A Tale of Two Centuries msssc-2

by Rachel Harris

  She purses her lips. “Yet somehow I don’t believe you.” The sound of a rock skittering across the pavement grabs her attention, and the tension in her lips softens. I don’t have to look behind me to know the reason.

  “Hey, guys, sorry I’m late. Parking was a beast.” Lucas sidles up to our group, and Cat elbows me in the ribs. He meets my gaze in a brief friendly greeting before bestowing his warm smile on my cousin. “Ladies, you look beautiful.”

  Cat smooths nonexistent wrinkles from the skirt of her dress. I can almost feel the hum of tension between them. “Thank you, Lucas.” She looks to the ground, then back up and motions toward Lyric’s entrance, an almost desperate edge to her voice as she asks, “Everyone ready to head inside?”

  I withhold my sigh, knowing that she has been hurt before, but send up another silent prayer that she will soon choose to leave that in the past. I take a step toward the door and come to an abrupt halt when Lucas says, “Actually, Cat, I was hoping I could talk to you first.”

  Hope surges through me. With a grateful glance to the heavens, I turn to see Lucas tapping what appears to be an odd-shaped painting against his thigh.

  Cat swallows nervously. “Me?” She grabs my arm, yanking me back as I try to give them privacy, and shoots me a look that clearly says, Stay put. Shrugging, she says, “Sure, what’s up?”

  Lucas scratches the back of his neck, glancing at Austin, then at me. I offer him an encouraging smile. With a short laugh, he presses on. “Look, I know you’re probably used to guys falling all over you. You’re beautiful and funny, and you’re talented as hell. You can have anyone you want, and there’s no doubt you deserve someone better than me, but that’s not gonna stop me from trying, anyway.”

  My cousin inhales a deep breath, and my previous hope turns into pure joy as I realize Lucas is finally declaring his feelings. Thank you, Signore.

  “Cat, the night I met you,” he continues, “everything clicked into place for me. The move to the States was suddenly a blessing instead of a curse, and life made sense again. I won’t pretend to understand why you’re so determined to fight the feelings I know you have for me, too, but I just wanted you to know that I’m here.” He takes a step forward. “I’m not going anywhere.” He takes another step and brushes a strand of hair away from her face. “I felt something between us the night of your party, and I feel it between us now, and I’m not gonna give up. Not until you tell me to.”

  My heart melts, and I steal a look at Cat. She is as enraptured by Lucas’s words as I am. I bite my lip to contain my excitement.

  Lucas holds out what looks like a small painting. “This is for you.”

  Bewildered, Cat takes the odd painting. When she opens it, I realize it’s a box, containing a row of sharpened pencils, much like the ones she has on her desk. She bites her lip and looks up. “Art pencils?” Lucas nods, and she asks, “But why?”

  “To let you know I see you. That I care about you. Hopefully when you do your next kickass sketch, you’ll use these and think of me.”

  Her gaze drops to the box again, and she traces the cover with a trembling finger. “Madonna and Child with Apples and Pears.”

  Even though the painting has yet to be created in my time, I know the name. It is the painting that launched my cousin’s fascination with the Renaissance. It’s what inspired the tattoo that she has on her hip and the piece that most likely prompted her to become an artist herself.

  “How did you know?”

  “I pay attention.” Lucas smiles, and when Cat raises her head in confusion, he explains. “You have a copy of that painting in your art folder. I noticed you look at it whenever you get frustrated in the middle of a project.”

  He shrugs his shoulders as if his gift is nothing special, when I know that to Cat it means everything. Probably even more than his declaration. And when the lightest glow blooms across her cheeks and a smile breaks across her face, my heart soars.

  All is going as planned.

  “Thank you, Lucas,” she whispers. “I love it.”

  She reaches back to hand me the present, and before I can even wonder why, she closes the distance between them, wraps her arms around his neck, and presses her lips to his. Delighted at the turn of events, I bounce on my toes and open my mouth in a silent cheer of joy, still grinning when she steps back a moment later and rubs her thumb over Lucas’s lips. He presses his forehead against hers and closes his eyes.

  After giving the happy couple a moment, I playfully bump my cousin’s shoulder, completely pleased with my success. “Now I’m ready to shake it.”

