by K. R. Rowe
He drew in a shaking breath and continued, "The worst part is, she's afraid of me, and it’s my fault, and then there's that—guy." He clenched his fists. "I don't know what to do—what do I do?" He hung his head, stuck his fingers in his hair, and clawed, like a fiend, at his scalp.
"Her memory will come back," she said.
"What if it don’t?"
"That's where I come in," Lydia said and smiled. "I've finally convinced her, and she’s agreed to go out with you," she said. "You’re picking her up Saturday at six thirty."
"What?" He looked up in disbelief. "You’re serious?" A faint smile tinged his face. "But that's just three days away."
"And?" Lydia asked. "That's plenty of time, but first, we have some things we need to talk about." She pulled out a small spiral notebook.
"Oh no." Matt looked over at Alex, "the notebook."
"Number one: control your temper," she said. "No scowling, no slamming doors, and no shoving your gun against anyone’s head, better yet, no gun at all, leave it at home." She checked it off her list.
"But—"
"No buts!" she said in the tone that only his mother would use.
"Number two: clean up!" she said. "Look at you—you're a mess. We’re going shopping tomorrow. No wrinkled t-shirts and, good Lord, match your socks!" she said and checked it off her list.
"Shopping? Matt?" He looked over at Matt and then down at his socks.
"Just do as she says," Matt said. "It'll be less painful."
"Number three: act like she'll never get her memory back," she said. "What did you do the first time to make her fall in love?"
"I’m not really sure what I did." He grinned. "I think I was just freakishly in love."
Lydia laughed. "Oh yeah, I remember. Well, do that again," she said and went on. "For starters, you have reservations at Downing's, and Matt will make sure it goes perfectly, and he'll stay out of sight, of course." She finally closed her notebook. "I'll see you in the morning."
"Can I borrow a car?"
"Number four," Lydia said. "Get your truck fixed, and a different color won't hurt either."
Matt scowled. "There’s nothing wrong with the color of his truck."
"And you!" she said looking over at Matt. "Stop biting your nails!"
If he ever felt more like a stranger, it was in his own hide, three days later when he stood at the Astor’s front door. The dress shoes that Lydia forced him to wear made his toes fall asleep, and he shuffled, in pain, from one foot to the other. What was wrong with his boots? Maybe they were old, a little worn, with frayed laces and scuffed soles, a little mud caked here and there, but they fit, they felt good, like socks, or another skin.
Alex took a last look at his reflection in the glass door and straightened his tie. This was not his usual blue jeans and tee shirt, but at this point, for Grace, he would wear a leopard skin thong if he had to. He wiped his wet palms on the back of his pants and cracked his knuckles one last time before he rang the doorbell.
The door swung open and Atticus greeted him. "Alex, come on in, it's good to see you," Atticus said with a genuine smile. "I’ve missed you. How've you been?"
"I'm fine Atticus, and you?"
"Hi, Alex," Grace said when she came into the foyer. Her sweet smile warmed him from head to toe, like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold frosty day.
"Atticus," he said. "I'll have her home at a decent hour."
"I'm sure you will son, I'm not worried."
The restaurant felt vaguely familiar to Grace. The upper dining room, overlooking the river, was empty. Flickering candles danced with light, and cast soft romantic shadows across the dark timber walls.
"This is weird," he said. "It’s usually crowded here on a Saturday night."
The hostess seated them in a private corner, and Grace studied him, as he tapped his fingers on the table, and cleared his throat.
"Um, I think I need to start over and reintroduce myself," he said. He smiled and looked down at his hands, and unconsciously twirled a straw between his fingers.
What a beautiful smile, she thought. Why hadn’t she noticed it before?
"I'm Alex," he said. The dinnerware rattled as he shook his leg under the table. "Alex G. Voltemat."
"What’s the G stand for?"
"Um … it’s Gabriel."
"Interesting," she said. "The conqueror, the protector."
"Your own personal protector," he said.
