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Seamus
We walk through a foyer of black granite and steel and head straight to the elevators. I’m not one for glitz and glamour. I prefer sitting at a dive bar, eating wings, and shooting the shit. That doesn’t mean I can’t handle what’s coming.
Money doesn’t intimidate me. Neither do assholes who think they’re better ‘cause they have it. I’m hoping Allie feels the same way. But I can sense her nervousness as easily as I feel the wool of her black cape rub against my arm.
Ordinarily, I’d keep yapping like a dog on steroids. But I’m not too dense to know she needs a moment. I let her have it, keeping her arm hooked through mine, reminding her she’s not in this alone.
I hit the button to the 50th floor, holding the door open to allow an elderly couple through. The man nods his thanks, adjusting his position so he and his wife face straight ahead.
“It’s a little cold tonight,” Allie says.
I watch the numbers change on the screen as we jet upward. I thought we were long past idle chitchat and remind her with my next comment. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll keep you warm.”
Her eyes round as the woman standing in front of us turns back to glance at us briefly. The man turns too, offering me an encouraging wink.
I whisper into Allie’s ear. “Just getting into character. What do you think?” My lips hover close enough to brush against her skin. “Should I kick it up a notch?”
“No,” she stammers. “This is good.”
I ease away from Allie, noting how tense she appears, and how she didn’t seem to welcome my lips so close to her skin. I barely touched her. But if she thinks I’ll keep my hands to myself in front of Valentina and Andres, she’s dead wrong. I owe it to Allie to show them all she can have anyone she wants.
The elevator door opens with a ding. Allie keeps me in place, giving the elderly couple as much distance as the small space between the elevator and the restaurant allows.
My gaze takes in the area. Between the foyer and the combined floors, there’s enough marble and steel to build a castle and a few villages. Unlike the ancient look of a castle, the entire building screams ultra-modern and would be happy to tell any would-be castle to fuck off.
We walk casually forward. There’s only a yard or so keeping us from the hostess desk. But the acoustics are enough to send the wave of murmurs from inside to greet us. Okay. Maybe not greet us.
There’s a coolness in the air and a heavy sense of entitlement. I’ve felt it when I’ve dined at so-called exclusive places. I guess that’s why I prefer local pubs and neighborhood restaurants. The people there are out to be out and have a good time. The owners are decent, they know you by name and want to run a nice place. Restaurants like this one are all about their reputations and need to maintain a high-level clientele.
The elderly couple is greeted by a tall woman with a bun on top of her head. We’ve given them enough time to give their names and be escorted to their seats.
“Welcome to Savate’s Steakhouse,” the second hostess says when she sees us. “Do you have reservations?”
Like Allie, the hostess is in a tiny black dress. But Allie looks better and definitely acts better. “I’m afraid our dining area is otherwise filled for the evening.”
Allie smiles at the snub, which is a lot better than how I take it. The hostess can probably guess I’m not a member of any country club.
“Party of four under Valentina Mendes,” Allie adds coolly.
The woman lights up. “Oh, yes,” she says, letting us know she recognized Valentina and how honored she was to be in her presence. “Your party is ready for you. May I take your coat?”
“Yeah. You could,” I say. I chose not to wear a coat, unless you count the jacket of my Dior suit. Don’t be surprised. I can be classy, and Evan was a real pal to lend it to me.
In one smooth move, I slip Allie’s cape from her shoulders.
“Ah, I’d rather keep it on,” she says.
The dark environment casts a shadow along her irises, adding to her allure. Good for her. Not so good for me. Jesus, it’s getting harder for me to stay in the friend zone, where I’m pretty sure she expects me to stay.
“Why?” I ask. I already know the answer. She’s having second thoughts about whether we can pull this off and feeling insecure, rather than owning how fantastic she looks.
“I get cold in these restaurants,” she says, the slight quiver in her tone alerting me she’s going downhill real fast.
“Then you leave me no choice,” I say as if it’s killing me. My arm wraps around her shoulders and I kiss her temple. “I’ll have to hold you close all night long.”
“Um,” Allie says.
“Oh,” the hostess responds.
She’s a young woman and can probably recite Twilight by heart. She clutches her chest, gushing at the same time terror grips Allie’s features.
It shouldn’t make me laugh, but it does. “Come on, gorgeous. I’ve got you.”
