by Tamar Sloan
He holds the door open for her. “Shall we?”
Inside, the restaurant is quiet and elegant—kinda what Tristan expected when Cassandra suggested the place. It’s obvious she comes from money. The waiter takes them to a back corner and pulls out a chair for Cassandra.
She sits down before Tristan can think of a reason to object. Having his back to a roomful of people always makes him uncomfortable—you never know who could be approaching you. When the waiter sees Tristan standing there, he comes around to pull out his chair, too. Tristan quickly slides in before he has a chance—he’s never had anyone hold a chair for him, and he’s not about to start.
“Nice place,” comments Tristan as they both check out the menu.
“One of the few that my father doesn’t own,” replies Cassandra. She places her menu down. “I’m going to go with the Greek salad. No feta.”
Tristan glances at her, thinking he’ll have the steak. “For entrée or as a side?”
She folds the menu and pushes it to the side. “For mains, silly. My coach has me on a strict diet during training season.”
Zarius tried that, except he likes Tess’s baking too much.
“Isn’t track season almost finished?”
Cassandra rolls her eyes. “Tell that to my dad.”
Tristan makes a mental note. Cassandra chose to come to a restaurant her father wouldn’t know about, and yet he’s dictating what she eats. Obviously a rebel on a tight leash.
The waiter reappears and delivers their drinks—a soda for Tristan and sparkling water for Cassandra. He takes their orders and retreats with a stiff bow.
Tristan leans forward, focusing on the pretty girl across from him. “So, Cassandra. You’re obviously popular. Quite the all-rounder, so a high achiever. Gorgeous. Confident. And a calorie counter thanks to a whip-cracking father.” He smiles, angling his head. “What else should I know?”
Her eyes twinkle, impressed with his assessment. “That when I like something, I go for it,” she purrs.
Tristan arches a brow. “And you like getting under Brielle’s skin.”
It’s obviously why she took such a strong interest in Tristan.
Cassandra laughs again. “Maybe in the beginning. But I like you, Tristan.” She shrugs a bare shoulder. “I get the sense we’re going to click.”
Tristan draws back, a little disarmed by her honesty. She’s right. Talking to Cassandra is easy. She’s fun, she’s bold. Would this be what it’s like with his soulmate?
Unbidden, Brielle’s face comes to mind again. She’s reticent, but she has layers Tristan is itching to peel back. And he’s thinking about her as he sits across from Cassandra.
She props her chin in her hands as she leans forward. “So, what are you into, Tristan Ayers?”
Aliens. Finding the good ones. Learning martial arts so I can fight the bad ones.
Tristan knows this is his opportunity to put some feelers out. Usually he jokes that he’s a film buff, particularly alien movies like Men in Black, War of the Worlds…E.T. Then he asks the person if they think aliens could be real.
But as his gaze flicks to Cassandra’s hand wrapped around her glass of water, Tristan wonders whether he should ask what superpower she’d love to have. It’s not so much her answer he’ll be watching, but her body language. A widening of the eyes. Withdrawing her hand. Her blue gaze sliding away.
She’s looking at him expectantly but then she focuses past his shoulder. Her eyes definitely widen and her hand withdraws as she sits back.
But then an unexpected smile trips up her lips, and her hand slides across the table as she leans forward. Uneasiness slithers up Tristan’s spine. There’s something about that smile…
Cassandra’s hand doesn’t stop until it’s resting on his, her eyes flashing with something Tristan wishes they wouldn’t—victory.
The uneasiness blossoms to dread. There’s only one reason Cassandra would be looking like she just slam-dunked.
Brielle.
18
Brielle
Frank and Beatrice exchange flittering glances while their faces fail to hide smiles.
The dinner has gone so well. In fact, it couldn’t have gone better! As Brielle sits across from them at the table at Chez Monet thirty minutes after everyone cleared their plates, she’s certain they’re a perfect fit for her, and that she’s a perfect fit for them.
