Kestrel

by A. M. Hargrove

  “What do you want from me? To make a dating declaration to you? Okay. How’s this. Carter, we are officially dating. Is that good enough?”

  “That’s enough!”

  “I want to know what I get in return.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Seems to me this is a one-way street. I’m doing all the give and all you do is take. Think about it, Carter.”

  When I don’t say anything, he says, “The only thing I’ve asked of you is to go to that party with me at the aquarium. Everything else has been optional. Looks like you’ve gotten the best part of the deal here. And I’m the one that gets accused of …”

  “Quit! I’m sorry. I was wrong.” And I feel like shit now because of it. I think about everything he’s done and here I am treating him like a … oh, God, what have I done? He starts the car and pulls back on the road. The lights flicker as we pass and soon we pull into the drive. When we stop, he doesn’t turn off the car. I look at him and he shakes his head slowly.

  “I need some time alone. Good night.” That’s it. No hug or kiss. Nothing. But who can blame him? I just shut him down.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Carter

  Biggest mistake of my life. Why did I do it? I walk inside and look at the DVD. Ells is there, but this time I don’t cry. What does make me cry is Kestrel and what he said. He’s right. I’m a shit. I was so self-absorbed in my own misery that I failed to see what he’s been doing for me. And I’m the biggest fool around. So how can I fix this?

  One, I need to get to work in here. There is so much to do and I’ve been lagging behind on boxing things up. One closet at a time I go at it. By two a.m., I’m still working. Kestrel has consumed every thought. I’ve known him for almost two months and it seems like I’m closer to him than anyone. When Harper called me after the incident in the bar with Simon, she was nuts over Kestrel. She wouldn’t stop with the questions. I finally had to hang up on her. Then she called me back and asked me if I knew how rich he was. Of course I had an idea, but not that kind of idea. She tells me how much money his family has—like gazillions—and even I’m shocked. Not that it matters. Money doesn’t make a person. What’s inside a person is the important thing. But Harper wouldn’t let it go.

  “You need to marry him, Carter.”

  “Marry him? I only started seeing him, for crying out loud.”

  “Exactly. Latch your fingers onto him and you’ll never have to worry about money again, girl.”

  “Harper, is that all you can think of?”

  “Um, no. That and sex.”

  “Yeah. I gotta go.”

  As I continue to box and sort, I look at my phone and decide to shoot a text to Kestrel. I know he’ll be asleep, but at least it’ll be there when he wakes up.

  I’m really, really sorry. More than I can say. I’m the ass, not you (like you always say you are). Please forgive me. How can I fix this? I was so wrong. And you’re right. You have done all the work here. Not me. Give me another chance?

  My finger hovers over send, but then I hit it and it’s gone. I pray he doesn’t delete it without reading it. As I move to set the phone back down, it dings with a response.

  Why are you up so late?

  Is that it? No answer other than that. Disappointment fills me. But another message quickly follows.

  I forgive you. But you have to come for Christmas and meet my family, AND act like you’re my girlfriend. AND you have to start thinking outside of your box, angel.

  Shit.

  Yes, I’ll be there as your GF. And I’ll start thinking outside my box.

  That means quit feeling sorry for myself. Which—he’s right. Maybe I need to hike the Appalachian Trail. With my luck, I’d probably get eaten by a bear.

  My phone dings again.

  You never answered me. What are you doing up so late?

  Persistent, isn’t he?

  I’m packing closets.

  I don’t get an answer, so I assume he fell back to sleep. Then my phone dings.

  Unlock the door.

  Shit. Is he here? I run down the steps and he’s standing on the front porch! The gates were closed so he had to park on the street.

  “Hey,” I say, feeling a tad shy.

  “Hey yourself. Now come here and kiss me, middle-of-the-night-closet-packer.”

  He doesn’t have to ask me twice. He tastes good, like mint. And he smells even better.

  “Did you come to keep me company?” I ask.

  “No, I came to sleep with an angel.”

