by Tif Marcelo
And now there’s nothing to stop us from acting on it. I feel an insatiable need to show him more of my love, of what we can be. “Where are they?” I ask.
He knows full well what I mean. “On the dresser.”
It’s painful to leave him, even for a minute. I retrieve a condom and roll it over his erection, then crawl onto the bed. I lie on my side, eyeball the space behind me. He spoons me from behind, lifting my thigh with his hand. His fingers skim the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs up to where I want him, where he strokes and prepares me, until he and I are both ready. Reaching for him, I guide him inside. He fills me with ease, and I gasp with pleasure. Mitchell’s arms wrap around my waist, lips on my neck.
“I love you,” he says as he takes me, the intimacy unlike any I’ve ever experienced, with a trust as true as our two bodies interlocked.
“I love you, too.” And I know then, no matter what happens, Mitchell will always be forever.
Part 6
BOTTLE
Whatever you do, pour yourself into it.
—Robert Mondavi
Live Stream Comments
July 29
Blanca Summers 12:15—
What the hell is this shit?
Everett Ballard 12:15—
Um, it’s called a backhoe.
Blanca Summers 12:16—
Thanks, genius. What I meant was, why is there construction and where are Bryn and Mitchell?
Alvin Ramirez 12:16—
And who’s this guy?
Tabitha Rodgers 12:16—
He’s a Dunford. Look at this link: DunfordWinery.int/Levi
Samantha Fisher 12:17—
*whistles* Is he moving in? Hot!
Tabitha Rodgers 12:17—
He’s married, Samantha Fisher. He’s got a ring.
Samantha Fisher 12:17—
Well, damn.
Alvin Ramirez 12:18—
I don’t like the looks of him.
36
BRYN
Dad: So I guess you’re not coming home after all?
Me: No . . . is that okay?
Dad: Are you with Mitchell?
Me: Yes.
Dad: And things are good?
Me: Better than good.
Me: Are you mad?
Dad: I’m not mad. You’re happy. That’s what matters. But let’s have another family dinner together, okay? I have to get to know this Mitchell Dunford. Text me soon. Love you, iha.
I click off my phone and set it on the kitchen counter. My dad’s text is the last of a series I answered this morning, from our week of hiding from the world, limiting our social media and Internet access. The rest of my family thinks I returned to Paraiso, swamped with work. Levi thinks Mitchell took a solitary vacation.
What we did was play hooky. We toured around the city. We made love. We played house: we cooked for one another, watched TV, walked around naked in our apartment, at times covered only by a towel or a sheet, only to be pulled back by the other person, ready for another round of lovemaking. We acted as if every minute together might be our last. Slept as if we’d run a marathon every day.
That’s right—sleep. My man slept every single night in my arms. Not always uninterrupted, but I’ve been there for him when he wakes, when he needs to talk things through.
The cost of our stay is going to be astronomical, but we don’t care. We earned this. Once Paraiso and Dunford open, our privacy will cease to exist.
I step into the shower with Mitchell. The water runs cold before we finally get out, skin wrinkled like prunes, clean and sated, exhausted and refreshed. Mitchell wraps me in a fluffy white towel, tucking me into him as we look at our reflection in the misted mirror.
“Much different from the first time we were in the bathroom together,” I say, leaning back into his chest.
He laughs. “You had that sexy stain from the wine, right on your boob.”
“Jerk.” I elbow him. “You still couldn’t resist me.”
“How could I? You were always so cute in your evil ways.”
I turn in his arms, lay my cheek on his chest, and find comfort in his strong and steady heartbeat. Beads of water drip from the short strands of his hair and sprinkle onto my forehead and cheek. “It’s weird, right? We’ve been faking a relationship the last month—”
“And now that we aren’t faking, we have to pretend to break up.”
The last five days have been a fairy tale. We were living in a bubble, like a committed couple from the moment we woke up to the time we went to bed. I’ve had nothing on my mind but Mitchell, my business left in the background. Now it’s back to real life. “What do we do?”
“I don’t know. I’m only sure of one thing. I don’t want this—us—to end.”
“Me neither.”
“We’ll go with the flow, then.” He presses his lips to my cheek, though his nonchalance doesn’t soothe me. While I don’t want for this to change, the circumstances surrounding his family and our businesses will require adjustments. As if he reads my mind, he says, “Let me rephrase that—we’ll take it one day at a time, okay? There’s nothing contractual that says we have to break up. We’ll feel out Laurel and figure out how to tell her, and convince her that we’ll attract more attention together than apart.” He walks into the closet and pulls out his suitcase, already half-packed last night.
“I hope so.” Following his lead, I grab my clothes hanging in the closet. Mitchell’s uniform is in the back, and it’s a reminder of how far we’ve come. The retirement ceremony feels like a lifetime ago. I pull that out as well, handing it to him, before he tucks it into his garment bag. I pull the chargers off the walls, and see I’ve gotten another set of texts on my phone, all from Vic.
SOSOSOS.
What is going on?
Where are you?
