by Serena Grey
I hear the voices coming from the main living room before I get to the door. I pause, listening to the muted sounds of laughter and conversation. I can’t hear Jackson’s voice, but I imagine that he’s in there. I imagine his eyes looking up as soon as I enter the room, and looking over me with that mixture of insolence and disdain I’ve come to expect from him. I smooth the front of my dress, my sudden nervousness followed by disgust at myself for letting the thought of him affect me so much. Annoyed, I turn away from the door and find my way to the kitchen.
I’m surprised by the rush of emotion I feel when I see Mrs. Shannon working at the kitchen island, putting the finishing touches to the dinner she’s prepared. I pause at the door, watching her work and blinking away the moisture gathering in my eyes. I can't believe how much I’ve missed her, and I can’t believe it’s been seven years since I last saw her.
Suddenly she stops working and notices me at the door, and to my relief, her face breaks into a huge, welcoming smile. “Oh my… Livvie.” She exclaims, wiping her hands on her apron as she comes round the island towards me.
I hurry to meet her, and she wraps me in a warm hug. It’s overwhelming, the relief I feel. I wasn’t sure how she would receive me, especially since I never bothered to contact her all these years. I was so heartbroken when I left that I closed my heart to everything that had anything to do with Halcyon, everything that had the potential to remind me of Jackson, and everything I had lost.
She releases me then steps back to look at me. “Look how you’ve grown!” She exclaims, “and as skinny as a bone too.”
“I’m far from skinny.” I reply with a laugh. “Don't tell me you’re still trying to fatten everyone up?”
“What’s the point of my job if people don’t eat?” She grumbles. "Anyways, the house is empty a lot these days. There’s no one but myself and the rest of the staff to fatten.”
“So the family really doesn’t live here anymore?”
She goes back to the island, putting on a pair of oven mitts, as I wonder if she’ll respond to my question. I wonder if she’s deciding whether I still deserve to be confided in, now that I’m practically a stranger. “Mrs. Milner comes about once a month, but she lives in her house at Rhode Island now. Blythe stores her clothes here, but she’s mostly in the city.”
What about Jackson? I manage to keep myself from asking the question, waiting impatiently, as she bends to retrieve a perfect looking steak from the oven.
“Jackson though… he’s hasn’t been here in a long time. I was surprised when he arrived yesterday. It’s been a while since I saw him outside the pages of the society columns.”
“Oh.” Then Grace Conlin had been right about the house being empty. It usually was, but for some reason, my arrival had coincided with the family suddenly deciding to show up.
“Well, a lot’s changed.” Mrs. Shannon looks at me. “I learned you're photographing the house for a book about great houses?”
I nod.
“Well, that’s a good thing, I guess.” She says, “If the house ends up with the National Trust, future Lockewoods can read all about it.”
She doesn’t sound very happy about it, and her tone alarms me. “Is that… is Jackson planning to give the house away?” I don’t even want to think about it. While, on one hand, it would be nice to open up such a beautiful house to the public, on the other hand, what would happen to the ties the family has to their home? I would sink every last penny I had into keeping Halcyon if it were mine.
Mrs. Shannon only shrugs in reply.
I watch as she continues to work, my mind in turmoil. Why would Jackson even want to give up the house? It’s not as if he doesn’t have the money to maintain it.
“Jackson would never let Halcyon go.” I say firmly, wishing it more than believing it.
“Well.” Mrs. Shannon sighs. “I don’t know." She pauses. “It was really nice to see you again Livvie.”
“Me too.” I say truthfully.
“I’m looking forward to having you around again,” She says, “just don’t try to come into my kitchen and make cupcakes, or whatever it is you’re crazy about cooking now.” We both laugh. "Let them know dinner is ready, okay? And try to eat something, so my hard work doesn’t go to waste.”
