by A. B. Wilson
Matti eventually abandoned us to get on a long train back to Cologne to meet with his team. When it was my turn to say goodbye, he picked me up in another bear hug before soundly kissing me on the cheek and informing me that he was at my service should his ‘elderly’ brother ever fail to perform. What a tool. Markus tore me away from him and Ella kneed him in the balls. He dropped to the ground in pain and we all stepped over him, ignoring the whiny baby.
Like Matti, Ella was still trashed when we made our farewells while Markus’ driver waited patiently to take her home to her husband and children. With a final, one-eyed warning to me to be good to her brother, she threw her arms around Markus and whispered something in German before shoving off and tripping back to the car. We waved as they drove away.
“What’d she say?” I asked, half-asleep.
Markus chuckled and scooped me up in his arms. He carried me up the four flights of stairs and into his apartment, where he deposited me directly onto his bed. “You don’t want to know,” he answered, nudging me toward the bathroom. “Go get ready. I’ll use the other bathroom and meet you back in here.”
By the time I re-approached the bed, Markus was already out and snoring softly. He looked so handsome in the bright moonlight that he made my heart skip a beat. Seeing him with his family had unlocked a new side of him. The media scrutiny and Kate had closed him off, but he was tentatively opening up again, and I liked everything about this stranger emerging from his dark past. This new Markus was someone who I could envision forever with, if forever came without the pressure of a public life. It felt like I had finally slipped home. All of the puzzle pieces had lined up, satisfyingly locking together.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Markus
The next morning’s hangover reminded me of two things—first, I was old, too old to drink competitively with my shithead brother. And second, travel, even a short flight like the one to my parents’ place, was murderous with a hangover.
Alina seemed to concur with that sentiment. She wrinkled her nose adorably, slapping a pillow back over her half-opened, bloodshot eyes. “I feel like I got hit by a truck. Do you think Ella poisoned me?” She sounded so feeble, but genuinely curious.
“Nah, pretty sure it would have been me she poisoned. God, I feel like hell.”
“Maybe we should stay here,” she offered weakly.
“Where’s the American fighting spirit, Alina? C’mon, let’s get cleaned up and some food in us. Both of us have flights to catch.”
She groaned and flipped me off as she rolled out of bed and zombie-walked to the bathroom. The water turned on and I heard a moan of appreciation as she stepped into my shower. Grinning to myself, I headed to the kitchen to scrounge for food.
Looking pale but somehow still radiant, Alina appeared shortly after and flopped into a seat at my rarely used dining table. I handed her breakfast and headed to the bathroom to get ready.
By the time I got out, she had straightened up the apartment and her packed bags sat by the door. Looking about thirty times more awake than she had before, she reached for me as I lined my suitcases up next to hers. We stood entwined until a buzz alerted me to the car out front, ready to take us to the airport.
“You okay?” I asked. “You’re awfully quiet. Still hungover?”
“A little. More nervous about what’s waiting for me back in L.A., and—this is going to sound so stupid—I’m going to miss you.” Her voice shook a little, and she refused to meet my gaze.
“You know I’m going to miss you too, but it’s only two days, and I’ll call you. Besides, Michael is going to be keeping you too busy to even think about me, most likely.”
She winced at the reminder and reached up to touch my jaw. “I know, but well, I…” She paused for thought. “I care. You know?”
I nodded, because I did—more than I let on and more than I could even communicate right now.
* * * *
The short flight to Cologne, where my parents lived, was completely uneventful, which meant that I was able to recover from my hangover in relative peace and anonymity. Even though I had seen him the day before, I was still somewhat dreading dealing with Matti. He had a real gift for making a fool out of everyone, especially me.
Matti was the opposite of me. He was loud and brash and had been caught fucking women in some of the least-likely places on the planet. I loved him dearly, but his willingness to play the fool was infuriating. At some point, he was sure to lose his job when the club got sick of cleaning up after his antics.
