Authors: Ysa Arcangel
Underneath It All
By Ysa Arcangel
Underneath It All
Copyright © 2016 by Ysa Arcangel.
All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: June 2016
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1-68058-672-5
ISBN-10: 1-68058-672-6
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
For David Gandy,
My visual muse for Reeve Gates.
The only other man as hot as my husband.
Fate
Fate…this seemed like a sick joke from fate.
Everything seemed alive and happy. I actually thought the sky would be mourning on the day of Dean O’Neal’s memorial service.
The sun was shining too brightly for my liking. It was neither too cold nor too warm, yet it still felt strange. The past few days had been overcast with drizzles of rain, so seeing the sun was really weird. The unpredictable weather in Boston was both a blessing and a curse, because we get so much variety but we never knew when it’s going to rain, even if it’s beautiful and sunny.
Dean O’Neal’s death was a result of a low-grade fraternity feud that escalated into bloody mayhem.
Knowing one of our best mentors met his untimely death dampened all our hopes of becoming the best versions of ourselves. He made a huge impact on all those who looked up to him, including me. Almost the entire population of Gates faculty, students, and acquaintances went to his memorial to pay their respects.
Nobody was seen with dry eyes after his only daughter delivered a tear-jerking eulogy for her beloved father.
My hand shook as I placed a lone lily on my former dean’s tomb while I held back sobs of gratitude. “Thank you, Dean O’Neal, for everything,” I whispered.
The ceremony was brief, in accordance with his daughter’s wishes. I wasn’t comfortable at the memorial service or gravesite, either. Simply dealing with Dean O’Neal’s death was demanding enough, much more than if it were my mom. The thought gave me chills.
These past few months I watched her waste away, losing the vitality and independence that had always been so strong in her. It had been agonizing. Her arms, which had always held me so lovingly, had been reduced to barely-covered bones.
I felt Tats nudge me with her elbow.
“Gats?”
“What?”
“80 degrees southwest.”
“What?” I asked again. My brows twitched, wondering what she was talking about, though I knew every time she used coordinates she either saw someone swoon-worthy or an enemy of our pack.
“I said 80 degrees southwest,” she repeated, her eyes bulging.
I turned to look at the spot and saw who she was referring to.
Standing there was a man who looked familiar, but I’d never seen him before. I continued to stare at him, fixating on every detail. Hardcore exterior with sexy attributes, a kind of lumberjack appeal with scruffy facial hair, and boy did it work. His lips were tinged pink, as though he often licked them or bit them, which made me think of doing just those things to him.
What am I thinking?
The guy jerked up looking over at me. His face twitched slightly in surprise, but showed little reaction beyond that. He eyed me up and down before smirking. And there it was, a flutter in my gut I hadn’t felt in a really long time.
I was dazed, the world seemed to shift or sway, my breath hitched, and my pulse quickened. Sure enough, Tats’ boy radar was right on point.
I felt my cheeks burning.
The sun was still shining when the funeral ended, but I was completely unaware. It took someone snapping their fingers in front of my face to draw my attention back from the abyss to the conversation around me.
“Gats?” Tats called. She gently shook my shoulder.
“Uh, Gats. We’re kind of waiting for you here,” Raven said.
“Huh?” I asked not even sure what exactly she said.
“Gah, you zoned out there for a second,” Tats stated.
“Are you okay? I called out to you like three times,” said Apple.
“Did I zone out? Oh, right. Let’s go.” I shrugged and turned my head again, requiring a very deliberate motion. It seemed almost unnatural to watch a stranger making his way to his car.
The strong wind blew, making my handkerchief fly in his direction.
I dared not walk where my handkerchief flew, for fear I would come face to face with a very handsome species with irresistible features.
The four of us went straight to Moonbucks, our favorite hangout spot.
The tiny bell tinkled as we walked into the coffee shop. The warm atmosphere welcomed me quickly. The scent of coffee went into my nostrils and I inhaled it deeply. I let out a contented sigh, finally feeling some actual comfort after a depressing day.