  Cat laughs. She twines her fingers with Lucas’s and pulls him toward the entrance. Austin waves his hand forward, amusement shining in his eyes. “After you, Cupid.” We slip inside the dark, hazy club.

  Inside the dark, hazy club, it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. When they do, I’m surprised to find that instead of an overcrowded room, we are in a small hallway. The walls are black, the carpet red. On one side, a weary woman waits behind a sign asking for patrons’ jackets, and on the other, tucked just inside the door, stands a bright-eyed woman behind a cracked wooden counter. Cat grabs my elbow and pulls me to a stop.

  “That was quite tricky inviting him tonight,” she says, giving me an indulgent grin. I follow her gaze to Lucas, talking with Austin a few feet behind us, a dazed look still on his face. “You’re determined to see the two of us together, aren’t you?”

  “No.” Clearly unconvinced, Cat pins me with a look, and I rest my head on her shoulder. “Determined to see you happy.”

  She looks at Lucas’s present, shuddering with an indrawn breath, and I smile. She deserves to be happy—even when she refuses to make it easy for me to make her so.

  Cat places a swift kiss on the top of my head as the guys join us. Opening her purse, she puts away the pencil case and pulls out her wallet.

  Austin waves her off. “Tonight I’m buying.”

  His authoritative voice carries over the pulse of the music pouring from the curve in the wall ahead, and Cat lifts her hands. “Hey, I’m never one to pass up a free ride.” She deposits her wallet back in her bag and shoots me an approving nod. “Thanks, Austin.”

  Settling a searing palm on my waist, he leans over to give the woman behind the counter a handful of cash. “We’re all under eighteen,” he tells her.

  Nodding, she grabs a strange object and shoves it onto a dark pad. “Hands, guys.”

  As Cat lifts hers and receives what appears to be an instant tattoo on her skin, Austin doesn’t remove the hand he has around me. In fact, he presses closer. Heat from his palm scorches the thin cotton of my dress, and my body melts back against him.

  I don’t know if it is the stuffiness of the enclosed room or the feel of Austin’s hard chest behind me, but perspiration prickles at the nape of my neck. He thrusts his other arm out to receive the ink tattoo, and the scant space left between us vanishes. The scent of his newly applied cologne envelops me. My senses heighten. My silly heart dances in my chest.

  “Alessandra?” Austin asks a moment later, the dark notes of his voice laced with satisfaction. I look up, and he lifts his chin at the woman behind the counter. “She needs your hand.”

  I swallow hard. And I need a massive fan with which to cool my heated flesh.

  In lieu of one, I exhale a strong puff of air, lifting the dampened tendrils off my face, as I raise a shaky hand. “Of course.”

  Once we have all received stamps declaring us underage—Cat explained the concept the other night at dinner when I mistakenly asked for a glass of wine—we follow the red carpet down the hall and cross the threshold into Lyric.

  A lit-up stage at the back of the room catches my eye. Bodies sway on the darkened floor before it, moving in cadence to the powerful beat of the live, screaming band. Overhead, a series of tracks and small boxes bathes the entire space in diffused shades of amber and red. And running the length of the wall nearest us is a glossy mahogany b
ar. Cat steers me in its direction.

  “Boys, we’ll be right back.” The look in her eye, more than the suspicious tone in her voice, says she’s up to something. “Just have to make a quick stop in the ladies’ room.”

  As we walk away, Lucas heads for a set of unoccupied chairs edging the dance floor. He pulls four together and then sets a black boot on one of the rails. Leaning an elbow on the thin ledge holding various bottles and plastic cups, he turns his attention to the hypnotic pulse of the dance floor.

  Austin remains where we left him, following my progress with curious eyes.

  Cat laughs softly. “Girl, he’s got it bad.” She makes a clicking sound with her tongue. “Who would’ve thought my little cousin would land bad boy Austin Michaels?”

  “Not so little anymore,” I reply without thinking. When her grin turns into a full-fledged smile, I realize I did not deny the rest of her statement.

  “Touché,” she says, maneuvering us around a fallen chair. “The point is that the boy wants you for more than just a project partner…or whatever it is the two of you do when you say you’re studying. And right now you’re so keyed up wanting him back that you’re about to pass out where you stand. Breathe, girl. Oxygen is a good thing.”

