I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole, or the burn of embarrassment might just flay me alive. I'd welcome the damnation 'cause clearly, I'd lost my mind.
It was pure madness that such a ridiculous fib had even crossed my mind, let alone made its way out of my mouth in a word-vomit catastrophe.
The last thing I needed was to look completely unhinged in front of Kaleb.
No, scratch that—something even worse was already happening. Conversations at nearby tables had come to a halt, curious and invasive looks darting in our direction after my outburst.
My hands trembled uncontrollably as I lifted them to shield my face from the growing stares and hushed murmurs around us. I jolted when a large, warm hand suddenly clasped my arm and yanked me none too gently to my feet.
Kaleb's expression was unreadable as he locked eyes with my welled-up, bewildered gaze. "Let's go," he said in a tone that left no room for argument.
I had no choice but to stumble after him, cringing at the spectacle we must have made to the onlookers.
It probably looked like Kaleb was the father of my false, out-of-wedlock baby, and now he was dragging me off somewhere. A scene fit for a soap opera—very drama-worthy indeed.
The sky had darkened, and the evening air was chilly by the time we stepped outside. We hadn't grabbed our coats on the way out and a shiver traced down my spine as we stood at the front of the restaurant.
I barely registered Kaleb ordering the valet to bring his car around; my attention was glued to where his grip had shifted to my wrist. He was still holding on, even though he wasn't leading me anywhere. The tingling warmth where our skin touched made me uneasy.
"Y-you can let go of me now," I said in a small voice. I ought to refocus on the situation at hand. Kaleb had just proposed to me—me—and I'd made a total fool of myself in front of him.
I had to recover from this crisis, somehow.
Kaleb turned toward me, his gaze searching for something I couldn't begin to guess. His eyes dropped to where his hand still held my wrist. I must have imagined the brief hesitation—and the slight, almost reluctant squeeze—before he finally let go.
The moment he released me, I wrapped my arms around myself, hugging against the cold, my mind racing for the umpteenth time: what the hell was going on?
The valet arrived with Kaleb's car, and he wordlessly crossed to the driver's side. I blinked in confusion, still trying to make sense of everything.
What I didn't expect was for the tinted window of the passenger's side of the surprisingly practical black SUV to roll down, followed by Kaleb's rigid command: "We don't have all night. Get in."
My body moved to follow his instruction before my brain could catch up, a bad instinct I'd developed that played out whenever I felt like I'd messed up. Thanks to growing up under my father's roof, I had been trained to obey without question.
Vincent Clarke demanded nothing short of absolute respect and obedience. Teenage rebellion? Not in his house. Any hint of defiance was met with swift consequences: isolation, no gadgets, no friends. It was his way or relentless punishment.
"Evelyn." Kaleb saying my name impatiently snapped me out of my frozen state, my hand still hovering over the door handle.
"I'm coming," I huffed, jerking the door open and clambering inside. It was far from graceful—my bodycon cocktail dress restricted me at the knees, and the stupidly high step of the SUV was definitely not made in consideration for someone five-foot-one in high heels and a tight dress.
For that, I slammed the door behind me with zero remorse.
"Seatbelt," he ordered, not bothering to glance at me as he started the car.
"I was getting to it," I snapped, clicking the belt into place with more force than necessary. Seriously, why was he such a crabby butthole? And where on earth was he taking me?
"Where are we going?" I asked, my irritation growing, though I couldn't help but notice how good Kaleb looked doing something as simple as driving. Was this why women loved being passenger princesses with their men?
The thought made me recoil. Kaleb Blackwell was not my man, nor did I want him to be.
Ever.
"Somewhere we can talk in peace," he said flatly, his focus never leaving the road, while mine, annoyingly, couldn't seem to stray from him.
Heat rushed to my face and neck. Right, we were supposed to talk. But I still couldn't wrap my head around the fact that Kaleb actually wanted us to get married.
What kind of life could two people with absolutely nothing in common build together? At best, it would be a marriage of convenience; at worst, a living hell.
Or maybe something like my parents had—where they only tolerated each other when necessary, otherwise living in mutual indifference.
That's why I grew up in a loveless, mechanical household. To say I was hesitant to accept that for myself was an understatement.
The ride continued undisturbed, even by the faint hum of light traffic outside. I was grateful for the brief reprieve and the chance to gather my thoughts. Almost half an hour ago, I had been preparing for Kaleb's rejection. Now, I was scrambling to find a way to turn him down.
But would I be able to dissuade him? He had to see how this marriage benefited no one but our parents. If I made it clear that I had no interest in going through with this and tried to reason with him, maybe we could both get out of this mess.
An unsettling thought gnawed at me. His ready compliance screamed that something wasn't right. Whatever Kaleb's reason was for going along with our parents' plan in the first place couldn't be anything good for me.
So I had to stay calm and composed, or I'd end up being consumed by the irresistible force that was Kaleb Blackwell.