by A W Hartoin
Another yawn. Pick could be calm about it, but I had a feeling in the next four days we were both going to have some stuff done to us that wasn’t going to look good.
With the help of Oliver’s map, Pick and I made it to our room in ten minutes. No kitchens or dead ends. We climbed the spiral stone staircase and found two curved oak doors on the small circular landing. There weren’t any numbers or letters. For a second, I wasn’t sure what door was mine until I noticed the door on the right had a crystal identical to one on my key, dangling from the heavy brass door knob.
I unlocked the lock and swiped my keycard.
“Welcome, Mercy Watts,” said the door. “Your itinerary is on your bed. Enjoy your stay.”
Pick scratched at the door and whined. I opened it and found the cell Dad chose for me was better than I imagined, right out of a storybook. Or rather it was straight out of Chenonceau, Diane de Poitier’s graceful chateau in the Loire Valley in France or Catherine de Medici’s chateau, if you prefer. I thought of it as Diane’s. She had it first and now I had Diane’s bedroom, at least for four days.
The room was a half-moon shape, taking up half the tower. Other than the shape, I had everything Diane had, the blue canopy bed, the Flemish tapestries, and the huge stone fireplace with the gold initials of Diane and Henry II, her lover. The fireplace reached all the way to the inlaid wood ceiling. There was only one thing that I had that Diane didn’t have and that was two dudes sitting in her embossed leather chairs in front of the fireplace.
“Hey, Mercy,” said Tiny.
“You hungry?” asked Aaron.
“Oh my god. What are you two doing here?” I asked.
“Waiting for you,” said Tiny.
“How’d you get in?”
“What do you mean?”
I held up my keycard and big key. “I have to use these to get here.”
“We have whatever you have.” Tiny tried to heave himself out of his chair and failed. The arms of the chair were not letting go.
“You hungry?” asked Aaron again.
“No, I’m not hungry,” I said. “So you have access to my room?”
“Of course,” said Tiny.
“Why of course?”
He stood up and the chair stuck to his butt for crying out loud. I dropped Pick’s leash and pried it off. Aaron didn’t move, not that I expected him to. I recognized the look. He was plotting food.
“We got to be able to get in here and help you if something happens,” said Tiny.
“You’re going to save me from a contract killer if he or she makes it onto the grounds through the castle to break into my room.”
“That’s the plan.”
I’d never heard of a worse plan. I knew Aaron. He could stab somebody with a fork if they positioned the fork and ran into it. As for Tiny, he was a powerful guy, but I doubted the Costillas would send somebody that couldn’t outrun my four-hundred-pound keeper.
Tiny must’ve read my mind. “I got skills,” he said.
“I’m sure you do.”
“Why you say it like that?”
Tiny had worked airport security so he had to be weapons qualified, but that wasn’t going to help if he didn’t have a gun. And what made Dad think Tiny was prepared to shoot someone? Firing at a range was different than real life. I should know.
“They used bomb sniffing equipment on the limo and x-rayed our luggage for weapons. What are you going to do? Smack the guy to death?”
Tiny cracked his knuckles in a way that made me think that was a possibility. Then he lifted his shirt and revealed a .22 stuck in his waistband under a roll of skin. “I’m packing.”
“How come you get a gun? Where’s my gun?” I asked.
“You don’t need no gun. You got me takin’ care of you. You’re a bridesmaid, remember?”
“I’d rather have a gun.”
“You get pedicures.”
“That sucks. People are trying to kill me, not you.”
“Yeah, well. Your dad said it ain’t safe for you to have a gun on this trip,” said Tiny.
My hands went automatically to my hips. “And why is that?”
“He thinks ya might shoot your cousins.”
I can see that.
“I wouldn’t shoot them dead. I’d wing them.”
“So ya can see why I got the gun.”
I climbed on the bed and sank into the velvety softness. Sweet. Just what I needed.
Tiny stuck the dreaded itinerary in my face. “You got a list of stuff.”
“I’m sleeping. You’re welcome to watch, but I warn you it’s not exciting.”
