by Lorenzo, DD
His mouth fell open.
“Yes, Declan,” she confirmed, “that’s what I see. Maybe you still see things differently,” she challenged. “Appearance for appearances sake? Is that what’s most important to you now, because for you to make a statement like you just did, trivializes what you did for me. I would never look at you like that…and I never have.”
Declan stood, wanting to go over to her, attempt to do damage control. This time, she was the one to stop him, not wanting him to touch her.
“NO! Don’t come near me,” she said as she made her way back to the bedroom, picking up and removing his clothes, throwing them into the bathroom. “Maybe you’ve spent so much time with that bitch Marisol that you have just as much a corrupt way of looking at things as she does.”
He winced at her words, thinking they were a low blow, but realizing she didn’t know all of the facts.
“Don’t compare me to her, Aria,” he said quietly.
“No, Dec!” she said firmly, stopping to emphasize how hurt and angry she felt. “The man I was in love with would have known me better than that. He would have understood that shit like physical appearances wouldn’t bother me—and knowing that you don’t remember me that well proves that you’ve become more like Marisol since we’ve been apart than you realize!”
She took the rest of his clothes and threw them at him.
“You’re right about one thing…” she said as she began to cry in sorrow and anger. “I do deserve better,” she said as a sob escaped her throat.
Raising her head, tears began to fall, making their way down her cheeks as she nodded disapprovingly at what she believed he had become.
“…and you are a shallow bastard!”
With cries threatening to escape, she retreated into the bedroom and slammed the door.
Declan finished dressing in the quietness of the suite. The only sound that could be heard was Aria gently sobbing and the movement of his clothing. As he slipped on his shoes, he heard the door open.
Smiling, Aimee and Paige walked in. Once they saw Declan, their smiles quickly faded. It was obvious something had gone terribly wrong.
Knowing Aria and Declan had been left by themselves, the girls had kept themselves occupied overnight at Declan’s cottage with Carter and Blake. Judging by Declan’s reaction, a less than favorable outcome of their reunion had occurred.
Moving past them without a word, and out into the hallway, Declan offered no explanation. They were left to deduct exactly what had transpired that would leave Aria in her bedroom in tears and Declan leaving the suite with a scowl…
She walked at the water’s edge. Once the tears washed the anger away, she sought the ocean breeze to help clear her thoughts and soothe her soul.
A problem…protection…deserved better; What had he meant?
Declan was convinced that he had it all figured out, but everything he said made absolutely no sense to her.
Thoughts alternating between pleasure and pain, she remembered the feeling of her head as it lay on his chest while he was sleeping, and the contentment it invoked. She hadn’t yet moved as her head lay in the crook of his arm, his chin pressed into her forehead, almost leaving a slight indent from the pressure. His arm held her so close that she could clearly hear his heartbeat. The sweet sound anchored her there as its rhythm lulled her into a sense of protection. She hadn’t realized how she had taken it for granted, or not noticed it at all, until the pulsation secured her. Now, after his confusing disclosures, she wondered if he wasn’t the one that needed protecting.
Confused, she shook her head to clear it, then slowly began to walk along the shoreline. Relying on the sound of the Pacific to help her lay order to her confusion, she was absolutely certain of one thing—she was still deeply in love with Declan.
Hearing someone approach, she turned her head and saw Paige; the troubled look on her friend was unmistakable.
“I thought I’d find you here,” she said, trying to smile. “Different Ocean, but always by the water,” she stated, coming alongside of her friend.
Aria put her chin down toward her chest, nodding and smiling slightly at the true statement.
“Are you okay?” Paige asked, concerned. “What was that back there?”
“I’m not sure, Paige,” she answered. “That’s why I’m out here. I’m trying to figure it out myself. He’s different…but the same, and I know that doesn’t make any more sense to you than it does to me,” she confessed.
Pointing to a spot, Paige indicated that they should sit.
“It makes more sense to me than anyone. I know what it’s like to look almost the same on the outside, but be changed on the inside because of your circumstances.”
She tenderly looked at Aria.
“You of all people should know that,” she simply stated.
Aria, looking up toward the sky to blink back tears, pushed her hair back away from her face.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”
Paige reached for her hand and lightly gave it a squeeze.
“Aria, you’ve never been insensitive to anyone that had an appearance issue. I was only trying to remind you that he has a new issue he’s dealing with,” she said.
“I know. Declan has had to adjust to a lot in a short amount of time. He’s had to compartmentalize a great deal,” Aria conceded.
They sat in silence for a while. The rustle of the palm trees and the soft crush of lightly crashing waves helped to quiet thoughts and soothe frayed senses.
“I think he still loves me, Paige,” Aria said without warning.
Paige acknowledged her words, but didn’t respond, giving Aria her attention.
“…and I know that I’m still in love with him,” she continued.
Throwing her head back, she took in a deep breath of ocean air.
“I just don’t know if what happened between us last night made the situation worse or better.”
Paige, allowing Aria a few minutes to absorb the heavy thoughts, finally commented.
“You’ll figure it out, Aria,” she said, smiling.