She sat quiet and unsure of what to say. She looked down at her hands as she unfolded her napkin in front of her.
"I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that—"
"Oh no, don’t be." She looked up and smiled.
"It's really nice to see you smile," he said. "At me—that is." He chuckled, put his elbow on the table, and rested his chin in his hand.
"Tell me about yourself," she said. She looked around the room trying to break from his gaze, but his eyes kept drawing her back.
"Well," he said, and dropped his hand away from his chin and reached for his water. "I start a new job next week."
When he lifted his glass, it slipped from his hand.
"Look out!" he said and jumped to his feet. The glass fell, bounced on the table, spun, and then crashed to the floor. A gush of clear liquid poured across the table, like a rolling tide, and narrowly missed Grace, as she slid her chair back and stood up.
"I’m sorry!" He leaned across the table in a failed attempt to stop the water with his arms. "Did you get wet?" he asked, while mopping the mess with his tie.
"No," she said and giggled. "I’m fine, it missed me."
A few minutes later they waited nearby while the hostess prepared a new table. She watched Alex curiously from the corner of her eye. He stood looking baffled in his soaking wet shirt, while the waiter cleaned up the water. He looked like a little boy in trouble, with his hands in his pockets, rattling his change, while he surveyed the mess that he made.
He was adorable.
"I can’t believe I just did that."
"Hey," she said. "It’s ok."
He looked down at her and she started to laugh. "I promise," he said with a soft chuckle. "I’m not usually so clumsy."
For some reason, she didn’t believe it.
Finally re-situated at a dry table, they resumed their conversation.
"You’re soaked."
"That’s ok, I brought another shirt." He looked down with a crooked grin. "I think my shoes are wet too. Good thing I brought my boots."
"You seem so different," she said.
"In a good way?"
"Yes, in a very good way."
Being here with him now, away from Lucien, he was sweet and endearing. His eyes were hypnotic, and without realizing, all of her fear and anxiety had slowly melted away.
The old turquoise bridge nearby created the perfect setting for a post-dinner walk. He cautiously reached out and took her hand when they began their stroll. The night was colder than he had expected. When they finally made it half way across, they paused for a minute at the railing to gaze out over the water. It was crisp and clear, and he thought of the night he proposed.
"The water in the moonlight reminds me of home," he said.
"It does?"
"Sometimes, on cloudless nights," he said. "I would lie in the field next to our house and look out at the stars.
"It sounds beautiful."
"It is," he said. "Endless points of light in a sea of rippling darkness—like the water in the moonlight."
She closed her eyes as the crisp night breeze blew over her face.
"I wish I may, I wish I might …." he murmured, and stepped closer when he saw her shiver. On instinct, he opened his coat, wrapped her inside, and pulled her close to his chest. It was something he had done many times in the past, but he remembered—this was not the past. He froze, instantly realizing what he had done, but she did not protest. Instead, she relaxed in his arms and snuggled closer. He stood unmoving, enjoying the moment as long as possible
until she began to stir.
"Are you ready to go back?" he asked without letting her go.
"Let's stay," she said, "for just a little while longer."
When the night air cooled, they made their way back, and stopped at a small coffee shop at the end of the bridge. They sat huddled close in a cozy corner, sipping cappuccino and talking for hours. It was late when the shop finally closed, and with reluctance, he took her home.
The porch light was off, and they stood quietly gazing at one another in the darkness. He leaned comfortably against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets. He needed no words because her eyes drew him near. He took a step toward her and leaned close, but the door flew open.
Atticus stood on the threshold with a puzzled look. "Did someone ring the doorbell?"
Embarrassed, Alex looked over and realized that he was leaning against it the entire time. "Sorry, sir, I think it was me."
"No trouble at all, son. It rang over and over, and I thought Sophie might have been out here."
Atticus patted him on the back, went in, and shut the door. Suddenly, like staring directly into the blinding rays of the midday sun, the porch light blazed on.
