Love's Forbidden Flower (21 page)

Finally he's returned to same planet I'm on. “Boy, do I ever!”

“Well, I do want to go to Queen’s Academy, but there’s a little more to it. I fear asking meself if I even should go, given the circumstances. Truth is, I have to go somewhere. Well, I guess I don’t
have
to, but I'd be whacked not to.”

Christopher gazes at the splatter and shakes his head as if he's in betrayal of himself. “Blimey! I'm prickly talking about it, but remember how I said me dad has power? He’s not exactly short on quid either. He set up funds for us lads when he dies, but I have to be at least eighteen and go to uni to get it. I could go to any uni, and since I came here that's what I'd planned to do. But with needing to go home and fix me family, and the door to a place like Queen’s Academy opening, I couldn’t bloody well say no. But it doesn’t change the fact that it all feels mucked up.”

“Wow. You never talk about your father. That's the most I've ever heard, and yet you've still said nothing.”

“Well, me dad and I don’t exactly see each other. We get on all right, but we're like chalk and cheese. I'm a huge disappointment to him. He can’t even stand how I talk which is barmy because all his old mates speak exactly the same way.” Quickly Christopher shakes off his angst over his father’s disappointment and moves on. “But anyway, if you know what you really want then that’s what you should do. If you don’t take advantage of opportunity because of your personal needs, that’s one thing. But if it’s because of laziness, that’s bloody well not right.”

“I'm not lazy. I just need something more active. I have to be true to me.”

It takes a moment to process all that Christopher has said. There's so much more to both of us than the other ever imagined. Just as I'm about to try to comfort him, Donovan’s Bird appears in the corner of my eye. The girl has her hair up and sunglasses on, but it's definitely her.

Upon the meeting of our eyes she ducks into the restroom. She's not very bright to corner herself like that. It's confrontation time.

“Excuse me a moment.” My lips caress Christopher’s before I walk off and slip into the restroom. A decade seems to pass before the bird flies out of the stall. Upon seeing me she looks like someone set off the fire alarm.

“Hello, Cheryl. That is your name, right? Cheryl?” It’s hard to sound friendly and casual while wanting to take the life right out of her.

“Uh, yeah. You’re Donovan’s sister, right?” Cheryl fumbles to open her purse and search for something.

“Yes, Donovan’s sister, Christopher’s girlfriend, six of one. You were at my parent’s New Year’s Eve party, right?”

“Yeah, I was there.” Cheryl's incredibly fidgety as she puts on bright orange lipstick that clashes with her red sweater. She looks like she's afraid I'll attack. I can't say I won’t.

“I thought I'd seen you someplace; like there, the movies, driving past my house, behind my work
ridiculously early in the morning
. We sure seem to be in the same places a lot. I'd really appreciate it if you'd stop following us, and I'd appreciate it even more if you wouldn’t take pictures. I don’t know what kind of fascination you have with Christopher, but it needs to end now.”

“Oh, please! Why would I have any interest in Christopher when I have a man like Donovan?”

Yeah, that’s where I thought this might be going. “How long have you been seeing my brother?”

Cheryl looks positively radiant! “He’s been mine since New Year’s Eve. Well, I haven’t actually
seen
him since then,” she says with a huff, “but he adores everything about me.”

Wow! For a girl who seems so awkward she sure has a high sense of self-worth—too much so for Donovan. He likes confidence, but self-absorbed is a major turnoff. What happened to the shy girl who wouldn’t socialize on New Year’s Eve?

“I’ve been concerned about my brother. We used to talk all the time, but lately he’s been distant. How is he? What do you talk about?”

“He tells me all the time how blisteringly hot I am. During the rare times he’s not we talk about all kinds of things. Like college and football—stuff like that.”

So that’s what he is baiting the trap with. I can’t see Mr. Hearts and Flowers saying those things to someone unless they were way into the hot monkey sex stage. There's no way he's interested in this girl. “Does he ever mention me?”

“Yeah, all the freakin’ time! He asks about you a lot.”

“Is that why you're following me? So you'll have something to talk about? I’d think you would spend your time seeing him. Is he not accepting visitors now?”

“Excuse me? I’m not stalking you to get to your brother, if that is what you're asking. He’s afraid his precious baby sister is going to get hurt, so he asked me to keep an eye on you. Seems like the way into his pants is through you.”

