by Rissa Brahm
Beyond getting a rise out of her, watching her attention to detail got him hard, and how she managed shit for her career in general, like with his tux that morning, just really hot. And being managed by her when they were intimate the night before, that drove him buck-ass wild.
But he had to admit, being managed by her when it came to his personal life, well, that just felt…too close for comfort. He’d cooled himself down from his earlier ego attack, but he still hadn’t given her the entrance ticket into his damn psyche.
So, in response to her summons, his walk of procrastination toward his Mexican goddess couldn’t have taken longer if he were standing still.
*
Isabel sensed Zack’s discomfort. A self-made, self-assured man like him, especially having reached such success at such a young age, was probably not accustomed to taking advice from anyone, let alone a woman, who, by the way, hardly knew him…well, except intimately.
And the topic was personal. Well, that’s an understatement. Probably more like one of the landmarks in time for this man.
“You know”—she paused for a large spoonful of ice cream, then swallowed and smiled—“Amy explained from her perspective. Why don’t you tell it from your side?”
“Okay, first off, Ms. Psychoanalysis 101, please, for fuck’s sake, speak to me, not one of your wedding guests to conquer and control.” He placed his hand firmly on the table as he finished the demand. Then he swiped his hand back, and the cup of ice cream went with it, to the floor. “Damn it.”
Isabel ran for a pile of napkins at the counter, and on her way realized that she couldn’t remember a single time she’d ever had to help someone else clean up their spill, solely theirs. Even when they’d first met, the wine glass had been a shared calamity.
Anyway, she got to the counter and was met with a brand new bowl of ice cream, already prepared by the goo-goo eyed teenaged guy wearing the uniform bright pink apron. Smiling a thank you, she made sure there were no nuts but only sprinkles—she now remembered the nut allergy listed on the best man’s questionnaire—and then headed back to the table where Zack was taking visibly deep, calming breaths.
She wanted so badly to comfort him and ease his frustration, his pain. She wanted to care for him. And it all annoyed the hell out of her. Objectivity, Isabel. Get some.
She got to the table, bent down with the napkins to cover the spill on the floor and stood up again. Zack reached for the ice cream to help her, his fingers skimming hers. They shared a look, then both glanced down at the ice cream. Still gripping the stupid bowl, scared to let it go and have it spill again, she rolled her eyes with a smirk, slid her hand back, and sat down.
He cleared his throat and smiled. “Thanks.”
She nodded, and they took a few silent tastes from their bowls.
She felt his eyes on her, mid-bite. Then he began, in an almost too-soft tone, as if to counter his earlier demeanor. “Look, I have justifiable anger toward my father. He abandoned us. Darren didn’t ask me, or was it Amy who didn’t? Whoever the hell invited the bastard, I was completely taken off guard. My mother couldn’t even reach him by phone six years ago for Darren’s high school graduation. She was given instructions never to phone again. What kind of man…?” Then he took an angry bite of ice cream.
Isabel held back a smile by taking a bite of her mint chocolate chip dinner, swallowed it down, and looked at him. “Doesn’t sound like the kind of man you are. And not the kind of man you helped Darren to become,” she said naturally, objectively, knowingly. Strategically.
He looked at her and through her at the same time. He was searching for something, maybe her authenticity, the truth behind her observation. “I tried. I try,” he said humbly.
“Here’s my question. Does Darren know? I mean, did he know that you’re still so angry with your father? Because I get the sense that Darren, and that would mean Amy also, had no idea. Sounds like you held back all criticism of the man, not lowering yourself to your father’s level by badmouthing him, just to protect your baby brother.” She paused and looked him straight in his sea-green eyes. “Did and does your brother have a clue how you feel? And why you feel such…anger?”
“No, of course not. I didn’t, and don’t, want him to think the way I do about the man, feel this same awful disgust and hate…I mean, fuck!”
