Her velvety brown eyes stared at the words scribbled on the single old sheet of stationary, ink splotches spattered across the fragile yellow paper. In spite of having found the letter only hours before, she had read the note a thousand times if she’d read it once, but having it memorized didn’t keep her from reading it again.
She raised her eyes, her gaze moving slowly up the imposing stone façade of the house she stood before, and as she took her first step forward a bolt of lightening suddenly flashed a warning at her from the rapidly gathering clouds. She hesitated for only a heartbeat.
The old boards creaked under her feet as she ascended the stairs and slowly moved across the wide porch toward the large double front doors. Pulling a heavy ring from her purse she selected one of the old iron keys and inserted it into the lock, having to use both hands and a good deal of force to get the mechanisms to move through the built up rust.
With grinding protests the lock gave way and with a trembling hand she turned the knob and pushed, the hinges groaning like weary old men as the door swung inward.
The air was thick with dust. Tiny specks danced through the sunlight that was intermittently blocked out by heavy clouds in an ever changing ocular staccato, flitting in the eddies of air as she moved from room to room. Furniture was draped in sheets that were once white, the passing of time having turned them the same aged yellow as the paper clutched in her hand.
Cobwebs large enough for her to use as hammocks filled corners and doorways, dainty webs laced balusters together and thick mats of silk threads cocooned the chandeliers. Rugs were rolled and stacked like cord wood in each room, the dust so thick on the hardwood floor that she left footprints as she walked, the boards creaking under the forgotten feel of a human’s weight.
She walked through the kitchen, her gaze glancing over the wood burning stove, the pot rack laden with cast iron skillets and the butcher block topped table like a stone skimming across the surface of a still lake. She made a direct line toward the back door, reaching for the ornate knob and letting out a surprised scream when she was pushed from behind, cold hands slamming her against the still closed door.
Spinning and pressing her back to the wall her eyes scanned the room, looking for her assailant even while knowing she wouldn’t find them. Her mind went back to the letter, written over a hundred years before from a despondent husband to his dead wife:
My dearest Hannah,
This morning finds me wracked by the fiery pangs of your absence. Remembering the softness of your skin, the mirth in your eyes and the gentleness of your touch leaves me lost and longing. Nothing and no one will ever fill the vacancy left in my soul. The day I shrug off this mortal coil can come none too soon if the hereafter finds me lying by your side. Wait for me, love.
Forever yours,
Roger
Roger had been her Great Grandfather, and he had died when she was only 10. She fondly remembered sitting on his knee and listening with a young girl’s romantic heart as he spoke of his Hannah, her namesake. Despite the years that had passed, his love for his lost wife was an ever present light in his dimming eyes, and the mere mention of her name seemed to bring out of him the young man he once was.
He had moved out of the house he and Hannah had shared, refusing to create any memories there that didn’t include her, and lived out his life by raising their one young son. As he lay in his bed dying, Hannah’s small hands tucking the quilts her mother had made around his frail body, she wept silently both in anguish and in joy. Anguish that she was losing him and joy that he was going to be with his wife again.
The dreams started only days after he died. Hannah would wake up dripping with sweat, her heart pounding and feeling an overwhelming sense of panic, as though she had lost something and couldn’t find it anywhere. Her parents would soothe her, calm her, rock her, but she couldn’t get anyone to believe that something had gone wrong with Great grandpa’s soul.
These dreams plagued Hannah almost nightly all the way through college, and it was while home for the holidays that she found Roger’s letter to Hannah and the pieces fell into place. She had been awakened by the same sense of panic she had felt for as long as she could remember, getting up and heading outside to get some air, the cool autumn air chilling the sweat on her skin.
Hannah sat curled up in one of the worn rocking chairs on the wide porch, her brown eyes staring unfocused across the front yard until a milky shadow moved near the garden shed. Unfolding herself she stood up and moved toward it, not feeling afraid but rather a sense of excited anticipation came over her. She felt pushed and guided and directed. She pulled the door open and walked directly to a stack of old boxes, her hands moving the unimportant ones aside and, as if controlled by someone else, she reached into the dusty contents of a non-descript shoebox and extracted one specific letter and a ring of old keys.
It only took one reading of the letter for her to understand what she needed to do. She packed a small bag, left a note for her parents and climbed behind the wheel of her mom’s SUV. Four hours later she found herself being attacked by her Great Grandmother.
