Find Me Alastar

“Get this.” She rolls her eyes for effect. “He said he loved the movie night and maybe we should have

another one on Saturday night.”

My eyes widen as I chew my thumb.

“And Willow said that Brielle doesn’t work on Saturday nights.”

I frown.

“And he said, I know. I want her to not feel obliged to watch movies with us.”

I narrow my yes. “What’s that code for?” I ask.

“That’s code for I want to use your foot to masturbate me again, but I want you to choose whether

you want to do it or not, because you are not on the payroll during that time.”

I frown. “Shit. What did you say?”

She shakes her stupid head. “I said I want to watch movies all weekend, like a fucking loser.”

I laugh out loud and clink my glass. “You should take the pesky kids back to grandma’s and watch a

different type of movie.”

“I should,” she mutters dryly.

I sip my wine as I think. “You should get a pedicure tomorrow.”

She smirks. “Pedi and laser already booked.”

Alastar reenters the room and puts an old pair of gloves onto the bench.

“You found some then?” I ask as I pick them up. “Oh, these are old.” I smile as I hold them in my

hands. This would be annoying him no end. He has to have the best of everything. The gloves are old and

worn and have orange paint dripped down the pinky finger and onto the back of the right hand. “What’s

the orange paint from?” Brielle asks.

“I painted a background set once with them on,” he replies unamused.

“What time will you be home?” I ask.

Alastar shrugs and he pulls me into his arms. “Not soon enough. Hopefully about three.” He kisses me

quickly. “Lets go, I’m going to be late.”

The restaurant is dark and lit only with lanterns and candles. It’s Italian and gorgeous. It’s so nice

spending time with Brell. I have missed her. Alastar is consuming every waking thought of mine. It’s like

he’s been in my life forever and I can’t remember what life was like without him.

“Now, tell me about your weekend?” She smiles.

“Well, we went to meet his parents in Ireland.”

Her eyes light up. “What’s Ireland like?”

“Like something on a postcard. It’s absolutely beautiful.”

She smiles as the waiter brings our drinks. “What are his family like?”

“Gorgeous, just like Thomas.”

“How is Thomas?” she asks. “I haven’t heard from him in a few weeks.”

I narrow my eyes. “What’s going on with you two?”

She shrugs. “Nothing. He’s on the reserves bench.”

I smile broadly as I watch her, my chin resting on my hand.

“What?” She smirks.

“Will you listen to us? You have a guy-an old, hot guy wanking off with your foot. You have a

gorgeous, young, hilarious Irish guy on the bench. You have a masturbation movie night coming up on the

weekend. I went to a magical weekend in Ireland to meet the parents of my boyfriend, and then Alastar

whisked me away to a medieval castle and asked me to marry him.”

He eyes widen. “What the fuck?” she whispers. “He asked you to marry him?” Her eyes are nearly

pop from their sockets. “You didn’t say yes did you?” She gasps, horrified.

Oh, my heart drops. That wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for. “Of course not,” I lie. “I told him that

we will have to wait and see for a few months.”

The waiter brings us our main meals of Fettuccini.

“Thank you,” we both reply.

She puts her hand on her heart. “Thank fucking God. I thought you had totally lost your mind.”

I smile because, quite frankly, it’s the most wonderful mind fuck in history. “I am moving in with him,

though,” I reply casually.

She frowns as she wraps her pasta round her fork. “Emerson, you have known him for, like, twelve

weeks, and he was a fucking twat for eight of those. Don’t you think you are rushing it?” She shovels her

food into her mouth.

I watch her as I hold my cutlery in my hand. She’s right, to the outside world this does seemText © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

ridiculous. I’m not telling her about this weekend, she will totally freak out and try to change my mind. I

will tell her when I am already his wife.

“I did have a weird thing happen to me at this castle we went to,” I mutter on my food, changing the

subject.

“What was the castle?” she asks.

“Ashford Castle.”

“I’ve never been to a castle.” She smiles.

I shake my head. “Oh, it’s so beautiful there, Brell. You would not believe it. You should ask the foot

wanker to take you.”

“Huh. What a joke. He doesn’t talk to me unless it’s with his dick through clothes.” She shakes her

head in disgust at herself as she wraps her fettuccine around her fork. “God, I’m a loser,” she mutters

around her fork.

I smile sympathetically as I watch her. “What was the weird thing?” she asks.

“Me and Twinkle had dinner and he asked me to marry him.”