Coming out of the tunnel, I found him exactly where I had assumed he would be—in the center of a crowd of media types and women. He was laughing, and I could hear him joking with the reporters and photographers. “No, no. I have no idea what my brother’s sex life is like. If you want to know the truth, I’m pretty sure that he—”
“Matthias!” My voice echoed in admonishment as I yelled from halfway across the hall.
“Ah, there he is, gentlemen, ladies. Go ask him yourself. Now, if anyone is curious to hear the tale of how I scored the winning goal during the last game and then nailed two Australian tourists on the pitch later that night, I’d be happy to—”
“Matti, time to go!” I shouted as the horde started to turn my way.
He laughed and ran towards me, hurtling over a few tourists and their suitcases, leaving the press and crowds staring at his back. Grabbing both my suitcase and duffle like they weighed nothing, he turned toward the door and yelled, “Follow me, slow ass!”
I followed him while attempting to apologize to those in his wake. Fucking irresponsible little shit. But his effervescent joy was contagious, and soon my pace had picked up to a sprint as we raced through the airport and parking ramp, looking for his ludicrous car.
“I don’t know how you can find it. A Volvo probably ate it,” I joked, a little out of breath, as I caught up to him.
“Fuck, I swear I left that little bitch right here,” Matti muttered, barely breathing hard after his steeplechase. “Ah, yes. Over there, behind the pillar.”
Sure enough, behind the pillar was his pride and joy. A little souped-up hybrid Fiat 500. “Doing my part for the environment,” he said.
I was positive he did it for the attention that he garnered as he shoehorned himself and any passengers in or out of the matchbox.
We somehow wedged my luggage and ourselves into the tiny car and he expertly reversed out and whipped down the ramp out of the parking structure.
“You know something? I think I forgot to tell you that I wouldn’t ride with you unless you promised to pick me up in a car where we wouldn’t end up sitting on each other’s lap. This is fucking stupid. We look ridiculous,” I grumped.
“Nah, we look hot as fuck. Do you know how many people are having awesome threesome-sex-in-car fantasies right now?”
I gave up. Matti would never change until he hit rock bottom. We paid the parking fee at the gate and started the race toward our parents’ estate outside of the city. It was early afternoon, and traffic was light. Matti kept up a steady stream of gossipy chatter about his team, the season, Mom and Dad’s latest cause and the women he’d been seeing.
“Speaking of women, I liked Alina a lot, by the way. Still can’t believe you invited us to meet someone random though. You do seem a lot happier than you have any of the other times I’ve seen you over the last few years, but it’s still weird as fuck.”
“I know. Looking back, the relationship with Kate should have been over months, maybe even years ago. Remember how she never wanted to come here?”
He nodded in commiseration but continued with his dogged line of questioning. “And…back to my original thought. It’s not like we had time to talk about it the other day when we were drinking our weight in fine German beer. But Alina? You met her on set of this show you’re suddenly joining? We thought you were coming home and taking a break?”
I took a deep breath before explaining everything. “Nope, I’m staying in the US,
doing this show, then hopefully marrying Alina, getting a dog and cat, possibly having some kids. She’d look fucking hot pregnant with my kid, don’t you think?” I was only half kidding. Especially about the dog and cat. Those were a given. Unless she was allergic, in which case I’d sponsor a rescue group.
After a long pause I looked over to find him staring at me, jaw hanging open.
“Matti, eyes on the road! What the fuck, man? I’m kidding.”
“I’m sorry. Did you inform me of your actual life plans? You, who have never shared? I’m very confused.”
“Yes, did I stutter?” I asked.
“You’ve introduced one woman to our family. One. In thirty-three years. And now, out of seemingly nowhere, you’ve introduced a random woman to me, to Ella, even Max. I guess I assumed you were rebounding. Now I’m wondering if you haven’t completely lost it.”