When I return to the living room, the conversation and laughter is still going on. Constance is sitting beside Nick on a sofa. On his other side, a rail thin girl with striking red lips and raven black hair styled in a severe bob is sitting with her long supermodel body stretched out gracefully. She’s laughing at something Nick is saying, as is Constance. Across from them, on an armchair, Nick’s assistant Carl looks on, with a smile of amusement. He’s as dark as Nick is fair, with coffee skin, dark gray eyes, and short curly hair.
As I hover by the door, Constance turns to him. “That didn’t really happen, Carl, did it? Your boss is pulling our legs”
“Oh, it did.” Carl says earnestly, making me wonder which one of Nick’s tall tales he’s been relating. Aside from the four of them though, the room is empty.
Constance notices me at the door. “Here you are! I’d started wondering if I’d have to come get you. Did you have a nice rest?"
“Yes.” I walk in to the room and take a seat next to Carl. “I went to see Mrs. Shannon too.”
“Oh, good.” Constance smiles, “You were always very fond of her.”
I return her smile. “Well she said to tell you dinner is ready.”
“Perfect then, we’ll go eat in a few minutes.”
“You haven’t met Elaine Black, have you Liv?” Nick drawls. “She's writing the feature.”
Elaine smiles. She looks very young, at least a few years younger than me, but her blood red lips and hairstyle make her look slightly cruel. “Actually, Nick and I are working on the feature together,” She says in a soft and smoky voice, looking me up and down with sharp green eyes. "I hear you used to live here, in this house.”
“I did,” I reply.
“How nice for you.”
“Yes, how nice.” I say drily.
“Livvie…” Constance starts, then smiles softly before continuing. “Liv lived here for four years after her parents died." She explains to Elaine.
“Oh.” Green eyes turn back to me. “I’m sorry about your parents."
I shrug. “It was a long time ago.”
She turns back to Constance. “Jackson said he would show me the original plans for the house and the gardens tomorrow.”
Constance nods. “That makes sense. They’re stored somewhere in the study, I think.”
“Yes.” Elaine is smiling as she turns back to me. “He’s also going to take me through the grounds. Apparently, there are stories behind some of the sculptures in the garden that might be useful for our feature.”
Is she saying all this for my benefit, to let me know that she has laid claim to Jackson’s time? Well she can have him. I don’t care what Jackson does or with whom he does it. It’s none of my business. I’ve passed the stage where a picture of him in a magazine with a woman on his arm could reduce me to tears.
“How fascinating,” Nick says. “I’d like to see the plans and hear all about the sculptures too, Elaine. When’s Jackson available tomorrow.”
I don’t hear what she says in reply. There’s a movement at the door, and I look towards it, expecting to see Jackson. My heart has already done a small flip before I realize that no one is coming in. I sigh, disgusted at the mixture of hope and dread that makes me desperate to see him one minute and eager him to disappear in the next.
Constance must have noticed me looking towards the door. “Jackson’s having dinner at the Gorman’s,” she tells me, and I wonder what else she’s seen in my face. Her expression is bland, however, revealing nothing of her thoughts. “He hasn’t been in Foster in a while, so he's been getting a lot of invitations.”
I’ll bet he has. I wonder if Lindsay is one of the people offering those invitations. “What about Lindsay?” I ask,
my voice light and uninterested.
Constance studies my face for a moment. She knows what Lindsay did to me all those years ago, and I see uncertainty flit across her face before she replies. “She’s recently divorced from Edgar Northgate,” She tells me. I didn’t even know Lindsay had married, but I knew of the ex-husband, a well-known multi-billionaire financier who must have been at least twice her age. “She’s back at the Gorman house,” Constance continues, “although I have no idea why? Her divorce must have left her as rich as Soraya Khashoggi.”
And now she’s back in Foster, and Jackson is with her. I swallow the lump in my throat and turn to listen to something Nick is saying, willing myself to ignore the memories seeping into my mind and threatening to take me back to places I thought I’d left behind, and knowing that it's no use.
