This Crazy Rich Boy

Gabriel looks like a snake has bitten him. He's standing in the middle of a wide-open door, his mouth hanging open, staring at her in disbelief.

"You're here," he says, citing the obvious.

"Surprise!" Claire says, also citing the obvious. "Aren't you inviting me in?"

"Oh, please, please," he says, ushering her in, the previous drama quickly forgotten. Then he mutters, almost a whisper, "If you want, you can move in so we can live together forever."

"What did you say?"

"Uhh, I said, you're always welcome anytime here."

Claire steps into an exceptionally spacious living area, designed to let light in and play with the interior's natural textures. Like Claire's place in the Residence, Gabriel's home is a penthouse suite, which probably occupies the entire top-most floor from the looks of it. If Claire is impressed, she doesn't show it. Instead, she holds up a package. "Your meds, Gab. I think you must take them now."

"I know," he says, taking it. "Thanks."

"Have you eaten?" she abruptly says.

"Well, uhh," he stammers, suddenly embarrassed because the question of him having eaten inevitably points out the fact that he had left her place so sudden and awkward earlier, just because of that prank in the bathroom. "Well, I haven't.."

"You must be hungry," she declares. "Where's your kitchen?"

"What? No, you don't have to—"

But Claire has gone ahead looking for that particular place with cooking equipment, which she finds shortly. She stops and looks around. "Eggs? Bacon?"

"Well, uhh, there!" he points to what looks like a huge cabinet with a luxurious mahogany finish. "You can find everything there."

She hesitates for a moment, confused at what he's pointing to. Tentatively, she pulls open the cabinet's doors, and is mildly surprised that it's actually a customized fridge. It has so many shelves and contents that it takes her a while to spot where the eggs and bacon are. She also takes a box of muffins. "I make a mean eggs Benedict."

"Who's Benedict?"

"Eggs Bene—never mind," she says, placing the ingredients on the counter. She works quickly, her hands deftly cracking the eggs, her other hand taking out a bowl from the under-counter, tossing in ingredients, mixing them with a fork, a dash of some seasoning here, a splash of some oil there. Gabriel watches her in amazement.

"You can cook?"

She shrugs. "My mother can cook. I'm just her lifelong trainee."

"But…" he gestures toward the food she's preparing. "You're obviously an expert at this. You're—"

He doesn't finish what he's saying as Claire puts an egg-yolk-dipped finger on his lips. "Shut up, Mr. Gabriel Tan. Please just sit back, relax, and let me cook some good food for you, okay?"

He shrugs. "Okay." He sits on the stool by the counter, watching her quietly. But he couldn't stop his curiosity as he finds what she's doing very interesting. "What's this yellow sauce here?" He points to the bowl.

"That's Hollandaise sauce. I'm making it from scratch," she says as she takes the bowl and mixes its contents, her hand deftly working its magic.

"Oh, fancy," he simply says.

"Haven't you had eggs Benedict before?"

"Of course, I have," he says. "I think."

"It's just poached eggs on an open-topped sandwich of English muffins," she says while her hands start working the stove.

"Oh, I know now," he says. "It's one of my favorites. It's just that I didn't bother knowing what these dishes' names are. I just tell the chef to give me a good breakfast. I just point and point and point at what I like."

Claire pouts. "This should taste better than what your chefs can make," she says, not looking at him. She starts frying the bacon on medium heat, in order to ensure it would be evenly crispy. "Because this is cooked with love."

She just tosses it out there. This is cooked with love, she said, like the most normal thing to say in the world. As though it didn't take her an enormous amount of courage to just say out loud. And it came out so nonchalantly that at first, Gabriel didn't even realize it. He just says, "Oh I see." But as he watches her do her magic with the poached eggs, her words start to sink in. "Because this is cooked with love," she said. Did she just say that?? Love? Did she mean…

Gabriel stifles his gladness. He wants to laugh, to run and throw his arms around her, but instead, he sits there as still as possible, biting his lip so he won't say stupid things. He's looking at what she does, but he really doesn't see; he's seeing the future. He's seeing what he wants to do with her, every single day of his life. He's so enraptured by his daydream that he's a bit shocked when she carefully, even almost reverentially places a plate before him.

"Please enjoy your food, sir," she says, her hands on her hɨps, proud and ċȯċky.

"Jesus," he mutters, savoring the heady aroma of freshly cooked eggs Benedict wafting into his nostrils. "This looks like the very best breakfast I have ever had in my life."

"The breakfast of champions," she says, gazing at him intently.

