A shrill ring draws me back into reality. I blink and pick up my copy of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. As I prepare for my lecture, I shove the silly dreams out of my head. Reality may not be as enticing as my fantasies, but my life isn’t a novel. Despite what my heart might desire.
After the morning announcements, I stand at my podium. “Okay, settle down! I know, today’s Friday and we’re all excited, but let’s get down to business.” Shoulders back, I begin.
The morning passes with the usual end-of-the-week chaos. I’m sure I’ll be exhausted when 3 p.m. arrives.
It could be worse. I could spend the whole thinking about and enticing voice and muscular shoulders. No, I won’t think about Monroe! Lunch . . . a safer subject. I open my brown paper sack and make a resolution. No more daydreaming.
A knock breaks my reverie. Good, a distraction. “Come in!”
Carl Darrenmore, the other eleventh grade English teacher, strolls in carrying a soda. His demeanor radiates confidence. He brushes back the bangs of his sandy-colored hair, and his kind brown eyes meet mine. He’s a man single females drool over. Except me. Maybe it’s silly, but nobody else quite measures up to Monroe.
“Do you have time to discuss the upcoming essay contest?” He flashes a smile.
Nope, not as sexy as Monroe. No more! You must focus. I gesture to an empty desk and struggle to remain poised. “Sure, have a seat.”
He settles into a desk and props his chin in his hand. “This group doesn’t strike me as excited about the contest. Last year’s class couldn’t wait for it.”
“You’re right, I don’t think they are.” I tap my fingers against my desktop. “However, at least a few of my students want to enter. There’s no reason to cancel.”
“No, we won’t cancel. Simply my observation.” He pops open his drink. “On a different note, how’s Pride and Prejudice coming along?”
“We’re making progress.”
“I wish more of them loved the classics.”
“Part of the reason I’m a teacher.” I shuffle some papers. “Have you been roped into chaperoning the Junior-Senior Prom?”
“Yep. Are you?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Are you going alone?”
“Probably. Will you go by yourself?”
He studies my face. “If you turn me down, I will.”
My shoulders slump. “Carl—”
He leans forward. “Come on, Sasha, we both have to be there. Why don’t we go together?”
I recall all the other times he’s asked me out. Maybe if Monroe hadn’t come into my life and I wasn’t so ethical I’d say yes. We could always go as friends. “Okay. But, please, don’t read anything into it.”
He holds up his hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t presume.”
Shame washes over me. Even if I don’t feel anything for the guy doesn’t mean I have to be rude. “I’m sorry, that was harsh.”
“No harm done.” He resumes a serious expression. “I believe we’re set for the beginning of March to start the essay contest and then announce a winner in April.”
I nod and mentally review my checklist. We’ll have to run things by the principal. “Did Marjorie approve the dates?”
“I spoke with her earlier this week. We’re set.”
“I’ll make the announcement to my classes in the coming weeks. Then we can judge the entries.”
“Sounds good.” He gathers his things. “I better get back to my room.”
After Carl leaves I search for an excuse to attend the dance with him. I can’t think of a single one. Why did he have to make sense? I pray he didn’t say what I wanted to hear and secretly hoped to change my mind.
Sudden jealousy overwhelms me. Where did that come from?
“How can you,” a voice in my head says, “prefer him to me?” A cold chill runs down my back at the menace in the tone.
“What?” I ask, aloud.
Silence.
“Who said that?” I scan the room. Empty. “I’m imagining things.”
“What you need,” the voice resumes, “is a man who satisfies your heart.”
My nerves prickle. “I can’t be hearing things. Someone else is here.”
A vague chuckle echoes in my brain. “A slip on my part. Don’t fret, I won’t hurt you.”
Dizziness disorients me. I lean on the chalkboard for support. “This isn’t happening,” I moan. “I’m a rational, controlled person.”
Thankfully, no more sounds come from the voice.
