Three Stages of Love: Attraction (27 page)

“Speaking of
you having me
, there is something I need to discuss with you,” I informed him, hoping to at least spark the conversation so that I could ease my tension.

But Samantha and Marcus joined us just as Alexander was about to ask me what it was I needed to discuss, postponing the discussion.

“Eva, oh my God. Did you think that we were bringing all of New York with us to dinner? This is too much,” Samantha bellowed.

“Nothing is too much for my family,” I said, holding her hands in mine my eyes filled with tears seeing her before me.

“Now stop that. I am happy to be here with you. There are to be no tears this weekend unless we cry from laughter!” Samantha exclaimed.

Alexander poured each of us some wine as Samantha helped me finish bringing in dinner.

As we reentered the room, Alexander looked nervous whispering to Marcus in a hurried hush.

“What’s with all the secrecy, boys? There are no secrets in this house,” I said, eyeing Alexander.

“Oh, just guy stuff,” Marcus said, taking the plate from Samantha’s hands and placing it at the center of the table. Samantha returned a curious look as Marcus tried to help her be seated.

But we let the boys be boys and welcomed an evening of good food, good friends, and warm hearts.

I couldn’t recall a time when food and wine ever tasted this good. Perhaps it wasn’t the food but the presence of love and friends that was making us exalted, intensifying all of our senses. Alexander and Marcus were as close as brothers, and their obvious brotherly love was growing in front of our eyes, as their ties now included Samantha and me.

The one obvious change within our gathering was that Samantha and I had this additional baggage in our lives. And that was exactly what was heightening the ambiance of the evening: the added collection of
love!

“Seems like you’ve really settled in here, Eva,” Samantha said, looking around the house, noting the entire decor held an obvious
woman’s touch.
“Shall I assume that you’ve been busy shopping?” she questioned.

Keeping the conversation light, I joked along, “Not at all. Alexander did all the decorating. Can’t you tell?” But Samantha didn’t buy it; our sarcastic personalities were more similar than not.

“Yeah, OK. So, how are you finding yourself here? Are you going back to work soon?”

Samantha always asked the right questions, getting to the heart of the matter. Unfortunately they were the exact questions that I was hoping to avoid.

I could only breathe myself through an explanation and pray that she wasn’t on her game. “It’s fine. You know, LA isn’t that different from New York. We have had so much to do getting the house together, and this apparently is the season for fund-raisers. So we’ve been so busy with dinners and events that I haven’t had a chance to really do much else. It’s been great,” I added hurriedly before she could question my every lie of a statement.

Her gaze followed me pointedly all the way into my depths.

“I’ll get dessert,” I announced as I pushed my chair out from the dining table.

Alexander smiled from ear to ear, clearly enjoying himself as he watched the
wife
side of me. As he stared at me admiringly, I leaned down to kiss him.

Samantha seemed to have found our display of affection amusing. Although she had seen plenty of my past failed relationships, she had never experienced the sight of me
in love;
it was a first for me as well. “I must say, I am rather enjoying this
other
side of you,” Samantha joked.

“Don’t you start with me. Come on, let’s get some sweets.” I dismissed her obvious attempt to embarrass me and walked ahead to the kitchen, and Samantha followed.

“I made some tiramisu,” I said to Samantha. In my spare time as a single girl, one thing I always enjoyed was cooking and baking for others, and Samantha happily obliged to be my taste tester. My Italian heritage trained me to believe that the way through anyone’s heart is through their stomachs.

I sauntered into the sprawling kitchen covered in granite and stainless steel and made my way to the refrigerator. I gathered the dessert and some fresh fruit that I had sliced earlier, as Samantha made herself comfortable on the stool in front of the breakfast bar. I took notice of how she grew silent and tense as I moved around the kitchen, but I proceeded with my preparations, mentally deliberating what could be ailing Samantha, especially when her demeanor had been nothing but bubbly all throughout dinner.