The dining area is dark and gloomy. “Ambiance,” that’s what they call it. I’m tempted to turn my flashlight feature on my phone on, just to make a point. But I remind myself I’m here for Allie, not for a laugh and not to embarrass her.
Through the gentle clinks of knives and forks tapping against oversized plates, conversation that sounds too forced to be genuine, and laughter to mocking to be sweet, we make our way around the tables.
The hostess turns around. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but Miss Valentina has been my hero for years. When I was thirteen, I’d make my mother buy all the magazines with her face on it and spend hours matching my makeup to hers.” She stops suddenly. “Do you know her? Personally?”
“Valentina is my sister,” Allie explains.
The hostess’s gaze traveled down Allie’s body, returning to stop on her face. “I never would have guessed,” she says.
Allie bristles against me. It takes all I have not to let this airhead have it. “Yeah, Allie is beautiful and sweet, incapable of stabbing someone in the back or stepping on someone just to claw her way to the top,” I say. “Unlike Valentina, who probably tried to use her celebrity status to get a free meal. Am I right?”
The hostess with the most-est quiets, letting me know that, yeah, Valentina probably already had her parking taken care of too. “You’re very pretty, too,” she tells Allie as an afterthought. “This way, please.”
I’m betting this broad would have begged Allie to ask the great and powerful Valentina for an autograph or maybe a picture. Not anymore. I shut her down and let her know she shouldn’t bother trying. What the hell? Is this what Allie puts up with on a regular basis? I shake my head, remembering how I told her Valentina was hot that day we met at the bakery. If this is a regular day for Allie in Valentina’s presence, I’m just as guilty. But that shit ends tonight.
I spot Andres and Valentina sprawled out along a large cushy leather booth. Andres’s puny eyes enlarge when he sees us. Or should I say, when he sees Allie.
He catches himself half a second too late, his attention returning to his phone. Valentina is dressed in her signature red, eye-catching wardrobe. I don’t like her, that doesn’t mean I’m not blind. She looks gorgeous, the neckline falling to her waist. She has more to show than Allie. But that glitz and glamour is very much like this restaurant, overpriced, overdone, and full of itself.
Valentina continues to scroll through the wine list, making a show of flipping through the pages. That’s when I know she knows we’re here, and is working hard not to see us. For a loving couple on their way to the altar, there’s not much love going on.
Once we reach the table, not a moment before, Valentina looks up. “Oh, there you are,” she says. She scoots out, her motions graceful as she stands. The shoes she’s wearing drop her just a few inches from my height, forcing her to crouch to kiss Allie’s cheek.
“How are you, Valentina?” Allie asks.
“Splendid,” Valentina replies. She laughs a little. “And to be honest, hungry.”
Valentina doesn’t bother to tell Allie how nice she looks or comment on her hair. Allie told me she hasn’t seen Valentina since that day in the bakery. Allie has literally transformed herself into a different woman. Either Valentina is too enraptured with herself to notice, or she flat out refuses to share the spotlight with someone she doesn’t feel deserves it. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. Either way it’s enough to piss me off.
“Seamus,” Valentina says, lifting up on her toes to kiss my cheek. I pat her on the back. That’s as good as it’s going to get. I’m not kissing her.
Her lips linger a fraction of a moment longer than they did with her own blood. She’s losing points real fast. Damn. Whatever made me think she was anything special?
I step away when Andres approaches Allie, reaching for her waist. I’m not trying to act possessive. I just am.
“Hi, Allie,” he says, scowling at the way my arm keeps Allie against me.
“Hi, Andres,” Allie replies. She eases away from me, following Valentina back into the booth. I think she’s annoyed until she reaches for my hand, encouraging me to follow.
Andres purses his lips, watching her before looking rather accusingly back at me. He tilts his chin. “Seamus,” he says.
I nod. Dipshit.
I don’t realize the hostess is still there until she hands us our menus. A waiter shuffles over, introducing himself as “Don,” rattling off the specials, and offering to get us our drinks.
“A bottle of Rudd Samantha’s Cabernet Sauvignon to start would be delightful,” Valentina says. She smiles. “You like wine, don’t you?” she asks Allie.
“Guinness Nitro or a Blonde if you have it,” I say, noting how Valentina wasn’t really giving Allie a choice.
