The Most Special Chosen Page 6

  “Screw this.” I turn and start running back the way I’d come. What is it about guns, even toy ones, that make guys think they rule the planet?

  I’m not able to find Damien for the rest of the match, which is hardly surprising, considering the size of the room and the darkness. But when the lights come up, I come across Damien speaking with a visibly terrified guy. On closer inspection, I’m pretty sure it’s the same idiot who was annoying me earlier.

  “I will not have you speak that way about, or with, my woman. Do you understand me?” His voice is an ugly growl.

  “Uh . . . Damien?”

  He whirls around and I realize his eyes are much darker than normal, almost black. I have to check this jealousy. “Elysabeth.” The relief is evident in his voice. “There you are. I was worried.”

  I eye him skeptically, then purposefully look at the guy he’d been talking to. I jerk my head at the guy, who takes off at top speed. “Yeah, I can see that. What’s your problem?”

  “He was boasting about you to some friends,” he replies, as though that justifies his actions.

  “So he was being an idiotic guy. That doesn’t mean you can scare him half to death.”

  His brow furrows in confusion. “You do not wish me to defend your honor?”

  “Defend my honor?” I scoff. “Damien, you sound like a living time capsule. What are you going to do, call him out? Meet him at dawn with pistols? Don’t be ridiculous. Come on, let’s go get our scores, then I’d like you to take me home.”

  “Very well, Chérie.” I lead him out of the room, unsure of what to do. I’ve heard that extreme jealousy is often the first sign of a controlling relationship. Is it worth the risk? I look over my shoulder at his near perfection. Hell yes. I’ll talk to him about it.

  We get our scores and I don’t even celebrate being the only person not hit. I walk silently out of the building, with Damien following close behind, until we’re out of earshot, then I turn and lean against the wall, arms crossed, waiting for him to catch up.

  “We need to talk about this,” I say flatly.

  He nods. “As you wish, Elysabeth.”

  I make sure to look him directly in the eye. He needs to understand how serious I am. “You have to tone things down. You’ve told me I should just ignore you getting checked out and hit on. You need to take your own advice and ignore when it happens to me because I will not tolerate you being an overbearing, jealous prick.”

  I get ready to run for it if it looks like he’s going to explode. I want to push his buttons, and push them hard, to see if he’s jealous, as our relationship is still so new, or if he has issues.

  “Elysabeth,” he says pleadingly, “you must understand, the things he was saying—”

  I raise my hand to cut him off. “Are no doubt no worse than half of the things women have been thinking about you. Women just know better than to say it when others can hear.”

  He looks like he’s considering my words. “But, how can I just let them say such things?” So far so good. No explosions, anyway.

  “The same way you expect me to tolerate the flirting. Just ignore it. It’s not like I’m going to be tempted.”

  Damien looks shocked, as though the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “It has nothing to do with my trust of you, Chérie, I do not like to hear such things said.”

  “And I don’t like to see some of the things done around you. Actions speak louder than words, and I put up with it. Because you asked me to.”

  He sighs. It’s long and drawn out like he’s just been told he has to run the gauntlet. “Point taken, Chérie. I apologize for my behavior. Now, you wished me to take you home?”

  “Please.” He takes my hand, and, despite my own annoyance, I can’t ignore the feeling of rightness that courses through me. Damien’s satisfied grin is mirrored by my own.

  On the way home, my brain and my hormones wage a silent war. I want to continue what we started on our first date, but I want him to respect me, and I don’t want the relationship to be purely physical.

  I settle on a compromise. As he says goodnight, I give him a chaste kiss on the lips. It’s a promise of more later, but only at my own pace. He brushes a tender kiss across my forehead before wishing me a good night and sweet dreams and apologizing one last time.

  CHAPTER 5

  “Hi Mom. Hi Dad. Happy Thanksgiving!” I take a deep breath, letting the smells of bread, roasting turkey, and mashed potatoes carry me away in a swirl of delicious memories. My mom comes out of the kitchen and pulls me back to present day with a tight hug.

