The Layers of His Mask

4. Why You Should Never Let Your Brother Pick a Restaurant...Ever

"So, what have you been up to lately?" I ask, fumbling around in the linen closet for some sheets and a few blankets.

My brother sits on the couch drinking a beer as I continue searching for bedding for him. I don't have an extra bed for him to sleep in, so he gets the luxury of sleeping on my couch - which unfortunately for him has seen better days.

"Just the usual," He says, taking another sip of his beer.

He's been like this ever since I picked him up from the airport. Dodging my questions and shrugging noncommittally. I can't get anything out of him.

"How is the job going?" My hands finally find an old woolen blanket and I walk back to the living room triumphantly. "You still working at McNair's?" McNair's is one of the most reputable law firms in South Carolina, or so I've been told by Timothy.

"It's fine. I'm fine. Everything is fine, Rebecca," he admits, a distinct edge rising in his voice.

I've said something to make him angry. Great, we've hardly been in the same room for two hours and I'm already ruining things.

My face falls and even though I try to cover it up quickly with a smile, I can tell he notices because he says, "Look, it was a long flight. I'm just feeling a little jet-lagged, I guess. Sorry that I'm being so cranky. How about I take a nap and then after I wake up, we go out to dinner or something?"

South Carolina is only four hours away by car...

"Okay," I say, handing the blankets over to him and getting off the couch. "But if you ever want to - " I have shifted back into protective sister mode.

"I know, I know. I can talk to you." He smiles so that I know he's joking, and he grabs a pillow from the other side and places it behind his head. "Thanks for letting me crash here."

"Oh, shut up," I say, ruffling up his hair like I always used to do when we were kids. "You know you're always welcome here."

I walk back to my room and put in a movie. Thirty minutes into You've Got Mail and I'm already fast asleep. When Timothy comes in and wakes me three hours later, it's almost six o'clock. "Oh crap, I didn't realize I slept that long," I croak, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

"Sorry, I just woke up myself. If you don't wanna go out that's fine, we can just order in."

"No, I wanna go out. I've been practically stuck in this house all week."

"No one told you to waste your life away in here," he teases, leaning against the white wooden frame of my doorway.

"It's not like I had a choice," I mumble.

"Really? I don't see anyone besides you here who can potentially deprive you of your 'choices'," he says mockingly, looking around.

I scowl at him. "Do you really want to waste time arguing here and miss going out for dinner?"

He just grins as he says, "Well, the only difference would be my wallet would still be heavy if you're making us dinner."

"You wish, it'll be less than that amount if you make me cook. Your choice."

He throws his hands up in mock surrender and exits the room, leaving me with a grin that would put the Cheshire Cat to shame. Hey, could blame me?

I am happy my brother is back to how he usually is instead of the grumpy one he was a few hours ago. I really did miss my brother and it felt really nice to have him and our bickering back.

With a grin still plastered on my face, I make my way to get dressed a little more decently - rather, more suited to a place fancier than my bedroom.

When I am done, I spot Timothy on the living room couch dressed not so bad himself. I sigh internally, thankful that he isn't in some suit for a fancy dinner. I am way too under-dressed for that sort of dinner, and I am in no mood to re-dress either.

I walk towards him, deliberately making my steps louder so he can hear. I must do a good job because he turns toward me when I am but a few steps behind the couch.

"Finally! Took you long enough," he teases, hopping up from the couch.

I narrow my eyes at him in an attempt to make myself look angry. Dead fail. I end up smiling sheepishly and wave my hand towards the door.

"Shall we, then?"

He answers with a thumbs-up on both hands and heads toward the door.

"You're driving," he demands, looking over his shoulder with a smirk which soon turns into a confused frown, "Where's your handbag?"

"Who says I'm paying?" I sass as I walk out the door. He joins me soon enough, laughing while I lock the door.

"Aren't you supposed to treat your guests more generously?" He raises a confused eyebrow.

"One, you're no guest. You're family that just went MIA for two years. So, technically - you owe me."

