Rendezvous (13 page)

It takes me a minute to realize I’m staring at my own reflection. I look ethereal, like I have an unnatural glow to me, it’s beautiful…I look beautiful. Mrs. Anders is telling me about the important guests as she helps me into my death trap of a dress. It’s really pretty but I’m not a fan of tying myself into a corset until I can’t breathe. On a positive note though, my shoes are to fucking die for. Shoes are one of my few weaknesses, and these…well these...I’d slap a hoe for, as Dante would say.

My dress is a periwinkle, embellished with crystals and silver embroidery, and my shoes match with crystals encrusted in patterns to match the dress. They are peep-toe and have a heel that could easily cause me to break my neck. The finishing touches are the pieces of jewelry that Marco picked out, which I still haven’t bothered to look at. He’s waiting downstairs to put them on me.

I keep waiting for it to end, for this fantasy to crash around me. Everything is surreal, like I’m in some fucked up fairy tale where I’m just waiting for the wicked witch to come storm my castle and ruin everything. As I head down the stairs, I keep searching for signs of my impending demise. Only there is no sinister force lurking at the bottom of the steps; there is only my father.

Marco is waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase with a large box. As I make my way to where he’s standing, he lifts the lid. Inside is a gorgeous necklace entwined with diamonds at every inch interval and in the middle is a beautiful snowflake made up of the three precious gems he requested from the jeweler. Next to it is a matching pair of earrings that have smaller snowflakes dangling down, and last is a ring with curly swirls made up of the three stones. It’s a little big for my ring finger, but fits perfect index finger. I place the earrings on before turning around so Marco can latch the necklace.

The pieces are a perfect match to my dress and aren’t overdone. I feel sheepish for having such a fit over the jewelry. I don’t know why I expected him to go over the top, but they are just right. Turning back to face him, I give my father a small kiss on his cheek and thank him. I then tie my mask to my face, and take my father’s arm as we enter the ballroom.

We are instantly bombarded by people with their hellos, well wishes, and holiday greetings. The sheer amount of people in this one room has me nauseated. I try my best to keep my balance and not let my anxiety get to me, but it’s overwhelming. All I can think is if my mother planned out a last attack before she died, this would be it. With so many people here, it would be easy to harm me and make a clean getaway. No one would ever know.

I break away from my father and head over to the wall closest to the outside doors. The weather is still chilly, but not enough to warrant a keeping me inside. Not that I would suggest spending long periods out here without something warm on. I take a seat on an ornate bench and immerse myself in my surroundings. It’s peaceful out here, though every once in a while people stop to introduce themselves or just say hello.

When it gets too cold to remain outside, I return tothe crowded ballroom
.
Once the music starts and people begin pulling their partners onto the floor, I make my escape, and head for the kitchen. I don’t make it far though as a hand grabs onto mine and pulls me off kilter. Instead of landing on my ass, I end up falling against a warm, hard as stone body. The one belonging to the hand that is still grasping mine.

I try to pull my hand back but instead he twists them to where he can lace his fingers through my own and secures his hold on me. Right as I’m about to let my mouth get the best of me, my father interrupts.

“There you are, Bambina. I’ve been looking all over for you.  Come, come, you must dance. After all, this is the music of lovers.”

I roll my eyes at him before being dragged back into the ballroom with Mr. Mystery in tow. I try once more to break free from his grip and instead find myself being swept out onto the dance floor…exactly where I don’t want to be. When he loosens his grip on my hand, I make a run for it, again, a really stupid idea in high heels. I nearly fall on my face, only to be caught by his hands wrapped around my waist. I bite my lip and plan my assault, only there is a fault in my execution. I can’t effectively kick anyone’s ass in a ball gown, let alone one worth several thousand dollars.

I avoid eye contact as he uses his hands to maneuver mine around his neck. Cheeky fucker, I wish I could just slap him and send him the fuck away. Instead I’m waltzing with a man whose chest I barely reach, and that’s in four- inch heels.  It doesn’t even occur to me that I’m holding my breath for the majority of the song until I inhale and am hit with an aroma that damn near puts me on my ass.

