by M. D. Waters
I won’t let him force Hannah into a marriage at all.
JULY
Declan
Abel Gaines lifts a glass of champagne from the end of a long table bedecked in white, yellow, and gold flower arrangements. “To my son and his new wife. May you be blessed with children and lifelong happiness.”
Agreement rings out from upward of thirty guests, gold-rimmed glasses raised and clinking. We all sit in padded teak chairs in varying shades of brown, from light to dark. Gilded net overlays a white tablecloth, and bronze rims the flatware. The tent shielding us from the sun has pale yellow, camel, and umber material draped and gathered overhead at angles. Candlelight flickers inside glass votives despite the two o’clock hour.
My best friend, Mitch, smiles in a tight-lipped way at his new wife, Ella, reminding me how uncomfortable he is with attention. It’s part of the reason why I’m surprised to be here at all. The other part is because I’d assumed he’d wait. But Abel had been putting a lot of pressure on him to get married. Probably more than I realized. I understood parental pressure and expectation better than anyone.
After lunch, guests filter into the large backyard. More drapes shade sitting areas and a small dance floor to one side of a glittering pool. A band plays from a stage, accompanying a singer swaying his hips to the beat.
I stand in the back with an import beer in a chilled glass, debating whether or not I can slip out within the next ten minutes. It’s a Saturday, and technically my day off, but Jacob’s been working long hours to make me look like a complete failure. He takes advantage of every opportunity.
“Over-the-top,” Mitch says, appearing beside me. He sips from an identical beer. Froth residue layers the inside of his glass. “Dad’s idea.”
“It’s a big deal,” I tell him, though I have to agree.
He grins at me. A breeze whips the longish dark strands off his forehead. “You won’t be saying that when your time comes. I’m guessing Andrew will have you married off in the next month?”
I shrug. “Even if that were the case, I doubt Dad will make a spectacle of it.” I puff out my chest in preparation for my best Andrew Burke impression. “It’s a business arrangement.”
Mitch and I tap our glasses, laughing. He sighs and grins toward a table where his father and new wife sit. She’s smiling at her father-in-law, but like Mitch, she’s forcing her outward appearance.
“She’s pretty,” he says before tipping the remains of his beer into his mouth.
I follow his gaze. Ella is more than pretty, in my opinion. Her dark hair cascades down her back in long, natural curls. Her almond-shaped eyes have a large, expressive quality about them.
“We, uh . . .” He trails off and clears his throat. His cheeks redden and his gaze falls to the ground, where he toes the lawn.
I laugh. “You what?”
“She came to my room last night.”
My eyebrows rocket toward my hairline. “Really?”
He glances at me from the corner of his eyes. “We didn’t sleep together, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“You didn’t really leave room for another impression, man.”
A nervous chuckle slips past his lips. “We talked. And talked. And talked.” He shakes his head, eyebrows raised and eyes wide. “She’s really . . . normal. I didn’t expect that.”
“You like her.” I hadn’t meant to sound so surprised, but it’s already out there.
He nods and squints past the sun to watch her again. This time, she meets his eyes and the smile she’d had glued lengthens and warms. “I think I do,” he whispers.
Whatever passes between them is visceral enough to jolt a pang of jealousy out of me. I want a girl to look at me that way, but I never believed it was possible to find actual love in a marriage. I have no doubt love is exactly what I’m witnessing. My best friend might actually be one of the lucky ones.
“Then I’m honestly happy for you,” I tell him.
Mitch looks at me with serious eyes. “You don’t know what it means to me to hear you say that.” He glances down and away. “You’re the only one who gets it, Declan. The only one I can talk to.”
He doesn’t know this, but I feel the same way. I laugh to break the somber mood. “All right,” I say and swivel away. “No more serious talk. You should go dance with your new wife. I have to get to the office.”
“No, man, really?”
I nod and set my beer on a nearby table. “I have a legacy to protect and little time to do it in.”
