Compromising Kessen (33 page)

You know what else is fun? Washing one's hands.

“There you are!” Nicholas said from the doorway.

Samuel sunk behind the desk again. Sebastian closed his eyes, hoping the jelly stains on his perfectly white cravat would somehow disappear as well.

“Samuel.” Nicholas’s voice took a warning edge, making Sebastian feel the need to adjust the cravat for more air. Devil take it, even he started to sweat when he heard Nicholas’s voice turn threatening. Sebastian stole a glance at Samuel, who shook his head and crossed his arms.

Not the wisest of choices, young fellow.

Instead of taking the smart option of apologizing, the boy decided to take the road less traveled and ran.

Bless him, he didn’t get far. Nicholas’s trained hands darted out and grabbed the boy’s shirttails just as he was passing the doorframe. He let out a screech so mind-blowingly loud that Sebastian was convinced hearing loss would soon follow.

Fully caught red handed, or in Samuels case jelly handed, he did what any young boy of his age would do.

He smiled.

And Sebastian’s heart clenched.

How Nicholas could even punish the young cherub was beyond him. Yet Nicholas did just that, giving the boy a firm, yet loving, sit down. At the end of the lecture he demanded Samuel apologize to Sebastian.

Just don’t turn those giant blue eyes on me.

And the boy circled toward him. Alligator tears slowly dripping down his red cheeks.

Deliver me, Lord.

“Y-y-your grace?”

Sebastian got down on one knee and put out his hand for Samuel to shake. It seemed even at a young age boys knew how often things were fixed by the firm shaking of one’s hand. His face immediately brightened as he shook Sebastian’s hand then saluted him as if he was royalty.

He had no option but to salute back.

Samuel ran off, leaving Sebastian’s face still in a smile, until he met Nicholas’s brooding gaze.

“Uh, it was nothing.” Sebastian dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

“He shouldn’t be spying,” Nicholas clipped.

“He’s a boy.”

“Don’t encourage him.”

“Don’t discourage him from being so carefree. Boys should grow up to be—”

“I’m sorry, it sounded as if the Duke of Tempest, sworn bachelor, was just contemplating giving me parenting advice.” Nicholas lifted an eyebrow in shock.

Sebastian scowled and crossed his arms. “I was merely going to say he deserves room to grow.”

Nicholas snorted.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’ll just enjoy rubbing this conversation in your face when you produce a tiny replica of yourself and that replica decides to hide frogs in your bed.”

You have no idea how tired of waiting I am.
Sebastian dismissed the thought, feeling suddenly uncomfortable that it was in his head in the first place. Something was seriously wrong with him. Taking a mistress, getting foxed, and gambling, those were the things that should be in the forefront of his mind. Not chasing jelly handed children around the house.

Being surrounded by married friends was obviously playing with his normally calm and cheerful demeanor. He needed another drink. Or had he already had a few? Obviously his memory had been affected as well. The sooner he wrote the deuced list and chose a bride, the better.

As if reminding himself, he announced rather loudly, “I’ve decided to write a list of things I would like in a wife. Then you and Sara may choose the best fit.”

“Why is that not surprising?” came the sarcastic remark from behind him. Only the words did not come from a male voice, no. They came from a voice that would haunt him for the rest of the night. Slowly he turned to see what defiant creature belonged to such an irresistible voice.

Sweet Lord.

Also from Astraea Press and Rachel Van Dyken

Prologue

Oh no. This is not happening,
not
happening
!

I wipe my hands over my pleated skirt, a nervous habit. Sweaty hands aren’t attractive, or so Brad Macintosh said when he held them during couple’s skate my seventh grade year.

It’s my first choir solo ever. Why couldn’t it be our fall concert instead of our Spring Spectacular? I feel ridiculous standing in front of the entire school with my mouth gaping open trying to find a middle C. Not to mention the fact that my mother, who is standing up in the front of the audience waving with video camera in hand, forced me to wear a pleated skirt. Thus the outfit is now screaming “uncool” on my lanky body.

Never am I this mean. But when I get nervous, I tend to snap at people. All week I’ve been at odds with my mom for taking pictures of me. She was literally documenting every day of my life up until the big solo or as she puts it, “my discovery!” Leave it to my mom to turn a junior high solo into the performance of a lifetime, which will not only get her daughter discovered, but will make her a best selling artist all before her eighteenth birthday. Somehow I don’t think MTV is going to be knocking on our door anytime soon for the professional footage my mom shot in order to do a “diary” on my life before I was famous.

Nervous and sweating, I begin my solo, praying I remember the words. When I finish, I felt like I’d run the fifty-yard dash the way my heart is hammering, but then I realize everyone is clapping. They’re all clapping for me. I did well!

In fact, people are beginning to stand up and clap. I actually feel famous, like I’m a pop star giving my first concert and people love me. THEY LOVE ME!

I bow and do a little curtsy just so they know I’m still humble then wave like Miss America all the way back to my seat with the rest of the choir. Blushing, I try to avoid eye contact with the rest of the choir as they whisper, “good job”. I look humble, but I’m actually soaring because of how proud I am. I actually did it! Now if only my mom would turn off that dang camera and sit down. My dad gives me a thumbs up, and oh yes, my mom is wiping a stray tear from her eye. Looking at them you’d assume I’ve never done anything exciting in my entire life.

****

Our choir director grabs the microphone and clears his throat. The entire audience falls silent like he’s the president of the United States about to make his State of the Union address.

Our town is small. Just because our choir director used to be a somewhat famous Christian artist doesn’t mean he should be elected mayor or given the key to the town; however, few agree with my practical assessment. After all, he did give me my starring solo, so I should probably act a little more thankful. So I, like everyone else, put the stars in my eyes and listen intently for what he is about to say.