“Shit.” I press the call button instead of texting back. This sounds serious. The phone rings on the other end.
“Everything okay?” Mitchell passes me with toiletries in hand and he slips them into his bag.
I shrug. “My sister.”
Vic answers just when I think voice mail is going to pick up. Her voice cracks, as if in panic. “Finally. Where the hell are you? I drove all night.”
“What? What’s happened?”
Her voice is gravelly and her words run into each other. “Bryn . . . it’s Luke. The guy. He lied.”
“Your friend?”
“He wasn’t just a friend. He wasn’t supposed to be just a friend.” Her voice softens, then a choked sob follows. “He lied. I’ve been catfished.”
“Wait, Victoria. Breathe. Where are you?” Questions burn against my throat. While Victoria speaks a mushy soup of words, I pull out a pair of jeans and throw them on.
“Are you even listening? I’m here, in Paraiso, where I thought you would be.”
“I . . . we’re still in the city. But I can be home soon.”
“I saw all the construction and . . . Wait, we? Are you with Mitchell?”
“Hold on. What do you mean by construction?” Dread shudders through me. We halted work for the week. My gaze snaps to Mitchell, and he’s quick on his feet, reading my mind. He lopes through the room, grabbing the rest of our clothing and toiletries, and stuffs them into our suitcases.
“There are trucks everywhere.”
“We’re going to load up the car. Can I call you on the road?”
“Okay . . . um . . .”
“I’ll call you right back.” After hanging up, I shoot Mitchell a look. “We’ve got to get back to Dunford.”
37
MITCHELL
I take the wheel with Bryn in the passenger seat. My foot drops like an anv
il on the gas pedal with only one thing in my mind: to get back to Dunford ASAP. I use Siri to call Levi’s phone, but it goes to voice mail. I call Cody next, but he doesn’t pick up either.
My mind races faster than the Mini Cooper’s speed in anticipation of what we might roll into in a few hours. Victoria couldn’t describe much about the state of Dunford, except it looks like the work has been going on for a few days. There’s actual dirt being dug up.
My knuckles are white gripping the steering wheel.
Fucking Levi.
I glance sideways at Bryn. She’s speaking softly and patiently into her phone, giving her sister her full attention. Victoria is inconsolable; I can hear her voice above the noise of the road.
This is why I love this woman. Despite trouble brewing miles in front of us, she knows her priorities, her current focus, which is no doubt her family. It’s all the more reason for me to protect her, to protect what we have built. Levi is my brother, but all the facts don’t have to be in front of me to know whatever he’s doing is wrong.
My mama must have pulled some strings in heaven, because not a single accident stops traffic on the road. We weave through truckers who happily make room for this tiny box of a car. Two and a half hours later, I turn down the exit off Highway 50 leading to Golden. Normally, the view of the wide expanse of the countryside and the mountains behind it is enough to relax me. But not today.
Bryn hangs up with Victoria as we drive through town. We sit silently until we pull up the road to Paraiso.
“No, he didn’t.” Bryn’s tone is ominous as we turn into Dunford’s gravel drive.
It’s the scene of a major construction zone: a backhoe, a trailer, a white construction van.
“What the fuck is going on?” I say, despite the obvious, and I barely have time to stop the car before Bryn scampers out of it, following the now gaping trail leading from the driveway to what looks like a small parking area, just behind Paraiso’s guest house. Graveled, the opening is marked by flags. Large enough for five cars to park side by side.
When I get out of the car, it takes all of me not to scream. I grab my head with both hands, looking at the damage. Land dug through, grass pulled from the ground. And Bryn, my Bryn, in the middle of this new parking lot, hand covering her mouth, as dumbfounded as I am.
While we were away living our dream, hers was marred.
The parking lot destroys the view she cherished so much, destroys the privacy she sought. From the deck of Paraiso, she will see Dunford’s customers and hear the sound of engines.
Worse—the worst of it all—I told her none of this would happen. I trusted my brother and I gave Bryn my word.
“I’ll fix this,” I plead.
She laughs maniacally. “Really, Mitchell? How? Look at this.”
“It’s my fault.” A voice comes from behind.
It’s Levi in a black polo shirt, with the Dunford family crest embroidered on the right side of his chest. Behind him are Joel and Joey. Everything around me turns cold, from being taken off guard. Now the camera is trained on the wrong person. On him.
Joey hands Bryn and me our mics, reluctantly. I clip it to my clothing, hands shaking with anger. Bryn’s fumbling with the equipment—she’s so pissed.
I hate that I can’t not be streamed. During this entire month of filming, this is the first time I wish I could walk away. “What’s going on?” I ask, with a control that surprises even me.
“There was work to be done, brother. Do you like?”
“No, Levi, I don’t. What the f—”
“Mitchie.” He cocks his head toward the camera, reminding me it’s a family show. “Business didn’t stop because you decided to take a vacation. I’m leaving soon, we’re on a timeline, and the trucks were available. I thought I’d get started on it.”
“We didn’t agree on this.” I cut my eyes to Bryn. “I swear, I did not agree to this.”
