[STEVIE]

Who would’ve thought merely dressing up could be stressful?

I'd gone and changed my outfit for this dreadful affair several times. It was a struggle between a prompting to be presentable then reel from the disgust of giving any sort of impression I cared to suit such despicable people’s taste. Only to jump back at the one reason I was doing this was for my boyfriend and find I'd gone full circle.

I was so drained already but the messages from Will and Bee practically arranging to kidnap me for the rest of the day to cruise the town lightened the weight a bit.

“Are you still not done yet?” came the last voice I wanted to hear.

Garren sat leisurely on a lounge chair, book tucked to the side as a sign he'd gotten bored of the hotel's offered reading material. How this had seemed to turn into my issue was beyond me. One moment, I was consoling the man and the next, he was lying around the suite half-naked for hours without a care in the world. While I was preparing with him pestering me in-between and nitpicking on anything I tried on until I pulled it off.

My clothes were strewn on my twin bed. He, on the other hand, had freshened up and changed into the sports blazer, Ralph Lauren’s shirt and chinos he had his household staff deliver, looking as dapper as ever. Now having the nerve to ridicule me as if he wasn’t responsible for my dilemma.

“I would’ve been done if you weren’t here,” I snapped.

“Right, and I find it adorable when you blame me for everything and all but we've got roughly just half an hour before we'll have to go.”

Apparently, Mrs. Adler had dragged her husband to a small exhibition, leaving the only time to meet at the organised family brunch. Then Mr. Adler would be returning to the main branch offices operating in Birmingham.

Brunch would be spanning somewhere between two hours but apparently, if any of them had places to be, they’d be pardoned to leave earlier. So the plan was to clock out after the first served appetizers paired with whatever classic wine Mrs. Adler selected which Garren estimated would all take up to twenty minutes, if not less.

The game was a test of endurance, instances of having to play on offense or defense were not off the table but it would only be on for a maximum of twenty minutes. I could do this.

“What about that primrose max dress you wore when we went to that seafood place in Frankfurt?” He questioned.

“I didn’t take it with me.”

“Why?”

“I just didn’t.”

I heard him scoff as I took another look at my black, crop vest and my low collared denim jacket. “That’s interesting,” he started. “Seeing as you decided to take that pedophile magnet of a skirt.”

Oh god, every time with this shit. “Garren please. It was one guy and he was in his thirties.”

“And said he thought you were eighteen.”

“That was obviously just flattery to break the ice.”

“Oh, and weak lines like that are worth commending as flattering?”

All the rage just blew up in my head, everything came flying out the moment I glared at him. “Fine, I felt flattered! Am I supposed to feel bad about because it wasn’t from you? Who couldn’t even offer one word of a compliment so I might’ve known you liked that dress?”

Garren, evidently, hadn’t expected a counter so incisive but he quickly recoiled. “That’s pretty hypocritical considering you've never complimented once, either.”

“What? Yes, I have.”

He sat up straighter, arms crossed. “Mention one then. I'll wait.”

I was all set to fire back on the spot, but came up completely empty. In the vast, range of memories I shared with him, there were multiple moments I'd spoken highly of him and such but it was never in his presence. Not once.
Well, fuck.

I might’ve felt a little bit more embarrassed by this jarring discovery of not far the insufferably smug grin the tool was wearing, thinking he'd won this.

“That’s not the same! We're obviously not picked from the same stock, anybody could see that. You had a bloody fan page dedicated to you and go on about yourself all the time. A little too late to play modest now.”

His jaw clenched. “Modest? I don’t give two shits about any of that! And don’t try to twist this around by bringing external things in; I'm saying you have never given me a compliment. There’s nothing different about it, but at least I have it in me to admit I fell short in that.”

I was utterly stunned with that, but not at the bite back. Mainly at the sight of how he looked visibly hurt in his fit. And okay, that did make me feel a little bit hypocritical. “It’s not that easy for me, okay? I mean, of course I find you… y’know, attractive…” I barely managed to verbalise it without becoming a stammering mess, save for the heat flaring my cheeks.

He narrowed his eyes, nose upturned. “Just attractive?”

This man was unbelievable. “See? That’s the problem right there! If you weren’t such an egotistical dickhead the majority of the time, I'd gladly tell you how fucking hot you are and all the things you do that turn me on!”

The room stilled.

As the words ripped out of me, I felt like my entire face was on fire. Especially with the shell shocked Garren was giving me, rendered speechless to the very bone. It had me grasp he'd only been teasing me in hopes of riling me up, but my chewed up nerves had me spewing up a torture sequenced susceptible level of truth.

Stripped naked of any dignity, my panic mode kicked into high gear. I hastily gathered up a heap of my clothes, hurrying to the adjacent powder room. Thanks to his stupor, he was too slow to intercept and I'd gotten inside, vehemently slamming the door after me to cut off whatever he tried to say.

