Love Is In the Air Volume 1

by Susan Stoker

  "You started it."

  "I know." He releases me to run both hands through the perfect mess of his hair. "Look. I like you. I want to be friends, okay?"

  "Sure. Let's forget this ever happened." My words are confident, but I'll be reliving this moment every day for the rest of my life.

  "Right." He gives me a shaky smile followed by a heavy sigh. I'm not sure if he's relieved or disappointed in my agreement.

  "I should get home." I climb into the golf cart. "Mom will be worried."

  Although the trip back to the house only takes about ten minutes, it feels like a lifetime. I'm acutely aware of his presence beside me and can't help giving him a sideways glance now and then. The line of his profile is strong and masculine and oddly reassuring. We stay silent for the entire ride. He parks the cart at the steps of the porch and walks to the front door with me.

  "Thanks for the tour," I say, forcing a note of carefree positivity into my voice.

  "My pleasure." He shoves his hands into his pockets. I open the door to go inside. As I pass by him, he leans down to whisper in my ear. "For the record, I kissed you first, and I enjoyed every second of it."

  3

  In the morning, we head up to the big house to meet our new employer and his family. Mom brushes her curls away from her face with a worried smile. "Okay, kiddo. Keep an open mind. Be nice. It's really important that this works out."

  "I'm always nice," I reply, trailing behind her, up the steps to the door. The house feels like a living, breathing entity, old and ancient. I can feel the touch of past lives licking at my heels. Mom presses the doorbell. A woman dressed in black pants and a white polo shirt answers the door. Her gaze runs over Mom's Levi's, her clean but faded tie-dyed shirt, and the pile of messy brown hair on top of her head before landing on me. I stare back at her, enjoying her obvious disapproval at the stud in my nose.

  "Yes?" the woman asks in a bored voice.

  "I'm Lily Harris. The new property manager. Mr. Margaux is expecting us for breakfast." Each of Mom's statements ends in a lilt like she's asking questions instead of stating facts. The uncertainty in her voice touches a tender spot in my heart. I've been too hard on her. She's just a single mom trying to get through life the best way she can.

  "Come through, please." The woman steps aside to let us into the foyer. "In the future, please use the servants' entrance in the back. The front door is for guests and family only." The frost in her tone is enough to chill the heat of the June sun.

  "Mom," I whisper as we follow the Ice Queen housekeeper past a table holding an enormous vase of white roses. The soles of my tennis shoes squeak on the polished wood floor. There are so many fascinating things to see. I don't know where to look first—at the expensive antiques, the complicated moldings around the ceiling, or the enormous staircase curving toward the second floor. Mom takes my hand in hers, pulling me into her side. Even though I consider myself an adult, I'm secretly comforted by her touch.

  The Ice Queen throws open a set of pocket doors to reveal a study. She gestures toward the chairs positioned in front of a cluttered desk. "You can wait here. Mr. Margaux will be with you shortly."

  Across the hall, a second set of pocket doors slide open. A woman skips across the distance, her bare feet slapping on the wood. Her long, golden hair bounces with each step. She slides to a stop in front of us. "Hi. I'm Geneva. Are you the new caretakers?"

  At second glance, she's much younger than she appears—about my age. I'm too stunned by her loveliness to speak. She's everything I'll never be; thin, curvy, blonde. Faces like hers belong on the cover of a magazine instead of a backwater Tennessee plantation. I stare at her like a freak.

  "Hi. Yes." Mom drags me to stand in front of her. "I'm Lily Harris, and this is my daughter Francesca. It's a pleasure to meet you, Geneva." She digs her elbow into my side, spurring me from my trance.

  "Nice to meet you." The words struggle to come off my tongue. I've never felt so inadequate in my entire life. Her pouty lips and perfect eye makeup are in direct opposition to my bare face, dull brown hair, and thrift store clothing.

  "Francesca. That's a pretty name. How old are you?" Geneva asks. Her big blue eyes stare into mine with dizzying intent. For a moment, I'm lost in their sweet, innocent depths.

  "Seventeen."

  "Really? Me too. Do you have a driver's license?"

  It's an odd question, but I don't want to blow this for Mom, so I answer. "Yes."