“Yes, you did technically. You said not to touch any of the common areas, and I didn’t. I might have not waited for your agreement to the start construction, but I worked within the parameters you set.” Levi turns to Bryn. “Sorry. But we do own the place. I checked the lease and there’s nothing that prevents me from doing what I need done on my side of the land. Don’t you think this will alleviate the parking situation, especially once we have guests?”
A flare of light from the camera lens hits me in the eyes, and I turn away. My brother is technically right, but wrong in every way that matters.
Bryn’s lips press into a thin line as she approaches my brother, hands clutched at her sides. I step between them, preventing her from going toe to toe, but now she’s in my face. “This was completely out of line and nefarious. I can’t believe you would do this to me.”
From over my shoulder Levi laughs. “You mean just because you’re dating my brother? C’mon, Bryn. You’re an experienced businesswoman. That’s all this is—business.”
“Don’t mess with me, Levi.”
“Oh . . . those are fighting words, my dear.”
“Shut up,” I warn my brother.
She holds a hand against her forehead. “God. I should have known. I should have known you’d keep pushing, Levi. My instincts told me the fight wasn’t over, that you were pretending to concede. This is my bad.” She glares at me. “Well, there’s no more pretending. For any of us.”
“Bryn,” I plead against her foreboding tone. A slice of cool wind cuts between us ominously, because it feels like she’s not just talking to Levi now. What she’s about to say is going to change everything. “Don’t. Please. Calm down.”
“Don’t? Calm down? Because why—because you all have been honest? Well, I am done. I’m done being used, then pushed to believe you all had my benefit and my business in mind, too. Yet here we are again—with you taking his side. This is not okay, and I won’t keep my mouth shut.”
“I’m not taking his side.”
“Yeah? Then why are you standing here, placating me, telling me to calm down?” She barks out a laugh, then turns back to Levi. “Truth, right? The truth is this. I fell in love with your brother. We fell in love. It didn’t start out that way with this arranged relationship you insisted we be a part of. We did it for the money, and now I don’t give a damn about it. Because it’s not worth this betrayal. Not a single cent.”
Her words sucker punch me and I can’t recover, can’t formulate a response. And because I’m a dumbass who doesn’t have the balls to stand up to my brother and to the camera, she takes the lead in our final act.
Bryn flashes her beautiful face to me, pulls the mic off her shirt, and stuffs it in my hand. “We’re done. Show’s over.”
38
BRYN
“I’m sorry,” I say for the umpteenth time in one phone call. With the booking calendar in front of me, old-school-style, I cross out the last set of reservations, bringing our count to zero.
Sixteen weeks of reservations down to zero in forty-eight hours.
I set down my phone, the battery drained to 5 percent. I’m exhausted and emotionally spent. My throat’s dry from my apologies, and my brain hurts from trying to mitigate the fallout from the bomb I dropped on the live stream—Mitchell and I were fake.
Even if we aren’t.
In one fell swoop, I lost everything, and what’s left is pain. Pain from regret, pain from feeling like a failure, pain from disappointment. I’m surrounded by it, can’t walk outside of my house without encountering it. Can’t look out the window without seeing the parking lot, occasionally used by a car or two.
I can’t even get online without being hurt.
Viewers from our live stream demand an explanation of the truth. Every single one of my social media outlets is bombarded with questions and the occasional hate response. Some praise me for standing up for myself, others question why I mentioned the word love—did t
hat mean there could be a chance for Mitchell and me to get back together? Hashtags have formed for #TeamMitchell or #TeamBryn, memes have been created, our “fake relationship” used for all kinds of comedic satire. The Internet exploded with headlines on every lifestyle and entertainment blog and news feed:
Fake Relationship on Food Right Now Exposed
Is Live TV Real?
Live Stream, Scripted
But I’m not allowed to respond. I can’t defend myself. As contractually demanded by Laurel, who treated my breach with such disdain, I agreed to disengage with the Dunfords until their live stream coverage is over. I have to lie low, when all I want to do is get out there and save what I can of Paraiso’s good name.
All you had to do was break up. Now we have to field a media storm, she said.
She was right. I toed an inch over the line, and something inside me said fuck it, and I jumped. I’ll never apologize for telling the truth, but the aftermath has been disastrous.
“Don’t worry. It will all get better, I promise.” My father’s ladling tinola, a chicken-ginger soup chock-full of spinach, bok choy, and chayote. Comfort food to the max—he usually only makes this for me when I’m sick.
Golden was flooded with news reporters, wannabe journalists, selfie-obsessed social media celebrities. Many made their way to my front door. Enter my muscle: my father, unfailing and unafraid. He called the cops, reminded people of our right to privacy. He took every scathing question, include those about my “love life” and whether he thought Mitchell and I had consummated our relationship.
That was easily one of the lowest points.
He also took up a new role as a substitute big sister. While I tried to console Victoria, who had her own broken heart, I knew I was failing miserably, and my dad relieved me of some of those duties. He answered her texts, blocked incoming calls like a bouncer, and was the extra ear when she wanted to talk.
