1 Hey stranger

Miami, USA

Six months before that day

Zemira

The pale hue from the chandelier and the melody of the orchestra flooded the hall but my mind was in complete chaos. The scent of warm vanilla and cinnamon from the dessert trays being carried around churned my stomach.

My attention was divided between checking my silent phone and witnessing my best friend’s crucifixion ceremony.

Kiera Dales, the bride who chirped like a schoolgirl while mingling with her guests, came out of her closet a while back, only to be shoved back in. The Dales – Kiera’s oil tycoon family – threatened to disown her if she didn’t adhere to their dictatorial regime.

Within months, the family had preserved their reputation by getting her engaged to Jake Donavan – the charming, grey-eyed billionaire who was the CEO of Miami’s largest financial holding company and her beard.

And now here I was, preparing to ‘celebrate’ my best friend’s nuptials.

Kiera adjusted her whitish, body-hugging gown, as she worked her way towards me.

“There you are, Zemmy.” Intertwining our arms, she smiled. “I want a photo with my Maid of Honor.”

As she tucked brunette wisps away from her perfect jawline, I felt her silent lament yearning to be set free. Even gallons of foundation couldn’t mask it.

“You know how I feel about photos, right?” Having struggled for twenty-two years of my life under the unnerving flicker of cameras and paparazzi’s bellows for a snap, I refused to smile for one now. “Kiera, I can’t imagine what you must be going through.”

“Don’t worry about me, Zem.” Kiera peered at my hideous lavender outfit. “Sometimes we have to make sacrifices so our businesses can flourish.”

Like Kiera’s feigned heterosexuality, our hotel business pretended to be doing fine; pretended it didn’t require any help. It was a matter of months before the stamp of bankruptcy imprinted our ledgers.

With one phone call, all the tension I felt underneath my skin could fade.

He should have called by now.

“You know what?” Kiera held my shoulders, rattling me. “I think you haven’t had enough of that liquid courage. Let your hair down, Zem. Be a bad girl for once.”

“Baby…” Another voice interrupted us. Jake, Kiera’s husband, walked over with a smile drawn across his face. “Our guests are getting antsy. How about we mingle with them for a bit?”

Lending me a tight smile of her own, Kiera accepted his arm and walked away.

Adhering to my friend’s command, I sat at the bar to drown my issues by consuming my body weight in alcohol.

After an hour or so, my phone chimed. Escaping the merriment that roared in the background, I rushed outside the ballroom.

You can do this.

The man on the other end of the call sported a low, rumbling voice. Polite enough, yet intimidating. “Good evening, Zemira.”

“Good evening, Antonio. Did you get a chance to look at my proposal?” I asked, palming the speaker to mask the sound of my heavy breathing and disguise my state of drunkenness.

“Yes,” Antonio Brenton – the media mogul said, “Your buyout proposal would be beneficial for both our companies.”

Being the daughter of an immigrant, I knew a thing or two about hard work and perseverance. Dad built up our hotels, irrigating them with his blood, sweat and years of his life he would never get back. Ford Hotel was Dad’s first child, so I took it upon myself to save my brick-and-mortar sibling.

“Thank you for letting me know, Antonio. So, shall we meet up tomorrow to discuss the contract?”

“The thing is… I want to add another clause to your proposal. We’ll need more than just the business merger. Something to assure our stakeholders that this is genuine…and to garner positive publicity.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look to your friend, Kiera Dales, and what she is doing. Marrying for business and publicity. It’s an extra guarantee that binds both our families and our companies.”

“Can…can I…think about it?”

“Sure, take your time,” was all Antonio stated before ending the call. On cue, logic flared up.

Was I willing to write my life away?

Was I ready to drown for the sake of keeping our business afloat?

Was I?

I crumpled Antonio’s words and tossed his proposal to the back of my mind.

The need to escape from this place dug into my muscles, making me walk away from the building. I texted Kiera, giving her a fake reason for me leaving her party.

She would kill me for sure, but she would understand.

Gabe’s Bar was barely a five-minute walk from the reception area and had been my hideout from reality since my mother’s death. Whenever I was doubtful, which was a lot in the life of a socialite, Gabe’s Bar sheltered me till I found footing.

The bar was nestled inside the cozy corner of a once-renowned hotel, with pale, peeling walls that witnessed slow dances to Sinatra’s music and foot taps to upbeat jazz. It was a testament to teary wartime farewells and cheerful disco moves. Though dilapidated, it still retained character, much like the memories of yesteryear frozen in framed photos throughout the interior.

The bartender, Gabe Jr., slid my usual order, Tequila on rocks, across the bar as I walked up.

I guzzled it, serenaded by dim lighting and soft jazz music. A bitter tang burnt the back of my throat. The concoctions I kept drinking since the reception had begun slowing time.

“What happened?” Gabe asked, serving a generous amount of alcohol into my glass. “You came from her reception?”

