by Emily Bow
I paused. His question took the wind out of me. Had he not planned our evening? Hadn’t he wanted to take me someplace in particular when he’d asked? Was he unsure and winging it? He wasn’t an impulsive guy. What was this?
“Dinner at the pub?” he suggested.
We’d done that. The Bell and Swan was local. That made me think again that he was asking me out so the news would get back to Regina or to get back at her. I didn’t care for that. Nor did I care for lingering here in the foyer. I needed to know more before I dove in and free fell.
One of the maids turned the corner to the servants’ hall. She slowed as she saw us.
I moved closer to him, ignored the luring hint of his cologne and lowered my voice. “How about a portal to an alternate universe? Or a time loop that’ll toss us to a new habitable earthlike planet.”
He smiled and his shoulders eased. “You think that will go well for us humans?”
“Probably not.”
One of the kitchen helpers came from the hall and crossed in front of the stairs. This area had nothing to do with the kitchen staff. She was snooping.
“Do you drive?” I wouldn’t have asked that of a guy in Texas. They all drove.
“Of course.”
“Let’s go.” I walked to the front door and out, feeling freer the moment the bright afternoon air brushed my face.
We went to the garage. I don’t know when the multi-level garage had been added, but it was fairly recent given the lift which turned a three-car garage into a six-car garage. I arched my eyebrows at the high-tech luxury display. “Early middle ages?”
“My father was car mad. If we own a property, there’s always a massive garage. I was six before I realized not all my friends changed cars with the day of the week.” Thorn pressed a button and an elevator platform whirred on, and lifted into the air, raising the black Bentley his mother preferred, revealing a small blue sports car.
“This is like an amusement park ride. I feel like I need to rush and get in before the next car bumps us from behind.”
“The garage works exactly like that, so hurry.”
I smiled and waited by the car door and let him twist the handle for me. Another sign this was a date.
The tan leather seats were comfy, and I tugged the hem of my dress down and latched my seatbelt while he went around to what in my world would be the passenger side. There was something about a confident guy starting a car. One hand firm on the wheel, his left hand moved to the stick between us.
Loved it. I tore my gaze from him and looked out at the expansive green garden before us.
I got out my phone and searched online for restaurants and mapped a course to a fast food place a town over, the one with the cute boutiques. “Let’s head toward the nearest drive-through. If we see anything better on the way, we’ll stop there.”
“I can do better than a drive-through.” His voice was wry, and he shifted gears.
“Yet to be proven.” My teasing challenged him because his fingers flexed on the stick.
He accelerated and we were off, over the drawbridge, and down the drive. He was a much better driver than Lily. I didn’t tell him that though. His ego didn’t need the praise.
Thorn glanced at me. “Why a drive-through? That’s certainly original.”
Not for the new graduates in my world. Cheap eats were normal, and I didn’t want him to think I cared about his money. I didn’t. The cost of the watercress didn’t matter to me. Learning more about him, spending one-on-one time with him, seeing if he’d do something to kill the flame of my attraction or stoke it. That was what tonight was about.
A restaurant with a red awning and curving Italian name came into view on the right. “Do you like Italian?”
“Sure.” Thorn steered the car onto the adjacent parking lot.
“Have you been here before?”
“The castle was owned by a distant relative. Dad came up here as a retreat before he inherited. Several times. But he didn’t bring us.” There was a stiff note in his voice so I didn’t pursue that.
We parked and went into the low-ceilinged, cozy restaurant and sat ourselves at a table for two lit by a white candle.
We ordered pizza. Between the red and white checked tablecloths and our clothes, we seemed fated to be at this place, at this moment. I held up my slice of cheese pizza and tapped the side against his. “Our portal to Italy is complete.” I took a bite and the taste was delicious, gooey cheese, with a perfect crust. Yum.
His shoulders eased. “I went to Rome last winter with some friends.” He told me the story. Their trip began with a fountain, a coin, and a wish and had ended with the Prime Minister dragging them home.
