Chapter 10 – Genevieve
GENEVIEVE
“What about more of that whiskey?” I counter.
“No,” both he and Rhys say.
“Why?” I pout.
“Because I know drunk when I see it,” Masters tells me. “You’re the first breath of fresh air this place has seen in months. Don’t get sloppy.”
Ugh. “Fine. I’ll have the pink thing.”
I turn on Rhys and glare. “I get why he’s cutting me off, but why are you?”
He talks as he chews. “Similar to the food poisoning rule, too much alcohol will make you sick.”
“Speaking of sick, I’m more than a little sick of people telling me what to do.”
“Tough luck on that one, princess.”
I flick his ear, and he jumps away from me.
It makes me smile. And giggle, which tickles my belly a little.
This warm sensation is pretty nice, too.
It’s making my vision soft at the edges and my head light.
I pick up a fry and pop it in my mouth, but it’s not like my fries.
“You should try adding truffle oil and fresh rosemary to these,” I tell Masters.
“Fresh out of truffle oil and rosemary, I’m afraid.” He sets my new drink in front of me, and I go to pick it up when he catches my wrist. “That’s your last one.”
“Fine,” I grumble, and he releases me. “You’re nice to me.” I jut my thumb over toward Rhys. “He’s not, but you are.”
Rhys grunts something under his breath. He’s been doing that a lot tonight.
“Then why are you dating him?”
“Huh?” Oh, I said he was my boyfriend when we came in. “He’s good at sex.”
Rhys chokes, and a spray of yellow, foamy beer shoots from his mouth and dribbles down his chin. “Fuck,” he growls and grabs some napkins from a canister on the bar to wipe his mouth.
Masters chuckles as he runs a cloth over the counter. “Best of luck with this one,” he says to Rhys. “You’ve got your hands full with her.”
“I resent that,” I bristle.
“Is it wrong?” he tosses back at me, and I sigh.
“I don’t know. I kind of hope not.” Then again, I don’t exactly know what I am. I tilt my head. “Have you always wanted to run a restaurant?” The idea has merit. I love cooking. Maybe that’s something I could do someday.
Masters drops his elbows to the counter. “Not exactly. This was my granddad’s place, and he started it when he came over from Ireland. Then my dad took it over.”
“Oh!” I glance over at Rhys, but he subtly shakes his head, and I go back to Masters. “Go on. That’s amazing. I’ve never been to Ireland, but I’ve read it’s beautiful. And green.”
“Yes. Very green, though I’ve only been once. I went to university here in Messalina for engineering. Then my dad got sick, and I had to take over the family business.”
I cover my mouth with my fingers. “I’m so sorry. Is he okay?”
“No, he passed about a year ago. So now this is all mine.”
“But it’s fun, right?”
He shrugs.
Hmm.
“I used to run a jewelry store,” the guy down the bar jumps in. “It closed two months ago. I couldn’t keep it open.”
“That’s awful. Good thing Kevin here didn’t know about it. He’s a jewel thief.”
I get a sharp jab to my flank that makes me jump, and I burst into laughter.
“Sorry. Bad joke.” I hold my hand up. “I’m really sorry you lost your business. Did you enjoy it?
He shrugs, same as Masters did. “I wanted to be a dentist.”
I scrunch my nose, and Rhys whispers against my ear. “Someone who cares for teeth.”
I twist to him. “On purpose? They’re teeth.” I go back to the man. “I bet you would have been a great dentist. And a great… wait, what did you say you wanted to be?”
“Engineer,” Masters supplies.
I snap my fingers at him. “Yes. That. I love cooking. And baking. Do you think I’d be good at running a place like this? Maybe that’s my dream. Sort of like being an engineer and a dentist were yours.” I point at both men.
“I think you’d be better at it than this bloke,” a man on the other side of Rhys declares. Masters flips him a middle finger. I assume that’s not a nice gesture, but I don’t ask. I wish I knew more. I hate not knowing everything.
“If that’s your dream, you should do it,” Masters states heartily. “Remember, sometimes dreams last and sometimes they’re fleeting. That’s how life is.”
“But you don’t know what can be until you try, right? You have to chase your dreams, or what’s the point of having them?”
Everyone goes quiet, their owl eyes blinking at me in unison.
“Maybe you’re right,” the wannabe dentist muses. “Maybe I should try again. You should follow your dream too. Become a chef. Open a restaurant.”
I don’t know if that’s my dream. It sounds fun and exciting, though.
One dream at a time. I’ll start with the sea and the festival and figure it out from there.
And while I am chasing my dreams, and I do believe that’s vital, in my experience, dreams are also scary notions and can become toxic and obsessive.
They made me desperate to the point that I blackmailed an admitted violent thief into making it come true.
That’s not sane or rational thinking, and I worry that if I allow other things into my mind, they’ll destroy me for good.
Rhys stands, his stool scraping against the floor. “We should get going.”
I take a hearty glug of my latest pink fun and smile at Masters. “Thank you. This was wonderful and everything I needed.”
He doesn’t quite understand me, but he doesn’t need to. I pull money out of my bag and stare at the bill on the counter. I have no clue if I’m doing this right, but Rhys helps me along, and with one final wave, we leave.
“That was great!” I exclaim. “Where to next?”
“How drunk are you?”
I shrug. “I have no frame of reference to go by. The most I’ve had to drink before was a glass or two of wine with Mother.”
“Is the world spinning?”
I scrunch my nose. “No. Should it be?”
He tugs on my braid. “You’re smiling.”
“I know.” I giggle. “I’m not sure I can stop. This is the best day ever.”
