Our Unscripted Story

by L. A. Fiore

  I was prepared for massive, the entire castle was massive, but when light flooded the room my breath caught. The gallery was the size of a football field; the ceilings were at least twenty feet high, which made the space seem even more immense and every inch of wall space was covered in paintings. Plaques on the bottom of each gilded frame identified the subject. Every Ratcliffe from the first was represented.

  I started at the very beginning, to the man who had started it all. Aenfinn Ratcliffe. He was a giant of a man and he had those eyes that had trickled down the DNA line all the way to Greyson. He carried a sword, a large deadly looking weapon, but it was the stone centered on the hilt that held my attention. It looked like an emerald, but the clarity was perfect. It had to be at least a hundred carats. Even though it was only paint, the stone seemed to pulse with life. The diamond. Standing in that room, looking at that painting, I so believed the legend.

  I moved down the line from Aenfinn. There was no denying the impact of DNA because every generation had the same bone structure, but more they all had those wonderful eyes.

  I spent a little more time studying the portraits of the only two women to wear the diamond, the only love matches in the Ratcliffe’s long history. Celeste Ratcliffe wore it in the fifteenth century and though the stone was magnificent, the artist who captured it during this century had not as successfully brought the heat of the stone to life like the first portrait. Caitlin Ratcliffe was the second woman in the nineteenth century. Had the diamond not been lost, it would have appeared on at least two more women, Callum’s wife and Greyson’s mom. It would have appeared on my portrait. That thought made me a little weak in the knees, the idea that I would be a part of this extraordinary family. Still, five love matches in a family that spanned seven centuries was sad that so many chose duty over love. But had they not, I wouldn’t be standing in this room.

  I stopped in front of Callum’s portrait. His was done when he was much younger, late twenties I would guess. He looked so much like Greyson it was a bit startling. His wife, Colleen, her feistiness came through the painting, a red head with laughing blue eyes. After Callum was Ardan Ratcliffe, Greyson’s father. It was shocking how much father and son looked alike and I thought the resemblance to Callum was startling. Honestly the three of them could be triplets. And next to Ardan was his wife, Greyson’s mom, Cara. Sultry was the word that came to mind. She was exotic, exquisite, smiling a secret little smile. It was heartbreaking to know their lives were cut short leaving behind their son who would have only memories of them, but at least he had those memories.

  I reached Greyson’s portrait and looked into those beloved eyes. He was younger, far younger than the others in his portrait; I would guess it was done right before he moved to Mendocino. He looked just like he had that first day on the beach, the boy who had taken my spot on the jetty and had claimed my heart without having to do a thing. It was overwhelming what being a Ratcliffe entailed and their staggering wealth, but despite my doubts I wanted so much to be one. I wanted my portrait in this hall, next to Greyson’s so some young woman hundreds of years from now would know we had lived and loved. The hour and jet lag hit me. I turned to leave and saw Greyson strolling into the room in that sexy way he had. Dressed in only his pajama pants, he looked like Zeus just leaving his lover’s bed.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked when he was close enough.

  “No, and I really wanted to see this.”

  His focus shifted behind me. “There are a lot of them, aren’t there?”

  I reached for his hand and walked him to his portrait. “When was this done?”

  “About six months before we left for the States.”

  “I thought you looked just like Callum, but you and your dad could be twins.”

  “Yeah, Mom always said that.” He studied her portrait for a few minutes before he said, “She didn’t come from money; her dad owned the local pub. Dad fell for her on first sight.” His gaze turned on me. “She was overwhelmed by all of this too, but she loved my father, he loved her, the rest she knew would fall into place.”

  “I’m being given a lesson, aren’t I?”

  His next words were so easily given, words that came right from his heart. “I would give all of this up for you, every painting, every cornerstone, every acre. That’s how much you mean to me.”

  Being in this room, I understood exactly what he was willing to give up. His love was humbling.

  “If the roles were reversed, would you want me any less because I didn’t come from all of this?”

  Was he smoking crack? “Of course not.”

  “It really is that simple, please don’t complicate it.”

  For the first week, Greyson and Callum showed me around County Kerry. I fell in love with the place. It was as if the entire area was pulled from the pages of a storybook. There were vast open spaces of rolling emerald-colored hills and stone cliffs that cradled lakes of brilliant sapphire water. In contrast, there were sections of the greenest lushest forests with the only interruption to the green being trickling streams of cool, clear water tumbling over rock beds. In the midst of all this was a charming village. I realized that the house in Mendocino, where Callum and Greyson had lived, had a view very similar to Kerry’s and was probably why Callum had picked the place.

  The second week of our visit Greyson spent a great deal of time working; he couldn’t resist the enticement around him. I watched him sometimes, loved to see how he completely lost himself in his work. It was almost as if when he touched his brush to the canvas that some higher being took over.

  One day I found myself outside with Callum and Nigel having tea. Nigel was the estate manager, but it was the dynamic between Callum and Nigel that was fun to watch because it reminded me of the relationship I had with the twins. The weather was unseasonably warm.

  “It’s beautiful here. I find myself wondering how Greyson could have left here and stayed away.”