I watch as a look of...- remorse?! - or something of the sort flashes across his face. And I can visibly see him closing down, returning to the way he was earlier. Oh, no. I can't let that happen! Not when I was just beginning to feel happy that he was cheerful.

So, I add hastily, "And two, I am being generous. Don't accuse me." I give him a right-lipped glare.

He is - for a moment - out of his thought process and looks at me confused and accuses, "Of course, you're not generous! You're making your brother pay!"

It is working!

"I am being generous...to myself. And I'm not making you pay. You're just doing it because you are the sweet brother that you are," I grin cheekily.

An amused smirk appears on his face as he says, "Okay, that was both lame and stupid."

Still got you from being moody. Mission accomplished.

"Doesn't matter," I reply, happily.

We have now reached my car and we get in laughing. Once we are on the highway, I stop our bickering when I realize I don't have a place in mind and have no clue where I am heading.

Real smart. Real mature.

"Hey, Tim? Did you have any place in mind?"

"You mean you don't know where you're headed?" He breaks out laughing, "I know I shouldn't have asked you to drive!"

I throw a glare at him and return my eyes to the road ahead saying, "You didn't tell me." It was more of an accusation than a reasoning.

"Again, your fault. Shoulda asked," he smiles smugly. And before I can retort and throw something at him, he cuts in, "How about there? I don't remember going there."

I look ahead to where he is pointing, and my eyes pop out of their sockets. How did I manage to drive here? My eyes remain fixated on the illuminating blue and white sign.

"Yeah, let's go there!" He urges with finality.

Right ahead past the junction, looming over all other buildings and looking like a definite eye-catcher is the building that despite its exquisite appearance managed to be the last place I want to be in right now.

Romano's.

***

Fifteen minutes later, we are finally seated at one of the pristine tables in the restaurant at the center - the delay having to do with us not making a prior appointment. Not my words. Though I wonder how the delay was not long enough to be considered a delay.

One of the waiters arrives at our table, handing us menus while trying to conceal a look of pure disgust at our improper attire and failing at it greatly. Seeing that everyone else was dressed at least moderately fancily while we were in our denims, he is justified. I had just completely forgotten that this was how it was with my brother, he hardly bothers suiting up for a dinner, it just depends on his mood. Ultimately, he has to be comfortable, satisfied and happy - yes, even with his clothes.

As a matter of fact, I used to be that way too. I wonder when that had changed, though. Perhaps the two years without my brother did alter me. Damn, I had missed him!

I try to be as enthusiastic and normal as possible to avoid unnecessary interrogation by my brother - hey, I was already here thanks to that reason, or rather, fear. And it was not like I was about to come across him now, right? I mean, what are the chances? You don't see the chef wandering about every night - you just eat, pay and leave. Which was just about what was going to happen tonight. Yep, that was just about it.

Sounds more like you're trying to convince yourself there, miss.

I swear I'm gonna kill my conscience one day.

I shrug at my inner-voice's remark and decide that to simply enjoy the time with my brother - and the brilliant food and extravagant ambience, as an added bonus, of course.

Thankfully, my brother hasn't yet noticed anything odd with me, as he has become oh so engrossed in the restaurant's elegance and beauty. Yeah, even I have to give it that - Romano's is truly a masterpiece. When our drinks arrive, he finally remembers he has company and returns his attention to me, by which time I am completely composed.

Score, there.

We made up our minds to order Chicken Cordon Bleu and Filet Mignon. We place our orders to the waiter, who is apparently still not over our slight wardrobe misplacement and still has a look of dislike plastered on his face. But, hey, it's not like we're horrible people and it isn't wrong either to dress as you wish to a place where you pay them. There isn't any dress-code here and he is, I'm sure, definitely not allowed to judge his patrons.

Perhaps, his face is just twisted like that since time immemorial and it has nothing to do with what we wore? And that is exactly when my brother decides to bring me back to Earth.

"Why do you look like you wish that waiter would burn up in flames any second now?"

I am?

"You should have seen the look on his face," I grumble, turning to look at my brother instead of the retreating back of the waiter.