He slammed back another spoonful of ice cream, then went on with his mouth still full. “And I would never want Darren to think I resented him! I’m angry with my father! For leaving us and leaving me to raise his youngest son…” He trailed off as a realization seemed to hit him over the head.
She let the silence be for a beat or two.
“Hey, it’s okay that you resent your father. And it’s just as okay to acknowledge the fact that you didn’t ask to raise your kid brother.”
“But I’m proud of Darren, and I’m damn proud of the job I did with him. I don’t really have any regrets. None in fact. I supported my family without that fucking asshole,” he said, shaking his head, nostrils flared, “and I’ll be damned if he’ll come waltzing in now and be fucking forgiven for all.”
“Look at it this way: Your father left, and you’re justifiably bitter. Darren is not as bitter. Why? Because you jumped in, more than compensating for your dad’s absence, giving your brother guidance, love, and support, a true guardian. So Darren’s life really didn’t skip a beat. He never felt a void, at least not like the void you felt. Maybe, because of you, he’s able to forgive your piece-of-shit dad and not harbor the same animosity you do. All because of the job you did. Because of you!” She paused to let it sink in.
He took a bite of his melting mess, and halfway through the spoonful, he said, “Yeah, Amy was right about one thing. You are damn good. And I hate it.”
“I am,” she said with a smile, “and hate it or not, you’ll have to suck on up, buttercup.”
“It’s ‘suck it up’,” he said, letting one side of his mouth curl through his gravity.
“Right, whatever,” she said with an emphatic eye roll which morphed into a thin-lined grin. “Anyway, I’m just being honest, which I can be if I’m not talking with a guest at one of my weddings.”
“I guess…I appreciate that?” Zack said with a hint of levity in his voice, definitely uncomfortable with the current advisee-advisor roles. “And, wait––not a guest? Sooo…”
She gave him a slow eye-sigh, cleared her throat, then took a big, comment-ignoring bite of ice cream.
*
Three more delicious bites later, she said through frozen lips, “I want you to hear an alternative.” Isabel looked at him, waiting for a nod of approval before she went on. And after two pensive spoonfuls of ice cream, he bobbed his head.
“Let’s say that Darren knew how much you hated your father, which he didn’t. And let’s also say Darren sought him out and invited him, even if it might upset you, neither of which he did. But Zack, even if he had done those things, Darren is a grown man. And it isn’t up to you who Darren and Amy invite to their wedding.” She took another slow spoonful, awaiting a reply.
But none came, Zack just stared and stirred his melted green and black slush.
“Be your brother’s best man, Zack, and be supportive of him forgiving your dad. And it wouldn’t hurt for you to do the same.” She stopped there on instinct. She might have gone too far already, so she chose not to say her next thought: Sometimes, what we hate most in others is the mirror we see reflected back at us by them.
Especially by our own blood.
She watched Zack intently. The corners of his mouth, downturned now as he continually bit his bottom pout, maybe stopping himself from saying one thing or another. But it was coming, she knew. A response was in process, she could almost see it brewing. His strong hands occupied themselves with stirring his ice cream to death. The apparent conversation he held with himself, within himself, had him shaking his head from side to side with inaudible mutterings escaping every now and then.
She f
elt inclined to reach her hand out to his, hoping to bring him back. She swallowed hard as she slid her hand across the table toward his. And when her fingers met his warm, slightly rough skin, his hand flinched, he shot his chair away from the table, and rocketed up to standing.
She inhaled fast, watching his wide green eyes target hers with abrupt and icy harshness. “Listen, I appreciate you helping…Darren and Amy…keeping their wedding in one piece. But it’s all damn easy for you to say…anything! All can be forgiven from your seat!”
Isabel stayed calm and cool, as if all she felt from his dagger-storm of deadly sharp icicles was the crisp air they tore through.