  “Elysabeth!” As ever, now that I’m here, I realize how much I’ve missed seeing her. “It’s so good to see you, Mija. You look wonderful! I haven’t seen you in a few weeks. And we haven’t had a real conversation in almost as long. You must tell me everything that’s been going on. Dime el chisme.”

  I can see the eager look in her eyes that she gets when she’s fishing for information. I’ve been purposefully vague about my activities during our brief phone conversations. I know what will happen when I mention Damien.

  “I’ve been busy, Mom, sorry. Where’s Dad?” I ask, hoping to avoid the questions.

  “He’s busy in the garden, Lys,” she answers quickly, letting me know I won’t be able to escape. “But you’ve finished midterms, and finals aren’t for a while, right? Do you have a lot of homework this term?” She heads back into the kitchen, and I sigh and follow her dutifully.

  “Yes, Mom, finals are a few weeks away, but I’m not always busy with school, you know.”

  “Oh? Then what’s keeping you too busy to talk to your mother?” Her voice is full of excitement and interest.

  I’d really hoped to avoid this discussion today, but, well, I would have to tell her eventually. “I met someone new at the library a while back.”

  “Really? And what is she like?” She’s turned back to the stove, and is carefully stirring a pot of something. I can tell she’s trying to rein in her enthusiasm, but she’s not good at feigning disinterest.

  Her “coy” attitude really means she wants to know everything. “He, Mom. He’s a guy.” A really hot guy who really seems to like me. I grin. “He’s really nice.”

  “And . . . ?”

  “And what? Mom, just ask me what you really want to know.” I try not to let my exasperation show, but I doubt I succeed.

  She sets down the spoon and turns to face me. “Always direct, aren’t you, Lys? Okay, are you dating?”

  I grin. “Yeah, Mom, we are.”

  “Bueno, then, when do we get to meet him?” She asks like it’s a foregone conclusion that I’m bringing him home to meet them. This is precisely what I wanted to avoid.

  “I don’t know, Mom. You know the whole meet the parents thing can send guys running for the hills. Give me some time. We’ve only known each other a couple of weeks.” I grin hopefully, thinking maybe I’ll get out of the obligatory ‘bring the boyfriend home to meet mom and dad’ thing. Her answer blows that idea out of the water.

  “If he is not willing to meet us,” she says calmly, “then maybe he is not so good.” Oh, boy, here we go. Next will be the guilt trip.

  “I don’t know if he’s willing or not, but I think it’s a bit early. I’m not in high school anymore, Mother. You don’t need to meet every guy I go out with.” My impatience and irritation comes through clearly in my voice. I love my mother, really, I do, but I want her to let me grow up.

  Her eyes narrow, and she crosses her arms. Not good. “Elysabeth, no me hables con esa voz.” Her tone is stern. I gulp. “Your father and I want to make sure this boy you are seeing is good for you. We want to make sure you’ll be safe. We worry about you, Mija.”

  Yep, there’s the guilt. I make sure to sound meek. “Sorry, Mom, I know. Just give me some time, please?” I try my best sad puppy dog expression.

  She grins. “Okay, Lys, for now. But I expect to meet him soon, and you know your father will, too.”

  “
Yes, Mom. Can I go say hi to Dad now?” She nods and I head out to speak to my dad. We manage a pleasant conversation until my mom calls me in to set the table.

  I help her get everything to the table before we all sit down to a great meal. By the time dinner is over, my mom has suggested at least five times that I should bring Damien home so she and my dad can meet him. And of course, my dad agrees with her. Although I’m sure it’s more because he wants to judge Damien than any real desire to meet him. I’m not ready for that, yet. I want to know if the relationship is going somewhere first. I help my mom clean up after dinner, and serve my parent’s dessert. We talk about my plans for after school, and how things are going in general as we finish the pie. Before I know it, it’s well after ten.

  “Mom, Dad, I should head out before it gets too late.”

  “Okay, Lys. You really should come home and see us more often. I miss you, Mijita.”

  “I’ll try, Mom. I promise.” I need to call her more often, too. I really enjoy our conversations, just not when we’re talking about dating.

