WEDDING FEVER

“Come on, Leon! This is the fourth time that we are postponing this, all because of your schedule again. Come on!" I fume at this ever-busy, soon-to-be husband of mine.

Well, that is, if this damn wedding will actually find favor in the eyes of the gods and push through. I actually wish it did because I have invested more than just love in it. I have done even the impossible to make this work. Things that my dad would kill me for if ever he learned about them. Cross my heart with the hope that he will never. The things we do for love are a topic for another day.

What I would like to understand is why this guy seems to be drifting slowly away from this marriage thing. I mean, he should be as committed as I am, right? Why is it beginning to feel like I am the only one interested in this wedding?

“You know how important my work is, don’t you?” Leon's voice comes through the line.

The same old excuse I have heard for weeks. And for God's sake, what is not important? Me? Are we tying the knots like we have been dreaming of and starting our family?

“And I am not? Our wedding is not important, Leon?. I quiz, and anger is getting the best of me, and this is warranted. What I am feeling right now would be felt by any human in her right senses.

“I didn’t say that, Bella. Look, my desk is as full as my head is right now. I have a million things to take care of. See what you can do with the caterers if you must do this today."

Hold on!

If I must do it today,? When will he have time for this because this is not the first time he is failing, huh? Just when? I was just about to squeal at him, but he beat me to it, speaking with an obviously forced calmness. "And ooh, the wedding planners called to say that they are coming over to the resort tomorrow to start the preparations. I gave them your number because I want you to deal directly with them from now on. Bye!”

Even them? This was the only thing he had agreed to handle because, supposedly, the bitch leading the team is his best friend. But even this, he has let go? Just what the hell is wrong with this guy?

Ooh, no! We can't continue this way! I also have an office to run. My table is also full in the office. I have sacrificed so much for this and him.

“Hel…Hello? Leon! le...!" Dead end! I only receive back the echoes of my voice.

The son of a nobody hangs up on me? Since when?

I feel like screaming through the dead line, but if only he could hear me. How dare he bundle all the responsibilities of this wedding with me, huh? We still have a lot to do in the nothingness of the time that we have left, yet he is doing this? What sort of motherfucker does this?

I slam the damn phone on my seat. How dare he hang up on me just like that? My desk is also full, you know? I also have unattended files waiting for me back at the office. And for goodness sake, what is keeping him busy, huh? The company that I built for him? The company in which I am still the majority shareholder?

I won't refute that he has proven to be a witty ass, taking the company to commendable heights for the three years since it was born, but come the fuck on! That is not reason enough for him to do this to me! He should at least remember that he would still be a nobody, wandering in the streets, eating garbage, and sleeping on the cold streets if it weren't for me!

I, Bella Montana, picked him up from the streets, cleaned him up, clothed him, fed him, and gave him hope when life had mercilessly fucked him up. It was my money that started and funded the company he now owns. I was the one who put him in that seat that is burning his ass right now. I am the reason he can be counted as a man right now. He is nothing without me, and he dares do this to me?

The sound of my house buzzing again tosses that bittersweet tale aside. My dad's name on the screen doesn't do any good to my messed-up, riled self. It reminds me of the second reason why I had to abandon my office and drive all the way here to the airport.

Before picking up the call, I ricochet my eyes around the busy place, trying to scan for that familiar face that I came to pick up. That is, if I still remember him well, which I doubt. It's been what again? Ten years? Yes! Pretty right! It has been ten good years since he left because he could not stand my loath and humiliation and crashed his stupid ego every damn chance I got.

My stepbrother is Joe Fredrick Montana!

I still don't get where he got the balls to come back here because he can go fuck himself with that lame excuse of attending my damn wedding. He might be the bad omen ruining my wedding plans because I am certain that there is no way he would come all the way from Cuba to share my joy after the hell that I put him through ever since my father brought him and his mother to our home as his second family. My mother could not bear the shame, embarrassment, and insolence. As a result, she developed a serious high blood pressure that later led to her demise sixteen years ago, when I was just twelve and Joe was fourteen.

I laid all the blame for my mother's immature death on them all, and I still do. Six years later, Joe could no longer bear my hostility towards him and his mother. He asked to be transferred to a school abroad, and since Mr. Montana has all the power that money coughs, that was as easy as blinking an eye.

Just like that, phew! I had one problem since my half-brother was out of my life. I actually prayed that he would remain there. But now, ten years later, he is back? To do what? Has he mustered the courage to bear with my loath because hell knows that I still loathe him as much as I did back then?

Actually, no. Rephrase that. I detest him much more than I did before. He and his mother. My anger has mounted over the years, and now that he dared to come back and my father had the guts to force me to pick him up, I feel like all that anger is crushing down on my poor soul.

Having failed to scan that ugly face anywhere, I swipe the receiver button on the third ring.

“Bella? Where on earth did you go? Joe has been waiting for more than an hour now.” Dad did not even wait for me to speak first.

He must be thinking that I disobeyed him and went some other way because he knows the great rift between me and his bastard son is beyond bridging. Come to think of it, I should have done that, actually. I should have gone to meet the caterers, waited for the wedding planners, or attended to my job other than coming to pick that jerk!

“Then where is your son, Dad? Tell him to find me in less than three minutes! A second longer, and I will be out of here!” I say.

“Can’t you call him, dear? Why are you complicating things so much?” My dad asks furiously.

Call that jerk? Eyes roll! “I don’t have his number." I respond.

“Impossible children!” He curses as he hangs up the phone.

Impossible? That is a proper phrase to define me and Joe! Wait and see how hell will come crumbling down on the Montana family once again with this jerk's return! He and I are like two axles in the same basket. Always crashing and making each other bleed! Ooh, yeah! That is how we damn rock and roll—taking pleasure in hurting each other. The juiciest part of our endless fights is that I always take the trophy.

Well, I am actually getting a thrill out of this somehow. It has been so damn long since I picked a fight with someone or angered someone to the core, aside from his mother, which didn't quench my thirst because my father is always ready to play the Koffi Anaan role. The satisfying brawls and bakerings ended the day Joe left, but it is just about to go down again, and I am so ready!

Just when I am dropping the phone from my ear, a spark strikes me as a strong arm pats the bare skin of my hand. The scent tickles my nostrils from behind.

A very unfamiliar shiver jolts down my spine!

Weird!

"Waiting for someone?" Forget the sin-screaming voice, but whatever this guy is percolating in general is forbidden. Only something forbidden could have such a domineering allure to entice you to something this sinful. I mean, how can an austere, harmless touch from a mere stranger affect you this way?

I turn around. Slowly and curiously.

An adorable male frame dwarfs me beneath it, and I take a minute to take in his intoxicating allure.

He is gorgeous in all conventional ways; his skin tone is between fair and pale, and he is flawless. I anticipate his eyes, which are hidden behind the black shades, to be extremely deep and golden brown. His square jaw and high cheekbones frame his face perfectly. He is not the common, muscular alpha male with 8-pack abs and 16-cm biceps, but he can indisputably stand out in a crowd. His moist, full, pink lips are something that any straight girl would give anything to lick. He is all-around charming. Someone that all girls would swoon over—me included. That explains why my legs are crossed right now, preventing the throbs down there from coming out so loud.

He lifts his black shades, giving me the pleasure to delve into the deepest depths of his eyes. They are exactly as I anticipated—deep, golden orbs with a strong spark enough to hold you at the base of their depths forever.

“Hello, gorgeous!”

I would like to describe that deep yet soothing voice, but can someone tell me why my pants are already soaked? And why in the devil's name is my pussycat throbbing like this, huh?