by Leanne Davis
I tilt my head. The alcohol instantly hits me. Bad idea. Getting tipsy with a stranger on my wedding night, after I singlehandedly ran my wedding into the ground. So for that very reason, I nod. “Yes, I’ll have another.” Anything to help me forget today.
He gets up and returns with a bottle and two shot glasses, which he sets on the coffee table between us. The bottle lets out a thunk! as he drops it down. “I got one better. How about some good tequila?”
I glance up. He’s staring at me and just a few feet separate our heads. His gaze challenges me. “I shouldn’t do that. I should contact Harrison. And my family. I better go home. Face their wrath and disappointment. I should—”
“Never have agreed to get married in the first place if you weren’t sure. Or ditched the groom after your parents footed the bill for your wedding. Or run off with a complete stranger whom you later allowed to undress you. The list of what you shouldn’t have done is longer than you can handle tonight, snowflake. Now, do you want some tequila or not?”
My head bobs. He nods and pours a splash in each glass. I pick one up and he holds his out. We clink our glasses together and swallow. I cough and sputter until my eyes bug out and rub my mouth with the back of my hand. I decide to correct him. “I did not allow you, kind stranger, to undress me. Rather, I simply asked you to help me with a few buttons.”
“Ah. Big distinction.” He smirks and then adds softly, “But it doesn’t change the fact that no matter how you word it, I still was the one who got you out of your wedding dress. Another?” He asks while shaking the bottle at me, grinning.
“Fine.” I grit my teeth and mutter grumpily, “You undressed me. And yes I’ll have more.” Anything to help me forget I did indeed have another man besides my should-be-husband, take off my wedding dress. I hold out my empty glass and he refills it. I can feel the sting and burn of the shot already hitting my blood, especially after the bottle of beer. My mind starts to float around to strange subjects and all the things Ramiro just mentioned start to fade.
“You have any family around here?”
His eyebrows rise. “Why are you asking?”
I sigh. “I don’t know. To fill the awkward silence. It’s something to ask. Something innocuous. Geez. Are you sensitive? What exactly are you hiding?” I lift my hand up, and feel the color infusing my cheeks. “Yes, I know I shouldn’t ask questions around here. So answer something innocuous, does your family live nearby?”
“No. No one does.”
His terse answer silences me. “That must be lonely.”
He shrugs. “Too busy to think about it much.”
“What about friends? Have you made a lot of friends to avoid feeling isolated?”
His laugh is sour. “Again, no friends you’d want to discuss. So, no. Not really.”
“You really have no family?”
“My father died last year. I didn’t have anyone else.”
My heart blips. His face stays neutral. He doesn’t reveal if it hurts him or not. “I’m sorry. That must be very hard.”
He shrugs. “A lot of things are harder.”
It’s right on the tip of my tongue. Of course, I want to ask what could be harder than surviving the death of your parent? Or being all alone in the world? I have no idea how to reply. I can only imagine what it must be like, living in the shadows of another country, and always worrying about being discovered. I suppose that would be about as hard as total isolation. Never feeling welcome. Never really calling where you live a home. Yes, and now his ordeals only dwarf the problems in my life and the reason I’m here, despite all my crying that my life is over. Compared to some people, those aren’t problems at all. I drink again, feeling even guiltier. This time, however, it’s not just towards Harrison and my family. Now I feel ashamed toward Ramiro and his absent family.
I sigh and let the alcohol warm me up. And quit trying to solve the world’s problems tonight when I can’t even solve my own.
He leans back, another beer in his hand, which he tips towards his mouth and swallows. I find myself watching because he’s really quite a beautiful person. That’s a clinical observation on my part. He has clear, dark skin and silky, dark hair that’s a bit too long but complements his skin color. His eyes are huge, dark and wide with thick, black lashes. He’s beautiful. Almost too beautiful for a man. He nods at me, catching my tacit evaluation of him. “I take it by the number of wedding guests, you have a lot of family in the area?”
