by Mazzy King
I hesitate. My stomach gurgles even louder.
“Going, going, gone,” he adds. The pizza place is just ahead. It says “Mario’s.”
“Okay, fine,” I say quickly. “Just a quick bite. Then back to my car.”
“As you wish, milady,” he says with a smile, turning into a stall in front of the pizza shop.
Inside, I glance around at the small space. It has seating capacity for maybe fifty people. It’s also pretty romantic, with warm wood and candlelight. I look at Damien suspiciously, but he just winks.
Dammit, the man is fine as hell.
We’re seated near the window and a server comes to take our drink order. Damien opts for a pint of Guinness, and against my better judgment, I order a glass of the house red. Then we look over the pizza menu.
“I’m ordering pepperoni and pineapple.” He grins. “You’re welcome to share.”
I roll my eyes. “A simple margherita for me.”
“I’ll have you singing a different tune by the end of the night.”
“Good luck with that.” I fold the menu primly and sit back in my seat.
Damien gives me a searching look. “You’ve got a story.”
I draw my head back. “I beg your pardon?”
He lifts a shoulder. “It seems like you’ve got a lot on your shoulders. I know I don’t know you that well—”
“At all,” I interrupt.
“—but call it intuition.” He leans forward, folding his hands together. “You don’t have to tell me shit, of course. I just want you to know you can. Sometimes a friendly ear that won’t judge is what we need to make it to the next steppingstone.”
“Boy, you’re full of wisdom,” I reply. “That nugget in the parking lot. Now this.”
He tilts his head. “Are you always so defensive? Serious question.”
The server comes back with our drinks, thankfully saving me from having to respond immediately. Damien places our pizza orders. When the server leaves, he returns his attention back to me. Waiting.
Stop being such a jerk for five seconds, my mind hisses at me. He’s a nice guy. You know he’s a nice guy. Look at everything he’s done for you tonight.
I fold my lips together for a beat. “Yeah,” I say finally. “Yeah, I am always so defensive. It’s kind of a learned survival technique, I guess.” I clear my throat. “Um—sorry.”
He shakes his head, holding up a hand. “No, I don’t need an apology. I just wanted to clarify. A learned survival technique?”
“Unfortunately.”
He nods slowly but doesn’t press that any further. “How’s your wine?”
I quickly swirl it and take a sip. “It’s really good. A chianti, I think the menu said.” A little explosion by my hip goes off, making me jump. I dig my phone out of my purse and glance at the screen. “Um, it’s my mom. Do you mind…?”
“Please,” he says quickly, leaning back.
“Hi, Mom,” I answer.
“Hi, baby. How are you?”
“I’m…” Flustered. Annoyed. Vulnerable. Uncomfortable. Excited. Intrigued. On a date with the sexiest construction worker in the history of construction workers. “…fine. How are you?”
“Oh, fine,” she says breezily. “I just wanted to make sure everything’s fine with your dress for this weekend.”
I sigh. “Yeah. I had my last fitting yesterday.”
“Good. And you have your shoes and your jewelry and everything?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Our hair appointment starts at eight on Saturday morning.” She pauses. “Did you straighten everything out with the florist for both the ceremony and the brunch the next morning?”
“Everything’s a go,” I reply, my temper rising. We’ve had this same conversation every day for the last two months. I can’t understand why she gave me wedding jobs to do when she clearly finds me incompetent.
I love my mother, but she and I could not be more different.
“And have you found a date yet?”
“I wasn’t looking for a date,” I reply. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Damien glance up from his own cell phone, which he took out when I started chatting with my mom. My cheeks heat. “Besides, I’m Harlowe’s maid of honor. I won’t have time to entertain a date.”
“I understand, honey, but how is that going to look?” Mom says gently. “The family hasn’t seen you since Curtis. Don’t you want to show them you’ve moved on and are in a better place?”
“Why do I need a date to accomplish that?”