  The sparkle in her eyes turns into a gleam of excitement. "Must be nice. Daddy won't let me learn. Maybe you can teach me."

  "Maybe." There's something so familiar about the short bow of her upper lip and the shape of her oval face—something I can't quite identify. "I feel like we've met before."

  "Everybody says that." Geneva's tinkling laughter sprinkles over the room like music. She makes a small pirouette, bowing gracefully at the end. "I was on TV when I was little. You know, kids movies, commercials, stuff like that."

  "Geneva was in that Christmas movie you loved, honey." Mom gives me a second nudge, this time to stop me from staring. "You remember, right? It was your favorite when you were small."

  "I remember." No wonder she looks familiar. I watch that movie every year. She's different now, taller, and has lost the baby fat that gave her round, rosy cheeks. The hair, however, still bears the same shade of golden blonde and spiraling curls that made her so adorable.

  The broad shoulders of a man block the light spilling through the doorway. "Geneva, sweetie, get back to work. It's time for your school lessons now, right?" He strides into the room, confident and commanding, in his navy suit and crisp white dress shirt. Standing next to Geneva, the resemblance between the two is uncanny. They both have the same sculpted bone structure, golden hair, and wideset eyes.

  "Do I have to?" She throws her head back and stamps her feet in a small dance of irritation. "It's history day. I hate history. It's so stupid. No one cares what happened last week, let alone two hundred years ago."

  "Go. Now." The sternness of his tone sends a slight shiver down my back. Men have always made me uncomfortable—especially men like him; serious and commanding with deep voices. Geneva huffs, swivels, and stomps across the hall. He turns his attention back to Mom. His expression changes from forbidding to pleasant, but the smile on his lips doesn't hold any warmth. "Lily, it's nice to see you."

  "Hello, Richard." Mom's voice sounds strange.

  There's an uncomfortable moment where he extends a hand to shake and Mom moves forward to give him a hug. They bump together awkwardly then freeze. He shoves a hand through his hair in a way that reminds me of Thane. Thane. Oh, goodness. The memory of our kiss comes back in a rush. I pass a hand over my face to smooth my expression.

  "It's been a minute, hasn't it?" Mom asks Richard.

  "I suppose it has." There's something in his gaze, something hungry that makes me feel like I'm spying on a private moment. Then his gaze drops to me, sitting in an armchair, wishing I was anyplace but here. "You must be Francesca."

  "Frannie," I correct him and glance at Mom. "You know each other?"

  "We met in college. He was a good friend." An embarrassed glow brightens Mom's cheeks. I've seen that look before with other men—the ones she dated. This is bad. Really bad.

  "I'm still a good friend, Lily." He doesn't even try to hide the accusation in his tone.

  Even though we've just officially met, I take an instant dislike to this guy. Mom says nothing. Tension crackles through the air. I glance from Richard to my mom and back again, wondering what kind of backstory exists between the two of them. They're hiding something. I'm certain of it.

  "I was surprised to get your call." Richard settles onto a corner of the desk and clasps his hands in his lap. "The last time we talked, you were pretty upset with me."

  The pieces of the puzzle begin to fit together. She got fired from her last job and hadn't been able to find another. Desperation drove her to take a job with a man she obviously shar
es a complicated history with. She smooths a hand over her natural curls, something she does when she's nervous. "We can talk about it later." When Frannie's not around. She doesn't say it, but the statement is implied by her tone.

  "Richard, have you seen my —" An unfamiliar female voice floats into the study. The three of us snap our heads toward the door. A petite blonde woman comes to an abrupt halt. "Oh. Excuse me. I didn't realize you had company." Her pale blue stare travels over Mom's faded blue jeans and box store sweater before coming to a full stop on me. I snort at the obvious disdain in her eyes then pretend to cough.

  "Jennifer, this is Lily, my friend from college, remember? And her daughter Francesca. They're the new caretakers."

  "It's nice to meet you, Jennifer," Mom says with her most pleasant smile. She stands and extends a hand.

  "It's Mrs. Margaux." Jennifer grips Mom's hand then brushes her palm along the side of her dress. "Richard, may I see you in the hallway, please?"

