What kind of writing?
I don’t know yet.
You totally should. I bet you’ll be a great writer.
For some reason, I didn’t think she was just saying that to make me feel good.
Thanks. But then I kind of chickened out about the other stuff. So...
She sent a ?
Have you been sneaking into your duke’s room at night?
Future duke—The current duke is his father, so ew. And hardly, she answered. It’s all Downton Abbey in this place—seriously there are servants everywhere. They would know the second I tried to sneak out.
I couldn’t even imagine what that might be like, but I had figured having such big staff would be cool. I guess until you wanted some privacy. So you two haven’t been making out like crazy?
I didn’t say that... :)
I smiled. You’re funny. I’m so happy for you, Kaylee.
xoxo Hey, any plans for New Years?
Was she kidding? Yes, big plans. I’ll be going to South Bank to hang out with the huge crowd. You?
Ugh. Sorry. *cringe* I wasn’t even thinking. Another party, though I’m trying to convince him not to go.
You should go and text me from the bathroom.
:P
You have to. Maybe the Queen will be there. I want pictures. I yawned and was suddenly struck by a wave of exhaustion. I typed, it’s late. I’d better get to bed.
Ok. Great texting with you, she sent. I really miss you.
Ditto. I’ll try to text you tomorrow. And I was going to figure out a way we could get together. Maybe I could work out a way to make it happen.
I turned the phone off and tucked it back into my underwear drawer and was asleep seconds later.
All That's Missing is a Heaving Bosom
A man, of average large build, sits on a bench in Mayfair. What is he doing? It appears that he is doing nothing, but that’s not precisely true. He is waiting. For love. For his destiny.
He is a man of strength in body and mind. Even his name, Hunter Brick Stone, tells the world of his unwavering strength. He is also a man of honor; his three tours of duty in Afghanistan are testament to that. But now he has returned to his home on British soil to rebuild his life outside of the military. Today, Christmas Day, he is trying not to think of the death and destruction mayhem he left behind on his tours. Instead, he is enjoying the peace of a drizzly day in London: his home.
His blue azure eyes are sensitive after months of being in the desert [note:Google sensitivity to light] but more than that, he is haunted by what he saw in combat and wears the glasses to hide his vulnerability and discourage fellow tenants from engaging him in conversation. What he thinks he wants right now is peace. But what he needs more than anything, is love.
He is about to get up and leave when a figure enters the courtyard from the side of the building opposite to his. He is suddenly struck by the beauty of the woman in front of him; she walks with such grace, her chestnut hair flowing in the wind where before he hadn’t even noticed a breeze. It was as though it blew just for her. Her eyes are unwavering and he knows she is here for him and him only, as though the gods had put her on the earth just for him.
His heart pounds in his chest as she closes the gap between them. He stands, his large and muscular frame towering over her, but looks down into her eyes, suddenly knowing with all of his being that instalove love at first sight does indeed exist. She smiles up at him and opens her mouth to speak. He knows this is it; her words will be imprinted in their lives forever as the ones that brought them together to spend eternity in each other’s arms.
“Hello,” the woman says, her voice as beautiful to his ears as the sound of a nightingale. “I saw you from my window and wanted to tell you...”
“The toilet’s plugged, do you know where the plunger is?”
I looked up from my notebook, to see Robert standing in my doorway. Startled at having been interrupted, his words didn’t sink in at first. “Huh?”
“The plunger. The toilet’s plugged.”
“Gross.”
He rolled his eyes. “Do you know where it is?”
“Ask Dad.”
“They went out for breakfast and then to get groceries. Mom said she’s making us an official Christmas dinner tonight.”
Oh sure, they get to go out for breakfast and shopping while I'm stuck here in the flat like a prisoner. “No, I don’t know where it is. I don’t even know if we have one,” I said, clicking my pen. As he came into the room, I closed my notebook.
“What’s that?” he said, jutting his chin toward it.
I shrugged, “Nothing. Just a notebook for scribbles. I’m practicing writing.”
That mischievous evil brother look came on his face. “Can I read it?”
Panic began to thread through my veins. If he read what I’d written—what was supposed to be a character sketch that turned into the beginning of some sappy romance—I would die right there. “It’s nothing worth reading; it’s not a diary or anything. Just some exercises,” I said as casually as I could, fully aware that if he caught on that I had something to hide, he would pounce and not relent until he had confiscated the notebook.
He narrowed his eyes. I hated that he was so observant. Time for a new tactic.
“Have you heard from Emmie?” I asked, absently smoothing my hand over the notebook cover, wrapping my fingers around the edge, just in case.
The smile dissolved from his face as my tactic worked. “Not since she said she had forgiven me.”
I almost felt bad for bringing up the subject when it obviously made him sad. Not that he could have really had a relationship with Emmie if things had been different and we hadn’t had to leave, but he was still my brother and I didn’t like seeing him unhappy. But of course there was more to the situation than his doomed relationship with her. There was mine.
“Do you...?” I shook my head, knowing he probably didn’t have the answer anyway. “You know what? Never mind.”