  “Oh.” My hand covers my mouth as I try to quiet the sob. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You’ve already said as much. And you’re forgiven. Let’s get some sleep. You can finish packing tomorrow.”

  We go to my room and it’s a mess. Things from the closet are strewn everywhere. He laughs.

  “You really went to town in here, didn’t you?”

  “Uh huh.”

  Then we climb into bed and I don’t remember falling asleep.

  ***

  On Sunday, I want to crawl in a hole and die. My arms hurt from tugging, lifting, carrying, and dragging boxes, hanging garments, and whatever else has been hiding in my and my mom’s closet for the last two decades. I’m sure there were elves in there, too. I’ve probably boxed them up somewhere and they are being donated to some unsuspecting charity.

  Kestrel has been a huge help, though he’s laughed at me for wanting to save some things.

  “No. What will you do with that?” he asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Angel, it’s atrocious. The only use for it would be a Halloween party. Or possibly a tacky dress party.” He is referring to one of my mother’s gowns she wore to one of the many debutante parties I had. It really is ugly.

  “This one?” I ask as I hold another one up.

  “Good God. Did you wear that thing?”

  “Yes! It was my ball gown!”

  He did have the decency to apologize. But then he has the nerve to add, “It looks like a giant cupcake covered in meringue.”

  My mouth forms a huge O as I look at him. “I’ll have you know it was a designer special.”

  “Uh, special is key here. You were taken, sweetheart.”

  I ball it up and throw it at him. Turning, I point my finger toward an oil painting on the wall. “Look! Look at that picture.”

  He walks up to it and inspects it. “Shit. That’s you? I thought all along that was Queen Mary of England. But now I can see her teeth aren’t black.”

  A fit of giggles overtakes me and I double over. Between laughs, I eke out, “You are an ass.”

  “Please tell me that was torture, because it sure as hell looks like it.”

  “No! I loved it. We all did. It was the thing.”

  He rubs his face and shakes his head. “Jesus. Throw this thing away.”

  “It cost a damn mint.”

  “Will you ever consider wearing it again?”

  Howling with laughter by this time, I say, “Oh, yeah. I can see me in it now.”

  “Put it on.”

  “No!”

  “Yes. For me. Do it. I want to see you in it.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Fucked up as all hell.”

  I strip out of my clothes and step into the meringue covered cupcake. He zips and buttons the dozens of satin covered things up my back. When I turn around, he cocks his head and then grabs the left puffed up sleeve and jerks it straight down. It rips right off, leaving the dress sleeveless on one side.

  “Much better. Let me do the other one.” He repeats it on the right. “Now we’re getting there. Lift up the top layer.”

  I do as he asks.

  “Holy fuck. What the hell is all that under there?”

  “Layers and layers of tulle.”

  “Christ. You could hide a small village under there.” Then his hands grab a fistful on each side of my hips and yank until a bunch of it tears off. He circles around me and
then says, “Drop that top layer.” Then he eyes me again and says, “That’s even better. You look more like Little Bo Peep now.”

  “Oh, my God. Just what I need.”

  “Go look.”

  It did make a difference. But I’d never wear it again. It’s dated and unattractive.

  “Ick. You’re right. This is not me anymore.”

  “So, you’re saying that used to be you?”

  I die laughing again. “I don’t know, to be honest.”

  “Well, at least we got a good laugh out of it.”

  As we’re taking the last box downstairs, Kestrel says, “Did I mention to you that there’s a black tie affair I would like for you to attend with me?”

  “No. When is it?”

  He gets this sheepish look about him that makes him look like a little boy. “It’s Saturday.”

  “Oh.”

  “I meant to ask you last week and it slipped my mind. I’m sorry. Is it a problem?”

  “I need to get a dress. Unless you want me to wear cupcake?” I wink.

  “God, save me. We can go shopping. I’ll take you tomorrow when the movers are here.”

  “Who will supervise?”

  “I’ll get someone to do that. We’ve labeled everything so all they need to do is take it to the right place.”