“Nancy,” Mom says, a reproving tone finally creeping into her voice. “You bring a date to a wedding. That’s just how it works.”
“That’s not true at all,” I argue. “Look, Mom, I have enough on my plate right now. Trying to meet some ridiculous expectation that means nothing to me is not a consideration.”
“Well.” Mom huffs. “I suppose I know my place. I’ll see you Saturday morning, Nancy.”
She hangs up before I can say another word.
“Ugh!” I exclaim, loudly enough to draw curious glances. I throw my phone with more force than necessary back into my bag.
Damien immediately puts his phone away. I get a glimpse of some mobile puzzle he was playing. “I won’t ask if everything’s okay.”
The server with the impeccable timing heads our way and sets down thin, round metal trays covered with pizza. Without hesitation, I grab a slice of margherita and chomp into it, chewing violently.
Damien lifts his brows and helps himself to a slice of pepperoni and pineapple.
When I’ve devoured my slice, I take a deep breath. “Family is complicated. My mom…is complicated. Well, no. She’s not complicated. Our relationship is.”
Damien nods. “So someone’s getting married?”
“My big sister.”
“You two get along?”
“She’s my best friend. We used to join forces in our complex relationships with our mother, but they seem to have come to an understanding Mom and I haven’t reached yet. She cares very much about public opinion, especially my extended family’s. And having a daughter who fucked up the way I did…” I shake my head, grabbing another slice.
“How’d you fuck up?” he asks.
I smirk humorlessly. “Guess you can say I know how to pick ’em.”
“A boyfriend?”
“My ex.” I drain half my wine. It feels good to open up to a strange, friendly ear, just like he said. What does it matter, anyway? What does it matter if I tell him everything?
“Aw, everybody’s got an ex they’re ashamed of,” he says, offering a smile.
“It’s a little worse in my case. He was abusive.”
A mask drops over Damien’s face. It’s blank, but there’s a hint of anger. “I’m sorry.”
I shrug. “It happens to more women than you know.”
“Doesn’t make it okay.”
“No, it doesn’t.” I pull off a corner of crust. “I left him last year, after too long.”
“Is he in prison?”
“He went to jail for a little bit. I have a protection order against him.” I shrug. “I wish he was still in jail, but at least the order states he can’t come near me or make any kind of contact with me. But everyone thinks I’m the weird one in the family, the basket case, the let-down. And my mother desperately wants to prove them wrong by me showing up with some handsome, rich dude.”
“What do you want?”
“I want everyone to mind their own fucking business,” I say sharply, again drawing glances. I lower my voice. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He gazes at me. “You deserve that right.”
I let out an ugly laugh. “Not in this family. Anyway, she’s so terribly worried about me having a date for Harlowe’s wedding. She’s sure that’ll quiet the wagging tongues.”
Damien shrugs. “She might be right. You bring a date, people will assume you’re happy and thriving. Without one, you’re the sad, lonely person.”<
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I study him. “You sound like you know all about that.”
“I’m thirty-three and single. My family wants to know when they can expect grandchildren.”
“Interesting. I thought only women dealt with that pressure.” I didn’t expect him to be so much older than me, but in a strange way, that makes him even sexier. “What’s stopping you?”
He smiles slightly. “I have my own demons.”
“Relationship trauma?”
He shakes his head. “More like career trauma. I was a Marine for a while. Spent most of the last decade hopping from one war zone to another. It definitely took its toll. I’ve been more interested in building a normal life than building a family.”
I nod slowly. “I bet that’s really hard.”
“A day at a time,” he replies. “I actually have come to terms with a lot of it. But I have nightmares. Like every night.”
I feel a rush of sympathy, so strong it makes my throat lock. “I’m so sorry.” Then, after biting my lip, I say, “I do too.”
His eyes shine with understanding. “I’m sorry. It…sucks.”
“Yeah. It does.”
For a moment, we share a long beat of camaraderie, looking at each other. It’s like he can see the hole in my soul, and I can see his.