  ***

  When I get home, I’m glad to see Shawn at the kitchen table. “Hi, Shawnie.” I plop into the seat next to him.

  “Hey, how was Thanksgiving?”

  I shrug. “Pretty good, my mom’s bugging me, though.”

  “About what?” he asks me, head tilted in curiosity.

  “She wants to meet Damien. I think it’s a bit soon for that. I don’t want to send him running.” I lean on the kitchen table, contemplating what that conversation would be like.

  Shawn shrugs. “I kind of see your point, but I can see your mother’s too. She wants to know who you’re dating. I don’t think that’s an unusual request. But at the same time, I doubt you really want your parents to meet Damien. He’s not exactly ‘take home to mom’ material.”

  “Shawn!”

  “Well, he isn’t. Imagine what your parents would say if he showed up in black leather. They’d hardly be impressed. It wouldn’t even matter how he acted.”

  “Shawn, come on! That’s not fair.”

  “But it’s true, and you know it.”

  I sigh. He has a point, but I’d like to believe Damien would know better than to wear his edgier clothes to meet my parents. “How was your Thanksgiving?”

  “The usual. My dad is still convinced that if he complains enough, I’ll go into business.”

  “He’ll have to come around eventually. For now, I suppose you’ll have to be content with the fact that I’m proud of you.” I give him a hug, hoping to make him feel better.

  I’m gratified to see a real smile from him. “Thanks, Lys. You know, we need another game night.”

  “Yeah, we do. Do you have time?”

  “Nah, not now. I’ve got to work on homework. I was really just waiting to make sure you got home all right.”

  “Aww, thanks Shawnie. I appreciate it. I’ll follow your example. I should probably work on homework for a bit too.”

  ***

  The next morning, while I’m ensconced in homework, my phone rings. It’s Damien. “Elysabeth, how are you?”

  “Damien, hi! I’m great, thanks. And you?”

  “Most excellent, Chérie. Might I take you out tonight?”

  “Yeah, that’d be great. What do you have in mind?”

  I can hear the smile in his voice. “We will be having dinner then going to see Les Misérables. I unexpectedly acquired tickets to the evening showing tonight. I hope that is acceptable to you.”

  “That sounds great! The musical, right?” It’s been on my “to see” list for a while, but I haven’t made it, yet. I’m glad for the opportunity to finally go.

  “Yes, Chérie, but you should know the theater maintains a strict dress code.”

  “That’s fine, how nice? Semi-formal or formal?” It will be fun to dress up a bit.

  “Semi-formal will be sufficient.”

  “Great, I’ll see you tonight. Oh, wait! What time?”

  “I will pick you up at five, Chérie. That should give us enough time for dinner.” I glance at the clock. Noon.

  “Sounds good, Damien. I’ll see you then.” I end the call and go to my closet. Do I have anything semi-formal?

  I comb through my clothes. It’s mostly casual with a couple of costumes thrown in. Guess it’s time to go shopping. I find Shawn downstairs, sitting on the sofa, watching TV. I plop down next to him.

  “Shawnie, what are you up to?” I grin at him, innocently.

  “Watching TV for now.” He eyes me suspiciously. “Why?”

  “I’m going shopping. I need a dress for my date tonight. I’d like your opinion. Will you come with me, Shawnie?” I lean against him and bat my eyelashes. “Please?”

  He grins. “Fine, but just because I have nothing better to do.”

  I give him a big hug. “Thanks! I’m ready whenever you are.”

  Shawn turns off the TV and stands. “Let’s go. I know you aren’t very patient.”

  I give him a playful shove. “And you are?”

  ***

  The store is really busy, so I find the max number of dresses I can take into the dressing room.

  The first one is a definite no-go. It’s black with a full skirt and a sheer bodice with tactful embroidery. I thought it looked sexy on the hanger, but it doesn’t fit right. I look like a box in a tutu.

  The next one is better, but it’s not perfect. It’s a pale blue, ruched, stretchy dress that hugs all of my curves. It has a straight across neckline with halter straps. I step out to show Shawn.

  “It’s a pretty dress, Lys, but it’s no show-stopper, and I know that’s what you want.” I grin. He knows me so well.

