Without Hesitation

by CJ Azevedo

  Before he could get too far, she stepped back in to embrace him one more time and reached up on her tippy toes, her hands gripping his shoulders. Macie moved her face next to his and lightly blinked, brushing her long lashes against his cheekbone, and then whispered, “I love it, Grey. Thank you.” Her heart may take a beating after tonight, but she could accept that. If she got to be friends with him and knew that they have a couple secrets between just the two of them, then she could live with a bruised heart for a while.

  Greyden pulled back and looked at her, confusion and amusement etched across his perfect face. “What did you just do?”

  It didn’t even cross her mind that that might not be cool to do. God, I’m such a nerd. She shrugged the thought off and answered, “I gave you butterfly kisses.”

  Grey just sort of smiled and reached out to rub one of her shoulders and whispered back, “Butterfly.”

  Chapter Two

  October 2013

  Macie

  I remember seeing him standing in the kitchen talking to my brother. He was like nothing I’d ever seen before, “so handsome,” as Mom would say. His cheeks were just a bit rosy, like he’d been running; my brother’s didn’t do that. Then he laughed at some stupid joke my brother told him and it made me feel so funny inside. I didn’t want to move from where I was standing in the doorway to the dining room, just staring at that handsome boy, and then he turned to me, his smile big and bright. I stopped breathing. I knew I wasn’t supposed to stare. Mom had been telling me not to do that forever, but I really couldn’t help it. He stopped laughing and looked at me, but he kept smiling, and then he waved. That was the very moment I knew that I would love Greyden Michaels for the rest of my life.

  “Macie,” Ava says as she laughs and snaps her fingers in my direction from across the table.

  I pull myself from my deep thoughts and focus back to the present, the here and now, where I belong. Not the past, where I want to be, where I can no longer go.

  “Wow, honey, you really spaced on me there. You okay?” I offer her the smile she’s looking for and bob my head a couple times in reassurance.

  “Yes, of course! Sorry.” I give a breathy giggle as I reach for my wine glass and take that much needed drink, soothing my dry throat with the refreshing liquid. “Just got lost in thought there for a minute.” Smiling again, I take another bite of my salad and ask her to continue with her story about the guys and the mess they made trying to build Harper’s playhouse last night.

  Ava sighed an overly exaggerated sigh before continuing. “I wish you could’ve come over to help me. It was a freaking monumental disaster. You would think with all of that muscle between them they would have some skill in the construction department, but no. Luca is the only one who can work any of those tools better than I can, but do you think they would just let me show them how to do it? Oh, hell no. That wasn’t happening. Aside from the guys being too dickish to let a woman know more about tools than them, Declan about had a heart attack when I went to use the saw.” She sputters into laughter, covering her mouth with her napkin. “I seriously thought he was going to bust a blood vessel trying to get to me before I slid that piece of wood underneath the blade. I believe his words were, ‘Are you crazy? You’re going lose you’re fuckin’ hand!’ Seriously? My hand?” she explains as she waves her hand around erratically in front of her, the massive yellow diamond on her ring finger shining away, showing that it obviously didn’t happen while attracting the attention of several other guests sitting at nearby tables. Ava ducks her head in embarrassment after she realizes she just dropped the F-bomb in this upscale restaurant. She’s been around my brother and the guys way too much lately. “Oh shit. I really need to watch my mouth,” she whispered sheepishly, but shakes it off and continues in a more subdued tone. “So anyway, I went back inside and left them to do their own thing. About thirty minutes later, Grey’s dad came over,” my stomach clenches at the thought of Greyden, whom I haven’t spoken to in weeks, “and then about ten minutes after that, Luca’s dad showed up. Your dad was in surgery all night so he couldn’t come, but they finally got it all done. And I will admit that it’s perfect, even if the chauvinistic pigs wouldn’t let me help,” Ava mumbles into her wine glass, smiling around the rim and offering me a wink. She may sound like she’s complaining, but I know she couldn’t be happier with her life.