  I roll my eyes but take a deep breath, anyway. Interestingly enough, it does seem to help.

  When we near the restroom doors, our supposed destination, Cat pulls to a stop. Swinging her hair to the beat of the music, she gives the area a quick scan and, with short, randomly spaced steps, starts inching closer to an open space at the bar. Not quite understanding why, I follow along, jerking my head to the music as well—though sadly not nearly as rhythmically.

  “Uh, Cat,” I ask a moment later, “what are we doing?”

  “Shh,” she replies tersely, doing another sweep of the space around us.

  I wonder if she is unaware that the ladies’ room is located right behind her.

  Then her gaze sharpens, and I twist around to see a blond waitress talking with a man behind the bar. Before I can ask what she finds so fascinating, two boys walk up to us wearing low-slung, oversize jeans and matching suggestive grins.

  The modern word ew leaps to mind.

  The one closest to Cat leers and, sliding a hand through unnaturally shiny black hair, asks her, “You looking for me, honey?”

  She steps back and sneers. “Hell, no, but your mirror is.” She wiggles her shoulders in a display of disinterest, then waves an exaggerated farewell. “Buh-bye now.”

  Their grins fade, replaced by matching expressions of detachment. The thought flitters across my mind that they must coordinate these bizarre façades at home. The previously silent boy—the one closest to me—shrugs. “Your loss, baby.”

  I am unable to conjure a fitting reply.

  Muttering ungentlemanly curses under their breath, the duo moves on, heading toward a group of girls propped against the wall. This time, however, the response they receive is much more welcoming.

  As they strut to the dance floor in pairs, Cat says, “Guess there’s no accounting for taste.” I wrinkle my nose. The look we exchange is equal parts incredulity and bewilderment.

  At the other end of the bar, an inebriated woman yells out, “Two rum and Cokes!” before promptly falling backward, having missed the stool behind her entirely. With a telling huff that says it is not the first time this has happened, the male bartender jumps to attention, leaving a tray of approximately two dozen freshly poured drinks, and Cat exclaims, “Finally!” With hands darting out so fast they blur in the dim light, she snatches one of the short glasses off the overloaded tray and shoves it at me. Bright red liquid sloshes onto my hand.

  “Here,” she says in a rushed voice. “Before someone sees, down this.” I hesitate and she rolls her eyes. “Dude, I just watched the guy pour it—it’s a shot. I think a double, actually. It’s alcohol, and you, my friend, look like you could use it. But be quick. There’s so many they won’t notice right away, but eyes are everywhere in these places.”

  I stare at the glass of ruby red alcohol and sigh. Having grown up in a time where drinking wine at meals was the norm, I know the effects alcohol can produce, and perhaps it will take the edge off my frazzled nerves. Releasing a centering breath, I look down and laugh—the hand holding the stolen shot is the same one bearing the stamp.

  Whatever happened to sweet, innocent, rule-abiding Alessandra? The answer comes and I grin: Austin happened. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

  Before I can second-guess my behavior, I tilt my head back, part my lips, and swallow the alcohol.

  The burning is instantaneous.

  Tears fill my eyes. My chest tightens, and a cough explodes with such force, it feels as if my lungs are rebelling. This alcohol is not weakened, such as the cups of wine I have always consumed in Italy. This is full strength. And it is potent.

  After plucking the glass from my hand and thumping it onto a nearby tabletop, Cat slings an arm around me and pushes me into the women’s restroom. The area is blurry through my watery eyes, and as I sputter for breath, I watch her crouch-walk before the stalls until she finds an empty one. When she does, she kicks it open and pulls me inside.

  “In and out, girl, in and out,” Cat instructs, demonstrating the God-given ability to breathe. I nod weakly. That is, after all, what I have been trying to do. But as I stare into her calming eyes and drag oxygen through my nose—in, two, three, out, two, three—the burning in my throat recedes.

  And glorious lightness enters.

  “Oh,” I say, startled, as the peculiar feeling seeps from my neck and down my spine. My legs tingle as if the bones supporting them have softened, and I wiggle my newly sensitized fingers. “Well, that is splendid.”

  Cat grins. “Yeah, you definitely don’t need more than one. But feel better?”

