The Most Special Chosen

by Rachel De La Fuente

“Which way should I go?” His voice is tight. I give him directions then settle back with my drink. The silence returns, becoming uncomfortable, and I’m positive I’ve blown it. But maybe it’s for the best. My reaction to the barista is much more normal for me. I don’t understand my reactions to Damien.

  Relax, all is well.

  Easier said than done, really. Finally, as he’s stopping at a red light, Damien clears his throat and turns to look at me. “Please forgive me, Elysabeth. My behavior was inexcusable.” I meet his gaze in surprise. “Not only did I gaze at you as blatantly as that man, then I acted like a jealous idiot, which I have no right to do. My only excuse is that it is the way of men when in the presence of a beautiful lady.”

  I’m thankful he has to turn back to the road because his sincere words catch me completely off guard and my jaw drops. He must be from Planet Perfect. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was gay since they’re usually the only guys this nice. But his perusal of my figure earlier blows that thought out of the water. Older guys are usually nicer and have better manners, too, but Damien can’t be much older than me. He could be if he’s—NO! They don’t exist!

  My brain finally kicks back into gear and I answer him. “You realize flattery will only get you so far. But, since you asked so nicely, yes, I will forgive you.” Oh, lord, I sound like an idiot.

  He pulls over to the side of the road and looks me dead in the eye. “Thank you, Chérie. And please realize, there was no flattery. With you, there is no need.”

  I blush, completely speechless, and focus on not letting my jaw drop again. I mean, what do you say to something like that?

  “Thanks,” I mutter. Moments later we reach my house, or well, the townhouse I share with Shawn. His grandmother left it to him when she passed away. It’s conveniently located quite close to our college campus, so Shawn moved in after high school. He’d invited me to join him when he learned I was considering student housing on campus. I’d honestly expected our parents to put up more of a fight, but apparently neither set would have been bothered if something had happened between us. I don’t know why they held out any hope. We had tried one kiss in high school, and both of us felt like we were kissing siblings. It wasn’t meant to be.

  The house is a two-story brick building with balconies off the two upstairs rooms. I live upstairs, Shawn lives downstairs, the extra bedroom upstairs is both storage and for guests. We share the living room and kitchen. Damien comes around to my side again and opens the car door for me bringing me out of my reverie. He offers me a hand to help me out of the car and walks me to the door. A girl could get used to this.

  I turn to face him. “Thanks again for the drink, Damien. And the ride home.”

  “You are most welcome, Elysabeth.”

  “Well, um, good-night.” I pause at the door, not wanting the night to end. Damien obviously picks up on this, and leans toward me. I know instantly he means to kiss me. I want him to, I really do, but I retain enough common sense to consider that I don’t really know him, and he hasn’t even actually asked me out. I’m no one’s conquest.

  Before hormones can completely overrule my brain, I put my hand on his chest to hold him back. The confused look on his face almost makes me give in. I know I’m giving him mixed signals. I take a deep breath and notice he smells really good. Not helping! FOCUS!

  “Damien, I don’t really know you at all.”

  I’m relieved when understanding blossoms across his face. “Of course.” He dips his head to me. “I understand, Elysabeth. You are quite right, forgive me.” I relax, thankful I won’t need to explain. He takes my hand and bows to kiss it. “I look forward to seeing you again. Good-night.”

  “Good-night.” I find my keys in my purse and open the door. I look over my shoulder with a smile as I go in. I’m surprised to see him already in his car.

  Shawn’s waiting for me in the living room. He stands from the green, overstuffed armchair he’s been sitting in and hurries over to me to give me a hug.

  “Oh, thank God you’re home!” he says, sounding relieved. “I was so worried. What were you thinking? You don’t know him at all and you got in a car with him!” His condescending tone rankles. Irritated, I step away from my friend and cross my arms.

  “Damien was a perfect gentleman. Besides, I’m plenty old enough to make some of my own decisions, you know.”

  “I do know, which is why I didn’t say anything at school. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t stupid.” He taps the side of his skull. “Normally you use your head. What happened to the smart Lys I know? She would never have gone out with someone she’d just met, especially since he was driving.” He throws up his arms. “He could have taken you anywhere! Do you have any idea how bad I felt letting you walk away with him?”

