Shattered Grace (Fallen from Grace)

by K Anne Raines

  Frustrated, Grace leaned over the bag. “Just open, darn it!” she said, forcing the words through tight lips. As if yelling at the dumb thing will open it, she added mentally. Almost ready to throw it across the room, she looked around for something that might cut or rip the bag. Her eyes found nothing, so she gave up and grabbed the bag, gripping the rounded thing inside.

  And without fanfare, the end just fell open.

  Grace all but dropped it on its side on the table, then sat gaping at the hole. There was no rip, or tear, and still no seam. It was just like the bag was made that way, with a seamless opening.

  With her left hand, Grace gripped the smooth object and pulled the bag off with her right. Seeing it offered her nothing. It was definitely some kind of container. Maybe an antique of some kind?

  The color was beautiful, but indescribable. It reminded her of periwinkle, but had an opalescent sheen. She flipped it over to see the bottom and then back to look at the top, slowly turning it in her hand to examine all around it. Suddenly, she felt a vibration run through her palms. Gasping, she dropped it in her lap.

  Curious, she peered down at the container just as an iridescent shimmer rippled along its surface. Opaque holographic letters raised one at a time across the face as if it were introducing itself.

  “Pandora?” she read aloud. “Is this some kind of joke?”

  A voice spoke behind her. “I’m afraid not, child.”

  Moving faster than she thought possible with instincts she didn’t know she had, Grace jumped from her seat and whirled around, holding the container protectively behind her back. Her body stiffened as she crouched into a defensive pose, ready for attack. Shocked at her own automatic movements, almost like muscle memory, Grace mentally shook her head but remained in position until she could assess the situation. Where in the world had the woman come from?

  “They’ve chosen well,” the woman said with a smile. She stood a few feet away, her posture erect and proud in an almost regal way. Her arms dropped loosely in front of her, her fingers intertwined in a relaxed and nonthreatening pose.

  Grace’s mind froze with surprise and confusion as she forced out, “Who are you?”

  “I am Limye.”

  Her senses, as well as the woman’s demeanor, convinced her that the woman was not a threat so she relaxed somewhat. Grace stood up straight, abandoning her defensive posture, but kept the container at her back. “Come again?”

  The woman laughed in a grandmotherly sort of way, which was really disconcerting because she didn’t appear to be much older than Grace. She was very short, with long black hair pulled high at the crown of her head in a pony, dark chocolate eyes, and beautiful dark skin that almost seemed to glow. She was one of the most beautiful women Grace had ever seen.

  “People usually have trouble with my name at first. It’s Lim-yay. Limye.”

  “Why are you here, Limye?” Rudeness wasn’t normally part of Grace’s M.O, but she felt rather protective of the whatever-it-was behind her back. She didn’t understand it, but she knew to listen to her instincts.

  “I’m a kind of Guardian. I’ve come to let you know you can call on me if ever you need.”

  Grace’s mind whirled. “No offense, Limye,” she said in a terse voice, “but I don’t think I’ll have any need to call.”

  “You might someday, child. You’ll be eighteen soon and no longer hidden. They’ll realize you’re a Chosen and will stop at nothing to find you.”

  Limye was making her uneasy again. Shifting slightly, Grace wondered if she should be worried. The lady might be crazy, but she somehow knew who she was. And who were the “they” that would stop at nothing to find her?

  “I don’t understand,” Grace insisted.

  Limye’s features settled into a patient smile. “You’re a Chosen, Grace, just like Christophe. Your job is to protect Pandora’s jar. Evil will come out in force to take it from you. And if they succeed…well, let’s not think about that just yet.”

  Grace didn’t want to think about any of it, because it sounded completely absurd. Instead, she laughed. She laughed loud and hard, tears streaming unhindered down her face. When she finally caught her breath, she looked back at Limye, who was patiently looking back at her.

  “People usually have trouble with that part as well,” Limye said.

  “It’s because it sounds—”

  “Crazy?” Limye finished her sentence. “I assure you, it’s not.”

