Chapter 12
LORDE
Sleep hated me. After standing at the window for what seemed like hours, I forced myself to crawl into bed.
My eyes had been drooping, closing on their own, and I couldn’t dismiss the possibility I’d fallen asleep standing up for a couple of minutes.
Unfortunately, the moment my head hit my pillows, sleep abandoned me.
I adjusted, flipping over to my other side, but it didn’t help.
Nothing did. I even tried drinking a glass of warm milk like the people in movies and on the telly, and it didn’t work.
I read, counted fictitious sheep, and closed my eyes with the hope of coaxing my body to slumber.
Still, I remained completely and utterly awake and watched as the sun crested the horizon through my bedroom window.
It turned the sky purple, orange, red, and then a clear blue, reminding me of Max. He was as vibrant as the morning light.
Last night, I didn’t insist we leave the party because my aunt looked tired to me, I ran away.
I could claim it was because it would enhance the mystery surrounding me, or that I wanted him panting for me, but the truth was the connection, or whatever existed between us, unnerved me like nothing else in my life.
Then the book appeared, and it was like a figurative slap on the back of my head.
Seeing it, the pages were worn, the leather binding holding it all together had me sweating bullets and my heart pounding.
I barely heard anything I said, let alone anyone else.
I called out numbers that I believed would be too high for anyone else.
It worked on Max, but not on that damnable book.
Something urged me to keep bidding, and I did.
In the end, I got the prize, or it could be the thorn in my side.
The collection of fairy tales, stories that had been rewritten, creating mere shadows of their original versions, was the one book I refused to handle.
I avoided it at all costs, and when asked to examine a copy, I would tell my client I was not an expert at that particular book.
I was, though. I knew everything about the various publications and publishing houses, about the bindings, the illustrations, what to look for, and what would be frowned upon.
I knew it all and avoided it like the plague.
Until last night.
For the first time in my adult life, I would own a copy.
My mother had one when I was a child and read it to me on more than one occasion, pointing out all of the ways the Brothers Grimm got it wrong.
Our ancestor was not evil, as they stated.
Her sister tried to protect the children from someone she thought was a danger to them.
If only that king had not begged Mila to help him, if only she had not accepted and turned those princes into the swans they became.
So many if-onlys, but the past couldn’t be undone.
Those strands had been woven together so tightly, they were permanent.
Peering up, I noticed a single mute swan traversing the dawn sky, the rising sun painting his snowy white feathers in apricot and coral hues.
Could that be Max? Swans usually traveled in pairs or more, but solo flights did happen, so there was a chance it might not be him.
Was it still too cold for them? Did they fly south for the winter in the States?
Many migrated from the U.K. It meant nothing.
For all I knew, he was still at the party and had no intention of leaving any time soon.
I thought about the entire night and Max.
The way his voice made my skin tingle, the way his eyes met mine and made my knees weak like some kind of stupid Hollywood movie, and the feel of his muscles under my hand when I caught him after he’d drunk too much.
My thoughts didn’t stop there. I also remembered the conversation his mother had with Pat.
He’d been told to find a nice guy. A guy.
All night there had been this electric connection between the two of us, but I’d learned a long time ago that I should never assume a person’s sexuality.
One of my mates on the football team, I believed wholeheartedly had been straight until he tried to kiss me.
It shocked the fuck out of me. Then again, one of the girls I’d met at uni, I would have sworn was gay, but she straight and asked me to set her up with my roommate.
My gaydar was seriously off, non-existent, or I didn’t know how to read it.
I figured it was more likely that I didn’t have one.
But never assume or judge. I’d learned that lesson very well and never assumed anything about anyone. Hoped, but not assumed.
Max was gay and looking for a good man. Why did the idea of him being with anyone, let alone a good man piss me off?
Why was I so jealous? I didn’t get it. Maximillian Lux was nothing more than a conquest, yet, the thought of doing anything to him made bile rise up in my throat and my heart to clench painfully. This reaction was the wrong one.
Revenge. Retribution. Righting wrongs. This was my purpose, but Pat’s question could not be forgotten. “What will you do after?” She had asked me that shortly after I’d arrived, and no matter how many times I tried to bury it within me and destroy it, it lingered, constantly whispering in my ear.
I watched the swan until he disappeared, swallowed up by the sun. They were so graceful, floating through the air, the wind under their wings, gliding across their feathers and body. What would it be like to experience a thrill like that?
“What will you do after?” The question beckoned to me again.
Blowing out a long breath, I lifted my head from my pillow and dropped it again with a soft plop.
“I don’t know. I can’t think about that now,” I spoke in a low voice.
It didn’t matter that no one was in the room with me.
I just needed to say it, to verbalize out loud.
“I don’t know,” I repeated a little louder.
Something else she said came to mind. Was my soul as black as my mother’s and Aunt Virginia’s?
I’d been raised to seek revenge and never question anything I’d been told.
My mother’s word was law, and that was it.
If I chose to cross that line, I feared what would happen.
The times I did talk back to her when I was younger, I got slapped, had to do extra chores, or had to write lines out of a book.
The latter two resulted in a lack of sleep because I could not go to bed until they were done.
Any time I wanted to speak out, I ate the words and swallowed them, killing them before they escaped.
“Why don’t you question it now?” my subconscious asked, and I groaned, rubbing my forehead, refusing to give credence to the question and flipped over onto my stomach to bury my head under my pillow.
“You aren’t there. You’re here with your Aunt Pat,” it argued, and I pressed the pillow a lot harder against my ears, blocking out all noise except the pounding of my pulse. “Still here,” it mocked me.
My subconscious could go to hell. I thought my brain was on my side, so why was it arguing with me?
Groaning, I pushed myself into a sitting position, my fists at my sides.
“NO!” I seethed, breathing so hard my shoulders were rising and lifting with each breath.
It didn’t matter where I was, I had to face my destiny and meet it head-on.
This was something decided for me centuries ago.
I had no choice. Later, I would allow myself to think about my future, about what I would do next.
Later, I would forget all about Max and force myself to never think about him again.
Later, after my purpose had been fulfilled, I would burn the book and the memories with it.