Danger’s First Kiss

by Romig, Aleatha

  Though my brother promised when we were younger that we three siblings would never be separated, life intervened. Missy’s story was one for another day. As for Mason, he did three tours in Iraq—Special Forces. Apparently, along with being an overprotective brother, he was some kind of genius when it came to languages. Now he’s back to the US, almost completed his degree, and working for a rich dude who he met in basic training.

  I was proud of all he’d done. And though I wasn’t the college type, we’d never lost contact. Even when he was half a world away, we sent letters. He also sent money. I have it saved away for that rainy day.

  I wasn’t exactly sure what that saying meant. After all, there have been many a heavy downpour in my twenty-five years. Nevertheless, despite my brother’s help, I refused to depend upon a man, even him. Instead of believing in Cinderella’s fairy tale, I learned from my mother.

  The last time I laid eyes on her, she was climbing into the cab of a large semi-truck with her new soul mate. That was seven years ago, two weeks before my high school graduation. I never knew the man who helped create me, none of us Pierces did. My sister was gone, and my brother was at war. When I walked across that stage and received the diploma, there was no one in the audience clapping, no party, or even a card.

  That’s why I’m working at a shitty motel on the South Side of Chicago instead of going to college. Well, that and the fact that I didn’t have Uncle Sam’s help or the assistance of some rich dude who, for some reason, was all about creating an inner ring of tough-as-shit guys he trusted and providing them with the skills, including education, to achieve world domination.

  Okay, that’s my assessment based solely on what little information Mason has told me.

  “Hurry up, Pierce,” Anna said from the desk in the employee locker room. “That puke won’t clean itself.”

  Gritting my teeth, I closed my locker and checked the supplies on my cart. Pushing it through the steamy laundry area, I made my way to room 211. The one elevator reeked of old fast food. The bag in the corner was no doubt the culprit. Donning a pair of gloves, I lifted it.

  I let out a shriek as a mouse dashed out the closing doors. “Shit,” I muttered, throwing the bag into the trash bin attached to my cart.

  Shaking off the chills left by the sensation of millions of scurrying mice, I stepped from the elevator on the second floor. The concrete corridor lined by a four-foot railing looked down upon the scenic parking lot. Today, there was a rusted-out AMC Pacer to view.

  This Motel 7 was the type of motel where most people checked in by the hour. The customers didn’t care that the carpets were threadbare. Or that the rubber backing on the drapes to keep the rooms dark was cracked or that the material was saturated with cigarette smoke.

  At least the sheets and towels were cleaned daily in large washing machines with gallons of bleach. However, the bedspreads only warranted changing if a visible stain was present. Blood was the easiest to decipher. Other stains were a mystery, one where using my imagination made them ten times worse.

  “Lorna,” my friend and coworker Jane called from down the sidewalk. Her light hair was piled high in a messy bun and her baby belly was beginning to show.

  “Are you in 211?” I asked, pushing my cart closer.

  “Yeah.” Her nose wrinkled. “The puke was pink. I have no idea what she drank, but damn.”

  “You cleaned it?”

  “Girl, you’ve had my back. I wasn’t letting Anna be that bitch.”

  “Is it possible to stop that?”

  Jane laughed as she placed her bucket and mop back on her cart. “No. I think that’s chronic.”

  I smiled down at Jane’s midsection. “You shouldn’t have cleaned that. I’d have gotten it.”

  “I wore my gloves and a mask. A bottle of Febreze later and it smells like a rainforest in there.”

  “Do you think they’re lying about the rainforest thing? I mean, I’ve never smelled one.”

  “If it smells like that” —she tilted her chin toward the door— “I ain’t booking a trip anytime soon.”

  With the door to 211 still ajar, I peered inside the room. “I owe you. Is it all done?”

  “Yeah.” Jane winked. “Let me show you something.”

  Like two children about to embark on a secret mission, Jane and I each turned our heads, both directions. With no sign of guests or Anna Maples, we entered room 211. Jane walked to the armoire—a fancy name for a cabinet that was also a closet—and opened the door.