“Wait!” she shouted, holding her arms up to shield her head from invisible fists. “Grandma, stop! He’s here! I’ve brought him to you!” Hannah’s voice carried through the house, echoing off the high ceiling. The room was suddenly still, holding its breath and watching her with what felt like skepticism. Reaching into the small bag slung over her shoulder, Hannah extracted a polished silver urn, Roger’s name engraved across the front and she held it out as proof.
Slowly she reached for the doorknob again, letting out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding until she stepped through the doorway without incident. She felt something move past her, like the brush of heavy skirts scented with lavender, and she followed the scent to the family graveyard. A low iron gate hung oddly from one rusted hinge, the sagging corner stuck in the dirt. Two dozen headstones poked up through the thick carpet of weeds, ivy and decomposing leaves, the stone covered in moss and the chiseled words faded.
Hannah moved slowly, still following the scent of lavender, to the far corner of the graveyard, stopping to stare at the bare earth of her Great Grandmother’s grave. Nothing grew there. The air didn’t stir. The temperature dropped. She felt something pacing, circling her like an impatient lion and with slow, deliberate movements she removed the lid from the urn and sprinkled the remains of her Great Grandfather’s body onto the bare dirt at the base of the half finished dual headstone.
It felt like the universe held its breath and for several minutes nothing moved, nothing made a noise. With a sudden burst of air, thick green grass and brilliantly colored wildflowers erupted from the naked ground. The branches of the trees that hung bare over the ground exploded with emerald leaves, birds circled overhead and the dark clouds that had felt so ominous split and showered a warm rain down onto Hannah’s uplifted face.
In the sporadic sunlight that reflected through the fat drops, out of the corner of her eye, Hannah watched her Great Grandparents reunion and in that moment she knew what pure joy looked like.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Friday, July 1, 2011
Montana
Blue skies stretch, covering the whole of the world that at that moment contains only me.
Black mountains reach up, draped in snowy lace, brushing the sky like a lover’s lips.
Wide green plains roll, a velvety ocean grown still, rising and falling like breath.
Trees sway in a silky breeze, leaves preening, waving at those who pause to greet them.
Water flows, running fast or trickling, making music to accompany the bird song.
Stretched out on the velvet swell of ground, my vision draped in blue sky and dancing trees, black mountains embrace me and the land’s wet kisses saturate me where we touch.
The languid pulse of Montana infected me with awe and wonder because I took the time to breathe her in; we won’t be roommates, but rather occasional lovers, madly falling together each time we meet.
Black mountains reach up, draped in snowy lace, brushing the sky like a lover’s lips.
Wide green plains roll, a velvety ocean grown still, rising and falling like breath.
Trees sway in a silky breeze, leaves preening, waving at those who pause to greet them.
Water flows, running fast or trickling, making music to accompany the bird song.
Stretched out on the velvet swell of ground, my vision draped in blue sky and dancing trees, black mountains embrace me and the land’s wet kisses saturate me where we touch.
The languid pulse of Montana infected me with awe and wonder because I took the time to breathe her in; we won’t be roommates, but rather occasional lovers, madly falling together each time we meet.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
See You In The Funny Pages
She stood outside, wearing the storm like armor. The fat, warm raindrops struck her bare shoulders and her upturned face, exploding into a hundred smaller drops that saturated the aqua cotton of her summer dress, molding it to her body: breasts, thighs and hips. Her sandaled feet stood in an ever growing puddle, unaware and uncaring, and the shallow water lapped at her red polished toes.
He had told her about summer storms, the lightening racing across the sky, chased by claps of thunder she could feel in her chest; but the storms were only part of why she had flown in to visit him. The wide sky was black, every single star obscured by the heavy clouds that loomed overhead, lost against the dark of the night. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then another, and another until she felt the threat of tears had passed.
“Sasha, come back inside.” Adam’s voice was frustrated, but her own frustration was clear in the rigid set of her entire frame, her hands fisted at her sides, and she didn’t reply. She heard him step off the curb and walk up behind her, his pace slow and tentative as though she was a wild animal who might turn and bite him. When he laid his hands gently on her shoulders she had conflicting urges: to turn and fold herself into his embrace, or to step away.
Her internal conflict lasted only a few heartbeats yet it felt like eons, and it took every ounce of will she had to take that single step away from him, his fingers sliding over her skin until they fell away entirely. Folding her arms as a means of perceived protection from the painful conversation she knew was coming she turned slowly to face him, her hazel eyes locking with his light blue ones through the veil of rain.