“Yes. My parents, two sisters, and one sister who lives in San Francisco, but the rest live here. I have an aunt and uncle, cousins and lots of friends and their families. I’ve lived here all my life so we have a big community network. Plus, my mom works as a veterinarian in the area and that also makes us well known to most residents.”
“Us? Being…”
“The Hendricks.”
He nods, like he’s thinking about what I said. A small smirk crosses his face. He is almost mocking me. I’m not sure how to read his expression. He lifts his bottle up for another toast. I have no idea what he’s getting at. But I’m starting not to care as the potency of the alcohol does its job. I’m so grateful for the cure. I need to forget today and what I did. I need to forget where I am, too, and more critically, where I’m not and what I plan to do next.
I yawn, suddenly worn out by all the extraordinary events of the day. I lean over, resting the side of my head on the armrest. Curling my legs up under me, I close my eyes. I am floating and warm as I yawn again. What am I doing? I don’t know. I don’t even know if I plan to stay here tonight. I shouldn’t, duh! He’s a stranger. But the odd circumstances are somehow comforting to me right now. I’ve had enough alcohol that my reservations are fading fast and nearly lost to me. Whether I should be here or not, I’m here. I don’t have the energy to move, let alone figure out what my next destination should be. My eyes grow heavy before I’m lost in welcome sleep.
~Ramiro~
She’s a naive idiot. I can’t believe she’s already sound asleep, curled up on my couch. I’m a total stranger who could do anything I choose to her right now. Or even in the bathroom where she’d have been confined. I’m bigger, stronger and, I’m guessing, much more capable of violence than she is. She has no idea who or what I am. I could be a serial killer or a rapist or just a bad man who takes advantage of situations with members of the opposite sex any way I can. How the hell could she just fall asleep? And in such unfamiliar circumstances?
Sure, plying her with alcohol was my idea, but she could have said no. She should have said no, and if she were my daughter or sister or even my friend, I’d be sure she understood that for future safety. But since she’s next to nothing to me personally, why should I care how clueless and risky she is in dealing with her own welfare?
My hands are still twitching and I can almost feel her silky, smooth skin on her slim, narrow back. What the hell kind of a position is that to be put in after knowing the girl for a matter of hours? But there she was in a dress that surpasses anything I’ve ever seen in exquisite glamour. When it fell forward, and flopped over her chest until her innocent, yet sexy arms crossed over it, wow. She embodied the quintessential pose of seduction with that long, blond hair cascading over her shoulders, and her neck and back so deliciously exposed. As the dress opened and loosened, her shoulder blades stood out in gorgeous relief and the lace of her undergarment, or whatever it was, whispered of an erotic but clearly innocent experience. That’s exactly what it was.
Will Hendricks’s daughter. I must keep that in mind. She is not a woman I can allow myself to feel anything for: sexuality, protection, sympathy; and I refuse to be amused or charmed or annoyed or angry over her abject lack of world view. Dear God. How could anyone reach her age without becoming a bit savvier? She is ridiculous in her naiveté. I am almost embarrassed for her.
So no, I refuse to acknowledge any feelings towards the beautiful, naive, innocent, rather sweet girl. No. Nor am I willing to admit disdain or any other emotion,
because that would mean I wasn’t remaining neutral. And neutrality is where I must act from, otherwise it tends toward passion and nothing done in passion ever ends well. Rational thoughts make plans work and freaking out over emotions always leads to careless mistakes. If she weren’t so naive, there is no way I’d allow Will Hendricks’s daughter to sleep in my house, or be at my disposal.
Now, for the life of me, I have no fucking idea what to do with this strange turn of events, and streak of luck aimed my way. It is an undeniable opportunity.
