16. Sienna
16
SIENNA
I t’s not surprising that Mr. Grumpyson has a dark secret.
Alright, maybe it’s not a dark secret, but it is surprising that he has a secret like this: that he cleans local parks. And with a secret identity on top.
There’s really no point in contemplating if that makes him less of a poorly programmed robot and more of a human being though. I am only here for one reason, and that is to save Robyn. Well, and to protect the rest of Haven, I suppose. And to be able to pay rent, of course. So I am only here for three reasons. It’s as simple as that. Whether I have to battle sentient machines or evil hominids doesn’t matter. I already almost made it through the first day with him. Now I just have to survive this dinner and six more days. Totally doable. Well, and then another week for another $5000, but I’ll take it one day at a time.
I look over at Ryker. He is totally doable too, and I’m painfully aware I shouldn’t even entertain thoughts like that. I also wonder if his ex was just at the park with us. Was she the scantily dressed unicorn that made eyes at him? Luckily, a moment later, the car comes to a full stop. I could use a distraction right about now. We get out and I try to take off my costume before Ryker stops me.
“Leave it on. It’s not a terribly formal dinner.” He slides back into his coat again.
I get the feeling he might be lying though. The building in front of us not only looks formal, it looks like it was designed by a team of eccentric architects who just discovered a new, exotic building material called fancium. I have never seen anything like it. The entrance is guarded by a team of extravagantly dressed bouncers who could double as bodyguards for the King of England, or maybe even Elton John. There are chandeliers the size of small planets, and a red carpet so plush, you could take a nap on it. At the end of the lobby, a door opens with a gong which was probably recorded by some famous monk specifically for this purpose. When we step inside, we find ourselves in a restaurant that looks like it was plucked straight out of a fairy tale in which a mad hatter not only designs hats but also furniture. The chairs are upholstered in the softest of leather that I wouldn’t be surprised if it was sourced from unicorn hides. There’s also what appears to be literal trash adorning the walls. Probably to give you the feeling of dining in the middle of a contemporary art gallery.
To my surprise, the restaurant is empty except for a server who greets us without a word and then guides us to our table. A young man gets up when he sees us coming. He shakes my hand, bows a little, says that it’s nice to meet me, and sits down again without even acknowledging my Prince Not That Charming.
I think I like him already.
The brother, I mean.
“Who are you, and what have you done with Roman Grayson?” Ryker asks as we sit down next to each other.
So this is Roman . He is younger than Ryker, maybe in his early to mid-twenties, and has the kind of face that makes you want to pinch his cheeks and tousle his hair, even though he is a grown man and not a lost puppy.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, his eyes fixed on the cutlery before him.
Ryker looks over at me. “This is Roman, my brother, who hates nothing more than touching people or to be touched by other people.”
“That’s not entirely true.” His brother shakes his head. “There have been times during which I have hated you more than that.”
When I can’t hold back a giggle, he looks at me for a split second, then his eyes dart back down again.
“For example, when you force me to eat at places like this.” Roman looks around and shudders visibly.
Ryker chuckles along with me. “Well, I’m sorry, but you can’t eat fast food every day of the week.”
“I should today,” Roman disagrees. “On Fridays one eats at Fry-day’s. It should be prohibited to eat anywhere else on Fridays. Fry-day!” He asserts passionately, and then barely audibly adds, “They make fries just the way I like them.”
“Soggy. Their fries are soggy, and today is Saturday.”
“That’s how you’re supposed to eat them. Crunchy fries are too loud and… crunchy. And today is only Saturday because you postponed ou?—”
Ryker sighs like a worried parent and interrupts his brother with a quick gesture of his hand, then he motions my way. “Roman, this is Sienna. She works for me.”
“Ha!” I say pointedly and adjust my seat a little. “I do not. He’s my client who hired me to fix his image. But it’s a pleasure to meet you, Roman.”
His eyes grow bigger and shift from me to Ryker and back. “You should probably quit right now because that sounds like a lost cause.”
Ryker gasps with surprise. “When did you become a stand-up comedian?” he asks, barely hiding a smile. Then he puts his hand on the back of my chair.
Despite being fully clothed, I can almost feel the heat from his fingertips hovering over my skin.
Roman draws his brows together. “I’m not standing up, I’m sitting,” he points out and shakes his head. “See what you’re dealing with, Sienna.”
“Oh, believe me, I know. Maybe I can make him disappear and we could pretend that you’re Ryker, CEO of the Grayson Empire.”