Rhys smiles in return, and it’s a different smile than the ones I’ve typically gotten. It’s genuine and without motive. His eyes flicker about my face, and after a moment, he simply shakes his head as if something isn’t adding up for him.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing. I’ve just never met anyone like you before.”
I snort. “You mean a girl locked away in a tower?”
“Something like that.” He stares up at the sky that’s gone gray and dull. “I want to get some clothes, so let’s do that fast before it starts to rain.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Rhys throws me a side-eye and rubs the top of his head as if he doesn’t know what to do with me.
I don’t care. I’m having so much fun. I skip forward only for my left foot to snag on something, making me trip.
Rhys jumps in front of me and pushes me back by my shoulders before I faceplant onto the road.
A car whizzes by a second later, and holy shit!
“Whoa. Careful. You’re drunk.”
“You saved me.”
His eyes track back and forth between mine before they dip to my lips and hold. For a moment, I can’t breathe. I can’t think. He’s staring at my lips, and now I’m staring at his, wondering what it would feel like to kiss him. Would it be soft and sweet or rough and hard?
Which one would I prefer?
I sort of like the notion of his hands all over me, his mouth consuming.
My mother doesn’t get me a lot of spice in my romance books.
They’re also all fantasy, but I take what little there is and often let my imagination run wild.
But never in my wildest fantasies did I ever picture a man like Rhys.
The way he’s looking at me is making my heart pound.
There’s a fission of energy blooming in my stomach. Does he feel this? This… tension.
His eyes slowly crawl back up to mine, and he tucks a random flyaway behind my ear before his thumb grazes my cheek. My skin prickles, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I lean in. I don’t know why, because I don’t think I actually want him to kiss me, or maybe I do. I don’t know.
He makes a noise in the back of his throat, shakes his head, and murmurs something in what I think is Danish before he releases me. That’s that. Moment over.
“Do you think you can manage this?” His tone is short.
“I’m sure I can,” I snap in return.
Annoyed with all things me, his hand goes to my lower back, likely to make sure I stay upright, and we cross the street and into a shop. I’ve seen cars. I’ve ridden in them. I’ve been in stores and have some mild memories of them.
I’ve spent far too many hours replaying everything I remember from my before life. I was a little girl, and the memories are warped—some I wonder if I made up over the years—but little things are coming back to me faster than others.
The bell chimes overhead, and I don’t ask permission.
I simply head right toward the women’s section.
Rhys doesn’t follow me, and I’m grateful for the break.
When you spend most of your time alone, you both want people around and tire of them quickly.
Or at least that’s how it’s going for me with him.
This hot and cold, back and forth stuff is a lot.
The last time I was in a store like this, I was holding the hand of the woman who kidnapped me from my mother when I was a baby.
It makes me shudder, but I push all that aside and focus on the clothes and shoes in front of me.
It’s incredible. I haven’t gone shopping for myself before.
My mother brings me everything, and I have very little say in it.
The idea of shopping is thrilling.
I glance down at my tank top, joggers, and worn sneakers.
I only have about seven hundred euros, and I know that won’t get me far. Still, the purple dress on the rack in front of me with the pretty lace bottom and V-neck top that ties behind the neck might be worth a splurge.
I run my fingers over the soft fabric of the top.
The thought of wearing this to the festival makes my fingers tingle, and I pull it off the rack and hold it up.
It’s sixty euros. I bite into my lip and tuck it against me.
I can get one thing. I’ve never worn a dress.
They’re hardly practical for me, and I really want to wear this one.
Oh, and a swimming costume. I want to swim in the sea.
Not that I know how to swim or anything, but I at least want to go in it.
There’s a purple two-piece on another rack, and I think it’s safe to say that purple is officially my favorite color. I giggle, light and giddy and happy. So happy.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I spin on the balls of my feet and march up toward the front. I spot Rhys in the back of the store with some items in his hands. I don’t go over to him. Instead I drop my items on the counter and pick up a chocolate bar from a box sitting on the edge.
“These, please,” I say in Italian, only to gasp. “Oh, I love your hair!” The woman behind the counter has lavender hair. It’s stunning, and I wonder if I could do something like that. I have a lot of hair, and I can’t exactly have it that shade when—if—I return home. But wow.
“Thank you,” she says with a smile. “I did it last night. Good choices. I love this dress.” She holds it up as she scans the tag. “Going somewhere special?”
“The festival in Carona.”
“Fun. I love that festival. It’s magical. I haven’t been in a few years, though.”
“But it was magical?” The words tumble from my lips, eager and more than a little curious.
“Yes. The lanterns are stunning. You’ll see.” She puts my items in a bag. “That’ll be eighty-eight euros.”
I dig through my cash and hand her ninety.
She works on making my change, but her gaze keeps flickering back to me. “You have the same eyes as her.”
“Who?” I question.
“Princess Desta. I’m a bit obsessed,” she says self-consciously. “I’ve read everything there is on her and her kidnapping. She had large, silver-gray eyes. Like yours.”
“Oh.” That pulls me back.
“And blonde hair too.”
Chills race up my spine. “Really?”
She nods and hands me a two-euro coin and the bag. “Yes. Kind of weird, right?”
Before I can formulate a response, Rhys joins me and places his items on the counter. The girl’s jaw drops slightly, and she blushes at the sight of him. Yeah, now you know why I almost drunkenly kissed him not even ten minutes ago.
“Get what you need?” he asks woodenly, skirting me and not making any eye contact at all. Are all men like this? Kind and tender one minute and dismissive assholes the next? If so, I like my fictional and imaginary boyfriends better.
I snicker. I have to share a bed with him tonight.
“Yes,” I reply equally as curt. He doesn’t seem to care or notice.
“Good. We should get going. It’s starting to rain.”
Great. It’s going to be a long night with him.