I excuse myself and walk as fast as humanly possible to the nearest bathroom. I manage to close the door seconds before my eyes flood with tears. I don’t know what has come over me. In that moment, I’d fucking swear…it doesn’t matter. That’s the lie I tell myself. That it doesn’t matter that Mr. Mystery smells just like Tristan. It means nothing that the hard contours of his body are so fucking familiar. I convince myself that it’s just my imagination. No matter what, it’s not Tristan, because Tristan can’t be here. I told him not to come.

There is a light knock on the door, and I let whoever is on the other side know that I’ll be out in a moment. I pull myself together and reprimand my idiotic behavior. This isn’t me. I don’t grow all fucking sappy over the memory of some lost love, if that’s even what it was, I tell myself. I give myself a pep talk about getting my shit together, then pat my eyes before unlocking the door so I can head back out into that room of mass chaos.

As I open the bathroom door, I find an outstretched hand waiting for me. I look up at him, but can’t see anything through his mask. I can’t even see his eyes since they are cast down. I take in a deep breath before deciding to take his hand. I expect to go back into the ballroom, but instead he leads us outside and onto another bench that overlooks the garden. Light snow is falling past the multitude of lights, glittering on the pathways below.

It completely escapes me that he’s still holding onto my hand. I want to say something, to apologize for the scene I caused, but I can’t find the words and would prefer not to make a fool of myself. A breeze blows across the porch, spackling us with a light dusting of snow flurries. The cold contact on my skin causes it to break out in goose bumps.

He lets go of my hand momentarily, and slips his jacket off before laying it across my shoulders. In a voice, barely above a whisper, I say, "thank you."

I curl the jacket around my body and take a deep breath, while closing my eyes and letting myself imagine it is Tristan I’m sitting with out here and not some random guest. It’s an easy lie to convince myself of since he smells exactly like the shirt I sleep with every night. I use to sleep in it before I left, but I can’t do that without washing it, so instead I just kept it close to me at night for comfort.

That’s what this stranger smells like, comfort. My reality starts to blur, and I have a hard time drawing the line between what is real and what is fantasy right now. I want something that in my mind isn’t real, yet my heart is screaming yes it is.

I turn to face him. I need to see his eyes, to prove to myself that it isn’t Tristan. Instead I’m met with warm, soft lips pressing against my own. I know that I should pull away, that somehow this kiss is a betrayal, yet I can’t. My body is acting of its own accord as I tease his lips with my own.

He brushes the tip of his tongue across the seam of my mouth and my lips part without hesitation. He bites down gently on my lower lip before pulling it between his and sucking on it. I try to suppress the groan that escapes me as he brushes his tongue back and forth across the skin.

I want more, and he is happy to oblige as he releases my lip and crushed his mouth against mine.

I’m at war with myself. My logical brain tells me I need to break away from him, to walk away from this illusion that he’s someone else. Instead, I listen to my heart and bury my fingers in his hair as I deepen the kiss. I’m fighting for control, of what I’m not sure. I have this need to take possession of this fantasy. If I only have it for a short while I need to be my way.

I let all rational thought go and decide to just feel. The next thing I know I’m straddling this man’s lap in my couture ball gown while snow falls over us, and I don’t give a damn about the consequences of my actions. We kiss each other with urgency, as if it is the last time our lips will ever touch one another’s. I don’t know this man, so that’s the truth, after tonight, I have no intentions of ever finding out who lurks behind the mask. So for one night, this perfect stranger is going to be the prince charming in my fairy tale.

I’m completely engrossed in the moment, my fingers entwined in his hair, our masks bumping as our tongues twirled around each other. I feel like this is where I belong, but the sensation is short lived as the outer door opens and a couple who is three sheets to the wind comes stumbling out. Their boisterous laughter sobers my reality check as I push myself off and away from my mysterious stranger. I’m on my feet and through the door, and don't even turn back as I hear my name in the wind. I’m sure it‘s just another mind fuck.