  Needing to adjust her uncomfortable position, Grace cocked her hip and passed the jar behind her from one hand to the other. “I’m sorry, but it sounds completely crazy.”

  “In time, your eyes will be opened. But now you must hurry. Put Pandora back in the bag and in the backpack, and do not take her out until you’re at your grandfather’s house. Do you understand?”

  “Why do I—”

  The woman’s smile disappeared and her tone became sharp as she interrupted. “Grace, you must hurry. Do you understand?”

  Limye’s urgency jarred her. The lack of understanding left her frustrated and confused, while a litany of questions zipped around in her head. What the heck was a Chosen? Why did she have to protect Pandora? What in the world was a Guardian…some kind of fairy godmother? The more she questioned, the more crazy Limye seemed. Grace decided to take the opportunity offered and get the heck out of Dodge.

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “Good,” Limye said firmly. “Now go.”

  Carefully, she nestled the container in the bag, put the bag inside the backpack, pulled its strap over her shoulder, and made her way back to the front doors of the bank. Two words from her grandfather’s letter kept playing over and over in her mind as she walked through the lobby—trust and answers. Once she pushed through the glass doors and back into the suffocating arms of the heat, she walked the short distance to where Quentin stood waiting.

  Grace crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him with exasperation. “Apparently you have some answers I’m looking for?”

  His face stretched in a knowing grin that twisted her insides. “That I do, Grace. That I do.”

  It was hard not to focus on the allure of his smile. It pulled at her in ways she’d never felt before and complicated an already bewildering day. She nodded at him without returning his smile and suggested tersely, “We better get going.” Not waiting for a reply or to see if he was following, she turned on her heel and crossed the street. Grace didn’t know what was going on, but she sure didn’t want to wait around to see if Limye was coming too or not, and picked up the pace getting to her car.

  Despite the windows being down, the unease that wedged itself between Quentin and Grace during the drive to the manor felt brutally suffocating. He couldn’t scoot close enough to the opened window to get a pardon from its stranglehold, and as far as he was concerned, they couldn’t get back to the house fast enough.

  The seneschal band always tingled and warmed more in her presence. And sometimes when her emotions were high, he felt them hammer through his veins. Like now. Internally, she was spinning six ways to Sunday, and he was struggling to sit still. Moved by a compulsion he had yet to understand, Quentin shifted in his seat, trying to squelch the urge to fight whatever or whoever was upsetting her.

  Unable to stop his hands from fisting, he watched her from the corner of his eye. Her furrowed brows clearly revealing her internal struggle—confusion, anger, and fear—while his internal male struggled with getting lost in her outer beauty. He was mesmerized as his gaze roamed, appreciating the sight of her. The rays of the sun played artist, brushing highlights around the halo of her long brown hair, stroking a bronzed shimmer along her skin and down the length of her…

  “What?” her voice demanded, screeching his thoughts to an abrupt halt like a needle being dragged across a record.

  “What? I didn’t say anything,” he said. Embarrassed at being caught in his perusal, his face warmed by the second.

  Quickly, she turned her scowl on
him and then back to the road. “Were you staring at my legs?”

  “What?” He tried to sound incredulous. “No, of course not. I was staring at the speaker in your door.”

  “There aren’t any speakers in my door,” she snapped.

  “Well, see, that’s why I was staring. I didn’t think there was a speaker, so I was trying to figure out what I was looking at.” Oh hell, he thought. Is that the best I can come up with?

  “So that’s the story you’re sticking to?” she asked, obviously not amused.

  He thought for all of a second before answering her. “Yes, that’s the story I’m sticking to. Because it’s the truth.”

  Grace smiled and chuckled softly without humor. “Okay, Quentin. If you say so.”

  He didn’t dare reply. In the interest of self-preservation, he stared unblinking out the passenger window.

