Irresistible

by Andrew J. Peters

  He and Cal decided on a no-frills wedding at City Hall and a bigger ceremony and reception in Greece where Cal’s humongous extended family could attend. Brendan’s grandmum insisted they publish an announcement in the New York Times as she had with all of her married sons and daughters and her grandchildren. He suspected she regretted she couldn’t oversee a sparkling society reception in the city, but that wasn’t important to Brendan and Cal.

  Their families and their closest friends would celebrate with them in Greece, and then they’d be off to a two-week honeymoon in the Mauritius. They’d return to New York City where Brendan’s apartment would be their home. Cal had found online courses that would allow him to start his master’s program in the spring.

  There was just one nagging matter to sort out. Brendan decided to broach it one night after he and Cal had finished a bottle of Loire Valley Cabernet Franc and were cuddled up on the couch in their sleeping boxers, looking over their guest list.

  They had a table for Brendan’s family, eleven tables to accommodate Cal’s, and one designated for friends. The latter table was starkly absent of any of Cal’s friends. It was a sensitive matter. Cal had friends in Syracuse, mostly girls, but he’d said none of them were in a position to afford to fly to Greece for a wedding. It didn’t seem right that Cal would have none of his own friends take part in their celebration, particularly the guy who, in a way, had helped bring them together by partnering up with Cal to come to New York City that summer.

  Brendan was embanked with Cal, bobsled style, and holding up the guest list on a handwritten notepad for them both to review. He brought out carefully, “Have you spoken to Derek?”

  “No,” Cal said. He left the issue hanging in the air, probably hoping it would drift away.

  Brendan set the notepad down and tickled the back of Cal’s neck with his nose. “Don’t you think you should?”

  “Why?”

  “He’s your best friend.”

  Cal dropped his head onto Brendan’s shoulder. “He texted me the other day. I didn’t answer.”

  “What did he say?”

  “‘Don’t be mad at me’,” Cal recited. “He said he’d had a ‘bad day.’ He wanted to know if we could talk.”

  “Sounds like he wants to apologize.”

  “I’m not sure I’m ready to hear it.”

  Brendan sat up a bit, minding that his fiancé was still supported comfortably. “He’s your friend, and it’s your call. I just wouldn’t want you to regret leaving him out of the wedding, later.”

  “He tried to sabotage our relationship.”

  “I know. He was a real jerk. But he could never do that. I bet he knows it too.”

  “You think he deserves a second chance?”

  “Do you?”

  Cal breathed out a weary sigh. “I miss him. And then I remember what he did, and I get angry at myself for missing him. I don’t know. I’m confused.”

  “Maybe it would help to hear him out.”

  Cal thought on it awhile. “I guess I haven’t been a very good friend myself. He’s always been there for me. I ought to cut him some slack.” Cal drew into himself again for a moment. “Though I can hear him already when I tell him about the wedding. He’s going to say I deliberately left him out since there’s no way he can pay to fly to Greece.”

  “Tell him I’ll pay.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Why not?” Money was no object for Brendan. He just wanted to make their wedding as special as it could be for Cal.

  Cal chuckled. “I don’t know how Derek will react to that. He’s got a lot of pride.”

  “He can turn down the offer if he wants to,” Brendan said. “No hard feelings.”

  Cal nestled into the crook of Brendan’s arm. “I’ll give him a call tomorrow morning.”

  Chapter Seven

  TWO MONTHS LATER, Cal and Brendan were on the island of Hydra in the Aegean Sea. That was where Cal’s grandparents lived, along with many of his uncles, aunts, and cousins. The rest of his Greek relatives were ferrying in from Athens, a short distance away.

  They’d booked a five-star resort on the beach for the wedding and the reception. Cal’s grandparents had wanted the entire wedding party to stay with them in town, but Cal explained, as tactfully as he could, that Brendan’s family and guests weren’t the sort of people who slept on cots and floors in a farmhouse.