He came deeper into my room and sat down on the edge of my bed. “What?” he asked softly, all traces of mischief gone from his voice.
“Nothing,” I said as I nonchalantly slid the notebook further away—out of his reach.
“Come on. I told you everything, you may as well do me the same courtesy.”
“It’s not telling you anything. I’m just wondering if you think she hates me.” I looked up at him when he didn’t answer right away. “What? Do you?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. She’s a smart girl and I think she looks for the good in people. If she’s pissed at anyone still, it’s me. I told her you had no choice in this and that what I did with the cell phone was all me.”
He was probably right, but I still felt horrible for all of it. “Do you think you could send her a message?”
He blinked at me a couple of times, which meant he was considering it, but even I knew he’d have to say no. “Not a good idea.”
“Do you think we’ll ever get our lives back?”
He blew out a loud breath. “I won’t, since I signed up for it, but you?” he kept his eyes on mine while he slid his hand toward my notebook, which I slapped away, making him grin before he continued as though nothing had happened. “You will. I just don’t know when. Things are pretty volatile now with all the threats. They take out a cell and it seems like two more pop up.”
“I’ll never get to date,” I groaned.
He frowned. “Maybe just as well, little sister,” he said in his brotherly voice.
“Whatever, Dad.”
“Dad would have had more to say about your antics back at that school,” he said with a pointed look that made me blush.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, crossing my arms.
He made another play for the notebook, but I quickly blocked him, having expected it. “I’m talking about that Dave guy, your coach, and that other guy, what’s his name?”
“Jared?” I said.<
br />
A wicked smirk spread across his mouth. “So there was a third guy,” he drawled.
Damn brothers!
“Shut up. And there was nothing going on with my coach.” Nothing much, anyway.
“Right,” he said as he stood up. “Though I guess it doesn’t matter now, I just hope you didn’t...never mind, I don’t want to know.”
Not like I would have told him anyway. I stood up and nudged him out of my room.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” I said, “But to the bathroom.”
“Better use Mom and Dad’s,” he said, reminding me of what he’d come in for in the first place.
He didn’t move as I made to push past him, which made all sorts of alarm bells go off. “On second thought...” I turned and grabbed my notebook to take with me.
The grin on my brother’s face told me I’d been very wise to do so.
An Ode to Riding Breeches
“Hello,” the woman says, her voice as beautiful to his ears as the sound of a nightingale. “I saw you from my window and wanted to tell you that I find it curious that you sit here day after day. What are you about?”
The man smiles down at the lady. “I have been waiting.”
“For what?”
“For you, my lady,” he says. “I have been waiting for you my entire life, but only realized it just now.”
“And I you,” the woman says. “Never before have I seen a man in such attractive pants.”
As one, they look down at the man’s thighs, honed by hours of riding horseback in Her Majesty’s Army. “They are but riding breeches, my lady,” he says, befuddled.
“Yes, merely that,” the woman says, yet in her mind, she thinks: but sir, you are so hot in them!
The last bit, even more ridiculous than the rest, made me smile. But then I felt kind of sad because thinking of guys in riding breeches meant I was thinking about Brady subconsciously. Or maybe not so subconsciously. Of course, I was thinking about everything and everyone I’d left behind at Rosewood, but I felt particularly awful about how I’d left things with Brady. I mean, yeah, I was technically going to be dating Dave if things had worked out, and Brady and I had reached something of a truce over everything. But as I looked back and ran through everything in my head over and over (and over and over, because I had nothing but time to think about this stuff) I realized we weren’t done with each other.
Well, I thought with a mental sigh, I guess we were now, since the geography forced us apart. It wasn’t like he was going to get on a plane and chase me to London. And even if he was crazy enough to do that (which he wasn’t), he’d never find me.
I sighed out loud and told myself thinking about him was only going to result in making me sadder, so best just to push all thoughts of breeches and hot equestrians out of my head and instead focus on my writing.
I looked down at the notebook that was filling up with my scribbles. My terrible, cheesy, purple prosy writing. I knew this story—or whatever it was turning into—was really quite bad, but it was keeping me occupied and from going crazy over my imprisonment. (Dad was getting pretty tired of me calling it an imprisonment, but what else would you call being locked in a flat with nothing to do and no contact with the outside world? Rapunzel had a better social life in the end.)
All I had was some random guy to watch out in the courtyard and nowhere near enough hair for him to climb up, were he to decide to rescue me. Not that I saw that happening any time soon. And I had to admit, while his masculine physique was nice to look at (at least, I assumed; I only ever saw him sitting, though he did have those manly broad shoulders), he wasn’t the most exciting thing to watch. I’d spent more time than I’d care to admit staring out the window at him, waiting for him to do something. Anything. A dozen pushups, some triceps dips, maybe some jogging around the perimeter of the courtyard. But no. He just sat, his back poker straight, his eyes hidden by sunglasses.
Putting my pen down I glanced out the window, but he wasn’t on the bench, despite it being a sunny day out, though it was still pretty early—he usually didn’t come out until afternoon. I told myself it was ridiculous to be disappointed about him not being there, but myself didn’t really care.
