Meant to Marry Me

"Man, that's bullshit," Hank was saying as he and Bree walked home. The streets were a little crowded around the club, but once they got closer to the resort, there were less people, and Bree felt herself sobering up with the beach air in her lungs.

"I mean, I guess I can't blame her for being upset. I'd be upset if my fiancé was dancing with someone else, too. I guess."

"No you wouldn't, not if it was a friend from high school. Besides, it's not like Monica doesn't dance with other guys." He muttered something under his breath that Bree didn't understand, but she thought he said something along the lines of "and worse." She didn't question it, though, because she felt like Hank was more upset about the situation now than she was.

They walked a bit further, the streetlights casting a glow on the sidewalk and street making them shine, as if it had rained, though Bree knew it hadn't. It was a pleasant night outside of the club. She shouldn't have even gone, but Hank had been so insistent. "Do you think... do you think she knows?" Maybe it was the alcohol that made her courageous enough to pose the question. Once it was out of her mouth, she wished she hadn't asked. She didn't want to hear the answer. "Knows what? That you wrote the song she's requested you sing at her wedding for her fiancé? Come on, Bree. No one is dumb enough to request you sing a song you wrote for their fiancé at their own damn wedding. No, she doesn't know." Bree rolled her eyes as they walked through the entrance to the resort. "No, I mean, do you think she knows that I have... had feelings for Trent?" Again, she'd have to blame the booze for that mess up. Maybe Hank was too drunk to have caught it.

No such luck. "Was that present tense or past tense?"

Not wanting to answer the question, she said, "I'm just saying, Monica doesn't seem to like me much. For someone who is allegedly a fan and wanted me to sing at her wedding, she seems a little put out that I'm even here." Hank let out a soft chuckle. "No, that's just how she is."

"To everyone?" Bree questioned, headed up the walkway to her room. "I don't think so. I've never seen her talk to her bridesmaids like that." "That's different. Those two are also models, and she has a different level of respect for them than she does all other human beings."

"Models or aspiring models?" Bree didn't mean to sound rude. It was just her understanding that Monica hadn't quite made it to that level yet, the "professional model" level she was reaching for. Not that Bree was one to talk. She hadn't made it big yet either.

"I think Monica's doing pretty good for herself. She's done a lot of shoots, just not at a national level. She'll make it, though. Not only does she look and act like a model, she's determined, and that goes a long way."

It wasn't lost on Bree that Hank was defending Monica, though he wasn't sure why. None of this was making much sense to her. She decided not to say any more to him about her, though. "Are we still going to the beach tomorrow? Volleyball at eight?"

"Hell, yeah. It's only a little after twelve. We still have time to drink in the room a little while and get enough rest to kick everyone's asses tomorrow."

Bree laughed politely, but she hoped he didn't mean he wanted to come into her room to drink. She hadn't checked to see if there was anything in the mini-bar she'd even want to drink, but even if there was, she thought she'd had enough to drink for one night. "Okay. Well, I guess I'll see you bright and early then. There's no... breakfast or anything?"

"Not that I know of. I figure I'll call room service. Wanna join me? Around seven?"

"Gosh, I think I'll just eat a protein bar or something," Bree said, hoping she didn't hurt his feelings. She didn't want to eat a heavy breakfast and then go out on the hot sand and try to move around. She'd never been much of an athlete anyway, so playing volleyball was going to be a struggle as it was. Hank was a personal trainer, though, so it would be nothing for him to eat a huge meal and then go out to the beach and play sports for hours.

"All right. Well, if you change your mind, give me a call." They were at her room now, and Hank wrapped his muscular arms around her before he turned to go.

Bree went into her room, certain she wouldn't change her mind, and thinking she needed to talk to someone about how oddly Hank had been acting--but who? She'd been so busy with her career in the last few years, she hadn't had time for friends. Obviously, Lilly was busy and too close to the situation to be objective anyway.

It suddenly occurred to Bree who she should call. Most people wouldn't be up this time of night on a weekday, but she had a feeling this person would, and she'd have good advice, too. Bree dug her phone out and sat down on the sofa across from her tropical view, dialing, and hoping she didn't reveal too much or say anything rude about Monica, though at this point, she had no idea what might come out of her mouth. There was something evil about that woman--she could feel it in her bones.