by Juniper Hart
Tony’s face grew red, and he gaped at the boxer.
“I can’t tell if you’re cocky or stupid,” he said.
“Maybe both,” Ansel replied pleasantly. “Now, if you don’t mind…” He trailed off and looked purposefully at the clock.
Tony’s face was almost purple with fury as he reached into his waistband, withdrawing a pistol from his pants.
Ansel tried not to laugh. That man is going to blow off his own sack one day. He is much too obese to be wearing a firearm like that.
“Your fancy boxing moves ain’t gonna protect you from a bullet, you little shit!” Tony snarled, drawing close. He pointed the pistol directly toward Ansel’s forehead, and as Ansel waited for the mobster to act, he could see the veins in his forehead throbbing.
“This is not necessary,” Ansel said, swiping the gun away from his face as if it were a toy. “And it’s certainly not going to solve anything.”
Tony’s jaw almost hit the floor in shock. He raised the gun again and aimed it, ready to fire, but before he could make another move, Ansel’s face transformed.
His chin jutted forward into an elongated reptilian head, nostrils flaring. A mishmash row of gleaming pointed teeth protruded from his mouth, and Ansel’s gray eyes became glowing yellow embers of fury. His lips curled slightly, exposing the jagged incisors, a long, thick tongue falling from his mouth as he took in the look of horror on Tony’s face.
The old man stepped back, his face opaque with panic.
“What the—?”
Ansel opened his mouth and released a roar so loud, it shook the entire room. Tony passed out immediately, his corpulent body collapsing onto the ground.
The door flew open and Luca appeared, his face twisted in shock as he stared at his boss lying on the floor.
“What happened?” he demanded, rushing to Tony’s side.
Ansel stepped closer to knock the discarded gun under the sofa before Luca could see it, and his expression when the bodyguard turned to him for an explanation was one of concern.
“I couldn’t say!” Ansel exclaimed. “He heard that terrible ruckus and fainted dead away! What on earth was that noise?”
Luca didn’t respond, patting his boss’ face. A second later, Tony’s eyes opened. He gasped as he saw Ansel staring down at him.
“Diavolo!” he hissed, pointing at Ansel with a long accusing finger. “Diavolo!”
Luca glanced at the boxer.
“What happened?” he growled, jumping to his feet and reaching for his own firearm.
Ansel stifled a sigh, preparing to shift again, but Tony struggled to his feet.
“No!” Tony screamed. “No! We gotta get the hell out of here!”
Luca glanced uncertainly at his boss. Tony, however, was already scrambling to his feet, halfway out the door.
“Cheerio!” Ansel called. “Thanks for coming to watch the fight!”
Luca cast him one last look before taking off after Valducci.
Ansel shook his head, sighing as he turned to stare at his reflection in the mirror. Then he began to laugh.
I wish Nora had been here to see that, he thought wistfully. She would have loved it.
He stopped laughing as soon as he processed that thought. It had been unexpected, but he knew it had come from seeing that brunette in the hall. She had made him stop in his tracks—the resemblance to his beloved had been uncanny.
She was obviously not Nora, and Ansel knew it perfectly, but she would suffice.
If I squint and the lighting is dim, he reasoned. He was aware that the longing for Nora was not going to be sated by a brunette, no matter how many he went through trying to replace her. But he still grew tired of being alone, of missing her when part of him knew he would probably never see her again.
Ansel spun from the glass and hurried toward the door. He hoped the brunette was still around.
3
Nora had never heard Jerome so enraged.
“What were you thinking?” he yelled. “How could you be so reckless, so stupid?”
Fear filled her heart, and she stared at the receiver in her hand with dismay. “Chéri, I only wanted to—”
“I don’t care about what you wanted, Nora!” he snapped at her. “You know better than to go anywhere without me! How dare you do such a thing?”
Nora’s eyes travelled to the doorway, and she saw a strand of blonde hair duck back. Alex was listening to her conversation from the hallway, and Collette was surely with her.
Ingrates, Nora thought furiously. After everything I did for them!
She had thought the three of them had had a wonderful afternoon, stopping for lunch at a lovely restaurant on the snow crusted banks of Lake Lucerne before going to the Mall of Switzerland.
I bought them both outfits and shoes, and this is how they repay me?
Yes, she had used one of Jerome’s credit cards, which she had found months earlier tucked away in his nightstand drawer; and yes, perhaps she had bought too much at the mall, but she could not imagine that after such a long time, Jerome would still be so concerned. He had never made such a big deal about money before.
Then again, I had never done anything like this before, either, Nora reminded herself.
“Mon amour,” she said placatingly. “There is no cause for—”
“You are not to leave our bedroom until I return,” Jerome hissed.
“And how long will that be?” Nora demanded, exasperated. She could barely hold herself back from throwing her arms into the air. “I am going crazy here without you!”
There was a deep silence from the other end of the line, and for a moment, Nora thought he had hung up.
“Jerome?”
“I will have a surprise for you when I return,” he told her gruffly, and Nora felt a flutter of happiness in her body.
“Oh?” she purred. “What is it?”
