Page 34 of Filthy Twisted Devil

“That’s fantastic,” Eden says. “Has she started planning yet?”

“Well, she’s planning on getting married in our church. Other than that, she hasn’t started.”

“Feel free to reach out if you need any recommendations. I work with Flair Events, and we know almost everyone in the city. I just helped with a baby shower for our friends, James and Maura, and the baker we used was unbelievable.”

“James Keller, right? The Sequel CEO?” When Eden nods, Katherine nods approvingly. “How lovely. If that’s the level of events you’re used to working, maybe you could be helpful after all.”

Katherine starts asking Eden questions about modest wedding dress designers, which Eden answers easily. It doesn’t take long before they’re scrolling through dresses on Katherine’s phone.

Robert grunts. “The women seem to be getting along.”

“Looks like it. I’m not surprised. Eden was looking forward to tonight.”

“She seems like a special girl.”

I glance over at Eden. She throws her head back, laughing at something Katherine says. “She is. I didn’t know what I was missing before I asked her out.”

“Sounds like she was just the change you needed,” Robert says. He’s finally softening, so I go in for the kill.

“I'm not proud of how I conducted my personal life before Eden,” I say. “She made me realize I had to make a lot of changes to be worthy of her. She's already made me a better man, and I know I’m going to stay on the path we’re on.”

Robert uncrosses his arms and grabs his glass. “I like the sound of that.”

The rest of the dinner goes as smoothly as I could have hoped. Katherine gives Eden the full biography of Roberta’s fiancé, a corporate lawyer who, to hear Katherine tell it, had such a traditional upbringing that he never so much as watched a R-rated movie. I work hard not to crack a smile, imagining Roberta, the woman who showed me her belly button piercing three times, marrying a man who had his first kiss at the age of twenty-two.

Halfway through our dessert, a chocolate lava cake, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. A man sitting at a corner table has his phone aimed at Eden and I, snapping away photos. Here’s my chance.

“Eden, baby, you’ve got some chocolate on your lip,” I say.

She reaches down for her napkin, but I’m quicker. I lean over the table, taking her face in my hands and kissing away the chocolate. It’s quick, just long enough for the photographer to get the shot.

“Sorry for that,” I tell Katherine. “She just looked too sweet.”

Katherine just sniffs. She might be head over heels for Eden, but I’m clearly still in her bad books.

“Don’t judge them too harshly. They’re in the honeymoon stage,” Robert says, taking his wife’s hand.

Eden looks down at her plate, her face slightly flushed. She quickly changes the subject to gardening. I’m not sure if it was a lucky guess, or if she could read Katherine that well, but Katherine happily launches into a long discussion of her favorite perennials.

Convenient, since I’m not sure I have much to add to any conversation right now.

I kissed Eden, and I want to do it again. A brief brush of our lips wasn’t enough. I need more, not just because she looks so goddamn good in that dress. Because she calmed me down before dinner, because she charmed Katherine and Robert, because she’s so comfortable in her own skin.

Maybe what I told Robert wasn’t a total lie. Being with Eden makes me want to be a better man, if only because it’s obvious, if I were really pursuing her, I wouldn’t be anywhere close to worthy.

14

EDEN

It would be safe to say that the condition of my apartment has deteriorated sharply since Brinley moved out.

It's not that I'm a gross or messy person. My bathroom is never disgusting, I don't leave out dishes for more than a few hours, and I wash my sheets and towels on a regular basis, thanks. It’s just that the mess I make working tends to spill off my desk and into the rest of the apartment.

Without Brinley, stacks of papers have started to accumulate on every flat surface. Cardboard boxes of customized cocktail napkins, nameplates, and various other party items I had shipped to the apartment are stacked against the walls. The fridge has four different seating charts stuck onto it, so I can puzzle through who to sit where while I’m waiting for my dinner to get out of the microwave.

Which is exactly what I’m doing when the notification hits my phone.

It’s a Toronto Tea post featuring a photo of me and Luke from our dinner with Robert and Katherine. It’s blurry and shot from far away, like the photographer was hiding in the bushes somewhere. Hell, maybe they were. It’s not like I noticed any paparazzi while we were having dinner on the patio.