She looked into his face and said in a frosty and firm tone right back at him, “Yes, Zack, it’s really easy for me. Among too many things to mention, my parents…left me, and most of my brothers and sisters have all but disowned me. All because of…my past. Things I had no control over. So, no, there’s no one for me to forgive in my life. Because they’re all gone. It’s all just peaches and fucking cream for me.”
Zack froze there, in his tall, arrogant stance, making no eye contact. He seemed smart enough to not dare look at her then, while she on the other hand, wouldn’t remove her glare for an instant. He sighed, then laid his hands flat on the tabletop, his chest heaving. He seemed caught. In limbo. Go or stay? What would it be? she wondered. He wouldn’t look up, still avoiding her eyes, only looking down into his mint green soup. She stayed silent, stuck mid-breath. A second came and went, then another, and another still. They all passed them by, gone forever.
He cleared his throat, swallowed hard, then slowly, pensively sat back down across from her.
So, he was apparently staying.
The tension was still thick though. And in the awkward lull, his eyes still hiding from hers, she smirked to herself. If she were speaking to one of her usual wedding guests, they’d both be schmoozing and laughing over the day’s or week’s antics already, sipping the last of their melted sweets.
But Zack and Isabel just continued to sit in sharp, frigid silence.
Fireworks on the bay cracked in distraction, brightening up the evening sky. Then came a loud pop, which made Isabel jump in her seat and bump the table. Zack’s second bowl of ice cream soup spilled onto his lap.
You’ve got to be kidding me?
Isabel came around the table to help while he had already patted the spill into his pants with too many napkins, most of them catching the wind, flying across the cobblestone street and away.
She smirked at him, really because this sort of thing usually happened to her, except it was becoming more and more apparent that they didn’t happen to her when she was around him. He got the brunt of it all.
She got some clean napkins and a cup of water from the counter boy, and taking a little spray bottle from her purse without hesitating, attended to Zack’s crotch. He didn’t stop her or seem to mind, and when she was done, the stain was gone, and he thanked her with his eyes. Those eyes. She’d missed them over the last frosty minutes.
She re-situated herself in her seat. And he brought his seat back close to the small round table as well. Then he glanced at her with a soft, surrendered expression. Like he was done fuming. Like he had come back to the table and come back to her.
She nodded, smiled, then lifted her brows, asking without words if she could speak. He nodded hesitantly and returned his gaze downward.
“A comedy of errors,” she said.
“A comedy of errors?”
“Yes. Words I live by these days. So, think about the irony of the entire situation. Start with innocent, young Amy, so in love with her fiancé, wanting to give him a second chance with his dad. She doesn’t say anything to anyone about any big scheme she’s got cooked up, she doesn’t consider consequences or repercussions. There’s no forethought, and she knows nothing of the need for careful handling of such a matter. She hasn’t had enough matters in her life to handle.”
She paused. The fireworks grand finale had begun, and while it was too loud to talk through it, she also wanted to get a sense of where Zack was with her reasoning. His eyes were still down on his fidgeting fingers. Listening and registering or just brooding, she couldn’t know, but he was staying with her at the table for two, nonetheless. A good sign.
She looked up to admire the sparkling light show in the meantime.
As she did, she could immediately feel him watching her. His red-hot vibrations radiated from three feet away. Was it anger? Resentment? Frustration, maybe? She just didn’t know. But the strange anchored feeling that enveloped her whenever she was with him was still present, and it kept her there, vested, with a purpose. A purpose beyond being Amy’s wedding planner. No, she would stay to make her point and to maybe alleviate his pain. If only a little.
*
Minutes later, the crackling spectacle ended. He looked back down just as she glanced at him again, picking up where she’d left off.
“So…I was saying, can we really get upset with Amy? It’s just a case of naiveté meets good intentions, you know?”
Zack’s head tilted in consideration.
“And then, there’s you, Zack.”
His eyes shot up, a slight warning flashing on his face.
