Falling on a Duke

25 Falling on a duke

25

Falling on a duke

London, England

June 2023

Isabella

I loved it! I’m suspicious because I love time travel stories, but what I felt reading the story was indescribable. Isabella came back inspired.

Exciting, touching, surprising. Only these words could describe this beautiful story.

I spent all night reading; I couldn’t put it down. Exciting.

Written with feeling and sensitivity. Congratulations to the author.

“So?”

I look away from the laptop screen and find Cinthia staring at me with anxious eyes.

“Well, so far, the reception is excellent.” I move round in the swivel chair in front of my desk. “One person complained that it was too sweet, but that’s part of it.” I laugh. Nothing I’m not used to by now.

“ Yay , I knew it would be a hit.” Cinthia claps her hands twice.

She’s told me as much several times in recent months.

Last week, I released my first book after a long hiatus: Falling on a Duke , a time travel romance with a guaranteed happy ending.

It was a very difficult story to write. Not because of the writer’s block. I overcame that completely. But because of the inspiration: Benjamin Gerard Waldorf, the man who constantly inhabits my mind and heart.

After he left, I thought I would never stop crying. I thought about what my father said when he was here: no failed relationship can extinguish your light. I knew he was right, but it was hard to believe. I allowed myself some time to grieve, to try to get over the loss. I grieved, cried, listened to songs, and looked at our photos, feeling my heart bleed. I realised that only time could do anything for me.

So, through Benjamin and the memory of what we lived through, I focused on my story.

When I wasn’t working in the café, I was writing. I studied, edited, and rewrote chapters. The words got bigger and bigger. Writing helped me to heal. To get used to the pain. I used it as a source of strength to keep going. When I finished, I felt relief. A silly pride. I cried again, this time with joy. As if I had done my duty. As if… the book was my honourable act, for a man of unparalleled honour.

“I’m happy with the messages,” I say, closing the screen, “but the book is already out in the world. My part has been done; God knows I’ve put my heart into this story. When people tell me they can feel… that’s the point, you know? To feel.”

Cinthia sits on the sofa, running her hand through her dark curls.

“And… did you tell him?” She nods, pointing to the picture frame on the desk with the photo of me, Ben, and Duke.

My friend isn’t the type to push me, so she didn’t pepper me with questions all the time about Benjamin. But she’s been my shoulder to cry on over the last few months, and she knows everything I’ve suffered.

“I didn’t tell him, but he knew I had started the story.”

“Call him, Bella.”

I laugh without humour. For Cinthia, Benjamin is still the man who lives in Scotland with his sister.

“I can’t, darling. And you know… it’s better this way. Since we’re not going to be together, it’s better not to talk. It hurts less.”

It doesn’t really. In fact, it hurts a lot more. Starting with the fact that Benjamin is dead, considering he’s back in the nineteenth century. I had a few desperate moments when I googled his name to find out what had happened. If he had married, if he had produced heirs, if he’d been happy.

The information remains the same as when we did the research together. His name is listed as the Duke of Waldorf with a date of birth but not of death. I found it so curious, and then I started to panic, thinking about the possible reasons why that had happened. Could Benjamin have arrived in another year, a random third period? What if he disappeared, but didn’t make it back to the house? What if he got injured or ill?

I shake my head lightly, chasing the thoughts away. My heart already feels like it’s tied up with a tight string just thinking about such possibilities.

“But Bella,” Cinthia continues, “you dedicated the book to him. Why not show it to him?”

I sigh sadly, holding back the lump in my throat. “I’ll think about it, OK?”

My friend realises my sadness and gives up arguing.

I hear my phone ring and see my mother’s name on the screen. I answer the video call and find her smiling at me.

“I want to know, did you send it?”

“Good afternoon to you too, Mum,” I tease.

She rolls her eyes. “Isabella Souza Kato, answer me.”

“Yes, Mum. Although the book is already self-published, I built up the courage and sent the manuscript to the traditional publisher. They said to expect three months for a reply. Now we have to wait.”

She celebrates on the other side, whooping proudly. “That’s it! It’ll all work out, you’ll see.”