  Grace all but ran from the car to the front door. She needed to get out of the heat. Not bothering to shut the door behind her, she carefully put the backpack on the table in the foyer, then booked it to the powder room for a towel. She was sweating like a you-know-what in church, in places girls should never sweat. Quentin didn’t have so much as a slight glisten on his upper lip or brow. That seemed to be a constant with him—being calm, cool, and collected. So not fair, she thought.

  “You want some lemonade?” Quentin asked, as she approached him in the kitchen, somewhat drier after her quick pat-down. “There’s still some left from our lunch yesterday.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I want to stay inside, though. It’s obviously not that hot to you, but I’ve managed to sweat all my makeup off.” She sat at the table in the breakfast nook, going over what happened at the bank, and what Limye had said. As vexation built up more in the pit of her stomach, she couldn’t sit still.

  Quentin sat across from her. She watched as he continued rubbing at his shirtsleeve. “Hey, I said I could take the heat. I didn’t say I liked it.”

  While he took a drink, Grace eyed him. Everything about today unnerved her. Quentin knew what was going on, and that irritated her. “True, but you’re a man. You’re the one that’s supposed to be all sweaty and gross, not me.”

  “We could go for a swim,” he suggested.

  “Why? So you can ‘not’ stare at my legs some more?”

  “I wasn’t staring at your legs!”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “What? I wasn’t,” he tried again.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Even if I was—but I wasn’t—you won’t have to worry, because your legs will be in the water.” His face split in an I’m-proud-of-myself-for-coming-up-with-that-logic smile.

  “You’re right. I won’t have to worry about you staring at my legs at least.”

  “Come on, give me some credit. I’ll be a perfect non-staring gentleman, scout’s honor.” Giving her an innocent look, he held two fingers up in the Boy Scout salute.

  Trying not to smile, she failed. “Were you really a scout?”

  Quentin waggled his eyebrows. “No, but it sounded good, didn’t it?”

  “No. It sounded sneaky. I’ll be right back.” Exasperated, she finished the last drink of her lemonade. “I’m going to change.” She set her glass in the sink, then headed for her room. Before hitting the stairs, she grabbed the backpack with Pandora in it from the table in the foyer.

  Grace’s bedroom was on the second floor. She kept several swimsuits at her grandfather’s, none of which she particularly cared for. That’s why they were left at her grandfather’s. She never expected anyone of importance to see her in them. Not that she should care what Quentin thought.

  Grumbling, she stared apprehensively at the suits spread across her bed. The yellow one-piece was definitely out. She picked that one up and tossed it on the floor. The teeny-weenie hot pink two-piece was absolutely out. She threw that little piece of fabric somewhere in the vicinity of the yellow one. That left the black tankini and the red monokini. She held them both up and decided the red one was best, then tossed the black one on the floor with the other two.

  Quickly changing and double-checking the knots she tied at her hips and around her neck, she covered her suit with the sheer cover-up she always wore poolside. Carefully, she placed the backpack under her bed before leaving her room.

  The pool house was off the back of the manor and to the left. Grace knew Quentin would have no problem finding it, since they had eaten lunch out back just the day before, but she was surprised to see that he already had the music going and was crouched poolside, tossing the round floating speakers into the pool as she stepped off the deck. “I see you know your way around the pool too,” she said as she walked to the edge, curling her toes toward the water.

  He tilted his head to look at her and held up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. “I hope you don’t mind the music.”

  “No, I don’t mind. I would have never pegged you for a Jack Johnson fan, though.”

  He didn’t reply as he stood up next to her. He did start undressing, though, and Grace suddenly wasn’t sure what to do with her eyes. She swung her gaze up, then tore it away from him and looked back at the house instead. Curiosity got the best of her within seconds, forcing her to give up the pretense. Grace brought her gaze back to Quentin, trying crazily to give off the cool look of not caring. Yeah, right.

  Oh my friggin’…were the only words her brain could formulate before it scrambled to mush. Grace knew Quentin had some muscle, she could tell by the way his clothing draped. But she didn’t know he had that kind. He looked like he’d walked straight out of a Calvin Klein underwear ad. Hell, even a Jockey ad. They were all the same to her.

