Love's Forbidden Flower (16 page)

Donovan's guard has fallen, and he's gone green. Neither of us was prepared for my response. “All right, I’ll stop worrying. You seem happy. Do you think he'll be in your life for long?” He raises his coffee and takes a long sip. It's just like Mom does when she's hiding in fear of an answer or attempting to be sly.

“Definitely the rest of our senior year. Things will change so much in a few months that I don’t know what to think beyond now. I told Mom and Dad about pastry school.”

“I heard! Good job on doing that and not getting killed by Dad. I knew you’d have the upper hand.”

“It's so unfair to you.”

“Bah! I’m used to it. Then again, I'm hiding from him today and dreading the rest of the week.” Donovan takes my hand as his words become heartfelt. “Hey Lil, thanks for meeting me today. Please try not to get upset if I don’t talk to you much while I'm here.”

I dread how he will act tonight at Mom and Dad's New Year’s Eve party. Poor Christopher. Heaven only knows what’s in store for him.

Waking long before everyone else I decide now is as good a time as any to talk to Donovan. Actually, it might be the best time. Overall he's doing a pretty good job of avoiding me, so I need to catch him while I can. Stealthily I enter his room and gently nudge him. “Hey, pissy pants, wake up.”

He groans as he opens his eyes and then jumps upon seeing me. He's gotten progressively edgier all week. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Relax. Geez! I have to go to work, but I want to talk to you first. I won’t ask if you’re okay because obviously you’re not. Is there anything I can do?” I ask while kneeling beside his bed.

Rolling onto his side to face me he moans, “Nah. Mom and Dad are driving me crazy, and I’m not looking forward to dealing with the influx of people tonight. I tried to get out of being here but Mom got all—,” he sneers, waving a hand dismissively in the air.

“Do you mean she had kittens?” I say in my best British accent, attempting levity.

“Oh, that's right. Your scrawny dreamboat comes home today.” He rolls onto his back, puts the pillow over his head and mutters through it, “Honestly Lil, I'm kind of on the fence about meeting him.”

Ripping the pillow from his face I bounce onto his bed, encouraging a smile. “Oh, bloody hell. Are you puttin' me on? This ought to be the show of a lifetime for ya, gettin' a front row seat for Mum gettin' on the piss and droolin' over a scrawny lit'le English bloke like she did when she was nine. Oughtta be a downright disgustin' site!”

“Oh God! Is it really that bad? And please stop talking like that.” Taking back the pillow he resumes hiding.

“It hasn’t been, but Christopher keeps threatening to mess with her, and I'm guessing tonight may be the night. From the tone of our last video chat he's up to something. Oh! And his mom's coming, whom I think has a twisted little thing for Dad.”

Donovan momentarily lifts the pillow from his face. “Hey! I know what you can do for me. Go into the kitchen and get that really nasty butcher knife and whack my head off.”

Sliding my hand under his head I nudge him to raise it so his pillow can return home. “Seriously, can you please put forth an extra effort to be pleasant? At least to Christopher. He’s already kind of freaked about meeting you after the little display I mentioned that happened with Al’s brother. Bob didn’t paint you in a very nice light, and, unfortunately, I didn’t help matters.”

“What do you mean, ‘put forth an extra effort to be pleasant?’ Am I not always the most charming man you've ever met?”

“Quit making sarcastic remarks and being all—” I mimic his trademark blinking eye roll before leaning in and whispering, “It’s just too damn sexy.”

Donovan’s eyes almost pop out of his head while mine quickly slam shut—both of us going rigid. What the hell was I thinking? My intended joke was in no way funny. Now I'm stricken by an overwhelming sense of guilt.

“Sorry, I had to get at least one in before you left.” I rise to flee, but I'm arrested by Donovan's touch upon my arm as he sits to address me. My lids go tight again—refusing to open and face the shame my words brought. What on earth came over me?

“Lily, look at me. I know you were messing with me but really, look at me. Just look me in the eyes, and don’t think for a minute. I need a moment of honesty.”