“Eva, I have to talk to you about something.” Samantha spoke softer now than she had all evening, and the words trembled as they escaped her lips, giving me the
uh-oh
feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I turned to look at Samantha, but her eyes were focused on her hands, where I noticed—

“Samantha? Is that a diamond on your left ring finger?” My question sounded harsh as I asked it, but I was oddly filled with fear as I glared at this large diamond ring taking up space on Samantha’s hand.

“I swear I wanted to tell you sooner, but you had so much going on,” Samantha continued. She sped through her speech as my mouth continued to drop in utter disbelief. “We are hopelessly in love, and we are settled in our personal lives. So we are getting married—next week. That is why we rushed to come visit and also why we can’t stay long. But we wanted to ask you and Alexander in person. Eva, I would be honored if you would stand by me as my maid of honor. Marcus has already asked Alexander to be his best man—on the way over here. There is nothing for you to do except to be there for me. You have had so much going on, I didn’t want to bombard you before we got a chance to talk in person. What do you say?”

There were few words that could be spoken at this moment in time. My thoughts raced, searching for an explanation to Samantha’s dive into a marriage, and then it came to me like a gale force wind!

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“Sam, are you pregnant? Is that why you are rushing into this? I’m here for you. You know that. We can take care of this; you don’t have to feel trapped or stuck. Marriage isn’t—”

But Samantha cut me off as she flung herself off of the bar stool and faced me head-on. “What the hell is wrong with you? I am not pregnant, nor would I need you to help me
take care of it
if I was. When are you going to get over this antimarriage crusade that you are on? I am in love, I am ecstatically happy, and the fact that you would belittle my decision to marry someone as wonderful as Marcus tells me a lot about our friendship,” Samantha furiously snapped at me.

“Sam, I didn’t mean to upset you—wait,” I grabbed her arm as she tried to pass me in haste.

“How can you expect me not to be upset? Instead of being happy for me, you thought that the only reason I would be getting married is because I was in a jam or I got pregnant. What kind of a friend are you? Let me tell you something,” Samantha said in a shrill voice. Then she took a breath, as her pale skin now shined rosy red with anger, and her eyes swelled with painful tears. “Let not the pot call the kettle black. I, unlike you, am
choosing
my life and my future. You, on the other hand, have run away from reality because of your fucked-up ideas and ideals that could never actually make it into reality. And what have you run
to
?” Samantha paused, asking me the question but clearly not wanting a response.

And as she opened her lips to continue, we found that her loud tone had drawn a crowd. Alexander and Marcus entered the kitchen, both wearing looks of confusion as they watched Samantha’s expression turn angrier.

“This fake Stepford wife setup you’ve got going on here isn’t fooling anyone. What’s going to happen when you realize that Alexander doesn’t have you here for shits and giggles and that this is in fact all real? Are you going to run again, or just schedule an appointment with Michael for him to beat you?” Samantha froze as she realized what she had said, and seeing the tears that now streaked my cheeks, she must have known she had gone too far.

Alexander grew angry, having come into the conversation just as Samantha unleashed herself at me; he showed confusion and anger in his stare toward Samantha as he positioned himself beside me. “Samantha, what the hell is all of this about? Have you completely lost your mind?”

Samantha never removed her eyes from mine; I was her target, and she wasn’t letting up.

“I haven’t lost anything. But your dysfunctional girlfriend here has and will continue to lose anything and everything that is good in life because
that
, my friend, is what she is good at. But you probably know that already. Oh, I see now.” Samantha cackled maliciously. “I see why you brought her to LA; dysfunctional is the norm here, so she fits right in. Well, I hope both of you enjoy your dysfunctional and fucked-up life for however long she actually allows it to survive. Oh, and by the way, this is my formal resignation as your personal assistant, Eva—that is, if you ever have the guts to return to the real world.”

Samantha turned her back to me, and stormed out of the kitchen, through the hallway, and right out the front door, leaving me with my doomed reality.

Marcus stood for a moment, motionless, waiting for me to explain or to say anything. But I had no explanation to give and nothing to say.

“I’m sorry. I’m going to go see if she’s OK,” Marcus said to Alexander, excusing himself to tend to Samantha.

Alexander nodded silently as Marcus walked out.