  Callum looked thoughtful before he answered, “Greyson loves it here, but even as a child he felt a calling…a pull. I always thought it was because of his gift that he wanted to see the world, see it and paint it.”

  “And now?”

  “Seeing him with you and you with him, I wonder now if it was the world that called to him or you.”

  I swear I needed to start carrying tissues because honestly the waterworks were getting to be a bit much, but no one had ever said anything so wonderful to me.

  He glanced at Nigel, who was graciously staring into his tea. “I don’t mean to embarrass you, but it’s very special what you two share. I can’t tell you how happy I am that you have found your way back to each other.”

  “That is a sentiment we agree on.” I looked behind him to the castle that sat majestically on its little piece of the world and the family who had owned it since the beginning. “I’ve been working on your family’s book and you were right, it’s fascinating.”

  Callum leaned back in his chair and smiled knowingly.

  My attention turned to Nigel. “I imagine you must know about the legend of the diamond.”

  “I do indeed.”

  “I personally believe it was conjured as the legend states.”

  “Another hopeless romantic,” Nigel teased.

  “You don’t believe the story?”

  “I believe in what I can see and touch.”

  “Nigel is a very practical man,” Callum said in a way that was clear they’d had the discussion before.

  “Playing devil’s advocate. What if it wasn’t conjured? What if it was created the old fashion way?” I theorized.

  “I’m listening,” Callum encouraged.

  “A stone that unique, there would have to be records. Someone mined it and someone cut it. I had originally thought the diamond was stolen, that the fire was set as a diversion, but there’s been no sighting of it. And if we assume the thief kept it hidden for a generation or two so the story of its origins could die out, surely someone would have worn it by n
ow, an insurance company would have insured it, a jeweler inspected it.” I looked at Nigel. “As the estate manager, you would have found records of its existence.”

  “Agreed.”

  “And yet there has been nothing,” Callum added.

  “Exactly. If the stone is just a myth, then why does it show up in two additional paintings as a brooch? Why the story about the stone passing down to love matches?”

  “You have been busy,” Callum offered with a smile.

  “I love a good mystery. I think the diamond is real, but I don’t think it was stolen.”

  “So where is it?” Nigel asked.

  I leaned back in my chair and blew out a breath because that was one part of the story I couldn’t figure out. “I don’t know.”

  “The argument could be made there is nothing of the diamond because it is just a lovely bedtime story,” Nigel countered.

  “You’re right, but the romantic in me refuses to believe that.”

  “Here, here,” Callum agreed.

  “It’s sad that there were so few love matches in your family’s history.”

  Callum reached for his tea, his expression thoughtful. “That was the way of it. These large estates were maintained through marriage. It was very unbecoming for the Lord of the manor to work. His life was one of leisure and privilege but you can’t sustain an estate on balls and tea parties. There was definitely a separation of class and yet without the families that supported these estates through the generations, there wouldn’t be an estate.” Callum glanced at Nigel, clearly that generational continuation he mentioned applied to him. “For all the pomp and frill of the nobility, they were dependent on the ones they believed themselves to be superior to, not very different from today’s social dynamic. And as much as it pains me to say it, the period in our history when the lord had married for love were the hardest, the Ratcliffes really struggled with staying afloat.”

  “Somewhere along the line that changed.”

  He smiled. “Yes. My great, great grandfather was a renaissance man and knew the estates would die off unless those responsible for them started taking responsibility for them. I’m happy to say we no longer depend on the dowry of wealthy, eligible women.” He winked at me. “We can marry for love not duty.”

  I played with my ring. It was a bit surreal that I was directly affected by this conversation, mind boggling actually.

  After the talk with Callum and Nigel, I went in search of Greyson. He had an easel set up on the south lawn, his focus toward the forest. Many of the trees were bare, their naked branches curling up toward the sun, but there were evergreens tucked in here and there. Hills rose up to meet that patch of trees, stone walls stretched out to the horizon. Living in New York City where every inch was developed, the crowds and the noise, this was paradise.

  As I approached, I wasn’t expecting Greyson’s attention because when he worked his focus was singular so I was surprised when he turned to me. His gaze moved down my body before settling on my face. He set his palette down and strolled over to me.

  “Hey, beautiful.”

  I glanced at his painting, the brushstrokes of color, the composition. He really was gifted. “That’s beautiful.”

  He glanced back. “I thought we’d hang it in the apartment.”

  We had hung his other paintings, the ones he had done for me. The walls in our apartment looked much like the portrait gallery with every inch covered. I loved it. Greyson was all around me.

  He glanced behind me to the footman. There was always someone close by. It was fascinating. “Could you take that in for me? The parlor is fine.” He took my hand. “I want to show you something.”

  We walked to a part of the castle I hadn’t seen yet. He opened the door to a bedroom with a large mahogany bed, windows trimmed in dark blue silk, a massive fireplace that had doors flanking it—his and her dressing rooms. His parents’ room.

  “I don’t know if it’s wise to keep the room like this, but it was one concession my grandfather agreed to.”

