THE NATIONAL ARCHIVES

PART 3/5

Did God hate me?

I didn't know if it was the universe or the fate of my demise that was so cruel to place me as the attending to the The Whitman's.

The entire night, I was stationed to stay on floor and circulate tables as a sort of waitress which luckily allowed me to avoid Colton and keep my distance from Matthew.

Even if I wasn't attending to anybody, I still had to make it look like I was busy. Whether that meant simply standing there, waiting for the rich folks to need me or pretending to look for extra Chardonnay in the backroom--always. busy.

It applied to all the waiters. Which is why currently, we all looked absolutely exhausted.

I was free to avoid Colton and keep my focus on the Harrington's' and luckily for me, were an incredibly polite, kind family. They were in attendance since they were family friends and close business associates to the Whitman's.

Unfortunately for me though, my busy hours with the Harrington's were soon coming to an end.

And silence from them meant turmoil from The Whitman table.

Fuck. Why couldn't they ask for another appetizer or something?

I did not want to go over there.

From across the room I could see Brooke and Colton seemingly having the time of their lives. Her hand caressed his, drawing circles and patterns out of nervous habit probably as she flashed smiles across the dining room table towards creepy men.

I could tell Colton could tell she was nervous. Brooke Mckailey was a lot of things, but recently, I was finding out that she was not one.

She was not blind.

She was not blind to the glances Matt and all the other ridiculously obvious men were throwing towards her--practically undressing and eating her away throughout the entire night. She was not blind to the subtle eyebrow raises from Colton's mother whenever she took a bite of food or asked for more.

In these moments, though, she looked like she wanted to be. But luckily, she had Colton to put that blindfold over her eyes and be a sort of rock in her despair.

A good amount of time had passed; it was now 10pm, and the main dinner courses were being served. And that meant it was my time to shine with table 1. The Whitman's.

Wearily, i took shaky steps towards their table. It was like the luminescent glare of gold was shining direct light onto their table specifically. Like I was walking into the gates of heaven--except, this was not heaven. This was the exact opposite.

It was hell, disguising itself as heaven.

And Colton was the angel of death waiting for me with those pale eyes that didn't leave my gaze from across the room. Like he was trying to read my mind.

As I finally approached the table, his eyes snapped away, looking down.

I stopped their conversation midway on broker economics or whatever the fuck.

"Good evening everyone," I smiled politely. Everyone's eyes shot up to me and I felt my palms become sweaty. "I'm Asha and I'll be your server for the night. If you need anything that comes to mind, please let me know and it'll be my pleasure to attend to it."

There were courteous murmurs of acknowledgement and head nods from the people sitting around the table, and I felt a breath release, also thankful that I hadn't fucked anything up yet.

I was trying to avoid Colton's gaze.

I felt it. Burning through my skin like the heat of a magnifying glass to the sun.

I was afraid to look up at him, almost.

Just...almost.

"The pleasure is ours," he said. And I had to look up.

Everyone went quiet, and I wasn't sure if it was because he was addressing the 'help', or the fact that it was just him. Speaking. Dominating whatever weird social hierarchy there was at this table.

Colton's mother smiled up at me, her electrifying blue eyes powered in dark eyeshadow that creased her wrinkles causing them to turn up, "Thank you, love. You're too kind. A bottle of Goût de Diamants, s'il vous plaît?"

She spoke slow and carefully, but with power.

"Oui m'dame," I beamed cheekily, grateful I had taken a semester of French in sophomore year.

"Oh! Tu parles français?"

"Oui, mais seulement un peu," I told her, explaining I spoke only a little bit of French.

"No need to speak French when we have our own language, Auntie," Matthew spoke suddenly, bitter. Then he muttered, "Het is eigenlijk helemaal niet nodig om met het meisje te praten."

I could see Colton tense up in the chair he was sitting in, and the grip on his fork tighten.

Weird. What did Matthew say?

Matthew rose his glass, ignoring Colton, "To Nederland's!"

The men, aside from Colton and his father, rose their glasses as well, cheering. Gleeful murmurs of Dutch phrases and shoutouts to the Netherlands echoed the table.

Colton cleared his throat, "Moeder, vader," he got their attention. "This is Brooke. My girlfriend."

He motioned to Brooke and it was like she was already accustomed to how the rich worked and operated. She fit right in. Shaking hands. Doing air cheek kisses with grandmas. Appropriately shielding off inappropriate comments from the old guys who would cheat on their wives with her in a heartbeat.

"You didn't tell me she was this gorgeous," Colton's mother beamed.

"You picked em' well," Matthew commented. "I'm rooting for blonde babies, anyone else?" A bunch of men at their table chuckled and rose their glasses in agreement.

Gross. So fucking weird.

My eyes darted to Brooke, nervously twisting a bracelet on her arm. She was smiling, but didn't seem comfortable.

She cleared her throat, bashfully, warding off the compliments. It was like she was begging for someone to take the attention off of her. And luckily, Mrs. Whitman had no problem with that.

"So, how did you two meet?" she quizzed.

