“So,” Nicholas says, as he leans on the counter, his tone laced with mischief. “Learn anything interesting on your tour?”
“Yeah,” I say, as I near, “That you two are not supposed to be here.”
Stephen grabs a plum from a basket on the counter and tosses it from hand to hand. “Yeah, we don’t follow that rule. This is where Dina cooks, so this is where we eat. You unmarried women can’t scare us off.”
“Actually,” Nicholas says grinning, “I’m here to see if you want a rematch.”
Linnie snatches Stephen’s plum out of the air and takes a bite. “Rematch?”
“I vanquished Raven in a race yesterday. I just wonder if she wants to win back her honor.”
“Oh, she does.” Linnie wiggles her eyebrows. “It’s a matter of motivation: you need stakes.”
Nicholas crosses to where Linnie stands. “What are you thinking?”
“If Raven wins, she and I get full use of the little Vespa in the garage while we’re here, plus as much gas as we want. And if you win...”
“...An American date, with Raven,” He finishes her sentence, “At a restaurant in Hoganas.”
"What's an American date?" Linnie and I ask in unison.
"Swedes don't go on dates, we go out in groups," Stephen says.
I say, “Not going to happen,” just as Linnie says, “it’s on.”
I ask, “Don’t I get a say in this?”
“No,” they all answer.
Linnie continues, “It’ll have to be a short sprint, maybe a forty yard dash. Do you have a track?”
“I’m in,” Stephen says, as he grabs another plum.
“What?” Nicholas glares. “‘In’ what?”
“I’m in the race, same stakes. If I win, I take Raven on a date.”
“No chance.” Nicholas back-steps toward me.
Stephen tosses up and catches his plum, “First of all, the Vepsa belongs to me, so I have more right to be in this race than you do. Second, I smoke, so I’ll be no competition.”
Nicholas points. “Yeah, but you cheat.”
Stephen shrugs. “My Vespa; I’m in.”
“And I’ll judge!” Linnie chimes, “Here, show me the track. I’m Raven’s management.”
Nicholas leads Linnie out, then ducks back into the kitchen a second later, his eyebrows lower and tense, as he stares at Stephen. “Aren’t you coming?”
I force myself to look at Stephens face; if I flinch, he'll see it.
Stephen’s blue-eyes twinkle, as he smiles my way. “In a moment.”
Nicholas makes a huffing sound, hesitates, then leaves.
Stephen’s smile melts off the scar-free half of his face. The absence of his smile seems so unnatural. When we can no longer hear Linnie and Nicholas, chatting outside, he says, “Don’t be afraid." He pauses long enough for me to consider telling him I'm not afraid (which is a lie), but before I do he continues, "I’m not planning on pursuing you. I'm not blind." He raises his hand to his face, then holds it out to me, as if I might object. "I just… I don't like the way Nicholas is going about this and this is my only way of challenging him."
I look at him for the first time, really look at him; if not for the huge scar and the way all his features pull toward it, his face would be similar to Nicholas's.
He was probably never as conventionally good looking as Nicholas, but from his high cheek-bones and big crystal blue eyes, I bet he had a pretty-boyish charm before something split his face open. Too sad. His smile returns, making his eyes gleam roguishly. He winks. “Also, I can never pass up an opportunity for an American date with a beautiful woman, even if I have to trick her into it.”
“It wasn't my idea to come here. I'm not trying to mess up your family or anything. I just wanted to go on vacation with my sister."
"Raven, I don't object to you; Nicholas just has ...”
I'm not sure if he's going to say, 'a duty,' or 'standards he needs to live up to,' or however he wants to justify why I'm unfit for Nicholas, but I don't want to hear it, so I interrupt him. “I know. I'm just, um, I'm not trying to fall in love or anything, not on vacation, anyway.”
Stephen laughs. “Good luck.” He bites into his plum and walks out of the room, leaving me alone in the kitchen.
Wow, thanks! ‘Good luck’? Could he say anything more annoying? I take a seat at the kitchen table and kick the chair leg.
