Always Choose Dare

Chapter 9 - Betrothed

“Can you even believe that assh0le?” I fume out in rage, stomping my heeled feet as I approach my vehicle.

Popping open the trunk, I throw my bag and desktop displays into the open space, slamming it closed shortly after. Furiously, I look at Beth and know that I must look like a rabid beast to her.

“Honey, maybe we should go get some lunch. You know, have a girls’ day after this morning? It might help,” she says timidly, as though she expects me to bite her or something.

“You know what? That’s exactly what we are going to do — have a girls’ day, a no-boys-allowed-so-take-your-d***s-elsewhere day!” I exclaim emphatically.

The last thing I need is more male arrogance.

“Let’s go to Rene’s for lunch, do a little shopping, have dinner at Havari’s since I didn’t get to actually eat there the other night, and then we are going to Rough Riders.”

Beth gasps.

“Remi, I can’t go to a place like that! I’m getting married soon. Hezekiah would freak out if I went there!”

“I think it will do both of us some good to watch a bunch of men remove their clothing and shake their asses at our command for our hard-earned money! It puts the power in our hands!” I cheer.

By the twisted expression on Beth’s face, I realize that it will take me the remainder of the day to convince her to go with me. We both get into my car and drive to the other end of the city to eat at Rene’s on the beach. Now that we are here, part of me wants to ditch the shopping and just have a beach day. As we gather our bags, I catch Beth’s eye, and she laughs.

“You want to change plans?”

“What do you think about eating our lunch at their outdoor seating, then we can buy new swimsuits and lie out in the sand with a couple of books?” I ask.

“Sounds better than some guy shaking his genitals in my face,” she giggles.

It’s no secret that Beth has waited her whole life to be intimate in every way with her husband. I’m not sure how she has managed it, but she’s waiting to have her first kiss at the altar during her wedding ceremony. I’d say that I feel bad that Hezekiah isn’t even getting kissed, but the guy has the same goal: every first will be with his wife. It’s sweet, really, but it just doesn’t work for me. I might actually make them some how-to infographics for their wedding gift!

“You say that like you actually believe it,” I chide jokingly. “Let’s get a table before they run out of pasta salad. The salad plate only works when it’s equal parts: chicken salad, pasta salad, and fruit salad. The other choices aren’t as good!”

“No one could ever accuse you of not knowing exactly what you want, Remi,” Beth accuses, as if what she said is anything but a good thing.

I shrug in reply.

Once we finish our lunch and vague small talk, we walk along the strip and find what we need in some of the beach shops. We change quickly and head out onto the sand, each spreading a towel on the ground to lie on while we read and chat. We place a small cooler we purchased between us that’s loaded with bottled water and ice in it so we can stay hydrated in the sun.

When we are each comfortable, Beth asks, “So what do you think that guy’s issue was? The one from the store this morning. Do you think he has some kind of psychopathy?”

Groaning, I respond, “I don’t know. It’s weird, though. I’ve been insulted, rejected, dumped, and have had my writing insulted by disgruntled readers, but it has always just rolled off of me. You know? Bullying hasn’t bothered me since I was little. But for some reason, it hurt this morning. I don’t know if it was his choice of words, or if it was just that I wasn’t expecting it, but it really felt like he stabbed me in the heart. Crazy, huh? I don’t even know him, so it should bother me less than what I’ve taken from people that I do know.”

My voice trails off as I consider how that guy, Daire, made me feel earlier. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that kind of pain. Hell, even when exes dumped me, it didn’t hurt as badly.

“Maybe you had your fifty-foot brick wall down because of the book signing. You know? Like maybe you let down your defenses or something because your fans were there, so you knew they already liked you and your books. You weren’t expecting to be treated the way you were, which ended up making you feel it more deeply,” Beth suggests as she reaches over and squeezes my hand.

She’s not entirely wrong. I do build walls around my heart — around my life, really. After years of only having friendships and relationships that were based on other people using me because of my parents’ status, I truly have difficulty making friends. In fact, I suck at it. Beth really is my only close friend, and even then, I’m not always sure I am doing the friend thing correctly on my end of this friendship. Romantically, I’m even worse. Even so, this felt different from the usual “rejection” that I tend to receive. I just can’t find the words to explain it.

