Chapter Fourteen

           “Nick, let’s go!” I yelled anxiously through the door of the hotel room. All I could think was that we were going to be late.

           “I’m coming!” he called back. He was never prepared! He was making us late, and it was going to make me look bad!

           Currently, I was trying to get out of the hotel with Nick to go to a dinner with my uncle. We had been in London about a day, and the teachers set down the basic guidelines for us: No.1 Curfew was at eleven p.m., and if we weren’t in the room by then, all electronics would be taken from us. No.2 Don’t get arrested. No.3 Try to “Cite-see”. And No.4 No partying or clubbing. They basically said we could do what we wanted, unless they had an activity for us. They were really only concerned about losing us. If one of us were to go missing in London, the school would get into quite a bit of trouble. Most kids (Girls, really) were just going shopping. Nick and I, on the other hand, had a real engagement to attend.

           I was rooming with Kara, the next room over having John, Phillip, and Nick in it. The teachers were idiots. They seemed to not comprehend the fact that there were a connecting doors between rooms. We had been keeping the door open, and it seemed to be working just fine.

           “Nick!” I groaned, taking a final look at myself in the mirror.

           Though it was hard to admit, the dress I was wearing was gorgeous. It was sleeveless, and has a comfortable waistband around the middle. On the top was sheer black with an embroidered bodice, and a black pleated skirt flowed out on the bottom. It was just so pretty!

           Now, my shoes, on the other hand, were a completely different story. They were back platform, shiny pumps, which looked good, I guess, but they killed! My hair was down, laying on my back in natural waves.

           The whole reason I was all dressed up was because of my uncle. He was a big deal CEO, and was taking us to some fancy restaurant, so we have to look “Presentable”.

           “Nick!” I screamed again, about ready to drag him out of the hotel.

           “Yeah?” he said, appearing in my room. “Wow; you look really hot.”

           “Thanks,” I said, quickly glimpsing at his outfit, which happened to be undeniably acceptable. He had on a simple, black, pullover, V-neck sweater, with a blue and white, striped, collared shirt underneath, and a pair of dark gray slacks. He undoubtedly looked… gorgeous.

           “Yeah, I know, Elle, I’m a lot to take in. I’m pretty damn hot myself too,” he joked, as I realized my “Quick glimpse” had turned into me practically drooling over him.

           “I hate to admit it, but you look pretty good,” I said sheepishly.

           “Excuse me? I look amazing!”

           “Uh huh, sure,” I rolled my eyes. “We have to go.”

           “Aw! Can’t we just ditch your uncle?” he whined.

           “We could, but then I’d be leaving him with a bad impression of me and you. So, no.”

           “Before we go,” he said, coming up to me and putting his hands around my waist, “let me just taste your lip-gloss.” His face grew closer to mine to the point where I could feel his lips on my own. Kissing Nick felt like I was in heaven, and I didn’t want to ever leave. Those precious moments of affection we shared, were the moments I cherished.

           “Jokes on you,” I whispered once we were done, “I’m not wear lip-gloss.”

           And with that, I grabbed my bag, and left the room. Nick followed closely behind, until we reached the elevator. I pressed the button, and the doors opened to a horrible sight: Little Miss Imma Bitch Gina was making out with Phillip Anderson. I wanted to puke.

           “We’re taking the next one,” Nick said, putting a hand over his face to shield his eyes.

           “Oh my god! Sorry guys! Come on in!” Gina said, backing away and smiling slyly. I turned to Phillip whose eyes illuminated, as he looked me over. He didn’t quite look like he was dying, but I didn’t think he was having a blast at the moment.

           “Fine,” Nick said, taking my hand and leading me into the vast little room.

           “So, where are you guys going?” Phillip asked as I pressed the “L”, or lobby, button.

           “Dinner,” I said sharply.

           “Why the hell are you dressed that nice then?” Gina asked, draping her arms around Phillip.

           “Because we felt like it,” Nick fired back.

           “No, really, where are you going?” she persisted.

           “Dinner,” I reiterated.

           “Whatever, if you don’t want to tell me, then don’t!”

           “Elle kinda told you twice,” Nick said, as I watched the light move its way past the different floors’ buttons. All was silent until it dinged, and we were in the lobby.

           “Bye, Phillip!” I said, smirking as we left.