  The next dress is a gorgeous teal, but when I put it on, I realize it’s much lower cut than I thought. The neckline goes down almost to my navel, and the material looks a little cheap. The disgusted look on Shawn’s face when I step out says even more than he does.

  “Lys, you’re going to the theatre, not a Vegas nightclub. That’s really short and really low cut.”

  “I know.” I tug at the hem and the neckline. “It didn’t look so bad on the hanger. The color is nice, though.”

  Next is a royal blue dress draped to resemble a toga. I twirl in front of the three mirrors by Shawn to get a 360-degree view.

  “I’m not sure this is interesting enough for me. The color is gorgeous, but it’s really plain.”

  “It’s too sweet for you,” he replies.

  “Shawnie!”

  He’s grinning at my mock outrage, completely unapologetic. “Just saying. You have more attitude.”

  My next option is much nicer. It’s a bright emerald green, which goes nicely with my hair. The skirt overlaps in front, creating a tulip petal look. The line from the overlap continues up the front and into a single sleeve on the left. It looks terrific on me.

  “That looks great, Lys,” Shawn says with a smile as I step out. “I think it might be your choice.”

  “I’ve got one left, and I’ve saved the best for last.”

  “Let’s see it then.”

  I retreat to the dressing room one more time with a grin. I’ve been saving the bright red dress. It’s knee-length, with a wide faux belt right under my boobs. The neckline is square, but the straps are wider at the shoulder giving it a bit of a halter look. It’s form-fitting and gives me a near-perfect hourglass figure. Even without Shawn’s reaction, I know this is my dress. The design is demure, but the look is sexy.

  “Wow, Lys! Why’d you even bother to try on the other ones?” he says, eyes wide.

  I turn in front of the mirrors, wanting to see myself from all angles. “This is it, Shawn.”

  He nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, definitely. It’s really you.”

  ***

  I’m ready by 4:45, and spend a few minutes looking in the mirror since I don’t often get a chance to dress up. I look fantastic. I’ve paired the dress with shiny, black, Mary Jane style shoes. My hair is in a messy bun
with some tendrils hanging loose. I’ve always wanted to try that look, and this evening gives me an excuse to do so. I grab my purse and a shawl and head downstairs.

  Shawn spots me from the living room. “You look great, Lys. I just wish you were going out with someone else.” He stands and comes over to me.

  “Yeah, I know, but that’s not gonna happen. Thanks for coming with me this afternoon despite your feelings. I really appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome, Lys.” He pulls me into a hug. “You know I’m always here for you.”

  “You’ll always be my best man, Shawn.” The knock on the door ends our conversation. Shawn’s look is equal parts sorrowful and resigned.

  “Have fun tonight, Lys. And stay safe.”

  “Thanks, Shawn.” The look of awe tempered with desire on Damien’s face when I open the door makes every second of the two hours I spent getting ready completely worth it.

  “Elysabeth, you look exquisite.” There’s so much emotion in his voice that I blush.

  “Thank you, Damien. You look pretty good yourself.”

  His hair is pulled back, which only serves to emphasize his square jaw. He’s wearing a perfectly tailored, nearly black power suit with a dark burgundy shirt. His shoulders look a mile wide, and taper down to his hips in a perfect inverted triangle. I force my eyes back up his body and notice his tie is black with a crimson pattern.

  Damien holds out his arm to me. “Shall we go?”

  “Oh, yeah, of course.” I can’t miss the almost hungry way Damien eyes my legs when I get into the car.

  ***

  At the theater, Damien pulls up to the valet parking. Eager to get inside, I let myself out before the valet can get to my door. I pull my shawl tightly around me. Although it’s only fifty or so, I’m underdressed for the weather. In my rush to get inside where it’s warm, I reach the doors just before Damien, and let myself in.

  Frowning, he leads me away from the crowds of people. “Elysabeth, why do you not wait?”

  It takes me a bit to figure out what he’s referring to. “I am capable of opening doors myself, Damien. It’s nice that you open doors for me, but it isn’t always necessary.”