I strained my ears and could hear the TV on in the other room. Since he’d arrived home two days ago, it seemed Robert was catching up on months’ worth of shows. He’d been so busy at whatever training facility he’d been at (they still wouldn’t tell me and Mom all the details), that he hadn’t watched anything since the summer. He was making up for it now with his binge-watching.
I got off my bed and headed out to join him.
“What are you watching?”
“Hey, B,” he said as I dropped beside him on the couch, not taking his eyes off the TV. “Walking Dead.”
“Ugh,” I said, getting up.
“Watch with me,” he said, grabbing my arm and pulling me back down. “I’m lonely.”
I gave him a look and reached up to his head. “Want me to braid your hair?”
“Shut up,” he said, ducking away from my hand, though he was smiling; when we were young, I did used to braid his hair when it got long.
“Where are Mom and Dad?”
“Mom went to the library to get you more books and Dad’s gone to work.”
I looked out the living room window—I’d give just about anything to walk to the library. Nice days were so rare, my skin was almost crawling with the need to feel some sunshine.
Robert paused the show and turned to me. “What’s the matter?”
“Really? You have to ask?”
“Apparently so,” he said.
“Some secret agent you’ll make.”
“Mind reading isn’t exactly my field of expertise.”
“I’m bored. I’m restless. I think I have scurvy.”
He ruffled my short hair with his big hand. “Little sister, scurvy is from lack of vegetables.”
“What does lack of sunlight cause?”
“Vampirism,” he said, deadpan.
“Yeah, then I have that.”
He nudged my shoulder and started up his show again. “Sorry, little sister, I can’t help you.”
I managed to power through about eight minutes of The Walking Dead before I got up and out of Robert’s reach, in case he tried to grab me again. “I can’t watch this,” I said, covertly looking out the window to the empty courtyard.
“Terminator out there?” Robert said.
I turned back toward him, hating that in some ways, he really did seem to be a mind-reader. “Huh?”
“Terminator. You know, the guy who looks like a robot with the sunglasses. Is he out there?”
Are you busting my chops? He hadn’t paused the show and wasn’t looking at me like he was about to tease me for watching the guy, so I took the question at face value. “Uh, no,” I said. “Is he part of security?”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
I looked back outside, itching to get out there. The flat suddenly felt incredibly close and stuffy. “I’m going to go out there.”
That made him pause the show and give me a pointed look. “No you’re not,” he said in his dad voice.
“I’m not going outside of the courtyard. I just need a half hour of sun. I’m going nuts in here.”
“No.”
“Please. Twenty minutes. I’m seriously getting stabby...”
“Absolutely not.”
“Ten minutes.”
“B...”
I resisted the urge to stamp my foot. “Oh come on. You’ll be able to watch me.” I gestured out the living room window. “No one can see from the street and the security detail is outside the building. I’ll keep my scarf and hat on so no one will be able to see me.”
He exhaled loudly through his nose. “B please...don’t make me say no.”
Frustration had turned to anger. And it had become more about him saying no than me
actually wanting to get outside. “Then don’t say no.”
“Dad will freak.”
“I can handle it,” I assured him.
“Dad will freak on me.”
“You’re not the boss of me. I’ll take all the heat.”
He stared at me for a couple breaths before he sighed and gave in. “Fine, do what you want. Fifteen minutes and then I’m coming to get you. I’ll throw you over my shoulder if I have to.”
“Twenty minutes.”
“You’re pushing your luck,” he said in a warning tone, but then added, “Not a minute more.”
I gave him a salute and ran to my bedroom to get my scarf, hat and iPod, more excited than someone with a twenty minute free pass had any right to be. Wrapping my scarf around my face as I rushed to the front hall closet (worried he’d change his mind before I got out of the flat) he called my name. I froze and held my breath.
“Stay where I can see you and seriously, be careful. If someone’s out there, come back.”
“Got it,” I said, shrugging into my coat. “Thanks, big brother,” I said as I reached for the door handle.
“Twenty minutes!” he called out. “I’m not kidding.”
I rolled my eyes, but checked my watch on my way out.
~ ♥ ~
I’d forgotten to grab my sunglasses and wasn’t about to sacrifice my free time to run back and get them, so I allowed my eyes to drift closed against the brightness, enjoying the brisk air and the sunshine on my face. I figured I had four songs before I had to check my watch, so I did some deep breathing, pretending I didn’t smell the exhaust and other less than awesome city smells. Still, it was good to be outside in the fresh air, fighting off vampirism.
I laughed to myself at Robert’s joke. Which made me think of his other joke: calling the courtyard guy The Terminator after that old Arnold Schwarzenegger movie. I got where he was coming from, but it probably wasn’t a fair comparison. Using my hand as a shield to block the sun, I opened my eyes and did a sweep of the courtyard. Still alone, so I dropped my eyelids again and returned to my deep breathing. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe I should have stayed alert and kept my eyes open. Because then I would have had more notice than a shadow falling over me exactly one half second before The Terminator landed in my lap.
Making Ripples Page 6