  “Okay. But I hate for you to spend money on a dress for me.”

  “It’s my fault. Had I told you when I should have, you could’ve borrowed something or had more time to find something.”

  “But still.”

  “Carter, I can afford it. Don’t worry about it.”

  “And I’m only going to tell you this once. I don’t ever want anyone, you, or your family, to think I took advantage of you for your money. I realize you’re wealthy. But the truth of it is money can’t solve all your problems or bring back loved ones that you’ve lost.”

  “I would never think that of you.”

  “But your family might. And it would be so far off the mark.”

  “I know and when it comes down to it, I’m the only one that counts when it comes to how I think about you.”

  “True.”

  “So, shopping tomorrow for a dress then?”

  I extend my hand for him to shake. “Deal.”

  ***

  The closing is smooth. When I get the check, it’s seems weird. All that money. After the debts are paid, there will still be over two million. Then after the lot sale, I’ll be in fabulous shape. I’ll need to look for a place to buy. I’m thinking about a condo without any exterior maintenance.

  “Congratulations, you two,” Uncle Foster says. While he didn’t do the actual legal work, he was there since his office handled the closing.

  “Thanks. I’m glad it’s done. Kestrel will be the perfect owner.”

  “Thank you, Foster. I’ll take great care of the place.”

  “I’m glad to hear it and it’s nice of you to let Carter lease the carriage house.”

  “It worked out well for the both of us.”

  Uncle Foster smiles. “I’m glad you two met.”

  “So are we,” Kestrel says.

  We stop for a bite to eat and then go home. Kestrel is still in his rental but will be moving in the house next week.

  On Thursday morning, Kestrel flies up to New York for Thanksgiving. He invited me, but I declined. I plan to spend the day getting settled. All my things are there; it’s only a matter of putting them in their proper place.

  I really like the coziness of the carriage house. It’s a large one bedroom and has plenty of space for me. It’s going to be a nice change living here, instead of the big house, all alone. Kestrel and I decided it might be weird being in the same place, but we’ve made a decision to do the best we can and talk about it if things get sticky.

  When Saturday comes, I have a hair and make-up appointment at two. The party is a dinner dance that starts at seven. It’s almost five when I get home. Why does it take so long for you to have your hair and make-up done? They did this airbrushing thing to my face. You can’t see a freckle on my skin. I look like I’ve been photo-shopped. I’m not so sure about this. It’s almost too phony looking.

  My hair is done in loose waves that are joined in a messy braid in the back of my head. They’ve somehow entwined flowers within the braid as it hangs down my back. It looks very delicate. I’m wearing a gold satin halter gown that’s backless and quite daring for me. The back plunges to a V that ends above my hips and the front also plunges to a V, showing a lot of cleavage—not that I’m heavily endowed. I feel quite naked but the sales clerk swore to me it was very tasteful and elegant. When Kestrel saw it, he didn’t say anything except, “Buy that damn dress.”

  My shoes are gold platform sandals and I have one pearl necklace left from my mother’s collection. It was the only thing I didn’t sell because it was from her mother, passed down from generation to generation. It’s a couple hundred years old, and I felt too guilty about selling it. The pearls are perfect for this gown. I put them on with a pair of plain gold hoops, and that does it. It’s six fifteen and Kestrel said he’d pick me up at this time. Right then the bell rings.

  I open the door, and he stands there and stares. Of course, I stare back because he’s in a black tux and looks divine. Thank God he didn’t shave. I run the back of my hand over his cheek and say, “Mmm, I love this look. You look perfect.”

  “And you … you’re divine, angel. Turn around.”

  I pirouette and he sighs.

  “Christ, you do that dress right. And your hair. It’s perfect.” He leans in to kiss me. “Who stole your freckles?”

  Laughing, I say, “They did this airbrush make-up and it covered them up.”

  “Hmm. I miss them, but you are radiant.”

  “Thank you. You make me feel beautiful.”

  “You should feel it in your own right because you are. It has nothing to do with me.”