Now they wait for the waiter to return with Frank’s credit card, and Brielle burns with curiosity as to what they’re grinning secretly to each other about.
Beatrice gives Frank a subtle nod that Brielle wouldn’t have caught if she wasn’t watching them so intently, and he clasps his hands together in front of him on the white table cloth.
“We’re just going to cut to the chase,” he says, his smile shining as he speaks. “We want to adopt you.”
Brielle’s heart jumps into her throat, cutting off her oxygen supply.
“We want to be your mom and dad.” Beatrice positively glows as she says these words that seem both difficult and natural at the same time to say. “Will you join our little family?”
“Yes!” The simple word jumps out of Brielle’s mouth before she can even resume breathing.
“Really?” Beatrice squeals.
“Brielle, you don’t know how happy you’ve made us!” Frank says, taking his wife’s hands in his. “How about we celebrate with dessert at our house? Your new house.”
Brielle’s chest is so bursting with joy that it threatens to explode and ruin the nice white table cloth between them.
“I would love nothing more,” she professes.
“Excellent! Ah, and just in time.” The waiter hands Frank the receipt and his credit card, which is swiftly stowed back into Frank’s wallet. He stands up and holds out an inviting hand. “Shall we?”
Brielle nods so eagerly she feels like a bobble-head doll, and she and Beatrice stand up and follow him to the front door.
But an impossible sight has Brielle slowing her pace behind her new parents, staring as if to prove to herself that what she’s seeing is a trick of the mind. And yet, the longer she stares, the closer she gets, the sight only becomes more cemented in reality.
Tristan is sitting at a table in a dimly lit corner and holding hands with none other than her arch nemesis, the blonde beauty queen of Mirror Point High.
Cassandra.
And what’s worse?
Brielle can’t even duck out of view and pretend not to have seen them because Cassandra is sneering right at her, causing Tristan to turn and lock eyes with her.
She finally stops, frozen in a moment in time with Tristan, and not in anywhere near the same way they were earlier today. When he confided heartfelt hopes of his soulmate, and insinuating she might be it.
How could she have been so stupid?
A sudden surge of determination cuts the moment short and rushes her out the door after Frank and Beatrice. She’s not going to let Tristan ruin her night. She just got the family she always prayed for! Whatever he’s doing here with Cassandra, she can’t allow herself to care.
She’s not two steps into the parking lot, however, when a hand clasps around her upper arm, igniting the electric sparks that she no longer wants to feel.
“Brielle, please wait,” Tristan says.
Frank and Beatrice turn around midstep, and Frank’s expression goes from jolly to guarded in an instant.
“Is everything okay, Brielle?” he asks, regarding Tristan with a look that says, “you’d better be careful how you touch my daughter.”
Brielle is touched by Frank’s concern, and she debates shaking free of Tristan’s grasp and following them to their car without a word about what she saw.
But she can’t. Not after their lunch together. Not after how amazing Tristan made her feel, only to betray her in the worst possible way.
She deserves an explanation, and she’s going to get it.
“Yes, it’s alright,” Brielle says, amazed that her an
ger isn’t seeping into her tone. “Can I just have a minute?”
Beatrice and Frank hover in place for a long moment, assessing Tristan to make sure he’s not a threat, and an encouraging nod from Brielle sends them on their way to the blue Buick parked not too far away.
Brielle watches them until they get in the car and close the door before turning her righteous outrage on Tristan.
“So everything you said to me earlier today was a lie,” she accuses. “Maybe everything you’ve ever said to me is a lie. Maybe you’re the one person who’s immune to my lie-detection. And what a sucker I am for falling for all the—”
“It’s not like that,” Tristan cuts her off in a hoarse whisper. “I swear to you, on everything I have ever strived for, that I have no romantic interest in Cassandra.”