Tiny crossed the room and wedged his butt right back in the chair. I couldn’t believe it. They were going to watch me sleep. How freaking weird is that?
“Fine,” I said. “I don’t care. I’m sleeping. I was meant to sleep.” I burrowed under the covers and closed my eyes. Maybe I could sleep for the whole four days. I was pretty tired and the cousins didn’t have a map to my room, I hoped. I could just sleep and sleep and…
Knock. Knock.
No! No! No!
Knock. Knock.
This is not happening. I refuse to believe it.
“Mercy! It’s Bridget. Time for our pedicures. Are you in there?”
I sat up. “Don’t answer that.”
Too late. Aaron opened the door and stepped back to let the Troublesome Trio in. I never hated them more, not even when they duct taped me and put me in Grandpa’s taxidermy shed on my birthday.
“Are you ready?” asked Sorcha, eyeing Tiny.
“For what?”
“Our pedicures. It’s hot stone and totally lux.”
I will harm you.
I took a calming breath and said, “Don’t you want to nap first. We were up at O dark thirty as my dad would say.”
Jilly ran her long fingers through her silky smooth bob. “We already took naps. What were you doing?”
“Not sleeping.”
“Great,” said Bridget. “So you’re ready.”
Groan.
Tiny stood up and once again the chair stuck to his rump. My cousins stared at him but didn’t make a move to help as he struggled. I slid out of bed and popped the chair off.
Tiny straightened up with considerable dignity. “I’m ready.”
“For what?” asked Sorcha. She was looking at him like she’d never seen a human before. She probably hadn’t seen anyone like Tiny. The Watts family had tall genes, but Tiny took tall to the extreme.
“Pedicures,” I said.
“Um…we’re all getting pedicures?” asked Bridget.
I glanced at Tiny and he gave me a slight nod.
“Apparently so. Tiny has been ordered to guard me.”
The trio looked at Aaron and Bridget asked, “They call you Tiny now?”
“No,” said Aaron.
“I’m Tiny,” said Tiny with a little wave.
“You’re Tiny?” asked Jilly.
“Makes sense, don’t it?”
“Not really.”
“It’s ironic.” I opened my luggage and found a pair of flip-flops, probably for pedicures specifically. Shocking. Mom hated flip-flops. She thought they were cheap. The beauty of cheap was completely lost on my mother.
“How come you have to watch Mercy?” asked Bridget.
“Cause the Costillas put a hit on her,” said Tiny.
“I get that, but why you?”
“He’s my cousin,” I said.
“Of course we’re cousins,” said Sorcha
“No.” I gestured between Tiny and myself. “We’re cousins.”
“But I’m your cousin, so Tiny must be my cousin.”
“He’s on my mom’s side. You’re all Watts.”
“Oh. So we’re not cousins,” said Jilly. “But Uncle Tommy is our dad’s brother.”
Head slap.
“I’m your cousin. He’s not.”
“Oh,” they said in chorus.
I picked up our schedule
. It was packed. I don’t think there was a beauty treatment invented that we weren’t having. My phone vibrated. It was Mom telling me that we were late for our pedicures in all caps. Fantastic. My mother had planned the weekend and was going to micromanage it from afar. Remind me never to get married. This was only Bridget. My wedding would be insane.
Sorcha, Bridget, and Jilly’s phones then rang. The ring had the sound of Mom and I was right.
“We’re late,” they said and everyone looked at me, even Aaron. At least he was facing me. He could’ve been looking at the ceiling.
I texted Mom back. “Aaron and Tiny are here. What do I do with them?”
“Take them and hurry up.”
When I looked back up, they were all still watching me. Now this was a bridesmaids’ weekend. There were my Watts cousins, nearly identical and more Irish-looking than I ever realized, Tiny, my other cousin, the world’s largest African-American man, Aaron, who fit into no category, except weirdo, and me, a Marilyn Monroe look-a-like, dressed in clothes two sizes too big and smelling like poodle. As Lillian said in Bridesmaids, we were a stone cold pack of weirdos.
