Rendezvous (12 page)

It’s after noon by the time I saunter down the steps. Marco informs me that I will have several designers at the house tomorrow morning for a dress fitting. It seems that is annual Christmas masquerade wasn’t deterred by his recent coma, and I will need to be dressed appropriately for the occasion. I’d much rather sit in my room catching up on some reading instead of parading around in a ball gown and frilly mask, but apparently that isn’t an option.

I’m told everyone will be in formal attire and no one will be allowed to enter without both an invitation and a mask. Apparently, high society also calls for completely anonymity. Since he’s over the moon about my attending, I suppose I can suffer through the night. Besides if I hate it, I can always slip away once the party begins.

Today is going to be a busy afternoon; Marco has several things he insists must be done today, starting with lunch. There’s a darling little restaurant in town that serves authentic Italian, or so I’m told. It’s Marco’s favorite eatery and he insists that we go there for lunch. I haven’t had time to become familiar with any of the places in town so his recommendation sounds mouth watering. Once in town, we pull up to a building that looks like it was shipped straight from some old world village. Stepping inside is like walking into a charming Italian inn. I’m instantly hit with the smell of garlic and fresh bread, which makes both my mouth water and my stomach grumble.

Marco is going on about how amazing all of the food is, and insists that I let him order for me. He swears I will love the dish that he has in mind. I prefer to choose my own meals, but eventually relent and excuse myself to go wash up
.
When I return to the table, I find him really distracted. I try to pry whatever is on his mind out of him, but he is intent on keeping me in the dark. All I know is something happened from the time we sat down to lunch, and the time it took me to get back from washing my hands. Looking around the restaurant, I search for any signs of what may have changed his demeanor.

After lunch I’m told we will be shopping for “sparkling accessories” as he puts it. I tell Marco that I rarely wear jewelry and I’m not a flashy kind of girl, but he isn’t hearing it. He said it’s customary, and that as a hostess, I’m expected to look regal and refined. Neither of those words are words I would use to describe myself. I prefer to be conservative and modest. This party is already tearing me away from my comfort zone, and it’s very possible I’ll be drunk before the end of the night.

After another ten minutes of useless protests, we arrive at a very upscale jewelry store filled with breathtaking jewels. Marco, who I learned is a fashion aficionado, decides that my dress needs to be either lavender or a light blue to complement my eyes. Therefore, my jewelry should be a mix of aquamarines, tanzanite and diamonds. Looking at some of the price tags, I hope these pieces are for loan like they do for red carpet events, but that would be hoping for too much.

As he looks through the pieces, a ring catches my eye. I’ve seen something very similar to it back home. It is an absolutely gorgeous ring. The diamond gives an illusion that its depth has a much farther reach than it really does. I’m in absolute awe; it is simply perfect...well...almost. It is missing the intricate detailing of the one back home. Otherwise, it would be the most stunning engagement ring.

My father finds my nearly drooling as he finishes making his purchases. “That’s quite a beautiful ring. It would be a spectacular sight on your finger, Bambina. It’s truly a shame that your fondest asshat has moved on, as surely he would grace your lovely fingers with such a beautiful bauble,” he quips.

I think the jewelry is getting to his head because we’ve already had this conversation. “I told you Marco, Tristan’s moved on. I’m sure by now he’s happily in love and settling down with her, and no I don’t go stalk his Facebook to confirm it. I promised myself I would let him go and I am,” I say while heading for the door and effectively ending this conversation.

I can’t think about Tristan right now or what he is doing. It’ll just drag me down a long depressing road that I’m not sure I can handle. I don’t want to think of him and his new woman trimming their tree together or shopping for that perfect present. I’m already trying to fight off the depression I feel during this time of year, and refuse to let my thoughts drag me any further down.

We ride home in relative silence and I excuse myself once we get back. I don’t even stay to look at what my father purchased. His words got the best of me and I’d rather not have any witnesses as I wallow in self pity.

