This Crazy Rich Boy

Miguel's hand is surprisingly rough, like it has gone through some bit of hard work. And to Claire, it feels so warm it's almost as if it's burning. "Sorry," she mutters, as she politely withdraws her hand. She's not a total prude or anything, but she's thoroughly confused right now. She doesn't even know what to say or feel. Everything's so overwhelming.

"I really like you, Claire," Miguel repeats, gazing at her so intently that Claire's compelled to look away. "I would even say I love you, but you won't believe that. We've practically just met a few days ago. Of course, love should only arise after you've been with a person for a fair amount of time, after you've gone through experiences, created memories you'll cherish for a lifetime. We don't yet have that, but I promise you, we will."

Is this real, Claire thinks. Am I right here, right now, and is this truly happening? "Miguel, I can't…But what about Karen?"

"What about her?"

"Aren't you two together?"

"Oh no," Miguel laughs. "I befriended her only because I wanted to know more about you."

"Do you mean you've learned about my job arrangement with Gabriel through her?"

"No, I got it from other…reliable sources. Also, it's not hard to connect the dots. Seriously, I couldn't believe that Gabriel would quickly bounce back from his break-up with Michelle. So when I was told that you're supposedly engaged with him, I thought that you were either just some rebound girl, or it was all a sham."

Claire mulls it over for a moment. Now it appears that it's only Gabriel in the entire world who thinks he could fool everyone else with this little charade. And she's in on it.

"So what do you think?" Miguel says.

"What do I think about what?"

"About me," he smiles. It's a handsome smile, as though he's trying to win her over. Claire tries to resist swooning over that smile by focusing her stare on her glass of water.

"I don't know, Miguel. My head"—and heart—"is full of things right now. And besides, I can't entertain anyone or date anyone while I'm still under contract. At least I have to hold my end of the bargain with Gabriel."

"Well, you can go out on a date with me as Bella Xavier."

"What?" Claire's besides herself in shock. "You know about that, too?"

"I told you I know everything." He grins.

Jesus, Claire thinks. So this is all useless. Imagine how they'd gone through great lengths in order to create this complex drama, only to be unraveled by someone like Miguel not a few days of his arrival.

"Let me talk to Gabriel," he says. "Just to keep things clean and simple. After all, you're not really engaged with each other. I'm sure he won't mind. But I'll ask his blessing as a formality."

Yeah, Gabriel will say, sure, go ahead, take this girl, Claire thinks, not without a pang of bitterness.

"Listen, Miguel, I'm not sure if this is a good idea."

"Why not? It's just a date. A totally harmless date. Maybe we'll just have dinner. Talk. I'd like to get to know more about you."

Claire gazes at him. The truth is, Miguel's an incredible catch. Any girl would go crazy about him. What's not to like? He's rich, he's incredibly handsome, he's oozing with sėx appeal. In fact, Claire's not sure if she's truly awake; she feels as if she's dreaming. Maybe she's delirious with fever after walking in the rain earlier, and Dale would barge into her suite any moment now to slap her across the face and shake her out of the dream.

"Please slap me," she suddenly says.

"What?" Miguel's face is half-amused, half-curious.

"Please slap me, and slap me hard."

Miguel grins. "Are you even serious?"

She grabs him by the collar and screams, "PLEASE SLAP ME MIGUEL TAN BECAUSE I THINK I'M DREAMING!"

And Miguel is so surprised that he panics for a moment, and gives her a backslap across the face.

"Ouch! Why did you slap me!"

"Because you told me so!"

"You didn't have to slap me THAT hard!"

"I'm sorry," Miguel says. He's trying hard not to laugh. "I'm sorry. Please, return the favor. Slap me even harder. I can take it."

"Really? Because I really feel like slapping someone now," she says, her left cheek still so red.

"Go ahead and slap m—"

He never finishes as Claire slaps him like she means it.

"Ouch!" Miguel holds his right cheek like it's about to fall off. "That was hard. Like there's anger in it!"