She tucked her friend’s wild hair behind her shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
“You’re a pretty smart cookie,” she added.
“Yeah,” Aria agreed, laughing, and added, “with a lot of nuts!”
Marchelle positioned herself in an inconspicuous corner of the kitchen. This way, she was accessible to Marisol should she need her, but out of the direction of her infamous anger.
Since her return to the suite, Marisol was angry—unbelievably angry. She was unlike Marchelle had ever seen her—composed, but toxic.
She spoke aloud, but to no one in particular. Her words were calculating and murderous, indicating that she felt she had been played a fool, but her tone was what frightened her sister.
Usually, her voice would be raised in anger, but she spoke in a chilled monotone. Its icy determination had forced Marchelle to take cover, fearful for the rage she knew was lying just below the façade of a calm exterior.
Marisol walked slowly through the luxurious space, focusing on nothing as a blank stare reflected her countenance. The visions in her head provided all she needed for her viewing pleasure—her voice supplied the audio.
“He thought he would play me? Go behind my back when he thought I wouldn’t be with him, so he could go to her. All the time I spent with him in that hospital…I wasted those days. Damn him! He was planning to use me when he was broken, then get her back when he was better?! He was mistaken! I gave him every opportunity to apologize for his mistakes—and he made grave mistakes. Yo nunca lo olvidare! Bastardo! Never will I forgive him. No, no, no…he does not deserve my mercy. Nunca le perdonaré…Never! He had insulted and embarrassed me by leaving me at the party. That was the first time. They reported that…yes. He humiliated me…insinuated that he was rejecting me. In public…Me? How dare he! But this! I will make him sorry for this.”
She ranted in a
one tone voice that only changed slightly when she enunciated a word or two. This unsettled her sister, as she was unaccustomed to seeing Marisol pace with the harried look of a crazy person.
Peeking out from the kitchen, Marchelle was overcome by fear and helplessness. Marisol’s beauty was contorted by her anger.
Looking in the mirror, Marisol spoke, determined to convince herself that the perceived wrongdoing would be avenged.
Marchelle wanted to help her sister, console her—but it was impossible. Marisol was too independent to allow anyone to assist her, touch her, control her—love her.
Pushing away from the mirror, Marisol had, once again, begun to pace. She lifted a stone statue—a tropical bird—and appeared to look at it.
As Marchelle watched, Marisol pulled her arm behind her, and with all the force she possessed, hurled the bird at the mirror, smashing it into a million pieces.
“Son of a bitch! I am THE supermodel! Who does he think he is?! No es importante! I don’t need him—Yo soy necesaria pa él! He needs me! Everyone wants me! Not him!!”
Marchelle saw her sister pause as if something had occurred to her.
“Aimee…It was her! She is her friend!” Marisol said, pointing her finger in the air. “She did this. It had to be her. She was sitting with the realtor! I know she had something to do with this! She is likely the one responsible for both of them being here! This is her fault! Puta! That bitch! She probably even planned it! She will be sorry she interfered!”
As Marisol began to make her way to the bedroom, the broken glass crunched under her foot, causing her to pause.
“Marchelle!” she yelled, noting her sister’s absence.
Marchelle stepped out from the kitchen, allowing her presence to be known. Marisol pointed to the floor, directing her sister’s attention to the mess.
“Clean this up—now!” she said, giving Marchelle an order.
Scurrying for a broom, Marchelle heard Marisol enter her bedroom. As the door was closing, she was issued another directive.
“When you’re finished that, bring me my tea!”
The bedroom door then closed with a loud bang.
Having returned to the cottage after Aria threw him out, he wasn’t in the mood to return to a party mindset. Blake and Carter were, mercifully, absent.
Opening a beer, he flopped into a chair, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. He couldn’t get her, or her words, out of his head.
He didn’t have long to dwell on his thoughts before Carter and Blake came in. He only opened his eyes long enough to acknowledge their presence.
Surprised, Carter went to sit beside him.
“I didn’t think I’d see you here,” he said.
“Me either,” Blake added, grabbing a chair and joining in.
Declan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, who would have known Aria would be here?”
He was met with silence. Blake and Carter exchanged looks, and he made a quick deduction.
“What the hell? You both knew? Was this a set-up?” he asked.
Carter met his question with silence. Blake avoided the question, and his eyes, entirely. Declan knew he had his answer.
“Shit!”
With his head hung low, he stared at the floor while rubbing the back of his neck.
“Were Aimee and Paige in on this too?” he asked.
Carter looked at Blake, then nodded his head.
“I’m guessing that it didn’t go so well,” Carter said. “Does she know?”
“No,” Declan answered. “She’s going to be so pissed off when she finds out.” He looked at Carter. “She’s going to kill you.”
Carter grabbed a beer and gave one to Blake attempting to slightly diffuse the situation, of which he had no details other than it didn’t go well.
“Well, Dec,” he said, “if it had gone as planned, she’d be thanking me.”
He took a swig of his beer, before setting it down.
“Can I ask what the hell went wrong?” he asked, frowning.
