Be All

by Marie Wathen

  He grins bashfully, “I know.”

  She quickly kisses him and then they stare lovingly into each other’s eyes while holding hands, practically oblivious to the world around them. Clearly forgotten, I clear my throat hoping they’ll stop this nauseating display.

  She licks her lips nervously as she runs her hands over his chest, “Thank you babe. And you look simply delish in this suit.” Tristan pecks her cheek once more. With a big dumb grin plastered on his handsome face, he glances over her shoulder at me.

  “Wow Breenie Weenie, you look great.” I smile at his compliment even though he calls me a name. After fourteen years, he refuses to call me by my real name, but I won’t let him see how much it aggravates me when he slaps me with a new stupid nickname. I don’t think he does it maliciously; it’s more like a habit. Besides, I am not the only person he harasses this way.

  “Thanks Tristan. You look so handsome. No doubt you two will be the most beautiful couple at the party, perfect as always.”

  He shrugs his large shoulders at my compliment, jamming his hands into his pant pockets. “You know I owe you big time for agreeing to this double date. Morgan has been here for three weeks and I couldn’t get him to hangout once, and believe me I tried everything. I even suggested taking guns out to the range to do a little target practice. Five hundred rounds of major firepower to blow up shit is a great option for letting off some steam. But he blew me off for some reason and I haven’t seen him much.”

  Looking gloomy, he shrugs again and sighs. “Hey B, uh – if he is a little withdrawn tonight I hope you don’t take it personally. He's been busy with family stuff and sometimes..." His words trail off. He laughs then regards me for a moment. "Heck, who am I kidding? I’m sure it won’t matter to you either way.”

  He’s right. I don’t care if his cousin says one word to me or even looks in my direction at all. I actually prefer he doesn’t so that there are no awkward moments at an attempt to be social. I don’t need his attention, and I don’t want his friendship.

  Unfortunately for me, the party is in my date’s honor so I’m sure there will be plenty of talking and dancing, so intentionally neglecting him the entire evening would be rude.

  Ohgod, what have I agreed to?

  Huffing out my breath, I say, "Can we just go already?” Opening the door, Tristan allows us to exit. Before I get out the door, he flashes a suspicious smile my way.

  “Ya’ know little B, if you decide the evening is not a total waste and end up liking Morgan I could be persuaded to give you my seal of approval for a second date.” Retreating, he winks before pulling a giddy Anna toward the car.

  Groaning loudly, I cut my eyes, revealing that he’s just ruined the entire night for me. No pressure is the promise he made me last Monday when he first mentioned this damn dinner. He practically bribed, threatened, and finally just begged relentlessly until I couldn’t take it anymore and agreed, reluctantly, to one date. Since then, I was certain I could come up with a last minute excuse to get myself out of the date, but that didn’t happen and now here I am. Is he expecting me to actually like his cousin and date him again?

  Shit. Why do I feel like I have been betrayed?

  Stepping up to him and through gritted teeth I growl, “Tristan Walker.” Pointing a finger directly at his face, emphasizing my point dramatically, I say, “If you care about Morgan at all you better hope he doesn’t have expectations beyond tonight. I won’t agree again!”

  Laughing, he backpedals from his obvious mistake while chanting, ‘no pressure’ repeatedly. Now I just want to slap this man! He's so lucky Anna adores the hell out of him because by default I tolerate him. That’s how he managed to guilt me into going on this damn double date tonight with the perfect couple and his cousin.

  I'll just bet that the new guy in town is just beside himself with excitement as he waits for his date with the local freak. Poor bastard should be running away. Maybe he's just as pissed at Tristan as I am.

  Truthfully though, if Morgan is only here for a short time and doesn’t really date, I am probably the safest choice for him. I won’t commit to him and he doesn’t have to worry about me falling for him like some lovesick schoolgirl. Most likely he is too good for me. Even the bad boys are not deserving of a fucked up disaster like me.

  Tristan opens the back door to a sleek black limo, allowing me in, followed by Anna. Once inside, he closes the door, sealing me into the vessel that will take me to the stranger that is my date.

