by Anna Premoli
That's right, dear brother, just keep taking the piss out of me.
“You know what's most shocking?” I ask, resignedly. “It's that it's not even his looks that I like, it's the type of person he is. Ridiculous, isn't it?”
“I wouldn't expect anything else from you,” Michael re-assures me. “Anyway,” he continues, as he tucks into his shepherd's pie, “are you going to move in with him?”
“I really hope I find the strength to say no,” I admit sincerely, because living together is something I just cannot get my head around.
“What on earth for?” my brother asks enigmatically.
“Simple – so that I don't end up getting my heart totally broken. Just look what happened to you.”
He observes me sympathetically. “And precisely because it happened to me I feel compelled to tell you that it's definitely better to get your heart broken than to run away from true love. And let's just say that your previous boyfriends didn't exactly get your pulse racing.”
“Exactly! They were perfect!” I say.
Michael looks at me sweetly. “Jenny, come on, you can't go on like this, avoiding getting your hands dirty. Sooner or later you have to run the risk of actually falling in love.”
“I'm afraid I already have—” I moan.
“Well thank God. Now try not to drive it away screaming in terror,” he suggests. Know-all.
“Keeping my distance from people is one of the things that I'm best at,” I admit, sinking into my chair.
“Exactly, so it might be time to change your approach,” he recommends.
“But how will I manage with his family? They'll never accept me. I'm not exactly a blue blood—” I point out in annoyance.
“Oh, to hell with them – there's no other choice. Anyway, you've never had any trouble doing it before,” he smiles.
You bastard, I think, looking at him in puzzlement. “What's with all this advice? I thought you would have been of the same opinion as Stacey—”
He laughs. “Oh, yeah. I'm sure Stacey hates Ian. And to be honest, having him sat between us for lunch every Sunday would really be a hoot.”
How I wish I shared his certainty…
*
When I get back from lunch, Ian is sitting comfortably in my office awaiting my return. He's responding to a series of e-mails on his BlackBerry, and when I say hello he almost jumps out of his chair.
“I didn't mean to scare you,” I say, smiling.
“You didn't scare me,” he says. He looks at me dubiously.”How did it go with your brother?” he asks. So that's why he's here – he wants to know how my lunch went.
“Very well, I would say,” I confess. “Apparently he's now your biggest fan.”
“Well thank God somebody is. Your family detest me.” His voice is calm, but the words tell a different story.
“That's not true. It's your family that hate me,” I say, as I sit down.
“Oh, nonsense,” he says. Ah, if only it were.
“Your grandfather can't stand the sight of me,” I say, looking him right in the eye.
He doesn't bat an eyelid. “My grandfather admires you very much.”
Perhaps, but in the wrong way.
“He'd never want you and me to be together, though,” I say.
Ian doesn't contradict this last statement. “Well, I don't care what they think – do you?” he asks with a smile.
“Of course I do! It's your family, you have to maintain at least a decent relationship with them!” I blurt out.
“I haven't had a decent relationship with my family for at least fifteen years. And believe me, it wasn't because of you then and it isn't because of you now.”
If only it were that simple.
“Anyway, what suggestions did your brother make, expert as he is in dealing with we eccentric nobles?”
I briefly run through my brother's life story for him. I want him to understand that the hatred against people like him in my family is something with ancient roots, and is nothing to do with him personally. But it affects him anyway.
“My brother's a joker, so he suggested arranging a meeting between our families.”
Ian stares at me in fascination. “That actually wouldn't be such a bad idea.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
Looking almost happy, he gets up from his chair and walks over toward me. “Think about it, it would be perfect.”
“Ian, I'm a girl with above average intelligence. Please don't suggest things like that. Give me at least a little credit.”
He chuckles and leans over to give me a quick kiss.
“Excuse me, have you genuinely lost your mind?” I snap at him. We are still in office, after all.
“Next you'll be telling me that I can't kiss my girlfriend—” he teases.
“Not in the office you can't,” I say threateningly.
He shrugs casually. “We could make a deal: you admit finally to everybody that you're my girlfriend, come to dinner with both our respective families and agree to move in with me, and I, in return, will keep my distance during office hours.”
“You don't think that those conditions might be slightly unfair, do you?” I ask sarcastically.
Ian doesn't move. “Think of the alternative: I could chase you all around the office and kiss you in front of everyone—”
His eyes shine mischievously at the idea.
“You'd have to catch me first,” I say.
Ian looks at me as if he wants to eat me.
“Ok – if you've really got your heart set on putting yourself through this nightmare, I'll organize a meal,” I consent in the end.
“And you'll move in with me,” he urges.
“Forget it.”
“I swear, I'll pack my bags and move in with you if you don't. The four of us in one flat would make it a bit cosy, but I'm good at adapting.”
Yeah, right – just like I'd adapt to living in a tent. But Ian is stubborn, and would put up with anything just to be able to say he'd won.
“Ok. This thing about living together… we'll see,” I grant him eventually.