“Adam,” Sasha began, her voice quiet. He mimicked her pose and folded his arms across his chest as he shook his head.
“I know that look, Sasha,” he said, his own deep voice quiet.
“Then do I even need to say anything?” she asked, hoping he would let her off the hook, but she knew better.
“Yes!” His blue eyes grew fierce and he stepped forward, his long fingers gripping her slick shoulders, “I want to hear you say it. Tell me and let’s see if either of us believes it!”
The pressure of his hold made her anger flare to life and reaching up she fisted her hands into the wet cotton of his T-shirt, glaring up into his face. “You want to hear it? Fine! I’m selfish! I want to kiss you and touch you and make love to you, and I can’t because besides living so far away you’re married!!”
Adam opened his mouth to speak but the adamant shaking of Sasha’s head silenced him. “I know what I’m saying isn’t right, isn’t fair, but I’m in pain and I think its better that we part as friends, I don’t want to lose that.” A small smile lifted one corner of her mouth as she released his shirt, her hands smoothing out the wrinkles. “We’ve known each other a long time,” she said wistfully, “But it’s clear your wife doesn’t like me and I won’t be a secret.” Stepping forward Sasha closed the gap between them, rising onto her tip toes and kissing him softly. “I’ll see you in the funny papers.”
Stepping around him she went back into her hotel, refusing to look back. Her heart was breaking but sometimes you have to run away to see if someone will chase you.
He had told her about summer storms, the lightening racing across the sky, chased by claps of thunder she could feel in her chest; but the storms were only part of why she had flown in to visit him. The wide sky was black, every single star obscured by the heavy clouds that loomed overhead, lost against the dark of the night. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then another, and another until she felt the threat of tears had passed.
“Sasha, come back inside.” Adam’s voice was frustrated, but her own frustration was clear in the rigid set of her entire frame, her hands fisted at her sides, and she didn’t reply. She heard him step off the curb and walk up behind her, his pace slow and tentative as though she was a wild animal who might turn and bite him. When he laid his hands gently on her shoulders she had conflicting urges: to turn and fold herself into his embrace, or to step away.
Her internal conflict lasted only a few heartbeats yet it felt like eons, and it took every ounce of will she had to take that single step away from him, his fingers sliding over her skin until they fell away entirely. Folding her arms as a means of perceived protection from the painful conversation she knew was coming she turned slowly to face him, her hazel eyes locking with his light blue ones through the veil of rain.
“Adam,” Sasha began, her voice quiet. He mimicked her pose and folded his arms across his chest as he shook his head.
“I know that look, Sasha,” he said, his own deep voice quiet.
“Then do I even need to say anything?” she asked, hoping he would let her off the hook, but she knew better.
“Yes!” His blue eyes grew fierce and he stepped forward, his long fingers gripping her slick shoulders, “I want to hear you say it. Tell me and let’s see if either of us believes it!”
The pressure of his hold made her anger flare to life and reaching up she fisted her hands into the wet cotton of his T-shirt, glaring up into his face. “You want to hear it? Fine! I’m selfish! I want to kiss you and touch you and make love to you, and I can’t because besides living so far away you’re married!!”
Adam opened his mouth to speak but the adamant shaking of Sasha’s head silenced him. “I know what I’m saying isn’t right, isn’t fair, but I’m in pain and I think its better that we part as friends, I don’t want to lose that.” A small smile lifted one corner of her mouth as she released his shirt, her hands smoothing out the wrinkles. “We’ve known each other a long time,” she said wistfully, “But it’s clear your wife doesn’t like me and I won’t be a secret.” Stepping forward Sasha closed the gap between them, rising onto her tip toes and kissing him softly. “I’ll see you in the funny papers.”
