Crossing my arms, I hover the cup by my lips and stare through the steam as people wander by. It’s an enchanting park, very different to Central Park. The tall, wooded areas seem far more imposing and far reaching for some reason. Yet, in this patch, it seems somehow private, secluded even. Or it would if everyone else would fuck off and leave us alone.
“This is an old hunting ground,” he says, arriving beside me, wiping his hands on his coat and then carrying on past me. Without my bag. “Fredrick the Great would ride and kill at will.” Really?
“Where’s my bag?” I snap, swinging my head around to peer back at the wine bar. It’s not there. My life is in that bag. Where is it?
“It is firmly ensconced in my car, my love.”
I narrow my eyes at his back as he carries on, ambling forwards, slapping his hands together as if carrying my bag has infected him somehow. Dick. Pompous, self-righteous snob. Perhaps he should get a little dirty on occasion. Like, filthy. The thought makes me smile as I think of the things his hands have likely been filthy inside of, enough so that I find myself moving towards him again without thought. Apparently, my crotch is enlightened with the potential.
“And what made him so great?” I eventually call, remembering his original musing.
“Hmm, always the criticism, yes?” he says, chuckling and looking back at me as I carrying on wandering behind him. “Prior to his many military victories, he was more concerned with art, music and philosophy than war. A decent sort, hmm? I am positive he was also gay, and tried to elope with his lover Hans Hermann von Katte. Regrettably, they did not succeed in their escapade. His father, King Fredrick William 1st, having nearly executed his son for this, later forced the young prince to watch the beheading of Hans Hermann instead. Gruesome, hmm?” He stops for a second and looks around at the park again, then heads over towards a path. “One would assume this drove poor Fredrick slightly mad. It did not, it seems. It strengthened him to become an innovator, a leader of expert military manoeuvres.” We arrive at a dark incline into the woods and he holds his hand out to me, offering support. I stare at it and wonder what else he’s going to come up with in the dark. “I am simply concerned for your safety, Lilah.”
Really? How gentlemanly. I roll my eyes at him and look down the rough path in front of us as he smirks. Eventually, after much indecision, I hesitantly stretch my fingers to his, but the moment they connect, I feel that damn timelessness again. It tears through me, forcing a small gasp to blow out into the cold air and give my feelings away in one fell swoop. He smirks again immediately, sparkling those greens at me, and making every other living thing seem dull in comparison. I wish he couldn’t do that to me.
“It is the reason I chase you so, my love. Hmm? This link we have is undeniable, yes?”
Yes, it is, but it’s still my choice.
I look back at the ground and negotiate my way around the first log in my way before letting go of his hand and making my own way down. To what, I don’t know, but I find myself hurrying with each step as the incline becomes steeper and it gets harder to keep my balance.
“Your ass looks divine, my love,” he calls behind me, chuckling away to himself as I hear his feet pounding along. I swing my head around to see him expertly traversing every obstacle that dares get in his way, until he is almost beside me and we both smile like idiots as we begin running like children. Before I know it, he’s taken hold of my hand again, grasping it tightly, not allowing me to remove it. Unfortunately, the beaming smile on my face is threatening to crack me open as we continue running, jumping over rough patches and holding each other up as we slip on muddy sections. I’m laughing before I can stop myself as I keep dodging oncoming obstacles and leaning on him for support. Faster and faster we run, bumping into each other and almost colliding at some points until he virtually lifts me away from him and launches me over a boulder, then yanks me back towards him again. It’s just like rolling down hills in the summer—smiling and laughing like bloody children. Happily running headlong into whatever presents itself and tumbling into whatever you dare without care for the consequences. I giggle, almost feeling dizzy because I’m practically choking to get air into my lungs.
Choking.
My frown has descended again by the time I see the woods opening up in front of us to a small clearing. It’s enough that by the time we reach it, I don’t know what to feel anymore. Safe, unsafe. Happy, sad. Angry, ecstatic. Why did he have to hit Alexander?
My feet bring me to an abrupt halt as I skid towards what appears to be an ornate marble fountain in the middle of a small lake.