  “Holy shit,” I exclaimed.

  “I know.” Jane reached for the high-heeled shoes a previous guest must have left.

  The pumps weren’t just high, they were stilts tall.

  While I wasn’t well versed in expensive clothes, I recognized the name written on the inside: Louboutin Paris. “I’ve never seen a pair of these in person,” I said, reaching for one.

  “Look, the bottom is red, just like they describe in books.”

  I smiled at my friend. “What books do you read?”

  “The kind where some hot guy kidnaps the girl and gives her a closet full of expensive shit.”

  I shook my head. “That isn’t real.”

  “That’s why they call it fiction.” She nodded at the shoe in my hand. “That isn’t fiction. It’s real. Try them on.”

  I stared down at the shoe. The heel had to be four inches high or higher. The sole was red, but the shoe itself was made out of a taupe mesh with hundreds of embellishing crystals. “It’s like a glass slipper.”

  Jane hurried to the door and peering out, looked both ways. Shutting the door, she turned to me. “Try them on.”

  “What am I going to do with shoes like this?”

  “Wear them. Hell, walk around your apartment in them. Put them in some display case.” She looked down at her feet. “I can barely wear these crocks, and I still have months to go. My sausages won’t fit in those.” She grinned. “Really, I couldn’t have worn them even before the baby. They’re a size five. Come on, before Anna sees them.”

  “We should turn them in.”

  “Right, because the chick who stayed in this dump and threw up her guts all over the bed and bathroom is going to remember where she left her expensive shoes.”

  I held one by the slender heel. The sunlight coming through the murky window reflected on the crystals. A smile came to my lips. “They’re so pretty.”

  “Try them on. Hurry up before the wicked stepsister finds us.”

  With a shake of my head, I sat on the edge of the cracked vinyl chair and removed my shoes and socks. I didn’t even think about the filthy carpeting as I stood and slipped one foot and then the other into the shoes. “Whoa,” I said with a laugh as my arms waved at my sides.

  “Don’t fall.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’ll never be able to walk in these.”

  “But they fit. Take them home.” When I hesitated, Jane continued, “If you don’t, you know Anna will.”

  “She’d never fit her boat-sized feet into these.”

  “Then they belong to you.”

  My nerves kicked up while excitement did too. “I’ve never owned anything this nice.”

  “Now you do. Besides, we deserve some perks with this job. If they’d fit me, I wouldn’t have shown them to you.”

  I reached over and gave Jane a quick hug. “Thank you. Not only for the shoes. But I owe you for cleaning this room.” I sat back down and put back on my socks and shoes. When I looked up, Jane was smiling. “Do you have something in mind?”

  “I do. Can you cover for me Sunday?”

  Today was Monday and the upcoming weekend was my first full weekend off in a month. I had from clock-out on Friday to clock-in on Monday free to do whatever I wanted. However, as I looked at my friend, I was well aware that my engagement schedule wasn’t exactly full. “Sure. What time on Sunday.”

  “I’m scheduled at seven.”

  I internally groaned. The seven-to-three was my least favorite shi
ft. I remembered the shoes. “I’ll be here.”

  “Thank you, Lorna, you’re the best.”

  As we were about to leave the room, my phone rang.

  “Hey, if that’s some gorgeous guy wanting to take you away this weekend, tell him you got to be back Sunday morning.”

  “Right.” I looked at the screen. “It’s just my brother.”

  She wiggled her eyebrows. “I’ve seen him. He’s fine.”

  “Eww. He’s my brother.”

  I tapped the green icon. “Hi, Mace. I’m at work. What’s up?”