Stepping around him she went back into her hotel, refusing to look back. Her heart was breaking but sometimes you have to run away to see if someone will chase you.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Full Spectrum
Dawn
Milky cool peach
Rising
Violet pink lavender
Breaking
Amber honey topaz
Sailing
Warm golden liquid
Soaring
Caress cover embrace
Cresting
Bask yellow fire
Sinking
Bliss nourish fulfill
Falling
Reach touch hold
Fading
Breathe orange kisses
Failing
Filter cool color
Dusk
Veiled indigo touch
Milky cool peach
Rising
Violet pink lavender
Breaking
Amber honey topaz
Sailing
Warm golden liquid
Soaring
Caress cover embrace
Cresting
Bask yellow fire
Sinking
Bliss nourish fulfill
Falling
Reach touch hold
Fading
Breathe orange kisses
Failing
Filter cool color
Dusk
Veiled indigo touch
Friday, December 17, 2010
Nothing Is Forbidden, Everything Is Allowed
I’d been pretty apprehensive when my best friend Sasha had invited me to her favorite club. I was well aware that Sasha was far wilder than I was, as far as I knew there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t try at least once and that held true in every facet of her life. The particular facet she had coaxed me into sharing with her; however, was propelling me into uncharted territory and I couldn’t calm the butterflies in my stomach.
It wasn’t that I was sexually repressed or inexperienced, I simply hadn’t ventured too far outside the boundaries set by society at large. And now here I was, dressed in a dress chosen by Sasha and following her into the dark interior of the club.
The feel of the place wasn’t what I had expected. Basing my expectations on the few strip clubs I’d been in I found the dim lighting unsurprising, but that’s where the similarities ended. There was no stage, no visible DJ spinning loud bass heavy songs for the girls to dance to, and the air didn’t smell of unwashed bodies.
Small groupings of soft chairs and love seats surrounded low tables and filled the enormous room, lit warmly by candlelight that illuminated so many faces. Soothing music of the vocal jazz variety flowed from invisible speakers, filling the air like mist and I could almost feel it beading up on my eyelashes.
Sasha took me by the hand and led me to the far back corner of the club, motioning for me to sit as she settled herself into the burgundy chair across from me. The blueberry velvet of my own chair felt especially soft under my fingertips and I couldn’t resist petting it idly.
Our server appeared and I had to do a double take, again surprised by the unexpected. The scantily clad woman I’d anticipated was nothing at all like the tall, handsome man who smiled down at me after giving Sasha a kiss on the cheek, a gesture that looked to me like he’d done it before. How often did Sasha come here I wondered.
I barely noticed when Sasha ordered champagne for us, simply staring like a fool as the server walked away with a wink in my direction. “What is this place?” I asked Sasha, keeping my voice low. Her bark of laughter was in no way muted and I tried to shush her, to no avail.
“Oh my darling Jess,” she replied with a wide smile, patting my knee, “You have no idea the treats you are in for tonight.”
Finding myself both intrigued and alarmed by that statement I sat back and watched. I watched people talking quietly over drinks or h'ordeuvres. I watched as pairs and groups wandered off together and disappeared behind a heavy black curtain I hadn’t noticed before, and I couldn’t help but wonder what was back there.
When our server returned he popped the champagne and poured two glasses, holding one out to me while sinking down into the chair beside me with the other. I passed a confused look to Sasha who rose to her feet as our server sat, as though choreographed, and all I got from her was an encouraging wink as she walked away.
The clinking of his glass against mine brought my gaze back to his face and he beamed a brilliant smile at me. “What shall we drink to?” he asked. His voice was like mink; soft, silky and it should have been totally illegal.
“I’m sorry, this is my first time here and I’m not sure what the protocol is.” I replied honestly, feeling very out of my depth. “I mean, is this allowed?” I punctuated my question by gesturing at him sitting there with his glass of wine.
He laughed, rich and thick like chocolate that clings to your tongue, his blue eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “My dear, in this place nothing is forbidden, everything is permitted.”
As we raised our glasses to drink to that I knew this would be a night I would never forget.
It wasn’t that I was sexually repressed or inexperienced, I simply hadn’t ventured too far outside the boundaries set by society at large. And now here I was, dressed in a dress chosen by Sasha and following her into the dark interior of the club.
The feel of the place wasn’t what I had expected. Basing my expectations on the few strip clubs I’d been in I found the dim lighting unsurprising, but that’s where the similarities ended. There was no stage, no visible DJ spinning loud bass heavy songs for the girls to dance to, and the air didn’t smell of unwashed bodies.
Small groupings of soft chairs and love seats surrounded low tables and filled the enormous room, lit warmly by candlelight that illuminated so many faces. Soothing music of the vocal jazz variety flowed from invisible speakers, filling the air like mist and I could almost feel it beading up on my eyelashes.
Sasha took me by the hand and led me to the far back corner of the club, motioning for me to sit as she settled herself into the burgundy chair across from me. The blueberry velvet of my own chair felt especially soft under my fingertips and I couldn’t resist petting it idly.