I slide back into the chair, trembling. The loneliness I keep at bay breaks over me and my eyes sting. I grab a tissue and make a beeline for the nearest ladies’ room.
Locking the stall door, I take several deep breaths. I won’t cry. I won’t cry.
Students’ voices fill the air. I compose myself and step out of the stall.
“Miss Brighton,” a girl I taught last year says, “are you okay?”
“I’m fine. You enjoying senior year?”
“Mostly,” she says. “Except I can’t stand my French teacher, Monsieur Beauvais. He’s tres boring.”
Poor Armand. “The bell is about to ring. You better go before you’re tardy.”
She shrugs. “I suppose.”
We exit the restroom and go our separate ways.
“Be quiet, she’s coming!”
Do they honestly think they can fool me? I roll my eyes and suppress my amusement. I’ll give them five seconds. Let them believe it worked . . . for a little bit, anyway. Reaching five, I open the classroom door. Despite the leeway, a flurry of activity greets me.
One boy hurries into his seat. In the row to his left, a girl guiltily puts away a makeup compact. In the back of the room, another boy kicks his football under a desk.
“If you all are quite finished,” I say, entering the room, “we can start the lesson. Has anyone finished reading Pride and Prejudice?” I raise an eyebrow. “One person? Good job, Cara. The rest of you make sure you finish within the next few days. Now, take out your notebooks.”
Groans fill the air as I turn on the overhead projector. I ignore them and begin the lecture.
When the bell rings, the students scramble for their backpacks. I flick off the projector and sink into my chair behind my desk to enjoy my free period and take the opportunity to review Monday’s plans. Half an hour later, I shut down my laptop. A knock on the door startles me.
“Sorry to disturb you,” Carl says, as he comes in. “Do you have some extra chalk? Or dry erase markers? I forgot to get new markers and I ran out of chalk.”
“Maintenance still hasn’t installed my new dry-erase board. So I do have chalk.” I open a package. “How much do you need?”
“A couple of sticks should do. Thanks.” He gives me a salute and leaves the room.
“A salute isn’t how you say farewell to a woman. A bow, or a kiss on the hand. The man has no manners.” I cringe as the voice returns.
My hands shake. “What’s going on?”
“Like I said, I won’t hurt you. Relax. I want to make all your dreams come true.”
“Go away,” I say aloud.
“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?”
“Leave me alone!”
Mercifully there’s silence. Turning off the lights, I close the door behind me, lock it, and head for the Teachers’ Lounge. A brief glance at my mailbox, then I head for the door, hoping I don’t hear the voice again. Does insanity run in my family? Mom and Dad didn’t mention it.
“Why the hurry?” Elena Cortez, the ninth grade Spanish teacher stops me.
“I’m eager to get home,” I say, without stopping.
“Wish I could leave early,” Elena says as I race by.
Out in the parking lot, I get into the driver’s seat of my car and throw my stuff into the back. I gun the engine and fasten my seatbelt. The car lurches as I speed out of the parking lot. At home I’ll figure out what’s happening.
Then a thought occurs to me.
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No way . . . simply impossible!
Chapter 3: Monroe
Not good. She has her guard up. I can feel her senses on alert.
Quietly, I slip out of her mind and pace the expanse of my den in the Third Realm. “Concentrate,” I murmur, striding over the plush Oriental carpet.
What can I do? I snap my fingers. “It could work.”
When night arrives, I’m ready.
From my chair in the den I watch Sasha walk through her bedroom into the adjoining bathroom. She fills the tub with warm water then dumps in jasmine-scented bubble bath. Honor forces me to turn my head while she undresses and enjoys her bath. To occupy myself, I begin a chess game. I imagine Sasha is glorious with her smooth skin, her soft curls falling over her shoulders. My pulse races. What I wouldn’t give to run my fingers over her silky skin. So much for my chess game.
I dare a peek into the First Realm. She’s dressed in a nightgown and lying in bed. Sleep overtakes her and I step through the entrance into the Second Realm—the world of dreams.