I giggled as he threw his arms out and describing the Prime Minister’s temper. “All stories should start like that.”
“Drinking with friends?”
I took a sip of my soda, not hating the fact that they’d thrown a lemon wedge on top. “No. With a coin and a wish.”
Thorn tipped the red candle toward me and melted wax dripped down the side. “You’re a romantic.” His voice deepened.
“Maybe. More so than the rest of my family, I suppose.” I told him about competitive Elara and brilliant Chelsea.
Thorn told me more about his friends. How he thought having friends who were the sons of the Prime Minister would get him out of trouble, but how it meant they were always watched so they all ended up in more trouble than before. It was nice to hear about friends other than Sebastian and Regina.
I told him about home and how Texas differed from here ending my comparisons with this restaurant. This place was typically European, tiny chairs, tiny tables, giant flat pizza. Italian instrumental music played over the speakers, but a large black piano sat in the alcove by the front.
“You’re looking at the piano,” he said. “They have those at restaurants in America.”
I liked his attentiveness, that he’d followed my gaze. “Sometimes.” I grinned, and wiped my fingers on the napkin, then I curved them into keyboard-banging position. “I had lessons when I was younger.” So many lessons.
“Me, too,” he said.
“I hated them,” I said, at the same time as he said, “Hated them.” We leaned back and laughed.
“How did you get stuck with lessons?” he asked. “Parental dreams of having a concert pianist daughter? Parental desire to learn but they never did, so they put it on you?”
“Nope.” I shook my head. “It was my own fault. I mentioned I liked the sounds they make, and Mom signed me up. There’s a huge difference between liking the sound and wanting to create it yourself.” My voice was dry.
He nodded, and his hair fell over his forehead. He pushed the strands back, making me a little jealous of his hand. Had I had my hand in his hair that night? Would I my hands tangle in his hair tonight? My fingers curled. Tonight was full of bubbling camaraderie and sharing, but my senses wouldn’t stop reminding me how much I liked the strength of his hands, the cut of his jaw, the curve of his lips.
“I know. I like the music, too. I didn’t want to devote the time it took to play really well. My playing’s rubbish.”
I doubted that. “Yep. I prefer books, or running, or pretty much you name the hobby compared to sitting at the keyboard practicing drills.” And I’d practiced for years. My family didn’t allow quitters which had its pluses and minuses.
The waiter stopped by, a rare thing in European restaurants where they left customers alone until someone asked for the bill. Neither of us wanted dessert and the waiter swiped Thorn’s credit card there at the table and tilted his head toward the window. “Market’s on in town tonight.” Tonight was a Thursday, their late-hour shopping night.
“Thanks,” I said. “We’ll have to check it out.”
We rose, but Thorn steered me toward the piano instead of the door. He took a seat on the bench.
Chapter 21
I glanced at the three other diners, none of them winced or yelled “Please d
o get away from the piano,” so I sat down beside him, not as close as I’d like, but it was closer than we’d been while seated across from each other.
Thorn looked at me, and then at the keyboard. He played a perfect one line of Chopin.
A thrumming, tapping and then quick impressive flurry of his fingers trilled out the classical music into the Italian restaurant. He stared at me as he finished and raised his fingers. “That’s as much as I’ve got.” He winked. “It gets me all the girls.”
“All the ones over eighty-five.” I laughed and started to rise.
He pulled me back down with a touch on my arm, his fingers grazing the inside of my elbow lighting up my nerve endings. “Your turn. I showed you my lessons. Now you show me yours.”
I shook my head and my hair fell forward. My family wasn’t allowed to start and quit after learning one line. I brushed my hair back and bit my lip. “You sure?”
“I showed you mine.”
He stared, but I broke away to focus. I flexed my fingers and played “Somewhere Only We Know,” a beautiful haunting pop song popular from when I was younger.