  You have got to be joking, she thought. He’s a lawyer? Maybe I should go to law school, she mused, trying to focus more on not drooling than not gawking.

  Quentin yelled “Cannonball!” as he ran and jumped into a tight ball before hitting the water.

  His warning barely registered enough to bring her back to her senses. Not only was him shouting “cannonball” surprising since it was so out of character for him, she was also dazed by the image of his body. The torrential downpour that came next quickly tore her out of her fog. Grace heard his laughter and saw him shaking with it through the parted curtain of her hair.

  The adrenaline from the shock gave her pure liquid courage. In a quick, fluid motion, she pulled her cover-up over her head and tossed it aside. His surprised gulp didn’t go unnoticed through her determination. “You’re in for it now,” she warned as she took off in a dead run and launched into a perfect swan dive in the pool. Expertly gliding under the surface, she slowly rose out of the water with a smile. Quentin’s shock turned into a knowing male grin. It appeared he was still stupefied by her lack of attire, which Grace merely saw as opportunity. With as much force as she could muster, she splashed at him with all her might. Quentin playfully fought back through his gasping, coughing, and laughing.

  Without thinking, she lurched forward and onto his back, trying to stop the onslaught by pushing him under instead. Touching him was a mistake; she realized it the instant before their skin connected. A surge of his struggling emotions shot through her fingertips, all of which Grace had absolutely no business knowing. As quickly as she could, she slid off his back to let him up for air and moved away. Quentin wasn’t having any of it. Evidently, he wasn’t done playing and grabbed her wrist.

  Grace gawked at his hand, her eyes round and mouth gaping, and then back to his face. His mouth spread in a mischievous grin. “Where do you think you’re going? Payback’s a mother, isn’t it?”

  Grace tried begging. “Quentin, don’t! Please.”

  “That’s not gonna work, cupcake. You made your bed.” He effortlessly dragged her slowly through the water toward him, while she struggled feebly to pull away. It was torturous.

  Still pulling, his smile widened. “Come here, Grace.”

  Maybe talking him down would work like it did in the movies? She shoved her wet hair away fr
om her eyes and put on an innocent, pleading face. “Quentin, you don’t want to do this.”

  He spoke through his smirk. “Oh, but I do. You have no idea how badly I do.” Clearly, he was enjoying himself way too much.

  Before she had time to react, she was being pulled through a wake and cradled in his arms. The same rush she’d felt at the coffee shop surged through every part of her body that touched his, causing her to suck in a sharp breath. Heat pricked her skin. Every synapse in her brain fired off, urging her to get out of his arms. Shamefully, she grappled with wanting more of the rush. Without much effort, she convinced herself struggling was futile, and ignored feeling contrite about wanting more.

  He smirked down at her before saying, “If you don’t want water up your nose, you’d best plug it.” The thought “Oh, what a gentleman” rushed through her brain just as they plunged completely underwater and came up for air a breath later.

  Quentin hugged her tighter to his chest as he hunched over and laughed uncontrollably. Grace gasped and swiped water out of her eyes, definitely not convinced that it was that funny.

  “You can put me down now,” she said flatly.

  “Ah, don’t be mad,” he teased.

  “I’m not mad.” Grace’s mouth pinched together as she shifted it to the side to chew on the inside of her cheek. She didn’t know what to make of what had just happened.

  He didn’t seem fazed in the slightest by their bare skin contact when he let her down. Grace forced her gaze from the chiseled arms, which had just been wrapped around her, to the ripples they made in the water as he moved them about. Quentin started making his way to the edge of the pool, leaving a wave of rippling water in his wake. Grace still watched. “Where are you going?”

  As he pulled himself up, water rained down from his shorts and trickled down his bronzed skin. “I could use a drink. I thought you could too.”

  “Now that you mention it…” she said absently, still mesmerized by the trail of water trickling down the length of his back.