I don’t stop running until I’m safely locked away in my room. Pulling off my ridiculous water spotted gown, I chastise my ridiculous behavior. I am a lot of things, but a wanton slut is not one of them. I know why I did it. I just can’t let the means justify the end. My behavior was atrocious and I only hope that I never have to face that man again in any kind of setting. I’m humiliated by my actions. In one night, I managed to desecrate the memory of the man I love.

I impatiently remove the rest of my clothing and carefully take the pins out of my hair. Mrs. Anders had brought the velvet box for my jewelry set up earlier and I place the pieces back where they belonged before tucking it away.

I felt marginally better after a hot shower, where I wash away any illusions I had of this night, along with the stain of my actions. If anyone asks, I’ll say I drank a bit too much and retired to my room before getting sick. It’s not complete fucking lie, as my behavior has me feeling disgusted.

I slip under my sheets before turning the bedside lamp off, and snuggle with the one real reminder I have of the man I walked away from. It isn’t long before I drift off to sleep. I’m lost in a dream; searching for something I don’t remember losing. It’s not an object, or even a person. It’s something else…something I can’t grasp. I wander around trying to place what I’m missing. I can hear Tristan talking to me, and I’m paralyzed as his words consume me.

I need to be inside of you right now. I need to fuck away this memory plaguing me. The memory of the woman I’m in love with walking the fuck away from me and ripping my goddamn heart out. Do you understand that Bentley? I’m going to fuck you until it never even crosses your mind to leave me again, then I’m going to fuck you until you can’t get up from this bed, just to make good fucking sure I’ve made my point. Do you understand me, Bentley? You belong to me. It doesn’t matter how far you run, I will always find you, you’re mine…

I wake up feeling like I can’t breathe. Looking over at the clock, it flashes 10:06 and I realize it’s was already morning. I slept through the rest of the party, but I feel as if I’ve only just closed my eyes. I’m exhausted, and my thoughts are plagued by that dream. I could have sworn it was real...Tristan was real.

Sitting up, my hand brushes against something hard and I turn to find a long thin box resting against my palm. I don’t know if I should be terrified that someone was in here while I slept or intrigued by the contents of the box. My curiosity wins out as I pick the box up and place it on top of my covered lap. It’s wrapped with sparkly paper and a gold ribbon.

I release the ribbon and unwrap the box. Inside of the box is another long velvet box and a card. I open the card and as I read the words I freak out, not knowing how to react. Three little words are tearing my world apart and I don’t know if it’s a good thing or not.

Merry Christmas Spitfire

No one knows that name. It’s never once been mentioned here. The only person on the face of this earth that ever fucking called me that is Tristan. I pick the second box up and push the hinged lid up to find the gorgeous bracelet that I was eyeing while shopping with Mrs. Anders. This bracelet cost a small fortune. What the fuck was he thinking buying this? How could he even know? I didn’t mention it to anyone. He would have had to be there…watching me. That is assuming it really is from Tristan. Could it be from him? Dante did ask if we’d crossed paths yet.

I get out of bed and go through my closet until I find the new dress I bought for today. It’s a long maxi dress, and the color is a perfect match to the sapphires in my bracelet. I struggle to run a brush through my hair. Going to sleep with it wet last night, it’s now a mess of tangles and waves. Once it is manageable enough I toss it into a messy ponytail, then head downstairs with my box.  I couldn’t get the clasp myself, so I need some help.

Walking into the kitchen I find Maddie and Mrs. Anders giggling like school girls. As I approach them they both turn to me with shit eating grins on their faces. “Good Morning Miss. Bentley,” they both say in unison.

“Good Morning ladies, Merry Christmas. And what has us so chipper this morning?” I ask. I know if I want gossip, these are the two to go to girls.

“Perhaps we should be asking you that question,” Mrs. Anders replies. “Maddie here was cleaning up last night when she saw a gentleman go upstairs. She followed him and caught him entering your room.”