by Stasia Black
So stop with the bitching, Sarah.
I just have to whisper that to myself about fifty-three more times and voila, the ceremony’s over. Look at that. The power of positive thinking.
Glass half full. That’s totally going to be my outlook from now on. And if all else fails, maybe next semester I’ll be able to afford the dorms?
***
Three hours later, my teeth are aching from all the forced smiling, my head is spinning, my feet are killing me in these heels, and repeating my internal mantra about glass half full is losing its effect.
Worst of all?
Somebody spiked the punch.
At a wedding.
How juvenile is that?
I specifically talked to the caterer about having non-alcoholic punch for the, I don’t know, eight people at this wedding of three hundred who were interested in having a nice beverage not chock-full of vodka or Mom’s second best friend, Jack Daniels.
“Embrace the things you cannot control,” I whisper, grabbing onto the wall. Because inspirational sayings always help when you’re seeing double and your stomach feels like it’s about to leap into your throat, right?
“Hey sis,” a voice says and then Mr. Winters is suddenly in front of me. I frown. He looks wrong.
I squint. “Your face isn’t right. Too smooth.” I reach up and touch his head. “And your hair’s long.”
He laughs. “It’s Dominick, not Paul.”
“Paul?”
“Whoa.” He pulls back from me. “Somebody has been sampling the punch. Hello vodka.”
“No!” I grab his arm in alarm. “I don’t drink.” I shake my head vehemently. “Never. It’s evil. Evil stuff. Never. Never ever ever.”
“Okay. Got it. Whoa, careful there!” He grabs me by the waist when I topple forward. I was shaking my head so hard I lost my balance.
“Oh. Sorry.” I put my hands against his chest as I right myself and stand up straight again.
“It’s okay.” He moves his grip from my waist to my shoulders now that I’m steadier. “I’m here to get you for the Father-Daughter Dance. Do you think you’re up for that or do you just want to turn in? I can take you back to the house now if you want.”
I stare up at him. The ballroom is dark, lit only by lanterns and twinkly lights overhead. Everything is so nice and swirly. “You’re really pretty,” I confess, reaching up to touch his smooth cheek. No shadow of a beard there. “And sweet. I’m sorry I thought you were a douchebag.”
His bark of laughter is so loud it makes me jump. But it’s a nice sound too. “Good to know. Here, let’s get you to Dad.”
I nod and sink against him as he puts a hand to my back and leads me across the ballroom floor.
His father is standing by the bar chatting with the bartender as we approach. I freeze up just seeing him.
“Wait.” My feet scrabble against the floor as I resist Dominick’s forward motion. He finally stops too. I look up into his face, so like his father’s, but not at the same time.
“He intim— inmimi—” I break off in frustration. My tongue’s not working right. “’Milimat—” I open my mouth and stretch my tongue to try to make it work better.
“Intimidates you?” Dominick supplies.
“Yes! That.” I point at him and nod. “Exactly.”
“Don’t worry,” Dominick starts moving us toward his father again. “He won’t bite.” Then he leans in and whispers, “Unless you ask him to.”
I whip my head around. “What?”
But we’re already to Mr. Winters.
“Sarah, so good to see you finally.” Mr. Winters takes my hand as Dominick delivers it over to him. I look back but Dominick almost immediately disappears into the crowd. My mouth dries at his quick exit.
I’m all alone. With Mr. Winters. Paul. His first name pings like a bell through my head.
Though of course we’re far from alone. There are three hundred of Mr. Winters’s, my mother’s, and Grandfather’s closest friends and associates all around us.
So why do I feel like Mr. Winters is looking at me like I’m the only woman in the room?
Um, girlish fantasies, an overactive imagination, and unresolved daddy issues much?
I groan internally even as I paste on a smile and pull my hand back.
“Where’s Mom?” I look around.