He gives me a bright, sincere smile. “I knew you'd give in—”
“I haven't given in,” I say, my voice starting to get louder.
But Ian doesn't listen and walks towards the door.
“My dear – and I stress the 'my' -” he says seductively, “against me, you have no hope. No hope at all.”
That was one thing that I'd already worked for myself, unfortunately.
Chapter 30
“Are you nervous?” asks Ian as we walk towards the door of the French restaurant he's chosen for this meal with our families.
“Nervous would be putting it mildly,” I reply, trying to stay calm as we approach. Ian has opted for a place that will please everyone: nothing overly sophisticated, but not too rustic either. I've got a sneaking suspicion that in the attempt to remain neutral he'll end up annoying all present. I really hope I'm wrong.
“My lot are already here,” he informs me, pointing to the Bentley parked a few metres ahead.
That's how to make everyone feel at ease, I think, looking at the enormous luxury car.
“I love people who don't like being noticed,” I reply sarcastically.
I see Ian's lips stretch out in a smile. “Grandfather doesn't know what it means not to be noticed. You've met him, I believe.”
The air is thick with tension: this must be the type of restaurant that doesn't normally have to deal with people like the Duke of Revington. Or my weirdo parents.
“This way,” says a pale-looking waiter as he shows us to our table. In his place, I'd be pale too.
We are led to a large flawlessly set table. There's no silverware, but it's all very tasteful.
The three faces awaiting us there are not exactly the personification of friendliness, but that was to be expected. The Duke gets up immediately and shakes my hand.
“It is always a pleasure, Miss Percy,” he says, as
though it were true. But I appreciate the form that he attempts to maintain.
Ian's mother gets up to say hello and introduce her husband. “A pleasure. I'm David St John,” he says in a formal tone, shaking my hand and studying me carefully. His deep blue eyes give me no clue as to what he thinks of me, but the resemblance between father and son is quite staggering, even though Ian's face is much sweeter and definitely more open.
The only thing missing to complete this cheerful little picture is my family, but soon enough they arrive. Once the introductions are over and everyone is seated, an awkward silence falls over the guests.
“Well, now that we've all arrived, how about getting on to the real reason why we are here today?” asks Ian's grandfather. He certainly isn't one to beat about the bush.
“We are here to meet one another, Grandfather. I think that's obvious,” Ian replies in the same tone.
“Well, I would say that we've all met, now, then,” his mother says nervously.
He looks at her, summoning extreme patience.
“Good, because Jenny and I would like to tell you something,” announces Ian.
“You're not pregnant?” asks my mother accusingly.
At the word 'pregnant', all present jump to attention and the tension becomes palpable.
“No, mum, I'm not pregnant,” I answer sharply. Even though it's none of your business anyway, I feel like adding.
“Are you sure?” asks Ian's mother.
Have they all gone mad?
“Yes, I'm quite sure,” I say through clenched teeth.
“What we wanted to tell you,” says Ian, attempting to retrieve his thread, “is that we are moving in together.”
“Together?” asks my father in shock.
“Yes, together. It means living in the same house,” I explain. If he's going to ask such stupid questions then I'll have to resort to semantics.
“Why?” asks Ian's mother.
Ian laughs. “What do you mean, 'why'? Does it seem so odd that two people who are together decide to live together?”
“Ian, you know that in our family there has never been… cohabitation,” points out his father, who until then has had the good sense to keep quiet.
“There's a first time for everything,” replies his son.
“And where the hell would you live?” asks his grandfather finally in a tone that is clearly meant to intimidate.
“I was thinking about my flat,” replies Ian.
“You mean my flat,” says the Duke, rather inelegantly.
“I mean the flat I pay rent for. But I have no difficulty with moving out and looking for another, if that's the problem.”
His grandfather looks at him icily. “Of course not. That's not the point.”
“Yes, I'd worked that out for myself,” replies Ian, growing increasingly angry. “May I know exactly what this insurmountable stumbling block might be, then?”
A silence descends suddenly on our table and no one dares to breathe.
“Well?” prompts Ian.
“You can't really imagine that you two are compatible,” says his mother, looking serious.
“Mother dear, if you and father think that you are, then I am very happy to be totally incompatible with Jenny—”
His mother looks at him in annoyance, but says nothing else.
But I was sure that his grandfather would not be able to restrain himself, and I'm proved right. “Ian, you cannot seriously be considering going through with this: Miss Percy is a very intelligent, very interesting person, nobody denies that, but if you are serious in your intentions then you must see that you have chosen entirely the wrong kind of person.”
I was afraid that sooner or later someone would say something like that. And that my mum wouldn't be able to overlook it.
“Excuse me?” she says indignantly, raising her voice. “What exactly do you mean?”
Ian's grandfather looks perplexed. No one ever addresses him in this way. “No offence, ma'am, but we are one of the most important families in England and we have always regarded alliances in marriage as being of the most vital importance.”
