"All settled. Come on, let's go home."
He took the suitcase from my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, his other hand sliding into mine, fingers lacing through.
I tugged free, gently.
"Your hand's hurt."
He laughed it off, unbothered. "Aw, are you worried about me?"
I didn't answer. I lifted my arm and flagged down a cab.
The scenery streamed backward past the window. Whatever joy I'd carried that morning had already been ground to dust.
My faint reflection hovered on the glass, the tiredness impossible to hide.
"Tessa," Arthur said suddenly, "we've got a working relationship, whatever else. She's a woman on her own. I couldn't just stand there and do nothing."
I gave a small "Mm" and closed my eyes, worn out.
He waited a moment. When nothing else came, he finally pulled his eyes from his phone and looked at me.
"You're mad?"
He pinched my cheek, teasing. "You're a grown woman. Since when are you this petty? Jealous over something like this?"
And just like that, I remembered my first year on the job. Walking home one night after working late, a stalker had cornered me and tried to grope me.
Arthur came the second I called him, furious enough to burn.
But his first move was to call the police.
On the way to the police station, he laid out his whole philosophy of life for me.
He said, "Eveline, arguing or throwing fists with a lowlife is always the worst option."
"Don't let them provoke you, and don't provoke them. You never know what kind of person you're dealing with. The happier one yields. When something like this happens, the best thing you can do is call the police."
Now the same kind of thing had happened again, except this time the person was Tessa, and Arthur had lost his temper, thrown his own good sense right out the window.
A sour ache spread through my chest.
"Arthur," I said, watching his reflection in the window, "what about your principle? The happier one yields?"
"What?" He didn't get it.
Or maybe he got it perfectly well and simply didn't want to.
Either way, it didn't matter anymore.
I said nothing. The cab fell quiet again.
He leaned closer and folded my hand into his palm, kneading it with a pressure that was neither too hard nor too soft, like soothing a sulking kitten.
"There. Don't be upset."
Once we got home, Arthur seemed to think the whole day was behind us, a closed chapter.
He flipped open the suitcase, putting things back where they belonged while asking what I felt like eating for dinner.
"Arthur." I looked at the busy figure across the room.
"Hm?"
"You don't need to take my things out."
He answered easily. "Business trip?"
"I promised my parents," I said, my voice level, "that this time I'd definitely bring my boyfriend home. That I wouldn't break the promise again."
"I'm going home today. I'll have dinner there tonight."
For a beat, the room went silent.
Arthur's hands stopped. He reached up and rubbed the space between his brows. "Didn't we agree? Next time, when I'm free?"
He held up his injured hand, the gesture half-hearted. "Meeting the parents should be a dignified thing. Look at my hand. Showing up like this would be rude. What if they thought I wasn't a steady, reliable guy and it left a bad impression?"
"Next time, when I'm ready. Right after we meet them, we'll start planning the wedding. I'll give you the most perfect one, I promise."
Once again Arthur fobbed me off with a flimsy excuse, dodging the meeting with my parents.
And once again he didn't forget to hand me a hollow promise, one that belonged to "next time."
I could barely remember the reasons behind the previous nine times anymore.
A project that came out of nowhere, drinks with clients, a dinner he couldn't skip, a sudden cold, every excuse that could possibly be used.
All I remembered were the photos my mom sent of a table full of food, one after another after another.
And on the video calls, the disappointment they couldn't quite hide in their eyes, even as they kept smiling, reassuring me it was fine.
I don't know why, but the longer those images sat with me, the sharper they grew in my mind.