  According to Tristan, the plan is to meet Morgan at the castle. It is only a five-minute drive from here. There’s a small path in the woods behind my house that leads up the mountain to the castle, and I can walk it in about twenty minutes. I have made that trip about a thousand times. Julia demands that the terrain is too dangerous and forbids me from going, but there’s something about being there that makes me feel serene, which is a huge feat in my world.

  Sitting silently in the car, my phone chirps inside my purse. It’s strange that I’m getting a text now because the only people who ever text are in the same vehicle with me, well except for Julia, who is at a late night business meeting. Curious about who it could be, I pull it from the inside compartment and scroll through to my text messages. There are three messages from an unknown caller.

  UNKNOWN CALLER: MARINER 65 VIKING 74

  UNKNOWN CALLER: (J.B Andrews – Hawkins, Sal Red 220p.)

  UNKNOWN CALLER: MORE L8R

  A game score – maybe? I don’t know it’s just strange. Who would send me a game score and why? This is obviously a wrong number. I delete it then drop the phone back into my purse, quickly forgetting it as the looming mountain that houses the castle distracts me.

  The Renaissance castle on Willow Island is every bit regal, as you would expect. Built in the 18th century, the structure is stone and wood. The building includes two large towers on either side, an underground dungeon, and a keep rests beside the main house. A mote is the only aspect it lacks from the classic storybook castles. However, it does carry with it a magical and intriguing history typical of fairytales. Imperially perched overlooking the gulf along the edge of Castle Mountain, the infamous Scottish royal estate house is rumored to harbor stories of first love chance meetings, sorted affair rendezvous, and more than once has been the chosen location for tragic endings.

  None of the stories scare me away from a lifelong desire to glimpse inside. As many times as I’ve visited the castle grounds, not once have I entered and yet it’s the one beautiful thing in this messed up world of mine.

  Tourists bombard the island during peak vacation season for tours of the majestic beast and to stay in one of the twenty suites fulfilling the hardcore romantics dream. Willow Island is a small barrier island located in the Gulf of Mexico and is a township of Alabama. The island runs near the panhandle of Florida, just south of the Alabama/Florida state line. Access is open at several public dockings along the waterfronts located in various points throughout the island. Supposedly, the castle has a private port that includes a secret underground passage.

  Pink sunsets, turquoise waters, and crystal white sand makes it one of the most beautiful places in creation. With my extensive travels, I have seen some breathtaking cities and islands, but nothing compares to my hometown. Through the trees I can catch glimpses of the moonlight shimmering off the ocean, allowing me to absorb every spectacular detail. The scenery we pass is captivating and while we ascend the mountain, so does my excitement.

  Honestly, the castle is the only reason why I agreed to this blind date; something I would never tell them. It’s my secret and I can’t wait to be inside the one place I have literally dreamed of every night since I was a kid. I have watched so many spectacular sunsets from the edge of the castle's property. So many in fact that if I am late coming home, Julia sends someone from her staff there to search the grounds for me. She works with the town’s historical committee, as well as for a private board of trustees maintaining and managing the castle. For some
vague reason, she does not want me going near it. However, I can’t help myself; I’m seduced by its magnetism, like a magnet to steel, the more I try to stay away, the harder it becomes. And honestly, I don’t want to stay away. It sounds weird, but I feel like the castle is part of me; almost like home, always awaiting my return.

  My nerves begin to buzz and a scorching sensation replaces my blood. A fire builds in my stomach, causing strange vibes to radiate out and hiss all over my body. As we arrive, I try to shrug it off before it embarrasses me.

  Snapping me from my daydreams, Anna gasps, “It’s spectacular.” I nod, agreeing that it is the most spectacular sight.

  There are dozens of other couples arriving with what appears to be equal excitement. Perhaps they are anticipating an enchanted night inside the notorious structure. I’m nearly the last person from our little town to journey inside the castle.

  Stopping in the circular driveway, our car parks at the entrance and as we exit I can sense the energy pulsating from Tristan and Anna. Both have genuine smiles on their faces, alerting me that they are excited for me, not because of the date but because going to the castle has always been a dream of mine. They are aware of my feelings and never once judged me.

