“Where in the world did you learn to sew?” I ask flabbergasted.
“Prison.” He winks. There’s the guy I’ve grown to love.
Wait a second, did I just say love? Ha! Not a possibility. At least I didn’t say it out loud.
He pulls me to my feet to inspect me. “Perfect,” he says and I feel that way. “Grab your sunglasses, Mrs. Pitt.”
“Why thank you, Mr. Pitt.” I laugh as he leads me out into the night.
****
We walk arm in arm toward the restaurant. Keeping my breathing even, that’s my focus, but I fail. First off, I’m convinced that if we’re caught we’re going straight to prison no passing go no collecting two hundred dollars. Second, I’m walking too close to Brad Pitt’s actual twin. Any girl would feel nervous right now, except for he is kind of cocky and rude sometimes. Remember, I tell myself, it’s still Preston.
People stop eating as we enter the restaurant. I lock eyes with Kristin before looking down. Oh no. I know she notices me, she can tell. My face feels on fire as I look up again. But this time Kristin’s face is hiding excitement and pure celebrity awe. If my best friend can’t tell it's me, we’re safe.
Preston asks the waiter if we can please sit outside. We’re led by a few tables of people who either pull out their camera phones or choke on their food. I hold in a chuckle as we sit at the table outside. The waiter is visibly shaking as he pours us each a glass of the “best red wine in Maui”, as he so humbly put it and hands us our menus.
“This is weird,” I say through my smile to Preston.
“Right?” He replies taking a sip of his wine. “Wow, he wasn’t kidding about this being the best red wine in Maui.”
“We should do this the rest of the week.” His eyes darken. He puts down his wine and the gauntlet, watching me the entire time as I nearly choke with laughter.
“We’ll get caught!” I say.
“You mean to tell me this hasn’t been the most exciting night of your life?”
Rolling my eyes I reply, “Okay, fine it’s been fun, but I’m too small for prison. They’ll eat me alive in there.”
“I would,” Preston answers as he motions for the waiter.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I seethe.
“You’ll see,” he says rather gruffly before ordering for us. We decided before we left to let him do the talking since my voice would be a dead giveaway.
Dinner is quite pleasant and uneventful. That is until, “Hi! Um, like I saw you guys out at the pool. Do you, like, remember me from before?”
“Oh, how could we forget?” Preston answers annoyed. “You’re the one who doesn’t know geography.”
I choke on my water.
“Oh, well,” she says twisting her hair around her finger. “It’s like, why would I even care when I have GSP?”
“You mean GPS?” Preston asks.
“Yeah, whatever. So look...” The girl is now rather close to us and let's her voice go down into a whisper. “I know you guys are, like, famous and all and whatever, but we’re having this, like, party at our room, and it would be super awesome if you could stop by.” She drops a piece of paper on the table with her room number and saunters off.
“I fear for America,” I say as he picks up the piece of paper.
“To our future.” Preston laughs as he lifts his wine glass to mine in a toast. Grinning, I think back on the odd day we’ve just experienced.
“Um, sorry to bother you,” the waiter says as he approaches our table. “But these were sent over for you, compliments of them.” He points to Kristin and Brad as he takes two glasses of champagne off his tray.
“There’s also a card.”
I look at Preston and stifle a smile as he reads the card aloud, “From your biggest fans.”
I burst into laughter, but quickly feel bad as I see the hurt expression on Kristin’s face. So I pick up my champagne glass and make a toast to her. She returns the toast with a giant smile.
“They’re going kill us when they find out, “I say through clenched teeth.
“Who says we’re going to tell?” Preston smiles as he pays the bill. He has cash on him so we didn’t have to worry about debit cards with the wrong names. That would be a fun headline: Brad Pitt – Identity Thief.
All of a sudden I hear clanking around the restaurant and turn to see everyone hitting their drinks with pieces of silverware and looking towards us.
“They want us to kiss,” Preston says, laughing.
“What do you mean? Why?” I’m now in a full state of panic.
“I don’t know, but that’s what the clanking means. Are you going to let down your fans or accept the challenge, Miss Angelina?”
“Watch this," I say with bravery I never knew I possessed. I throw down my napkin, march over where Preston is sitting, and pull him by his shirt toward my face. I don’t hesitate before crushing my lips across his, using all the experience I have to make this the best kiss he’s ever received. I was ready for my own reaction. I mean, the boy can kiss, but what I’m ready for is his response to my little public display.
Instead of letting me go and releasing the kiss early, Preston pulls me into his lap and kisses me harder than I’ve ever been kissed in my entire life. And every part of me wants to hate it, but instead I find I feel warm and tingly all over. It has to be the champagne; although, now that I think about it, I only had a sip.
He releases me, his green eyes smolder, and he whispers into my ear, “Told you so.”