"Shall I partake now?"

"Of course, sir. Go ahead." She smiles.

"But first, here's a glass of water."

"What for?"

"For your meds, Gab, come on," she says, slightly exasperated. "Take them now. I'll watch."

He gazes at her as he opens the packet of medicine. "You're like my mother. So strict."

"I'm better than your mother," she says. She turns and mutters, "Because I'll be with you for the rest of your life."

"What did you say?" Gabriel pops a pill.

"Nothing," she says. "I merely said I'm not your mom."

After popping a bunch of pills, he says, "Now, can I eat?"

She nods solemnly. "Have at it, Mr. Tan."

He shoves a morsel into his mouth. His face writhes in ecstasy. "Oh, Jesus. This is heavenly," he struggles to say, as his mouth is full. "And I'm not saying this just to be on your good side, Miss Monteverde. But this is really something. Whoever Benedict is, I want him to know his eggs are glorious."

Claire giggles. "Stop it. Just eat."

"Okay," he upraises his hands. "I'm just saying, really fantastic eggs."

It's her turn to watch him eat. He looks like a child when he eats and chews, with sauce dribbling from his mouth and all the stupid non-sense things he says. And yet. She loves watching him. She smiles just to egg (pun intended) him on. "You need to regain your strength, Gab," she says after a while. "We have a lot of things to do, remember?"

He looks at her. "I don't really care about work stuff right now, Claire. I'm just enjoying this. Being with you. Thank you for coming."

"If you must know, Mr. Tan, this is a professional visit. I came here as your executive ȧssistant, Bella Xavier. So."

"Oh. So that's why you cooked this with love."

"Well, I…" she stammers. "It's just that, everything I do, I do it with…love, you know."

"Really?" he says, reaching out to take her hand. She lets him. He puts her hand on his ċhėst. Her heart flutters, feeling his ċhėst muscles. "Do you feel that? That's you, making it beat."

Claire blushes despite herself. What she really thinks is, his ċhėst is really so hard! Like a wall of stone! But she tries to hide what she feels. She says, "Oh, my God, that's so corny, Gab!"

"Oh, really? You—" Gabriel grimaces, his hand on his forehead.

"Are you all right?" she says.

"Something…There's something… My head aches."

Claire panics. "Should I call someone? The hospital?"

"No, don't," he whispers. "I just need to lie down in bed."

"Okay," she says, her voice quaking, as she tries to make him rest his weight on her. "Okay. But where's the bedroom?"

The bedroom is at the far end of the hallway, Gabriel remembers. It's too long a walk in this situation. "Just put me on the sofa, please. I'll be okay."

"Are you sure?" she says, as she puts him carefully on the divan. "But you've just taken your meds…"

"Yes, this is probably just a reaction," his voice hoarse.

Claire holds his hands. "What do you want me to do? Should I call up Miguel?"

"No, just… I just feel cold. I need warmth."

"Warmth?" She looks around frantically. "Do I up the thermostat? Do I…"

"No, don't be silly, Claire. Lie here with me. I think I just need you to hug me and I'll be fine."

"What?" She stares at him. Gabriel still acts like he's about to die any moment. But what he just said made her realize Gabriel is just play-acting. Silly boy! He should have taken better drama classes.

"Please," he mutters, as though he's reaching out from the depths of hell. "Please lie here with me and throw your arms around me. I feel so cold. I think I'm really dying now."

Claire tries not to smile. "Oh, Mr. Tan, don't worry, I'll give you all the warmth you need!"

She lies on the divan, too, and arranges herself so that her arms are around him and his face is almost resting on her bosom. "Is this good?"

"Yeah, this is just about heavenly…" he mumbles.

"Would you like me to take off my clothes so that, you know, we can be warmer?"

Upon hearing "Take off my clothes," Gabriel's ears perk up. This is going so well, he thinks. Maybe today is really his lucky day. "Please, I need warmth," he almost mȯȧns. "I feel so, so cold, Claire."

Claire tries not to laugh. "But my hands couldn't reach the buŧŧons on the back of my dress, Gab," she says achingly. "If only you could reach out and—"

"Oh, sure, I can," he says too enthusiastically. "I only need to—"

The doorbell rings.

"Are you expecting someone?" Claire says, even as she tries to get up.

The door rings for the second time, the doorknob turns. When the door swings open, shock and disappointment register on the visitor's face.

It's Michelle. And the only thing she says upon seeing Claire is, "I can't believe you'll do this to me!"