His Plus One by Winter Gemissant Page A

then-girlfriend Lark.  Apparently he’d tried numerous ways at all sorts of locations they just happened to visit, but would lose his nerve at the last minute each time, and finally ended up surprising her in the kitchen of their apartment.
     
    “We ate really well that night at Casa Everett,” Marcus had winked. 
     
    “Where’s that?” Samantha had asked, politely following along in the conversation even though truthfully, she wasn’t particularly interested.  Maybe if she knew Lark...but as it stood, she was really only interested in Marcus, and she wasn’t so stupid as to think that was a good idea, even if he did have wonderful hazel eyes and had ordered the same drink she did almost at the time same when they had first arrived.  Samantha couldn’t help it if she admired what she considered to be good taste -- that good taste being her taste, specifically.
     
    “Our kitchen,” Marcus said, as though he thought maybe she hadn’t heard the story the first time, but Samantha shook her head.
     
    “No, not where you proposed, I mean Casa Everett.  I haven’t heard of it.  Is it new?”
     
    “My last name is Everett,” Marcus patiently explained, shooting a look to Tom.  “Way to introduce us, Tom.”
     
    Tom had simply shrugged. 
     
    Now, standing in the bedroom, waiting for Samantha to finish getting ready, she knew not much more about Marcus Everett than she had the night she’d met him that first night at the bar.  And she knew even less about this Lark.  Well, at any rate, she thought, at least I’ll look good and there’s an open bar.
     
    “Coming,” she sang, and together they were on their way.
     

 
     
    2.
     
    The large beach house mentioned on the invitation for the wedding was really more like a massive beach mansion.  Samantha hadn’t pegged Marcus to be particularly flush with cash when she’d first met him, but now, standing on the large wraparound porch, feasting her eyes on the miles of sand and sun and waves lapping at the shore that was practically at the front door of the mansion, she had to admit that she may have underestimated him.  What was more, it seemed as though the beach house -- mansion -- was owned by someone in the family. 
     
    Tom let the heavy ornate lion’s head knocker fall back against the enormous wooden door.  It was Marcus who answered, grinning broadly as he ushered the couple into the house -- mansion -- with a beckoning wave of his hand.  In the other, Samantha realized he held a beer.  Good , she thought to herself.  Where there’s one, there are bound to be more!   And she like that Marcus didn’t seem particularly uptight on his wedding day, hiding himself away or being ordered around.  Instead, he casually leaned against the bar in the sunlit kitchen, the early afternoon light catching his hair and making his hazel eyes bright.
     
    “I’ll go get the bags,” Tom said after a few moments spent picking at the cheese platter that sat on the island.  That left just Marcus and Samantha standing together in the kitchen. 
     
    “Beer?  No, wait, you drink mojitos, don’t you?” Marcus asked, then corrected himself immediately.  “Mojito?” 
     
    Samantha adjusted her necklace self-consciously, aware that she might be flushing a little.  He had remembered.  “Not exclusively, no.  Just when I’m feeling indecisive.  But yes, I’ll have one please,” she said, horrified by how awkward her reply sounded.  She was normally quite adept at this sort of small talk, but something about Marcus just completely unnerved her.  She had been in the presence of many grooms before -- that is, the poor saps some brides dragged to dress fittings with them for only god knows why -- and hadn’t ever felt awkward around off-limits territory like that, but as Marcus worked on her drink at the island, she couldn’t help but watch at the way the sunlight dappled the slight waves in his hair, and at the way his fingers muddled the