The next morning, the bedroom door was open when Anne knocked on the doorframe. "Someone‘s here to see you."
"Alex?" Grace asked with an excited smile.
"No, it's Lucien."
"Oh ...." she said. "Ok. I'll be down in just a minute."
Lucien was aware of her date the prior evening and decided to come by and assess the damage.
"Hi, Lucien," Grace said she hopped down the stairs. "How are you?"
"Wonderful! And you look as lovely as ever," he said as he flashed his heart-melting smile. "I was on my way down to the North Shore and thought maybe you would like to come along and join me for lunch."
"Sure! It sounds like fun."
The River Walk Deli on the North Shore had recently celebrated over a hundred years in operation. It was a New York style delicatessen boasting a unique and delicious style of food not typically found in The South. It was loud and animated, with customers yelling at one another over the clanging dishes, and the shouted orders. Lucien needed a good Reuben, and his friends at work told him to come here. He also wanted privacy, so he chose a seat away from the crowd.
Thus far, he had stuck to small talk, but the question he really wanted to ask, loomed over him, like a dark cloud. She seemed different today—distant, but otherwise her usual chipper self. He knew this would happen eventually and was fooling himself into believing otherwise. He had a twinge of guilt for trying to pry between them, but it was only a twinge, and certainly not enough to stop him.
Finally, he gathered his nerve and decided to ask the dreaded question. "So," he said and cleared his throat, "how was your date last night?"
Her smile was sweet, but when she looked up at him, it faded.
He felt queasy.
"It was nice," she said with a small shrug.
He knew she was holding back. "You had dinner?"
"Yes, we went to Downing’s," she said. "You know, the food there is really good!"
"Ah, very nice." He was not impressed. "Did you go to the movies afterwards?" He didn’t have to ask, because he knew, very well, where they were. He had her tracked with his phone.
"Well, we walked the bridge but it was a little cold," she said with a fleeting smile. "And then we had coffee at the cute little shop on the other side."
He noticed the smile and wondered what happened on the bridge.
"You know," she said with a giggle, "he’s nothing at all like—well you know—like that angry guy that wants to kill you."
Lucien choked on his tea and spit a shower across the table.
"I'm sorry." She frowned. "You probably don’t think that’s funny."
"Maybe a little." He grinned but continued to cough and turn red.
"Are you ok?"
"I’m fine." He cleared his throat. "But I can understand how he feels, because if you were mine—"
"But I’m not his."
"But you were," he said and looked up.
"At one time, maybe." Her gaze dropped away and he detected a hint of sadness in her expression.
"But on a lighter note," he said. "How would you like to go to dinner next Saturday?"
She sat quietly, carefully picking pecans from her chicken salad, before she finally responded. "I'm sorry, I can't." She slowly looked up. "I have another date with Alex."
Before he could hide his disappointment, she saw it.
"Lucien." She reached for his hand. "I have to give him a chance. We were engaged for a reason, and I have to know why."
"Yes, you do." He faked a smile but was undeterred. "Sunday then? Lunch?" He was working days while going to school at night, and had little free time other than weekends.
"Sure," she said with a satisfied smile. "Sunday will be perfect."
After dropping her off, he made his way home, and felt a little depressed. He had always been a fighter and was not inclined to give up too easily. Now he had more incentive to fight because earlier, a little good news had come his way. André was finally institutionalized. Now he had no need to look over his shoulder constantly, and the news made him feel a little more at ease knowing Grace was now safe.
He was so lost in thought he hardly noticed the jacket she left in the car. Before he had a chance to turn around to return it, he had an idea and laughed. On second thought, he would keep it for now.
The following Saturday, Grace was ready early. She sat in the study with Atticus and Anne watching the news.
"Finally, Québec is seeking elections," Atticus said. "Maybe things will start to settle down there."
"But how can they do it?" Anne asked. "The candidates keep getting assassinated."
