the most amused face.
‘Breaking: Turo Industries Successor Tied to Sandwich Heiress, An Unexpected Match’
She bursts out laughing. Her dad better not send her on another one of those stupid marriage meetings again. None of her friends are single anymore, that was the last one.