“What just happened?” Alexander said, questioning me.

“They are getting married.” And as I released the sound of the last word, a wretched and nauseating sensation commanded my body. I pushed Alexander out of the way and jogged to the guest bathroom down the hall, just making it in time to throw my head into the toilet, losing my dinner.

“Are you OK?” Alexander rubbed my back as I threw up everything but my intestines.

The tears that made their way out of my eyes flowed like a river, and I couldn’t stop them. When my vomiting finally ceased, Alexander picked me up off the cold marble floor and carried me to the bedroom, laying me, fragile and wounded, down onto the plush pillow top bed.

“Do you want me to lay with you until you feel better? Do you want to talk about it?”

Alexander tried to get me to speak, but I shook my head as I buried it into the pillow and drowned myself in my scornful tears.

Alexander left with Marcus and Samantha and set them up at a nearby hotel. Samantha had refused to stay in the house with us tonight, and I didn’t blame her after the words I allowed myself to say to her.

Alexander returned shortly thereafter, but the evening became more and more dreadful as Samantha’s words struck my heart over and over. And with every thought and replay of the evening’s events, I became sicker as the hours passed. I spent most of the night hovered over the toilet, excruciatingly emptying my body as if to unintentionally cleanse myself; but it made me feel no better.

At some point during the early hours of the morning, I must have fallen asleep on the chaise in the bedroom, wrapped in a blanket. But in the darkness I could feel that I wasn’t alone.

And as I struggled to open my swollen eyes, Alexander came to my side. “Sleep, love. You were up all night. Are you feeling any better?” Alexander’s soft-spoken and heartfelt worrying was warm, but it didn’t console the underlying misery and what seemed like a never-ending pain in the pit of my stomach.

“No. I can’t sleep. And I don’t feel well. I feel nauseous and weak.” I confirmed the illness that washed over my pale face.

“Should I call a doctor? You don’t look well.” Alexander placed his hand over my forehead, trying to feel my temperature.

My eyes half opened to see more of his face, and the expression he wore only made me feel worse, causing a rolling pain to surge from my stomach to my throat. At which point, I somehow found the strength to leap off the chaise and jet for the bathroom once again.

“Alexander,” I murmured in between my gags, “call a doctor please.”

The embarrassment of having anyone see me in that condition was probably worse than the pain I was feeling, but there I was, rolled in a massive blanket, curled into a ball against the bathroom wall nearest the toilet. And in walked the
gorgeous doctor
!

It just figured that the one doctor Alexander thought to call would be a gorgeous woman.
Men!

“How are you feeling, Evangeline,” she asked as she kneeled gracefully by my side and examined me visually.

“Please, call me Eva. I feel nauseous and weak and very lightheaded. The pain in my stomach has subsided, but I just feel…” Trying to think of the appropriate words to describe my ailments, I failed terribly and let out the first thing that came to mind. “I feel like shit!”

The doctor, who asked me to call her Kristen, merely smiled as she helped me up off of the floor and slowly walked me into the bedroom and perched me on the side of the bed. “Sit here, Eva,” Kristen said and then turned to Alexander. “Alexander, I’m going to need to examine her—if you wouldn’t mind stepping out of the room.”

Looking past Kristen, Alexander stared at me. And, as much as I could feel his desire to be there with me and for me, I wasn’t ready to deal with the discomfort of him watching my physical examination, especially by another woman.

“I’m OK, Alexander. You can come back in as soon as she is done.” I reassured him as best I could.

He respectfully nodded and walked to the door. He held the knob and pulled the door to close it, but before he dissapeared into the lonely corridor, he looked back toward me and whispered, “I love you.”

“OK, my dear, let’s chat,” Kristen started. “When was your last menstrual period?” the doctor asked me.

A little startled by the conversation, I froze. What startled me was not so much the question but my lack of response to the question.

“Um, I’m not sure. I have been so stressed and irregular with my periods that I guess I lost track.” My eyebrows tensed as I struggled to recall my last cycle, but it was just about hopeless.

“OK. Well, are you on birth control?” she continued.