“Yeah, yeah. I get it. She feels necessary, though, you know? A part of me and my life that I didn’t realize was missing. And I wanted the other most important parts of my life to know her too.”
We turned into the drive and Matti whistled. “I’ll stop giving you shit. I liked her a lot. If you’re happy, I’m happy, and I’ll stop flirting with her.”
I punched him in the arm. “You better.”
“Ouch! Dead arm, asshole. Thank god I play football. Anyways, you think I’m bad, Mother’s going to have lots of questions.” He grinned in anticipation.
My mother and father were waiting on the front steps for us and came rushing down as Matti pulled up. My ridiculous mother was wiping tears from her eyes as she pulled me into an embrace, while my dad waited patiently behind her. It was like I was home from war or something.
“And what am I?” Matti asked, teasing my mother as he picked her up to swing her away from me in a hug. “Your second-rate son?”
She laughed and hit him upside the head. “Put me down, you oaf. I have no idea how I gave birth to such giants, but you can’t manhandle your mother. I’m old and fragile.”
I laughed. The last thing Maria Shellenberg could have been described as was ‘old and fragile’.
My dad pulled me aside for a hug. “We’re glad you’re home, Markus. Your mother has been worried, and we’ve missed you.”
Matti unloaded my suitcases and hopped back into the car before shouting a hurried goodbye. Things felt immediately calmer as my whirlwind little brother backed his clown car down the drive. Then the full weight of my mother’s attention descended on me alone.
“Ah, my oldest child. My prodigal,” my mother sternly announced as she grabbed my arm, dragging me inside. “Now. Come tell your mother everything.”
I followed, resigned to my fate. My mother was capable of digging even the most minor secrets out of her children—it made no difference to her if we were ten or thirty-three. Everything was her business. It was part of the reason that I hadn’t been home in a while. I hadn’t wanted to face the firing squad of maternal concern.
“Markus, are you not hearing a word I’m saying? Do you think your mother is babbling to hear herself speak?”
It was bad when she referred to herself in the third person. I looked at my dad, who shrugged helplessly and looked on in amusement. I took a deep breath and, for what felt like the millionth time, relayed the story of the last month or so.
My mom listened, metaphorical smoke coming out of her ears. “I’ll kill her,” she said, of Kate, then demanded, “When are you bringing this new woman home? How dare you not come back for longer?”
“Maria, calm down. Markus’ plans merely changed. And his new woman friend might not be meeting us anytime soon. It sounds like Markus isn’t ready, despite the lovely pictures that we’ve both seen.” Dad was trying.
“Oh, you’ve seen the pictures?”
They nodded. My dad murmured, “Lovely girl, Markus.”
“What did you think?”
“Those pictures, Markus, tell the story of a man who has found his soulmate,” she stated solemnly while I tried not to roll my eyes. Clearly I had inherited the drama gene from my mother.
“Mother,” I started, placating, “Alina—”
“Lovely name for a lovely girl,” my dad cut in.
“Yes, Alina is someone special. I don’t know if I’m ready for you to meet her, but I did introduce her to Ella and Matti in Berlin. That’s where I was for the last two days.”
My mother gasped in outrage over being left out.
“Maria, hush. Markus, really? Is this serious, after all?” My father sounded faintly worried.
My mother wasn’t having it, though. “Loren, stop. I for one think it’s wonderful. Sometimes fate works in mysterious ways.” She turned back to me and patted my hand. “I remember the day I met your father. I took one look at him and knew that this was the person I’d spend the rest of my life with, even though he was a bit socially awkward. And yes, even after I found out he had had the nerve to get engaged to someone before meeting me—”
“What? I never knew this part of the story!”
“Oh yes, your father stupidly asked his girlfriend from university to marry him during their final term. And they had been engaged for five years when he met me, never actually tying the knot.”
I looked at my dad for confirmation. He shrugged and blushed a bit. “It’s true. I was an idiot. I mean, things were done in a logical, proper order, and that’s where Trudy and I were. We graduated, got engaged, lived together. The next step was marriage. Until I met your mother.”