  "In a minute." His dismissal carries a note of coldness. Everyone in this damn place is an ice cube.

  "Not in a minute. Now." The barely suppressed annoyance in Jennifer's voice gives her words a slight tremor.

  Richard rolls his eyes toward the ceiling like he's gathering the last shreds of his patience. "Fine. Fuck." He walks out of the room, into the hallway, not bothering to close the door, so we can hear every word of their conversation. From my position, I have a clear view of his profile.

  "I thought we discussed this. We don't need a caretaker." Although I can't see Jennifer, I can hear her anger.

  "We did, and we agreed that managing the estate is too much for you." Richard's voice is calm and condescending. "You spend all your time taking care of this place when you need to be concentrating on Geneva's career. She needs both of us to be focused on her future."

  "I never said I can't handle it." With each word, Jennifer's voice rises to a higher pitch. "I said we can't afford it. We're barely making ends meet the way it is."

  "Let me worry about the money."

  "Letting you handle the money is what got us into this predicament."

  Richard smooths the perfect strands of his expensive haircut. "As soon as Geneva gets a record deal, we'll have plenty of cash coming in."

  I glance at Mom to see if she's listening, too. She forces a smile. "Richard is very handsome, isn't he?"

  "I guess if you like assholes."

  "Francesca Lorraine Harris!" Mom pinches my bicep.

  I wince and scowl at her. "Mom! Ow."

  "Don't talk like that. Richard has gone out of his way for us. The least you can do is be appreciative." She snaps her mouth shut when he strides back into the room. If the grim set of her jaw is any indication, my smart mouth has crossed an invisible line.

  Richard closes the door behind him and turns the lock. "Don't mind her. She'll get over it." He takes a seat behind the desk, rests his elbows on the shiny wood surface, and steeples his fingers in front of him. His cool gaze slides from Mom to me and back to her. "Have you told Frannie yet?"

  "What? Um—no. Not yet." The note of panic in Mom's voice raises my fight or flight instincts.

  "Told me what?" I grip the arms of the chair until my knuckles ache.

  The twist of his lips intensifies the tension in my grip. He clears his throat. "There's no way to sugar coat this, so I'm just going to say it. I'm your father, Frannie."

  My head buzzes. The walls of the room close in. I stare at him, trying to make sense of the bomb he just dropped. "My dad died before I was born."

  "As you can see, I'm alive and well." His deep chuckle is like a slap in the face. How can he deliver such devastating news with a smile? It's almost like he's enjoying my agony.

  "It's true, baby." Mom tries to grab my hand. I yank it away, shrinking into the far side of my chair. "I told you he was dead because I thought it would be easier on you. Richard wasn't able to be a part of your life, and I didn't want you to wonder why he wasn't around."

  "I'm wondering now." My thoughts whirl in my head until I'm dizzy. How could Mom lie to me? I grew up thinking my dad left me because his life ended when he really left me because he didn't want to stay. My trust has been irretrievably broken. I'll never be able to believe anything Mom says after this.

  Richard draws in a deep breath like he's about to recite a rehearsed speech. "We had a fling. I'm not proud of it, but it happened. You came along nine months later. Lily and I decided—under the circumstances—it was best to part ways." He taps the desk. Somehow, I get the idea this was more his idea than Mom's. "But I want you to know I always came through when you needed me. Just like I'm helping you now."

  "Helped?" My voice is remarkably steady. "You never called or visited. Not once. Not even a birthday card." I can't keep up with the rapidly shifting directions of my emotions. He knew about me but didn't care enough to stay in my life. The pain of rejection slices through me.

  "You have to understand, Francesca. I had been married to Jennifer for less than a year. I'd just adopted her son, Thane, and Geneva was on the way. I couldn't drop my responsibilities."

  His excuses intensify the knife in my heart. I tap my chest. "I was your responsibility, but you didn't have any trouble dropping me."

  "Frannie, we never meant to hurt you. It seemed like the best option at the moment." Mom tries one last time to touch me.

  "Don't." I hold up a hand to ward away the next invisible blow to my heart. "I can't talk to you right now." I head for the door. I need time to process this. Tears pool in my eyes, but I refuse to cry in front of them.