  “Do you miss my ruffles?”

  A hearty laugh erupts from him. “As much as your cupcake.”

  “How about a drink then instead of a cupcake?”

  “Sure. We have a driver tonight so it’s good.”

  We arrive at the venue in style, which happens to be a Christmas Fund Raiser for Cancer, and I have to admit I feel like a million bucks. But then again, it’s easy to feel like that with Kestrel as my escort. Eyes follow us everywhere. Women whisper as we pass. But he’s possessive with me and doesn’t even give them a glance. I feel like preening. Even men take note, but it’s him they stare at. And with envy. A waiter with a tray of champagne glasses approaches and Kestrel snags two for us.

  After a sip he whispers to me, “This is shit-pagne. Don’t drink it.”

  I raise a brow. “Oh, really?”

  “Uh huh. My mother is a champagne expert. I need to give you a lesson.”

  “What’s her favorite? Dom?”

  “She likes that. But she goes on little kicks of varietals every now and again. She really loves Heidseick. Charles Heidseick and Piper Heidseick. But she’s gotten into Veuve Clicquot’s La Grande Dame recently. Champagne is her drink de prédilection.”

  “Interesting. I never think of it to drink like that. And I love your French accent. Very sexy.”

  “Je dois vous parler en Français plus souvent,” he whispers in my ear. His breath sends shivers down my spine.

  I lick my suddenly dry lips.

  “I want to kiss you so much I can taste it. Je veux vous embrasser alors que je peux goûter.” His emerald eyes are so bright I want to drown in them. His mouth begs to be kissed, and it’s so close to mine, inches only, but I know if I do, we’ll make a scene.

  “Kestrel, I …”

  “Don’t say it. Give me your hand.”

  My brain won’t function, but my hand, by some means, ends up in his. He raises it to his lips, turns it over, and kisses the inside of my wrist. Then he wraps my arm in his and we begin to walk again. My body yearns for his. I want to slip into his
clothes and be next to him. The music plays in the background and we end up at a corner bar, ordering drinks. Wine. He hands me a glass and our fingers touch. Fire erupts in my belly and zings down to my core. Does he feel this way too? I look up and find him focusing on me.

  “Do you …” I begin, but then lose my nerve.

  “Do I what?”

  “Nothing. It’s silly, really.”

  “Ask me.”

  “When you touch me.”

  “Yes. I do. In my blood. I want you. Here and now. If you could feel me, you’d know.”

  My teeth dig in to my lower lip as I digest what he says. It’s mutual. That gives me some level of comfort.

  “Don’t bite it off, angel.”

  “Huh?”

  “Your lip. You’ll look pretty funny without a bottom lip.”

  I smirk at him.

  “We’ll work this all out. You don’t have to look so worried about it,” he says.

  “Is that what you think?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m not worried. I was thinking I’m glad it’s not just me.”

  “Oh, it’s not just you. You’re a hell of a lot smarter than that.”

  A grating voice interrupts us.

  “Well, look who’s here. If it’s not Dr. Save The World and her rescuer-slash-lover boy.”

  Simon. Why does he have to show up everywhere?

  “Hello Simon.”

  “Carter.”

  Kestrel is wound as tight as a coil, ready to spring. I squeeze his hand and lean into him. I don’t want to talk to Simon. Maybe if I don’t say anything else, he’ll slink off into the distance.

  I glance at Kestrel and he’s pinning Simon with those emerald irises of his. Unblinking, his eyes are like solid chips of ice. He looks so dangerous like this. Simon should back away now if he knows what’s good for him.

  “So who invited the riffraff?” Simon asks.

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking when I saw you, you little fucker.” Kestrel’s voice is cold as steel as he whips out his insult.

  “How dare you?” Simon asks.

  “Oh, I dare all right. Now be a good boy and fly away, little pest.” He flicks his hand in front of his face.

  “Of all the …”

  I stand up straight and say, “Simon, if you’re smart, you’ll get out of here.”