I went up to the counter, greeting the barista. He looked up from one of the machines, a smile stretching across his face upon seeing me. “Hi. What can I get you?”
“One mochaccino with extra whipped cream, please.”
He took our orders, grabbed the cups, and got to work as we went over to a couch and sat down. A few minutes later, the waiter brought our drinks to us and we thanked him.
“OMG that guy at the funeral was so hawt!” squealed Tats.
“Actually, I’d say he was quite handsome,” I remarked.
“Gats, where did you come from? Middle Earth?” asked Apple, my beautiful, redheaded friend who is taking the Bitchology Major in Sarcasm, but I loved her. She always had my back.
“No. I just prefer not to objectify people,” I retorted.
“Ugh, slip into the century! No one says handsome anymore,” added Raven, my punk-gothic-boyish-rockstar-Pink-inspired looking friend.
I rolled my eyes at them. “Okay, how’s this, oh my gosh, he is soooooo hot!” I squealed with a girlish tone and vehemently shook my head afterwards.
“Perfect!” they complimented.
“Who do you think that brooding, mysterious, super sexy-looking, funeral crasher, who I think would look great with his suit off, is?” Tats asked. My Hispanic, absolutely amazing, funny, sweet, and down-to-earth best friend had a built-in radar for hotties.
“Really, Tats? You have no taste.” I shook my head and sipped on my coffee that was finally cool enough to drink. I half-listened to my friends while my eyes watched those around me. I didn’t see him, though. I wasn’t looking for him, or anything, anyway.
***
I went home that night to spend the weekend with my family.
As usual, my twin brother Mikael was nowhere around.
“How’s school?” Dad inquired, biting into a slice of pizza while watching his favorite film. “Sorry to hear about your dean, honey.”
“It’s okay, Dad. The entire school is still mourning, but we’ll get by. Soon someone will replace him. I just hope he or she will be as humble, considerate, and as kind as Dean O’Neal.”
“I’m sure they will nominate someone better,” Dad said. “By the way, have you heard from your brother? I haven’t heard from him since yesterday.”
“Uhm…y-yeah, he called earlier today and told me they are still busy with their research,” I lied.
“I am very proud of both of you. It’s a great joy for us to see our children grow up year after year into such a fine man and woman.”
Mom walked into the living area with a smile on her face and Dad handed her a slice of pizza. She tried to cut her pizza with a fork, and I intervened so she wouldn’t get frustrated. I watched attentively; I’d noticed she ate less and less these days.
We were chatting about my friends and the silly events of the past week. She listened and laughed at my stories.
“Mom, you know what? I saw a very handsome guy today!”
“Really? Do you like him? I won’t tell your mom, I promise. What does he look like?”
“Oh, he is like Professor Gabriel Emerson and Gideon Cross rolled into one!”
“Who are they? Your ex-boyfriends?”
I laughed at her silly question. “How I wish!”
“For me, the most handsome man who ever crossed the earth is Ivo. I met him in Verona when I attended my brother’s wedding.”
“Ahem,” Dad coughed out. “I know, right?” he muttered to himself and winked at Mom.
It has been almost twenty-four years since Mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. Dad learned to embrace this disease. He never faltered. He did not retreat; rather he helped raise awareness and advocated for those who are affected.
“Dad, part of this disease is they state things that are not the most appropriate.”
Dad just smiled at me and shook his head. Mom joined us to watch the movie, and we were laughing the whole time until it finished.
I eventually went up to my room, took a bath, and felt the soft plush surface of my mattress under me.
I looked around my room that was full of posters of my favorite celebrities and bands. Out of all the posters on my walls, my favorite was the face collage I made from recycled magazines. I ripped out pages from magazines and then cut out the faces to use for the collage. What I created was the face of my dream guy.
Glancing at the collage, I did a double take. I stood up from my bed and ripped the collage off the wall.
I knew it. That is why the guy in the funeral looked familiar.
I didn’t know that my face collage could possibly come to life.