As soon as I get to my room, I pull my phone out and started pounding away at the keys. I need a friend, but more than anything I need confirmation of my biggest fear. I don’t want the details; I just want to know that he’s happy. I know if that’s all I’m asking, that it will be all that Dante tells me. He knows me inside and out, and he knows if I need to hear something specific not to overindulge me. I just hope that after all of this time he doesn’t hate me.

Hi sweet cheeks. I miss you so much. Just thought you should know that. ~B

I’m not sure if he’ll answer. I know how hurt he was when I left, but he also knows I did it to protect him as well. Still he’s a very overdramatic fickle twat. If he’s in a bad mood, he’ll simply write me off for a while. So like the ever awful but dutiful friend, I sit by my phone and wait, it’s another half hour before he responds.

It’s about time I heard from you, hooker! Where the fuck are you? And don’t just say Cali bitch; I know that much from your letter. OMG, Sweet Pea… that news about your mother. I’m not sorry that evil bitch is gone, but are you ok, baby doll?

I laugh at the fact that he can so easily forget that I pretty much abandoned him a year ago, and pick up right where we left off.

I’m fine; I feel like I can breathe again. Well almost, but that has nothing to do with her. Right now I’m in Northern Cali with my father. A lot has happened, so fucking much. Less than a month ago I learned that Cora is alive and well, somewhere in Canada. Grant is not my father, which is no surprise since he never gave two shits about me, and that my real father almost died before I ever got to meet him. So pretty much the norm for me...how are things with you?

Ooh girl, you know me, always keeping busy. Got myself a new man and this one knows how to treat me just right. Speaking of men though, have you run into Tristan?

I swear my fucking heart stops at seeing his name. What the hell does he mean have I run into Tristan? Tristan has no reason anywhere near here. I ponder on it for a moment before deciding to call him. He picks up before the first ring finishes.

“Hey stranger, uh no…no Tristan. I met his cousin a few months back though. He was checking up on me. I’m still not really sure why though. Last I saw, Tristan was getting all googly-eyed with someone else. So why would I be running into him?” I ask.

He chuckles into the phone before answering me,
“
Oh no, baby girl. There isn’t anybody else. Hell, I don’t think there will ever be anyone else. I don’t know where you got that fucking idea from, but that boy has been hard up since the day you left. You should see that man’s living room. It looks like a warship command center and that shit is all centered around finding you. The only time he’s met up with anyone was when he attended that signing with Electra a while back. She fucked his head all up; trying to convince him you moved on and were engaged. He didn’t take that shit too well at all. Jacob set his ass straight though, and he and that bitch are no longer speaking.”

Why the fuck would Electra lie to him like that? I mean I know she had a thing for him once. She was always finding a reason to touch him, or brush up against him. But I brushed it off as her being a shameless flirt. I have a hard time seeing her fabricating some story to try and win him though. Then again how well do I really know her? We barely spoke until the day she asked me to attend the signing with her.

“Huh...well I don’t know about any of that shit, but, no, I haven’t run into him. Anyway, I wasn’t actually calling about him. I need your advice…” I say while telling him about my party dilemma.

We spend the next several hours catching up. He asks about any prospects I have out here, and I tell him about Dr. Dick. He asks about all of the hot gay men, and is disappointed that I haven’t come across anyone that would turn his head. I laugh at him for even asking, typical Dante, even when he has a man he’s looking for something better. We talk about my new book and all of my new changes. He asks if I plan so search for Cora and is surprised when I told him no. The truth is I have no intentions of looking for Cora. She has a new life now and she is content with that life. I don’t really have any part in it, and I don’t want her to ever have to explain how she isn’t who her new family believes she is. So no, I’m not going to be looking for her.

He goes on and on about his new beau and how he asked Dante to go home with him to meet his family for the holidays. They sound serious about each other, and are talking about making it official. He tells me how Aggie has been staying with Tristan, and that makes me smile. He might not have a mother, but Aggie seems like an awesome replacement for what he missed out on.