“I’m not sure.” Mr. Winters doesn’t take his eyes off me to search the crowd for Mom, though. His focus stays zeroed in on me. “Around somewhere I’m sure. She was excited about this event. She seemed quite motivated to make it the largest to-do of the social calendar this season.” Then he leans in, his eyebrows furrowed in understanding, “Though she may have gotten overwhelmed by it and be stalled out drunk in one of the side rooms somewhere.”
His words startle me. I don’t get the feeling he says it maliciously. Merely that he’s sharing a fact he knows I understand well.
“So…why?” I abandon all attempts at social niceties. I drop the sweet smile and take up last night’s query. “Why did you do all this? Why marry her?”
The intimidation I felt last night and even moments before is absent. Liquid courage, that’s what they call it, right? I hate the lack of control I have over my faculties right now, hate that I imbibed alcohol when I swore on my life I’d never touch a drop of the stuff because of what it’s done to Mom—but hey, embrace every path life takes you on, right?
And I really want an answer to this question.
Mr. Winters just reaches out and takes my hand. A zing runs through me from the tips of my fingers and all throughout my body. It’s the first time we’ve ever touched. My eyes shoot up to his.
They’re so green. Bright. Fathomless.
Then he nods beyond me. “It’s important to your grandfather that you and I get along.”
I look behind me and see Grandpa watching the two of us. He nods to me, then to Mr. Winters.
“Time for the Father-Daughter Dance,” Mr. Winters says.
I blink, confused even as my hand tingles at the continued contact of his hand on mine as he draws me out through the dancing couples to the middle of the dance floor.
Was that an answer to my question?
Did he marry Mom because of Grandpa? Because even though Mom’s broke and a disgrace, Grandpa still has power, influence, and prestige? He even has influence among several important lobbies in Washington, from what I understand.
I coudn’t care less about politics. I mean, I care as much as the normal concerned citizen. You know, I watch the news and my Facebook feed and am generally as disgusted with the whole process as everyone else. I don’t know and I don’t want to know the specifics of what Grandpa does.
I look back at Grandpa before we’re swallowed up in the couples on the dance floor.
“Don’t worry about that,” Mr. Winters says. “Just dance with me.”
This seems like a good idea, especially since as he puts a hand on my waist, lifts my right hand in the air, and we start swaying back and forth, the world starts spinning topsy-turvy again. I grab hold of his lapel at first to try to calm my seesawing stomach before he shakes his head with a gentle laugh. “Sarah, have you ever danced with a man before?”
I’m about to respond that, ‘Of course I have.’ But then I realize that no, the only time I ever danced with anyone like this was at my high school prom. And Jason was most definitely a boy and not a man. He was my first and only real boyfriend—and believe me, one was enough to put me off them for the rest of high school. They spiked the punch at prom too but at least then I knew to be on the lookout for it and only drank from a bottled water I’d brought with me. Jason proceeded to get sloshed and I spent the night pushing off his handsy, drunken advances.
Such fun.
“No, I haven’t.” I shake my head.
“Good.” Mr. Winters grins at me and for a second he looks more wolf than Viking god.
I blink. What does that mean? This man is my Mom’s new husband. We’re danc
ing a father-daughter dance. What is going on? I’m so confused. The world is so spinny.
Mr. Winters takes my other hand and places it on his broad shoulder. I stumble, which causes me to lean in to his chest.
He smells sooooooooo good. The cool, crisp smell of his cologne mixed with him and God, his chest just radiates heat.
My head feels heavy, so I lay it down. The material of his tuxedo is soft against my cheek.
He laughs and I feel the deep rumble of it through his chest. And his heartbeat. It’s so strong and steady. I like that.
And he’s warm. Did I mention that? He’s really warm.
I yawn. The music feels like it’s coming through water, a background noise to his heartbeat drumming out. Percussion. Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump—
Back and forth swaying.
“I think it’s time for Cinderella to get to sleep.” I hear the rumbled whisper like I’m in a dream. It’s such a nice dream.
Until the sourness in my stomach twists and turns in on itself.
I grab at my middle with both hands. “I don’t feel so good.”