“Stevie—”

Click. Bolt locked, crisis averted.

My legs gave in and I slumped down to the floor, scalding face buried in my hands as I groaned into them. I still had a stomach churning brunch to sit through after being pushed to the cliff edge of all resolve I knew to keep me from falling in.

God help me.

**

[GARREN]

Was there some sort of mental disorder that compelled a person to pathologically self-sabotage themselves at every given turn?

Because I was beginning to heavily suspect I was suffering from that. There was no other explanation I could derive at as to how I'd gotten someone arguably sane to commit herself to loving me, care enough to be willingly exposed to my family and then I'd go drive her to a corner because of a stupid skirt.

And that very stupid skirt happened to be what my eyes latched onto when the door to the powder room finally opened. Stevie matched it with her grey camisole and burgundy cardigan bearing a low collarbone exposing enough of the clavicle without her chest.

Everything in her demeanour seemed to scream a huge 'fuck you' to me. But she didn’t even make eye contact as she proceeded to attach some accessories and footwear.

I thought about saying what had been on my mind since she sealed herself away— that, and stopping the echo ringing in my ears after what she'd screamed at me.

‘How fucking hot you are and all the things you do that turn me on!’

Things. She said things. Meaning, plural. Eluding to a numerical amount of things I did in turn aroused her. I would just assume it referred to what I did when we were intimate but she tended to vocalise whatever aroused her. She wouldn’t get as flustered as she was, so what were those other things I unintentionally did?

It was the one question at the tip of my tongue but I begrudgingly withheld it, knowing the timing wasn't right. She evidently didn't want me bringing up that discussion anytime soon and she was still going along to brunch with me. The offer alone meant more than she'd know and I couldn't go and push my luck right now.

As we get into my Porsche, my eyes end up falling back on her skirt. As much as she was fond of turquoise, white was the best. The ivory shade of the skirt against her skin accentuated the contrast in the most gripping way. The hem line was riding up and she made no attempt to push it back down to reclaim the inch.

'How fucking hot you are and all the things you do that turn me on!'

There came that burning sensation at the back of my neck, even fiercer than the first time and a strangled noise came out of me. Her brown eyes switched to me, looking mildly concerned. "What was that?"

"Nothing. Just a cough." I forced one out, but doubted it was anything convincing.

"You coming down with something?"

"No."

All at once, she leant over and I could find my own refection in those inquisitive eyes examining every inch of my features. With lips pursed she said, "... Your face is flushed."

What? I spied the rearview mirror and though faint, there was a distinct redness on my complexion.

"Did you sleep alright?" she questioned.

"Yeah. I feel fine, honest."

Nonetheless, she examined me a little further and like I assumed, there wasn't any thing to go on. "I think I should drive."

"Stevie—"

"It's for my safety. I don't need us getting into an accident because you got last minute jitters. You just focus on calming down, I'll handle making sure we arrive in one piece."

I was going to protest that this wasn't about my dad or any supposed last minute jitters— I had a very good idea of what was truly responsible. Or more correctly, whom. She was adamant on kicking me out of the driver's seat so sealing my lips, I obliged to have us switch roles.

"Take some deep breaths and clear your mind, okay? Or just concentrate on something else to distract you until it's over."

Much, much easier said than done. I closed my eyes and nodded, hearing the gentle hum of the engine as she turned on the ignition. The car radio aided to dull out the rampant storm of the single sentence and when I felt her warm hands glove mine, I tightly held it back. If this was how I went mad, then so be it.

**

In my personal opinion, any establishment that catered to the community that deemed brunch as acceptable, was not worthy of acknowledgement.

So it came to be no surprise I'd not found the restaurant familiar despite the few insistences we were forced to go on these brunch excavates organised by mother in the past. The theme of silver and dark shades of blue that dominated the interior in the reserved room was something I could admit, wasn’t half bad.

It might’ve been better without the dark haired miscreant presently seated on one of the chairs. Eustace's black Saint Laurent suit was notably too formal for the setting and he'd consequently inform mothdr he had a meeting or some event to tie up urgently. It would hardly ever be true. He just generally didn’t care to try to dress casually even once in his life.

He looked hardly surprised to find Stevie beside me. “I believe it isn’t asking too much to not fondle this one while we’re eating, Garren.”

Stevie, unflinchingly smiled in return. “And expecting you to say something that isn’t repulsive would be asking too much, it seems.”

His murky eyes lowered and I grew rigid at where they seemed to halt at her shapely legs disclosed by the skirt. Until he spoke at me, “What, no gift? If you were at least going to be disrespectful as to keep dad waiting, I assumed you'd bring something appropriate to consolidate. Not your excuse.”

Stevie's face paled, turning to me. “He was waiting?”

“Of course not.” I pulled out a chair for her furthest away from the prick. “Eustace only means he ignored everything I said about not hanging around for dinner and fed our parents bullshit. It’s his specialty.”