  Brendan would have been fine with it, and he probably would have insisted on everyone staying there and having whatever country-style wedding Cal’s family preferred. That was Brendan’s noble nature. He was actually worried Cal’s family wouldn’t approve of him even though Cal had told him for working class people the question of approval pretty much ended when they heard his husband was an heir to a multibillion dollar corporation. Cal had reassured him no one would be offended by holding the event at a hotel. It was easier for the Panagopoulos clan to be comfortable in the kind of setting Brendan’s family was accustomed to rather than the other way around.

  The Royal Phoenician Resort and Spa was a gorgeous property with gleaming white bunkers of ocean-facing guest suites, stone-laid terraces, a giant kidney-shaped swimming pool, and a quarter mile of private beach, all carved out of a jutting spur of the island’s sun-scorched, rugged coastline. It had an open-air pavilion for the reception, a chapel for the ceremony, tennis courts, a gym and a spa facility, a dock for water taxis, and even a helipad. Brendan and Cal had booked the presidential suite, which had a wraparound sundeck and “his and his” showers and baths.

  When they first arrived, Cal worried they’d overreached. He imagined his locally grown family arriving by mule cart, for there were no cars or even mopeds permitted on the rustic island. They would descend on the place with their loud voices, brash manners, homemade pashminas, and mismatched outfits, and shatter the pristine elegance in one fell swoop. Cal felt like he was walking through a museum, and he had no idea how to handle the hotel staff, who stood around smiling at their stations in neat, white uniforms, just waiting to be helpful. Naturally, he let Brendan take the lead with checking in and tipping the guy who brought their luggage up to their room. Then, a strange thing happened as he stood with his fiancé on their deck, admiring the glistening resort sprawled out below them, like princes overlooking their kingdom.

  Cal realized he truly belonged in this fairy tale of a destination wedding. It was the perfect culmination of a perfect love story with the most perfect man on the planet. And if his family brought a little ethnic flavor to the hotel, the place would be better for it. Cal gave Brendan a kiss on the cheek and lured him into their suite to get in a quickie before the guests began showing up.

  They had a day to settle in. The next day would be the wedding, and the reception with all the traditional dances, the Ouzo, the money pinning, and the honey and almonds for good luck. After that, he and Brendan would spend five days visiting with Cal’s family, and then they’d have their private celebration on an island in the Indian Sea.

  It was surreal that first day, greeting the guests as they materialized in the hotel’s posh lounge, steps down from the reception foyer. Arriving on the first ferry from Athens, with a transfer from the main harbor by water taxi, Cal’s father came in bickering with Cal’s brothers Sandy, Yannis, George, and Demetri. His brothers always seemed to regress in time when they were together, fighting for bragging rights over who knew their family history best and who knew the quickest route from here to there. Cal’s mother came along and turned brittle and weepy at the sight of Cal, as though she beheld a mirage that was slipping out of her grasp. His sisters Ana and Lucy swooped in on Brendan flirtatiously while their beleaguered, jetlagged husbands barked after their children who ran footloose through the hotel. His sister Genie, who was the only unmarried one, caught Cal up on all the comical details of the family’s transatlantic voyage.

  Brendan’s family began arriving a short interval later, on schedule from his grandfather’s chartered jet and a private helicopter
connection to the island. First, it was his grandfather Harry and his grandmother Millie, who looked to Cal like people who got invited to White House dinners. They’d met before, back in New York, and Harry was polite, if a little brusque. Millie was sweet and lovely, just as Brendan always talked about her. She was full of compliments about the island as though Cal had discovered and colonized it himself.

  Next came Brendan’s mother, stepfather, and half sisters, who had dallied behind the grandparents. This was a first meeting. Though Brendan had vehemently asserted it was they, not Cal, who needed to mind making a good impression, Cal stood straighter and tried to imagine himself as the sort of person who knew about polo and private yachts.

  Brendan’s stepfather, Roger, turned out to be an easygoing guy, albeit in expensive sports clothes. He gave both grooms friendly hugs of congratulations and was eager to chat while his wife and daughters were preoccupied on their cell phones. The two girls, Daryl, seventeen, and Riley, fifteen, eventually presented themselves in their sunglasses and summery gowns, each one fussing with a toy terrier cradled in their arms like a baby. They made a show of fussing with their handsome older brother and then turned their attention to fussing with Cal. Riley declared Cal looked just like her best friend Ashlyn’s boyfriend, who apparently was some sort of European supermodel. Instagram photo taking quickly ensued.

