Fionn woke up the next day late, yes, deliberately. What more was there for him to worry about? After all, his agony of having to find a wife would soon come to an end. In a way, all he had to do was to get Kiara to agree to marry him. Easy, oh! so he thought.
By the time his 8:00 a.m. alarm finally rang, he felt as if his heart had been ripped out. He chuckled at the exaggeration.
It was already late, and without swift action, he'd fall short on his schedule. Swinging out of bed, he headed straight to the bathroom, emerging a short while later. He got clothes from the closet and quickly put them on.
Once dressed to his satisfaction, he grabbed his phone from the bedside table and stormed into the kitchen. He paused at the fridge, opened it, and scanned the contents, indecision written all over his face.
After what felt like an eternity of contemplation, he settled on a can of Coca-Cola. That would do. Fionn wasn't much of a breakfast person anyway. He popped the top, took a sip, and made his way to the living room.
He sank onto the couch and dialled his phone. He needed to find out more, specifically, who that girl was. Time was critical; he'd already spent two months of the three months given to him to find a wife or else lose his position as CEO.
That aside, he was afraid he would never be able to meet her again. Because one fact was, he knew nothing about her. And the only reason he remembered her so vividly was simple: she'd occupied his thoughts ever since their first meeting.
He needed to know who she was and whether her claim was true. Was the house really hers?
The only lead available was the man who had rented the house to him.
"Hello, how are you, and how may I help you?" came the polite voice on the other end.
"I'm doing great," Fionn replied, cutting straight to the point. "Whose is the owner of the house you rented out to me?"
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm in charge of the houses. Could you specify which one exactly?"
"Apartment A35, Dorshan Blue Flats, Downtown."
"One minute, please." The call went on hold. Fionn finished the last sip of his Coca-Cola, placed the empty can on the coffee table, and leaned back, resting his head against the couch.
He couldn't stop thinking about her. To him, Kiara wasn't particularly striking; he'd seen far prettier women, but somehow, by instinct, he felt she was the perfect candidate for his wife.
"Hello, sir? Are you still there?"
Fionn picked up the phone almost immediately, and with a hint of irritation in his voice. "I'm still on."
"The apartment you're asking about belongs to Kiara Miracle on paper, but it's under the care of Emily Miracle, guess it's her mother."
"Alright, I get it." He disconnected the call.
At the mention of the name, Fionn's heart raced in excitement. It's been long. Tough call, I couldn't recognise her.
He smiled, finally knowing her name. "Kiara Miracle," he murmured aloud, another smile spreading across his face.
He made it a point to vacate the house, not out of fear of the Miracles, but to avoid igniting any potential grudge between the Miracles and the Clarksons. On top of that, even more fueled by the fact that he found out who she was, he had to make her his wife.
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Kiara couldn't believe she was stuck spending the night in a guesthouse, something that had never even crossed her mind before. She had a home, her parents' home, rather. Still, she had her own home, one from which that fool of a man had kicked her out.
She stood in front of the bathroom mirror, carefully working on her face. For the first time in a while, she allowed herself to admire her reflection. She looked beautiful; no wonder men chased after her.
Once her face was ready, she applied light makeup and styled her hair into a neat bun. She needed to look professional, as she had an important appointment that morning and wanted to be fully prepared.
She then tried on many outfits, but at a point when she was dressed in a short black coat atop a white blouse tucked in over a short mini A-line navy blue skirt, which would possibly slightly pass for professional if she complemented it with stockings.
A sudden knock at the door echoed through the room, startling her. Who could it be? She hadn't ordered room service, after all, this was just a guesthouse.
Regardless, she had to answer. Hurrying to the door, she paused, stunned, as it swung open.
Before her stood a young waitress, a trolley at her side, a symphony of aromas wafting from the neatly covered dishes.
"What's this?" Kiara asked sharply, barely sparing the girl a greeting. "Good morning," she added reluctantly.
The waitress, unfazed, smiled warmly.
"Good morning, ma'am. Your payment from last night includes today's breakfast. Since it's already past our scheduled breakfast time, I had to bring it up to your room."
Kiara's eyes widened in shock. "Wait… what time is it?"
"It's twenty minutes to ten," the waitress replied innocently.
What!. Oh my God, she said, twenty minutes to 10:00 am. So I only have 20 minutes to spare. I have an appointment at exactly 10:00 am, and here I am slacking off.
She ran back into the room, picked up her handbag bag and quickly ran out.
Somewhere in the middle of the hallway, Kiara stopped and ran back after realising she was barefoot.
She quickly picked up a pair of comfortable black boots and took time to put them on before running out of the room once again.
Just as before, Kiara ran past the waitress, dispelling her presence completely like she didn't exist.
"Miss your breakfast." The girl called out.
"I'm sorry I can't have it.... And about the room, I'll pick up my luggage later on." She said, not wanting to waste any more time.
She rushed down the stairs to the ground floor. Bursting through the reception like a mad dog, she bumped into someone, but didn't even stop to apologise.
Out on the street, disappointment hit hard. The road was empty, no taxis in sight. Oh my God, why now? Kiara grumbled to herself. At all times, this wasn't the moment to be stranded again.
She needed a car. Desperately. The realisation struck her like a hard slap.
She decided to book an Uber, even though it wouldn't arrive for another five minutes; that was better than waiting for nothing.
She was already running late, and to make matters worse, fuck her skirt was driving her insane. She didn't know it would feel so, so revealing for an important meeting.
Not that she didn't have a choice; she did. But at that moment, not being late mattered more than her own dignity.
Kiara tugged at the skirt, fidgeting with it in frustration, but it refused to cooperate. Finally, when she'd had enough. With an irritated sigh, Kiara turned around and decided to go back and change.
Be late?
It wasn't worse than losing her dignity. But before she could run back up,
"Looks like you need a lift." A deep voice startled her.
It came from a man standing on a bike parked just beside her.