“What?” I’m breathless.
“I told you so. That you’d kiss me before the end of the vacation.”
“That doesn’t count,” I say, trying to keep the smile on my face.
“Does to,” he argues.
“Does not!” I say louder, and then realize everyone is still staring. Leaning forward, I kiss him again on the cheek and then saunter back over to my side of the table. “It was for the people. Not for you.”
“Weird. Because that kiss felt like it was for you.” He clasps my hand within his and leads me down the stairs onto the beach.
“Nope. I’m a good actress, remember? Golden Globe nominated."
“Are you sure about that?”
No, I'm not quite sure. Did she win? I shake my head and sit down in the sand. I need these painful shoes off now.
Preston sighs and helps me with the strap, which is caught on my dress. He pulls off both shoes and then hands them to me. I snatch them from his clutches and watch as the waves loudly crash onto the shore.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, looking at the majestic ocean.
“I agree,” Preston answers as I turn to meet his face, only he isn’t staring at the ocean.
“Smooth,” I say, lifting an eyebrow. “Exactly how many movies have I seen the male lead do that? Oh, let me think. All of them.” I’m now pointing at him with my finger.
“Says the girl whose being wooed,” Preston replies as he scoots closer to me.
“That,” I say, continuing my judgmental point. “Wasn’t wooing. That was stealing. Be original.” I cross my arms. Wait, it sounds like I just ask him to pursue me.
“Your wish is my command.” Preston jumps to his feet and trots toward the wetter sand.
“What are you doing?” I yell. Apparently, I'm going to have to chase after him if I want to know.
“I’m going to build you a castle,” he answers as if it’s a normal response.
“No, you’re not,” I say panicking.
“Yes, I think I am. I just need to find a good place. Though, I can’t start on it now what with me not having a bucket and all, but don’t you worry. By the end of the trip you’ll have your castle.” He looks pleased with this idea. A tear spills down my cheek. I turn to walk away, but he catches me.
“Amanda, I was kidding. I don’t have to build you a castle.” He looks concerned as he notices my tears.
Embarrassed, I turn my head and try to hide the emotion now ravaging my face. “It’s not your fault. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” I sit in a huff on the sand.
“Castles make you cry?” Preston interjects. “No. That’s normal for a girl, right?” He nudges me with his elbow making me laugh.
“It’s just,” I start to explain. “My dad used to call me his little princess. We went to the beach every year. Seaside Oregon was the spot,” I say laughing at the memory. Preston listens intently as I continue. “We had lots of traditions, but one of them while we were at the beach was to build a sandcastle. I’d look forward to it every year. Not just because of the castle, though he rocked it.” I laughed. “But it was special to have time with him. He always told me that the man I marry better know how to build sandcastles or else.” I roll my eyes in remembrance. “When he died, the trip was already booked. My mom thought it would be good for us to go in honor of him.”
I push myself off the ground and begin to walk, knowing Preston will follow. “I built him a sandcastle.” Shrugging, I turn to Preston. “I build him one every year. I want to think he can see it from Heaven. So, that’s why sandcastles make me cry. You must think I’m emotionally unstable. You can say it.” My eyes rise to meet his gaze, and I notice he has tears in his eyes.
Preston pulls me into his chest and let's me cry. It’s not until I open my eyes that I realize he’s led me all the way back to our room. Without a word, he draws a warm bath for me in the tub and leaves. I force myself to remember that he annoys me, but it’s hard to feel irritated when he’s so good at comforting me.
Who is this guy? There’s no way I can figure him out, but at this moment there’s nowhere I’d rather be than with him.
After a long bath, I sink into bed with dreams of sandcastles floating around in my head. Sandcastles and a certain someone who offered to build me one. Someone who is both the most irritating and the most handsome man on the planet.
Chapter Twelve
I wake up the following morning with a pounding headache that is not remedied by the loud coffee grinding going on in the kitchen. I open my door and growl as I see Preston making coffee and pulling pastries out of the oven. What so he cooks, too?
“Morning, sunshine! Get in a fight with a semi truck?” Preston says as I sink into the bar stool. I let out a low grunt before holding my hand out for coffee.
“Bite me,” I say before I take my first sip.
“That can be arranged.” He smiles as he hands me a hot pastry.
“You’re like Diet Pepsi,” I say.
“Um, I prefer being compared to things like wine, but okay, Diet Pepsi it is,” he says sitting down next to me. I can’t help that my voice is extremely low in the morning, so I just go for it.
“Fine wine means you get better with age, Diet Pepsi is the beverage that pretends to be something else, but actually it’s just pop,” I say, meeting his gaze.
“I’m sorry, do you always talk theology in the morning?” He shakes his head. “We’ll have to fix that when we get married.”