I turn abruptly. I’m kind of pissed at him. He could’ve just stayed home and not bothered me when I’m already in a hurry. “What?” I snap.

“Look, I understand where you’re coming from,” he takes a step forward, “but I’d really appreciate it if next time you’d ask me if I want to do it or not.”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nod. He must realize I’m not convinced when I turn back to the mirror.

Elias approaches and gently turns me around by my shoulders, forcing me to look into his eyes. He’s close, but not too close. “I want to go, okay?” he says. He inclines his head, trying to get a better view of my eyes, as if he’ll get the answer from them.

“Yeah, sure,” I blurt.

“It’s not because you helped me. I want you to know that,” he says, and I raise a brow. He laughs, and my heart breaks a little. “Sure, that’s a factor too, but I want to help you.”

I nod. “Well, you can’t,” I quickly put my foundation on.

“Why?”

“Unless you’re a doctor with a whole lot of money.” I smile sarcastically at him. “Let me just change.”

I don’t wait for his reaction. I just start to gather my outfit, taking out every piece of clothing one by one.

“Why can’t I just be me?” he asks while I look through my dresses.

“Because,” I start and choose a black one, “my mom wanted to couple me with another man tonight, so I said I’m already bringing someone else.” I go behind my changing screen so I can put on my underwear and throw the dress over my head. “She had the damn nerve to laugh in my face and then she said I could never find a proper man.”

I come out from behind the dressing screen. “Zip me up,” I say and point over my shoulder.

He does so without saying a word. His fingers graze my skin and I get a shiver up my spine.

“So, I said to my mom, ‘You know what, fuck off, Mom. I have this amazing doctor that is richer and smarter than any man you could bring tonight.’ And then guess what?” I turn to face him.

He raises his eyebrows in question.

“She fucking said, ‘Oh, that’s lovely, looking forward to meeting him tonight.’”

He grimaces, and I frown at the weird face he’s making.

“Are you constipated? Do you need to use the bathroom or something?”

He bursts out laughing, tears filling his eyes as he tries to cover his laugh.

“What’s funny?”

He swallows and sits on the edge of the bed, massaging his temples, no longer looking amused.

“Nothing,” he admits. “Nothing. I think it’s just tiredness.” He rubs his face as if trying to wake himself up.