Sanity begs me to take flight and not return home until Donovan has long left, but his courageous request is conquering. The sensation as he runs his fingers along my jaw line and calls my eyes to meet his reminds me of his true nature and brings on a yearning for the days when we were discovering our hidden desires.

We stare into each other's eyes as the intended moment becomes a display of immortal piety. After my heart seizes and I surrender to what we once had never forsaking me, Donovan breaks our lock by falling back on the bed and sounding resigned. “Yeah, I thought so.”

“What did you see?”

“The same thing you did in me.”

I escape our reality in haste, absolutely hating myself for being victimized by the emotions that rip me apart.

Donovan's been a whole new kind of aberrant since our morning encounter. Concurrently he's like a vicious tiger about to strike and an abused house cat that cowers from a sudden movement. With the exception of a few minutes this morning, his guard has been raised the entire visit. But there have also been brief moments when he's intentionally slipped. He's allowed me miniscule glimpses into his true self; ones that tell me he's still in there and needs me to know.

When the doorbell finally rings my nervousness caves way for excitement so intense it's almost panic. Sprinting to the door I fling it open, ready to throw my arms around the man I cherish now more than ever. However, instead of passionately embracing Christopher, I find myself laughing at him.

“Hello, luv! Miss me?” Christopher stands boldly with two bouquets of flowers in one hand, a guitar in the other, a beaming grin on his face, and the most ridiculous, yet kind of sexy, clothes I've ever seen; black boots, grey drainpipe trousers, and a light blue satin poet shirt accompanied by an ultramarine ascot that make his azure eyes burst.

“Mom, your dream date is here!” I call towards the kitchen. “Oh my God! Where did you get that outfit?”

“Do you like it? I think it makes me look rather dashing,” he boasts while turning and checking himself out.

“I—actually—think it makes you look kind of hot. I’m Gobsmacked.”

“Ah, I sure have missed you, pet.” Wrapping his arms around me he kisses me sweetly before checking himself out again. “Do you really like it?”

Mom strolls into the room followed by Donovan, who seems to have sprouted three inches today. She gushes upon seeing Christopher. “What’s all the commotion—oh, my goodness! Oh, Christopher! Where did you ever get that outfit?”

Donovan's attention snaps in my direction.
You have got to be kidding me!

I told you!

“I raided me dad’s storage and had the tailor do a number on it. I thought it might be a lark to wear. Here you go, luvs.” Christopher hands holiday bouquets of white and red roses sprinkled with silver to Mom and me before turning his attention to Donovan who's trying his best not to look like he has no clue in the world what ladies see in him. “Hello. Are you Lilyanna’s brother?” Christopher asks, extending his hand.

“Yeah, I’m Donovan, nice to meet you.” As he reluctantly shakes Christopher’s hand, I try to ignore the awkwardness of the situation. Donovan’s wall dips ever so slightly, and his discomfort clambers up my spine.

“A pleasure. Me name's Christopher. Do they call you mellow yellow?”

“Oh, Christopher!” Mom gushes.

Donovan raises his eyebrows. “Quite rightly, but I prefer Sunshine Superman.”

“Ah, clever one he is.”

“Wow,” Donovan mutters under his breath as he leaves the room, taking Mom with him.

I can't help but beam at my mod treasure. “I missed you so much!”

As night falls, the house is crammed with guests, and the party is in full swing. My parent’s conservative friends, whom are already showing signs of inebriation, surround us. The men are a little sedate, but the women are starting to woo it up. It’s only a matter of time until one of them replaces her party crown with a lampshade.

Christopher and I snuggle on the living room sofa, sheltering ourselves from the festivities unfolding around us. I'm self-conscious as hell, but Donovan wanted me to find someone special, so I'm allowing my feelings for Christopher to show honestly. Games such as the one played with Al are no longer an option.

“You been getting on with your brother? I tried talking to him, but I don’t think he’s too well chuffed on me.”

My reaction shows a bit of frenzy. “Why? What'd he say to you?”

“Oh, nothing really, but I can tell he’s very protective of you,” Christopher answers while shifting his weight in his seat.

My eyes demand that he spill all of the details.