  I kinda sorta hate her for that. Just a little bit.

  “So you’re going out with Mitchell again tonight?”

  Ava has asked me about Mitchell everyday. When I went on my first date with him, I was excited and she’s my best friend, so of course I called her and acted like a giddy schoolgirl, needing confirmation on everything from my dress to my shoes and hair and even the shade of my lipstick. That first date was great. My mom actually set us up at my brother Declan’s wedding; she was incredibly excited when it went well. So was Ava. I don’t date a lot, so it was a big deal when I came home and said I’d be seeing him again. And when he starting courting me (when I say courting, I actually mean it, down to the old-fashioned definition, with chaperones and everything most of time), I thought my mom might set up an arranged marriage for us, or propose to him herself. It’s different for me, though. I don’t hate the idea. He’s an option for a future I’ve always planned on. I can’t just turn my back on that option because I’m not head over heels crazy in love with the guy. He’s gorgeous, responsible, respectable, has a perfect future lined up, and he’s looking at me.

  “Yes, he has a charity dinner for underprivileged children.” Placing my napkin on my plate, I finish off my wine and sit back in my chair, not quite ready to get back to work yet.

  “Oh, that sounds nice. I always wish they would host some of the kids there. You know, give them the chance to experience a dinner like that. Normal, or average— whatever—people won’t ever go to a dinner where they serve a $10,000 plate, let alone an underprivileged child.”

  “I don’t know if that’s ever been brought up or not. Mitchell’s mother is on the board, I’ll ask her about it tonight.” Mitchell’s mother no doubt will turn down the suggestion immediately, but I love the idea, so I’ll ask her about it on the off chance that I catch her in a legitimately charitable mood.

  “Great!” Ava declares and she starts collecting her things much quicker than I would have liked her to. “Then when you guys are finished with your dinner, come over to the house. We’re cooking out tonight, then having drinks. I want to meet this guy. I swear I don’t remember him being at the wedding.” She shakes her head in confusion, as if she’s trying to get her memories to come into focus and place a meeting with him. She stands, her sunglasses pushed up on top of her pretty blonde head and her purse hanging from her forearm, keys in hand, staring at me. After a minute of me not moving, Ava laughs and then sits back down. “So are we not ready yet, then?”

  ***

  The low music beats slowly as the live band plays at the head of the room. Mitchell holds me respectably close as we sway together to the sounds of the pretty instrumental song. We’ve been here for hours. Two hours and thirty-seven minutes, actually, the last time I checked. We’ve eaten our $10,000 a plate dinner that actually tasted like it was worth more around 50 bucks. Don’t get me wrong, it was really good. And they actually fed us; they didn’t go for the pretty designs and dots of colored syrup over a shallot. Instead, we had a nice steak or chicken Marsala with several sides. It was delicious. I’m glad that they served a normal meal and not something rare and exotic. Less money spent on the preparation of the meal means more money donated to the kids. Win-win if you ask me.

  Mitchell has been groomed since birth to be a politician. That’s what he has been aiming for since before he even knew what the term meant. He and his parents, and now me, come to countless extremely expensive charity dinners. It gets Mitchell’s face and name out there in the community. Even though his father is the one paying for all of us to attend, it’s Mitchell that they shine the spotlight on all ni
ght long, as though it was his idea to donate, to attend. After the first dinner, where I realized how much it cost for me to join him and his family, I protested profusely at the next invitation, which happened to be the following weekend, but Mitchell and his parents were insistent that I join them. After the first couple charity dinners and then the cocktail parties his parents hosted at their lavish home, I quickly realized that although Mitchell may like me just fine, I was being used as a prop. I looked good on his resume, or rather, his arm. I can’t use the term arm candy, because I’m not a tall, willowy bimbo. I’m tiny and I’m intelligent, which in the world of politics is just perfect for a politician’s wife.