He scowls. “I still can’t believe your dad’s doing this to you.”
“I can. It’s Jacob I can’t believe. He didn’t flinch about rolling over me to get to my inheritance.”
“I never trusted that guy. It’s the ones with nothing you have to watch out for, you know? And he’s always been quietly jealous of the rest of us.”
“Well, it’s done. All I can do is fight back.”
“You’ll make it out of this, man. I know you will. I’d be jealous of your impending world travels, but . . .” He trails off and looks back at Ella.
“But you don’t have a reason to. I know.” I stretch a hand out and his claps right into mine. “Call when you get back from Thailand. I want to hear all the details.” I pause. “And thanks.”
His grin turns crooked. “For what?”
“For understanding. For being a true friend.” For not laughing at my dream, I don’t add.
“Screw that, Declan. We’re brothers.”
• • •
Mitch’s proclamation makes me feel good for the first time in weeks. It’s hard to remember I’m not alone when I’m forced to deal with Jacob on a daily basis. When I’m forced to perform under my father’s watchful eye. There’s never a moment to reflect on the larger picture.
The glass doors open silently to the executive offices. I turn left toward the room Jacob and I share, but I look right and find Dad’s door open. His bellowing laugh rolls into the quiet space like a consuming fog, followed almost immediately by the pitched, seesawing laugh belonging to Jacob.
What the fucking hell is Jacob up to now? My heart pumps at a significantly faster pace than my feet, and my jaw cramps from clenching.
I don’t bother knocking to announce myself. Not that they would hear me over their laughter. They’re lounging on the love seat in the sitting room, tumbler glasses in hand. A half-empty bottle of bourbon sits uncapped on the coffee table. Who knows how long they’ve been at it, but the red, blotchy tint to their skin tells me long enough to have a good buzz, at the very least.
My presence soaks up the merriment in the room at a delayed pace, a tale told by the trailing, interrupted bursts of remaining laughter.
Dad sits forward quick enough to make his drink slosh over the rim and puddle on the carpet. “Declan. How was the Gaineses’ reception?”
“Floral.” I level my gaze on Jacob. “Mitch asked about you.”
Dad sobers and turns to look at his protégé. “You didn’t tell me you were invited.”
Jacob tilts me a grin and glances furtively at Dad. “Didn’t think he’d miss me.”
“Your absence sort of stood out when every single friend of his showed up to support the marriage. But I guess you have your priorities, don’t you?” I lift my hands to my hips and turn my attention on my father. “Forging and cultivating close relationships. Isn’t that what you’ve taught me is one of the key elements to success?”
Let Jacob try escaping this avalanche with his typical lobbing of snowballs.
Jacob sets his drink aside and says to my father, “I only meant to relieve any undue stress on Mitch’s important day. He’s never liked me very much, but I hope to change that in the future.”
My disbelief announces itself in the form of a short burst of laughter. It wasn’t even until recently that any of us have seen J
acob for who he really is: a master manipulator. In fact, I probably wouldn’t even be in this mess if I’d never spoken to Dad about him. I never expected Dad would find a sliver of empathy large enough to extend this sort of gold nugget to Jacob or anyone else.
I sneer. “You’re so full of shit, Donnelly.”
Dad rises and holds up a hand. His eyes narrow very slightly. “Let it go, boy. It’s fine. Sit. Have a drink with us and relax.”
I shift my weight and start out of the room. “No, thanks.”
Jacob follows me as far as the teleporters in the hallway. “Come on, Dec. One drink.”
I spin around and get in his face. “I see what you’re doing.”
He holds my gaze for a long time before saying, “No idea what you mean.”
I nod and stand back, throwing up a smile so large his flinches. “Mm-hm. Sure. Just watch your back, Donnelly. I am my father’s son.”