Chapter Eight
Past
ON my seventeenth birthday, Aunt Constance gives me an eReader, while Blythe sends me a lingerie set that’s so revealing I’m actually embarrassed to look at it. 'For when you get lucky’ the accompanying note says. Ever since she started sleeping with Carter, she’s been very outspoken on the joys of sex, and impatient for me to join her in what she calls the ‘club of lovers’ so we can have real adult conversations. I wish. I’ve barely seen Jackson since the day at the orchard. Last year he gave me a camera to replace my old one, this year, he hasn’t even called or texted to say happy birthday, talk less of sending me a present.
Mrs. Shannon bakes me a delicious chocolate cake. Aunt Constance is in New York for the day, but she insists that I should have some friends over and have a party in the garden or by the pool. I don’t have many friends. There’s May, of course, and Chace, a bookish guy who became my friend after we shared a table in biology lab. He’s as studious and nerdy as May is outgoing and bubbly. As soon as I tell her about the party, she takes over the planning, and by evening, we’re having a very cool party by the pool.
“I heard some guy tried to sneak booze into your party and Mrs. Shannon caught him.” I’m on the phone with Blythe, the day after my birthday.
“Yeah,” I laugh. “She got the door, and somehow she knew, so she bumped into him and the bottle fell out of his jacket."
Blythe snorts with laughter.
“And then she caught it, it was like something out of Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”
“I’ve always suspected she was ex-KGB,” Blythe says, giggling, “or at least a vampire, only she doesn’t glitter in the sun.”
“A lot of vampires don’t glitter in the sun,” I laugh, “it totally depends on the type of moisturizer they use.”
After a few more minutes spent laughing at vampire jokes, she has to go. It’s hard, but I resist the temptation to ask her about Jackson in the hope that she would know why he has totally ignored my birthday.
I’m about to go back to enhancing a picture on my computer when, in the silence of the practically empty house, I hear the purr of a car engine coming up the drive. Aunt Constance is attending a dinner party at the Gorman’s, and she won't be back until about midnight. I find myself hoping that it’s Jackson on one of his unannounced visits to the house. I try to contain myself as I go downstairs, trying not to run down the stairs in my eagerness to see him. When the door opens and Jackson lets himself in, I’m already in the foyer, almost out of my mind with joy at the sight of him.
It never gets old, seeing him. The older we get, the more handsome, and irresistible he seems to become. Looking at him is as much agony as it is pleasure, but I can’t tear my eyes away. He’s like the sun, and I’m a helpless planet, revolving around him.
“Olivia.”
I love that he still calls me that, ever since that first time when he defied my mother’s warning. Now it’s like an intimate secret between us that he’s the only person in the world who still calls me Olivia, It makes me feel so much closer to him.
“Hi Jackson,” I say, doing my best to keep the breathless joy I’ve feeling out of my voice. “I didn’t know you were coming home.”
He frowns. “I… Yes… I was just in the area.”
“Oh…” He probably came down with Lindsay to attend her parents party. I decide, swallowing the feeling of disappointment. What did I expect? That he was here to see me?
He starts to walk towards me, and I forget my disappointment as I admire easy gracefulness with which he moves. He’s perfect, and more than anything, I want to close the distance between us. I want to go to him, to put my arms around his waist, run my fingers through his hair…
“What are you still doing up?” he asks, when he reaches where I’m standing on the bottom stair.
I snap out of my less than innocent thoughts, and shrug, the careless movement belying the exquisite tension I’m feeling from standing so close to him. “I was working on a picture,” I say, “and then I heard the car.”
“Okay, picture-nerd.” He laughs and put an arm around me, and I look up at him, blissful and wondering at the contact. He’s looking down at me, his face so close to mine, that I’m sure he can feel the heat as my face flushes.
I freeze, my heart thumping in my chest, and my mouth suddenly dry. He doesn’t move either. Our faces are so close that suddenly, I’m filled with a crazy hope that he would just lean further down, and kiss me.