  In the quiet moments we rarely find ourselves in together, I like him. He’s kind and quite funny. I just don’t get to see that side of him often enough. He’s really busy and when’s he’s not, his parents are with us and then we’re talking politics or current events. Never in my life have I ever been so informed on what’s going on around me.

  “You look beautiful tonight, Macie,” Mitchell says softly near the side of my head as we dance slowly.

  I pull back, startled, looking up at him questioningly. The way his words glided out so sincerely caught me completely off guard. When he picks me up for our dates, he tells me I look nice—without fail, every time, he says I look nice.

  Mitchell cocks his head to the side, furrowing his eyebrows, causing his tanned forehead to wrinkle up a bit. “Have I not told you tonight that you look nice?” he asks, looking thoroughly confused.

  “Nice, yes. You always tell me I look nice. But you just said I look beautiful. It surprised me is all.” I step back into his embrace, remembering to maintain his safe distance in order not to offend anyone who may be keeping their eye on him.

  His right hand slides down to my lower back and pulls me closer while his left hand slides into my hair, leaving his palm to cup my lower jaw and his long, strong thumb to press firmly against my cheekbone. I can feel the tension radiating through his hand onto my face. Tilting my head back so he can look me in my eyes, he stops dancing and just stares for a few seconds. Then slowly, he lowers his head down and brushes his soft lips in a firm and sure manner over mine. It’s sweet and appropriate for where we are, but definitely the first time he’s ever gone beyond placing his hand on my lower back in the form of affection in his world of pre-campaigning.

  “I apologize, Macie,” he says smoothly. “You always look beautiful, not just nice. I should tell you that way more than I have, and for that I’m sorry. You are perfect in every way and I couldn’t be happier that you’re my girlfriend and that you put up with all of this for me.” He gestures at the room full of strangers. “Thank you. I promise to pay more attention to the things I say and don’t say to you. Can you forgive me?”

  This is a side of him I’ve been hoping was in there, but was beginning to doubt existed. He said so many lovely things just now, but I keep getting caught on one of them. I’m his girlfriend. We’ve never discussed it.

  “I’m your girlfriend?” I whisper, taking note that we’re still on the dance floor, but no longer dancing.

  Mitchell stands up straight and tall again, looking down at me, his handsome features taking on a horrified look. He grabs my hand tightly and pulls me forcefully through the crowd to our table, where his parents are sitting and enjoying cocktails with some city council members.

  “Oh, there you are, honey! I was beginning to wonder if something happened!” his mother exclaims in her haughty voice as she rises up from her seat to wrap an arm around him and pat his chest, clearly dismissing the fact that he has a death grip on my hand and doesn’t seem to be letting go in the presence of company. His father and the other gentlemen at the table nod their heads at our arrival but keep quiet.

  “We were just dancing, Mother, enjoying the band is all,” he explains with a gentle smile before stepping away from her and pulling me into his side.

  This was definitely a first. I always come second to his mother. I’m astonished by the change of events tonight and I just watch like a spectator at a sports event.

  “Macie and I are actually going to head out now, if that’s all right with all of you, of course.” He doesn’t speak this to his mother; he addresses the important councilmen at the table. Once he gets their nods of approval and their well wishes for the evening, he meets his father’s proud gaze.

  His father then stands and shakes his hand, telling us to have a good night. His mother kisses us both on the cheek then returns to her seat.

  Once inside his Model S Tesla, tucked snugly into the dark interior and cruising swiftly down the road in the silence, Mitchell finally addresses my much earlier question of our dating status. Well, sort of.

  “I really screwed this whole thing up, didn’t I?” He reaches over and gently grasps my hand that I have clutched inside the other on my lap.

  I don’t answer him because I’m not exactly sure what he’s referring to. I was just hoping he’ll choose to elaborate on his own. “Have you been dating other guys, Macie?” He doesn’t sound mad. Defeated, maybe, but not mad.

  “No.” My voice sounds small even in the close proximity of the car.

