One Bride for Five Brothers

by Jess Bentley

  “Oh,” she starts. She smiles, and I admire how she's got two dimples on one side, and one on the other. Just a little quirk, something I find quite charming. “Well, my parents are starting a new location. They won't be back until tomorrow.”

  “Just you, then,” I say, secretly pleased. “Say seven o'clock?”

  She looks off to the side for a moment, then looks back up to me, her eyes bright and curious. She smiles tightly and nods.

  “Seven o'clock,” she repeats.

  “All right then,” I finally say and make myself walk back toward the sliding glass door. I feel her eyes on me as I walk away and wonder why it feels like there's a band between us, stretching as I cross the threshold.

  Chapter 4

  Vanessa

  How did I get myself into this?

  As he walks out the sliding glass door, I can't help but watch his body move. That certain tightness in his lower back, like a coiled spring. His hips churn as he walks, strong and supple like a predatory cat flexing its muscles.

  But then I remember, his brothers were just here last night…

  Oh my God. Seriously, how did I get myself into this?

  Automatically, I look around for something to clean up since I just ate breakfast, but there's nothing left. He did the dishes too? What is he, some kind of domestic superhero? Maybe I'm dreaming. Maybe I'm still passed out from that wine and just invented him. But no, I'm definitely awake. Every few seconds my eyeballs throb painfully, reminding me that I am absolutely, positively awake, even if I wish I weren't.

  And now, apparently I have a dinner date too.

  I should have said no. There will probably be more wine there, and I guess it makes me a little crazy. Certainly nothing like the tequila shooters I used to do in school. I could plow through a half dozen of those before I even felt anything.

  But after just one glass of that sweet potion, I felt myself all warm and loose inside. And then my skin tingled all over and I could feel it like a hunger. I needed to touch, to feel friction, to feel pressure. Before I knew what I was doing, I'd unconsciously dragged my calf against Tim's. It felt so good, I did it again. And then again. Then when I looked up at him, he was staring at me with that thick, intense look of a man engorged with lust.

  And God help me if I didn't do the same thing to Tom, on the other side of me. Just like that! Just lost my damn mind!

  Reliving the memory, I shudder with embarrassment and shake my head. I wonder if we can move away? How long do my parents think we will be in this house, anyway?

  This incident may be the thing that actually goes ahead and makes me sign back up for college, just to escape. Figures. But who goes to school to avoid sexual exploration?

  And I am definitely not going to dinner. First two irresistible hunks, then Stan walks right in here like the powerful father figure… Bossing me around, telling me what to do, making me breakfast and then cleaning up the kitchen. I was helpless as soon as he walked in the door, just waiting for instructions. Everything he said, I automatically did it, when all the while he was taking care of me.

  So I definitely can't be around these guys again, right? He said there are five, so that’s two more temptations I might not be able to withstand. I can’t just walk right into the middle of a lion’s den.

  That would just be nuts.

  As the day goes on, I try to distract myself with shuffling boxes from one room to another, looking for a way to organize this enormous house as I recover from this hangover. Even as I work, I find myself peering out of windows, trying to see through the forest. I know that their house is over there somewhere, but the best I can do is sometimes make out a gap where the disordered forest here turns into neat rows that must be the orchard, I assume. There house must be pretty far away.

  Two more brothers. I wonder if they’re older or younger? And parents? Or, maybe the neighbors will be over there again? Margie and Ben? I mean, is that the kind of cul-de-sac this is? Does everybody just hang out every day like they’re all in some kind of foreign art film?

  Honestly, that would not be so bad. I could take my guitar over there. It really would be like a foreign film. We could project a movie onto a sheet stretched between apple trees. Maybe finish off the night with some music and grape stomping…

  No, wait. No grapes. Apples! I don't think you stomp apples. You probably crush them or dice them or something. I'll definitely have to remember to ask about that…

  Except, I'm not going!