“You look so angry, your eyes could boil water,” a woman with a thick accent, probably Russian, says, behind me. I look back, just as a jar and knife plop on the table in front of me. “For you, open the jar.” A curvy petite unnaturally redheaded woman says, taking a step back.
“Huh?”
“Open the jar,” she repeats.
I lean forward, take the glass container and unscrew the lid. A thick coat of wax seals in (what I assume is) jam. I glance to the redheaded woman, who is now twirling a whirlpool into a bowl of batter with a wooden spoon; she’s the cook from last night.
“Use the knife,” she waves her batter-laden spoon.
“Okay,” I grumble as I saw into the thick seal. The wax is too hard so I end up stabbing it repeatedly. When I finally slash through to the jelly, I’m at a loss as to how to remove the seal. I stand up to lever and force the wax out. I adjust my position, then use all my strength to push out... and then the jam explodes in my face and around the kitchen.
The woman gives an almost masculine chuckle. She bustles over and hands me a rag, “For you.” She descends to the floor, scrubbing, before I blink.
“Sorry!” I wipe jam off my cheek. “I’ll clean up.”
“Do not worry.” She scours the last droplets of jam off the floor. “Do you feel better now?”
I exhale a little laugh. “You know, I do. Thank you.” I wipe the jam on my T-shirt but the red goo only smears.
The woman stands, washes her hands and crosses to pour some batter into the frying pan. “Are you ready to talk about why you were so angry?”
“Um,” I sigh, “It’s really dumb. I just, well, this isn’t how I planned my sister’s and my trip, and we had it all planned out.” I stare at the table for a moment, before adding, “…and if I get attention from one more guy, I’ll scream. I feel as if all these different people are trying to grab hold of me and drag me in different directions...and all I want is to be with my sister.” I glance up, “I’m sorry; I’m not making any sense.”
“No, I understand. You are blooming into a beautiful woman and all the men are noticing and this is stressful.”
“I guess, and thanks.” I struggle to separate a sticky strand of my hair. “Getting attention probably doesn’t bother most people.”
“It is good the attention bothers you; some girls need a man to tell them ‘you’re beautiful’ or ‘you’re sexy’ to make them like themselves. Be content on your own, then you’ll have a good life.”
This is the advice most middle-aged adults give to us youngsters, ‘be true to yourself.’ It’s nice to hear, though, and it sounds especially wise with a Russian accent.
She places a plate with a thin pancake and fork on the table. “Use the jam.”
My knife spreads a thin layer of the hard-earned preserves over my pancake. “I was so excited about spending all this time with my sister, Linnie. She’s been away at college this past year and she calls me less and less. I thought when we got back together, everything would go back to the way things were before she left, but it hasn’t. She’s different now, her friends are different, she dresses different and cares so much about boys and partying and everything’s changed.” Surprisingly, I choke up, “…and she brought along her friend, who’s awful, and nothing like her, or me, or any of the friends we grew up with.”
“And you are jealous.” She states this as if it’s a fact.
My gaze snaps up. “No. I don't think I'm explaining myself well; never mind.”
She makes an “ah” sound, not saying anything. She doesn't get it.
After a few
moments of silence, I cut into my pancake with my fork and take a bite. I swallow and declare, “This is good. Are you Dina?”
She huffs. “Most people call me Ms. Petrov, but you may call me Dina, if those boys told you my name. I suppose they will be running back here to devour and track mud in my kitchen.” She sounds as if she’s talking about six-year-olds.
I smile. “Yeah, I think so. How long have you worked here?”
“Thirty-two years, four months and twelve days, today.” When I gape, she adds, “Tobias Leijonskjöld saved my life that day.”
I furrow my brow. “Wow! He must have been really young; he didn’t seem as if he could be over thirty.”
“No.” She chuckles. “Not the young one with the pole up his pópa, he takes his father’s name, Tobias Tapper; Tobias Leijonskjöld is his ancestor.”
I pause in my fork’s ascent and furrow my brow again. “Do you mean his grandfather?”
She glances my way, narrows her eyelids and then returns to watching her batter sizzle on the stove. “Yes, my English is not so good; it is my fourth language.”