  Damn him! He’s making me feel guilty. “There’s just something about him, Shawnie. I couldn’t help myself. It wasn’t really that stupid though—”

  “Yes it was!” He cuts me off with a screech. “Listen to yourself! ‘There’s just something about him.’” He mocks my tone. “That doesn’t sound like a good reason to go gallivanting off with him!”

  “Gallivanting?” I giggle. Shawn’s starting to sound like my mom.

  He doesn’t like my response. “It’s not funny, Lys. Really!” He grabs my arms, shaking me a little. “You have no idea what he might have done to you!” He sounds almost panicked.

  I pull away from him angrily. “There’s nothing wrong with him, Shawn. I—”

  He cuts me off, yelling. “You can’t possibly know that!” He continues at a lower volume. “There’s something weird about him. He speaks in a very precise way, it’s odd. And his actions don’t match his appearance in the least. It’s not normal!” he says, his voice rising again.

  I raise my voice to match his. “Shawn, you have no right to judge him!”

  He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Look,” he says more quietly, “I know I don’t have any right to tell you what to do or where to go, but as your honorary big brother, promise me you’ll be more careful.”

  I snort. “Big Brother? You’re exactly two months older than me!”

  “Lys,” he says pleadingly, taking my hands. “This is serious. I’m serious.”

  I sigh, reminding myself that Shawn’s really just looking out for me. “Okay, Shawnie, I promise. Look, I’m going to bed, I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Night, Lys.” As I undress for a shower, I think over the conversation some more. I suppose I’d been a bit rash, but I meant what I’d said. There really is something about Damien. He had made me feel things. He’d ignited a fire inside me I had never felt before, and we hadn’t even done anything. I couldn’t have turned down Damien’s offer to join him if I’d wanted to. I really can’t help myself, and, as much as I know it should, that doesn’t bother me.

  I put my hair up to keep it dry, then step into the shower and savor the water running down my body. It feels like I’m washing away all the stress and worry Shawn had brought to my mind. The problems wash right down the drain with the soap. What does Shawnie know, really? Damien’s great.

  I reluctantly turn off the water, towel myself dry, let my hair down, and walk out to my room. I slip into bed, enjoying the feeling of the silky sheets against my bare skin. Just before I fall asleep, I wonder when I’ll see Damien again, and silently curse myself for not getting his number.

  CHAPTER 2

  I drag Shawn to Queen’s Ball, a new club that’s been touted on campus, for their weekly Friday Masquerade Night. I’m pleased that the descriptions of it as “dark” and “gothic” haven’t been exaggerated. The walls are a deep, blood red with black lace over top, emulating textured damask wallpaper. There are large swathes of blood red, dark purple, and black fabric covering the ceiling and converging at several enormous, crystal, Victorian chandeliers that bathe the club in a soft, warm glow. Elaborate black and red sofas and armchairs are scattered along the walls.

  My attire is
perfect for the décor. I’m wearing a black and red corset with black lace-up boots over leather pants. In deference to Masquerade Night, I’m wearing an elaborate red mask with black lace and rhinestones, tied on with ribbon. My mom gave it to me my freshman year in high school, and it became the mask that started my collection.

  I’ve got on silver eyeshadow to keep my eyes from getting lost in the mask, with a hint of blush and some dark red lipstick to balance out my face. My hair is a perfectly straight sheet down my back. My favorite necklace—a really long chain of blood red crystals which I wear wrapped around twice, so it looks like a choker and a regular necklace—completes my look.

  I stand with Shawn by the bar, just outside of the red light emanating from concealed bulbs, drinking some water to cool off after dancing for nearly three hours. Shawn’s wearing black pants, a red shirt, and a cape. His mask is black with mathematical formulae written on it in silver, and forces him to forgo his glasses for contacts. He looks really good, and has had multiple offers to dance throughout the night, most of which he’s accepted.

  He’s made sure to dance with me multiple times, though, and has rescued me by pretending to be my boyfriend several times throughout the night. He’s needed rescuing a couple of times as well. This night will certainly provide us with lots of fun stories to dredge up when we relax and reminisce.