  "Francesca. Get back here. We're not done." Richard calls after me. I hear his footsteps as he leaves his chair to follow me.

  "What?" I can't look him in the eye, so I stare at the toes of his shiny shoes.

  "Let's keep this to ourselves for a while. You can't discuss this with anyone outside this room. Jennifer and Geneva don't know, and I want to break this to them when the time is right. Understand?"

  I don't answer. My feet fly over the faded Persian rug of the study then pound on the hardwood floor of the hallway. I dart past the Ice Queen housekeeper, burst through the front door, and break into a sprint down the hill toward our house. Someone yells my name, but I don't stop running until I reach the small cluster of trees near the creek. At the bottom of the incline, I slip on a damp patch of grass, landing on my ass.

  "Francesca!" Thane calls my name for a second time. He jogs down the hill, sliding to a stop next to me. "What happened? Are you hurt?" He crouches beside me. His green eyes scan over my arms and legs.

  "No. Yes. I mean—" I grip my forehead, desperate to make sense of what happened. "I'm alright." Humiliated—again—but fine.

  "I saw you run out of the house." He offers a hand to help me stand. "And then you fell. It freaked me out."

  Pain shoots through my ankle. I hiss and fall back to the grass. "Wait. My leg."

  "Let me see." He drops to one knee, takes my foot in his hand, and gently rotates my ankle. "It's probably just a sprain. I used to get them all the time when I played football. We need to get some ice on it. Can you walk?"

  "I don't know." With his help, I struggle to my feet. White-hot agony shoots up my leg. "No."

  "Here. I've got you." In one smooth motion, he sweeps me off my feet.

  The minute his strong arms wrap around me, I forget about the ache in my heart. He cradles me against his chest. I can feel the strain of his biceps, the rise and fall of his ribs, and smell his shampoo and fabric softener scent. From my vantage point, I can see the thick vein running up the side of his neck and the shadow of a beard taking root on his lean jaws. I wrap my arms around his neck and let him carry me to my house. For the first time in a long time, I feel completely safe. Once we're inside, he places me carefully on a chair in the living room.

  "You need ice, ibuprofen, and a compression bandage," he says.

  "There's a first aid kit in the bathroom, I think." I watch helplessly while he gathers
materials, fills a plastic baggy with ice, wraps it in a towel, and places it on the swelling joint.

  "Here. Take these." He places two caplets in my palm and hands me a glass of water. "Put your foot up here." He places a pillow on the ottoman in front of me then tenderly eases my foot onto it. "Ice and elevate."

  I obey his orders, choke down the pain reliever, and gulp the entire glass of water. "You're going to make a great doctor."

  "Thanks." He sits on the edge of the sofa next to me. His eyes are serious as he sweeps the hair out of my eyes. "You wanna tell me what made you so upset?"

  The secret swells inside me until it threatens to explode. While I was in his arms, I forgot the reason for my injury, but the shocking revelation comes rushing back. Today is the day I learned about the family I never knew I had. In the space of five minutes, I gained a father, a stepmother, a stepsister, and—my gaze flits to Thane—a stepbrother. Horrified, I shrink from his touch, plunging into the upholstery of the chair.

  A flash of hurt crosses his face. "I didn't mean to overstep. It's just—you seem really upset."

  "No. It's okay. It's not you." Well, in all honesty, it's a little bit about him.

  For a second, I think he's going to leave, but instead, he clasps his hands between his spread knees and leans toward me. "Did Richard do something to you?" A muscle ticks below his cheekbone. "What did he say?"

  "You don't want to know." I shouldn't say anything, but how can I keep the truth to myself? I'm dying to tell someone. At the moment, I don't feel any allegiance to Richard or Mom. They betrayed me. They've betrayed everyone; Geneva, Thane, and Jennifer. I'm angry enough to want them to hurt the way they've hurt me. "Apparently, Richard is my father. My mom always said my dad was dead, but—" I wave a helpless hand in the direction of the manor.

  "I see." He doesn't seem upset at all. His apathy is disappointing. I had expected him to share in my rage. "It's a bit of a shock, isn't it?" He walks over to the window and runs both hands through the mess of curls on his head. "You. Me. Geneva. Richard."