“You will see when I return,” Jerome said, but something in his tone gave her goosebumps. She didn’t know if those goosebumps were from exhilaration or anxiety.
“I miss you so much,” she sighed. “Why do you have to be gone for so long?”
“Stay in your room,” he continued, like Nora hadn’t said anything. “I have instructed Collette to feed you in there.”
“What about my art?” she cried, but the dial tone suddenly echoing in her ear told her that he had already hung up. Slowly, Nora replaced the receiver on the cradle and sat back in the black chair, her mouth becoming a fine line of worry.
He is overreacting, she thought, gritting her teeth. She rose from the desk and turned toward the rectangular windows, staring out into the blanket of ivory in every direction.
“Mademoiselle Nora,” Collette announced, stepping into the room, “you must return to your room now.” Nora spun to glare at her.
“Why did you call him?” she questioned. “Why did you tell him?”
Collette paled slightly, but she maintained her firm expression. “Monsieur Charpentier worries about you, mademoiselle. He has instructed me to update him on your movements when he is not here.”
Nora snorted contemptuously.
“If he worries so much, why does he leave for so long?” she muttered, but the question was more for herself than it was for the housekeeper.
“Come along, Mademoiselle Nora,” Collette said. “You should rest. You have had a long day.”
She reached for her arm, but Nora yanked it back, glowering at the woman.
“I was only trying to do something nice for all of us!” she spat. “Rest assured that I will not make the same mistake again.”
“Our intention was not to upset you, mademoiselle,” Collette said, trying to appease her. Nora glared at her hatefully, and when she didn’t say anything else, Collette opened the door to her suite. “I will bring you some tea and something to eat.”
Nora pushed past the caretaker and entered the sitting room, flopping onto the cream-colored settee. Collette hesitated at the doorway.
“W
hat is it?” Nora snapped impatiently at her.
“I have been instructed to lock the door, but I would rather not,” she explained. “Mademoiselle, you must promise not to leave the room, or I will be forced to secure it.”
Nora’s mouth fell into a frown.
The housekeeper stared at her. “Mademoiselle Nora?”
“I won’t leave,” she pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Even though this is ridiculous.”
Collette turned away and closed the door, leaving Nora alone to ponder her thoughts.
He is overreacting, she thought, closing her eyes. It is not as it was ten years ago. We are in love now.
Suddenly, she was transported to a night she had lived ten years ago, so far away that it felt like it had been another lifetime, like she had been someone else.
Nora was standing by the Thames, a gentle wind caressing her hair as she leaned against the railing and tears slipped down her cheeks.
How much longer will this go on? she cried to herself. We will never be together as we were meant to be. Why do we keep trying?
But there was no answer in the lapping waters below.
I need to leave this place, leave the thought of him in the past. We have tried and failed. The fates are against us. Opal has seen to that.
“Are you alright, mademoiselle?”
She jumped, startled at the voice, and whirled to look at the stocky stranger at her back. He handed her a handkerchief, and Nora took it reluctantly.
“Yes,” she replied shortly, not wanting to be bothered. “Thank you.” She dabbed her face with the cloth and returned it to the man, but he shook his blond head.
“You may keep it,” he told her, his French accent lilting in her ears. “You do not seem cried out yet.”
She narrowed her dark eyes suspiciously.
“You do not know me,” she replied haughtily, deliberately turning her back.
“No,” the man agreed, stepping closer to her. “But I would like to.”
Nora sneered. She was well accustomed to men approaching her. After all, she was lovely and tall, catching the eyes of the most casual of passerby.
“If you don’t mind, sir,” she said curtly, “I would like to be left in peace.”
“I am Jerome,” he told her, as if she had not spoken. “And if I were with you, I can assure you that you would never cry again.”
The words had an eerily profound affect on Nora, and she turned to eye him warily.
“How can you make such a bold statement?” she demanded. “You haven’t a clue about what makes me cry.”
He chuckled and joined her at the railing.
“I would wager you are crying over a man,” he offered, and Nora scoffed, turning her head so he would not read the embarrassment in her face. She blinked back the tears burning behind her eyes.
“Please,” she insisted. “I would like to be left alone.”
“Well,” he whispered, reaching up to brush her hair away from her face. “We don’t always get what we want, do we, chérie?”
Nora gasped, her eyes flying open.
“Mademoiselle Nora! Are you all right?”
She looked up at Collette, her heart pounding in her chest. The housekeeper was glancing worriedly at her, carrying a tray with her dinner in her hands, and Nora swallowed to dampen her suddenly dry throat.
“I must have fallen asleep,” she murmured, trying to shake the sense of unease filling her chest. Confusion clouded her mind as she thought back to the strange dream she’d had. That wasn’t how she and Jerome had met, so many years ago.
We met at a gala in France, she reminded herself. I remember my red chiffon dress and dancing the waltz with Jerome.
Collette watched her with concern, placing the tray of food on the coffee table.
“You are pale, mademoiselle. You should eat and retire for the night,” she said softly. “Let me help you to the bedroom.”
Swallowing, Nora permitted the woman to assist her, but she still couldn’t shake the dream from her mind, as if her subconscious was trying to tell her something she did not understand on a waking level.