  Then, Brendan’s mother, Belinda, glided over while wrapping up her phone conversation. She looked like a former model, blonde and elegant in a wide-brimmed hat and a wraparound dress, and every bit as intimidating as Cal had imagined. Belinda scolded her daughters about pestering Cal with photos, gave her son two pecks on the cheek, and offered Cal her slight and manicured hand in what he supposed was a ladylike handshake. After pushing up her sunglasses like a visor to take a better account of him, she left him with a horrifically awkward head-to-toe gaze, and then she harassed her flock onward to their rooms, declaring she had a terrible migraine.

  Brendan had spoken of his father in not so gracious terms, but when Donovan Prentiss arrived with his much younger Venezuelan actress girlfriend Gabriela, Cal was fascinated by the man, and sort of instantly sympathetic. For one thing, Brendan was the spitting image of his father. He had the same piercing, earnest, slate-blue eyes. Though Brendan wouldn’t have liked him saying it, it was also obvious Donovan had passed along his endearingly excitable personality to his son. He probably had the money to rent out the entire property, but he awkwardly fumbled through check-in, and then stumbled down to the lounge with his shirttails somehow sprung free from his pants through the exchange. He halted, trembling and tearing up, and staggered forward to embrace his son as though Brendan had just been rescued from a burning building. Then he took ahold of Cal with nearly as much exuberance. Emptying his designer suitcase onto the floor to rustle something out, he returned to them brandishing a silk-screen T-shirt he’d designed for the wedding, which read, “My gay son is getting married.”

  Brendan’s friends arrived later: Betsy Schoonover and her husband, Brendan’s best man Louis Jeffries, and a host of other Ivy League types who chummed up to Cal with curiosity—the guy who’d stolen their buddy’s heart.

  While Brendan was working out some mix-up with the rooms up at the reception desk, Derek ambled into the hotel with his army-style rucksack thrown over his shoulder. Cal waved both his arms to call him down to the lounge.

  “You made it.”

  Derek removed his sunglasses from his pale, stubbly face. He looked disoriented but was such a welcome sight Cal grasped him in his arms in a bear hug.

  “You thought I was going to renege on you?” Derek asked.

  “No. I’m just glad to see you.”

  They’d made up over the phone a while after the Coney Island incident, but it was the first time Cal had seen Derek since that day. Derek had gone back to Syracuse for the rest of the summer. Truthfully, Cal had been worried his friend wouldn’t show up.

  Derek rubbed his face. “I feel like I just woke up after a night of boilermakers and beer bongs.”

  “It’s jet lag.”

  “No kidding,” Derek grumbled. “Nine hours to Athens, an hour on the bus to Piraeus, two and a half hours on the ferry to Hydra, and then a water taxi ride from hell that nearly had me puking out my guts over the side of the boat.” He glanced around, taking account of their privacy. “Y’know, your cheapskate boyfriend could’ve ponied up the money for business class.”

  “He wanted to,” Cal said. “I told him you’d feel less obligated in coach.”

  “Obligated? You overestimate my integrity. I would have leafletted for the Republican Party for some legroom and a chair that reclined more than a quarter inch.”

  Cal took his hand. “You’re here now. The hotel is amazing. Every room has an ocean view. The beach is, like, five seconds away. After you get settled, you can come down for the rehearsal dinner. We’re having lobster and chocolate soufflé.”

  Derek disentangled his hand from Cal’s.

  “You’re getting married now,” Derek said.

  Cal gave him a strange look. “Holding your hand doesn’t bother Brendan. He knows we’re just friends.”

  “Maybe it’s a little too touchy-feely for me.”

  They were quiet for a moment. Cal tried to make allowances for the remark. His friend was ornery from the long trip.

  “Let’s go see your room,” Cal suggested. “You can get unpacked and relax a bit before dinner. You even have time for a quick nap if you want.”