My father laughs. “Right, so Prince William can marry a girl whose ancestors were miners but your family can't mix with commoner blood?”
Ian's grandfather is extremely annoyed. “Without detracting from the royal family, please remember that you are talking about a German line whose pedigree is not comparable in any way to ours. There is a difference of something like five hundred years of history.”
From bad to worse. At this rate, blood's going to flow.
“Something tells me that your blood's too blue and it needs a bit of new life. Too much inbreeding must have given you lot brain damage,” says my mother spiritedly.
Lady St John at this point feels obliged to speak. “It is more than just a matter of blood. No offence, but there are some essential qualities that a future duchess should possess.”
Oh greeeeeat…
I can't hold back a nervous laugh. “Fine. Well, since we've brought out the big guns, let's at least try and speak our minds,” I suggest to all, trying not to show how offended I am by her intimations.
But my mother has been stung. “Do you perhaps mean that my daughter isn't pretty enough? Are you kidding? Jennifer's gorgeous! Not to mention that she has more brains than all the girls that you're son's been out with put together.”
Apparently it took a nightmare meal like this to finally drag a compliment out of her.
Ian looks at her with a discouraged expression. “That's the way I feel too, mother.”
My mother is in full flow, though. “Anyway, it's your son who doesn't deserve Jenny! Somebody so vacuous, who only cares about appearances—”
“Mum,” I try and cut in, “let's not go too far.”
“Jennifer, please. This is serious.” As though I hadn't realised that for myself. “You can't really be thinking of moving in with Ian, knowing how he was raised and the world he lives in.”
Well, it doesn't take much more for total war to break out, with everyone screaming at each other and nobody listening to anybody else.
I knew it would end like this.
Maybe Ian can continue to kid himself that things can work between us, but I know they can't.
We might even decide to move in together, but eventually these quarrels between our families would affect us too, and they would gradually create a fracture that would ultimately bring the whole house of cards tumbling down, leaving only rubble.
I love Ian. It's strange to realise the fact right now. I love him so much that I'm convinced that these tensions will wound him. And maybe a small wound today is better than a mortal one tomorrow.
I wish there was an alternative, but I can see no other way out.
“Ian,” I whisper, trying to get his attention in the pandemonium.
He turns a disheartened face to me. I understand.
“Ian, I knew this would happen. If we'd thought about it for a moment we could have imagined it from the beginning.”
He looks at me quizzically.
“Our families will always be a problem, there's no point telling yourself that they won't. No one lives in isolation. These people brought us up and they affect our decisions. I'll be honest, I don't think that there's anything else we can do but split up, right now, before we move in together.”
Ian looks at me dumbfounded – he clearly didn't expect anything of the kind.
“What you are talking about?” His voice is hard.
“I care about you, I really do, but we can't go on like this.”
His sweet expression suddenly becomes frosty. “If you're going to give up at the first stupid bloody obstacle, then you obviously can't love me very much.” His voice is hurt and disbelieving.
In truth, the problem is totally the opposite: I love him too much. “I always tend to be the more realistic of the two of us, you have to admit that,” I say quietly. “So if I decide to do something like that it's be
cause I really don't see another way out. We'd end up rowing, saying hurtful things, and in the end we'd hate each other. And I don't want that. So it's better to end it here. We knew from the start that we were too different.”
Ian gets up angrily from the table, so abruptly that all present suddenly go silent and turn towards him.
“You're windbags, the lot of you. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves!”
And he storms out.
I try to follow him, but once outside the restaurant it's as though he has evaporated into thin air.
Chapter 31
I arrive fifteen minutes late. Not like me, but these last two weeks have been so surreal that I'm just amazed that I'm functioning almost normally, to be honest. I eat (a bit), work (not very well) and try to sleep, but don't manage much, as the epic bags under my eyes testify.
I suffer from a disease that was completely unknown to me, the one called 'impossible love'. The love I feel for Ian is so deeply rooted inside me that I can hardly function, and at times I even feel as though I'm literally unable to think. It's pretty pathetic get to thirty before finding out what it's like to really fall in love.
I suppose sooner or later it was bound to happen to me.
In any case, after crying non-stop for a couple of weeks, Stacey and my friends have finally convinced me to set foot out of the house, so this evening I'm in this Italian restaurant because I'm meeting Eliott.
Stacey arranged the meeting, not so much to force me to go out with another man as to talk to a psychologist.
A waiter leads me to the table where Eliott is sitting patiently waiting for me and smiling. Lucky him, still having reasons to smile.
“Hello, Jenny,” he greets me, happy to see me.
“Hi Eliott,” I answer, sitting down.
“Normally I'd tell you that you look great, but you don't, to be honest.” I understand that the many sleepless nights are impossible to hide, despite the make-up.
“I appreciate your sincerity, really I do,” I say, smiling. “I do still walk in front of the odd mirror, and what I see isn't exactly reassuring.”
It's the truth, no point trying to get around it.
“At least you're aware of the problem. That's a first step towards healing,” he says in a professional tone.
