4. Sienna
4
SIENNA
I wave at Mr. Handsome In Pretty Pink Pants and give him my brightest smile. He does not reciprocate. Instead, he just stares at me as if he has seen a pants-stealing ghost. I would kill to be able to read his mind. From the looks of it, he is going through all the emotions available to him, which range from slightly annoyed to severely pissed, in the span of a few seconds while blood is slowly dripping down his forehead.
Since he apparently hasn’t noticed it himself yet, I try to let him know by pointing at my own head. In response, he narrows his eyes and pretends to scratch his nose while subtly flipping me off.
Figures.
I guess it might have looked like I was telling him that he isn’t right in the head —and although that would definitely be correct— this is neither the time nor the place. So, in trying to take care of my bridesmaidly duties, I tear a piece of cloth from my dress, sneak over to my newfound one-night-stand nemesis, and try to wipe away the blood. His eyes are still focused on me, which I (unsuccessfully) attempt to ignore.
“What happened?” I whisper while suppressing my grin, and, unintentionally, smudging the blood all over his frowny forehead. Dress fabric really isn’t made for medical emergencies.
“You…” he growls, grabs my wrist and pushes it away. Then he takes the handkerchief from his suit pocket and wipes himself clean. I sneak back to my spot before Olivia reaches us.
He looks just as arrogant, and annoying, and angelic as the last time I saw him. There aren’t many people who can pull off the pink-pajama-pants-look, but somehow, he seems to make it work. He looks attractive in a sort of adorably rugged way. Then again, maybe it’s just the fresh wound that gives him this dangerously seductive air, or maybe it’s just my misguided libido again. I should ask Olivia if they invited any eligible single doctors who could take a look at me (and, if absolutely necessary, at his wound).
The sun, drenching everything in a beautiful pink hue, sets in the background, and the ceremony pans out just like planned… I think. I may be a little distracted by my new nemesis, but I am pretty sure that Nana is giving a speech even more moving than the one from yesterday’s rehearsal.
In the meantime, I am busy holding eye contact with the best man. Except, while other people might eye-fuck, we eye-fight, and you don’t even need David Attenborough to tell you that I am winning.
I wonder what happened to him. There is probably a good story to those pants, that wound, and the slight limp he had when walking in here. It would almost appear that the universe actually came through this time and dealt more than appropriate punishment (partly thanks to me, I suppose). Too bad that it had to be Phoenix’s best man. I’ve known Phoenix for almost three years now and he isn’t the kind of guy to have a friend like him. Much less a best friend like him.
Loud applause makes me snap out of my daydreams when Olivia and Phoenix finally kiss. After they walk back down the aisle, I turn to see my nemesis extend his arm for Nana to help her down the stairs. Outside, we congregate around the happy couple, toast to their holy matrimony and eventually end up back at the hotel that they rented out for all their guests.
I still haven’t told Olivia anything about what happened to me in the last two days, not wanting to distract from her big day, but for some nefarious reason I am dying to tattle on Mr. Handsome With Ever So Slightly Better Manners Than I Thought.
Eventually, while Olivia and I share a drink, we are joined by Phoenix and—yep, you guessed who. My pulse immediately shoots through the roof, making me think I might need that doctor sooner rather than later.
“Well,” Phoenix begins the introduction in his usual calm tone, “we have been meaning to get the both of you together for forever now. My wife ,” he presses a kiss onto Olivia’s cheek, “insists that you two would get along great.”
“They’re basically the same person,” Olivia adds with a smile before Phoenix continues.
“Sienna, this is?—”
“Ryker Grayson, best man,” Ryker says with a deceptively charming, and definitely fake, smile.
“ Best is a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?” I reply under my breath and shake his hand. “Could it be that I’ve seen you without pants before?”
Ryker’s smile turns dark, and he squeezes my hand a little harder than necessary. I can feel the tension run through his skin and into my own.
“Can’t say I remember you,” he answers. “Which is odd because I have a memory like an elephant.”
“You mean like a pink elephant?” I peer down at his pants.
“Do you two know each other?” Olivia interrupts with a frown on her face. “Because if you do, you have to tell me. I plan on being the mandatory meddling fairy godmother to your blossoming… whatever this is.” She motions at our hands that, for some incomprehensible reason, are still embracing each other, with me now unsuccessfully trying to out-squeeze him.