I turned my head midway to Thorn who was watching me, mesmerized and thoughtful. “I love this song,” I said as my fingers flew over the silky keys by memory. “But I figured out midway through studying the notes that I loved the sound even more coming from a cello. But I couldn’t tell that to my parents, or I’d be stuck with cello lessons, too.”
He touched my cheek with a light touch as the song died off and dropped his hand away. “Beautiful.”
“Thanks.” My cheek tingled, and I resisted the urge to press my fingertips to my skin to still the electricity dancing underneath.
Some of the diners clapped.
I flushed and rose, gave our fellow diners a small wave, and strode to the door. This time, Thorn followed me.
We strolled to the fairy-lit side street that held the market. There were food booths, and booths full of clothes and trinkets in the twilight. I smiled at him. “That’s what you get for not planning anything official. You left tonight up to me, so we’re treasure-hunting at the local market.”
He groaned playfully. “Don’t we have enough old stuff back at the castle?”
I shook my head. “Not at all.”
Fairy lights came on, and late-night shoppers maneuvered their way to varying booths. Thorn dropped his arm over my shoulders. The warm weight made me move closer and put my arm around his waist. We walked together connected like that, up and down the rows.
One booth smelled heavily of cloves and sold incense sticks and homemade candles. The next had a ton of Asian art objects. I paused at a gold figurine of a Chinese god which had a price tag of a hundred pounds. My palms tingled. Breathing in the heavy patchouli incense, I hefted the weight and turned the statue over in my hands. Unlike Regina’s European plate, I’d swear this was Ming or earlier. I had that feeling, where I knew a piece was important.
The older lady who ran the booth wore a home-knitted sweater and polyester slacks. I turned the statue to face her. “Have you had this appraised?”
“Found that in a house sale. That one sure is something,” the older lady said. “You like it, dearie? Make me an offer.”
I shook my head and put it back on her side of the table. “You should take that in. I think it’s worth significantly more than you’ve got it marked for. Way more. Hundreds of thousands more.”
The lady stared at me.
I shrugged. “Hey, if I’m wrong, bring the statue back next weekend. If I’m right…”
The lady threw a green piece of fabric over the treasure and put it in a box at her feet. I waved at her and we walked on.
“Are you right about that?” Thorn asked.
“I think it’s worth more than I said. Certain collectables are hot in the Chinese market right now.” We walked past a jewelry booth and a used clothing booth.
“Why didn’t you buy it?” Thorn asked. “Surely, that’s a find of a lifetime?”
Her age. The hole in her clothes. Something tired in the set of her shoulders. “I don’t know. I guess I thought she could use the money more.”
Thorn looked at me and shook his head, which could have meant several things. He paused at a vinyl record booth and released me to dig through a bin.
“You like the classics?”
“Not even a little.” He flashed me a smile and then concentrated on the records. He pulled a black sleeved album from the back and then gave me an even bigger smile. “Score.” He turned the album with its psychedelic art toward me. “My grandfather, my mother’s father, has a distressing fondness for obscure ‘70’s bands.” He paid the vendor cash, and the vendor placed the album in a brown sack. “I’ve been trying to find this gem online without success.” He dropped his arm back over my shoulders but held the sack containing the record carefully as we walked the last row.
The final booth held homemade desserts. I bought a cinnamon chewy candy, tore the treat in half and shared the sweet with him as we returned to the car.
“I’ll probably find a copy of that in a crate tomorrow at the castle,” I teased him.
“Well, don’t tell me if you do, okay?” He grinned. “Right now, it’s an impossible-to-find secret treasure that’s going to make Granddad’s Christmas.”
“My grandparents are difficult to buy for. It’s great yours has a little obsession.”
Thorn opened the passenger door and put the record in the back seat. From the way he positioned it, I half thought he wanted to strap it in with a seatbelt.
