One Bride for Five Brothers

by Jess Bentley

  The moment she walked in this morning, he had realized that she was even prettier than she appeared in the dark of the night. He loved her shiny, long, auburn hair and the fact that she wasn’t skinny beyond belief. Real women were curvy, he always believed, and back home in LA, they rarely were.

  The other girl had been terribly sweet to him, but she was too chirpy, too bubbly, and way too completely in awe of the fact that he was a celebrity. Arsen knew tons of girls like that. Nonetheless, he was thankful to her for all that she had done for him.

  The other one, Rory, is so damn serious. But haven’t I had enough of party girls already? he pondered. He was intrigued if there was more to her than met the eye. Why is she living all by herself in this enormous house? What is behind that hidden glimpse of melancholy in her eyes? Behind that overbearing tone of worry in her voice?

  “Hey kid, are you all right? What’s going on here?” Don came and sat right next to him on the couch and asked in his usual tone of fatherly concern. Arsen paused to reflect on his thoughts before he spoke.

  “Just a little accident.” Arsen paused as he heard a scoffing sound from Rory’s direction. What’s her deal? he wondered. Sarcastic beyond belief and constantly mocking. “I crashed the Ferrari into the back wall out there and damaged my ankle a little.” Another scoffing sound from Rory.

  Arsen looked up and stared at her. She stared back, something she’d been doing all along, as if they were in a staring match. “Perhaps Rory here can do a better job of explaining the events than me.” He smirked back at her.

  “Hello there, Rory. I’m Don. I assume you’re the owner of this house?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am sorry about the accident, sweetheart. These things happen, but I do promise you I will have it fixed for you tout suite.” Rory nodded at Don’s reassurance. No scoffing sounds this time; those are reserved only for me, Arsen thought.

  “I am sure Arsen is sorry for all this. So am I. We shouldn’t be disrupting your life like this.” Don made the apologetic face that he was so good at making. One of the reasons why he was the best in the business. He always adapted to the situation instantly and made himself appear whatever he needed to be.

  “Thank you so much for taking care of my boy here. Y’know how boys are. They can get rowdy sometimes.” Don spoke in a matter-of-fact tone and Rory nodded in agreement. Arsen knew that Don could sense some hostility between him and Rory, and he was irked at the stupid picture Don was painting of him. But what do I care what she thinks of me? I’m never going to see her again.

  “Thanks, Don. That really paints me in a favorable light,” he couldn’t help but mutter. Hell would freeze over before he’d have himself called silly in front of that proud girl. Don gave him a stern look as if to say, “Shut up and let me handle this.” Arsen merely shrugged.

  “Are we fucking done here? Don, you said we were just coming to pick up Arsen and then we’d be off. I left the hot tub running back at the villa,” Mickey whined.

  Always the selfish one. I knew you didn’t come on your own, you jackass. Don made you come here. Don was desperate to patch things up between his two superstars but so far, he’d failed miserably.

  “Take it easy, Mickey. Why don’t you go outside in the garden and let me handle this,” Don said in his authoritative tone.

  “Good idea! Let me show you around, Mickey. I’d love to!” Lizzy exclaimed. Mickey shrugged his shoulder, put his arm around her, and walked out.

  If there was one thing that Mickey loved, it was women. The younger the better, he always said. You can put him in the worst of situations, but if a petite, young, good-looking girl was involved, he would get through it without a sigh. Rory, however, didn’t seem too happy at the idea, and her eyes followed both of them as they walked out.

  “As I was saying… do you want me to cut you a check for the damages or should I have someone fix it?”

  “Either would be fine,” Rory replied. She seemed much calmer in Don’s presence than she was before. Not the first time the old man had had this effect on someone.

  “Okay, I’ll get it fixed for you. Let me also compensate you for letting Arsen stay overnight.’

  “That’s okay. I would’ve done the same for anybody else. No big deal,” Rory replied.