“Why did you do it?” I snap out in irritation, wrenching my hand from his to glare at him. Fucking man. “Why, Pascal? Why ruin this?”
He watches my hand pulling from his and looks at it hanging by my side as I suck in rapid breaths to regain some sense. Whatever that happy five minutes was, it’s not relevant, no matter how much my heart wants to believe it is.
“Hmm. I have not yet finished my story,” he says calmly.
“What story?”
“Of Frederick.” And with that, he turns and casually wanders away from me towards the fountain, clearly avoiding the topic. Well, I don’t have the time or the patience for avoiding this anymore. I don’t even know what I want him to say, other than admitting he was a fool. I’m walking after him and stabbing him in the back with my finger before he has chance to get away.
“I asked you a fucking question,” I spit, followed by more finger stabbing. He spins around so quickly I almost fall over as I take a step away from the possibility of being grabbed.
“Would you have me answer directly or indirectly?” He snarls, throwing his hands up in the air as if the question is too hard for him to just answer truthfully. “You are the one who confuses the situation, not I.” Me? What the hell have I done? “You, with your running and leaping. Smiling at me and causing chaotic thoughts. I did not give you permission to probe me so effectively. It is confounding.” Yes, he did, and even if he didn’t, I can’t help that I’m good at it. Wasn’t that the point of Alexander training me in the first place?
“Why did you hit the man you love?”
“He was discourteous.”
“What?”
“He should have known it was inappropriate to fuck you behind my back, and…” My growl at the possibility he still believes that has me nearly incensed with rage. I can feel it racing up my spine again, ready to explode. The fact that he stops speaking confirms that my glare clearly shows my irritation.
“Why?”
“It was unforgivable to toy with my affections for both you and he, no?”
“Why?” I just manage to get the question out pleasantly between gritted teeth as I begin backing away from him towards the woods. I’m fucking leaving. This is senseless. He still doesn’t trust me, and he certainly doesn’t deserve me if this is what I’m going to have to deal with. Beauty or not, love or not, I will not be thought of as a whore.
“My love for anything is not to be trifled with, Lilah. It is pe–”
“Why did you hit him? And make this good because I’m so close to walking back up that hill, taking my bag, and getting on with my life without you, it’s unbelievable. You have one shot at making this work.”
He stares at me for the longest time as I hover by the entrance to the woods and lift my chin at him. One shot. That’s all he’s getting. I see all sorts of conflicts and contradictions in those eyes of his. Deceit, manipulation, distrust. Anger, lust, hatred. And then love. It’s there for me to see. Softening all those sharp angles of his and warming my insides, regardless of how much I try to deny it. Sharp jaw, sharp bright green eyes, sharp teeth. For a man who can so easily close himself off to everyone else and use those angles effectively, he’s useless at it in front of me, and he knows it. I don’t know how I can see it, why he chose me in the first place, or if that’s even the way it works, but I know I can. Every emotion he has, I can feel, regardless of how deeply he tr
ies to bury them. Just like I can see the frustration in him now as he tries to convince himself that I did sleep with Alexander, and that he was justified in his response to that. He wasn’t. Still isn’t. And if he digs deep enough and stops being a dick, he knows it. He should have more faith in us. He knows that, too. He should trust the people he loves to do the right thing by him. Trust them to love him. My brow rises at him as he takes a step towards me, a frown still firmly furrowed on his brow, and I realise there’s the distinct possibility he may well hoist me off somewhere if he doesn’t feel inclined to carry on with this conversation in the right way. “Whatever happens in the next few minutes is your last chance with me. One shot, Pascal. I’ll leave if you make the wrong move. You can fuck everything else in the world, but you will never have me again willingly if you get this wrong.”
He halts himself and gazes up and down my body, presumably scanning for options as he pockets his hands again and licks his lips. There are no options here. He either realises his mistake and apologises, or he loses this game forever. I’m done.
“Juvenile jealousy. Wrongly so, it would seem.”