  Mitchell exhales softly and I can see his shoulders relax against his seat, the tension in his fingers dissipating and allowing him to loosen his grip on the steering wheel. He takes a quick glance over in my direction. “Do you hate me?”

  I laugh quietly and shake my head before turning in my seat to face him. “I definitely wouldn’t continue to sit through these dinners with your parents and men at least twice my age talking about nothing I want to talk about if I hated you, Mitch.”

  He groans loudly and throws his head back against his headrest, keeping his right hand on mine and his eyes on the road. “That sounds awful. I’m so sorry, Macie.” He releases my hand abruptly and pulls over to a turnout point. Without saying anything, he gets out and comes around to open my door. After helping me out, he places his coat around my shoulders and walks me over to the front of the car where we can see the bay just beyond.

  He chooses to stand in front of me, looking at me, not the water. Wrapping me up in his arms, I let his body heat warm me from the cool night air.

  “I was panicked when I heard that your brother was transferring to public school,” he blurts out.

  Huh? That came out of nowhere. I pull back and look at him, but he’s looking past me.

  “When we went to high school, I was waiting for you to start there too, so I could see you more. Then when I heard he was leaving, I figured that if he was going, you would go too, and if you went then I would only ever see you at functions our parents held and we never talked at those, with my parents always having me mingle with the adults and all.”

  This was years ago. I didn’t even know he noticed me back then.

  After taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, Mitch continues, gripping my hips tighter. “It was my plan to ask you to winter formal your freshmen year, but my parents had already arranged something for me. Then after that, it just seemed like something always got in the way. You went out of the country during the summers, my parents kept me busy as hell during the weekends…it just never worked out. When your mom made the suggestion of taking you out when I saw you at the wedding, it was really just letting me know that you weren’t dating anyone—I was going to ask anyway.” He brought his hazel gaze back to my own blue one and lowered his mouth onto mine.

  He’s been more affectionate in the last thirty minutes than he’s been the entire time we’ve been dating. This is what I’ve been holding out for, hoping this was a side he had to him. I know the future is there, but the present was lacking. Now it’s here.

  “Macie, you’re everything I’ve imagined for so long that you would be. You’re gorgeous and brilliant. You fit perfectly into my world and my parents accept you, which is a feat in itself.” His look changes to one of remorse. “I made a huge mistake by assuming that you already knew that I’ve bee
n crushing on you for half of my life and that I think the world of you. I won’t make that mistake again. I haven’t been dating anyone else either, and if you agree, I’d like for us to remain exclusive.”

  I nod my head, feeling content with his kind words. “I’d like that, Mitchell.” I offer him a warm smile, but he doesn’t return it, nor does he lean down and kiss me again. Mitchell slowly moves his hands up my body and grabs my shoulders gently, still watching me closely.

  Clearing his throat, he begins speaking more in his business tone than he had been during the last bout of conversation. “It’s very important that you still understand my position with my future, though, Macie. I have every intention of making you a part of that future, I always have. It may seem soon to you, but it has always been you by my side when I envisioned my life down the road. As you have already experienced, I’m extremely busy all of the time. For the next several years, our lives will revolve around me and what I need to do in order to secure a bright and successful future for us, for our family.” Snapping out of his speech and focusing on me for a moment, he actually looks a little worried. “Do you want to get married and have a family?”

  Well, at least he thought to ask. “Someday, yes, I do.”

  “Someday soon?” he asks, still looking worried. I imagine it wasn’t in his plans to have to worry about the wife having a say when all of his plans would take place.

  “I wouldn’t mind someday soon as long as we know that we can make a relationship work and last. I won’t jump into anything based on a notion.”

  This time he kisses me slowly, letting his tongue bathe the side of my own and I melt into him. He’s pulled me tight against his warm body again and even though I can feel the cool wind blow through my hair and brush against my face, Mitchell is warming me up from the inside out. I hold on tighter, needing to get as close as I can get, wanting, no—needing to know that the sparks will fly with us, that we match in all aspects of this relationship.