“That wouldn’t work.” Roman shakes his head once more. “Mama always says I’m the handsome one. She doesn’t say that about him, so people would likely notice.”
I was right, I think to myself. His brother did get all the likability. And the humor too, apparently.
The server, still not saying a single word, hands me a menu and waits for my order. I choose a grilled Portobello mushroom steak with truffle mash. Ryker adds three beers for the table and excuses himself to go to the bathroom. To my confusion, neither of them order any food.
After a second of silence, Roman and I speak at the same time before he stops and lets me go first.
“I just wanted to apologize. I didn’t really know I’d be interrupting intimate brother-on-brother bonding time when I agreed to come to dinner.”
“Nonsense.” Roman adjusts the placement of the silverware. “I’ve known this fool for almost 25 years. He’s very clingy, so we’ve had more bonding time than necessary. We see each other almost every Friday, as you might have gathered. Unless he’s busy like yesterday. It’s possible that was just a ploy to keep me from my well-deserved fries though.”
This is probably the first time that I am actually surprised by something I learn about Ryker Grayson. Well, apart from him caring about the environment. “He’s… clingy? Are you sure that word means what you think it means?”
“I know. He’s not the type to be clingy at first glance.” Roman laughs. “It’s because I used to get bullied when I was younger, so he worries a lot. But it’s been ten years now and I’m doing just fine. I am on the spectrum, as the cool kids say these days, hence the bullying and extra cause for concern, I guess.” He looks up to see my reaction.
“That’s why you avoid eye-contact,” I say carefully.
“Oh, no, I avoid eye contact because my eyes are a mesmerizing shade of ocean with sprinkles of gold and I have to use my powers for—yeah, no, it’s the ‘tism,” Roman says, opens his puppy eyes wide and stares at me without blinking.
We both break out into more laughter as the server brings the beers.
“That’s also why the server isn’t talking and the light is dimmed,” Roman explains once they are gone again. “I can go to restaurants just fine and seem like I have a perfectly normal dinner, but it’s exhausting having to…”
“Deal with humans,” I add.
“Exactly, and all the noise and bright light. So much freaking light. So, every other Friday, when we’re not a Fry-Day’s, Ryker reserves an entire restaurant of his choosing for the evening and they cater to my needs. Personally, I think it’s over the top and I feel a little guilty about it, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. Listen…”
“I don’t hear anything.”
“Isn’t that great? Usually at some point during dinner I’d hide in the bathroom for a few minutes because it’s the quietest place. I don’t have to do that here. I just wish he wouldn’t choose restaurants like this. He already chose what we’re going to eat too. Says I need to eat healthy at least once in a while.”
I grin and listen to Roman talk about Ryker. It’s nice what he has to say about him. He admires his big brother and I’m glad the two of them have such a close bond. I wonder what happened that made Roman such a joy and Ryker the polar opposite .
“He’d never admit it, but he even wears his costumes to dinner, so the servers will be busy looking at him instead of being weirded out by me.” Roman raises his glass and waits for me to do the same. “So, thanks for being weird for my benefit.”
“I’m not sure it counts as being weird when you look this fabulous,” I joke, adjust my puffy sleeves, and clink my glass against his, “but you’re more than welcome.”
“You do look fabulous,” Roman agrees and quickly averts his eyes again. “So, uhh, I just info-dumped everything there is to know about my brother and me, and now I feel quite weird and naked.” He touches his shirt, apparently to check and see that he is, in fact, not naked. “I am a little surprised that he brought you along. He hasn’t brought anyone along since Miranda, so you must be important to him. How about you tell me something weird about yourself to make me feel less weird about myself? Got any weird habits?” He takes a deep breath. “That was a lot of weird.”
I laugh and try to think of something to tell him while wondering who this Miranda was. His ex, I assume. “Of course, uhh… Oh, I know something. I don’t think it’s weird, but I have been told it may be a little odd. See, I have this thing where I believe in Karma. Not like in a divine intervention sort of way. It’s all about math for me.”
Roman’s eyes shoot up for a millisecond.
“I think that every action has a reaction, a consequence. So if you do a lot of good, the mathematical probability of good things happening to you is substantially higher. That is to say, when you do nice things for others, they are more likely to remember and do nice things in return. You know that cheesy line: Happiness is the only thing that multiplies when you share it? It’s kind of like that.”
Roman nods.