“Oh, so it’s just physical then? Why not, she’s beautiful, sexy, everything a guy like you would want. So, what, she’s the snack and I’m the meal? You have to take a little nibble of her while making sure I hang around, wrapped around your deceitful finger. I’m such an idiot!”
“No, you’re not,” he says, taking a step closer.
Too close. Too intimate a distance for what he just did. Brielle takes a step back.
That tiny gesture visibly stings Tristan, and Brielle takes a small bit of joy in that.
“I’m not into Cassandra like that,” Tristan continues. “Everything I told you is true. I only came out with her tonight because…”
He bites his tongue, and there’s no way in hell Brielle is going to let him keep his next words to himself.
“Because what,” she demands, crossing her arms under her chest and jutting her hip like a dagger meant to slice.
Tristan growls under his breath, then says with some difficulty, “Because I think she may be a Zodiac Heir, too.”
Brielle’s not sure what angers her more. That Tristan is using his same tired old lie to excuse his actions with Cassandra, or that he thinks she might be his soulmate, too.
“Well, you know what? I hope she is. I hope you two live happily ever after in your little alien world.”
“Brielle, please don’t—” He moves closer again.
She puts her hand up like it’s a stop sign. “Don’t. I’m done with you, Tristan. Go back to your Zodiac Girl and leave me be. I have more important things going on in my life. Not like you care, but the Pierces just agreed to adopt me. And if you don’t mind, I’m going home with them for a celebratory dessert. Good night.”
She spins around and stomps to the Buick, refusing to look back no matter how much she wants to.
Time to close the book on the Tristan chapter of her life.
As soon as Brielle makes the decision to be in the moment and focus on this first time at the house she would forever after call home, thoughts of Tristan stay away.
Frank and Beatrice live on the outskirts of town where grass fields seem to stretch to the horizon. Theirs is a lovely two story colonial style house with white wooden walls and blue shutters on the windows. The house sits at the forefront of a property that’s probably three acres, its boundaries marked by a charming white-picket fence.
Frank pulls up the sloping cobblestone driveway to the garage, and Brielle can’t believe this is their house. Soon to be her house. It’s exactly what she would have pictured for her dream home. She can already see herself playing catch with Frank in the backyard, or sunbathing with Beatrice on the deck chairs on the front lawn.
She opens her door and climbs out of the car, making her first steps on the property and she can’t believe this is actually happening. Is this how Cinderella felt when Prince Charming brought her to the castle to live happily ever after?
“Come on in,” Frank invites after he unlocks and opens the kitchen door inside the garage.
“I’ll get dessert started,” Beatrice says as she skips ahead of him, then pauses and looks at Brielle over her shoulder. “What do you like on your ice cream? Chocolate or caramel?”
“Both,” Brielle answers, and Frank chuckles.
Beatrice lightly slaps him on the shoulder. “She really is just like you.”
Brielle blushes at that comment and follows them in.
The house is just as perfect and cozy inside as it looks on the outside. Hardwood floors that shine like amber under the warm lighting, granite counters atop ornate cabinets and an island with stools she can imagine having breakfast at. Past the shorter arm of the L-shaped counters is the living room, furnished with reclining brown couches that look like heaven to sit on and relax in front of the huge flat-screen on the brick wall above the fireplace. And there are so many windows. It’s night right now, but Brielle imagines they would look gorgeous with the morning light streaming in.
“Let me give you a little tour while Bea works her magic,” says Frank, tipping his head toward the living room.
Brielle follows as he takes her through the house: the living room, the game room, his study, Bea’s craft room, their bedroom, a guest room. And finally…
Frank places his hand on the doorknob of the last door across from their bedroom at the end of the hall. “We weren’t super sure what style you’d like, but we figure you can always redecorate it however you want.” He opens the door and ushers her inside.
The room is twice the size of her room at the orphanage, and the elegantly carved queen bed is three times the size of her current bed and covered in more blankets and pillows than she can ever imagine needing but can’t wait to try out. There are two dressers that match the bed, and a long closet with sliding doors that takes up one entire wall.
