Following my less than convincing performance, in which I attempted to pull a fake smile across my face for Monique's sake, I found myself once again trapped in an elevator with Theodore Harrington. Thankfully, for both mine and his sake, this time I was not forced to stand with my body pushed up against his. 

The elevator only had one other person in it when we entered it, allowing to revel in the open space of the empty elevator that staying behind so late entitled us to. We stand on either side of it, clearly eager to keep as much space as possible between each other. 

One very silent and tense elevator ride later we would finally arrive at the lobby floor, Theodore ready to follow me to wherever Monique had promised I would whisk him away to. On any average day I know I wouldn't have much tolerance for any of this, let alone today, which had to be one of the worst days I'd experienced in a while. I was stressed, battling some kind of food poisoning or stomach bug, severely sleep deprived, and just simply did not want to go out for dinner with this guy. 

But you just don't know how to say no Ella Adams, do you?

I had simply planned to make a quick stop by one of my favourite Italian restaurants, Fratelli's, to get some take-away if possible so that I could satiate the screaming desire for food which my stomach possessed after throwing up every bit of food earlier on. I would then rush home to devour it under the comfort of a plush blanket to save me from this November chill, and with Charlie by my side probably trying to steal said food, all while praying that whatever illness had overcome me had come to an end and that I'd be able to keep my food down. 

I'm hopeful that it will finally stay down because I've only just got my appetite back and was pretty damn sick of having toast and hydralites. As long as this rumbling in my stomach and lightheadedness is just hunger and not anything more. 

But the things is that I've jeopardised my plan now. Instead of going home and eating in the confines of my apartment, comforted by the presence of my toilet to vomit in only meters away, I had sacrificed myself to this dinner. Instead, I will have to stop at the restaurant to eat there  and most likely have to make less than desirable small talk as whilst trying to resist the urge to fall asleep. 

Just spectacular. Great work Ella.

With the lack of energy that I currently possess, my ability to obscure my unenthusiastic attitude regarding this whole ordeal was depleting rapidly. The harsh wind which we were met with as we integrated amongst the bustling crowds of peak hour city life did not improve the situation, driving me to rather childishly walk swiftly ahead of Theodore to escape it, leaving him with no other option but to try and catch up with me through the maze of people. The only thing saving me from completely falling into the deepest pits of irritation right now is the magical view which engulfs us, the kaleidoscope of colour and light combined with liveliness which New York City is truly know for.

That, and the thought of food.

God, pasta really is really one of the wonders of the world. 

When I finally reach the restaurant, with Theodore shortly behind me, I am relieved to see that it's not too busy. I automatically deduced that it meant our food would get out quicker and, therefore, I'd have to spend less time with Theodore before I could escape him.

Once we move into the restaurant I'm greeted by one of my favourite Italians on earth, a charming short and round man by the name of Alberto. I had been to this restaurant, which happened to be run by his family, multiple times over my recent years living around here and we had all grown to be familiar with one another. Each time now when I arrived I would  typically be greeted with a warm smile and hug from Alberto. And that was just what I needed at this moment.

It didn't matter how horrible I felt or what attitude I had, Alberto's wide grin and quirky little moustache, like straight out of a game of Mario Kart, accompanied by his thick authentic Italian accent would make me feel better.

Today was no different from any other day with Alberto instantly taking me into his arms and engulfing me with his warmth.

"Bella, it is so good to see you!" he exclaims, as he moves back from our hug with his hands still resting on my shoulders so as to observe me like my father would. He was one of the few people who actually called me Bella after hearing my full name.

"Need some food after a long day of work?" he asks me, reading my mind and probably appearance.

"Yes, please." I eagerly answer, exasperated and desperate.

Alberto begins to move to show us to our table, stopping at one near the kitchen window so that the aromas floated over to me, enveloping me in a bubble of garlic, tomato and more. I notice that he is patiently staring between Theodore and I, seemingly just noticing his presence and curious. 

"And who is this nice young man, Bella?" Alberto asks, a mischievous smirk quickly appearing on his face at the sight of a man accompanying me. 

I had never come here with Derek in our time together, or with any other male for that matter, so Alberto consistently pestered me about how a 'lovely, young girl' like me never had male company. He had even gone so far as to recommend certain sons and nephews of his for me to date, me kindly rejecting these offers each time.

The sight of Theodore was sure to interest him. However, I am quick to end any hopes of his with a subtle shake of my head and roll of my eyes.

"Alberto, this is a colleague of mine."

"A pleasure to meet you sir. I'm Theodore." Theodore adds in, putting out his hand respectably to shake Alberto's. Just like with everyone else, Alberto seems to be instantly enamoured by him; only making me more irritated by how he seems to be winning over everyone in my life so easily.

"As it is you, Theodore. I am Alberto," Alberto replies, happily receiving his greeting. "It is good to see my Bella with some fine company." he adds, surely making me blush with embarrassment and flattering Theodore. 

Finally, Alberto leaves us for a short moment to grab our menus and some water, saving me from any further embarrassment.