“The problem is that it barely ever seems to work the other way around. People get away with terrible things all the time. Like…” I try to come up with a good example. “Like someone who throws away their trash in a park did something bad and they know it, but the chance of them receiving appropriate repercussions, so they won’t repeat their behavior in the future, is close to zero. So, once in a while, when I observe something like that, I will intervene and do Karma’s job for her. Because too often she is a fickle, fickle?—”
“If I hadn’t been eavesdropping, I would have assumed you were talking about yourself,” Ryker growls as he sits back down next to me.
“Watch it, or you’re not invited to Fry-day’s anymore,” Roman mumbles while looking at some phallic sculpture that’s bolted to the wall.
Ryker chuckles. He clearly isn’t used to his brother pushing back, but he seems to enjoy it nonetheless. “So,” he teases, “other than a brain tumor —I assume— what else is new with you?”
We chat for a while until our food arrives. My mushroom steak looks and smells delicious. Ryker had pre-ordered a butternut squash and sage ravioli with cashew cream sauce for himself, which looks equally scrumptious, and the last plate to arrive isn’t a plate but a large platter. Ryker’s eyes grow big with anticipation when the server puts it down in front of his brother.
“No way,” Roman gasps.
The plate is full of colorful vegetables cut into oversized matchsticks that are neatly stacked in cubes. Apparently, Ryker had arranged that all his food would be cut into batonnets.
“Touch one.” Ryker laughs. “They’re soggy, just the way you like them and, of course, there are a bunch of dips with too much sugar and salt for you to work on clogging those arteries of yours.”
Roman touches a stick of fried, soggy carrot, pushes it neatly back into place, and gasps again. “I didn’t know how much I needed this,” he murmurs.
To my chagrin, this is the best and worst thing I have seen all day. Roman’s eyes are big and innocent, like he is having candy for the first time, except that his candy is soggy vegetables. I love that something this simple makes him that happy. The only thing that I don’t like is that Ryker is responsible for it. He’s not the kind of person to do kind things. He is rude and irritable, and says things like ‘Grrr’ and ‘If I hadn’t been eavesdropping, I would have assumed you were talking about yourself’.
But here it is, the sweet, attentive, kind side of the devil. And it makes me dislike him even more. Because it means that he chooses to be a disgruntled grouch to everyone all the time when he possesses the ability to… not be that? At some point, he probably just figured out that he can skate through life on his looks and wealth, which is when he stopped worrying about being nice or doing the right thing.
After dinner, we have a few more beers, and one or two shots of something called the ‘Sourpuss Special’ for good measure, before we eventually decide it’s time to leave. Roman shakes my hand, and stares at me with eyes-wide open and an equally big grin when getting into his limousine. “Alright,” he says as the window slides down, “I obviously don’t have time next Friday to go to Fry-day’s, but I will see you on Saturday for my birthday. I’ll text you the address.” He nods once and closes the window again.
“Why would you text me the address?” Ryker asks, a little confused as he puts his jacket over my shoulders. “I know where the party is.”
The window slides down once more. “Not you, you fool. I invited your girlfriend.” The window closes again before the limousine drives off and leaves Ryker and me behind on the side of the road.
Ryker is smiling, like actually smiling, which I am sure is some supernatural sign, foreboding some kind of disaster. The last time he smiled like that, I dropped my pillow-weapon and almost made out with him.
I imagine what it would feel like to kiss him right now. I know what it felt like when we were still strangers, and now I wonder if it has changed, whether I would feel different doing it now. His smile turns to me and he tugs his jacket around my shoulders to keep me warm. If he keeps this up, I’m worried that darn smile of his might make me drop my panties instead of my pillow this time.
Keep it together, dumbass.
Stay strong.
Luckily, he quickly stops when he notices me staring. His pearly whites give way for the familiar, drawn together eyebrows and the wrinkles on his forehead. He takes a step back and motions across the street. “That way,” he lets out in a brutish tone.
I avert my eyes, mentally bitchslap my brain for allowing thoughts about our lips doing wonderfully terrible things to each other, and begin walking.
Mere moments later, my brain retaliates by hiding the curb right in front of me. I trip and, in what feels like slow-motion, fall straight towards the unforgiving pavement.
Unfortunately, I never hit it. Instead, I dangle in Ryker’s right arm. He’s down on one knee, his arm spun around my chest, holding me inches from the ground. I exhale. A tiny, thoroughly strained grunt escapes my saviors throat in response. His arm is shaking under the tension.
“Are you calling me fat?” I ask, still hanging mid-air, glancing over at him.
Ryker tries to hold it together but breaks out in laughter right away, then drops me to the ground and lands half on top, half next to me. For a moment, it must look like he and I are spooning in the middle of the walkway.