“Now, I know we normally end after the starring solo.” He turns and winks at me while I feel my face turn hot as people start chanting my name. “But,” he says, holding up his hand, “we have a little treat for all of you today. Preston, why don’t you come down here?”

Preston? Weird, I didn’t know he was in choir. Poor boy. He’d be more attractive if he traded in the Star Wars t-shirts for some button-ups. He’s the only member of the local Star Wars fan club; he refuses to acknowledge that George Lucas did, in fact, make more films. He says it’s blasphemy to even speak of it, thus why he’s the only member of the club.

Rather than his usual uniform sporting R2D2 or Luke Skywalker, he’s wearing an over large sweater vest and pants way too short for his height. As I’m assessing his wardrobe, my eyes land on Austin Macintosh, a pretty boy.

Good looks and talent on the basketball court don’t hurt his popularity with the ladies either. Hopefully, he’ll ask me to prom. I mean it’s only natural for the starting point guard to ask out the soloist of the year, right? Deciding to be bold, I wink at him and notice a faint blush stain his cheeks and his eyes shift downward in nervousness. When he looks up he lifts his hand in a friendly wave and winks. Yes!

“Amanda Lewis!”

I hear my name. Why do I hear my name? Turning, I see Preston staring at me, and the entire audience seems to be waiting in suspense.

“What?” I ask in hushed tones.

The girl next to me tells me Preston had asked me to approach the front. Strange, but maybe I won an award? Without further hesitation, I walk up and smile brightly as people clap. The temptation to wave again is overwhelming, and I succumb, beaming as I receive another round of applause. Wow, I could get use to this kind of attention. Finally I reach Preston, but there’s no trophy. Bummer.

He grabs for my hand, and before I can pull it away, it’s already stuck in his grasp. He’s rubbing my thumb. This is awkward. “Will you go to prom with me?”

He’s kidding. I’m getting pranked. This can’t be real. Is this Candid Camera? Looking around, I notice that everyone in the audience is dead silent. Even my friends in the choir are sitting there with their mouths gaping open. This is social suicide.

As I take the microphone out of his hands, I feel the collective hush of people holding their breath. Somehow I manage to press on as gracefully as possible. “Wow, that’s so sweet to offer,” I say cheerfully. I see my mom has turned the video camera back on. We’ll have words later.

“But,” I say unsure, “I already promised I’d go with my cousin. Maybe if you had asked sooner…” This is my peace offering, a pathetic one.

“Prom’s in two months,” Preston replies, defeated.

“I know,” I say quickly. “But I wanted to get an early start. So sorry, Preston.”

He grabs the microphone and tries to smile. “It’s okay. You’re right. I should have asked sooner. Hey, let’s give another round of applause to the soloist of the night!” He backs up and claps for me, but I can see tears in his eyes. Humiliation, and it’s all my fault.

All I want right now is for the floor to swallow me alive. That isn’t an option, however, so I wave with little enthusiasm and find my seat.

A girl next to me nudges my knee. “That was close, huh?” Her eyes are laughing, like she’s making a joke, but I just want to cry. How cruel can a person be? People around me are muttering words like,
ouch,
harsh
,
bummer
, and I fight the tears threatening to stream down my face. My throat constricts with a sudden onslaught of emotion as I watch Preston slowly move back to his seat and hang his head in his hands. I silently pray for him to lift his head and look in my direction. Instead all I see a single tear slide down his cheek then nausea overwhelms me. I just shot Bambi, and the worst part is, I can’t seem to find the strength to get up, walk over to his seat, and apologize.

Chapter One

Nine Years Later…

How I ended up here, I have no idea. Well actually, I take that back. I do. The whole thing started when my boyfriend of two weeks asked me to be his date to his best friend’s wedding. Being the naïve idiot that I am, I said, “Well, of course,” because naturally I’m in love with him after fourteen days and will do anything he asks (cue large sigh here).

So, you can imagine my surprise at the predicament I’m in – not that I shouldn’t have seen it coming. A girl should have a sixth sense about some situations. He never let me see his place, nor did he take me out in public, nor did I ever actually meet any of his friends. It was a series of coffee dates and quick yet passionate kisses on the cheek, which led me to this church on this particular day. Desperate? No, I’m not, but perhaps I’m a little too hopeful.

Dear friends, who also happen to be happily married, are always reminding me I’m young enough to be independent, free, and I should enjoy this time in my life. Please. I’d roll my eyes and say choice words to them, if they could take their eyes off each other long enough to notice. Which brings me to why I’m too hopeful. I want what they have. However, that is no excuse for the sorry situation I find myself in today.

Oh, to leave this place! But I can’t. My only ride is with my stupid (you guessed it) ex-boyfriend who is still in the corner sobbing his eyes out. And you may ask, “Amanda, that’s odd. Why is your now ex-boyfriend sobbing his eyes out?” To which I will answer, “Because he’s lost his mind.” Literally tossed every brain cell in his possession into a trash can and set it on fire, no joke. Looking at him just makes me all the more sick to my stomach. As I said before, I should have known. Used, like some worthless replacement for what he really wanted all along, that’s what I feel right now, and it’s the simple truth.

With all the snot running down his face and the tears, I find myself wondering what I ever saw in him. What’s wrong with me? Normally I’m not this stupid. I go for the jocks, but because of bad experiences that we don’t need to review, I decided to go for the nerdy guy. Sensitivity might be a nice change. Well, I got the sensitive part, not what I had in mind.

It would have been nice to know an important little detail. The best friend, whose wedding I just inadvertently destroyed, is a girl.

Furthermore, there was no way for me to know this girl was the love of his life, and I was actually going to a wedding to witness my date stand up in the middle of the ceremony – God, mayor, and everyone else I have known since high school—and say, “I object!”