Changing his tone to one that sounds almost boastful, he continues, “He just said you're obviously very fond of me, and he hopes I never do anything to hurt you.”

“Or?”

“There was no ‘or’ vocalized, but I believe ‘or I’ll rip your scrawny little arms off’ was implied.” He makes a brushing motion with his hand and kisses my cheek dismissively. “It's nowt, luv. I happen to be very much in love with his sister, so I’d like to make a good impression. Thoughts?”

“Not a clue. Right now the two of you have pretty much nothing in common. In fact, I venture to say that you're everything he’s not.”

Donovan is reluctant to respond to my gestured request that he come over. His locomotion is like watching a silent movie where the film has slowed as he sits next to me, reclining back into the corner of the sofa and territorially putting his feet in my lap. I'm quick to comment on his demeanor. “I don’t know if I've ever seen you so bored in all my life.”

He lets out a grouse. “You know how Mom and Dad’s friends are. They're just as stogy and dull as Mom and Dad.”

“They did tell us we could invite people.”

“I see you were as keen on inviting your friends as I was. No one wants to be trapped here.”

My darling Christopher is resolved to make a good impression. “Don’t look now, mate, but there’s been a bird in the corner watching you all night.” He points to the only girl here of about our age. She’s been more interested in her book than socialization.

Donovan refuses to look, having the intent of keeping a close eye on Christopher to ensure he's all I claim. “You seem to have your fair share checking you out as well. You must be quite popular.”

“Really? I never notice anyone but Lilyanna.” He snuggles tighter and kisses my cheek. “Jammy sod I am.”

Donovan appears confused by the display. His expression would be amusing, if not for the circumstances. As if the situation couldn't get more awkward for him, Grace approaches her son, requesting he grab the guitar he brought to entertain the ladies. As she saunters off in her ultra-tight micro mini, she commands Donovan’s full and mortified attention.

Christopher rubs his hands together with gusto, as if preparing himself for what terrors and delights may lay ahead. After he jots off, I grab Donovan's hand while jumping off of the sofa. “Let’s go get a good seat for the fireworks.”

The display would be sickening if it weren't so entertaining. Every female, most of them over fifty, have their eyes on the scrawny English lad with the guitar. The other men are scattered in different parts of the house grumpily ignoring the ludicrous display. Christopher is merciless as he plays nothing but old British pop standards that mature American women would know. He's a never-ending jukebox of happy, peppy pop songs, and his audience sings and dances like star-struck teenyboppers.

“This is vile.” Donovan says revolted, yet amused by the display. “Really, this is disgusting.”

“This is every day of my life.”

He shoots me a look like I've fully lost my mind. “Why do girls, grown women even, go crazy over this guy? I’m sorry, Lil, I just don’t get it. He’s so, so—”

“Scrawny? Happy? Charming? Human?”

“Yeah.” Donovan looks like he feels unclean, but when he gets a good look at Mom singing and dancing he’s compelled to flee. “Oh God! I’m going to get something to drink.”

I'm actually enjoying the spectacle and can't fault these women one bit. Mom has always said that the happiest music came from Manchester, and the British Invasion was a time in music that will be revered and studied for centuries. Upon appreciating the sea of happy faces, I find no way to dispute her.

As I take a moment to join Mom for a few dances, her smile provides a window into how she must have been at my age. To me she is no longer the persona of a dedicated housewife or my wannabe teenage friend. Now I understand the reason for her regression: She's desperately attempting to retain a part of herself that's being stripped away. Is the stripping a byproduct of my father’s ideals, the passage of time, or society's notion that in order to mature you must lose part of yourself?

The shimmer in Christopher’s eyes captures my thoughts. This particular gleam tells of an exceptional kind of love, one that should never be reserved. He's obviously born to play music and make people happy with his talent and charm. For him to do anything else would be a betrayal, not only to him, but also to all.

The contrast between Mom and Christopher brings forth a revelation of the constant need for honesty with myself. Without it, you become lost and feel your life is worth nothing. I suspect this sums up Donovan’s problems, and it compels me to return to his side.