He straightened and I finished off the candy and then tapped my index finger against my thumb. “Now, I’m sticky.” I put one foot into the car and sank down on the passenger seat. “And your car had such nice leather. What a shame.” I winked at him, so he’d know I didn’t really intend to wipe my fingertips on his sports car’s buttery leather while he stood there holding the door for me.
Thorn grabbed my wrist and raised my fingers to his lips. He sucked on my index finger and then my thumb.
All my blood rushed toward the point where his mouth touched me. I think he was teasing, but my mouth dropped open at the drawing sensation. I stared at him, enthralled.
He laced our fingers together and squatted down beside me in the gap between the seat and the open door. He bent in and kissed me. A warm smooth familiar kiss with a hint of cinnamon. The kiss transferred my blood flow from my hand to my mouth. He was directing my pulse with his lips. He pulled back and looked at me curiously, shook his head slightly, and placed my hand on my knee. Then he shut the door and walked around the car to the driver’s side.
I flipped down the visor to smooth my hair. My eyes glittered, and my cheeks had flushed. I looked infatuated.
He got in, turned on the radio so popular music filled the car and took my hand.
We drove back, my hand held in his on the gearshift, not talking too much, just listening to music and being together.
I knew our route once we reached town. The castle was at the end of a long drive, and when we turned one more corner, the stone walls would become visible up ahead, then the tower, and then the whole castle complex. Once there, our night would end, we’d separate, and I wouldn’t have pressed up against him. Resisting the urge to unclick my seatbelt and crawl over the console to him, I pointed to a large oak tree before the curve. “Pull over there a second.”
Chapter 22
Thorn downshifted and moved the car off the road. “Why are we stopping?”
I twisted my hands together. “To thank you for taking me out. The thought of thanking you under the castle porchlight with a thousand of your staff watching is a turnoff.”
“You get used to them, you know.” He spoke cautiously. “You often don’t see them.”
“I’m not sure if that’s good or sad.”
Thorn put the car in park and switched off the engine but turned the keys, so the radio stayed on. He turned the volume down so the soft rock ballad played quietl
y through the speakers. “Likely both sad and good.”
“You turned the car off. Do you think my ‘thank you’ is going to take that long?” My voice held teasing promise and laughter. Excitement stirred inside me.
He wiggled his eyebrows. “I could hope.”
“It won’t.”
He nodded with a twist to his lips. “I’m not the luckiest duke in the kingdom.”
I unsnapped my seatbelt.
“I am the luckiest duke in the kingdom.” He pointed to the back seat. “If you lower your seatback, I’ll move the record.”
I giggled. “Yeah? You’re not that lucky. And, the more I think on my offer, as I half planned our date, you should be the one to thank me for a lovely evening.”
He unclicked his seatbelt and lowered the back of his seat a few inches.
He was fun. Laughter bubbled up inside me again. “That’s not happening.”
“What were you thinking?”
“A kiss in the moonlight under a tree.” A long one. A deep one.
He leaned over the console and kissed me. His lips were warm and strong. My pulse beat harder, but the kiss was quick. He released me and got out. I followed him, and he drew me by the hand under the oak tree. He took out his phone and cued up a music app.
I waited there in the dark, hearing the night sounds. The lights on in the castle in front of us warning me this was temporary.
The opening strains of the song I’d played at the restaurant came through the speaker. He played a cello version of the beautiful tune.
He’d listened.
I smiled and my heart cracked open to him a little more, beating in time with the music.
He drew me to him in an informal slow dance. He was tall but right for me. We were close but not touching, and he spun me as the song picked up its pace and brought me to him. Our moves slowed. His arms went around my waist, and my arms went around his neck. We danced there under the ancient English oak in the moonlight. I touched the back of his neck, traced his shoulders.
The song ended and rolled into one I didn’t recognize. He pulled me tightly to him. The feeling of his hard muscles against my chest through the silk of my dress was enough to melt me.