Sasha’s usual tropical beach greets me. The sand between my toes a fine, white powder.
Cautiously, I approach her.
“Monroe?”
“Expecting someone else?”
She stares down at the lapping waves. The palm trees rustle gently in the breeze. “No.”
I hold out my hand. “Come with me?”
She regards it warily.
“What are you afraid of, my dear?”
“I . . .”
I let my hand drop. “No reason you should fear me. This is your place. I’m merely a visitor.”
“Like all dreams, it’s not real.”
“It is to you.” I reach again for her hand. “May I show you something?”
She hesitates.
“Please?”
She moves forward and places a quivering hand in mine. Our feet churn the sand as we make our way up the beach until we reach the shade of the palm trees.
“What did you want to show me?”
I gesture at a hammock strung between two trees. She sits. “I love hammocks!”
I join her. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
She rubs her arms, moving the straps of her pink sundress up and down her shoulders. “Oh, I don’t know.”
“Believe it.”
“I think you’re just saying things I want to hear.”
“I may say things you want to hear. But I am as real as you are. I exist in another realm, outside your reality. You must believe in me and decide to be mine. I’m already yours.”
“You speak in riddles. I don’t care. This is my fantasy and I’m going to enjoy it.”
“Unless you cast aside doubts, I won’t exist in your world.” My blood warms and I struggle to keep myself in check. “Don’t keep us apart. Be my wife.” Catching her lips with mine, I tenderly kiss her.
My senses are filled with her. Her touch, the light floral scent from her skin, the feel of her heart thumping against mine. Ecstasy travels white-hot through my veins. The joy is almost painful.
“Will you be my Valentine?” she whispers while I leave feathery kisses down her neck.
“Pardon?”
She ducks her head with an embarrassed laugh. “Nothing.”
“Believe in me, Sasha. When you do, marry me. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.”
“Wait!” Her shout echoes as everything fades and I’m sent back home. She cries out again, but it’s too late.
For a moment I’m too dazed to realize what happened. With a groan, recognition seeps into me. I’m back in the Third Realm. Separated from the one woman I desire.
How much more time must I wait? How do I make her understand? Time is running out. Goosebumps pucker up on my arms. Is it the rift? If it closes I’ll lose my one chance for happiness. There’s something else. I don’t sense anything. Someone. Who? What? How long before the threat manifests itself?
The images from nights during the previous month play before me. She wasn’t aware of me then. But I had heard her heart wishing for love. Resolution seeps into me. I will win Sasha before whatever lurks in the background can do anything.
Through the open curtains, rays of orange, red, and purple pour into the room. Soon daytime creatures will be stirring. I can’t pass up the opportunity. Briefly, my attention turns toward the pile of papers on a side table. No matter how often I’ve tried telling him the servants can handle the castle effectively, Ayres won’t do anything without my approval.
“Ayres!” I roar.
His figure materializes. “You have finally found the paperwork, sir.”
“My parents were hardly around and the castle survived. What’s the meaning of this?”
“The consent for the modernizations.”
“I gave you permission days ago.”
“A formality, my lord.”
Sighing, I grab a pen. “Bathrooms, kitchen, living room . . . I thought your magic took care of these.”
“Partially. My magic wasn’t enough.”
“These are contracted sprites? Since when did we need them?”
Ayres remains placid. “Your parents didn’t do any of the updates.”
I whip my signature across the bottom of the final page. “Are there any others?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Good. I’m going to the Adon Forest. I’ll return in a few hours.” Perhaps during the hunt I can clear my head and determine who my enemy is.
Chapter 4: Sasha
It was incredibly vivid. The beach, the flowers, the sand, and him. Everything felt real. I never met anyone like Monroe. I sit up and bury my face in my knees. Oh why can’t he be real? He’s straight out of a fairy-tale. I wrap my arms around my legs, wanting to hang onto the last bit of sensations his kisses set off in me. Why are all the Prince Charming types make-believe?