  There were photos of Greyson as a boy and I found myself drawn to those, seeing him as a child. A few had his parents in them; there were photos of horses.

  Greyson broke the silence when he said, “I found her diary. I haven’t read it. I want you to have it. My dad wrote poetry. I’ve found a few of his notebooks. I want you to have them too.”

  “Me?”

  “They would have loved you and words are your medium. What better way for you to know them than through their words.”

  I was without words then; his gesture overwhelmed me. I wanted to kiss him, but we were in his parents’ room. Instead I asked, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” He kissed me and it was then I realized he had just declared his intentions to the memory of his parents.

  Opening night of my play and I wanted to throw up. In the two months since we returned from Ireland, every day had been filled with set and costume checks, last minute tweaks on the script, lighting issues and dress rehearsals. Those two months flew.

  I checked myself in the mirror for the sixth time. The box office was sold out. Part of that was due to Greyson’s presence, but I was okay with that. More importantly, Paige, Grant and the girls were downstairs, as were the twins and their parents, and Callum.

  I felt Greyson approach before his arms wrapped around me. “You look beautiful and nervous.”

  I turned into him so I could enjoy the sight of him in a tux. “My stomach won’t stop jumping.”

  “It’s going to be amazing.”

  There were so many things that could go wrong, lighting, sets. This was going to be a very long night.

  “Try to enjoy yourself. You’ve worked so hard to get here.”

  I loved that he was here, that I got to share this first with him. I reached for his hand. “Stay at my side.”

  “Always.”

  We joined the others. Paige looked beautiful in her blush-colored gown. As soon as she saw me, she hugged me. “I’m so proud of you. It is going to be amazing. Try to enjoy it.”

  “Easier said than done, but do try to soak in the significance of tonight. Your words, your thoughts will be on display for a sold out audience. That’s incredible. Enjoy the ride,” Grant added before he kissed my head.

  Mrs. Cantenelli pressed a lace handkerchief in my hand. “You’re going to need that.” Then she hugged me. “We’re so happy to be here for this.”

  “Thank you for making the trip. It is such a long flight.”

  She waved that off. “Nonsense. We wouldn’t have missed it.”

  Paige and Grant were talking to Callum, too impatient for the introductions. Like the Cantenellis, he had come a long way for this. I reached for his hands. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Your debut play, you couldn’t keep me away.” He squeezed my hand. “Try to savor the evening and…” He grinned before he added, “Break a leg.”

  The twins crowded me. “How you holding up?” Dylan asked.

  “I’m numb from excitement.”

  Dominic draped his arm over my shoulders and started for the door. “Don’t worry. We got you.”

  In the theater, we sat in the front so I couldn’t see the reactions of the crowd, though the laughs were loud and often. Greyson held my hand throughout, leaned over a few times to kiss my temple. I had the strangest sensation someone was watching me, but considering the circumstances many probably were. When the curtain lifted for the final time, a roar of applause broke out. It went on for so long, they turned up the house lights and the cast gestured for me to join them. I will never forget walking up on that stage and looking out into the audience who were on their feet applauding. It was one of the most amazing moments of my life.

  My eyes drifted to Greyson, clapping and whistling louder than anyone. I don’t know why my focus shifted to the rear of the theater, maybe it was the flutter that tickled the nape of my neck, but standing at the back was a man. Spiky black hair framed a face, although older, was one I
knew well because I had memorized every line and curve. Everything else faded for me, it was just he and I. Despite the distance between us, the moment was meaningful, as words not spoken were understood. He’d come; he had not only known about this momentous moment, he had come. He touched his fingers to his lips then he was gone. I stood trapped in that moment, unable to move or speak because my dad had found me.

  “He was there.” Greyson pulled a hand through his hair as he paced our bedroom. I waited until we were home to tell him about my father. I didn’t want to mention it to the others only because of the potential danger to them. He stopped pacing and looked back at me. “I’m happy for you that he was there.”

  “But you’re nervous.”

  “He did rip you from his life, so showing up at your play…yeah, I’m nervous.” He joined me on the bed, taking my hand into his. “Are you okay?”

  “I saw my dad, Greyson. Just in passing, but I saw those eyes that I’ve spent countless hours staring into. He was there. For one of the biggest moments of my life, he was there. I feel wonderful.”

  He tucked some hair behind my ear. “There was so much of you in your play, your humor and compassion and there was also a vein of pain, the same pain I’ve seen in your eyes since we were kids. It was you up there; you opened up your heart, your life, and put it on display. Bravest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” I climbed into his lap, straddled him, and wrapped my arms around his neck. His hands moved up my back. “Your father saw it too.”

  “Maybe that’s a good thing. What was the lesser of two evils, safe from harm or damaged from neglect?”

  “Not anymore,” Greyson snarled. “You’ll never be alone again.”

  I rubbed myself against him and traced his lips with my tongue. He tugged on my zipper and slowly pulled it down. I had a surprise for him. He stood, dropped me on my feet, my gown followed.

  “Fuck, Alexis.”

  I wasn’t wearing anything under my gown. The front of his pants tented. I rubbed him, he growled and moved his hips into my touch.