“Pedicures it is,” I said.
Chapter Eight
“MERCY!”
MY EYES slid open a few millimeters. All I could see through my lashes were my toes, hot pink and hand-painted with white orchids. My feet were fancy. “Huh?”
“Were you asleep?” asked Sorcha.
“No, no. I was totally listening.”
I totally wasn’t listening. I’d discovered in the last three hours that I had no opinion on bouquets, corsages, boutonnieres, tablescapes, or seating arrangements. I’d also learned I could fake it while being half asleep. It was a useful skill since the last three hours had been some of the most boring of my life and of Tiny’s life, if I went by the snoring. The only interesting thing was when Tiny stopped breathing. I had to hobble over with sponge toe-spreaders on and crack him on the back to get him going. Sleep apnea was definitely more interesting than what color the mother of the groom should wear.
So far we’d had pedicures and massages. Now we were on to mud baths, my favorite by far. Each of us had our own bin full of special Italian mud. I have no clue why Italian mud was better, but the mud ladies swore it was. Tiny was the only one not in mud. He didn’t fit in their largest bin so they wrapped him in hot towels like a ginormous burrito. He was snoring again, which was good since I couldn’t get out of the mud to whack him and would have to get one of the mud ladies to do it.
I closed my eyes again and Bridget asked, “So what do you think?”
“It could go either way.” I’d discovered that answer worked well when you didn’t know what they were talking about.
“Don’t you care?” asked Jilly.
“Of course I care.” Also a safe answer.
“But you’re saying it’s okay?”
“You should do whatever feels right.” Damn, I was good.
Bridget, who was on my right, moved and made a sucking sound in her mud. “You’ve got the go ahead. I’d go for it.”
“Absolutely,” I said.
“Wow,” said Sorcha. “I never thought you’d say that, Mercy.”
“Me, either, but what’re you gonna do.” Eyes closed. So warm. So comfortable.
“I’m so happy,” said Jilly. “I’ve had a crush on him forever.”
Crush?
“So you’ve had a crush forever, huh?” I asked.
“Couldn’t you tell? When he comes back, I’m going to ask him out.”
Sorcha smacked her mud. “I should get him. I’m closer to his age.”
“Forget it,” said Jilly. “I have dibs.”
“You can’t call dibs on a person,” said Sorcha.
Jilly made a purring noise. “Chuck is so hot. I can’t believe you don’t mind me asking him out. Thanks, Mercy.
What now?
My eyes were wide open and I struggled in my warm mud. Jilly was asking Chuck out? My Chuck? Hell, no!
The door to the spa opened and my mud lady, Joanie, said, “Right this way, ladies.”
Two women walked in, wearing what Sorcha called mom suits, swimming suits that had skirts and tummy control. I recognized them from the Escalades. They were the MVP Grizzlies that Nicole thought were overconfident. I’d say that was a fair opinion and one I shared.
Joanie helped them into tubs across from us and I tried to block out my cousins discussion of Chuck’s fabulous abs and butt. Apparently, I’d given permission for Jilly to date Chuck and she was relishing the possibilities. I was queasy and the stink of the Italian mud wasn’t helping. No. It would be fine. Chuck had never shown any interest in Jilly. He’d say no. Of course, he would. Then again, he’d said yes to pretty much every friend I had. Why not Jilly? And what could I say about it? I had a date with Oliver that night. I didn’t do it intentionally but still it was a date. Chuck had been gone for a long time. He could be dating someone. He could be in bed with someone right then.
I’m going to be sick.
The door to the spa opened again and Aaron trotted in, carrying his brand of spa food. He had prosecco in champagne flutes, strawberries, and mounds of rough-cut chocolate on a silver tray. “You hungry?”
“Champagne!” exclaimed Bridget as she held out a mud-covered hand.
“Prosecco,” said Aaron.
“Same thing.”
“No.”
She tilted her chin down into the mud. “Can I have some prosecco then?”
“Huh?”
I sighed. I was the one who needed prosecco. People trying to date Chuck. I would hurt someone. “Please give Bridget some prosecco, Aaron. She knows the difference, I swear.”