I stare at her, curled up like a small child, trusting. Why should she trust me in these circumstances? It totally puzzles me. I can’t make sense of her. Her hair’s still curled on the ends, but it’s a lot messier and sexier after all the clothing changes. I have her now. Right here. I can… Sighing, I lean forward and rub my hands together… I can what? What the hell am I going to do about having her there? I have no game plan, since there was no memo to me about finding a runaway bride today. None. No. I lined the job up after seeing the wedding announcement in the newspaper weeks ago. Not sure why I did, but I wanted to be there, if only to observe Will. For what reason? Again, I’m not sure. No great plan yet. But being here, in the immediate vicinity, seemed like a good start. Now? I have the perfect opportunity to do real damage… I can do something and yet, I can’t think of anything that could remotely benefit me. The object of my mission and what I want from this situation is Will Hendricks. After that, everything else is still unclear to me.
I’m not a violent person. I definitely won’t hurt her. No. Never. Neither will I hurt Will. I just want revenge. I think. No, I’m sure I do. I must have justice from the man who ruined my father’s life.
Even if another soul never knows about it, including my own father.
I get up and grab a blanket, unfurling it and draping it over the pretty blond on my couch, while cussing myself out. What the hell kind of villain am I? Gently tucking in the girl who could be my vehicle for revenge on Will Hendricks?
Revenge. Revenge doesn’t always match the crime, does it? If I could find a way to prove what Will Hendricks did over thirty years ago, I’d be much happier. But I can’t prove it. Not for real. At least, not now. I don’t foresee any way to possibly prove it. Will is an American citizen and the crime occurred in Mexico. The crime scene is now a farmer’s market. There’s nothing to trace Will Hendricks or link him to what he destroyed.
Including my father.
I sigh. I can’t let this girl sway my resolve. This is about my father, not hers. It’s what I owe him, and promised him and what I intend to make good on, somehow, some way.
That doesn’t mean I can’t cover her up and retreat to my bedroom for the night. Except… maybe that’s not what I should do. Perhaps I should sleep with her and then reveal my identity. I glance down at her. It’s not like it would be too difficult, the act, I mean. Perhaps, it would be a fantasy. And then… I’ll let her dad know at some point that I was the one who sullied his precious little girl. Who dared to touch her and lick her and kiss her and… well, those thoughts are merely making me react right now. Not my intent. Sleeping with her now would accomplish very little and she’d probably be too embarrassed to tell anyone. Not on this night when she was lined up to marry another, her longtime boyfriend. No. This would become her dirty secret. Which doesn’t do much for me. So, no. Not tonight. But what about in a few weeks?
Definitely not tonight.
Now, just as I’m leaning over her to tuck the blanket in, her huge eyes blink open.
Chapter Three
~Emily~
The warm hands moving near my back startle me. Jumping, I open my eyes to find Ramiro right over me. He jolts back and lifts his hands. “I was just covering you with a blanket.”
The world tips and turns as my head spins. I try to sit up. A blanket? If this guy isn’t decent, then I’m not a Hendricks. I finger the blanket’s silky edge. “Thank you.”
He’s right near me, nodding, and his expression is as puzzled as I feel. He leans towards me. “You okay? You look a little sick.”
“Just dizzy,” I mutter.
He gets up and comes back with a glass of water, which he places in my hand. I drink it and toss back the two white pills he puts in my other palm. “Aspirin. Should help with the tequila.”
I smile gratefully and then… we stare at each other. “Thank you. Again. You keep helping me.”
He clears his throat while rolling his eyes. “You should learn not to trust me so much. I’m a stranger. All the polite manners in the world won’t protect you if I had other things on my mind.”
“But you don’t,” I say, glaring at him. “Otherwise, you’d have already done so.”
“That’s a stupid and naive way to decide something you know nothing about.”
I shrug. “There was no other way that you came upon me except by accident. I mean, no way. You weren’t aggressive or suggestive and everything that’s happened so far, meaning me coming here, being here, and staying here, is all my doing. So I’m not as stupid as you might think.”
“I didn’t say stupid. I just said it wouldn’t hurt to be more careful. A lot more careful. You never know about some people.”
“No, that’s true. I know. I kind of suck at playing the odds. What time is it?”
“Past two.”
“I guess I’m staying here for the night,” I say, swallowing hard. “Too late to ask if that’s okay. And my family is already freaking out. So…” My voice trails off. “Maybe I should call them.”