Eustace flashed me a sneer. “I think you'll find there’s no bigger insult in all this than letting them know it only took sex to try and disgrace them. If you have any sense, you'll keep that to yourself and act like you stayed out late.”

“Wait, wait wait. You’re telling me they didn’t even notice Garren never came home last night?” Disbelief vivid in Stevie’s tone.

“Not with my brother’s vanity in the room. It can be very distracting— isn’t it, Eustace?”

Eustace merely cocked his head. “I don’t like repeating myself. Stick with the cover story of fuck off. I'd rather have my first meal of the day without a migraine.”

“Are you betting I can accomplish that before Damien does?” I enquired. “If so, then by all means. But we should at least explain the rules for what counts and what doesn’t for Stevie to join in.”

The corner of Eustace’s lip ever so slightly twitched, a sure sign I recognised when he was growing irritable. Provoking Damien was child's play but my eldest brother? That took real dedication. Which I was more than prepared to put in if he tried to make this anymore unbearable than what would be inevitable.

My girlfriend, shockingly, seemed to hold onto the prospect that this might not be a big mistake and that was good enough for me. The outcome didn’t matter if I could walk out of here holding her hand.

I caught a whiff of her jasmine scented skincare as she lightly leant in. “Please tell me you and your brothers actually have normal conversations.”

“Normal?”

“Yeah, like, talking about sports or something.” She shrugged. “Because I'd like to know if I should just stick to eating if every minute is going to play out with you three being bitches the whole time.”

“Garren, is your girlfriend mentally challenged or pretending that my ears stop working when I read?” snapped Eustace with his eyes trained on the menu.

“… Nevermind. I think I got my answer.” She offered me a dainty smile.

I was literally counting each second that ticked by, growing more eager to leave this place and seclude ourselves in my car, if we weren’t patient enough to reach the hotel before having to share her with Will and Bee. So far, it'd been seven minutes and forty nine seconds.

On the fiftieth second, Stevie suddenly drew herself very close to my side. My chinos felt tighter when her hand rested on my kneecap, her lips dangerously close to brushing my earlobe with just the warmth of her breath enough to encourage my body to get ideas. “Hey.” Her voice a sensual whisper. “So I need to pee…”

It was possibly the fastest I'd ever had an erection come and go. I wanted to glare, certain she’d done it deliberately until catching the vivid apprehension on her face. “How bad will it look if I leave the table before everyone’s arrived? Would I be seen as like, really rude?”

It was clear now the proximity was to minimize the amount of eyes and ears for fear of seeming frightened. While I was glad it meant no one else beside me got an exclusive view of it.

“That’s completely fine, Stevie. Don’t worry.”

I gave her my most reassuring smile, lightly squeezing the hand she leant on me with, aiding her to confidently rise up from the chair. I aimed to follow but she stopped me.

“No, you just stay here. I won’t take long.”

“But—”

“Stay.” She said with an edge.

I obediently complied, knowing full well not to push it if she had that tone. I was rewarded with a fleeting peck on the cheek and she slipped out of the room.

I turned to find Eustace eyeing me with an odd look. “What?”

“I’m almost convinced now that this recent bizarre behaviour of yours isn’t a coincidence but directly related to her. Correct?”

I rolled my eyes, keeping my jaw firmly closed. I was unable to trust myself from following up with a snide remark.

At which, Eustace scoffed. “See, now you’re trying to withhold an insult because of her comment. Will the rest of what you choose to share with me be in concerns of sports then?”

“Except you don’t like sports.”

“And you don’t enjoy the company of women unless she’s bending over for you. Now here you are, getting a girlfriend and shoehorning her into our private affairs and looking….”

“Looking what? Fucking spit it out.” If he was really insistent on having me bite his head off, then I'd gladly let him have it.

“… Looking happy.”

It was beyond the last thing I expected to hear, needn’t mention the usual crudeness had disappeared in his voice. I was left quizzically staring in the silence that descended.

Happy? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Was he mocking me? “And what about you then?” I started. “If anyone’s behaviour as of late is bizarre, it’s you.”

“On what grounds?” Eustace questioned.

“What’s the logic behind trying to hire Stevie to spy on me? Did your secretaries threaten to quit if you wouldn’t let them do their actual job? Or is this a symptom of a mid-life crisis thing?”

That odd look surfaced on his face again, irking me to no end. He let out a sigh, pressing two fingers to his temple. “For someone with an IQ bigger than Einstein, you’re extremely thick.”

I frowned. For a second there, I'd gotten the impression we were both on the same page in making an effort on having an actual conversation not built on threats or negotiations but now he'd spiralled back to this front. Or, was I actually missing something here?

Could this be linked to that thing Stevie said I didn’t get? Before I could find my words, Eustace’s gaze had hooked onto something behind me. I followed it to meet the figure that walked in.