I hope so. Ever since I told my mum and Laura that I was writing again, they have been active participants in the book process. They did one round of beta reading, and then another, as well as pointing out any plot holes, ideas, and details I could add. I’m always very open to these suggestions, especially as they enrich the work, even those that I don’t feel apply to a particular story. But my mum fell so in love with the couple – unsurprising since I was one hundred per cent inspired by Benjamin – that she encouraged me to finally send it to a publisher I follow and admire a lot. In other words, we’re excited and anxious to receive an answer.

“Let’s hope, it’s in their hands now,” I say.

“You’ll see. In a year’s time, we’ll be celebrating its publication. I can feel it.”

Well, if my mum feels it, who am I to argue?

“Darling, I have to go. I just rang to find out.”

“OK. Everything OK over there?”

“Yeah, yeah. Zé and I are starting to plan a trip to visit you. Cross your fingers.”

I cross my fingers in front of the camera. “Crossing.”

My mum laughs and says goodbye. “Kisses, my love.”

“Kisses.” I hang up the call with a smile on my lips.

“You look lively,” Cinthia comments, still on the sofa.

“My mum wanted to know if I’d sent the book to the publisher. I told you she encouraged me to do it,” I explain, since I spoke to my mum in Portuguese.

“It’s going to be great, Bella. I’m rooting for you.”

“Let’s wait.”

Cinthia stands up and reaches into her jeans pocket. “I was thinking of going to Subway for a sandwich. Would you like one?”

“Yes! Let me get my card.” I stand up, but she stops me with a wave of her hand.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay. I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes.”

“OK. I’ll have the usual: meatballs, cheese, lettuce and mayonnaise.”

Cinthia writes down the ingredients on her phone. “Italian bread?” she asks me.

“That’s right.”

“Alright, I’ll be right back.”

As soon as she’s out the door, I look at Duke, relaxing in the corner of the room with his hind legs back. He’s huge, that little animal.

“I’m going to the bedroom to do nothing. Do you want to keep me company?”

Duke doesn’t even move, which means he doesn’t want to.

I walk into my room and see my bed in disarray. I don’t make it every day, much to my mum’s chagrin, but today it’s too hot to lie under the covers. I open Spotify and put on the playlist I made for my book. I’ve put together all the songs that meant something to me and Benjamin during the time he was here. No one will ever know the true meaning of each one, but inside I feel like I’m sharing some of that love with the world, albeit in secret.

John Legend’s “All of Me” starts to play. I feel a lump in my throat, remembering when we danced at the ball, how Benjamin kissed me and gave himself to me that night.

So real, yet so impossible.

I put the pillow back and spread the quilt on the mattress. In the living room, I hear Duke’s paws scrabbling and euphoric barking.

“What are you up to, Your Grace?” I ask, still arranging the bedspread, my eyes riveted on the task at hand. “Your Grace?”

“Yes, milady?”

I pause. That voice. My limbs freeze, my heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my mouth. Am I delirious?

I leave the quilt as it is and turn round. No, I’m not delirious. Standing in the doorway, in his jacket, pearlescent waistcoat, white tie, and riding boots, Benjamin stares at me with his arms folded behind his back and a smile on his face.

My God, how did he get in here?

“Ben?” My eyes are already moist by now. “You…”

“I’m back,” he says. “I’m back, my love. I’ve come back to you.”

I have so many questions, so much to say, but nothing matters now. Not when I have my man back, in one piece, just as I remember him. Not when he came back to me.

Benjamin walks over to me, closing the door behind him. He lifts me onto his lap and kisses me, with such intensity and love that I can feel every little piece of my heart knitting back together.

In his arms, I’m home, and I want him to know that he is too.

We take off our clothes without any delicacy, desperate. If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up. Benjamin lays me down on the quilt I’ve just made. My every memory is revived to the sound of John Legend’s romantic lyrics.

Benjamin kisses me, touches me, moves his hands up to my breasts, moves his mouth down to my nipples, sucking them reverently. I look at him between gasps, at every bit of him, still afraid that this is a dream.

“It’s real, love. I’m here,” he says, kissing me again.

We move apart just to reach for a condom. Then, Benjamin enters me, slowly, completing me as I squeeze and pull him to me, wanting it all, wanting him to feel how much I’ve missed him, how much I love him and need him.