“Yupp, my friend.” I nodded, raising a toast. “Our mighty girrrll has fallen.”

Gabe nodded, pursing his lips. Before he could say anything, a short burst of laughter turned our attention towards a man who sat in a corner nursing his drink.

Something about him made it hard for me to look away. Perhaps, it was the halo of the dimmed bar lights.

“How bad were the drinks at the reception if the bridesmaid felt the need to hit another bar?” The man leaned over the countertop, speaking to nobody in particular. He scratched his buzz-cut raven hair, eyeing the dregs of his amber-colored drink.

Gabe served him, chuckling courteously. He had to be obliging to make tips.

I did not.

“Ess…cuse me,” I said, riled up by the smirk on his stubble face and the glint of his green eyes. In his defense, he was talking to his drink. In mine, I needed a punching bag on which to vent my frustration over Antonio’s proposal. This man would do. “Youdda prollem with me?”

The man turned and straightened, once more running his hand through his trimmed hair before sliding it into the pocket of his blue denim jeans. “No, ma’am. Please enjoy your drink.”

“Oh noo. Pleaseee enlighten me. Why can’t I attend another bar?” I slid off the stool, squaring him off while he looked away. After talking to Antonio, everything pushed me towards the extreme. “Is there a Bridesmaid Code I’m breakin?”

His smile warmed my insides, tickled my senses. It might have been the alcohol.

“I’m sorry for what I said.” He leaned away slightly. “I don’t believe in disturbing someone who’s drinking by themselves.”

“Great! A man o’ principles. So whzzdoyou bel…believe in?”

“I’d tell you but…” With narrowed gaze, he flashed a smirk. “Your state indicates you need water, not words.”

“So sober I am.”

“Walk then, Yoda. In a straight line.”

There was something about alcohol and dares. No matter how timid a person was, when Dutch courage flowed through the bloodstream one could even fight a Viking. Instead, all I had to do was walk.

“I bett..er get a trophy for this.”

Placing my sparkling Jimmy Choos into his outstretched hands, I set about the task.

Arms outstretched, I walked across the sticky bar floor as though it was a tightrope. With every step, my vision blurred in and out. As if in a daze, I stumbled around, unsure of whether I was actually even walking.

“Careful,” the stranger’s words hovered over my shoulders. “You don’t have to do this.”

Then why challenge me?

Drawing a deep breath, I blinked until my vision cleared and my steps aligned over the imaginary straight line. I walked to the end of the wall.

Ka-shhh.

Someone clutched my elbows, arresting my next step. I blinked at the reality of broken glasses and empty beer bottles spread out on the floor before me.

“Are you alright?” My challenger turned me around, looking over my shoulder.

“Zee.” Gabe’s voice came from behind the bar. “Move away. You’re barefoot.”

I nodded at him, moving in tandem with the hazed, dancing figure of the stranger. Before he could deliver another speech, my pride took over.

“It’s dim lights… not me drunk…”

“Sure, blame the lights,” he said. “Let’s get you sober before you crash and burn the whole place down.”

“Me not going anywhere.”

“With the amount of alcohol you’ve had, you’re bound to make bad decisions.”

“Including coming with you. So, don’t mind but can I havemystilettos back, pleassseee?”

“You can have your circus freak footwear back once you’re sober. I assure you, I mean no harm.”

“Hee…llo, twentieth century. It’s me, the new Ted Bundy.”

“You think I look like Ted?”

“Sure sound like one.”

“Fine.” He fished his wallet and curled his driver’s license into my hand. “That’s genuine. Call and ask if you want.”

The abysmal looking card with crinkled edges, peeled lamination, and something sticky like it was glued back together rested in my palm. Leonardo Brenton. The name sounded familiar.

My eyes widened, feeling liable to pop out of their sockets.

“Are you… a… a member of the Brenton family? Are you here togetme?”

Leonardo, who had been scrutinizing my shoes, gazed at me grinning. “Ah, of course. Dave Brenton, the merciless Patriarch commands me to ensure any female that steps foot into this establishment should be taken back to his pleasure palace.”

“You could have just said no.”

After a brief pause, Leonardo wiped his face. “You can pass my ID to Gabe, you know, just in case the police need to trace me for your murder.”

“Bahaha. Murder jokes are not funny.”

“Coming from someone who’s fixated on Bundy.” A smile, slow at first and then full-fledged, rounded his cheeks. “Come with me to the roof.”

My feet were cemented into the slippery wooden flooring. My body resisted Leonardo’s soft tug, and I glanced at Gabe, placing the ID on an empty table.

He nodded in affirmation. Still, for a second that lapsed, my brain fired up interrogations.

Where are we going? Is this what sober Zemira would do?

Some questions needn’t be answered.

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Where do you think Leo is taking Zemira?

Comment your weirdest imagination and let me know your answer. I would love to hear from you all…