It was just a silly dream, she told herself. There has never been a man other than Jerome. We met at the gala when I was seventeen, and we ran off together. He left his wife to be with me. I have never lived in England. I have never even been to England!
Nora climbed into the thick blankets of her bed and gazed at Collette.
“Collette, do you speak English?” she asked suddenly.
The older woman’s brow furrowed slightly.
“Un peu,” she replied. “Alex speaks fluently. Why do you ask?”
Nora shook her head, trying to make sense of her thoughts. “Could you send her to me?”
Collette seemed ready to protest, but she nodded instead.
“Bien sûr, mademoiselle,” she agreed, smiling. “But then you must rest. Is it a deal?”
Nora bobbed her head, though something told her that sleep would not come easily to her—not after what she had just seen.
Collette left, and a moment later, Alex appeared in the doorway of the bedroom.
“Mademoiselle Nora? You asked to see me?” Nora nodded and beckoned the girl forward with her hand. Words that she thought couldn’t possibly be there took shape in her mind, coming to her as easily as if she had been saying them her entire life.
“Do you speak English, Alex?” Nora asked in English.
The blonde’s eyes widened and she nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Panic began to seize Nora’s heart, and she bit on her lower lip.
“Where did you learn it?” she demanded.
“My father is American,” Alex offered. “My mother is Swiss.”
“What dialect of English am I speaking?”
Alex’s lips parted, but no words immediately escaped.
“I don’t understand, mademoiselle,” she whispered, switching back to French. She gazed nervously at the doorway, as if looking for an escape. Nora was determined to get the answers she needed.
“It is a simple question, Alex,” she said in perfect English. “What dialect of English am I speaking? American or British?”
The girl gulped nervously.
“You seem to have a British accent, mademoiselle. You speak English well,” she murmured, still speaking in French. “I did not know you knew how to speak it.”
Nora stared at her, unmoving for a moment. Then she waved her hand, dismissing the girl. “That will be all.”
Alex spun to leave, and Nora debated whether to warn her to keep quiet about the newfound knowledge. But then she realized that there was no point in saying anything to her. The staff was forbidden to keep secrets from Jerome.
But what does this mean? Nora thought nervously. Why do I know how to speak English? What did that dream mean?
She was deeply troubled as she reached for her tea cup, taking a long sip before she settled back into the fluffy pillows. Her eyes grew heavy, and an abrupt tiredness clouded her whirling mind. She tried to fight off the sudden exhaustion overtaking her very bones, but she lost the battle to her weighed down lids.
If I am British, she wondered to herself, and I met Jerome in England, what else have I forgotten? And why do I recall meeting him in such a different way?
Sleep smothered her, and as she fell into a deep slumber, her last thought was the one that stirred her the most: who had she been sobbing for near the river that day?
Nora hoped she would dream of him again.
4
Sprawled on his bed, Ansel rolled his fingers over the mousepad, gnawing on his lower lip. The shower was still going in the bathroom, but he was only half listening as he punched the name he wanted to find into the social media search engine again.
No search results found.
He grimaced and shoved the laptop aside, falling onto his back and staring at the ceiling.
Where the hell is she? he thought. It’s been a decade. This is unheard of, even for Nor
a.
Ever since the night of their fight, he had been unable to shake the sense that his former lover was seeking him out.
It had started with the brunette in the crowd, the one who resembled Nora more than anyone else he had ever seen. When Ansel had found her still circling the arena, she had shown him a smile that had given him tingles.
They have the same mouth, he had thought, desire filling his loins.
He had proven to be a good prophet, and while she lacked the fire his Nora possessed, she certainly knew some tricks he could implement later.
After he had bed the insatiable girl, he could not get the idea of finding Nora out of his head, as if she was somehow calling out to him. The last time he had seen her, he had been on his way to marry the Duchess of Ingleberry, and Nora had been devastated.
“Another marriage?” she had screamed. “Why? Why does he keep insisting on this?”
“Darling, you can’t blame my father,” he had said, trying to comfort her. “He wants to keep our line strong and royal.”
“Our line is strong, Ansel! We are stronger together than any match you could possibly make in Europe! It has been seven centuries! When will he let go of his hatred toward me?”
The question had a definitive answer: never.
As if Father will ever allow for Nora and me to be together, he had told himself. To him, my brothers and I are still princes of Misty Woods, and she is just a peasant. There is nothing I can do to change that.
“I am not doing this anymore,” Nora had sobbed. “I have waited too long, Ansel. I can’t wait anymore for you.”
“Darling, please!” Ansel had whispered, reaching out to hold her hands in his. “We will do what we’ve always done. She does not mean anything to me—”
“Spare me your words!” she had cried, pulling away from his clasp. “I have heard the same lines over and over for hundreds of years! This is the end, Ansel. If you wed her, I will not be there to warm your bed. I told you that two hundred years ago, when you married that wretched Countess de Visault, and I mean it now. If you do this, this is my goodbye!”
She had run from him that day, and Ansel had finally stood up to his father, refusing the wedding, much to the old man’s fury. It had not been hard to do. He had only needed a reason, and Nora had provided it for him.