  “Breesan, breathe!” Anna giggles. Gripping my hand, she drags me out of the car while her words pull me out of my trance.

  Releasing a loud breath, I return her smile. “Thanks, I – I’m fine.” Shaking the nervousness off, I laugh with her excitedly.

  She pulls me alongside her, entwines her arm through mine, and whispers close to my ear, “I am so glad you’re here. We are going to have a great night.”

  We enter the castle, passing through an enormous set of dark mahogany wooden double doors that opens into a grand foyer that is warm even though the stone floor radiates coolness from the night temperatures. Steel shade mosaic tiles are the chosen floor covering paired seductively with deep, rich red drapes trimmed with black braided piping that hang from the fourteen feet ceiling dramatically. Located in the center of the room is an imposing staircase that is accentuated with intricately scrolled metal and wooden railings. It rises up in an arch from the left, bowing in and leading up to the right. Just beyond the staircase lies a short hallway that leads to an open circular ballroom; it is the largest of three.

  Allowing me a slow walk around the front reception, Tristan and Anna stand off to the side while I take in every detail. It’s more beautiful than in my dreams. Feeling guilty for taking so long, I nod to our escort, who indicates that he is ready to seat us. He escorts us quickly toward a large dining area that sits just off the main ballroom. It is a spectacular room with large crystal chandeliers that give the whole room an ambient glow. Oversized ornamental pillar candles burn in glass and bronze basins. Placed around the room, they illuminate intimate areas on the tables, as well as along the dancing area.

  The deep rich colorings from the foyer continue matching the table coverings, creating a dark but sexy atmosphere. The dining room is on the far corner of the castle. Large picture windows cover two walls, allowing the moonlight to shine brightly through, and two sets of French doors open to a balcony that overlooks the raging ocean beyond the cliff. Unobtrusive music plays in the background of many boisterous conversations.

  We arrive before Morgan, which is a relief to me. There’s nothing more embarrassing than having a stranger watch you while you ogle the surroundings, only to stumble into the usher who abruptly stops walking. Just like what happens to me. Dammit.

  With combined ‘oomph’s’, our usher rights himself and me, and then signals with his outstretched hand toward our table. Of course it is front and center of the dining area, leaving me to feel like we are on display. Great!

  The usher briefly regards me, “My apologies Miss. I do hope you are uninjured.” Blushing, I laugh nervously and am brought back to reality upon hearing Anna’s loud laughter.

  “She’s fine, but I think she may be under the castle’s spell.” With a grimace on his face, he retreats quickly.

  Pulling out Anna’s chair, allowing her to sit first, Tristan then repeats the gesture for me before taking his own seat. Leaning into the crook of Anna’s neck, he steals a quick, but sensual kiss. The chair between Tristan and me remains empty awaiting Morgan’s arrival. With a mischievous grin and a clap of his hands, Tristan looks gleefully at me.

  “So here we are ladies. I know that Morgan wanted to meet you in the lobby to escort you to our table, Beanie. I can’t imagine what’s keeping him." Rolling my eyes, I sigh at the newest dumb nickname.

  Picking up a glass of water that sits on the table in front of him, his demeanor shift before taking a sip, and softly he mumbles, "Not a good start cousin.”

  “It is fine, Tristan. I really don’t care,” I say honestly.

  We sit at our table, quietly taking in our surroundings for a few minutes, until increasing voices coming from the back of the ballroom draw our attention. Turning my head slightly, I look over my shoulder and observe a small group.

  Among the group are two very beautiful women. The first is older than me by a few years, dressed elegantly in a yellow ball gown and silver heels. Her olive skin tone and dark curls, hanging down just past her shoulders, are accentuated by her dress color perfectly.

  The other woman is much younger; she looks to be about sixteen. I’m strictly basing my judgment of her age on her attire. The dress is a stiff black leather and lace corset gown that stops high above her knees. Her black stilettos have spikes sticking out all over the heels. She is a sexy blond and her pixie cut is gelled to stick out in every direction.