  I’m watching a couple practically having sex on the dance floor. It never ceases to amaze me what people are willing to do when they think no one’s paying attention, or when their faces are obscured.

  “He-llo, E-ly-sa-beth.” It’s long and drawn out, and whispered right in my ear, sending fire straight through me, and alerting me to who it is. Still, I whirl around, startled.

  “Damien! You scared me.” His smile grows, and he inclines his head.

  “Forgive me, Elysabeth. That was not my intention.” He brings my hand to his lips, turning it to place a kiss on the palm, eyes locked on mine. My breath catches, and my heart pounds. “You look exceedingly beautiful, Chérie. This look suits you.”

  I smile uncertainly. I knew who he was because he’d spoken. How had he recognized me? “Thanks. Um, what are you doing here? And how did you know it was me?”

  “Chérie,” his voice drops, “I would know you anywhere.” His tone sends a shudder through me. “As to why I am here,” he continues as though he hadn’t just set my blood on fire, “my sister told me this is a great place. I will have to remember to thank her for the recommendation. Such a marvelous coincidence that you are here as well. Did you come alone?”

  “No, Shawn is . . . ” I trail off as I look behind me, realizing Shawn is no longer standing at the bar. He must have found someone else to dance with. “Well, he’s here somewhere.”

  “Then I take it he is not your date?”

  I shake my head. “No, like I told you before, Shawn is my best friend. He’s like a brother to me.” I take a moment to admire him. Once again, he’s dressed in all black, but his shirt is a sort of netted material that clings to him like a second skin, showing off how muscular he truly is, especially as he isn’t wearing a coat. I long to run my hands along his muscles. It looks like his nipples are pierced, but I can’t be sure in the low light. His pants look like leather and are tucked into tall riding boots. He looks like an old English nobleman, and it suits him. His mask is blood red with a gold crest on the side.

  “Hey there, gorgeous, do you want to dance?” Some random redhead appears from the crowd and throws herself on Damien’s arm, rubbing her boobs up against him. I want to slap her overly-inviting smile right off her face. The thought surprises me; I’m not typically a violent person.

  He looks down at her in, dare I hope, disgust. “Can you not see that I am otherwise occupied?” he asks sternly. “It is rude to interrupt a conversation.”

  The girl giggles, oblivious, and presses her arms together to force her boobs up higher. “I can show you a better time than a conversation.”

  Something snaps, and I step forward to get in her face. Leaning my arm against Damien, I hiss, “Sorry, kitty, he’s not for you.”

  She leans back as though slapped, and her inviting look turns into a mean scowl. “And who are you to decide? I can dance with him if I want.”

  My glare is equally fierce. “No, you can’t. He’s mine.” Wait, did I just growl? Where did that come from? And what will Damien think of my brazen declaration?

  His arms snake around me, pulling me even closer. Apparently, he doesn’t mind. “I did try to tell you . . . ” He trails off, obviously waiting for her to leave. With a final glare, she stalks off.

  I sigh and pull away from Damien, who seems reluctant to let me go. “Urgh, I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.”

  “No, you did quite well. I had no idea how to make her leave; you managed it without harming anything but her pride. As I am yours,” he smiles and bows slightly, holding out his hand to me, “would you honor me with this dance, Elysabeth?”

  I blush, but grin, taking his hand. “Sure.” The music slows down considerably, and couples start waltzing around the floor in tribute to club décor. Or, well, it looks kind of like waltzing. I doubt anyone would win any competitions.

  I follow him to the dance floor, my eyes stuck on his backside. He should wear nothing but leather, as it highlights his perfect ass. My mind goes blank, however, when he pulls me close.

  “You dance well,” he offers as he leads me through a turn.

  “No, you lead well.”

  “It would not matter how well I led if you were unable to follow.” The seriousness of his voice makes me wonder what second meaning his words hold. His gaze holds me prisoner, and I wonder what it will be like to kiss him.

  Not wanting to dwell on it, as I’ve spent no more than an hour in his company, I change the subject quickly. “So what are your weekend plans?”

  “I do not know yet. I suppose it will depend.”

  “On what?”