By the time we hang up, the sun has been set for some time, and I can smell the delicious aroma of dinner wafting through the hall. My stomach rumbles as I head down the stairs, seconding my sentiment that whatever is cooking smells absolutely mouthwatering.

I enter the kitchen expecting Marco to already be seated, but I am informed that he had an errand to run and won’t be back in time for dinner. Since I will be eating alone, I decide to take my food back to my makeshift office so I can eat and write at the same time.

Chapter 12

Tristan

Cage decided to go explore some. I need to be up early so I told him to go ahead. I think I’ll crash early so I’m not a zombie for tomorrow’s shoot. I didn’t find anything to beat on so I settle for some meditation. I’m finally starting to relax when I’m jolted out of it by a loud knocking on the door.

When I open it, I stand face-to-face with the one man I least expected to see, the man that Bentley was with this afternoon.

“Hello Tristan,” he says with a prominent European accent. “May I come in?” he asks.

I don’t know how the fuck he knows my name, or better yet, how he knows I’m here. Though while I have him in front of me, I intend to find out. I step aside, giving him room to enter, and close the door behind him.

“How do you know who I am? And how did you know where to find me?” I ask.

“Tell me, what are your intentions with my bambina? You’ve spent an awful lot of time checking up on her, so surely you must have a vested interest in her, no?”

I’m taken by surprise by his abrupt question. How the hell could he know that, and does he know what I did to Darla?

“So I was right then,” I said to myself. “You are her father. To answer your question, yes, I have a great deal of interest in your daughter. But then I’m sure since you know who I am, that you already know that, and if you know that then you know why I’m here. So my only question is: Does she know? That I’m here...I mean?”

“Good! I’m glad to hear that your feelings for her haven’t gone astray,” he says before handing me a small envelope. “There is an address inside of the card. Be there at noon tomorrow, and try not to keep me waiting. I can only be gone so long before my daughter starts to worry, and I can’t have her growing suspicious. To answer your question, no she does not know you’re here.”

Then he walked back out the door as if what he said makes perfect sense, and I stand there, left with a hell of a lot more questions than answers. There is something very strange about Marco, and I wonder about his intentions with Bentley. I know he hasn’t given me any reason not to trust him, but her family doesn’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to giving a shit about her. I take a seat and inspect the envelope he handed me before opening it. Inside is an invitation to a holiday masquerade ball, and inside of the invitation is a business card with nothing more than an address and a hand scribbled 12:00pm. I recognize the address on the invitation as the address to where Bentley forwarded her mail. Marco just gave me my in.

I can’t remember the last time I actually felt excitement. It takes forever to fall asleep because my mind is racing with infinite possibilities. I convince myself that Marco wouldn’t have sought me out if Bentley doesn’t still want me, so she must have said something to him.

I’m running a little late for the shoot, but Sarah doesn’t seem to mind once I arrive. I waste no time dressing and posing as I take up the various positions she requests. By the time the shoot is over, she and I are both confident that Bentley is going to love my shots for her cover.

After getting redressed, I check my cell phone and realize I need to haul ass if I’m going to make it to where I’m meeting Marco. I thank Sarah again for going above and beyond to hell me secure the cover, and then take off.

I arrive at the location on the card with a few minutes to spare. Stepping inside of the shop, I find myself surrounded by high-end suits and tuxedos. Running my fingers across the material, my fingers land on the price ticket. Before I can see just how much damage a shop like this will cost a man, Marco rounds the corner with a salesman and catches sight of me.

“Ah good you’re here, and early. That is always a good sign,” he says, pulling me into a hug and placing a kiss on each of my cheeks. “This is Raphael. He will be fitting you for your tuxedo. Only the finest Italian tailoring will do, and Raphael is the finest tailor on this side of the hemisphere.”

“I see,” I say while looking around. “So I’m here to grab a tux?” I ask, picking one up off a rack.

“Absolutely not!” Raphael answers. “I cannot put that frame in a tuxedo already made. You are here to be custom fitted, so I can have it made for you in time for Mr. Linzetti’s party.”