Declan shook his head. “I don’t really know,” Declan confided to them.
Blake added in. “Something had to get screwed up.”
Taking exception to the comment, Declan gave both of them a surprised look.
“Both of you are already thinking that it was me. How do you know that it wasn’t her?” he asked.
“Yeah, good luck with that,” Carter said.
Blake laughed, trying to lighten the mood. He hit Declan on the shoulder.
“Really,” he said, “we want to help. What happened? Why are you here with us and not with her?”
“I’m not really sure,” Declan said, seemingly confused. “One minute everything was great. The next I think I was telling her I just wanted it to go slow—to be what it was, like…not get serious yet, and maybe, wait a little while before diving all the way back in,” he said.
Carter’s jaw dropped slightly, in a bit of shock at his brother’s naivety. “You really don’t know what happened? Are you nuts?!” he asked.
“Back off, Carter,” Declan said, defensively. “You weren’t there! You didn’t see us! Everything was perfect—physically. Then I started thinking, and I just wanted to make sure everything was okay—you know, with the Marisol thing, and her knowing all the shit I have going on with my leg—before we got back together—if—if we got back together…”
“What the hell, Dec? You slept with her, and then you dumped that on her?! Do you know absolutely nothing about women?! About Aria?!”
Carter gave his brother an incredulous stare, and Blake stepped in.
“I have to side with Carter, here, Dec,” he said with a hint of disapproval, “that sounds shallow to me as well. You slept with her, and then told her you didn’t want it to get serious? You’re lucky you’re still standing.”
Declan defended himself.
“What did you want me to do? It was great! She was great! We were great together!”—He paused for a moment—“Then I started thinking about the situation we’re in right now, Carter. I have to protect her—from Marisol. Did you tell Blake about it yet?”
Blake nodded affirmatively. “He did. He filled me in on everything. I’ll help however I can, but that doesn’t excuse what happened with Aria.”
“Yeah, I know, but I’m not supposed to worry about that shit? Her possibly getting caught up in that?” Declan asked, addressing them both. “What if the evidence points to her and we find out that Marisol was the one responsible for Lacey’s death? I can’t do that to Aria, Carter. I can’t purposely put a target on her back. If Marisol would do that to Lacey, I don’t know what the hell she’d do to Aria. She’s made no secret of the fact that she doesn’t like her. She’s even gone up against her, and given her veiled threats. Do you think I want to put the fate of the woman I’m in love with anywhere close to a possible psychopath?!”
Declan had a point.
Carter weighed his brother’s words. He showed more care for Aria than he had for anyone, and confirmed his suspicion that he was still in love with her.
“You have to tell her, Declan,” Carter said.
“No! Absolutely not! I am not pulling her into this shit.” Declan answered. “This thing between Aria and me…it’s there. I know it now, and I don’t know how I’ll work it out—how we’ll work it out. I love her—but I’ll still love her when we know about Marisol or not. Wait until you talk to Sergeant Henry. Then I’ll talk to Aria—and we can figure out if she can tolerate being with a cripple like me…”
His voice trailed off as his thoughts went in a different direction.
“Knock it off, Declan,” Blake said. “I’m sick of hearing about it.”
Surprised by his friend, Declan turned his attention to him. He was used to hearing Carter making comments regarding his leg, but no one else. Most people avoided the subject.
“I’m telling you this because we’re friends,” Blake started. “You’ve been using that leg as a crutch—no pun intended. Any time
you wanted to be angry, drunk, miss work—whatever—you’ve used it. I’m not saying that it doesn’t cause you pain, and I’m not saying that you aren’t justified to be a little pissed when it inconveniences your life, but the way I see it, you’ve got a choice—move forward or stagnate! You can sit in your pity and grow to be a bitter, lonely old man or love your woman! Figure your life out with her. Chances are she doesn’t give a damn about your leg. If she loves you back as much as I think she does, you two will make it.”
He rested his case. Blake had been friends with Declan for a long time, and Declan had always respected and valued his opinion. This was the first time Blake had expressed such a strong one, convincing both brothers that his concern was because of his care and loyalty.
“I’m not coming down on you, Dec,” he added. “Actually, I want to see you happy—but someone needs to kick you in the ass. I figure after all the years I’ve put up with your shit, it’s about time I do it.”
Smiling, Blake didn’t make light of the conversation, just an indicator of his camaraderie with the brothers to help them both with their respective concerns.
Declan smiled back and looked from Carter to Blake.
“Okay. I hear you,” he said.
He took a long breath, and stood to go in for a shower.
“We’ll try to get all this figured out with Marisol,” he said, looking at them, “…and then I’m going to get my girl back!”
The flight home was very long and very quiet. Her intentions gone array, Aimee was a shadow of her normal boisterous self. Apologetic for the remaining few days of their trip, she expressed her dismay to Aria for a well-intentioned plan having gone terribly wrong.
Paige intervened in the initial talk. She had been privy to Aimee’s distress as they both witnessed Declan’s hasty departure. When Aria and Paige had returned from walking, Aimee was waiting to talk to her.