A groan escapes me and I flop against the pillows. Maybe over time, the dream will fade. I’ll go on with my life and he won’t appear in my thoughts again.
I peer at the clock. Four a.m. Thank goodness today’s Saturday. No way can I work in my present state. Or deal with all the Valentine’s Day cards and candy. A few more days and the most romantic twenty-four hours of the year will be gone. Then I can forget the emptiness in my life and how lucky Mel is she found Ted.
I’m happy for Mel. I’m glad she gets to go to Hawaii and a Caribbean Cruise for an entire month. Really. When she gets home I’ll be thrilled to hear all her adventures. Yeah, sure. If only it were me. I can picture myself on a ship with Monroe’s tall, tanned figure towering above me, his long, dirty-blond hair being blown by the wind.
Remembering I’m home and not on a boat, I drop my legs over the side of the bed and let out another groan. Dressed in a robe and slippers, I shuffle down the hallway to the kitchen. Soon the welcome sound of the coffeepot percolating breaks the silence.
Unfortunately, coffee and a blueberry muffin from the fridge don’t seem equal to a cruise, or the feel of Monroe’s strong arms around me. Deep inside, I can hear the sound of his persuasive voice, his tender lips against mine, the way he caresses me. He treats me like I’m his treasure. Someone he needs more than anyone else in the world. Cup in hand, I indulge in some daydreams. If all men were like Monroe, I would date more often. Carl’s face appears in my mind and I dismiss the image. He’s a nice man. Yet, I don’t get tingles from him that I do from Monroe. But Carl is a real man, not something out of my subconscious. I grit my teeth. I don’t care. I’m not attracted to Carl. I want Monroe.
I want someone who I can share everything about myself. While Carl is a great colleague, I don’t get a sense of rightness with him. I haven’t felt drawn to him in the way I have when I dream of Monroe. I get the sense if Monroe were real he’d see into the deepest parts of me and love me for who I am. If he was real, he’d be the prince I’ve fantasized would be my true love.
“Precisely
the problem,” I say, aloud. “Monroe isn’t real.”
“That’s what you think,” a familiar voice taunts.
It isn’t possible, is it? Somehow I hear Monroe’s voice as if he’s standing next to me, instead of in my head.
My mug shatters as it hits the floor. “Who or what are you?”
“Sasha, I’m offended. You know who I am.”
My hands begin to shake. I look around the apartment. I’m the only one here. “Have I lost my mind?”
“Trust me, Sasha. I exist.”
“Yeah, right.”
“My dear, you’ve lived far too long in the First Realm. You Firstlings are . . . oh, what’s the word? Three-dimensional. There are so many more dimensions than you imagine.”
I press my back against the counter. “What do you want with me?”
In disbelief, I watch his shadowy figure take shape before me.
“It’s a pity,” he says. “Because of your lack of faith, I’m not able to appear fully to you. Do you believe me, now?”
“It’s impossible.”
“If it was impossible,” he says, a frustrated pitch in his voice, “I wouldn’t be here.”
“My worst nightmare’s happening.” I rummage in the pantry. Where is it? Finally, I find the aspirin bottle and struggle with the safety cap. “I’m one step away from a mental breakdown.”
“Oh for the love of the Third Realm! You aren’t a lunatic.”
I drop the aspirin. “Third Realm?” My voice comes out weak. What am I doing? He’s wrong. I have lost my mind. Think. Come up with a plan. How do I get rid of him?
“The Third Realm is what you would call impossibilities and dreams. Things humans imagine, but don’t believe exist.” He approaches me. My pulse quickens as he continues, “Where do you suppose your Brothers Grimm got their fairy-tales? Or any authors get their ideas? You think your French writer was the first to come up with the story about a woman falling in love with a beast? Be sensible, Sasha. Those situations have been around far longer than you know.” His shoulders slump. “Some of us are lonely without a proper mate.”
All's Fair in Love and Lion Page 2