Our server appeared and I had to do a double take, again surprised by the unexpected. The scantily clad woman I’d anticipated was nothing at all like the tall, handsome man who smiled down at me after giving Sasha a kiss on the cheek, a gesture that looked to me like he’d done it before. How often did Sasha come here I wondered.
I barely noticed when Sasha ordered champagne for us, simply staring like a fool as the server walked away with a wink in my direction. “What is this place?” I asked Sasha, keeping my voice low. Her bark of laughter was in no way muted and I tried to shush her, to no avail.
“Oh my darling Jess,” she replied with a wide smile, patting my knee, “You have no idea the treats you are in for tonight.”
Finding myself both intrigued and alarmed by that statement I sat back and watched. I watched people talking quietly over drinks or h'ordeuvres. I watched as pairs and groups wandered off together and disappeared behind a heavy black curtain I hadn’t noticed before, and I couldn’t help but wonder what was back there.
When our server returned he popped the champagne and poured two glasses, holding one out to me while sinking down into the chair beside me with the other. I passed a confused look to Sasha who rose to her feet as our server sat, as though choreographed, and all I got from her was an encouraging wink as she walked away.
The clinking of his glass against mine brought my gaze back to his face and he beamed a brilliant smile at me. “What shall we drink to?” he asked. His voice was like mink; soft, silky and it should have been totally illegal.
“I’m sorry, this is my first time here and I’m not sure what the protocol is.” I replied honestly, feeling very out of my depth. “I mean, is this allowed?” I punctuated my question by gesturing at him sitting there with his glass of wine.
He laughed, rich and thick like chocolate that clings to your tongue, his blue eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “My dear, in this place nothing is forbidden, everything is permitted.”
As we raised our glasses to drink to that I knew this would be a night I would never forget.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
The Fleas Of A Thousand Camels
The low drone of dozens of voices speaking at once filled the room, the range of tone overlapping to create a strange kind of white noise that Chloe was usually oblivious to. Today it was like a hundred banshees wailing on a cliff as turbulent waves battered the stone face and she squeezed her eyes shut to fight off the urge to plug her ears.
Only 8 more hours until she would be getting on a plane and flying away; away from everyone who had expectations of her, had demands on her time and relied on her. For 14 glorious days she could focus solely on herself, she could swim and sleep and hike and breathe; she would have the time.
Glancing at the clock she sighed; 7 hours and 48 minutes to go.
The drive home was filled with so much sameness: the same songs on the radio, the same cars following the same route to the same home they always went to in order to do the same things they always did.
“How did I get here?” She asked herself, her voice incredulous in her own ears. There had been so much she had wanted to do and see and experience, and in her 39 years she’d barely scratched the surface of that great big world of wants.
Chloe walked through her front door and straight into her bedroom where her packed suitcase stood waiting, staring at her impatiently, and with a relieved smile she grabbed the handle and went out to wait for the taxi she’d pre-scheduled to take her to the airport.
Long flights, layovers and plane changes could do nothing to diminish Chloe’s excitement and with each mile of ocean that passed 35 thousand feet below her she felt more and more eager to be free of any routine. She wasn’t on the ground a full day before she was in the ocean, swimming slowly, letting the salt water seep into every pore, soaking up each new experience like a sponge.
Chloe spent her days hiking in the jungle, swimming and exploring the reefs that skirted the island, and trying every kind of new food she could find. Her spirit felt light and engaged and alive with each passing day and each experience. The unbridled joy and elation she felt flagged on the journey home, and with every mile of ocean that passed 35 thousand feet below her the memory of another responsibility came to her until it felt like the fleas of a thousand camels were biting at her brain.
When the plane landed in LA she rushed to the ticket counter and bought a ticket back to the island paradise from which she had just come; she couldn’t return to her old life without sacrificing her soul and that was a trade she wasn’t willing to make, she’d just send for her things and start a new routine.
Only 8 more hours until she would be getting on a plane and flying away; away from everyone who had expectations of her, had demands on her time and relied on her. For 14 glorious days she could focus solely on herself, she could swim and sleep and hike and breathe; she would have the time.
Glancing at the clock she sighed; 7 hours and 48 minutes to go.
The drive home was filled with so much sameness: the same songs on the radio, the same cars following the same route to the same home they always went to in order to do the same things they always did.