Both of them are giggling like crazy. There are actual tears in Claire's eyes. "At least, now I'm sure I'm not dreaming," Claire says. "And that Miguel Tan really told me he likes me."

Miguel's laughter slowly dies down. "This is not a joke, Claire. I'm not kidding. I'm serious about you."

Claire stops laughing, too. "I'm sorry," she says. "But really, it's a lot to process. Also, and I'm saying this not to offend you, I really don't like rich, handsome guys with biceps like those"—she actually playfully stabs a finger into Miguel's biceps—"Not my type. I usually fall for the greasy, unfashionable ones. If you have a beer belly or something, that would be really hot!"

Claire says that like she actually means it; yet, inside, she's dying of laughter.

Miguel gazes at her, trying to fathom her words. He's so confused because he's not used to being treated like this, not by any girl. He's used to getting chased, and he's had them all: the high-society ones, the celebrities, the fashion models. The truth is, he's quite unsure of what he really feels—he has been intrigued by Claire's cheerfulness, and he finds her personality refreshing. She's candid, she's bubbly, and she has this kind of beauty that seems to light up a room whenever she enters. "Luminous" is perhaps the best word to describe her.

And Claire treating his confession of affection lightly, like it's all a big joke to her, is totally confusing and disorienting for someone like Miguel Tan. It's the kind of confusion that would soon melt into some sort of melancholy. And for a man who's so used to getting what he wants, Claire's response is like a kick in the balls.

"Alright," Miguel says. "You don't have to give me an answer tonight. You don't have to do anything at all. It's enough for me that you know." He smiles.

Claire looks intently, deeply into his eyes, trying to find there the truth. "You cannot possibly like me," she mutters. "As you said, you've just met me. How can it be possible that suddenly you're professing these feelings for me?"

"I didn't believe in love at first sight, Claire," he says. "But here I am. Honestly, I'm unsure of what I'm going through. The only thing I know is I've never stopped thinking about you ever since I met you a couple of days ago. I couldn't forget your smile, the way you say words like, 'Jesus Henry Christ'"—he laughs—"or when you curse under your breath, or when you look at a person sideways and tilts your head at an angle. Or when you tuck your hair behind an ear." Miguel sighs. "Everything about you, everything you do, fascinates me."

The more Miguel talks, the more Claire is running out of things to say. Deeply, she's touched by his words. Nobody has ever said things like that to her. Even her fake fiancé didn't think of crafting such a script for public consumption, as part of their so-called "show." Is it possible, then, that Miguel is telling the truth and not just trying to pull her leg or list her as one of his conquests? Because surely, after having a run of the usual celebrities and social media influencers and fashion models, Miguel must be jaded enough to actually pursue some nobody like her, you know, just for shits and giggles. But to believe in this man is to engage in a high-risk game. Miguel won't be broken; she would. And there's the rub. Claire's heart is the most vulnerable thing in the world right now, and it doesn't take more than a whisper to break it. So she's guarding it with everything she's got.

"So what do you say to a dinner?" Miguel insists.

She pauses for a moment, thinking about it. She doesn't want to reject him outrightly, but she also doesn't want to give him any hint that she likes him or something. This is too tricky to navigate. But in the end, she decides that honesty is still best.

"I don't know, Miguel," she says. "I'm sorry, but maybe, I'm too shocked and this hasn't sunk in. What do you say we both sleep on it, then let's just cross the bridge when we get there?"

It's practically a non-answer. It's just Claire, saying, leave me alone because I'm too tired to have to think about this. But Miguel, upon hearing it, suddenly jumps from his seat like a child in glee. "Terrific! That means the door is open!"

Claire panics. "Wait, I didn't say anything—"

Miguel bends down and hugs her. "Thank you, Claire. You've made me happy. That's enough for me, for now. I promise you won't regret it. But I'll leave for now. I believe you need some rest."

Then he suddenly kisses her—on the lips, just a smack, but a kiss nevertheless—and Claire's so shocked she sits there, stunned, long after Miguel has left, feeling utterly weird about the seemingly familiarity of this moment, its dejavu-ness, and wondering if she isn't, in fact, wildly dreaming.