Jacob watches wordlessly as I get into the teleporter and disappear. I’m so damn pissed by the time I reach the lobby exit that I don’t even want to go home. I want nothing to do with my father. He feels like more of a traitor than a parent right now. I could return to the reception, but Mitch and Ella are scheduled to leave for their honeymoon in an hour, so there’s no use.
Giovanni’s is a short walk downtown and has been like a second home to me for almost a year, the only place where I’ve been able to center my focus. Not this last month, though, thanks to my predicament.
The restaurant is quiet when I enter, and the host, an older man named Tony, smiles at me. “Declan. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I know,” I say, yanking my tie loose and stuffing it in my pocket. “Giò around?”
“In the back. You know the way.”
The quiet dining room gives way to a kitchen bustling with banging pots and beeping timers. I wave at Alessandro, the sauté chef prepping for dinner, and he nods with a smile while singing along to an operatic tune playing through an overhead speaker. He’d once had a career at a famous opera house in Venice before finally giving in to the passion that now calls to me. He’s the one who helped me plan my coming year abroad.
I pass two more rows of stainless tables before finding Giò rolling tagliatelle out of pasta spread on a large cutting board. He grins. “Didn’t think I’d see you for a while. Come to gloat about your new corporate life?”
“Just the opposite. Need a hand with the dinner rush?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Grab an apron.”
• • •
Mitch twirls his freshly tanned wife on the dance floor under the glow of the ballroom chandeliers. Their smiles practically have stars attached. Mitch hasn’t had a chance to give me the details of his honeymoon yet, but it’s obvious the two weeks away have pushed the couple toward a state of bliss nobody expected. They’re the talk of the ball, a yearly event Burke Enterprises puts on to say thank you to clients and close friends.
My father dances with a young woman he hired from an escort service, and he actually looks to be enjoying her company. I’m glad he feels comfortable. It means he has faith in my ability to run the details of the event without his aid.
Much to Jacob’s disdain.
The look on his face was priceless when I told Dad I’d proactively met with the planner and would be taking over. Along with all the other duties my father has me performing, I made decisions that ranged from what string quartet to hire down to what antipasti to serve with what brand of champagne. I handpicked linens and flowers and flatware. By the time Jacob tried nosing his way in to “help,” he discovered there was nothing left to do but watch me succeed.
Other than two cases of glassware arriving in shattered pieces, the event runs smoothly. I haven’t had much time to enjoy it myself, but I’m damn proud of what I’ve accomplished.
With everything under control for the moment, I begin making my way around the room to check on our guests. I’ve been doing this with Dad since I was old enough to walk, learning by example what it takes to host the annual affair. I know most of the guests by name, and when I meet those I don’t, I stamp their identities into my memory the way I’ve been taught.
I’m speaking to a couple who have been close to my father for years when Jacob catches my attention. He’s elbowing his way past guests, dragging a wide-eyed date behind him. Something about the way her gaze darts around as if seeking help pulls at me, and an immediate instinct to follow becomes my first priority.
“Mr. and Mrs. Thomas, please excuse me,” I say, too focused on Jacob and the girl to give the couple a parting smile.
I smile at everyone I pass, shaking hands and kissing cheeks, trying to appear calm and at ease, while my heart seems prepared to jump through my rib cage. That fool is going to make a scene. I know it. Maybe I should let him; it would piss Dad off so much he’d probably put this game to an end. But my family’s name is attached to this event, and I can’t have Jacob defacing it, no matter how much I need him to fail.
I take the stairs down into the lobby of Burke Enterprises. Chatter and music and laughter become muffled the farther from the party I get. And the closer I get to Jacob, the more distressed I am by new sounds: a whimper, a plea, a barked order to be quiet.
Security guards look up from the semicircular desk as I stop in front of them, resting my hands on the marble top. “Where is he?”
They don’t hesitate to respond, knowing exactly whom I mean, and point to a room reserved for personal belongings the guests may have stowed away temporarily.