"What did he have an ugly mustache?" he jokes, taking a sip of red wine.

"No. The douche was looking at us like we don't belong here."

"Ignore him," he tells me, shrugging, nonchalance dripping in his voice.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

By the time our food arrives my brother has had about two and a half glasses of wine and it doesn't appear to have fazed him at all. Then again, in alcohol awareness class I learned that men can hold their liquor a lot better than most women. I find that to be true when it comes to my brother and I. If I would have consumed those three glasses, I probably would have been passed out cold on the table in a pool of my own drool.

"Oh my God, that looks delicious. Can I taste a piece?" I'm about to pierce his steak with my fork when he swats it away, irritation clear on his face.

"Eat your own damn food, that's why you ordered it." He begins to use his knife, slicing into the tender steak. It practically falls apart.

I keep my eyes trained on his plate, slice after slice until it's covered in it. I swoop in and snatch a piece off his plate when he reaches to take a sip of his wine.

Satisfaction and victory.

I grin at him while I chew on the well-seasoned piece of meat, savoring every bite. He sends me a look of annoyance before digging into his own plate. "That steak was delicious by the way," I mumble, finishing off the last of the steak in my mouth.

"Enjoy it," he says, "I'm raiding your freshly stocked fridge tomorrow."

"You wouldn't," I challenge, narrowing my eyes at him.

"Oh, I would," he retorts, devilish grin in place as he rips off a piece of steak with his teeth and chews it viciously.

Tim doesn't take me stealing from his plate lightly. When I get up to go to the bathroom and come back the remainder of my Chicken Cordon Bleu is devoured and so is the rest of my white wine. Tim is sitting there rubbing his well-fed belly, smiling at me, while I stare at him, shocked that he actually finished off the rest of my food.

"Thanks, I wasn't going to eat that or anything," I mutter.

"You're welcome," he nods, raising a brow.

The waiter returns after our little stare down and collects our empty plates and glasses. He returns once more. "Can I get you anything for dessert?"

"Nah, I think we're - "

"Actually, yes," I interrupt, glancing down at the dessert menu. "I'll have some of the tiramisu cheesecake." I hand the menu back to him and with a nod he tells us he'll be back shortly.

I place my crossed arms atop the table and give my brother the biggest grin I can manage. "Is this how we are doing this?" he asks in a laughing tone.

"Yep," I reply, popping the p.

He leans up in his seat and I recognize a sly grin appearing on his face. I don't like that look. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and clears his throat. "Didn't you tell me that a certain person named Alex Brooks is the head chef of a restaurant around here?"

"No," I answer quickly, taking a sip of my Sprite. Maybe this will keep my mouth busy and I can avoid his question.

"You're a horrible liar, you know, that right?" he smirks.

"Please don't do this Tim." my brows crease together in panic. "Please, please don't." I'm practically begging him now. If the fear of embarrassment and panic wasn't crippling me, I'd get on my hands and knees right now.

"I wonder if he's working tonight?" He says, smiling devilishly. "Should I go find out?"

My eyes become as wide as saucers and panic seeps throughout my entire body.

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, I think we both know that I would, sis." He cracks his knuckles, trying to look tough.

"Timothy, if you go around this restaurant asking for Alex - "

"You called?" s**t. s**t. s**t. I turn around to find the devil himself standing behind me, a toothy grin on his face.

"Alex," I say as cool and sharp as ice. We glare at each other for a few seconds and my brother's face breaks out into a huge smile. Good to know that all you need to make Timothy happy is making his sister miserable. That's nice.

"Timothy Daniels." My brother extends his hand cordially to Alex when it becomes clear that I am certainly not going to make the introduction.

"Alex Brooks," he responds, shaking his hand casually.

"Yeah, I recognized you from my sisters very, very thorough description of you."

"You told your brother about me?" he asks, layering his arms and c*****g an amused brow.

"No. What?" I ask, incredulously. I lean over to smack my brother hard on the arm. "He's just got a very sprightly imagination. Trust me, we have much more important things to do than waste our time talking about you."

