“Thanks,” she murmurs as she refills her glass and does the same to mine. “That’s true. It’s something we’ve been taught subconsciously. Any woman who isn’t late to a party clearly didn’t bother to look her best. But, that’s a load of crap, don’t you think?”
I sit back and watch as she speaks, her hands moving animatedly, a bright, cheery smile across her face. “In my eyes, a woman who shows up on time values herself. Anyone who values her time would value yours too. To reduce yourself to outdated practices of seduction is rudimentary in nature.”
“So, you’re saying you never made a man wait?”
She chews thoughtfully, a distant look in her eyes, then laughs. “Only once! When I was late for a date because I got arrested.”
“You…what?” I gasp, shocked at how she’s laughing about being arrested. This is the thing with Lilibeth, I cannevertell what’s going to come out of her mouth.
“It wasn’t my fault, really.” She twirls some hair around her finger. “I was at this protest—you know, the one a few years back about the corruption in local government? Anyway, things got a bit heated, and before I knew it, I was being hauled into a police van. I didn't even get my phone call until three hours later! My cousins were furious, and the police apologized to me after.” She chuckles, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
I can't help but stare at her, trying to reconcile the image of this vibrant, sweet woman with the idea of her being arrested. “And what did your date say about this?” I ask, leaning forward, genuinely curious.
She waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, he was livid. Said I was irresponsible and immature. Needless to say, that was our first and last date.” She grins, seemingly proud of herself.
“Good riddance,” I sigh with relief. “I guess some men don’t appreciate a woman who stands up for what she believes in.”
She nods, her gaze unwavering. “And do you appreciate that?”
“I value strength in any form,” I say carefully.
Her smile softens. “Yes. That is saying something, isn’t it? If only everyone saw it the way you did.”
“Was that a compliment?” I hitch up an eyebrow.
She nods exuberantly. “It certainly was.”
I give her an almost smile and lean back in my chair. “So, why’d you attend that protest in the first place?”
And just like that, we're once again engrossed in an exchange of ideas that surprises me with its intensity and engagement. By the time dessert arrives, I find myself leaning forward in my chair, drawn into her intelligence and enthusiasm.
When she finally stands to leave, I realize with a start that two hours have passed—two hours where I wasn't thinking about anything except her. These were the first and only two hours of the day in which I’ve been fully present, observing Lilibeth, her mind, and the way her hands move when she's making a point she cares about.
“Same time tomorrow?” she asks, and I nod before I can consider whether this is wise.
The pattern continues for the next two nights. We debate the morality of necessary violence, the most loved countries from our travels, and how luxury brands are fooling the masses. Each evening, I find myself watching the clock as seven thirty approaches, an odd anticipation building in my chest.
I tell myself it's the intellectual stimulation. Most meals I share with the company are reduced to discussions about business or territory. Those conversations are always singular in focus.
Lilibeth is multi-dimensional. She enjoys dinner without an agenda, eats with me simply for the pleasure of the conversation itself.
It's refreshing. That's all.
But then the next day arrives, everything changes.
***
The next afternoon, I’m returning from a meeting when I hear bright and unrestrained laughter. It’s Lilibeth, and I smile at the sound of her being so overjoyed, her voice floating over from the east entrance. I wonder what it is that makes her laugh so and make my way over to her.
I round the corner and find her leaning against the wall, hugging a book to her chest, dimples deep in her cheeks as she smiles up at one of the security guards. He's young, barely thirty, with the overconfident stance of someone who hasn't earned his position yet. Novak, I think his name is. One of the new hires.
“That's the funniest thing I've heard all day,” she's saying, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She shifts her weight, and the movement emphasizes the generous curves of her hips beneath her sundress. Novak notices, too, his gaze dropping briefly before returning to her face with a practiced smile.
“I have plenty more stories if you're interested,” he says, leaning closer than necessary.
What the hell does he think he’s doing, talking to his employer’s wife like that? This is highly unprofessional. None of my seasoned men would ever dare engage in conversation with Lilibeth or any other member of our family unless it was regarding a task or chore they needed to undertake.
The blood rushes to my head as blind fury overwhelms all my other senses. A haze envelops my vision, and before I can even process what I’m doing, I’m moving toward them.