“No,” Ryker and I answer in unison and finally let go of each other.
“Ohhh,” Olivia exhales and hooks into Phoenix’s arm. “Look, they’re already in perfect sync. Told you they’d make a good?—”
“I know this is your wedding day, honey,” I cut Olivia off, “but you better stop talking now because I am not afraid to?—”
“Steal her wedding dress?” Ryker butts in entirely unprovoked, forcing me to give him a warning glance from the side.
By now, Olivia’s smile has grown so big I worry her face might get stuck in that position. “I am a staunch supporter of… that which I may not talk about,” she says with glee, while clapping her hands together, “but you can just have my wedding dress. No need to steal it, honey. And speaking of dresses, I think it’s time for me to change into something a little more comfortable and casual. Can you give me a hand, Sienna?”
“And I could use something a little less comfortable and a little more… clean.” Ryker looks down at himself and then towards the newlywed husband who is nodding understandingly.
“I have so many questions,” Phoenix echoes my own thoughts, and leads us towards the presidential suite that they are staying in.
When we get there, Olivia and I disappear into the bathroom, where I help her out of the dress. My eyes are fixed on the door, behind which the two men are presumably looking for a change of clothes for Ryker, but I can tell that Olivia is dying to drill me with questions.
“Are you really gonna make me ask?” she finally says when she slides into an adorable cocktail dress.
I love her and usually we do tell each other everything, but again, this isn’t the time or the place. I close her zipper and check my makeup in the mirror. “There’s nothing to tell. Besides, it’s your wedding day. You shouldn’t focus on whatever you’re reading into this situation, you should focus on yourself and that hot, wedding-ring-wearing hunk of cinnamon roll out there.”
“Thanks, Sien,” Phoenix’s voice echoes outside the door.
Olivia gives me an understanding look. “Fine,” she says as we step out, “I guess you’re right. This is my day and I should do whatever I want.”
“Exactly,” I reply and almost walk into Ryker, whose broad shoulders are standing just outside the door and in my way, not even pretending to politely move aside for me to pass.
Olivia takes her husband by the hand, then they make their way back to the entrance with me in tow, and I can’t wait to get out of this room and far away from that guy.
“Ah, wait,” she suddenly turns to me. “Could you grab me my cardigan from the closet? I don’t want to catch a cold.”
“Of course,” I answer and turn around, only to see Ryker’s eyes still fixed on me. In response, I stick my tongue out and immediately want to throw myself off the balcony behind him.
What the fuck was that? Did I just turn into a freaking teenager? It’s like my brain won’t function properly as soon as that heartless tyrant is around.
Ryker raises one brow. “Are you always this gullible?” he asks, shakes his head and vanishes into the bathroom.
“Are you always this presumptuous?” I retort, wondering what he means.
A second later, both the bathroom door and the door to the room close simultaneously. Keys turn in the respective locks.
Oh, no.
“Olivia!” I rush back to the door. “Don’t you dare!”
“It’s my day,” she replies. “I should do whatever I want. Your words, not mine. Well, kind of. Anyway, I’ll let you out once you two get along. No fighting, no bickering, no?—”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”
“Fucking and kidding is allowed. That’s actually a pretty unbeatable combination,” Phoenix says before Olivia continues. “I will check in on you in an hour.”
Their steps outside grow more and more quiet until they’re gone, and I am stuck in a room with Ryker aRe yoU aLWaYs ThIs gulLiblE Grayson.
For the record, I am not. It’s just… him. He’s to blame for this.
I wonder what kind of hotel room still uses normal keys as I rattle the knob. There’s no way to get through the door without breaking it down, so, naturally, I walk over to the balcony to check whether I could survive a jump. The cliff beneath it makes me think I shouldn’t try, but then again, it might be the better option.
A few minutes later, a freshly showered Mr. Handsome With Seductively Wet Hair steps out of the bathroom and sighs. “Locked us in, did she?”
I grumble in an attempt to speak his language.
“Balcony too high for an escape?”
Another grumble emanates from my throat making me worried his grumpiness might have already rubbed off on me. I don’t like it.
Ryker grumbles back in response and an obvious attempt to mock me.
Behave yourself, I think. Don’t stoop down to his level.
“If I threw you off first, your body might be able to cushion my fall.”
Unlikely. His muscles look like they’re made of steel. They wouldn’t cushion anything.