  In the back corner of the parlor with a fireplace, I find another box of my name on it and pick it up. It's really light, which is great because I don't have a lot of strength left in me. I could really use a nap. As I walk up the stairs, the contents of the box shift, revealing a little bit of tawny fluff, and I realize it's actually my giant teddy bear from when I was a little kid. Blaze. The best teddy bear a girl ever had.

  I set the box down and open the flaps gingerly, smiling with relief. I can’t believe they kept this. My mom's handwriting on the outside of the box. For some reason, this strikes me as being the most poignant thing. Literally, I'm getting choked up over this stupid bear.

  The thing is, it's in a box, in this new place. I haven't seen it in years, so somehow my mom kept track of it and made sure that it would be here for me again. But, we’re not the kind of family that keeps things. We’re not the kind of family that gets bogged down with stuff.

  “Ohhh, Mom,” I sigh aloud.

  I pick Blaze up, clutching him briefly to my chest and inhaling deeply, then walking back up the stairs to my room. I set him carefully between the pillows on my bed. He'll be happy here. I can tell.

  Now all I’ve got to do is let them know that I'm not coming to the dinner.

  Which I have no way of doing.

  Because I didn't ask him for his phone number.

  Which means I'm… actually going to have to go over there.

  “All right,” I tell myself sternly in the mirror, pulling a knit dress over my hips. “You're going to behave yourself.”

  The dress seems too snug. The deep V-neck pushes my boobs together, making a deep line of cleavage like I'm carrying a couple of fresh baked loaves of bread in my blouse. But this is pretty much all I’m down to. I’ve grown out of most of my clothes. I have to admit, I got quite a bit bigger in college. I guess I wasn't paying attention and the food service really wasn't as bad as I had heard it was going to be. All the Fruity Pebbles you can eat! I mean, who could resist that?

  But still, I feel a little self-conscious. The dress is kind of girlish, almost immature. It's got fluttering little sleeves and a wide skirt that ends a few inches over my knees. Definitely feminine.

  And here I am, getting ready to go traipsing through the woods to go see a house full of farm boys. I feel like a fairytale character.

  “And you're going to act like a fairytale character,” I tell myself, pointing in the mirror. “If you have to flirt, flirt with Stan. He probably just thinks you’re a little kid anyway. He probably doesn’t want to have anything to do with you, just to be safe.”

  That seems sensible, I figure. If I'm going to walk into the middle of a bunch of brothers, I should probably just smile at one, right? Or smile at none? Wait… maybe that would be better?

  Oh my God, how did I get myself into this?

  Even though they don't match my dress, I slip on a pair of Converse sneakers because the path through the woods doesn't look entirely clear. I don’t want to be hobbling over there in sandals and risk spraining an ankle or falling into a crevasse or whatever kind of hazards lurk out here in the fairytale forest.

  I let myself out the back door and walk through the yard that ends quickly in a line of shrubbery. I find the dirt path and start down a short hill, then across the babbling brook to where the path continues. Immediately the air goes humid and dark around me, and I hear all kinds of sounds: frogs, cicada, birds. A woodpecker taps somewhere far away, and the wind rustles the leaves in the high canopy.

>   It's really nice out here, and I resolve to explore this more thoroughly at some point. As I'm walking I can see the path actually branches off several times, but I just keep trying to head in the general direction of where I think their house is going to be.

  Soon I reach the point where the orchard begins, which means I'm definitely going in the right direction. I head down one of the rows until I spot the house and then angle toward it. My chest grows tighter with every step, wondering just what kind of situation I'm walking into.

  The house is beautiful and sprawling. It’s Victorian, I think, though I really don't know anything about architecture. There is tall tower on one side with a rounded exterior which makes me wonder if the rooms are also round. A wide porch circles the front around to one side. It's light blue, with carved shutters around the upper windows. Perfectly quaint.

  It really is kind of like a fairytale.

  By the time I reach the front porch, my heart really is pounding. I stare at the screen door, mentally debating whether or not I should knock.