Instead, his hand leaves my shoulder, and he moves away, going up the stairs and leaving me with no choice but to follow him. We’re both silent, me torturing myself with wondering what he’s thinking, and trying to understand the moment we had just had. At the top of the stairs, where the house split into the family wing and the guest wing, which is rarely used, he suddenly stops and turns around.
I stop too, hoping that he would say something to me, something to validate the wild hope in my chest that the moment we had at the bottom of the stairs, means something, not just to me, but also to him.
“Happy Birthday,” He says, smiling apologetically, “I’m sorry I didn't call yesterday, but I got you something.” He retrieves a box from his pocket.
I take it from him, hands shaking as I open it to reveal a fine platinum chain with a heart shaped pendant. I reach for the pendant with trembling fingers, feeling the stones set in the metal, and the engraving of my name in flowing script.
“It’s beautiful.” I sigh, looking up at him. “Thank you Jackson."
He looks pleased that I like it. “You’re welcome.”
I don’t know what comes over me at that moment, but when I smile at him, it’s the most provocative and teasing smile I can manage. “Aren't you going to help me put it on?” I ask, taking my cue from all the movies and romance novels I’ve read over the years.
He gives me a quizzical look. “Okay.” he says, after only a second’s pause. He lifts the necklace out of the box, and I turn around, my body quivering as his fingers brush my neck.
When the necklace is fastened, I don’t move. His fingers are still lightly touching my neck, but I’d rather die than break the contact.
At first, he doesn’t move either, but after a moment, his fingers start to trace a slow path outward, from my neck to my shoulders.
I feel as if I’m floating. I can’t breathe, and when I feel his lips touch my shoulder in a soft gentle kiss, a sigh escapes me.
I turn around, urged by his hands on my shoulders. When I look up at him, his eyes are fixed on my lips. I wait expectantly, my heart in my mouth, and my stomach twisted in excitement.
“Olivia.” He says softly, looking up from my lips to meet my eyes. His eyes are smoldering, the fire in their depths echoing the one I feel raging in my body, and his voice is like a caress all over my skin.
“Jackson.” My response is a soft whisper.
He makes a sound, a low groan, and then his lips are on mine, warm, tender, and lighting a fire in my stomach that heats my blood, my body, my soul.
He pulls me against him, and I moan with pleasure, pressing my body closer to him. I’m crushed against the hard muscles of his chest as his lips move softly
over mine. It’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever experienced. My heart is fluttering, and my stomach feels so light, I’m afraid it would float away.
I can’t resist the urge to explore, and my fingers find their way into his hair, threading their way through the soft wavy mass. In response, he groans and deepens the kiss, his tongue delving into my mouth, caressing, tasting, and making my body sing.
Suddenly, he releases my lips, ending the kiss, but he doesn’t pull away. He rests his forehead on mine, one hand still around my waist, and the other at the back of my neck, still holding me close to him. After a while, I open my eyes, and I see that he’s smiling.
“Olivia.” He draws out the sound of my name, still smiling, then he presses a kiss on both my cheeks, down on my collarbone, my shoulders, then back to my face, my eyes and my cheeks, each small kiss taking me further and further to the place where my heart will surely burst.
“You’re perfect,” he whispers between kisses.
I sigh, unable to keep standing without leaning on him for support. “Thanks,” I whisper in reply, shyness and happiness, warring for supremacy in my head. One of my dreams had just come true. Jackson Lockewood has given me my first kiss, and it was perfect.
He chuckles softly as he runs a thumb over my lower lip, and then my cheek. “I wanted to do that for so long,” He says, a small smile still on his lips. “You don't think I’m a shameless older guy taking advantage of you, do you?”
I shake my head. I can’t find the words to tell him how I’ve longed for this, how my heart feels like it’s going to rise right out of my chest and burst into a thousand shimmering stars. “You’re not taking advantage of me,” I say instead, “and anyway you’re not much older than I am.”
He seems to be thinking about what I said, but I don’t want him to think, I want him to kiss me again. I’m too shy to say so, but somehow, as if he can read my mind, he lowers his lips to mine again, and this time, it’s even better that the first time.