“Well,” said Bridget.
“Quiet. I need wine.”
“So does Chuck like wine?” asked Jilly. “I know this great bar—”
“Wine now!”
Sorcha snuffled. “Me, too. I’m never going to get a boyfriend.”
“Stop crying. That’ll be a good start,” said Bridget.
“Stop calling me Weepy all the time.” Tears dripped into the mud. Jilly and Bridget rolled their eyes at each other.
Aaron dropped a sugar cube in each flute and then filled them with bubbly joy. My cousins, with the exception of Tiny, went on to swill prosecco and talk about the aphrodisiac qualities of wine and strawberries and whether they would work on Chuck. Sorcha sniffled while I threw back two glasses and had some strawberries. No chocolate. I didn’t want it. I tried to want it for Aaron, who stood there, waiting for me to scarf it down. I told him I wasn’t in the mood, but he acted like he didn’t hear me. There was nothing to be done. He didn’t get it and neither did I so I proceeded to block him, and the escalating talk of Chuck’s bod, out by concentrating on the Grizzly moms chatting away across from me. They were in full makeup for mud baths and had a pile of jewelry on the tables beside their tubs. Why bother?
“Where were you?” asked the dark-haired one, still wearing dangling diamond earrings. They were gorgeous and at least three carats. I wouldn’t get them near mud.
The blond shrugged and slurred her words slightly, “I got lost again.”
“Again, Deanna? Where did you end up this time?”
“The distillery again,” said Deanna.
The brunette frowned. “Did you have a tasting?”
“I wish. It smelled fabulous. I wouldn’t mind getting locked in there with Coach Oliver.”
“Did you see him in those pants?” asked the dark-haired one. She was pretty and what my mom would call well maintained.
“Do you think I should ask him out?” asked her blond friend.
“Deanna, if you don’t, I will.”
“What about Tim, your husband?” asked Deanna.
The dark-haired one lifted a cucumber slice off her eye. “Tim? He looks like he ate a watermelon. Whole.”
Deanna laughed. “You married him, Robin. For better or worse.”
“Yeah and he’s looki
ng worse next to Oliver. I can’t believe he’s not married.”
“I can’t believe the Lions are here. They can’t afford this.”
“Something’s fishy,” said Robin.
“I don’t care why they’re here. If they want to be out-classed, they’re in the right place.”
Robin got quiet and bit her lower lip.
“What’s wrong?” asked Deanna.
“Nothing. I was just thinking about the Vipers. They’ve never been here before either.”
“This is really weird. Did Tim know they’d be here?”
“No. I don’t think so,” said Robin.
“Well, the Vipers and the Lions will both just have to suck it. Enrique was meant to have the prize. I don’t know why they even bothered to come,” said Deanna.
Aaron offered the Grizzly ladies prosecco and they accepted with many thanks, especially Deanna. Before they started up about Oliver’s hot butt or the husband Tim’s big gut, Joanie came over to me. “Time’s up. Would you like me to help you out?”
Like? Yes, I would like it because I was never getting out if I didn’t have help. Italian mud is heavy, so heavy I nearly lost my bikini bottoms to the stuff. Luckily, Tiny was still asleep and the Troublesome Trio averted their eyes.
I managed to get my bottoms to cover the important bits and said, “What now?”
Please say nap. Please say nap.
“Vichy showers,” said Bridget. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”
“Sounds like something the Nazis did in occupied France,” I said.
My cousins stared at me and Tiny snorted under his towels. At least he got the reference.
“It’s a special shower that increases circulation and lymphatic flow, relieving the body of toxins,” said Joanie.
I seriously doubt that.
“How about you all take the Vichy thing and I take a regular shower and a nap?” I asked.
Bridget’s lip trembled. “But we were going to decide on the favors.”
“I vote for goldfish,” said Jilly. “It’s original.”
“You want to give people live goldfish as a wedding favor?” This was worse than the exploding invites that spewed glitter all over the recipient’s house.