“Bottle or draft, sir?” Don asks.
“Bottle,” I slip my arm around Allie, my protectiveness kicking up a notch. “What about you, Alz? You liked that Old Fashioned you had at the game.”
Allie’s smile is more grateful than it needs to be. “That sounds perfect. Thank you.”
“An Old Fashioned for the lady, please,” I tell Don.
“And for you, sir?” Don asks Andres.
“I’ll have the wine,” he says, annoyance in his voice.
My guess is maybe he has more balls than I give him credit for. He’s pissed to have Valentina order for him. But then I see the way he’s watching me hold Allie. I do the right thing and hold her closer. “You still cold, babe?” I whisper against her crown, my gaze never leaving Andres.
Allie quivers against me. “No. I feel good,” she says, the tremble in her voice matching the shudder that follows.
Valentina carries on, speaking about the wedding and who will be there. She doesn’t just rattle off big name celebs like I expect. Instead, she talks about the wonderful friendships she’s developed with these big shots.
“Oh, the stories. The stories.” Her words, her fake modesty, not mine.
I’m bored before I finish my salad, wishing we’d stayed in for pizza and beers at my place. So, I do the only thing I can do: run my fingers up Allie’s leg.
Her spoon lowers cautiously as she straightens when my fingertips give the first, slow, lazy circle of her knee. I don’t think anyone’s noticed I’ve switched my fork to my left hand, just like I think no one will care if I have a little more fun.
Being the good Catholic I am, I began outlining the Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel against Allie’s skin, moving a few centimeters higher. Now, I don’t really know what the Sistine Chapel looks like. Never seen it aside from a few pictures I Googled once. But, you know, Michelangelo seemed like a decent guy and I think he’d appreciate the effort.
Allie tries to swallow back one of her famous squeaky noise. But something like “urpee” comes out and overpowers her skin with a coat of red. Her hand slaps over my knee as I wander just a little higher. I’m dying to see what other fun sounds she can make and give her thigh a not-so gentle squeeze.
Allie bangs her knee against the table with how hard she jolts. “Sorry, sweetie,” I say, chuckling against her ear.
Another squeak, this time, more like a gasp. It’s only then Valentina clues in that we’re having fun without her and that, no, I don’t care how many Oscar parties she’s attended. Andres, though . . . I try to tone down my smirk. It doesn’t work. Smirks are like wolves. You have to let them loose to run free.
“You do realize you’re in public,” he snaps.
For a guy with his own gorgeous babe, he seems rather tense. I smile. “What can I say? Can’t keep my hands off my woman.” I stop smiling, my hand gliding across Allie’s small shoulders. “You know what I mean. Don’t you?” I scan the space separating him and his beloved. Valentina is closer to Allie than she is to him. “I guess you don’t,” I point out.
Valentina shakes her head and scoots over to Andres. She kisses his temple. “I’m sorry, darling,” she says. “I just haven’t seen Allie in so long.” She sighs, appearing sad, but I know better. “When you’ve been together as long as we have, you start to fall into a comfortable existence where you don’t rely on touch as much as you do on the confidence and peace of having your lover beside you.”
“You sayin’ we’re not confident or peaceful?” I ask. I keep my voice casual. Allie doesn’t, speaking over my words as if Valentina’s were all she heard.
“How long have you been together?” she asks.
“Seven years,” Valentina says, her voice full of admiration when Andres clutches her hand. “Seven wonderful years.”
Seven without Allie knowing or anyone bothering to tell her. Allie takes a few breaths, then a few more. Allie has never mattered to Valentina. If she didn’t know it before, she knows it now.
Allie shrinks inward. She’s still as close to me physically as she was when I was teasing her skin. But she’s not the same woman I was laughing with in my truck, or the woman who should be owning how incredible she looks. She’s the little sister, her speech and confidence dimmed by the way Valentina’s shadow continues to hide her from the world.
It takes all I have not to drag Allie out of here. Fuck you, Valentina. Fuck you, Andres. Fuck you for hurting my woman.
––––––––
I’M FULL, MORE FROM Valentina’s awesomeness than my puny steak by the time Don returns with a rolling cart stacked with desserts.
Allie opts for another drink instead. Can’t blame her. I can barely stomach another Stella McCartney runway retelling. Christ Almighty, when is this night going to end?