  “Not a chance,” Derek said. “I’ve only got four days for this vacation. Which way to the slutty Greek boys in loincloths? Someone who can rub me down in olive oil and feed me peeled grapes.”

  Cal giggled. “You can get a massage at the spa. But I’m not making any promises about getting a happy ending.” He remembered something. “We booked a deejay for the hotel nightclub who does all the party circuits in Europe. Ibiza. Amsterdam. Mykonos. Maybe you’ll meet some gay guys there.”

  Derek nodded, though his face was suddenly downcast. “You’re really doing this, aren’t you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Marrying Brendan.”

  Cal beamed. “I am.” He raked his hand through his hair. “God, I am. I’m still not sure if I believe it. He loves me, and we’re getting married.”

  “It doesn’t bother you he pays for everything? You’ll spend the rest of your life as a kept man.”

  “It’s not like that,” Cal said. “We can’t help that he has more money than me. And it’s just money. It doesn’t make me a kept man. I’m still going to have a career in classical studies. I start the masters program in the spring.”

  Derek skirted his gaze. “Sometimes I wonder what he has that I don’t.”

  Cal held him by the shoulders. “Hey, we’ll always be friends, Derek.” His face drew up in a smile. “What do you think I’d do without you?”

  Derek leaned in and kissed him on the lips very suddenly and forcefully. Cal froze, baffled by the desperation conveyed in that kiss and frightened someone might have seen it.

  Derek backed away, heaving a breath and gathering himself. He came back to Cal, trying out a nervous grin. “That was just for good luck.” A pained expression returned to his face. “I love you, Cal. No matter what happens, know that. I’ll always be there for you.”

  Cal took a dry swallow and nodded.

  “I’ll get out of your hair,” Derek said. He strode off with his rucksack and disappeared down a corridor leading to the guest rooms.

  Chapter Eight

  DEREK SHOULD NOT have come to Greece. It hit him like a blunt axe cleaved into his gut. He’d been there for ten seconds and attacked Cal with a kiss on the lips like a desperate lunatic. Derek hated himself for that. And now he was trapped for four days in a nightmare world where he somehow had to act like he was happy Cal was getting married when his vital organs were bleeding from the pain.

  He fast-tracked to his room, head down, brooking no acknowle
dgement from passing guests, and he fidgeted his key into the door and let himself in. A few steps inside, the solitude of the spotless suite pressed in on him from all sides. He stumbled to his bed and curled into himself on top of the comforter. For the first time since high school, Derek wept until his rib cage ached.

  He wished he could disappear. He wished he could escape his life, being a pathetic loser who broke down in tears because his best friend was getting married. But for five years, the one thing that had kept Derek going had been the possibility Cal could love him as he loved Cal. He had stood by, in and out of Cal’s disastrous relationships, always believing one day Cal would see they belonged together. Derek fully understood how fucked up and deluded that was, but his feelings for Cal were too strong to control. He could set them on a dimmer for a while, but they came back, flaring, demanding to be dealt with. He had suffered through Cal pining for other guys, hooking up with other guys, all the while afraid to say how much he loved the kid, just waiting like a dumb fool for a sign the time was right.

  In his warped mind, Derek had imagined Cal’s wedding would be his chance. Cal had gone out of his way to invite him, and it had felt like a sign he needed Derek, maybe because he wasn’t sure about Brendan. Maybe he realized deep down his heart belonged to Derek. And Derek would be there to tell him he’d always felt the same way. Like a pop song cliché, Cal would see that true love had been waiting right in front of him all along.

  It had to happen. Derek didn’t believe in god or fate, but life had to offer some kind of justice to even out the scales. He asked for so little and had been handed so much shit. Born a gay weakling who had no place in the world. With an older brother who had made it his mission in life to verbally and physically crush his soul since they were kids. Parents who let that happen because he was nothing, and his brother was a star athlete and the perfect straight son they had always wanted. Tortured by kids in school so much they put him on antidepressants so the thought of killing himself only occurred to him once or twice a week. How much was he supposed to take? What had he done, besides being born, for the world to hate him so much?