When he finally returns with our menus and water, Alberto leaves us to ponder over the menus. I let out a sigh I was not aware I was holding in, relieved to be free of Alberto's curiosity, which makes Theodore lift his head instantaneously. He tilts his head ever so slightly to observe me before returning to his observation of the menu with a slight dash of amusement adorning his face.

Not taking my time, with my hunger continuing to grow and my stomach struggling to hold back the grumbles, I am quick to call over the waitress and make my order. I may have slightly forgotten that I had company, who was not as familiar with the menu and most likely hadn't had enough time to look through it. So when I have finished giving my order and find the waitress' gaze on Theodore as they awaited his response, I feel guilty despite having a desire for this dinner to be concluded as soon as possible. Thankfully, Theodore is flexible enough that he can quickly make his decision and the waitress is on her way before we know it, saving me from too much guilt.

However, I seem to have forgotten that now that the menus have been taken away and there is nothing else to pay attention to that we would have to pay our undivided attention to one another. 

Nevertheless, we sit there in complete silence, glancing at each other for fleeting moments then quickly looking away or down with discomfort.  I begin tapping my foot against the floor so I can at least do something to pass the time, but you can hear the sound clearly so I immediately stop. I am about to ruin my nails once again, after only just allowing them to repair from the events of mine and Derek's breakup, when Theodore thankfully opens his mouth and saves them from my destruction.

"So I take it you come here a lot?" he says, making a quick look in Alberto's direction at the front of the restaurant to convey how our interactions were the basis of the suggestion.

"Yeah, I suppose I do come here a fair bit. Ever since I moved out here and started working for Elite magazine, I come here whenever my bank account will allow it." I answer.

He nods his head softly in response as I begin to dread the possibility that my response did not leave the door open enough for further conversation which might save us from more awkward silence.

"Have you been working for the magazine for very long?" he asks, saving me from my worries. 

It is clear why he can be successful at such a young age-- he possesses an impressive ability to socialise, charm and making anyone comfortable as much as I hate to admit it, even when one clearly displays a whole lot of hostility.

"Uh, not too long. Just over a year." I utter, myself not so great at socialising. "It's my first job out of university and since I've come back to the U.S." I add, wanting to contribute my part in trying to continue this conversation.

"Oh, where were you moving back from? If you don't mind me asking." he enquires, resting his elbows on the table top and doing that thing where he moves in and looks intently at you when he speaks to you so that you feel like you're the only one in the room.

"No, it's okay." I respond, taking a sip from our courtesy water as I prepare myself to delve into my complicated backstory. "I was coming back from living in Sydney, Australia."

"Oh wow, that sounds like it would be quite enjoyable." he comments, prompting me to continue down the path of this topic. "How long did you live there for?" he wonders.

Wishing I wasn't sick so that I could have some wine before having to talk about this topic, I suck it up and decide to calm myself by stirring my straw around in my water. I should really be drinking the water instead, since I've only had a cup of coffee all day as my source of hydration--definitely not the best decision at the best of times, let alone when I was sick.

"I lived there for a few years on and off with my mother. She grew up there and moved back when I was in twelve so I visited her a few times in my school breaks and then when I was sixteen I moved there permanently for a little while." I explained, not mentioning the divorce which triggered her sudden abandonment of Lexi and I to move back to Australia.

Theodore seems to be intrigued by these new facts about me as I notice his eyebrows seem to lift ever so slightly with interest. I recall that this is most likely because of his global experience in recent years but choose to avoid mentioning this. I don't really want to focus on how my job today at one point was to literally learn all about him from the internet's perspective.

"What made you want to move back here?" he asks me. "I imagine Australian was quite the serene haven compared to the chaos of this city."

"It definitely is, although I've never actually lived in the city until I moved back. Sydney felt like home for a bit, I was comfortable there. But I guess it just didn't feel like I truly belonged there in my mother's new life. I knew that the family I belonged with was waiting for me here but I also needed to start fresh. So I moved back to New York to study and then out here to Brooklyn where my late grandparent's had an apartment which my dad offered to me." I elaborate, not being able to stop the flood of information once I opened the door to my past, even if I felt like this was all too much to be telling Theodore so soon. 

God I'm oversharing.  I'm not even sure if he's discussed any of this with Lexi yet, the girl he's actually dating. But he's finally showing a glimpse of the guy I met a couple nights ago on that balcony and it's roping me in. 

I notice Theodore go to respond but he is quickly cut off by Alberto's prompt reappearance at our table with our food, making me jump in my mind with excitement at the sight of the food. This eagerness was kind of surprising to myself  since I could still vividly recall how my last meal left my body rather horridly.

Not the best way to think of food. 

"Manicotti parmigiano for Bella." Alberto says, placing my plate down in front of me, sending the warm and fresh aroma of the meal rushing up to my face and overwhelming my senses.

"The chicken damabianca for the young man."

Alberto is quick to plaster his trademark warm smile on his face before placing Theodore's plate on the table and saying, "Enjoy your meal", swiftly disappearing from our table after and leaving us alone once again.