Then Damien nudges his pizza tray closer to me, clearing his throat. “Ready to take the plunge? You gotta try a bite. Just one. That’s your cost for the meal.”
In spite of myself, I smile back. “Better get a napkin for me to spit into ready.”
“I’m confident you won’t need one.” He lifts a fresh slice and holds it out to me.
I blink. There’s something inherently intimate about eating from someone’s hand. I’ve never been fed by a guy before…and definitely not one as sexy as Damien.
Flushing, I lean forward and nibble a bite, making sure I’m fair and get pepperoni and pineapple together.
I chew.
I don’t spit it out.
Damien lifts his brows. “Well? I’m dying here.”
“Give me that.” I pull the slice from his hand and begin devouring it.
“Hey, Mikey, I think she likes it,” he says in a little singsong voice, referencing that old Life cereal commercial from the eighties.
“Fine,” I say after swallowing. “You were right. It’s awesome. You win.”
He leans toward me, folding his arms and resting his elbows. “And what’s my prize?”
His dark blue eyes have gone a little smoky. Blood surges in my veins in response—along with a healthy shot of fear.
“The knowledge that you were right,” I say.
Damien chuckles. “You know, beauty’s in the eye of the beholder and I’m definitely not a rich dude, but if you need a fake date to your sister’s wedding to silence those wagging tongues, I’d be happy to help you out. Seeing you again might not be the worst thing in the world.”
I can’t help giggling myself. “Haven’t you got anything better to do?”
“Well, I like to do charity when I can,” he says seriously.
I snort and toss an errant piece of pineapple at him. “You seem like a nice guy. I’d never put you through that.”
We box up our leftovers—he insists I take everything, and I don’t put up much of a fight—and head back to the museum. Damien gets out of the truck and stands nearby while I get my car unlocked.
“All set?” he asks as I toss my bag in the passenger seat.
I whirl around to face him. “Were you serious about the wedding?”
He blinks at the suddenly urgent note in my voice. “Yeah. Sure, I was. I actually like weddings, and if I can help you out, all the better.” He tilts his head. “You’re reconsidering?”
My gaze travels over him. The tattoos will raise some eyebrows, I’m certain. And he’d probably have to shave his scruff in order to fit in—
Fuck fitting in.
I don’t fit in. I’m the family misfit. And if my mom wants me to bring a date so badly, an older, tattooed, scruffy, blue-collar bad boy is who they’re going to get.
“You,” I tell him, “are officially invited to be my date for my sister’s wedding on Saturday.”
Damien glances down at his shoes, then lifts his eyes to me. “It’d be my honor to escort you, milady.”
4
Damien
On Saturday afternoon, I pull up to the large cathedral where Nancy’s sister is getting married, trying to remember I’m here as a favor. Nancy mentioned her family was well off but based on some of the cars I’m seeing in the parking lot, I suppose she meant very well off.
There are also a lot of regular vehicles too. She told me her sister’s fiancé, Darby, is a cop. Them being together raised a lot of eyebrows in her family, since they all expected her to go for the rich, corporate type. I wonder how Nancy and Harlowe didn’t fall under the materialistic influence of their family.
I wonder how they’ll react to me.
It’s just a fake date, I remind myself, not for the first time. I know I look respectable, even though my black suit didn’t cost my monthly mortgage. But I had it tailored, and I’m wearing it with a light blue button-down. No tie.
Nancy’s off doing bridesmaid duties, but I’m not nervous about mingling by myself. I can talk to anyone.
“Damien?” an incredulous voice behind me asks.
I turn around, my eyes widening. My good buddy Major stands with his lovely fiancée Cecily, a camera around her neck, and their little boy Felix. “Whoa, small world.”
“I’ll say.” Major flicks his head toward the sanctuary, where people are starting to file into to find seats. “I didn’t know you knew the families.”