           “Poor Phillip,” Nick sighed.

           “What Gina wants, she gets.”

           “It sucks.”

           “I know,” I said as we went over to the front desk. We called for a taxi, and waited a brief five minutes. As we exited the hotel, a gust of the cold air hit my shoulders. I approached the taxi that had been called for, and slid in, Nick close behind.

           “Where to?” the cab driver asked in an urban British accent. 

           “Tranche de Félicité?” I said, hoping I was pronouncing the name of the restaurant correctly.

           “Are you sure, Miss?” he questioned. He was clearly not taking me seriously.

           “Yes, actually, I am.”

           “Alrighty.”

           “So, babe, I’m still confused at what your uncle does,” Nick said.

           “I’m sorry, but I can’t explain it. I asked him once, and the second he mentioned hedge funds, I knew I would never fully understand his job. Basically, he works with money or something,” I laughed.

           “Cool.”

           “I guess.”

           “So, why am I going?”

           “I have no idea. When I called him and told him I’d be in London he said my parents had mentioned that I have a boyfriend, and now he wants to meet you,” I said, biting on my bottom lip, partially scared that there was a chance of disapproval for Nick to gain.

           “Wow! I’m already becoming part of the family!” he said excitedly.

           “No, you’re meeting part of the family so they have a sufficient amount of time to reject you,” I shot down.

           “No one could reject me!”

           “And here we are, Tranche de Félicité,” the driver said, pulling up to a gorgeously modern building.

           “Thank you,” I said, pulling out fifty pounds. We were running late, and I didn’t feel like doing the math, so I think I tipped him... a lot.

           “Thank you, Miss. Hope you two have a fine evening!”

           “Yup,” Nick said, getting out of the car, and holding out his hand for me to take as I too stepped out.

           “Ready?” I asked.

           “Nope.”

           “Come on,” I said, dragging him to the front doors. We stepped in and an indescribable aroma hit my nostrils. It smelled so good! We went up to the hostess’ podium, and waited until a sharply dressed lady returned.

           “Do you have a reservation?” she asked, staring down at us through her glasses.

           “I believe it was under James Paterson?” I said quietly.

           “And what would your name be?” she questioned intimidatingly.

           “Elle Paterson; he’s my uncle.”

           “Right this way,” she nodded, leading us through the restaurant of dining people. We went up a spiral staircase, and then were on a floor with ten tables or so. I looked around and saw that every table was completely full, except one- Uncle J.

           He fit the businessman profile well. Tailored suit, picture-perfect, thousand-dollar haircut, and an expensive watch. As we approached, he stood up, and winked at me.

           “Elle,” he greeted, as we took our seats on the other side of the table opposite him.

           “Hey James,” I said.

           “So, what’s up with you? And who’s this?” he inquired, as he began to size Nick up.

           “This is Nick; my boyfriend,” I gulped.

           “Hey Nick, I’m James,” James said, as Nick had a puzzled look on his face, probably expecting someone completely different from my uncle.

           My uncle was my father’s brother. My dad was one of five, and the oldest. James was the youngest. My dad was forty-five, while James was a young twenty-seven. The title “Uncle James” didn’t exactly fit due to the face he was only about ten years older than me, so he was just James to me. To be honest, he was more like a cousin, or brother, rather than an uncle.

           “Nick, say hi,” I commented.

           “Hi. Currently I’m not, though,” Nick said, still stunned.

           “Did you just infer that my niece is dating a total pothead?” James asked.

           “N-”

           “Because that would bring so much awesome corruption to our family!” James exclaimed.

           “What?” Nick questioned, clearly confused as to what he was talking about.

           “Every guy that I’ve met that has been with Elle was a total nerd, or a stiff,” James explained.

           “Who says Nick isn’t?” I asked.

           “I can just tell,” he smirked.           

           “Well, you’d be right on the part that I’m not a total nerd or a stiff. I am pretty smart, though,” Nick said arrogantly.

           “I never said we wanted her with someone dumb,” James laughed.

           “James, have you talked to Jord about his past girlfriends?” I questioned.

           “You mean all those sluts?”

           “Yeah.”

           “I have, actually, and that delusional kid thinks he’s been in love each time. So, how long have you two been dating?” he inquired, as I feared the interrogation part of the dinner was far from over.