“You’re probably right,” I concede, hoping it ends the discussion so I won’t have to do a deep dive into my feelings to figure out how to explain that it was somehow so much more.

“Besides, I’ve seen much better looking men, and I know firsthand that there are men out there with good hearts who will treat you like the princess you truly are.”

I force a smile her way. While I appreciate her optimism, it’s received as a hollow platitude when compared to what I’ve experienced. I’m thirty-three years old, not some naïve kid.

“Thanks, sweetie,” I say, lifting my book to indicate that the conversation is over. “Which book did you get?”

“Oh! I got The History of Engineering Design! I’ve had my eye on it for a while and can’t wait to read it. What about you?”

“Uh, well, I got Reverse Cowgirl: Enjoy the Ride,” I somewhat mumble.

Beth pulls it from my hand and inspects the cover like a detective.

“Is this that book about the woman who tried every s*x position during a road trip? One per man?”

Her voice got higher with every word.

“Yeeeeeahhh,” I drawl out. “I consider it research for work, which makes it tax deductible, so…win-win!” I coax.

It’s not like I’m embarrassed about my sexuality, but Beth is, well, Beth. I have to try to keep things pretty tame around her.

“All I know is that when Hezekiah and I are married, we’ll just let things be natural between us. You know, let love lead us,” she says dreamily.

I do my best to swallow the bitterness rising from within. Everything in me wants to roll my eyes and tell her that dreams rarely occur when awake, but I just can’t bring myself to do that. I kind of enjoy the fact that she is so innocent and hopeful, that the world has not tarnished her. I may tease about things, and I might even buy her a personal massager as a birthday gift just to see her face when she opens it, but I refuse to be the one to ruin her hope and innocence. The world needs light like hers in it!

Our afternoon was primarily spent rotating our bodies on our towels every thirty minutes, soaking in the sun while reading our respective books. As dinnertime approached, we stopped at her apartment to wash up, then went to dinner. I was grateful that the restaurant did not hold my premature departure the other night against me, knowing that it probably meant that my father generously tipped the server, host, and manager. Nonetheless, they were courteous to us, and we enjoyed the cuisine.

Once I dropped Beth off for the evening, I was ready to hole-up in my townhouse for the next week or so. I park my vehicle and jog up the front steps. Quickly, I open my mailbox and pull out a couple of bills and a small package. When I enter, I toss the mail on the side table by my sofa and head to my room. Hastily, I discard the dinner clothes and heels and put on a pajama set and fuzzy socks. I pour myself a glass of whiskey, grab my laptop, turn on my TV, and get comfortable on my couch recliner to write.

Now that my book has been released and my promotions for it are slowing down, I need to focus on my next book. Reaching for one of my old journals from childhood, I open it and scan the contents. Most people find inspiration in the romantic affairs they’ve had; I find mine in the old stories I wrote after Dora read to me from her fairytale books.

After selecting the story upon which I’ll base my next book, I start jotting down a loose outline of the story, as well as the main characters and their descriptions. I’ll get some setting descriptions from my recent dream journals tomorrow. Knowing that I need to look up name ideas for these rough draft characters, I reach for my cell phone on the side table, but accidentally knock down my mail. As I reach for the package on the floor, I hear my father’s name on the news and freeze. Grabbing the remote, I turn up the volume.

“Royce Delgado has announced the engagement of his daughter to Dupree Jureau, the son of Uralia’s Chancellor, Viktor Jureau. According to our sources, the Delgados will be celebrating the engagement next weekend at their estate in the country’s capital with a ball. We will be following the story and will bring you the first look at the posh event. I’d be willing to bet top designers worldwide will be vying for the chance to design the dresses worn!”

The news anchor’s excited voice makes me want to vomit as I see my portrait next to captain douchebag’s on the screen. As the reality of the situation registers with me, my hands start to shake with rage. Just as I’m about to scream, my cell phone rings and my father’s name appears on the screen. Pressing the answer button, I don’t even offer a greeting.

“I take it you want to let me know that you’ve sold your only daughter off like a political prostitute for your own gain? Well, fu(k you and fu(k your agreement with the Jureaus!”

Incensed, I throw my phone, shattering it against the wall. Before I can react further, I hear a terrifying, guttural roar outside my window that shakes me to my core!