  The three men in the group are all styled like they stepped out of a model magazine, wearing tailored suits and expensive shoes. Two of the men have a hard edgy look that includes very noticeable tattoos decorating their exposed skin along their necklines, crawling into their hairline. The both have similar features: brown hair tinted with red and a fair complexion. The other man, the most handsome of the three, has a much darker complexion and wavy brown hair. They are all divine.

  One of the men holds the arm of the brunette and it seems, by the way they are touching seductively, that they are a couple. The younger woman clearly has her attention focused on the more handsome man of the group. Leaning in, he whispers something in her ear. The blonde rewards him with a dazzling smile, clearly pleased by whatever he shares.

  Sliding my eyes leisurely over his nearly perfect body, I absorb every detail of him. Making an awkward sound deep in his throat, Tristan startles me. I jerk my head back to him.

  Gesturing with his chin in an upward motion to the group, he says, “There’s Morgan now.”

  Turning again, I see the group disbursing. The incredibly sexy man I was appreciating moments before continues toward our table and nervousness begins to flutter in my belly. Rising out of his seat, Tristan extends his hand in greeting, which the man accepts enthusiastically.

  Shit that’s Morgan.

  Like a Greek god, Morgan is perfection. He is tall, nearly two inches over Tristan’s six feet, and his lean frame is like that of a swimmers body. His tailored black suit and white button down shirt appears to be fitting snugly in all the right places. Approaching, a smile breaks across his face and appears genuine. I tell myself that I’m just being considerate by giving him my attention, but truthfully, he is mesmerizing and can’t help myself.

  “Morgan, I thought you were meeting us in the lobby. What kept you?” Tristan growls while staring disapprovingly at him.

  “Don’t be mad Tristan. It’s all good.” Morgan grins jovially.

  Dropping Tristan’s hand, he follows it by punching him on the arm playfully. Moving past Tristan to a beaming Anna, who springs from her seat, he leans down placing a light kiss on her cheek.

  “You forgive me, don’t you gorgeous,” he states rather than asks. Biting the side of her bottom lip, she nods then looks to Tristan who is frowning with his arms crossing his chest. He’s pissed.

  Finall
y rotating around toward me, his dark green eyes meet my grays. With a spark of light and fire, he reaches for my hand. Lifting it slowly, Morgan never takes his eyes off mine. His lips part slightly, allowing a warm breath to graze over my knuckles, and an unintentional murmur escapes his throat.

  The sound startles me and I jump. Tightening his grip when I attempt to pull it away, he presses a kiss lightly to my now shaking hand. I stare at his lips for too long, but I can’t help myself. His lips are full and shaped perfectly. Morgan is gorgeous and hot. He clears his throat and my gaze jumps back to his gleaming eyes. Catching me gawking, he smiles proudly.

  Offering introductions, Tristan gestures with his hand between us. “Morgan this is Breesan, Breesan my cousin Morgan.” Pulling out Anna’s seat, he suggests she sit again. I watch Morgan take several breaths, as if to calm down before he speaks. Oddly, he suddenly appears nervous.

  “Good evening Breesan. I am sorry for not meeting and escorting you. I really hope you’re not too upset with my unavoidable delay. I’m grateful that you agreed to be my date. And may I be so bold to say you are lovely.” His eyes travel the full length of my body, halting on my breasts, causing a heat to flourish on my cheeks.

  Shaking his head he reluctantly releases my hand, only long enough to push in my chair. He retrieves it after taking his seat. His behavior and demeanor couldn’t be further from what I was expecting after Anna and Tristan’s descriptions. I’ve clearly been conned. I shoot a questioning look at Anna who smiles shyly at me, aware that I’ve caught on to her trickery.

  Except for the one moment of nervousness, he appears comfortable and completely at ease. For someone described as a recluse and claims to never have been on a date before tonight, Morgan is charming.

  Captivated by his thumb moving in a circular motion over my wrist, I realize I haven’t acknowledged him. I deliberately withdraw from my stupor and manage to recoil my hand into my lap, while giving him a ‘that will be enough of that business’ smirk. He flashes a stupid, sexy smile that he knows makes every female melt at his feet, all but me. He is unbelievably attractive, but I won’t be taken by his bad boy charms.