“I only know one, and not even that well,” I mutter, as I take another bite. I want to ask what Tobias saved her from, but it's too invasive, so I just stuff my face.
Dina sets out three more plates, just as Linnie, Nicholas and Stephen return, in a flurry of movement and laughter.
“We decided on an hour from now,” Linnie tells me, before taking her first bite. “Nicholas insists you race on the lawn...”
“Trust me,” he interrupts, “If we’re racing Stephen, we don’t want to be running on pavement.”
Stephen does a nod-shrug gesture, confirming he’s more than likely plotting something.
I speak slowly to conceal my desperation, “If I don’t win, I still get veto rights on where we go.”
Stephen shakes his head. “No, Raven. If I win I might take you to this bistro I adore in the South of Ireland, but I’ll have you back by your bed-time.” He pauses, with his fork hovering by his mouth, “Probably.”
“Don’t worry.” Nicholas’s eyebrows pinch, as he glares at his brother. “When I win, I won’t do anything that ostentatious.” He touches my arm, where I scoured the name of the restaurant off in the shower.
Great. I’ll just run like a cheetah.
“Don’t be so sure,” my management chimes, “Raven just finished her fourth year in track.”
Oh yes, track, where I won nothing of more consequence than a trophy for my relay team sophomore year.
“Does that mean she’ll be wearing those little shorts?” Stephen gives me a look that makes Nicholas tense in his seat.
“Oh yeah,” Linnie replies. “She’s been sleeping in them.”
“Traitor,” I mouth, across the table.
“No.” She sticks out her lower lip. “I’m just looking out for your best interests, little sister. You’ll see.”
“Well,” I say, as I stand up with my plate, cross to the sink and start washing, “I better get ready for the race you’re forcing me into.”
Stephen beams. “Dina is going to love you; she’s pestered me to clean after myself for years.”
“Learn from this girl,” the Russian woman tells him, as she reenters the kitchen with a broom.
Fortunately, I did pack my entire track outfit: shorts, team t-shirt, socks and running shoes. I dress in my room, head out the back door and run straight into Chauncey, making-out with the chauffeur. Wait, he’s not the chauffeur, he’s some other guy in a similar uniform! Clearly, Chauncey’s not taking a nap.
I step around them, murmuring apologies; they glue their faces back together.
All flustered, I hasten to the pasture, where Nicholas stands, by two neon-orange cones; I guess cones are orange here, too. Stephen and Linnie set markers across the field. The noontime sun warms my bare arms. Though the wind only trickles by, the air carries the scent of roses and freshly mowed grass.
“You’re both still in suits?” I sit down to stretch.
He laughs. “Well, we had to give you some chance, didn’t we?”
“A chance to win my freedom from your extravagant dates?”
“This is all just for fun. You don’t have to go on a date with me, Raven, even if I win.” He tightens his lips and looks almost crestfallen.
“No, of course I will.” The Monarchs in my stomach flutter furiously.
His face lights up. “Perhaps we may have the date, no matter who wins.”
The word ‘sure’ is about to slip through my lips, when I stop myself. I’m much too easily manipulated. “Then, you won’t have any motivation to race,” I tease.
He glares across the field at his brother, “Oh, yes I will.”
After I stretch and Stephen returns, we line up between the cones. I scoot to give myself some room, but Stephen determinedly crowds me.
Linnie waits halfway down the track. Through cupped hands she yells, “On your marks...”
Stephen bends forward, in a sprinter’s position.
“Get set...”
He lunges over, yanks my shoelace and takes off running.
“Go!”
Nicholas sprints after his brother. After a moment of hesitation, I’m close on his heels. Nicholas races ahead; the gap between us lengthens more and more. I lope forward, I’m an antelope, an antelope; come on, Raven, catch up!
Ahead, Nicholas passes Stephen.
Stephen leaps and tackles Nicholas and they crash down in a mess of limbs.
I veer to avoid the grapplers, as fingers snake around my ankle and I crash forward, onto the grass. Without looking whose hand grasps my leg, I aim my foot and kick, hard. Then, I kick again. Someone bellows a satisfying, “ouch!” and the hand releases me. I scuttle forward, get up and sprint for the cones.