           “About a month,” I replied.

           “Have you guys had sex yet?”

           “James! Shut up!” I scolded, growing red.

           “We haven’t, actually,” Nick said, probably trying to gage what type of a person James was.

           “Oh, come on, bro! As her uncle, I give you permission to totally pressure her into it!” James laughed.

           “James!” I gaped.

           “Let’s switch topics. So, Elle, I heard you’ve already been accepted to Harvard,” James said falsely.

           “Not yet,” I gulped, knowing that within another year the pressure of getting into Harvard would be upon me. “Why the hell are we here?”

           “Because I told your parents that I would be taking you out to a fancy dinner, and when I tweet a picture of you two, as my proof I actually did this, it’ll be nice to have a fancy restaurant as a backdrop,” he said, sliding out his phone and snapping a quick picture of Nick and I that I had no doubt would end up on the internet by the end of the night. “So, Nick, tell me about yourself.”

           “What do you want to know?” Nick asked hesitantly.

           “What’s your last name?”

           “Ross.”

           “Elle Ross. I like that sound of that. What sports?”

           “Mainly football and skiing, but I do baseball and lacrosse too.”

           “You’re a LAX bro?” James questioned unsurely.

           “Yeah,” Nick nodded.

           “That’s so chill! Elle, nice pick this time! So, how many past girlfriends have you had?”

           “I don’t know,” Nick grew quiet.

           “Give me a ballpark,” James prompted.

           “Thirty?” he winced.            

           “Player?”

           “Formerly,” Nick said, grasping for my hand under the table. I gave it a tight squeeze, hoping to be reassuring.

           “Good answer. By the way, I’m not the one you need to impress; when you said you smoked pot, I was sold!” James said.

           “I never said that,” Nick sighed.

           “But you were thinking it!”

           “James!” I said, kicking him under the table. “Why do we need to discuss Nick’s history with drug use?”

           “So, he has a history!”

           “Why the hell are you so interested!” I demanded.

           “Elle, be quiet, they’re going to throw you out,” James complained.

           “And they’re totally not going to throw you out for inappropriate conduct of discussing pot with minors,” I said sarcastically.

           “Damn right, they’re not! Especially when my name happens to be James Paterson,” he smirked knowingly.

           “James, shut up!”

           “That’s Uncle James to you!”

           “No, I think I’m going to stick with James.”

           “Putting up with Elle, wow. Is she paying you or something?” James accused.

           “What? No!” Nick said. Maybe I should’ve prepped Nick before the dinner that my uncle wasn’t really, well, an uncle. Oh, and that he had no concept of bounderies.

           “Then why in the world are you dating her? You would have to be crazy to put up with this chick!” James laughed.

           “Then I guess I’m crazy,” Nick said, grasping my hand tighter.

           “Good answer! Now, back to my original question: are you a stoner?”

           “No.”

           “Damn it. I thought for once Elle picked someone interesting!”

           “I got caught.”

           “Oh, so you were?”

           “Yeah…”

           “But smoking weed and pot is bad, so we don’t do it,” I interjected firmly.

           “Hello, I’m Amaya, and I’ll be your waitress this evening. Can I start you off with some beverages?” a light haired, British girl asked, coming over to our table.

           “I’ll have a scotch, he’ll have a beer, and she’s having champagne. Oh, and just bring over one more beer, please,” James smiled at the girl who was probably at least five years younger than he.

           “Right away, sir,” she said, turning to leave.

           “I don’t like champagne!” I complained, not a huge fan of underage drinking. “And why did you order yourself a beer and a scotch?”

           “I didn’t,” he replied.

           “You didn’t?” I questioned, confused.

           “No. Oh, and, Nick, I hope it was alright, getting you a beer?”

           “It’s fine,” Nick said.

           “Who’s the extra beer for?” I asked.

           “Oh, I didn’t tell you?”

           “What?”

           “No, I’ll let it be a surprise!” he taunted evilly.

           “What?” I demanded.

           “We’re having another dinner guest.”

           “Who?”

           “You’ll see,” he said, a smile placing itself on his lips.

           “Do I know them?” I asked.

           “Yes, actually, you do.”

           “And whom would it be?”

           “Ms. Paterson,” a recognizably masculine voice said behind me. I didn’t need to turn around to see who it was; I already knew.