  Chapter Three

  Sitting across the table from Mason at the hole-in-the-wall diner down the street from work, I considered Jane’s evaluation of my brother. She was right. He was a fine-looking man with all the qualities women sought: broad shoulders, a toned abdomen—hell, he was all toned. While he’d worked out from a young age, keeping himself in shape and ready to beat the shit out of any of Mom’s boyfriends—or let’s be honest, johns—who took a shine to me, the military and whatever he’s doing now have worked together to fine-tune what he began a long time ago. His dark blond hair was high and tight, another aftereffect of the Special Forces. But his eyes were the same green, the green I saw in the mirror, our connection to our mother. Right now, his were gleaming my direction.

  “So you’re buttering me up for something,” I said, taking another bite of my salad.

  The scent of grease added to the ambiance of the diner as we each munched delicious cheeseburgers. I’d ordered a side salad with mine, while Mason was halfway through a ten-inch stack of deep-fried onion rings.

  “Onion ring?” He offered one to me, his eyebrows raised.

  I pursed my lips. “Mace, I have to be back to work in thirty minutes. Spill.”

  “Let me help you get a better job.”

  “My job is fine. Tell me what you want.”

  He ran his hand over his hair as he exhaled. “Fuck, Lorna, I want a lot. And you know what?” His voice lowered to a whisper. “It’s right fucking here.” He reached out his large hand, stretching out his fingers. “Like so close.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sparrow.” His green eyes darted around the diner. “I can’t say more, but damn. I was wrong about him. Everything is...we’re right on the cusp of greatness.”

  I leaned forward. “You went from fighting for the country to some underground shit?”

  Mason sat taller. “Don’t say that. And not here. It’s not what you think or what you see in movies.”

  “No.” I reached across the table. “You’re right. I have no idea what it is because you don’t tell me shit. But, Mace, I love you. You came home from war. I can’t lose you.”

  “You’re not going to, Lorna. The thing is...it’s fucking dimensional.”

  I shook my head as I reached for one of his onion rings. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I bit into the crunchy coating as the flavorful onion exploded over my taste buds.

  Again, his deep voice lowered. “I’ve kept you separate from it and them because I thought you’d be safer that way.”

  “If separate is safe, separate yourself.”

  He shook his head as his expression turned deadly serious. “Think about chess.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Seriously? I’m more of a checkers girl.”

  “I’m serious. Chess is a game of cunning, planning, and execution. Sure, the point is to take the king, but if it were that easy, everyone would play.” He was on a roll. “Don’t think about one flat board. Think about three, or shit, five. And the moves on each board affect the pieces on the other boards. That’s what is happening right now.”

  Swallowing the last crumb of the delicious onion ring, I shrugged. “Sorry, bro, too complicated for me.”

  “You fucking sell yourself short. You always have. You deserve better.”

  “Better than cleaning come-covered sheets? Right. And how’s that going to happen?”

  “Didn’t you say you had this coming weekend off?”

  I nodded.

  “I need your help.”

  Okay, here it was.

  “What? You’re going on a secret mission and you need me to feed your cat?”

  Again, he leaned across the table. “I don’t have a fucking cat.”

  “Fish?”

  “Shut up for a second and listen. It’s not a secret mission. There’s a party in New York.”

  I sat taller. “A what? Where?”

  “It’s a coming-out party.”

  “Someone is gay?”

  He grinned. “Probably a lot of people.”

  My eyes widened. “Is it you?”

  “Fuck no.”

  I smiled. “I mean, I’m okay with it.”

  “It’s a debutante party for a rich girl.”

  “A debutante party? Like a dance, a b-ba-ll?” I stuttered. Because, in all honesty, ball as in party was the last thing a girl from the poorest part of Chicago ever expected to say.

  “Yeah.” Mason nodded. “It’s a big deal.”

  “What does New York have to do with Chicago? I’d assume this involves Sparrow.”

  “Sterling Sparrow, you probably know if you pay any fucking attention, is the son of Allister Sparrow. They’re big in real estate all over the world, including New York. This party is a coming-out party for this rich chick, Tinsley Constantine.”

  “That name sounds familiar.”

  “It should. The Constantines have old and new money. Name’s everywhere. They’re headquartered out of New York, but they’re around the world.”