“Aha,” Mr. Winters says, one hand still on my waist. “That definitely means an end to the ball.”
I blink and look around me, rousing out of my foggy state. Oh God, I feel miserable and I’m in a room of veritable strangers. None of these people are my friends.
The ugly truth?
I don’t have any friends. Lots of acquaintances. No real friends.
I’m alone in the world.
I stumble away from Mr. Winters toward what I hope is the edge of the dance floor.
Uber.
Yeah. That’s what I need.
Get an Uber.
Just need phone.
I reach for my pocket.
Except this dress doesn’t have any pockets. Crap. Stupid dress.
I hate dresses. I never wear them.
How do I get Uber without my phone?
Why do the lights keep spinning? I sway on my feet, still clutching at my stomach as I take another stumbling step forward through the crowd.
“Whoa, Cinderella.” Strong arms come around me from behind.
Warmth. Such lovely warmth at my back. His deep rumbly voice is there again and immediately the anxious stress and confusion I felt just moments ago melts away.
“Where do you think you’re going? Why don’t you let Dominick and I help you get home?”
“But—” I look back. Dominick stands behind his father. They have mirrored looks of concern on their chiseled, handsome faces. I look back and forth between them, struck dumb for a moment. But then I remember my objections.
“The party.” I frown. “It’s for you. Just need my phone. An Uber.” I blink and look up into Mr. Winter’s green eyes. “I’ll be f-fine. I always am.”
His eyebrows draw together at that. Immediately I want to shrink away. He looks upset by what I said. Have I disappointed him somehow?
Of course you have, Sarah. You’ve just gotten embarrassingly drunk at the man’s wedding and no doubt you’re making a huge scene right now.
I glance around to see who’s watching us. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, looking to the floor, completely horrified. Oh God, I really am my mother’s daughter.
“Stop it.” A large hand comes underneath my chin and gently urges my face up. Even in my muddled state, the point of connection where Mr. Winters touches me lights me up inside. “No more of that nonsense. Now, we’re going to get you home safe and sound.”
Dominick nods where he stands beside his father, his face resolute. “I’ve got her purse and wrap. We’re good to go.”
Mr. Winters nods and takes my arm. “Just hold onto me and keep your head high as you can. None of these people matter, but you always keep your head high. You’re a queen. Remember that, sweet girl.”
I swallow hard, but do as he says even as I clutch at his arm like a lifeline. Dominick walks on the other side of me. With the two of them continuing to flank me on either side as we exit the ballroom, shielding me from any accusatory or judging eyes, I do manage to hold my head up. I try to walk as normally as possible and only stumble once. Mr. Winters holds me steady so that by the next step, we’re continuing to glide forward so smoothly I’ll pretend to myself it was hardly noticeable to anyone watching.
And before I know it, we’re outside. The cool air of the night breeze is so welcome on my overheated cheeks. I breathe it in deep, but only manage a couple of breaths before my churning stomach makes me groan and grab at my middle.
“I think I’m gonna—” That’s all I manage to get out before bending over and heaving into the bushes that line the hotel walkway.
Both Dominick and his father immediately spring to action. One of them holds me up and the other gathers my hair and pulls it back from my face.
Another deep heave wracks my body and my body expels even more of the poison. I collapse to my knees. Or would have if Mr. Winters didn’t have most of my weight and guide me down gently to the concrete sidewalk. It’s Dominick holding my hair back, I note miserably before I’m heaving some more.
It’s a good five minutes before it finally seems to be done.
Dominick produces a handkerchief. I hate to ruin it, but at the same time I’m eager to clean up. I wipe my mouth and they help me back to my feet. Mr. Winters pulls me to his body. I have no energy to argue that I must be a mess of makeup and tears. I just collapse against his chest. When he runs his fingers through my hair that’s long fallen out of its loose updo, it feels like heaven.
One of them must have called the car around, because we only have to walk a few steps to a waiting limousine that pulls up on the curb.