  “Please come in,” comes a voice out of the darkness, startling me.

  Stan steps forward into the light, smiling and pushing the door open for me.

  “Oh, thank you,” I stammer awkwardly. “Is this okay? Am I late? I sort of got lost stumbling through the woods.”

  A huge commotion that sounds like an avalanche comes down the front stairs and I see Tim and Tom pushing past each weather, making a hell of a racket.

  “You're not late!” Tim or Tom says, panting with exertion as he steps in front of his brother.

  “Right on time!” the other says, grinning. They both stare at me with wide smiles on their faces, their beautiful white teeth gleaming, their expressions sincere and pleased.

  I can't help but smile back. It's like being greeted by a couple of overly enthusiastic Labrador Retrievers when you come home from work. Like, they really mean it. They really do seem happy to see me. I half expect to see them wag their tails.

  “I'm really glad you could come,” Stan says, close to my shoulder. His low, rumbling voice trickles into my ear, setting off a domino effect of shivers that course through the middle of me.

  “Well thank you for inviting me,” I try to say, but it comes out as a whisper.

  I feel Stan’s hand at the small of my back, giving it a gentle push. He just nudges me toward the other room and I start sailing that way, like a toy boat. It's so strange, the way his slight touch sets me in motion.

  The dining room is old-fashioned and rather grand, with a large chandelier in the middle of the room. A dozen or more candle shaped lights twinkle merrily on their candlesticks and hundreds of crystals and shapes from spheres to teardrops reflect the lights a million times.

  The table is oval and enormous, gleaming darkly under the lights. Each place is set with ancient looking China and formal silverware.

  “Wow, this is really something,” I breathe.

  “It all came from the old country,” says one of the twins as he reaches around me to pull out my chair. He gestures toward it invitingly and I maneuver into it, allowing him to nudge it underneath me.

  “The old country?”

  Stan takes the arm chair at the head of the table, to my left. He perches his elbows on the table and clasps his hands in front of him. He really does look like the patriarch of the family, sitting there at the head of the table as though he's accustomed to commanding things.

  “Germany… well, Bavaria actually. Our grandfather had a lot of these things imported once the orchard began to be profitable.”

  All of a sudden a deep, thunderous gong blares in the front hallway. It chimes seven times in a row, taking my breath away. No one else seems to be troubled by it.

  “That's the grandfather clock,” Stan informs me. “Handmade, in perfect condition. Black Forest clock making is the best in the world, you know.”

  I just shrug helplessly. “Actually, I really wouldn't know, but I believe you. My family hasn't ever been true collectors. We’re more travelers. We keep it pretty lightweight.”

  “Where have you traveled?” one twin asks.

  “Um,” I start as the other twin slides into the seat next to me.

  “I'm Tim,” he smiles kindly. “I have a scar on my eyebrow, you see? Here? Tom pushed me into the stream.”

  “You fell, you clumsy jerk,” Tom objects.

  Tim’s hand drifts up toward his brow, pointing out the bare notch in an otherwise perfect arch of sable colored hair. Somehow it only points out the relative perfection of his rest of his face: the chiseled angles, the stubble, the thick jaw and neck.

  “That really does help,” I admit.

  “So you've been all over? The world?” Tom continues.

  “Mostly just the US,” I shrug. “My mom tends to find documentary subjects in remote areas so we’ve explored the Rockies, the high desert, the Everglades. Places like that.”

  “So you’re an adventurer!” Tom winks.

  “I guess you could say that,” I shrug, blushing as he smiles at me. It feels good to be admired, I have to admit.

  Suddenly the dining room door swings open and two more perfect specimens of manhood stride in. They both seem to be slightly older than me, and fairly good copies of the other three men at the table. They smile at me in welcome, holding enormous platters of steaming food. My stomach tumbles over itself and grumbles in response.

  “Vanessa? These are our other brothers, Hank and Charlie, the youngest. Though I bet he is probably a little older than you… How old did you say you are?”