"So how do you feel about the big apple so far?" asks Theodore, continuing on with our earlier conversation and fortunately not delving into the topic of my broken family further.

"It's been good. I'm living every chick flick protagonist's dream. Not where I see myself for the rest of my life but it's a starting point," I reply. "And what about you, Theodore?" I ask, recalling that he would have only recently returned.

Expecting an in-depth response, I decide to attack my meal and hopefully rid myself of this odd pain that had formed within my stomach and the light headedness which had decided to persist. However, I am surprised with an open ended question I most definitely did not have an answer prepared for.

"I know this is going to sound really strange, but I have to ask," he begins, immediately worrying me, "Why do you keep calling me Theodore?"

I look back at him with my mouth instantly gaping slightly and my fork being dropped. As I wait to find a response to this completely unanticipated and peculiar question, we seem to locked in an intense stare off- the both of us analysing the others behaviour for any sense of response.

"What would you rather I call you? That is your name." I answer rather bluntly, lacking the patience for this right now. 

"Theo."

"Everyone else calls you Theodore though." I point out through gritted teeth, trying but ultimately struggling to understand his intentions. Frankly, I'm also possessing very little tolerance to explore such a topic right now, not in the mood to be very civil if it comes to it. 

"I know a lot of people do but I introduced myself as Theo." he rebuts, persisting with this ridiculous discussion. 

"Well, my sister, the girl you are dating, calls you Theodore. So, I'm going to continue to be like her and everyone else and keep calling you Theodore if you don't mind." I tell him. 

"Well maybe I was treating you different to everyone else."

He says this so easily that I don't know whether he has me more captivated or irritated. As I watch his facial expressions evolve once he says this, his eyes widening as though with surprise at his own words, I seem to notice a sense of desperation or loneliness behind it all that makes my heart want to pity him. But my mind is feeling something very different.

I don't know how to reply to this. My head is screaming out at me repeating "if Lexi calls him Theodore then that's what you call him" but the rest of my body is pulling me to give in to him. If he wants me to call him by his nickname for some strange reason then my body would say to call him that; give him whatever he wants.

 The best way to describe every bit of Theodore Harrington is intoxicating. It's the things he says, the way he stares at you, the may he moves. Every time you think he can't be more wrongly perfect, he goes ahead and shatters your expectations.

Still not knowing how to safely respond to this comment, I choose to divert the topic of our conversation with my own question.

"Since we've decided we're just gonna start asking random questions, I have one for you. Did you know I was Lexi's sister when you met me for the first time on your balcony? And if so, why would you pretend you didn't?" I ask, wanting to resolve an issue that had been on my mind for the last few days.

A sense of realisation and surprise seems to flash across his eyes as he somehow appears closer to me than before without actually moving.

"No, you have to know that I truly didn't." he answers, laying his hands flat against the table top. I don't end up feeling any more reassured, or provided me with any clarity, as I don't know whether to trust him. Of course, someone that was playing games with two sisters would be the type to lie about something like this.

"All that Lexi had told me was that she had an older sister called Elle. I had no idea that you were coming that night to pick her up or that I would meet you later that night on the balcony. I'd never seen a picture on you either. I didn't think to make a link between the names Elle and Ella while we were standing there together." he attempts to reassure me. 

I want to believe him but I've had far too many bad experiences with trusting people to give over my belief so easily. How could he not see the numerous pictures of us together on Lexi's social media profiles? Everyone basically lived on social media these days, let alone when you first start going out with someone and want to do some sleuthing around. 

"What reason would I have to lie?" he asks me, breaking me out of the fragile bubble that my inner hopeless romantic had created despite my mind's wishes; the bubble that was telling me that maybe he was lying because he too feel something between us that night.

"I don't know but it just doesn't add up to me." 

I can't put into words the levels of embarrassment, irritation, distrust, and exhaustion that is fighting within me at this moment. I feel like the room has somehow shrunken and closed around us. It seems to be excessively warmer; something I don't know whether to attribute to some sort of heater, my current emotions or my illness. At this moment, all I want is to escape back to my apartment and distance myself as much as possible from Theodore.

As the pressure  around me seems to intensify, I look down at my meal on the table and see that I've barely eaten a quarter of it, even with some nervous nibbling. Although I feel is incredibly guilty that I won't be able to finish it or get it as take away; I know I have to abandon this meal right this moment to escape.

So that's what I do.

"I'm sorry, but I really can't do any more of this right now," I announce as I ruffle through my bag for my wallet and leave enough cash to cover my meal.

Once I've collected all of my belongings and am out of my seat, I move to make my way out of the restaurant, not bothering to look at Theodore's reaction so as to prevent any guilt embarrassment over what I can partially recognise as quite an overdramatic but necessary reaction to relieve myself from all this pressure building inside my head.

As I make my way down the continuously busy city streets so as to make it to the subway station, I feel an overwhelming sense of dizziness take over me but I try my best to push it away. My hopes that the cold outside air will subside my fever as