  “See, she’s the kind of nice people we need more of in this world.” Don turned to Arsen for an affirmative reaction to his statement, but got none. “Bless you, girl. You’ve done a huge favor to me and to the music world by taking care of him. We were very worried when we couldn't find him all night. I’ve barely slept a wink and all my staff have been running around trying to locate him.”

  With Don at least, Arsen could believe it. No way in hell did he believe that Mickey spent a sleepless night worrying about him. He probably spent the night with a bunch of women while on three different kinds of drugs at the same time.

  Arsen was sure that if Mickey could fire him from the band, he would. But both he and Don knew Arsen’s value to Insurrection. Arsen often chuckled at the thought of Mickey or the rest of the guys writing songs without him. The rest of the guys were nice for the most part, but Arsen knew that they couldn’t put together a tune to save their lives.

  “I also have some swag for you.” Don pulled out a bag that he had carried in with him. “A bunch of stuff that is signed by the whole band. I hope you like it.” Rory seemed confused, but accepted the gift. Don’s old trick to get people on his side—give away free signed merchandise.

  “Thanks. I am sure my friend Lizzy would love all of this.”

  Oh yes, your friend would. Because you are too high and mighty to care about our stupid little band, Arsen thought. He felt strange at feeling resentful toward her. For someone with a pleasant, girl-next-door look, she always seemed to be in a bad mood. How could someone so attractive be such a crank? And why do I care what she thinks?

  From the sound on the windows, rain had started to drizzle down and for once, Arsen started to relax. There was something about sitting in this old house with its great acoustics, vintage décor, and homey feel, that lent him a calm that was missing back at the rented villa. He zoned out and turned his thoughts away from the band.

  Instead, he was taking in the room, admiring the numerous paintings that were hung on the old walls. There was vintage furniture that one would usually find in a grandmother’s house, and large glass windows that gave the house a very open, spacious look. Voices traveled through the room, hit the walls, and their faint echo—that could only be perceived by the ears of a trained musician—traveled back to Arsen. This house would make a great studio.

  Most of all there was a certain vibe to this house. Something he could not put his finger on. It reminded him of that story about the legendary Rolling Stones and how they had hired a villa just like this in the south of France to record their hit album, Exile On Main St. Arsen had always wanted to do that and it was part of the reason why he had come to Montcove—to find his own exile.

  He’d thought that by locking themselves up in a villa, the band would work hard and write some quality songs, being away from LA and all the temptations that came with it. Little did he know that Mickey would ensure that all of those temptations followed them here too. In the end, the trip so far had been nothing but a long party. Now more than ever, Arsen was sick of it all.

  He just wanted to sit in a room with his guitar and write some songs. If I owned this house, I would instantly make a studio in here. The natural reverb in this place would be worth any hassle.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of thunder outside. Everyone else in the room looked out the windows too. Does it ever stop raining here? It doesn’t rain this much even in London.

  Thunderous sounds from the sky were followed by the sounds of running feet. Lizzy and Mickey came rushing inside, half drenched. A fierce wind banged the door behind them and even Mickey’s chauffeur came in to take refuge.

  “There’s a storm coming, I think.”


  “Yeah, looks like it,” Lizzy said, straightening her wet hair with her hands. The next lightning strike was really loud. A strong downpour was unleashing itself on Montcove.

  “Is that, like, a hurricane or something?” Mickey said nervously. Arsen chuckled at the city boy and his ignorance.

  “Can we get out of here fast?” Don asked the chauffeur.

  “We could try, sir, but the roads must be full of water. They were already slippery when I was sitting out in the drizzle, and with sports cars, we run the risk of another accident.”

  “No more accidents. No, we are not taking that risk,” Don said.

  The rain came accompanied by fierce winds that made the doors and the windows thrash wildly. It also got darker. Though he was inside and dry, Arsen already felt the temperature drop and a cold wind nagging at him. I’ve spent too much time in sunny LA.

  “Everybody calm down. It's just a storm, not a hurricane.” Rory stood up and addressed everyone, aiming the last part of her comment at Mickey. “Lizzy, go shut the doors and the windows,” she commanded.