"I heard that they have some kind of movement going on there." Atticus said. "The young people are tired of it all."
The doorbell rang and Grace jumped to her feet.
"Sit down and act like a lady," Anne said. "I'll get it."
"Lucien," Anne said when she opened the door. "We weren't expecting you."
I bet you weren’t, he thought as he smiled with mischief. "I'll be only a moment. I thought Grace might need her jacket," he said with an air of innocence when she led him into the study.
"Lucien!" Grace smiled when she saw him. "I’m surprised to see you today."
"I thought you might need this." He held out her jacket.
"Thank you!" she said. "You are so sweet!"
"You’re very welcome, mon amour." His voice was a low seductive murmur. He poured his warm caramel gaze slowly over her, and lightly brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "I’ll show myself out," he said smoothly as his eyes consumed hers. "I hope you have a fabulous time." A captivating smile creased his eyes and he glanced back as he left the room. His plan worked perfectly. She was left speechless and gawking behind him.
He strolled through the foyer, and swung the door open to leave. Standing in front of him, with his hand up to knock, was Alex. They froze. Their eyes locked with animosity and the mutual loathing infused the space between them.
"Hello Alex, don't mind me, I was just leaving," Lucien said and brushed past him. He walked away casually with a smirk, assuming he had left Alex fuming behind him. Lucien intended to use his weak point against him—his jealousy. However, when he turned to look back, Alex had plastered on a dazzling smile before he faced the door.
Lucien slid on his helmet and fired up his bike.
His competition was a fast learner. This might be difficult.
The dining car hovered like a huge silver bullet, stuck in place and suspended in time. Behind the historic hotel, the renovated train car sat nestled in the formal gardens. Dinner was a romantic and intimate setting, with rare appearances from the on-board chef and the maître-d'. Alex had reserved the entire car just for them, and she smiled—they were virtually alone.
Her dinner went untouched, as she
melted in her chair, and gazed at him over the flickering candlelight. She mindlessly floated adrift in the deep sea of his indigo eyes. Being with him was like breathing; it was natural and effortless.
Since her memory was short, she preferred to ask questions. When he spoke, the deep sound of his voice wrapped around her. It felt warm and secure like a blanket straight from the clothes-dryer. She sat entranced as she studied his hands. One rested on the table tapping his fingers and the other held tight to his fork.
They were big and strong, and her eyes slid up to his lips. They looked soft and inviting, and she began to wonder—
"Aren’t you hungry?" he asked. A crooked smile crossed his lips and amusement lit his eyes.
She felt the blush creep up her neck. He can't know what I'm thinking! she thought, but he had caught her gawking at him. Embarrassed, she picked up her fork to eat, thankful, she hoped, that he could not read her mind.
After dinner, hand in hand, they took a slow relaxing stroll. The garden behind the hotel was beautiful, even for this time of year.
"Would you like a cappuccino?" He led her to sit in a chair next to an old wrought iron table.
"You’ve found the path to my heart," she said. "I love coffee."
"I know," he said and smiled.
She let her mind wander as she watched him walk away. "How romantic," she said to herself as she took in the scenery. Train cars crouched in rows, end to end, next to a lengthy torch-lined walkway. The shadows of the dark garden were set alight with the soft pulsating glow from the dancing flames. A patina-coated fountain in the shape of a young girl, her face toward the sky, her arms wide, bubbled softly in the center. Grace closed her eyes to listen. The relaxing gurgle of water mixed and harmonized with the sounds of soft lilting music. Alex interrupted her thoughts and her eyes slid open, when he passed her a hot cup of coffee.
"Would you like to dance?" He held out his hand and a smile lit his face.
"I would love to."
He took her hand and pulled her up, and twirled her under his arm. He wrapped one arm around her waist and dipped her backwards in a slow gentle sweep. The tickle of his lips on her neck made her laugh, as he eased her back up, and held her at arm’s length. The light from the torches flickered across his face and lent a sparkle to his eyes while they danced.
