Meant to Marry Me

Trent glanced around again. A sigh of relief escaped his lips when he saw Celia standing in the corner of the room near the exit. She gave him a little wave, and he lifted the statue at her, which got a giggle out of her. In the future, given the choice, he would let her accept the award, and he would go with Bree. This entire event had been torturous, and he had a feeling it wasn't over yet.

Celia waited for him as the reporters peppered him with questions. It didn't take more than five or ten minutes, but it seemed much longer than that when all he wanted to do was get out of there. Eventually, the reporters finished, the director thanked him for his time, and Trent was free at last.

Keeping his haste in check, Trent made his way over to Celia. "Well... how was that?" she asked, the grin on her face letting him know she already knew the answer to that question.

"Best half hour of my life." The sarcastic remark rolled off of his tongue.

Snickering, Celia turned, slipping her arm through his. "For some reason, I don't believe that."

"I don't know why," he said with a shrug. Unable to hide his uncomfortable state anymore, Trent said, "Let's get out of here."

"Ah... but I hear people are standing around in the lobby chatting and drinking cocktails. Don't you wanna hang out with the cool kids for a while?"

He could tell she was joking, but he was no longer in the mood to play along with it. "Not even a little bit," he said. She was right about people standing around chatting and drinking. As soon as they walked through the doors that led to the lobby, it became apparent most of the attendees were not ready to leave the event already. Considering he didn't know very many of these people at all, and didn't care to speak to the person he did know, Trent didn't slow on his way to the door.

Until Monica stepped in front of him.

Her arms were folded beneath her chest, and he could tell she was purposely pushing her cleavage out, leaning forward to accent a chest she had always been overly proud of. Her lips were set in that pout that let him know she was about to tear into him, even though they were in public, and she no longer had a right to speak to him any way she wanted to--not that she ever had had that right, but that hadn't stopped her in the past when she'd been angry. "Trent, may I have a word with you?" she barked, her voice low.

Scanning the room, he didn't see her date. "Where's... what's his name?"

Monica didn't answer his question. "Listen, if you and I are going to live in the same city, and run in the same circles, chances are, we are going to run into one another from time to time. We have to find a way to keep it civil." He raised an eyebrow at her. She was trying to draw him into an argument, to make him raise his voice and look like the bad guy. He wasn't going to fall for it, though. At least, he hoped he wouldn't. Squeezing Celia's arm slightly so that perhaps she'd get the idea that he didn't want to cause a scene, he said, "Okay."

"Okay?" Monica echoed, her voice louder and shriller than before. "That's all you're going to say?"

Trent shrugged. "What else is there to say? I don't want to argue with you, Monica."

"Well, you did earlier. Or at least... your friend did." She eyed Celia harshly, making it apparent that, if she couldn't draw Trent into an argument, she'd try his date.

He felt Celia's body stiffen next to him. A glance in her direction revealed narrow eyes. She reminded him of a cobra, coiling to strike. He couldn't let that happen. "Celia understands the situation, Monica, and I assure you, she doesn't want any trouble either." He hoped his associate didn't mind him speaking for her, but something told him, if he gave her the opportunity to open her mouth, the venom that spewed out would quickly have every eye in the room on them. Monica wasn't budging, not yet. Her eyes shifted from Trent's face to Celia's, as if she were waiting for an apology. That wasn't going to come. Celia's disposition made it very clear that she wasn't feeling sorry for anything she'd said. "If you'll excuse us, Monica, we need to be going."Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

The model didn't step aside, so Trent steered himself and Celia around her. He could tell she wanted to say something more but couldn't find the words. Placing Monica into a situation where she was rendered speechless was a rarity. Trent rushed toward the door in an attempt to take advantage of the situation.

As soon as they were outside, he breathed in the fresh air, hurrying to call the car before Monica regained her bearings and followed after them. At least, if she did that, there wouldn't be so many witnesses out here, only a handful of other couples waiting for their cars. He'd rather not encounter an angry Monica at all, but if he had to argue with her, at least outside it wouldn't be quite as embarrassing.

"The audacity of that woman," Celia said, letting go of Trent's arm and placing her hands on her narrow hips. "Where does she get off?"

"That's Monica," Trent admitted. "When I first met her, I thought it was refreshing that she stood up for herself. Now, I realize she isn't always in the right, and it's beyond annoying, especially when her anger boils over in a crowded room." "Have you talked to Bree? Does she know she was here?"

"No," Trent said, thankful that he saw the car pulling up. He reached for Celia's arm, thinking he should be a gentleman and lead her to the vehicle. Rather than looping her arm through, she slipped her hand into his. It was an odd sensation, holding hands with someone other than Bree, and he didn't like it, but he knew Celia was upset on his behalf, and he didn't want to be rude. "It didn't seem like the sort of news I should share with her while she's performing." He imagined she was actually done now, but he didn't know for sure. It wasn't as if he'd had a chance to call her yet anyway.

They slid into the limo, and the driver closed the door. Trent set the trophy down on the seat, tired of carrying it around, and Celia huffed before she clicked on her seatbelt and folded her arms. "She'll be pissed, won't she?" Celia asked. It took Trent a moment to realize she meant Bree--that his fiancée would be pissed to find out that his ex had attended the awards ceremony, and there'd been an interaction. "Yeah, probably." He didn't want to think about it. In fact, he'd toyed with the idea of not telling her at all. But he knew he shouldn't do that.

"That woman is... awful!" Celia said, clearly still worked up about Monica's attitude. "I don't understand how someone as kind as you could ever be engaged to her to begin with."