  “On you.” He grins. “I am rather hoping I can include you in any plans I make.”

  Oh, goodness, this isn’t going to keep my thoughts clean. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

  He frowns. “Yes, but obviously not well since you had to clarify.”

  “Just making sure. You could have meant as friends. But yes, I would love to spend more time with you.”

  His grin splits his face, and he leads me through a little spin. “Excellent, Chérie! Shall I pick you up tomorrow? Say around three?”

  I smile at his enthusiasm. “Sure, sounds good.”

  “Mind if I cut in?” Damien turns to look at the man who had spoken. The newcomer is nearly a head shorter than him, though still taller than me. He has golden brown hair, and his hazel eyes shine through his blue mask. He has a square jaw and rounded lips. He wears a royal blue shirt with grey pants tucked into riding boots. Overall he appears quite good looking, but I certainly wouldn’t choose him over my current partner.

  “Va t’en, Sebastian!” Damien gives him a half-hearted shove and the man laughingly disappears back into the crowd.

  “A friend?”

  “Depends on his current activities,” he shakes his head. “I am not so sure at the moment.” I grin, hearing the annoyance tempered with affection in Damien’s voice. The two of them are obviously close, probably like Shawn and I. Damien carefully maneuvers us to the edge of the dance floor, confusing me until I see Shawn wandering around looking concerned. I give Damien a thankful smile and scurry over to my friend.

  “Lys! There you are!” he exclaims. “I went to the bathroom and then when I got back you were gone.” He throws his arms in the air to accentuate his point.

  “Oh, sorry, Shawn. I was dancing. You remember Damien, right?”

  Shawn looks past me and nods, his eyes narrowing. “Oh, yeah, right. What a coincidence, seeing you here.”

  Damien nods. “Yes, very fortunate circumstances.”

  “Lys, it’s after midnight,” Shawn says, nodding towards the doo
r with a meaningful look. “I’d like to head home if you don’t mind.”

  I do mind, but Shawn’s my ride home, and I don’t want to keep him here against his will. “That’s fine, Shawn. I’m actually getting a little tired myself.” Shawn smiles at me gratefully. “Just give me a minute.” I dig through my purse for a pen. Finding one, I turn to Damien and take his hand.

  “Here’s my number, call me whenever.” It’s super old school, but when he tenses as I blow on the ink, I know it’s worth resurrecting the high school habit. Grinning, I wave and turn to leave.

  “Wait, Elysabeth.” He takes the pen from me and flips my hand over, running his hand over my palm and flattening out my fingers. He writes his number slowly before blowing on the ink. My heart starts racing, heat flares through me, and I shiver slightly.

  He hands me the pen and leans down to speak directly in my ear. “There is my number. Do not hesitate to call me.” His lips brush my ear and his breath stirs my hair, sending electricity right to my core. Oh, the things he does to me. He straightens and grins as though he knows precisely how much he affects me. “I will see you tomorrow, Chérie.”

  I shake my head slightly to clear it. “Okay, good night, Damien.” He bows slightly before disappearing into the crowd. When he’s out of sight, I follow Shawn out of the club.

  “So, you’re going out with him tomorrow?” His voice is guarded

  Here we go again. “Yes.”

  “Look, Lys, you’re my best friend, so I’m going to be completely honest with you. I don’t like that guy. There’s something . . . wrong with him. I can’t really put my finger on it, but I have a feeling about him.” I walk along beside him, considering what he’s saying. “Lys, please, don’t ignore me.” He stops and pulls me around to face him. His eyebrows are drawn together, his mouth a thin line. “I’m worried is all. Christ, you’re like a sister to me. I want to make sure you’re okay. That everything is okay.”

  I sigh, trying to dispel my irritation. I know Shawn means well. “Everything is okay, Shawnie. I’ve already told you, he’s been a perfect gentleman. I don’t know what you sense, but I don’t sense it in the least.” I don’t mention how much Damien affects me. I don’t need to give Shawn any ammunition. I’ve never felt all that attracted to any guy, and I’ve certainly never been so turned on, much less by such innocent actions. I’m also not usually one to flirt or tease. But then again, the same argument holds true; there’s just something about Damien.