I just stare in answer to that. What do I say now? Do I move, run towards him and profess undying love? Open up my heart again and let him have it willingly, without concern for how he will handle it? Probably not the wisest move given the rogue in front of me. Plus, that wasn’t really an apology, was it?
I cross my arms over my chest and continue to watch him as he looks at the floor for a moment. It doesn’t take long before whatever small offering of contrition he had is replaced with his normal devil-may-care smirk, which unfortunately still does all sorts of things to my crotch area. “Are you expecting an apology, too?”
“Mmm.” That’s all I’ll say until I hear the words I’m waiting for. It causes one of the most beautiful sounds in the world to leave his lips. Laughter—real laughter. Dirty laughter. It’s low and deep, gravelly in texture, just like the morning we made love in my apartment. It’s full of tangible emotions and grasping hands, intrinsically linking with the love I still feel, the love that’s growing by the second as I let his words resonate inside me.
“Will you always be so deliberate, my love? Will this need for my innards be consistently penetrating, hmm?” Yes, absolutely. It will never work any other way.
“Mmm.”
“Hmm. One would assume this is the time for words of love to beckon you to me, yes? Would you climb down from your moral high ground and hear my apology? Or will you hold yourself above me eternally, not forgiving my indiscretion and punishing me for it?”
I don’t answer. Nothing more is leaving my lips and he knows it. If one thing is learnt here, it will be that I am unmoveable. His words, his taunts, all the things he uses with every other moron on the planet will not work with me. An apology is what I want from him. One that I believe. One that makes me sure he is worth my love. He is; I know that. I think I do, anyway. Only time will truly tell, but I need to know that he knows that. That he understands that he’s worth all of my love, and that he trusts me with it. And his apology is how we start to build a truthful solidity, whatever strange and unusual form that might take.
He chuckles again, and then does something highly unusual for him. He gets down on one knee. I can’t stop my mouth from twitching up into a small smile as I watch and wonder what’s coming next. I assume it’s not a marriage proposal. That would be utterly ludicrous, and he should know I would not accept. Married to Pascal Van Der Braack? Absurd. Although, there’s a very tiny part of me that would adore hearing him say it, if only to confirm it isn’t crazy to dream of happily ever afters with castles and Counts.
“I apologise, my lady,” he says, from one knee in the snowy slush. Good, I hope his knee’s sodden. Drenched. After what he’s put us all through, he deserves that at least. I’m so tempted to make him say it again, or scream it from the top of that hill. I try to flatten my smile and frown at him, attempting to convince him that I don’t believe it. I do. He never normally apologises for anything, even when he is in the wrong. He considers it beneath his stature unless the person he’s apologising to is so important he has no choice. Any form of apology from him is completely real, and probably the hardest thing he will ever do to himself. Still, it won’t do him any harm to say it again, just so we all know he means it. “Do not make me say that again. I will not.”
“Once more, please,” I say, trying not to smile and failing miserably as my feet move of their own will towards him.
“Not,” he responds aggressively as he moves to get up.
“Nope,” I snap out, hurrying to get to him before he actually manages it. “You don’t have to apologise again, but I do need you to tell me why you’re sorry. I need to know that you understand why I’m so angry.”
He shakes his head and gets up anyway, chuckling a little and dusting off his knee until, eventually, he holds his hand out to me.
“Lilah, please. Do not push the luck you have left. I am becoming inclined to force my apology more succinctly,” he says, smirking to himself and looking at his hand, presumably thinking of the cane that he doesn’t have. He eventually looks back at me. “You have achieved much more here than you are aware of. I need to get back to Claire. We can have this discussion en-route to Rome should you still choose to come. I have said all I can for now, my love. It is enough, yes?”
I suppose so, to some degree, anyway. But Rome? I’m not so sure about that. There’ll be no me time in Rome. No time to consider things logically. It will be full of emotions and challenging situations he’ll, no doubt, put me in. Effortlessly.
He offers his hand again and nods in the direction of the hill we both ran down like school children. “To climb or amble?” What? I stare, confused. “There is a longer walk around the edge,” he says, waving his hand past the fountain.