  “This will pass in no time at all. Just stay put till then,” she said with a pained expression on her face. Her eyes met Arsen’s and he had a feeling that she wasn’t too happy about still having them all in her house. Have we become that despicable that normal people can’t stand us anymore? The thought saddened him. As he looked around at his bandmates, he realized that they had indeed gone completely out of control.

  Chapter 54

  Rory looked around at the mess in her outer living room and she wasn’t pleased. As if one self-entitled celebrity wasn’t enough, she now had to deal with a whole room of them. While the old man, who was their manager, had been humble and kind, the rest were typical spoiled brats. Especially the blond one, Mickey, who Lizzy seemed to be extra gaga over.

  Not only did he have a very punchable face and those ridiculous clothes, but he was also full of himself. While sitting there listening to them panic about a little storm, Rory wondered what made a man dress like that.

  “No smoking here!” she exclaimed as she saw Mickey light up a cigarette.

  “What? What the… Why?” he whined.

  “Relax, Mickey. We’ll be out of here in no time and then you can smoke all you want.” Don shushed him and then smiled apologetically at Rory.

  “It's looking pretty bad out there.” Lizzy, who had stayed perched by the window, had seemingly transformed herself from chef to weather girl. When they had storms, either they lasted all of two minutes or they would go on for half a day. This one looked more like the latter.

  Lizzy was jumpy like a little dog, staring at everyone in the room constantly. Rory could tell that she was having the time of her life, surrounded by celebs she loved. Insurrection, what kind of stupid name is that? she wondered.

  The room was deathly silent and the only sound was that of Mickey pacing around impatiently and mumbling something or other to himself. Arsen sat with his body sagging on the couch, not bothering to interact with anyone. Rory wondered how he didn’t show any pain on his face since his ankle was badly injured. I would’ve been crying and moaning like crazy.

  “Nice place you got here.” Don was trying to make polite conversation and as much as Rory wasn’t in the mood for it, she offered him a polite smile. Just when she was about to speak up to reply, there was a loud crack of lightning. With that, all the lights in the house went out.

  The pitch darkness and the loud thunderstorm had taken everyone by shock.

  “Oh my God. That was scary!” Lizzy was the first one to speak as she slid up to Mickey, sneakily putting her hand in his.

  “What the hell was that and why is it so damn dark?” Mickey was annoyed.

  “The power’s out,” Don said, as he turned on the flashlight on his cell phone. As much as Rory wanted them gone, she knew that sitting in the outer living room with those big glass windows around wasn’t going to make anyone comfortable. She had to invite them in.

  “There is a drawing room in there. A smaller one, but it won’t be as loud there. Perhaps we should go in,” she said.

  “Good idea.” Don stood up. ”Lead the way.”

  Rory told Lizzy to take them in and went to the kitchen to get a bunch of candles. The inner drawing room was smaller, but much cozier. Her grandmother used it to entertain her close friends, while the outer one was for anyone who’d visit her, and owing to her social status on the island, a lot of people did.

  As Rory entered the room, everyone was sitting around quietly, feeling relieved to be in this cozy, warm room. Arsen was lodged by her grandmother’s old piano, sitting with his back to it. Mickey had his shoes on the coffee table and was busy clicking selfies. It took one long, unfriendly look from Rory for him to take his feet off the table.

  In no time, Rory and Lizzy had put candles all over the room, and now it was well lit and looked rather pretty. She wondered why she hadn’t thought of doing this before.

  “This is pretty fucking cool. Like in that Guns n’ Roses song.” Mickey smiled, looking around.

  “Yeah, man, totally,” Bobby replied. Rory realized that the other guy who had come in with Mickey hadn’t spoken at all and seemed lost in his own thoughts. The thunder still came in waves, but in here its sound was muted.

  As she sat on the sofa, she heard the sound of a piano note. Then another and then some more. Her back was to him, but she could tell that Arsen was the one noodling on the piano. Soon notes were flying out of his fingers and she was genuinely surprised at his proficiency at the instrument. It sounded magical to her ears, and for a moment she thought she knew the song he was playing.