I don’t bother pretending my agitation now, and I dart right over and into the room. I’m momentarily blinded by the brighter lights inside and first make out a row of purses and briefcases. Under a table, several more items lay strewn as if tossed in a haphazard manner, and I don’t doubt it. Jacob has the girl bent over the top, wrists pinned to the center, and her dress hiked up.
“Get off her,” I order. “Now.”
I can’t believe the fucking nerve of this asshole. Not that the girls hired to attend events haven’t accepted money for sex, but it isn’t in their job description to be anything more than arm candy. I have no doubt this girl in particular has said no to Jacob’s sexual advance.
Jacob straightens, zipping and belting back up. One side of his shirt pokes up and out of his pants. Clumps of red curls have broken free of his concrete hair gel. “What the hell, Dec?”
“Don’t call me that, and get the hell away from the girl.”
She accepts my hand, allowing me to pull her to safety. A sheer coating of tears shines on her cheeks, and I know I made the right call. He would have raped her had I not come after him.
I wrap my jacket over her shoulders and smile. “Wait outside behind the security station. I’ll just be a minute; then I’ll escort you home.”
Her smile has a tentative twitch as her eyes move past me to Jacob. A long wave of blond hair has come free of her French twist. “Thank you,” she says, and leaves.
Jacob’s smile is wide and friendly and unafraid. His arms fly out, lifted with a shrug. “Come on, Dec. Don’t be like that. You know how it—”
I shut him up with a fist to the jaw that shoots pain through my knuckles and up past my wrist. He doubles over, and while he stares at the floor, I shake my hand out, wincing. I don’t care about the pain, though. It was worth every throbbing knuckle, and I’d do it again.
Jacob looks up, hand cupping his jaw. Blood leaks from his lower lip. His eyes narrow in a confused way, as if he can’t believe I hit him, or doesn’t understand why. This reaction only stirs the heat raging in my chest. I take him by the neck and thrust him against a wall. His head knocks hard and he grunts, then grips my forearm.
“Listen to me very carefully,” I tell him through clenched teeth. “If you value your future at all, you won’t let me catch you pulling this shit again. You aren’t just break
ing the law or taking advantage of a powerless girl, but you’re fucking with my family’s name. And that I won’t allow.”
Noah
Visiting day.
WTC guards patrol the perimeter wall, plasma pulse rifles angled down across chests padded with protective gear. HK pistols hang from thigh holsters, and black batons swing from loops.
Hannah sits alone at a table surrounded by more tables among a copse of trees meant to shade everyone from the noonday sun. Her long black waves catch on the wind and blow off her slim neck. A few strands stick to her forehead, damp with summer sweat.
I pause some distance away to study her. She leans on the table, running hands through her hair. She’s wearing a clean, pressed pant and shirt set that almost swallows her. Gray linen. Five black numbers stamped to a breast pocket. She’s lost weight since I last saw her.
My stillness must catch her attention, because she glances over and smiles. A dimple deepens in her left cheek and her eyes shine. She stands to hug me. “Hey, you.”
I kiss her cheek and inhale the sharp scent of eucalyptus and mint. “Hey, bugaboo.”
She reaches up and scratches both sides of my jaw with the stubs of short fingernails. “You need to shave. I itch just looking at you,” she says and laughs. Dark skin rings the underside of her pale blue eyes, stealing the brunt of glee she displays.
“You don’t like it?”
She scrunches her nose. “You have such a beautiful face.”
I grin. “‘Beautiful’ isn’t exactly the look I’m going for.”
She smiles back, her gaze steadily holding mine. “You just missed Aaron. He looks tired.”
“He studies hard,” I say of her older, full brother. “Wants to please Dad.”
Her eyes drop at the mention of our only mutual parent. “How are you? How’s Gabe? I haven’t seen him in a couple months.”
“Gabe is Gabe, and I’m doing all right. Dad sends his love.”
Her mouth slants downward on one side. “No, he doesn’t.” She shrugs. “It’s okay that he doesn’t.”