I’m alive again, I realise. For the last few months, no matter how hard I tried, it was just breathing. Just waking up, walking, eating. But it wasn’t living.

Now it is. And if it’s up to me, it will be until the end.

Our bodies merge, sweat, tremble. Benjamin thrusts more fervently, and I tilt my hips, opening up, letting him take what he wants, what he needs.

We enjoy it with hearts beating fast, complete, full. The song now is “Halo” by Beyoncé. And it really is as if we’re glowing. As if our love were so sublime, our happiness so great, capable of making us shine.

He cradles me to his chest as soon as our breathing calms down. Without control, intoxicated by what we’ve just shared, by what has just happened, I begin to cry softly.

“ Shh … easy, love.” Benjamin caresses my bare back.

“You came back to me,” I whisper.

Benjamin pulls back slightly, lifting my chin up to look at him. “I’m back.”

“What happened? How did it happen?”

He takes my hand and intertwines our fingers. We fit perfectly together.

“I want to talk about it later, tell you everything. But in short, I got there, and things were fine. Not immediately, but they were. Abigail is safe; she’ll be happy. So, I was able to come back, to take hold of my own happiness.”

“When did you get there?” I ask. My God, I have a million questions.

“Around six months after I disappeared. Around the winter solstice.”

“And then you wanted to come back to me.”

He nods. “I wore the cameo.” He caresses my face. “You know, when my grandmother gave me this cameo, she told me that I was the chosen one. She said that one day I would understand. She was right – today I do get it. I don’t know the exact reasons that brought me to you. Whether it was something mystical, magical, cosmic. The first time, I had no choice. But how lucky I was, Bella, to be hit by you and your scooter.”

I laugh, even through my tears.

“It’s different now,” Benjamin continues. “You are my choice. I chose to be here; I chose to beg you to accept me into your time and into your heart. I’ve always wondered why so many bad things have happened to me over the last few years. Why I had to suffer, why Abigail had to suffer. I believe that I was being prepared, transformed into an honourable man. A man who can, on a very small scale, consider himself worthy of you. And, perfect as you are, the path to finding you brought happiness not only to me but to my sister too. It was all written.”

Yes, it was.

“I can’t believe you time-travelled for me again.”

“I’d travel to the end of time if I had to, darling. I love you. I want to make you happy, fill you with love, hear your laughter, and smell your sweet perfume until my last breath.”

I steal a kiss from him. I’ll spend my life doing that.

“What about you?” he wants to know. “What’s happened?”

I sniffle, wiping away a tear. “I wrote the book. I spent all those months writing our story. I dedicated it to you,” I confess, making him smile. I get up just enough to reach my phone and open the e-reader. I click on my book, looking for the dedication page.

Benjamin smiles as he picks up the device. “I can read my name, but what’s written next to it?”

“To Benjamin,” I read to him, “with all my love. This story would never have existed without you.”

He swallows, overcome with emotion. “I want to know everything about it,” Ben says.

“I’ll tell you about it. You know what? I’ll translate it so you can read it. The readers really liked it. I was reading the reviews for Cinthia and…” My eyes widen. “My God, my friend is coming back from Subway and…”

“No, she’s not,” Benjamin says. I don’t understand and he explains himself: “I met her on the stairs. I think she recognised me from the photos and let me in. After she looked me up and down, including my boots , she said you wouldn’t mind eating afterwards.”

I laugh now. Out loud. “I said that these boots are something else…”

Benjamin pulls me to him, my breasts pressing against his strong chest. “You never told me. What happened at the end? Did he stay or did she go with him?”

I smile, my eyes moist again. “He stayed.”

Benjamin strokes my cheek with his thumb and asks me: “Was that a wish?”

“A dream,” I reply.

He brings his face close and whispers, before kissing me: “A dream come true, then. Marry me, Bella. Please be mine.”

Such a gentleman, such a lord. So perfect.

“Yes, I will marry you.”

Benjamin takes my lips and sweeps me off my feet, sealing our love in a kiss that has the flavour of eternity, of certainty.

Here, and for the rest of our days, we are real. He is real. No longer a duke from the past, but a man in the present. A love in the present. My love.