Kalista
“Why don’t we set right down on the settee for a bit?”
Griff’s voice sounds lighter, happier than it has since I’ve known him.
But there’s still a weird layer of stress underneath that’s also new to me.
This is not a man I’ve known to be stressed. At least, not in any way that really rang true.
Not in any way that made me feel stressed as well, which is exactly what I’m feeling at this very moment—in spite of Griffin’s attempt at a warm, jovial smile.
My own attempt at returning that smile likely rings just as hollow as I take a few careful steps to the settee.
I stop just short of setting myself down on the elegantly upholstered cushion, as Griffin just suggested.
This must be a tradition for us: taking a long, silent moment to watch each other. To admire or maybe study each other.
This time, sadly, it seems to mostly involve the latter. Even though we’re both smiling, and I’m sure there’s something of a sparkle in my eye to match the slight glint in Griffin’s, there’s that odd sensation of mystery, of mistrust, that’s coming so strongly off of Griff that I’m starting to feel it myself.
Didn’t we just get much, much closer to each other on multiple levels?
“Is all of your wardrobe coordinated to match the settee?” I quip, trying to break out of the moment.
He does look damn stylish sitting there, but that goes without saying at this point.
“Does this really seem color coordinated to you?” he retorts.
“Not color coordinated, that’s not what I said or what I was talking about!” I sound so intense of all a sudden—I try to pull it back. “Come on, Griff, I know you understand aesthetics on a much deeper level than that. You know how to make yourself into the perfect display no matter where you are, don’t you?”
Griffin’s lips stay still—there’s not even the faintest hint of a smile.
He pats the surface of the settee next to where he’s sitting. The sound is purposeful, like he’s willfully ignoring what I said because he has something oh-so-important he just needs to share.
“I guess you don’t want to give away all of your secrets,” I mutter while reluctantly taking the spot next to him.
“All of what secrets?”
Griffin’s trying to sound casual and only mildly curious at best, but the edge in his voice keeps growing.
“I’m just talking about your fashion secrets, Griff. I know all the rest of them.”
“Oh.”
Still no sign of a smile—he just stares forward for a pregnant moment before looking at me with a seriousness that almost makes me laugh.
“What is it? Do you really not want me to cook?” I lean in closer, my hands sinking into the cushion between us as I try to jokingly make a face even more earnest than his. “Or does this riad have an amusement park for real that you’re trying to hide from me?”
“I’ve been having fun, Kalista.”
I sit myself back upright. “That doesn’t sound too convincing…”
“It’s the truth, though, and it’s important you know that.”
Feeling genuinely confused, I absentmindedly look away from Griff and search the architecture surrounding us for a few seconds.
Just where the hell is this going, anyway?
“Griffin,” I implore, looking back towards him and trying to match his serious tone, “why is it important that I know that? Because, love, I’ve been having fun, too.”
Griff begins leaning towards me the same way I tried to get closer to him a moment ago, but he seems to abruptly change his mind as he straightens his posture to keep me at a relatively cool distance.
It’s a rare moment for him, coming across as less than totally confident and in control.
“Past tense, huh?” I’m trying to get him closer to making his point, whatever it is.
“It’s been fun, and work can be—and often is—fun for me. But some jobs don’t allow for that as much.”
I truly believe that Griffin doesn’t mean to be as condescending as he’s coming across. But he’s still obviously floundering.
“What are you trying to say, Griffin? Spit it out.”
His stoic face finally starts to twist—not in laughter like I was trying for earlier, but in discomfort.
“I can’t afford…none of us can afford anything to go wrong on this job. It’d be disastrous…” I feel my face starting to fall in disappointment at his words, and he notices. “And that has nothing to do with you, love. Except…do you really want to be part of this world? Because it is about to get a lot more real.”
I’m back to half-studying the architecture in a confused panic. Of course, I’ve been thinking about this, but—
Why does he have to put it like that?
So severely?
It’s not only confusing my feelings, but I’m not even sure of his motivation.
“Honestly, being here—I mean, being with you, where you go, has worked out a lot better for me than, well—I thought something like this could…”
“So far, Kalista, but only so far. That’s the point I’m trying to make, and it’s not like it’s been that smooth a fucking road up until now, either…”
“I know,” I answer coldly, realizing that I’m staring forward at nothing.
“Look, I’m not trying to convince you of anything, and I think you get the point, and…how much do you think you’re worth?”
A sparse puff of anger rises through me before I even understand what’s going on. I’m suddenly looking right back at Griffin again, feeling my eyes narrow and my cheeks flush.
“You know that Forbes top billionaires ranking is not all-inclusive.”
“I know,” Griffin responds calmly.
“If they ever did include me,” I say, sounding strangely calm myself, “which I hope they don’t, but if they did, and you looked up the ranking online, you wouldn’t have to scroll far to find me.”
“That’s starting at the top of the list, with the wealthiest…”
“Of course that’s what I mean.” My voice is a quiet, barely controlled hiss. Yet I feel like this conversation’s getting ahead of me, and I don’t even know why I’m feeling what I’m feeling.
I don’t even know what I’m feeling, really, but anger seems to be trying to rise to the surface for some reason.
“Wouldn’t it be…” Griffin leans in, smiling now but looking fake, almost causing me to recoil. “How much of that do you think your parents would give up to, you know, get you back?”
The regret washing over his face is immediate, but I only see a fucking flash of it because everything is suddenly overpowered by the anger I’m letting take over me at last.
Maybe he tries calling after me as I storm away—I don’t know, and I don’t fucking care.
I gather my things as quickly as my red haze of disgusted rage will allow. It’s like I’m floating through a nightmare as nausea, shock, and the urge to fucking scream take turns trying to overpower my senses.
I keep it together just enough to pack, calmly and quietly, and even leave a note.
That lasting haze of anger is still there as I leave the Riad for good—taking the Kalista Canary with me.