  I nod and then continue nodding as I realize my head no longer feels as attached to my neck as it did a moment before. “Quite so.”

  An unpleasant sound erupts from the neighboring stall, and the air becomes tinted ever so faintly with the appalling scent of vomit. Cat says, “That’s what can happen when you have more than one. And that’s our cue. Ready to dance now?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Modern dance moves remain a mystery—where I come from dances are coordinated couple affairs—but with the liquid fire surging through my veins, I feel as though I can excel at them all…though one more taste of that marvelous elixir couldn’t hurt.

  Even with the alcohol numbing the edges of my anxiety, I still feel flustered knowing that Austin is waiting for me. Tonight, after our kiss, everything feels different. And I’m entirely out of my element. Just one more drink should calm the lingering butterflies in my tummy and the hammering of my heart. Contrary to what my cousin thinks, I can handle another one. I’m not the little girl she still sees me as, and if she will not help me, I’ll simply acquire it myself.

  If Cat can be sneaky, so can I. We are blood relations, after all.

  Giggling, I stumble out the swinging door.

  Cat laughs. “You, my dear, are what we twenty-first-century peeps call a friggin’ lightweight.”

  Raising a pointed finger, I feel the words of disagreement sitting on my tongue. But then I see an opening. “Perchance you are right. I think a glass of delicious water will be just the thing. Go ahead and tell the boys I shall be right there.”

  “Less, it’ll just take a minute. I’ll wait—”

  “No,” I interject, a tad too forcefully. I widen my eyes and smile broadly. “How difficult can it be? Let me do this on my own; I promise I will not tarry.”

  She eyes me for a moment, undoubtedly because my grasp of modern lingo is slipping in my alcohol-kissed state, and she doesn’t quite trust my motives at the moment—and well she shouldn’t. But then she shrugs. “All right, but be careful. And don’t accept any drinks from strangers—you never know what someone could put in it.”

  She walks a few steps away and pa
uses as if rethinking her decision. At the bar, the blond waitress returns and says, “Hey, Mike, you missed a shot of Red Snapper—I needed twenty, and you only gave me nineteen.”

  At that, Cat takes off, disappearing into the crowd.

  And I make my move.

  “Excuse me, kind sir,” I say, stopping a gentleman wearing a bright blue band—and no stamp—on his way to retrieve refreshment. “But could you please procure a short glass of red elixir for me? The one I had was quite scrumptious, and I believe I’d like another.”

  The corners of his whiskered mouth twitch as his eyes do a leisurely sweep of my dress. “Sure thing, darling, I’ll fix you up.”

  Remembering Cat’s words, I touch his leather-clad elbow and frown. “Now, I must watch you procure it. Apparently it is possible for you to put something unpleasant inside.”

  The twitching gives way to a side grin. “Why don’t you stand right there and watch me? I promise not to slip anything in it. Scout’s honor.”

  He holds two fingers up in some form of a salute, and, not wanting to be rude, I salute back.

  Watching the entire transaction for any misdealing, my mouth begins to water. And a few moments later, the kind gentleman returns with my drink. “One shot of Goldschläger for the lady in red. Wasn’t sure what your ‘red elixir’ was, but this’ll do you right.”

  “Goldschläger,” I say, testing the name on my tongue. The slurred sounds make me smile, and I say it again. Then I lift the drink to eye level and gasp. “Why, it has tiny specks of gold floating in it!”

  He puts his hand over mine and lowers the glass. “Yeah, it does. But try to be more stealth-like, sweetheart…this is kinda illegal.”

  Grimacing at that truth, I stoop my shoulders, close my eyes, and gulp the golden liquid. The taste of hot cinnamon courses down my throat. Warmth chases after it, heating my chest, my limbs, and pooling in the center of my stomach. My shoulders do an involuntary shake—a shimmy, Cat calls it—and I lick my lips.

  A taste of pure heaven.

  Cool fingers pry the glass from my fingertips and I open my eyes. “Thank you,” I say…or try to say. Oddly, my lips feel numb. The whiskered gentleman grins, and I ask, “What is—” But my breath catches, and an unseemly loud hiccup sound rises in my throat. I wait for my cheeks to flame in mortification at my grossly unladylike behavior, but they do not respond. It appears embarrassment does not exist in my current pleasant state. “—your name?”