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My reply is, "Nice to meet you too," and despite the fact that my heart is racing and I am attempting to make sense of how I feel , I say it with a smile. Although I make a concerted effort to refrain from doing so, I discover that I am unable to prevent my eyes from continuing to scrutinize her.
"What was your name again?" I inquire with a smirk on my face, knowing that Izzie is fully aware of the reason I’m asking. It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to crack a joke about flowers. Izzie's eyes widen in shock and alarm, and then she gives me a stern look as if to tell me not to press the issue any further. After that, she looks up at her father, who has not been paying attention to the cryptic conversation going on between us.
“Izzie, my name is Izzie,” she says confidently, maintaining an expression of poise. “Oh, and you’re the Zak who had to stop playing, right?” Izzie asks, her intonation carefully neutral and her eyes unwavering.
The room seems to shrink as the memories of why I had quit rush to the surface. Heat suffuses my face, and I glance at Dave, who thankfully hasn’t noticed our energy shift again. “Yes, that’s me,” I reply through gritted teeth, my embarrassment mounting.
“Yeah, don't bring that up, Iz,” Dave chastises, stepping in for me just as he has so many times before.
She nods in understanding and then looks at me apologetically. “Sorry, Zak. Didn’t realize that was a sore subject.” She shrugs, a look of sympathy in her eyes. I can’t quite figure out if she is playing with me or not, and that fact drives me crazy.
Clearing my throat, I wave away her apology, not wanting to show her how much that question, or bringing up the incident, affects me. “It’s not,” I reply with conviction."I am open to discussing any topic."
Dave breaks the tense atmosphere with his opening statement: "Okay, Iz, let's go say hello to some other folks from the neighborhood. There's your Aunt Agnes over there! You haven't seen her since you were probably around ten years old; she's been missing you very much.” Izzie's expression changes for an instant, and I laugh out loud before I can rein it in. It is very obvious that she does not feel even the slightest bit of excitement about seeing Aunt Agnes again. When she smiles at her father, her expression becomes brittle and forced, but when she smiles at me, she gives me an accusatory look.
She exclaims with fake enthusiasm, "That sounds great!" as though she truly believes it. Izzie whirls around and cocks an eyebrow in my direction as the two of them start to walk away from us.
She speaks in a tone dense with meaning that her father is unable to pick up on and says, "Great to meet you, Zak." I give her a wide grin and notice that she is returning it in kind. I continue to smile broadly at Izzie and speak to her in a soft whisper so that only she can hear me say, "And you, Daisy." She checks the expression on her father's face before making the 'shh' gesture and turning away from him. She opens and closes her mouth several times.
Oh, this girl is causing a lot of trouble. And I'm not entirely certain that I'll be able to avoid being drawn back in.
Izzie
I look around the room, taking note of the many different degrees of intoxication that surround me. A woman in her mid-fifties is stumbling around the dance floor as if she’s on another planet, the evidence of her indulgence in the form of the three empty glasses of wine sitting on the table as she does so. It feels like an eternity that I have been here, and the frilly pink dress is like a prison.
The bow on my back is causing a maddening itch, and I can’t get rid of it no matter how I contort my arm. I sigh to myself. I’m on the verge of escaping when I become aware of someone or something approaching from behind me. I whirl around to see Zak standing there with those dark brown eyes fixed on me. My breath catches in my throat, and a flush of excitement spreads across my face. I narrow my eyes at him because I am not in the mood to play games, and I steel myself to step away when he grabs my arm firmly, but still gently enough that it does not cause any pain.
He drags me away from the main hall and into an empty corridor behind the building. I go along with it, being aware that putting up a fight would be pointless. He takes me to a door that has a steel label on the front with the words "cleaning supplies" etched into it. Zak opens the door with his shoulder, revealing a cramped space full of brooms, buckets, and other janitorial items.
I feel my self-assurance ebbing in this close proximity, and as the reality of what was happening begins to sink in, I cast an admiring glance in his direction. His entire being seems to exude a warmth that enfolds me like a blanket and makes me feel safe and secure. I give him a dirty look and a head shake before taking a few steps away from him. As I do so, I notice that my cheeks are turning a shade of pink due to the filthy thoughts that start to run through my head. I make a show of clearing my throat before plucking up the nerve to inquire what he desired, all the while sensing a growing sense of defiance within me.
"So?" I question, my tone adding impatience to my words while keeping my voice more steady than my heart is becoming. He raises an eyebrow while maintaining his position blocking the only exit. I can feel the anger rising in my chest, and I realize that it is directed more at myself than at him because I have allowed him to get the upper hand.
"You're the one who pulled me aside into this," I gesture around the room as I speak, "this teeny-tiny space."
He indicates his assent by nodding his head and stating, "Yes, I did," his deep voice sending a shiver down my spine. I wait for him to continue, but he remains unmoved, so I make the decision to exit the building. I won’t let some strange man drag me into a closet where he won’t even tell me the purpose of our presence there. I make a move to get away, but he grabs me again as I move. This time, he approaches me from behind and puts his hands on my shoulders.
I take a deep breath as I look at his hands because they are so enormous. I know all too well the effect those gorgeous and powerful hands could have on a woman. I also know how they could make a man feel.
I shake the thought from my mind and bring my attention back to him, but with reluctance because I can still feel the color flushing my cheeks. Before he approaches me, I swear I see one corner of his mouth turn up into a smirk. After that, he takes a step closer, and his self-assured energy begins to envelop me like a cocoon. He appears to know exactly what I am thinking.
Before I have the chance to slow it down, my heart begins to race.
He holds me firmly in his grasp and commands, "You can't leave yet." His deep gaze captivates me, and I feel as if I am being hypnotized; suddenly, the room turns dark, and I completely lose track of my surroundings. A part of me knows this is a rash decision and an even riskier location. Nevertheless, in spite of the fact that my head is telling me to leave, my heart urges me to stay.
"So, Daisy?" he queries, clearly curious about my answer. I suck in a deep breath and meet his inquiring stare.
"Yes." I huff, not offering any sort of explanation. We lock eyes for a moment, and his brows furrow together. I win the staring match as he gives in and speaks first.
"I don't like being lied to," he says coolly.
"Neither do I," I impose. He cocks his head and shoots me a questioning glance.
"Well, the problem with that is I didn't lie to you," he challenges. I cross my arms, feeling my cheeks flush again.
"But you didn't tell me you were attending a wedding, let alone that you were the best man. If you had, I would've realized who you were, and we wouldn't be in this mess." I wish I had been more upfront about my identity. He can tell that I am floundering, trying to find a way to absolve myself of responsibility and guilt. I know this is all my fault. He lifts one eyebrow as if expecting more of an answer from me.
"If you had said your name was Izzie, I would have assumed that perhaps you were my best friend's daughter, called Izzie, who I knew was visiting town," he says. My mouth opens and closes shut. Shit, I can’t think of a way to explain Daisy. I would sound crazy if I said I sometimes liked to be someone else for the night. He has me there.