“How did I get here?” She asked herself, her voice incredulous in her own ears. There had been so much she had wanted to do and see and experience, and in her 39 years she’d barely scratched the surface of that great big world of wants.
Chloe walked through her front door and straight into her bedroom where her packed suitcase stood waiting, staring at her impatiently, and with a relieved smile she grabbed the handle and went out to wait for the taxi she’d pre-scheduled to take her to the airport.
Long flights, layovers and plane changes could do nothing to diminish Chloe’s excitement and with each mile of ocean that passed 35 thousand feet below her she felt more and more eager to be free of any routine. She wasn’t on the ground a full day before she was in the ocean, swimming slowly, letting the salt water seep into every pore, soaking up each new experience like a sponge.
Chloe spent her days hiking in the jungle, swimming and exploring the reefs that skirted the island, and trying every kind of new food she could find. Her spirit felt light and engaged and alive with each passing day and each experience. The unbridled joy and elation she felt flagged on the journey home, and with every mile of ocean that passed 35 thousand feet below her the memory of another responsibility came to her until it felt like the fleas of a thousand camels were biting at her brain.
When the plane landed in LA she rushed to the ticket counter and bought a ticket back to the island paradise from which she had just come; she couldn’t return to her old life without sacrificing her soul and that was a trade she wasn’t willing to make, she’d just send for her things and start a new routine.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
You Can Never Have Too Much Of A Good Thing
Everyone had something to say, but no one cared one whit what I wanted, and their incessant chatter buzzed in my ears like a swarm of mosquitoes until the pitch pushed me over the edge. I surged to my feet, the sudden motion silencing my potential father-in-law who was busy discussing what the privilege of marrying his son was worth.
“Zoe!” my mother’s tone was like ice, but I was oblivious to it, having had years to adapt. From my parents I’d only known disappointment, anger and distance, and as they sat in the very elegantly appointed study I could see my life slipping away before my eyes. Ever the proper young lady I had spent my youth in needlepoint, sitting silently in a corner during my mother’s Salons and being sharply corrected until I mastered proper etiquette and the very thought of one second more of it made me sick.
Lunging across the low table I slapped the tea cup from my mother’s hands, the hand- painted china sailing through the air leaving an arc of chamomile tea in its wake before shattering on the floor. “No Mother! No more will I pander for your approval by flawlessly regurgitating the day’s lesson. I will not sit silently while you harp at me about not being good enough so wed a leper; you do not determine my worth!”
I heard my father shift in his seat so I spun and pinned him with my furious gaze. Reaching out I snatched his cane from his hand, turning and smashing it against the edge of the marble mantle, not even flinching as splintered mahogany showered down on us like confetti. “And you, Father, you who were so disappointed that I was not a precious son that you couldn’t be bothered to notice me at all save for the beatings you meted out on a whim.” I pointed accusingly at the broken cane as I ranted; it’s highly polished beauty masking its sinister function.
Without a backward glance I picked up my skirts and ran from the room, my heart hammering in my chest; I’d been too well taught not to know that what I had just done ensured me the beating of my life. I also knew that I now wouldn’t be permitted to marry His Lordship Henry Paul Worthington III, son of the Duke of Sussex, and as I ran toward the barn my heart soared with that knowledge, hammering anew with anticipation in place of fear.
I rounded the corner of the smithy, the heat of the forge like a wall that made it hard to breathe for a moment and my eyes locked on the broad shoulders of Master Bruce’s apprentice, William. I hesitated for half a heartbeat, questioning my own sanity until he turned and his sapphire eyes found me, and then the world melted away. I ran to him and claimed his mouth, his surprise brief, then his arms snaked around me and he eagerly returned my kiss.
We tore at each other’s clothes with an urgent need to touch, skin to skin, exploring with brazen lips, fingers and tongues. We tasted and touched and fell together like the teenagers we were, stripping off title, class and wealth with each layer of fabric and rejoicing in the simple passion we shared, consequences be damned.
My heart and mind soared to new levels of euphoria under his touch, my body sang and I wrapped myself around him, holding him against me with slick arms and legs as he filled me. His breath was hot against my neck, and taking his face in my hands I claimed his mouth and his breath, arching against him as the new sensation of release surged through my every cell moments before he gave his essence to me.
We lay in a tangle of arms and legs, our skin slick and our breathing ragged as we stared into each other’s eyes from inches away. He smoothed my tousled hair away from my face, his calloused hands rough on my cheeks and I relished the texture.