Okay then… I decide it’s best to just keep my mouth shut before I end up offending him further and thus becoming a human pin cushion. I notice how Raphael pays great attention to detail and is meticulous in his every movement. He is pristine, and as I watch his movements I can’t help but notice just how perfect a fit he would be for Dante. Not that I want to imagine two dudes together. But seriously, these two would go hand in hand. It’s really a shame Dante is so hard up for his new boy toy.

“Tell me Tristan,” Marco inquires. “Have you considered proposing to my daughter? I must warn you, my darling bambina has exquisite taste. I saw her admiring quite a ring the other evening. If I didn’t know better, I would have believed it was a masterpiece created just for her. It was quite simply breathtaking.”

I try to hide my amusement at this veiled attempt to ask what he really wants to know. I admire his keen interest in Bentley’s future, and am pleased to know I have him as an ally, though I’m not sure she would agree. I can only imagine how she would feel knowing her father is conspiring with me in regards to her future.

“Actually I have thought about proposing to her, but I’m sure you already knew that,” I reply, as I watch him smile and shake his head in agreement. “I don’t know what ring Bentley saw while shopping with you, but I can assure you the ring I chose for her is perfect.”

“Ah, he chides, “So there is a ring. Perhaps you’ll allow me to see it?” he asks, as if he expects that I carry it around with me. Or maybe he already knows I do. The truth is, I always have it with me. It became my connection to Bentley after she left, and I always keep it close.

I reach my hand into my pocket, and pull out the small black box, then place it in his outstretched palm. He carefully opens the lid and I watch as his eyes light up. The smile that graces his face is a reassurance that I made the right choice. The ring I picked really is perfect for Bentley.

“Amazing,” he croons. “It is almost a twin to the one in the shop. Only these,” he said while tracing the swirls along the shank, “These call more to my Bentley than the other. This ring is perfection.”

My heart is elated, not so much that he approves, but at hearing what I already knew. Whomever created this ring must have had Bentley’s perfection in mind, because no other ring would ever be worthy of her.

Marco and I spend the next hour swapping details and stories about Bentley while Raphael takes every measurement known to man. I learn little things that I doubt she even remembers. He’s watched her entire life, even after she graduated, at least up until the time she took off from Florida. He had a hard time finding her after that, which makes me feel slightly better about how long it took for us to find her. Even he didn’t know about the cabin she owns in Maine. It was shortly after she left that his health started to decline, and a short while later that he had his heart attack. He spent the next six weeks in a coma. That is the only span of time in her life of which he has no knowledge. If it wasn’t for his living will, she might never have made it to his side, even with the doctors optimistic that he would wake.

I learn that Oliver is Marco’s nephew, and of his involvement with Cora’s relocation and subsequent protection of Bentley. She has people she never even knew who love her and will do anything to keep her safe. I’m sure now that if Marco were in my position, he’d have killed Darla too.

While I’m excited at the prospect of seeing Bentley soon, I can’t help but feel like we’re tricking her. We’re sitting here conspiring against her, planning a future that she may no longer want, and neither of us are willing to accept that as a viable option. As Marco and I sit there waiting for Raphael to finish his invoice, he tells me about how his physician was put on notice for his unprofessional behavior towards Bentley, and how his persistence was crossing a dangerous line. I damn near fell off my chair as he told me how he suspects Bentley laced the man’s drink with enough laxative to make sure he was shitty for an hour straight.

I wouldn’t put it past Bentley. She’s been known to put a man on his ass, and it sounds as if this Brad is coming real close to having his handed to him. While I would love to see her kicking someone else’s balls for a chance, I know she’ll have to really feel cornered to cross that line, especially if she’s been holding back the way Marco describes.

It’s a week until this masquerade and Marco has been making sure that not only my tux but my mask must also match Bentley’s, at least in color. I draw the line are rhinestones and feathers. I’ve listened to him talk my ear off about how exquisite her dress is, and how enchanting she looked during her fitting. It’s fucking killing me. I’ve only gotten to watch her from a distance, and he gets to spend countless moments with her.