“If you wanna jump on me,” he lets himself fall back onto the bed, “we can just do that right here.”
Again with the cockiness. He’s probably not used to people telling him no.
“Oh, I’d like to jump you, alright. I just don’t carry my favorite shank to weddings. So it’ll have to wait.”
Both of us sigh at the same time, followed by more eye-to-eye combat.
This is going to be a long day .
I stroll around the room and spy into drawers, hoping Olivia might have stored a lock-picking set somewhere. Instead, in her nightstand, I find condoms and lube, and I quickly close the drawer again. That would be the last thing I need right now.
Ryker is still lying on the bed, his chest steadily moving up and down, his giant hands resting on top. “So,” he eventually grunts, his eyes following me around the room, “what’s your deal then?”
“No deals for you,” I reply without thinking. “You’ll pay full-price from now on.”
Ryker’s brief laugh fills the room and then my confused chest or belly. It’s hard to tell. Maybe I ate something wrong.
“Don’t,” I shut him down before he can reply. “Any prostitute jokes would not be well-received right now.”
He grunts again, but this time it’s like he’s stifling a laugh with a deep frequency radiating from his chest. “Okay, pretty woman. I’ll forgo the joke and in return you’ll answer my question: What is your deal? Why are you like this? Why are you… the way you are?”
I think about it for a second.
What does he care, anyway?
“I will answer your question and you will tell me what happened to you.” I point at the wound, which has stopped bleeding by now.
Ryker nods. “Okay, you go first.”
“First of all, I don’t have a deal,” I lie.
“Everyone has a deal. Everyone has a story that made them who they are. I want to hear yours.”
He’s not wrong, of course. Everyone has their baggage. Mine is obviously none of this asshole’s business, but I can give him just enough to get what I want. “You want the abbreviated or the long version?”
He turns on his side, his arm propping up his head. Then he answers with no emotions in his voice whatsoever, “I want the extensively extended super duper double feature.” There is also no indication of emotions on his face, except for two cranky looking eyebrows, which, I conclude, might be a chronic condition.
“Well, I still don’t have a deal. I just had a bad day. I got fired from my much-needed job, then saw some privileged rich asshole,” I wave in his general direction, “fire someone else and figured maybe I could do something about that at least. Just a little revenge for that poor girl.”
Someone has to, after all. Or else entitled people like him keep getting away with whatever they want.
“So, you’re saying sex with you is a punishment…”
Ran right into that one, didn’t I?
I try not to grin. “That was but a brief —very brief— lapse of judgment. Won’t happen again. Don’t worry.” I try to turn my actual grin into a fake smile. “There’s not much more to tell, really. As I said at the airport, stuff like that has a way of coming back around. Karma and all…” I blow a lock of my hair from my face and feel annoyed at myself for violating rule number three: do not get caught. “I stole your pants because you had it coming. And now we’re here, and it’s your turn… How did you get that wound?”
Ryker looks at me inquisitively as I disappear into the bathroom.
“So, you don’t have a job right now,” he says, as if plotting something nefarious. “What do you do when you don’t work as a poor man’s vigilante?” He coughs. “Sorry, poor woman’s vigilante.”
The sheer gall and disrespect on this guy. He probably never worked a day in his life and thinks he can make fun of me?
I return with the first aid-kit in my hand and sit next to him on the bed, then retrieve the disinfectant and a band-aid. “Well, I’m certainly not a nurse. So this might sting.” I can hardly hide my pleasure as I spray the disinfectant on his wound liberally. To my not so pleasant surprise, he doesn’t even flinch, instead his eyes keep staring at me without blinking, only slightly narrowing in defiance. It’s like a silent challenge.
“I have a background in business consulting.” I dab the disinfectant, put the band-aid over his wound and quickly get off the bed, away from his glowing heat and dripping hair that is still asking my fingers to run through them.
Maybe I could pull on his hair a little too?
“My last job was as a PR consultant for a non-profit organization.”
“Hm,” Ryker hums. “Did they sack you because you set something on fire? Threatened a co-worker? Murdered your former boss?”
“Oh, no. It was nothing like that,” I explain with a smile. “After all, I wasn’t working for you.”
For a moment, the grumpy expression is almost gone. His eyes light up with something that, for lack of a better word, can best be described as cheerful diabolicalness. The terrible part about it is that his eyes are at least as diabolical as they are mesmerizing.
“Well, you are from now on,” he says.