I messed around with rearranging people's cups and plates as I didn't necessarily want to hear this love-vomit story. Trying my best to tune them out.

"School," Brooke answered for them. "Well, more like Panera." she laughed quietly to herself.

Colton and her both shared a humorous glance between them, before Brooke began picking at her salad again, a faint smile on her lips. Colton, however, did not look as gleeful.

"During the fall, we ran into each other a couple of times while I worked at Panera," he explained further. He had a bleak stare accompanied with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. A smile, that seemed like it was being polite for just two things; his family and his image.

There was a deliberating silence. To which Colton's mom broke with large laughter.

"What? That can't be all, no?" she quizzed, looking to Brooke then to Colton. Colton's father, wheezy, began to laugh too.

Until it turned into a coughing fit, to which people around him grew concerned. The butler quickly made rounds to double check his EKG cart status and revisit his vitals to make sure all was sound.

"Fader, are you alright?" Colton

"Yes, my boy," he wheezed, a proud smile still somehow on his face. "Please continue we're all on the edge of our seats."

Everyone chuckled, and Colton smiled. That same lifeless smiles from before.

"It took me insanely too long to realize that the part of me that had been missing was right in front of me," he took her hand, and I watched as people around the table sighed in admiration at such heartwarming words. But I could tell his response was calculated. It was insincere.

I was nearing the end of the table, where Colton sat like a king on a throne, and I noted that unlike the others, he had thoughtfully stacked his plates to make my job easier.

I hated that he was thoughtful. I hated that he was thinking of me.

"I had taken too long to offer something concrete because I was afraid of how intensely I felt about her," he continued. But something in his voice had changed, as I found myself in front of his seat. He sounded more sincere, like he wasn't playing a part anymore. "I was always so distracted by things that never really mattered. And we didn't really talk or understand each other at first.."

I reached my arms over, unfortunately facing his way and tried my best not to make eye contact.

His eyes accidentally fluttered to mine, and I almost couldn't hold it. I almost couldn't hold the burning attraction and honesty that swam in them, "But I learned as quick as I learned to breathe that I never wanted to hurt her," he spoke with earnest. Directed towards me.

His stare towards me was poignant but pure. The intensity was too strong, and I knew I wasn't the only one feeling it

I was taken out of the moment as a I felt Matthew was watching us.

I could feel his shifty black eyes observing every little thing, every little interaction between Colton and I felt my hands begin to shake.

The large stack of plates in my arms rocked a bit, but I was luckily able to keep it under control and not waste about $90k of good china.

"I cared too much but spoke too little until i had to self actualize my feelings and learn for myself that she was the one for me." He cleared his throat, noticing he was actually opening up. "But I guess what I'm saying is I should've known," he chuckled a bit to himself. Sorrowful. "It would've saved us a lot more time."

His vulnerability was actively being well received by the entire table, but I knew he had issues with being opening up to people who he was not so entirely fond of. "Uh, and now we're together." He squeezed Brooke's hand, a little awkwardly. "Godspeed."

There were enamored claps from around the table, cheery, giggly laughter at such heartfelt words about the story of Brooke and Colton meeting.

"Fucking magnificent," Matthew clapped. He was sporting the first ever genuine smile I had seen from him all night. "She's going to be an amazing wife."

I seemed to be the only one weirded out by Matthew's such forward phrasing, and how much into the future The Whitmans seemed to already be thinking.

It made sense, though. I guess it was their tradition. Or maybe for rich people, it was just smarter to always plan ahead and htink ahead and be one step ahead.

Suddenly, Brooke reached for Coltons jaw and turned him her way, placing a loving kiss on his lips. "I love you Colton. Thank you. Really."

"Love you too," he replied, desolate of all emotion from before.

His eyes uncomfortably shot to mine then faltered.

Fuck.

I bit my lip, wanting to get out of here as soon as possible. I had finally gathered all their plates, and so I was ready to take my much needed space and breather from the Whitman's. "Your appetizers will be here shortly, and Ms. Whitman, I'll be out with your Goût de Diamants." I nodded my head with a polite smile, avoiding Colton's gaze.

Inconspicuously though, I noted underneath the table, he slipped away to his phone. No phone usage allowed at the table was like the number one thing Ms. Whitman emphasized. Apparently, she wanted this to be a night of family bonding and joy.

As I walked away and began setting down the plates onto the dish rack, I got a notification. A text. From him.

I don't need other men looking at you tonight

From across the ballroom, I glanced back to see Colton already staring at me.

? I responded quickly.

Pull down your skirt

I was dumbfounded, but still annoyingly curious.

And stop biting your lips

I paused. why

I want my cum on them but that wouldn't be very appropriate

I felt flustered, and heat rise,but i was quickly taken out of the moment as I noticed right next to him, Matthew peeking at Coltons phone.

Matthew shook his head, disgruntled, and his threatening gaze landed on mine.

And I immediately understood I fucked up.

We fucked up.

I didn't know what Matthew would do with what he knew about Anthony and I, and I was scared shitless to find out.

***