“What time will you be at Tía Blanca’s?” Valentina asks, waving away the dessert tray and taking the last sip of her wine.
Allie looks at her like she’s forgotten she’s there. “I’m not going to Tía Blanca’s,” Allie replies.
“What’s at Tía Blanca’s?” I ask.
Valentina acts like I should already know. “It’s a family tradition going back generations. The women make centerpieces for the brunch the day after the wedding. Silk flowers, silk ribbons, and more colorful vases than you ever thought possible.” She laughs like she’s embarrassed. I know better. “The flowers represent the bride’s fertility, or the petals plucked on the wedding night. The ribbons symbolize the groom’s virility. Didn’t Allie tell you?”
Valentina lifts her glass to take another sip, forgetting for a moment not a drop remains. “No, she didn’t,” I answer.
“Because I won’t be a part of it,” Allie says, for the first time giving Valentina a taste of the anger she’s held back. “I purchased the supplies like Mom asked. That’s more than enough.”
“They made you buy her that shit?” I ask, unable to hold back. “I’m surprised they didn’t ask you to video them fucking.”
Allie rights herself, responding to Valentina, seeing I’m not doing her any favors. “Mom and the Tías have everything they need.”
“Except you,” Valentina asks, only just recovering from my sex-tape jab. “You should be there.”
“Are you kidding me?” Allie demands. “I’ll hold your flowers. I’ll fluff your veil, but no way will I celebrate you consummating your union.” Her eyes narrow at Andres. “I believe that ship already left the dock.”
“And crashed into a fucking ugly tug boat,” I add, lifting my beer to toast Andres.
“You dick,” Andres spits out.
I roll my eyes. Like no one’s ever called me that before.
Valentina ignores us, but then again, she’s not done scraping her claws. “Oh, that’s right. I understand,” she agrees sadly.
They’re only a handful of words, but mean so much more.
Poor, miserable, lonely Allie.
She still hurts.
Still feels.
Still envies.
She’ll probably die alone.
I’m ready to overturn the damn table and take Allie away from this shit. But that won’t earn Allie respect.
“Good,” I say, my eyes fixing on Allie’s. I cup her jaw, stroking the soft skin. “We have too much to do and not enough time to do it.”
I don’t think about what could happen. It just does. As easy as I press against her, I welcome Allie’s lips against mine. She starts to say something, but my lips dissolve against hers, fading her words into soft, sweet air.
There’s no sound now. No clinking of knives and forks idly against bleached white plates, no murmurs or forced laughter drifting around and fighting to sound real. No one’s here. Just us.
It’s a long kiss, slow.
No urgency behind it.
No rush to break away before we’re caught.
No worry that it will end too soon. No fear that it’s wrong.
It’s just one hell of a good first kiss.
I don’t pull away until it ends. Until we both need to breathe and our skin to cool.
With a sigh, I reach for my wallet and drop down five Benjamins. It’s enough for Allie and me and a thirty percent tip. No way am I letting Andres pay for us. He’s done enough.
“Night,” I say, with a half-assed salute. “It’s been real.”
I reach for Allie’s hand, scared shitless she won’t take it. She does, neither of us stopping to look at either Andres or Valentina. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel what they’re pegging us with. Shock is one of the prominent feels, but it’s the anger that swallows the shock and spits it onto the floor that I feel the most. I’m not sure if it comes from Andres or Valentina, and don’t care enough to do anything except take Allie away from this place.
I place her cape around her shoulders and gather her to me as we wait for the elevator. If that’s not possessive or psycho enough, I hold her against me as we wait for my truck. It’s an overwhelming need to defend her from the verbal assaults she’s spent a lifetime taking.
It’s a long, silent drive back to her place, the echo of my footsteps as I walk her to the door as loud as my beating heart.
Allie doesn’t invite me in. I don’t expect her to, not with how sad she appears.
“Thank you. For everything,” she says, her voice fading in the breeze.
I nod, for the first time in my life having too much to say and unable to say it. At this point, I’m content with a, “Fuck ‘em. You don’t need them.”
Her eyes shimmer, not with humor or happiness, but with something that makes me want to tear someone apart. “She’s still my sister, Seamus,” she says.
“I know,” I reply.