  It was soothing, the soft manner in which Arsen threw in those sweet notes. It didn’t even need a singer, the music just sang by itself. Rory noticed Lizzy swaying with the music already and a smile made its way to her face. Just then Mickey Nicks stood up, put on his rockstar face, and broke into the lyrics of “Hey Jude.” Ah! So that’s how I know this song, she thought.

  “Hey Jude, don’t make it bad. Take a sad song, and make it better…” Mickey’s high-pitched, yet melodious voice, rang through the room. Bobby instantly joined him and started singing a harmony, layering a strong bass counterpoint to Mickey’s voice. As extravagant as these rock stars were, Rory couldn’t help but admit that even with just a piano they were doing a beautiful job.

  The other guy with them, the silent one, started tapping a percussive beat on the coffee table and Rory heard Lizzy let out an excited yelp. Lizzy sat there with her hands clasped, her eyes wide open, unable to believe what was happening. Rory wondered why she couldn’t be more like Lizzy, why she also couldn’t let her hair down for a bit and just enjoy the moment.

  The last person to play this piano had been her grandmother, who loved playing “Amazing Grace” on it. She would get the whole family together and they would sing old standards. It was perhaps the only time that she felt comfortable in the company of her parents. The piano itself was nothing special, but it was her grandmother’s and it meant everything to Rory. She had always made sure that she called in a tuner at regular intervals to maintain it.

  Rory had to admit that the way Arsen was playing the piano made it sound much better than it ever had before. The instrument seemed to sing on Arsen’s command and Rory found herself humming the tune, unable to stop herself from being overpowered by this moment. Even Don had started half mouthing the words in his tuneless voice as he pulled out a hip flask out of the inner pocket of his jacket and took a swig. By the time they were approaching the refrain, everyone was clapping and singing along.

  Their voices formed a wonderful harmony and echoed through the high ceilings of her grandmother’s old house. Rory reluctantly turned around to look at Arsen, who was sitting with his back to her, his head bobbing slightly in rhythm with his playing.

  “...na na na na na, Hey Jude,” sang Mickey, doing his best to out-sing the rest.

  Everyone was singing and clapping in sync and the
mood in the room had transformed. The warm glow of the candles added that extra bit of visual touch that was complimentary to the vibe of the song. Rory’s eyes met Lizzy’s and they both smiled at each other. If someone had told her twenty-four hours ago that the biggest rock band in the world would be in her house singing “Hey Jude,” she would’ve told them to take a hike.

  Everyone broke into applause once the song ended, with smiles being shared all around.

  “I have seen a zillion guys play music, but Arsen my boy, you still take my breath away,” Don remarked. Rory noticed that the smile on Mickey’s face grew dimmer at Don’s comment.

  “One more! One more!” Lizzy exclaimed.

  “Now now, young lady. I’m going to have to charge you an admission fee for that!” Don replied, and broke into a laugh. The kind of laugh you couldn’t help but join in with.

  “Sure, why not! We got nothing else to do, right?” Mickey said. He was clearly enjoying being a rockstar and was constantly scanning Rory and Lizzy’s faces to see if they were impressed with his act. Rory found it childish.

  “How about a blues jam?” Arsen said in his smooth baritone voice that sounded unlike everyone else’s in the room. Rory wondered how good a singer he was.

  “Perfect. Let’s do a blues jam and make up some lyrics on the spot.” Mickey clapped his hands. As Arsen’s fingers hit the ivories and played the standard, familiar, blues progression that Rory had often heard on the old records that her grandma listened to, Mickey started singing.

  “Rain rain, go away, don’t you come another day. The bad boys here all want to play, so do not spoil our holiday.”

  Everyone broke into a laughter at the lyrics he churned out and Rory thought she even heard Arsen chuckle. Mickey went on to make more impromptu lyrics and did what he did best, entertain. Midway through the song, Arsen broke into an instrumental break and sped on, playing a hundred notes a minute. I thought he was a guitar player? Rory wondered. Arsen was playing the piano like he had been born on it.