  I hesitate to answer, because Hank and Charlie are both unabashedly looking me over, pinning me to my seat with their eyes. They seem to be measuring me up, inspecting me with a sort of brazenness I wouldn't expect.

  “Twenty-one… No, twenty-two. I just had a birthday,” I explain in a hoarse voice.

  “Excellent! And happy birthday!” Charlie announces. His smile is both knowing and relieved, as though my age is something the brothers had discussed among themselves before I arrived.

  He sets his platter down in the middle of the table, allowing a couple of corncobs to spill over one side. It's heaped with sausages, chunks of potato and squash, corn and hunks of steak.

  “I hope you like mixed grill,” Hank says politely as he sets his tray down as well and sits at the opposite end of the table from Stan. He seems to squint at me, almost as though slightly suspicious. His smile is pleasant, though, and then the expression is gone. Maybe I didn't really see it after all.

  “I told you she wasn’t underage,” Tom smirks at Stan as he mounds his plate with mostly meat. Gleaming chunks tumble over each other as he plucks them from the pile.

  “That's enough, Tom,” Stan and scowls.

  They exchange looks, and Tom seems to nod his understanding of whatever the meaning was of the look Stan shot him.

  “Did I seem to be underage?” I ask uncertainly. “Did we talk about that last night? I mean… I don't remember talking about that…”

  Tim leans toward me, his shoulder brushing against mine. I have an instant, vivid flash of memory from being next to him last night, his fingers stroking my panties, his expression intense with concentration.

  My belly clenches in response to the fantasy, reminding me just how good that felt. And now here they all are, five handsome men, staring at me expectantly. Five men who could just as easily be wolves in a fairytale. Who could just as easily want to gobble me up.

  “Don't you worry about a thing,” Tim smiles. “You're perfectly safe here. Stan just wanted to make sure we weren't wrong to give you the apple wine.”

  “Oh… right,” I blush fiercely, “the apple wine…”

  I look around the table. All five of them are grinning at me widely. I realize they all know exactly what happened yesterday. They all look pretty excited about it, if I'm reading their expressions correctly.

  “I don't really drink very often,” I explain in a quiet voice.

 
“I think Tim and Tom you an apology,” I hear Stan say softly. His hand covers mine completely, a warm shell. I stare it our hands together on the tabletop, slightly stunned.

  “Apology for what?” I ask honestly.

  “Well,” Tim starts uncomfortably, “maybe we were… you know. Too much. Didn't ask permission? Just sort of…”

  “I thought we were just kind of going along,” Tom interrupts. “But if you would like an apology, we're ready to give you one!”

  He nods earnestly, looking sort of proud as though he's maybe practiced that speech or something.

  “No, don't do that,” I object. “You didn't do anything wrong. I mean, it was kind of strange… intense… but…”

  “But what?” Stan asks.

  I turn toward him, searching his eyes. His lowers his chin and stares at me with intense focus. I can tell he's really searching for the answer to a much bigger question than those two words.

  “Well. I liked it,” I explain.

  A hush falls over the table. I can't even hear them chewing anymore, but all of a sudden I hear them swallow.

  “You're sure?”

  I take a moment to look around. If this is a fairytale, this is the part where I realize I've just walked into the enchanted cottage in the enchanted forest to find this is a pack of wolves or something. Bears. Centaurs.

  Am I sure? Yes, I think I am. It's not a question of whether or not I know what I like, it's whether or not I would normally admit it to other people. Being next to Tim and Tom was thrilling, overwhelming. The kind of thing I'd only ever dared to dream about before.

  But I don't think that I can conceal the truth from these men. They are five of the most beautiful men I've ever seen, all gathered around the same table, all staring at me so intensely I barely feel like I can move. I’m trapped in their spell. They really want to know the truth, I'm certain of it.

  “Yes, I'm completely sure,” I announce. “I loved it.”

  “You know, you don't have to say that,” Stan assures me, tapping my hand lightly. “We're all adults here. You can be honest.”