“I tried to kiss him, you know, got him all drunk on our dessert wines and tried to kiss him. He left the next day, but I knew he’d be back. So a few years later he called me up, both of us were single and that was that.”
“You’re joking. How have I never heard this part of the story?”
“Eh, son, no one likes to let their children know that their mother was a nineteen-year-old hussy and their father a blind idiot.” My dad laughed and my mother reached over and slapped him on the ear.
“So you knew? The minute you saw each other?” I asked eagerly.
“Well, I certainly did,” my mother said. “It took a little convincing to get your father in line, though. Is it, perhaps, the same for you?”
I shrugged uneasily. I didn’t want to admit that I’d fallen so hard, so fast.
“Ah, leave him alone, Maria. I was right there with her, Markus, but I was too stubborn to admit it. Maybe that’s where you’re at. Anyways, son, whatever happens with this woman, this Alina, we’re happy to see you happy. You know? We’ll always love you and support you.”
“Yes, Markus. I’ll let you off the hook this time on meeting her, but you are bringing her home for Christmas, understood?”
“Yes, Mother.”
I need to get back to L.A.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Alina
Everything kicked into high gear as I navigated out of the door of LAX’s international terminal and started searching for a cab. As I slid into the back seat of an older model Ford Crown Vic, my jeans snagged on one of the many gashes in the upholstery. The unpleasant smell of industrial odor remover burned my sinuses and I wondered how many times people had vomited, bled or sweated through layers of clothes right where I was sitting.
Riding with David had spoiled me, clearly, but I didn’t want to call him and put him out. I wondered how Markus was faring back in Germany with his parents. His brother and sister had told me some legendary stories about Maria, their mother, and he’d once compared a conversation to her to a blindfolded interrogation in front of a firing squad.
Michael had only texted me twice since we’d left the country, a small miracle and probably never-to-be-repeated phenomenon, but the last one had popped through that morning and I still hadn’t gotten back in touch. While some of his messages waxed rhapsodical, this one had been curt and to the point.
Call me asap when you get in.
Plus a grumpy face emoji.
I texted back quickly.
>
In a cab leaving LAX. Will call when I get home.
No sooner had it read as received than an incoming call shrilled out of the tiny speaker. Michael. There would be no rest for this weary traveler.
“Hello?” I answered tentatively.
“Alina, my favorite assistant producer, my muse and now my leading lady,” he cooed. “So lovely to have you back. I hope you and Markus enjoyed your little European jaunt.”
“We did, thanks, it was—” I started, excited to tell anyone about how cool Berlin was, how incredible Markus’ apartment was, that I couldn’t stop thinking about his dick, but Michael probably wasn’t meant to be that person. He also wasn’t paying any attention.
“So for training, I’ve lined up a personal trainer and an acting coach. Our goal, by the time filming starts in a few weeks, is for you to passably move like a supernatural being, maybe do some of your own stunts and make sure you can get through lines without looking like a nutcracker. Get it? Wooden?” He giggled at his cleverness.
He droned on with a litany of physical training sessions and a dietician-approved meal plan, but I wasn’t picking up on most of it. Then he warned me that Markus and I would have two-hour sessions with coaches and choreographers every evening at the studio to practice together and that he would be dropping by every other day to observe.
“Michael!” I erupted. “That schedule is bullshit and you know it. There’s no way in hell that I can pull all of it off in a twenty-four-hour period. The acting stuff, for sure, but all of that other training?”
“Negotiating, huh. Look, try it for a week. If it doesn’t work, we can adjust. You can do this, though. I really think this is going to be a game changer for you and I’m so fucking excited to get the two of you on camera for a K-I-S-S-I-N-G scene. Oh, it’s going to be unreal, honey!” He squealed, and I could imagine him squirming in his seat like a toddler with literal ants in his pants.