Tread delicately. “You’re just discovering your own Catch-22, which is protecting Darren from being hurt by your recently surfaced resentment of…Darren, your own brother. Seems to me to be, well, a comedy of errors, your dad being the smallest part of the damn joke, but the instigator of it all.”
Zack narrowed his eyes and repeated as if to himself, “A comedy of errors.”
“The universe has quite the sense of humor, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, right.”
Then he lifted his gaze to meet hers. The heavy feeling in her chest lifted slowly.
He swallowed, sighed, then licked his lips, set to speak. “Well, with that said, I wonder what joke it has in store for us next. Because, knowing how self-centered my dick of a father is, he wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for something…self-serving.”
“Possibly.”
“Definitely.”
“But your father’s actions, ill or otherwise, are beyond your control or Darren’s. But the relief Darren will feel, and that you would feel, if you let the bastard off the hook…a feeling of true indifference. That pathetic asshole would hold no more importance to you than a stranger who steals your parking spot at the grocery store. Then whatever the man’s evil and ghastly plans turn out to be, it wouldn’t affect you or your brother in the least. You wouldn’t care enough to let it. Apathetic freedom.”
His lip curled up coyly, as if defeated by her logic. “Text Amy,” he ordered. “Tell her that everything is fine and that Zack is the best man, the only best man.” He allowed a small smile to form and added, “I’ll text my brother.”
CHAPTER 26
He reviewed in his mind all the hits his pride had taken in the presence of this woman. He had become a clumsy, stuttering asshole; he had been fucked and left by her in the middle of the night; and now, he had been advised and enlightened by her.
And he still wanted her more than anyone or anything else in the world.
He pulled out his phone to text his brother quickly. Let’s talk tonight. Be back soon, your rightful best man.
“Isabel, walk with me.” He came around to her side and pulled her chair out, confirming that his statement wasn’t a request.
They moved along the boardwalk, crowded with merchants and hawkers, families and young couples moving in and out of their path. The moonlight showed through patches of clouds, hinting rain, but holding out.
And each time the moon glow broke through the threatening sky, Isabel glowed, and he almost tripped twice from the distraction.
“Isabel, as a wedding planner, you’re nosy and meddlesome. I might even add arrogant!” He worked hard to hide his smirk. “But I’m really grateful. Words of wisdom that I probably wouldn’t have heard from anyone else.”
/> She smiled, a glimmer of pride in her large doe eyes. And he felt that she was glad to be there with him––or maybe he was just being hopeful. Maybe she was just glad to have been able to help. And—or—to have accomplished the goal of her paying client, the bride. At that point, her motivation didn’t matter to him; he was just ecstatic to be near her.
They walked on, both watching the mini-scenes surrounding them. Then she paused and stared hard at the back of some man’s head. Zack could tell she wasn’t concerned about the man being a wedding guest from the James-Rine party, because she actually moved in tighter to him, as if under his wing.
“Do you know that guy?”
“Oh, no. No. Just thought it was someone.” She released the tension in her face and put the space back between them, ready to walk on normally.
After a few steps forward and a long sigh, she paused and looked up at him, as if ready to explain herself, like he’d asked for an explanation.
“This is embarrassing,” she said, her sweet, wide eyes catching his, as if to ask him to withhold all comments or laughter. “My longtime friend, actually my best friend, Roberto…well, he’s become a bit obsessed. With me. I got pretty smashed one night, and our relationship kinda crossed the line of no return. I mean, I was so drunk that I don’t remember any of it, but the next morning it was pretty obvious what had happened…and let’s just say he sees things, us, differently now.”
“You? Smashed? I would pay to see the slobbering, silly Isabel.” Zack laughed out loud, teasing her as he pictured chasing her around his hotel suite, both of them buck naked and giggling. Then him catching her. And pleasuring her. Oh God, to pleasure her again. And again.
Whoa. Come the fuck back, Zack.
“I wish it were funny, but it’s actually gotten a little creepy.”
“Is it Blue Eyes from the bar? Or is this a different stalker?”