He snorts at me. Actually snorts. I can’t believe he does that. He sits on the coffee table behind him, reaches over to the phone, and hands it to me. “Duh. I would have thought that might have happened before the dress came off.”
I glare at him and stare down at the screen. Whom do I call? Dad? That’s a definite no. Mom? Maybe. She’s more likely to be kinder, more understanding, and forgiving, but she’ll probably hand the phone to Dad. I could call Christina, but she’s probably consoling my parents, knowing her. Melissa? Maybe she won’t judge me as harshly. She’d be the most willing to understand. I stare at the phone. Maybe. Yes. Melissa!
I dial my sister’s number. She answers immediately. “Hello? Who is this?”
I take a breath for courage. “It’s me, Missy.”
“Oh, fuck. Where are you? Are you okay? Were you kidnapped?”
I’m glad it’s Melissa. She makes me smile. “No. I’m fine. I’m safe. I’m with a… a friend.” I glance up at Ramiro who doesn’t leave the room even to pretend to give me more privacy. His eyes are fastened right on me.
“Friend? What friend? Every friend of yours was at the church.” She’s talking louder. She muffles the phone and I know she’s addressing someone else, reporting that it’s me and I’m safe. I hope it’s her boyfriend, Seth, and not my parents.
“Where are you?”
It’s my dad’s voice. No hellos… Nothing but the demand. I’m not ready yet to speak to him. Or try to explain this. I can’t say where I am or why. I don’t feel any regret. I don’t think I’m ready to feel sorry yet.
“I’m safe. I’ll call you later. Bye.”
I hang up and turn off the phone. Then I flip it over and take out the battery. “Hey,” Ramiro exclaims.
“I don’t want him calling me back. Maybe… he probably knows how to trace the call, so…”
“What the hell does your dad do?”
“He repairs and installs heating and cooling systems.”
“Yet, you wonder if he can track cellphones?” His eyebrows lower and his mouth twists.
“He was in the Army Special Forces, remember? He might know all kinds of other methods that most people don’t know. I can’t say for sure.”
I hold out the phone to him. He takes the pieces and when our fingertips touch, mine zing at the contact. “I assume that was Melissa, your sister?” he questions.
I nod.
“Melissa was at your parents’ house?�
�
“Yes. I should have realized that.”
“So, what exactly do you gain by avoiding them? You’ll be returning to them eventually, won’t you? I mean, you aren’t exactly prepared to run away into the outside world, or are you? Even if you are capable, you still don’t have a dollar to your name or your phone or your ID. So why do you keep putting it off?”
“Because I need to articulate what I want to say first. Then I’ll tell them. At least they know I’m safe.”
“I doubt they’re fully reassured.” He shakes his head. “Glad you’re not my family member.”
Letting my head fall back down, I close my eyes. “I’m glad it was you who happened upon me when I was hiding out in the parking lot in my wedding dress. Thank you, Ramiro.”
He gets to his feet as I tug the blanket over me. He backs up, heading towards his bedroom, I assume, muttering, “Just my luck.”
I have no idea why he’s so annoyed, but I’m very grateful to him, much more than I can put into words. Though my guilt still gnaws at me, my head is spinning with residual alcohol, so I close my eyes once more and sleep.
Morning finds me happily alive. It’s Sunday and the sun is shining brightly and stinging my pupils. I blink my eyes open and use Ramiro’s bathroom. Coming out, I see Ramiro standing in his kitchen and glancing around. Do I see relief in his eyes when I emerge? Did he think I left already? It heartens me to know he didn’t want me to just disappear without a word. As if I’d leave my wedding dress abandoned on the floor, occupying half of the room.
“Coffee?” he asks.
“No, thanks. I never drink it.”
He frowns and mutters again, dumping the fresh grounds into the coffee maker. I lean over and grab my water glass from last night, sidling past him to fill it up at the faucet.
“So what’s the plan now?” I glance at him. “Do you have to work today?”
He shakes his head.
“Pressing plans?”