Marco informs me that she and her housekeeper, Mrs. Anders, are going Christmas shopping today. So here am I being a fucking creeper, watching as she drifts from store to store in this mall, waiting to see if anything catches her eye. I’ve never been much of a shopper, and honestly, unless its jewelry, I have no clue in hell as what to buy her.

She’s stopped to look at a few things, but nothing with the intent of purchasing it for herself. Not that I’m shocked. In all of the time I’ve known her, she rarely buys herself anything. She always picks up little things for everyone else though. She even remembered Aggie. I got a call this morning about how wonderful the little gifts she received from Bentley are. It’s just one of the things I love about her. She has one of the biggest hearts of anyone I’ve ever known.

Shopping for others isn’t exactly helping me though. I can’t buy her something she’s looking at for someone else. Marco said she doesn’t like jewelry and that she gave him hell over him buying her pieces for the party. That’s not exactly true though. She likes jewelry; she’s just specific on what she will wear. What she doesn’t like are gaudy, tacky, overly flashy pieces.

I watch her as she pauses in front of a display case to one of the many mall jewelry stores. This one is different than the others though, it houses more one-of-a-kind pieces. I’m intrigued as she admires something in that case for a couple minutes before moving along with Mrs. Anders, and going into another department store.

I flip the hood up on my sweatshirt and walk over to the case. She’s only a couple stores down and I don’t want to be recognized, but I also don’t want to lose her. There are three pieces in the case, but only one stands out at me. It’s a diamond and sapphire bracelet made up of circles with different stone patterns in each link.  I know the instant I see it, that it’s the piece she was admiring. I wonder if it’s just irony or fate that the bracelet happens to consist of both our birthstones.

Most guys don’t have a clue about birthstones; I know better. Dante drilled it into my head the importance of a girl’s birthstone. Bentley’s is easy; it’s a diamond. Mine I actually had to look up. Slipping into the store, I find a salesperson and inquire about the piece on display. The fact that it’s a small fortune is of little consequence to me since I know, without a doubt, that she will love it.

By the time I finish with my transaction, I’ve completely lost sight of the two of them and decide to head back to the inn. I don’t want to leave Cage behind on Christmas Eve, especially since he is here for me and has no place else to go. I talked Marco into another invite and we scored him a tux that was a little loose but not a bad fit for last minute. Raphael is going to make a few last minute alterations to it, and then we’re both good to go.

Bentley

This week as been a fucking circus. There have been people in and out of the house all damn day, every day. Of course Marco doesn’t have to worry about any of that since he’s moved back into his quiet little home. Oh no...No...That would be too much to ask that I not have my life turned into a Barnum and Bailey all for one stupid night. I damn near clawed his face off when he told me he usually holds another party for New Year’s.

Now I’m sitting here enduring cruel and unusual punishment as some professional makeup artist and hair expert pull, pluck, pinch, paint, and poke at me for the next few hours until they both deem my appearance to be acceptable for the occasion. I swear if this bitch smears one more thing on my face I’m going to rip her fake eyelashes off and shove them down her fucking throat. And don’t even get me started on Fake Boobs McGee with her nasty fake extensions. I’d like to go a few rounds with her too. Haven’t these women ever heard the concept that less is fucking more?

I refuse to so much as look in a mirror since I’m pretty sure with all of this shit caked on my face that I could probably pass for a high priced call girl. I thank some blessed angel when Mrs. Anders comes and in shoves them out the door after looking at my appearance.

With a healthy dose of makeup remover, we managed to get all of the shit off of my face, and I start from scratch. I don’t bother screwing with my hair since it’s pretty difficult to mess up putting it into a French twist with curls. So at least that looks semi decent. I reapply a minimal amount of makeup, making sure to highlight my eyes, give a small amount of color to my cheeks, and coat my lips in a tinted balm. With a few minor details done by Mrs. Anders, I turn to face the mirror.