“I don’t,” I reply. “I know Nancy, the bride’s sister. She invited me.” I look at Cecily. “Funny coincidence they hired you to be the photographer.”
Cecily smiles. “Harlowe actually booked me last year. So it was definitely a surprise to learn she and Darby knew Major through their mutual friends.”
“We’ve hung out a few times,” Major says. “Darby’s a really good dude. When you told me you were going to a wedding today, I never imagined we’d be going to the same one.”
“Just goes to show you guys should slow down and actually talk instead of text at the speed of light,” Cecily teases, smiling up at Major. She hefts her camera. “I better get back to work, just wanted to say hi and bye.” She leans up to kiss him, then smiles. “Enjoy the ceremony!”
“Thanks,” I tell her. “See you later.”
Major taps my elbow. “Sit with us.”
“Of course.”
The wedding is of the traditional stripe—tons of flowers, people dressed to the nines, a string quartet. Harlowe and Darby opted to write their own vows, and I admit, their sweet, loving words to each other definitely brought a little lump to my throat. The bride is beautiful in an off-white dress, the groom resplendent in his tux.
But I can’t take my eyes off the maid of honor.
Nancy’s an undeniably beautiful woman, but today, she’s as radiant as the bride. All the bridesmaids wear pale green strapless dresses that fall to their knees and matching strappy heels. Her dark golden hair is swept up in some kind of fancy updo, but little tendrils fall down, framing her face. I think what makes her so incredibly beautiful is the look on her face.
She looks…happy.
That invisible weight on her shoulders I picked up on the second I saw her, the furrow in her brow, the suspicious squint of her eyes—it’s all gone as she watches her sister promise herself to the love of her life. There’s something so open and luminous and wistful on her face that makes whatever pain she’s been through seem like a bad dream.
I can’t imagine someone hurting Nancy. I can’t imagine someone pushing her slender form around. Hitting her. Doing anything to her that isn’t totally worshipping her for the goddess she is. It makes my heart hurt for her to know she’s been through that. It makes me angry with whoever did it to her.<
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And it makes me want to give her more. Show her more. Prove to her she can trust again. She can be safe again. She can be loved.
Holy shit, Willis. Calm your ass down. This isn’t even a real date.
It might not be a real date, but these are damn sure real feelings.
After the ceremony, the wedding party stays behind to take pictures, while the guests file out to their cars and start heading to the reception venue, a trendy event hall downtown.
“So how do you know Nancy?” Major asks, holding Felix, who fell asleep during the ceremony.
“We work together,” I reply. “Well, sort of. I’m on a construction crew at the museum, and she works there. Right next door to the gallery we’re working in, actually.”
“Oh, the historic museum?” he says. “Cec loves that place. Are you setting up for an exhibit?”
“Repairing that space for the exhibit,” I say, then smirk, remembering Nancy’s ferocious introduction to my life. “Apparently our jackhammers are pretty loud.”
Major chuckles. “I’ll bet she had a field day with that. She’s not exactly what I’d call a bright, happy person. But from what I hear, she’s been through a lot. Her old roommate is my Army buddy’s sister, and he told me shit hit the fan with Nancy and her ex. He was pretty abusive.”
“I’ve heard a little about that,” I reply.
“I haven’t known her very long,” Major tells me, “but it seems like she’s made leaps and bounds. She’s rebuilding her life.” Then he eyes me slyly. “So what’s up with you two?”
“I’m here mostly as a favor,” I say, shrugging. “She’s been getting pressure from her family to bring a date, so she invited me. I suspect to ruffle some feathers in the process. I mean, I’m not exactly GQ like some of these guys here. They have movie stars in their family, or something?”
“Just really, really, really, really rich family members,” Major comments. “Not my cup of tea, but, hey. The spread at the reception is supposed to be excellent, and they’re having a live band and a DJ.” He hefts his still-slumbering son. “I’m gonna let little man sleep a while longer, then we’ll head to the hall. You heading over?”