“Make love to me again.” I said, unashamed of my boldness, or my newly awakened lust, and he smiled down at me with a look that told me he would be happy to oblige.
“You can never have too much of a good thing when that good thing is you,” he said. My heart swelled with the love I’d had for him since I was 12, and I writhed under him, lacing my fingers into his hair and reclaiming his mouth.
“Zoe?”
I blinked to clear my vision, shaking my head to lift the fog from my mind and I stared at the delicate teacup my mother was holding out to me. I glanced around the room, taking in the ever disappointed face of my father and the sour expressions of The Duke and his son as they discussed my dowry.
Looking out the window my brown eyes locked on the intense sapphire stare of Master Bruce’s apprentice William, and my heart floated and sank at the same time. Taking the proffered tea I quietly stared into its pale amber depths, ever the proper young lady.
“Zoe!” my mother’s tone was like ice, but I was oblivious to it, having had years to adapt. From my parents I’d only known disappointment, anger and distance, and as they sat in the very elegantly appointed study I could see my life slipping away before my eyes. Ever the proper young lady I had spent my youth in needlepoint, sitting silently in a corner during my mother’s Salons and being sharply corrected until I mastered proper etiquette and the very thought of one second more of it made me sick.
Lunging across the low table I slapped the tea cup from my mother’s hands, the hand- painted china sailing through the air leaving an arc of chamomile tea in its wake before shattering on the floor. “No Mother! No more will I pander for your approval by flawlessly regurgitating the day’s lesson. I will not sit silently while you harp at me about not being good enough so wed a leper; you do not determine my worth!”
I heard my father shift in his seat so I spun and pinned him with my furious gaze. Reaching out I snatched his cane from his hand, turning and smashing it against the edge of the marble mantle, not even flinching as splintered mahogany showered down on us like confetti. “And you, Father, you who were so disappointed that I was not a precious son that you couldn’t be bothered to notice me at all save for the beatings you meted out on a whim.” I pointed accusingly at the broken cane as I ranted; it’s highly polished beauty masking its sinister function.
Without a backward glance I picked up my skirts and ran from the room, my heart hammering in my chest; I’d been too well taught not to know that what I had just done ensured me the beating of my life. I also knew that I now wouldn’t be permitted to marry His Lordship Henry Paul Worthington III, son of the Duke of Sussex, and as I ran toward the barn my heart soared with that knowledge, hammering anew with anticipation in place of fear.
I rounded the corner of the smithy, the heat of the forge like a wall that made it hard to breathe for a moment and my eyes locked on the broad shoulders of Master Bruce’s apprentice, William. I hesitated for half a heartbeat, questioning my own sanity until he turned and his sapphire eyes found me, and then the world melted away. I ran to him and claimed his mouth, his surprise brief, then his arms snaked around me and he eagerly returned my kiss.
We tore at each other’s clothes with an urgent need to touch, skin to skin, exploring with brazen lips, fingers and tongues. We tasted and touched and fell together like the teenagers we were, stripping off title, class and wealth with each layer of fabric and rejoicing in the simple passion we shared, consequences be damned.
My heart and mind soared to new levels of euphoria under his touch, my body sang and I wrapped myself around him, holding him against me with slick arms and legs as he filled me. His breath was hot against my neck, and taking his face in my hands I claimed his mouth and his breath, arching against him as the new sensation of release surged through my every cell moments before he gave his essence to me.
We lay in a tangle of arms and legs, our skin slick and our breathing ragged as we stared into each other’s eyes from inches away. He smoothed my tousled hair away from my face, his calloused hands rough on my cheeks and I relished the texture.
“Make love to me again.” I said, unashamed of my boldness, or my newly awakened lust, and he smiled down at me with a look that told me he would be happy to oblige.
“You can never have too much of a good thing when that good thing is you,” he said. My heart swelled with the love I’d had for him since I was 12, and I writhed under him, lacing my fingers into his hair and reclaiming his mouth.
“Zoe?”
I blinked to clear my vision, shaking my head to lift the fog from my mind and I stared at the delicate teacup my mother was holding out to me. I glanced around the room, taking in the ever disappointed face of my father and the sour expressions of The Duke and his son as they discussed my dowry.
Looking out the window my brown eyes locked on the intense sapphire stare of Master Bruce’s apprentice William, and my heart floated and sank at the same time. Taking the proffered tea I quietly stared into its pale amber depths, ever the proper young lady.
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