“Why did we run down like teenagers then?”
“I enjoy chasing you, my love. It is enriching. I have not enjoyed the chase quite so much for some time. You tempt the hunter in me.”
“Mmm,” I hum. It’s all I can manage as I watch him flick his fingers at me, offering me his wicked hands to hold. I gaze at them for a few seconds, but they’re attached to him, aren’t they? A part of him. I’m assuming he’ll think that taking them means all is forgiven. It isn’t. He hurt me, called me a whore, and made me feel like I couldn’t be trusted. And what have I achieved here? An apology? He needs to prove much more than that for this to all be fine again. “What do you want from me?”
It’s his turn to look confused for a minute. And it is a minute. I can tell that by the thudding of my heart. The seconds tick by one by one, as I gaze up into his eyes and wait for whatever he thinks is the appropriate response. He just smiles softly down at me, with something close to contentment gracing his face.
“It is not what I want from you, Lilah. It has not been that for some time. It is what you require of me. Has this not settled within you firmly enough for you to feel it yet?”
“No. The person who was helping me understand is currently fighting for his life. Because of you. I’m afraid I hadn’t quite found the path before you screwed it all up.” Like a dick.
I stare at him longer, watching the way his face snarls slightly, and noticing the utter magnificence of it. He’s so imposing in that guise. I’m not surprised people are wary of his responses to threats. He stands taller, almost obscuring the rest of the world as what, only a moment ago, was softness and warmth suddenly grows into irascibility, perhaps even a teetering rage.
“Don’t even try to hold your head up here, Pascal. You deserve anything I choose to throw at you at the moment. You made all of this happen. You cornered me. You hurt the man you love, a man I care for deeply, and by doing that, you risked our precious moments, didn’t you?”
He snarls again and raises his brow, slightly less angered, more frustrated. I don’t care all that much if he’s furious, to be honest. He needs to hear all of this, and he needs to he
ar it now. I’m certainly not getting on another plane to go anywhere with him unless I understand how this is going to work.
“I am not prepared to…”
I don’t hear the rest of the sentence because I begin walking away the second he says he isn’t prepared to anything. Fuck that. He needs to be very prepared. He chased me. He came after me, and wants to somehow move this forward again. I love him wholeheartedly. There’s no denying that at all, but this is not going to be a foray into him playing with my head. Absolutely not. I am in control of myself now. He needs to understand that and be ready for it. Prepared.
“Why must you always do this?” I hear him call from somewhere behind me.
Christ. Me? Jesus. I wish I knew where I was going. Uphill, I think. My eyes swing up to the left to follow the path through the trees and hopefully back towards the car.
“Lilah, stop with your pacing.”
No. I’m going and he’s chasing me. When he works out what it is that I need to hear, then we can talk again.
“I was on one damn knee. Do you think this is customary behaviour for me? What else do you require?” A small smirk flicks across my lips. He’s right. He was, for me. Sweet. Oh, and he did look very handsome down there. “Stand still, this instant.”
I don’t do orders. Not anymore. My feet keep trudging on, waiting for the right words to leave his lips and make me stop. He knows them, even if I’m not sure what they should be yet. He knows all of this. It’s all there in his mind. He sees it long before anyone else and he’s a fool if he thinks I don’t know that. I’m not even sure why I’m concerned anymore, apart from the fact that I need to believe it when he says it. Whatever it is. I pause my thoughts, confusing myself. Mmm.
“Declarations of love? Hmm? Is that what you need?” My feet half halt, but it’s not enough. I know he loves me. He simply wouldn’t go to this trouble if he didn’t. And so I carry on again as the wind begins to pick up around us and I notice clouds rolling in from nowhere. It’s suddenly very cold. It reminds me of Alexander’s eyes when he disappears into dungeon mode. My arms open up to it, for some reason willing it inside to appease this ache and make all the confusion go away. Perhaps the cold can do that, close down the emotional turmoil and render it inconsequential to my sanity.
Serenity's Key Page 8