"I find that hard to believe," He states, tilting his head.

"Don't believe it dude. She talks about you non-stop," Timothy adds, chugging down the last of his burgundy wine.

"You know I ordered some tiramisu cheesecake a while ago and it still hasn't come yet. Maybe you should go fix that, Alex," I sweetly suggest, batting my lashes at him. I need to get my brother away from Alex or it's going to be a very painfully awkward night.

He narrows his eyes at me and walks back to the kitchen without a single glance back at us. Yes, victory! I think, patting myself on the back triumphantly.

"You're no fun..." Timothy complains.

"Quite the contrary, I am the definition of it," I say, smiling.

"What were we talking about again?" Alex, holding three plates of tiramisu cheesecake, has materialized out of thin air and is reaching out to grab the seat next to me.

What the f**k?

"You can't sit with us." I say, grabbing a plate of tiramisu cheesecake and forking a big bite into my mouth.

"That's strange because it appears that what's I'm doing right now." Alex grabs a tiny bite of the cheesecake and pops it into his mouth, taking his sweet time chewing it. He then brings those same fingers and licks the trail of chocolate from them, keeping my gaze the entire time. What a smart-ass. And why do I find him licking chocolate off himself surprisingly hot?

"Don't you have a job to do?" I stare daggers at him. I don't think this man would be able to take a hint if it smacked him on the head and knocked him over.

"Nope. I'm good." He smiles at me cheekily and I resist the urge to smack it right off his face.

I exhale a deep breath and bury my face in my folded arms on the table. "Can you just, go away?" I say, my muffled voice barely being audible.

"Timothy, do you mind if I speak to your sister alone?" I hear Alex say. My head snaps up.

Why does he feel the need to talk to me? There isn't really anything that we need to discuss.

"Uh, I guess. Don't try anything dude, or I will hunt you down." he points an accusing finger at him, and his eyes turn to slits before he walks to the front lobby of the restaurant.

I watch as he leaves and then turn my attention to the towering man in front of me. "What is it Alex?" I ask, feeling partially drained at this point. "What could you possibly want to tell me right now? I'm really not up for the whole back and forth thing today."

"I wanted to...apologize...for my crude behavior," he reveals. I can't believe what exactly is coming through my ears. I can tell he has a hard time saying those words by the long pauses he put in between.

"I mean isn't that part of your whole...thing?" I ask, waving my hand up and down the length of him. "Your whole 'I could care less' vibe you got going on."

"It's not easy for me you know. It's not easy for me to...express myself the way you do."

"It's not hard at all, Alex. You just tell me how you feel, and I tell you how I feel," I say, placing my hand on my chest.

C

He lowers his head and smirks, running a hand over his hair before returning his stare to me. "If only it were that easy, Rebecca."

***

"What were you and that Alex guy talking about?" Tim inquires as we lounge on my couch, watching reruns of The Walking Dead.

"Nothing really. He was just apologizing for being an ass." I grab a handful of popcorn and stuff them into my mouth.

"I mean, what, are you guys going out or trying to?"

"No. Hell no."

"That dude was trying pretty hard. You gotta give him some credit."

I look to him and shove his arm playfully. "How about no credit."

He swivels in his seat to face me. "You like him," he says, a sly smile plastered on his face.

I snort. "No." I grab another handful of popcorn and stuff it into my mouth.

"Whatever you say. I won't be surprised if five months down the road you two are like moved in together or something."

"That, my dear brother, will never happen. And why are we even talking about me moving in with some random guy anyway? You are supposed to dread the very idea of me living with a man." He shrugs.

Maybe there is some part of me deep, deep, deep down - I'm talking about The Paris Catacombs - that wills that statement to be true. But then there is also this small part of me that is absolutely repulsed by him and wants to sneak into his bedroom at night and smother him with a really thick cotton stuffed pillow.

I don't know, maybe if I can chip away at just one small layer of his mask, I can get to know the person he is instead of the person he wants me to see.