Run, run, run! I glance back.
Limbs untangled, the two men pursue; they’re too far behind.
I hurdle over the invisible finish line. “Victory is mine!” I throw up my arms and cartwheel.
Linnie applauds and kicks out a goofy victory dance.
I peer over my shoulder.
Stephen charges me, at full speed, with Nicholas catching up.
I shriek and run in the direction of the house, smiling. Crisis adverted. Well, for a little while.
Chapter Eleven
Day Thirteen
"Who is Andras?" Linnie asks, as her fingernail scrapes from my forehead, through my hair, and stops at my neck, dividing my hair into two sections.
I inhale through my nose and calm my voice. "Who?"
Linnie ties up one section of hair and runs her fingers through the other. "Andras. You’ve been saying his name in your sleep."
"Oh." Did I dream about him again? I thought last night was my first Andras-free sleep. "Must have been a nightmare."
Her voice fills with repressed laughter, "Yeah sure, I wish I could have nightmares like...”
I elbow her. "Didn't you have something you wanted to talk about?"
My interruption sobers Linnie. "Yeah.” She sighs. “I’m worried about Chauncey.” She loops the hair band, one last time, around the end of my braid.
I glance around for Chauncey, but Linnie’s hands, separating the other side of my hair into sections, impedes my head from turning.
“A car already picked Chauncey up for shopping or something,” she assures me.
We are sitting on Linnie’s bed; she insisted on doing my hair before we meet up with Stephen and Nicholas.
“You should be more worried about us,” I say. “Having seven strangers, possibly homicidal maniacs, in this house, in the past seven nights, maybe more? That’s dangerous.”
“I’m serious, Raven, there’s something wrong with her. I mean, she wasn’t Miss Prude, Prim and Proper at school, but she wasn’t like this.”
“People act differently on vacation...”
“No!” Linnie gently tugs my hair. “Not like this.” Her heavy exhale lands on my neck. “I know this is wrong t
o say, but Chauncey is probably the vainest person I know...”
“I’ve noticed. But she has reason to be, she’s the best looking girl I’ve ever seen.” Yesterday, I caught myself gaping at Chauncey, and I strongly dislike her.
Linnie says, “At school she spent hours beautifying in the mirror; I’d always tease her about her excessive grooming. Yet, for the past couple of days, Chauncey has been covering all the mirrors with sheets and towels.”
“She’s the one doing that?” I noticed the odd assortment of linens, appearing over any reflective surface in the guesthouse; I had assumed Nelly, our ill-humored maid, covered the mirrors to give us some type of unwelcome notice.
“I caught her hanging a sheet over the mirror in the bathroom. When I asked her why, she wouldn't answer me. She also quit smoking, which is a good thing, but she told me, crying, that cigarettes have ruined her complexion. She pointed to a spot on her face with nothing there. I don’t get it.” Linnie finishes twining the second half of my hair and ties the braid with another band. She hugs me around the shoulders. “I’m scared Raven: I think something messed-up happened to her.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes and take a deep breath. I need to be considerate, if not for Chauncey’s sake, then, for Linnie’s.
She rests her chin on my shoulder. “She’s been troubled since we got here...”
“Then, we’ll leave.” I tap her hand. “We will leave tomorrow, if you want.”
“Leave?” She sighs. “I’m not sure. That might be what’s best, but...”
“We’ll have our rock-hopping adventure today, and then, tell the boys we’re taking off tomorrow. With a few tweaks, we could go back to our old schedule, starting in France...”
“I don’t know, Raven; we should talk to Chauncey, first.” She lets go of me and crawls off the bed. “Thank you, though.” Her gaze meets mine and she smiles, “…for thinking about what’s best for Chauncey.”
I return a tight smile and hastily glance away. My arms swing back and forth. “So… rock-hopping.”
Linnie links her arm in mine and does a little tap-dance. “Yay!”
We Wizard-of-Oz skip across the house, laughing and almost crashing into furniture. Linnie and I topple through the kitchen door, giggling.
The Deception Dance Page 11