“It’s perfect,” she says through a lump in her throat.
“Good, I’m glad,” says Frank. Then after a pause, he says, “That boy earlier, is he your boyfriend? You seemed pretty upset with him.”
Brielle shakes her head, her Tristan-free bubble popping. “No, he’s definitely not my boyfriend. Just some boy from school, apparently dating a girl I don’t have the best history with.”
“Ah, I see.” He nods, obviously uncomfortable about the topic but pursuing it anyway. “Well, if you ever want to talk about him, or the girl, or anything, I want you to feel free to talk to us.”
She smiles, the tense knot his question had formed in her stomach loosening. “Of course. I would like that.” And in a gesture that’s so natural she doesn’t notice until it’s happening, she hugs him, and he hugs back.
And it feels perfect.
“Dessert’s ready,” Beatrice calls from the kitchen, and they withdraw from each other to join her.
Brielle looks out the windows that line one side of the hallway, savoring the way the grass sparkles in the light of the mostly full moon and trying to see if the stars are more visible this much farther away from the big city.
Right as she starts to turn away, a cluster of shadows dash across the edge of the yard. She doubletakes, blinking a few times as she stares at the spot she thought she saw them. The grass is still, and there’s nothing out there. Not even a breeze blows through the trees. Maybe it was bats or nightingales.
Or Eye Patch Guy following her again.
Her pulse pounds for an instant before she tells herself she’s being paranoid. It’s probably nothing.
She sighs, ready to turn away and continue down the hall when a dark spot she’d been staring at in the grass moves, followed by more dark blotches.
Those were the shadows she’d seen. They really had moved. And they’re coming toward the house!
What she’s seeing doesn’t make sense. What’s casting those shadows? They seem to be in the shape of a person, but there are definitely no people out there. Could they be invisible? Or has she just finally lost her mind?
“Brielle, is something wrong?” Frank’s concerned question makes her head turn.
“Umm…no, everything’s fine,” she lies, her voice cracking with uncertainty. “Do you mind if I step out for a sec?”
He lingers for a moment, the concern on his face deepening.<
br />
“Really, it’s fine,” she reassures. “I just think I need some fresh air.”
If it is Eye Patch Guy, she needs to make him go away. She can’t have him interfering with the utopia she’s stumbled upon, and she’ll do anything to protect Frank and Beatrice from his strangeness. She’s not quite sure what she saw, but it must have an explanation, and she’ll be damned if she’s not going to get to the bottom of it. Right now.
“Alright, if that’s what you need,” he says, one foot hovering on the threshold of the kitchen. “Like I said, you can always talk to us.”
“I know.” She puts on her best smile and hopes it’s convincing.
He nods and continues on into the kitchen, letting her slip through the porch door to the back yard.
Summoning up every ounce of her bravery, she shakily calls out, “Hello?”
Nothing. Not even crickets. As if they, too, have quieted to hear the intruder.
“Look, I don’t know what you want, but you’d better leave or…” she hesitates, feeling foolish for talking to the silence. “Or I’ll call the police.”
The night is so still, so completely devoid of all sound, that it disturbs her to her core. Maybe it’s because she’s grown up in town and the distant noises of dogs barking and cars driving is her idea of what night sounds like. But not even the grass hisses under the slightest breeze, as if the moonlight has put everything in this field into a trance.
And it’s the eeriest thing she’s ever experienced.
Suddenly, desperate to escape the nothingness that threatens to swallow her without a trace, she turns to go inside. Something heavy drops onto her shoulder, and before she can scream, a hand clamps tightly over her mouth.
“Don’t scream,” whispers her assailant, and despite the hushed tone, she recognizes Tristan’s voice.
She nods, burning with both terror and curiosity as to why he’s here.
He removes his hand, and she slowly turns to face him. She really should have avoided him from the very beginning. Like a moth to a flame. Maybe he’s the real danger.