  “Including Chicago?” I asked.

  “Enough so that Allister received an invitation.”

  I shrugged. “So he should go.”

  Mason took a drink of his Coke. “Remember that chess game?”

  I nodded.

  “So there’s a thing happening between Old Man Sparrow and Sterling. The old man told Sparrow—Sterling—to represent the family.”

  “And this has to do with me how?”

  “Allister didn’t expect Sterling to accept his offer, but he did. Sterling doesn’t plan to appear alone. He wants his right-hand men there.”

  “And that includes you?” I laughed. “My brother is going to a ball.”

  “I need a date.”

  I grinned as I stabbed another bite of salad. “You know, my friend Jane is into you. She’s six months pregnant, but with the right dress—”

  “You, Lorna. I’m asking you.”

  “Eww,” I said, scrunching my nose. “Mace, you’re not my type.”

  “Shut the fuck up. Listen. I’ve been busy as fuck. My classes are almost done. And things are heating up all over the city. Senator McFadden will be there, in New York.”

  I pushed myself away from the table. “Are you listening to yourself? You talk about senators and wealthy businessmen who appear in magazines like they’re personal friends. I would be a fish out of water.”

  “No, Lorna, you wouldn’t. Sparrow wants me to have a woman on my arm. There isn’t another woman on earth I trust more than you. There are fucking fires happening on every damn level of that chessboard. I don’t have the energy to take some woman to New York and worry if I piss her off because I’m working fires.”

  “So you’re asking me to join your super-secret He-Man-Woman-Hater’s Club?”

  He grinned. “Only if you learn the handshake.”

  “Mace.”

  “You can make jokes, but this is serious, like life and death. I’d put you on a fucking plane and hide you on some island if I knew you’d be safe.”

  “My passport is out of date,” I said with a sarcastic grin.

  “See, you’re a pain in the ass. Since you won’t hide, keeping you close is my next best option.” He tilted his head like he did when we were young. “And, yes...Lorna, please, I need your help.” Lifting his burger, he said the next sentence quiet and fast. “And I also think if things get hotter around
the city, I may insist you live with me for a while.”

  “Say what? With you? In your tiny apartment near campus?”

  “No, my living arrangements have changed.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I can’t say. First, will you come to New York with me?”

  My mind filled with thoughts of his request, yet they were filled with holes I couldn’t fill. I knew nothing about debutante balls, wealthy businesspeople, or politicians. “I suppose you’re going to tell me there’ll be royalty there?”

  Snagging another onion ring, Mason shrugged.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Reid saw the entire guest list. I suppose it depends if they show. The Duke of Cambridge is pretty straitlaced. His uncle though, the Duke of York, has been known to—”

  “Oh my God,” I interrupted.

  “Will you come?”

  “I have to be back to work on Sunday morning.”

  Mason exhaled as his shoulders slumped. “What happened? I thought you said you had the whole weekend.”

  “Long story, but I promised Jane I’d cover for her.”

  Mason bobbed his head for a moment. “Okay. The ball is Saturday night at an estate in Bishop’s Landing. We’ll have a hotel room in New York. I’ll check, but there’s probably a red-eye Sunday morning that can get you back to Chicago in time.”

  Suddenly, my heart beat faster, thumping in my chest. “Mace, I’ve never been on a plane.”

  Chapter Four

  Friday morning, I stood beside Jane in the employee locker room as she pulled a long dress covered in a dry-cleaning bag from her locker. “I think this will fit.”

  “Where did you get it?” I held on to the hanger and began to lift the bag.

  “I wore it at prom.”

  The dress beneath was black, floor-length with a slit along the side. There were crystal embellishments that crisscrossed over the bodice and along the spaghetti straps. My carry-on for the weekend was in the trunk of my car, complete with the crystal shoes. I could add this.

  Relief flooded my circulation as I hugged my friend. “Oh, Jane, it’s beautiful.”

  “You can’t even tell it’s five years old.”