I’m so exhausted I only barely question the fact that Mr. Winters slides into the long seat along with Dominick and I.
Oh no, his wedding…!
But he closes the door and it’s obvious he means to go with his son to take me home. Again, the two men flank me on either side.
A Sarah sandwich. The stupid thought makes me giggle.
Mr. Winters flashes his hundred-watt grin at me. “After all that, what’s making you laugh, sweet girl?”
I put a hand over my mouth, mortified. “Nothing,” I whisper, then fumble for my seatbelt. Do limos have seatbelts? My fingers feel dumb as I reach blindly over the seat. I’m in the middle, so where—
“Here you go, sweets,” Dominick says, reaching across my lap and pulling a strap across me. He’s taken off his tuxedo jacket and his scent assaults me.
Holy crap.
He smells really good. It’s a different cologne than his dad wears. But really… just, yum. I’m shocked that anything can smell good to me with how nauseated I was a few minutes ago. But damn, that boy smells edible. My eyes track him as he pulls back and buckles me in.
Then I lean back against the plush leather seat and close my eyes. God, my thoughts are all over the place. I need to let this horrible alcohol wear off and get out of my system. Then I can be my normal, in-control self again.
Yes, I’ll just rest a little bit.
The limo starts up. The darkened glass between the driver and the back seat is up so I can’t see him. It’s like a quiet little room all our own back here. Quiet and isolated and safe from all the world. Dominick and his father are so warm beside me.
I feel so warm…and safe…and…
***
“Wake up sleeping beauty.” The low rumbled whisper is soft, it’s easy to pretend it’s just part of my dream. A handsome Viking knight has come to save me from the wicked, wicked Queen Mother, who has locked me up in a high tower. The knight has the blondest hair and the greenest eyes—wise eyes full of bright intensity. When he looks at me, I feel like he’s piercing straight down to my center. He can see all my desires, even the dark ones that I want to hide from all the world.
I turn and nestle into my warm mattress.
“I think she’s happy where she is, Dad.”
The voice is familiar. I’m in one
of those dreams where I’m aware I’m dreaming but I don’t want to come out of it yet. I look up and there, beside the first Viking knight is a second knight, equally handsome as the first, but younger. Where the first gives off an aura of wisdom and the feeling that he’d fight the whole world to keep me safe, the second is all fire and lust. He stares at me with open want, longsword flashing in the light.
Together they race forward and free me from the chains the Queen Mother tied me to the bed with. And then, in turn, they grab my face and drop their lips to mine, one after the other—
My eyes fly open, a hand going to my stomach.
“Are you feeling sick again?” I look up into Mr. Winters’s concerned eyes. Which is when I realize my head is in his lap.
That’s right. Somehow during the limo ride, I’ve managed to lay out on the seat—my head in Mr. Winters’s lap and my thighs thrown over Dominick’s legs. Mr. Winters’s left hand lays casually on my head, his hand playing with a lock of my auburn hair right below my ear.
I jerk upright, pulling away from both of them.
“You all right?” I register Mr. Winters’s question through my mortification.
“I’m fine.” I wince. Actually, I feel like hell. “Or, I will be. I just need some sleep.” Then I feel my cheeks flame. “In my bed,” I clarify, then I feel stupid. Because obviously that’s where I should be sleeping. Not nestling up against these two men who are still basically strangers to me.
Dominick apparently reads something of what I’m feeling on my face because he rubs my shoulder. “We’re family now. This is what family does. We help each other out. It’s okay.” His other hand joins the first until he’s giving me a gentle back rub that does feel divine. I have to fight the urge to relax back against him.
“I should go inside,” I say, looking back to Mr. Winters. “And you should be getting back to the party.” Suddenly my brain catches up and I realize all the implications of what my little stunt has interrupted. “Oh my God.” My hand flies up to cover my mouth. “Your wedding night!” I all but stumble to get to the limo door and shove it open. “Let me just—”
Both Mr. Winters’s and Dominick’s sudden laughter cuts my panicked movements short.