I’m a—I’m not really sure where to go with this, but she certainly has my attention with her choice of words. “So instead of you spending time with him he asked you to leave Christopher notes, take pictures, and eavesdrop on my conversations because he wants to be sure I'm safe, is that right?”

And now I have her attention. She’s fidgeting with her purse and scratching her arms. My counter attack is getting through. “So?”

Time to make my move. “Cheryl, please don’t take what I'm about to say personally, but stay away from Christopher, me, and my family.
Never
speak to Donovan again.”

“Yeah, right!”

My voice becomes very sad and dire for what I know is the reality of what I'm saying. Donovan has really lost it. How dare he use someone for his twisted little games? “Cheryl, please listen to me. Donovan is not well. Step back a moment, and ask yourself if this makes sense. Has he made even the slightest effort to see you? My brother is a hopeless romantic. Has he sent you flowers, cards, notes—anything at all? If not, he’s using you. All women deserve much better, and he will never give you more than he already has. For your own safety, promise me you'll never contact him again.”

“Donovan wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Hasn’t he abused you already? Try calling him and make a date for this weekend. Offer to drive to him so he has fewer excuses. Wait. Let me guess. You’ve tried that already and failed. You have tried that every week since you met him, which was about five months ago. Five months is a long time for a man who claims he adores you to avoid opportunities to see you.”

Finally I get through and convince a heartbroken Cheryl to delete the pictures on her phone, but not before she emails me one of Christopher kissing me sweetly. It's how I always want to remember him. When I get home I print three copies; one for my room, one for Christopher, and the third I sign in silver pen, “Thinking of you.” The next morning I find Donovan’s address and mail him the picture in an envelope with no return address.

Though Christopher should be here at any moment I’ve been ready for hours, having begun my preparations as the clock struck two. Since I only curled my hair and repeatedly doted over make-up, the whole process took about fifty-five minutes, which means I have had over three hours to pace.

My blood pressure crests as Dad insists on answering the door when the bell rings. After all, this is the big night when daughters come home drunk and pregnant, so of course he wants to scare the tuxedo pants
on
to Christopher. I’m surprised he is not wielding Crazy Glue and threatening strangulation with Christopher’s bow tie. But Dad has been surprisingly easy on him since the announcement that Christopher is returning to England, and I have scored a sizeable scholarship to the Culinary Academy in mid-state New York. In fact, Dad is so happy that he’s paying for a boarding upgrade so I can have a tiny little place all to myself. Yep, being the daughter pays off!

Christopher surprises me not only with a lovely wrist corsage of little white roses and violet ribbon, but also a small matching bouquet for my nightstand along with some pink roses for Mom. But the real shocker lies outside my front door in the form of a short white limousine. I had expected to cram this dress into Grace’s Mini Cooper, but never would I have dared to dream this.

“Christopher, how did you afford—?”

“A little gift from me mates back home. It sort of showed up at the house as I was leaving. The note said they wanted to make our last big night together special.”

My tongue seems to forget how to swallow at Christopher’s words. Other than a few stolen moments we will have between now and graduation, this is just about it for us. At least we will go out in style.

I’m caught off guard when we arrive at an upscale restaurant in Providence. For the past ten months our haunts have been respectable but budget priced, and we have mostly shared in the expenses. Apparently this is another gift from the folks back home. I wish I knew more about Christopher’s life in England, but he has always been reserved—as if in guard of his two worlds.

My evening of regality continues as we arrive at the Providence Biltmore where our prom, along with that of two other high schools, is taking place. As we walk up the stairs in the grand foyer to the gold-filigreed external glass elevator, I take a moment to drink in the gilded ceiling that flourishes above me. Surely I am in a castle and my prince has never looked more dashing. The ascent to the Grand Ballroom on top of the eighteen-floor building provides a lovely view of my kingdom.

All my life I have dreamed of this day. I had envisioned the school gym illuminated only by twinkling lights and gold stars hanging from the ceiling that transformed it as if by magic into a miniature wonderland, much like my mother described her prom. But I’m lucky to attend one of the modern proms of today, one where the class has held bake sales and car washes for years to escape our small town and ascend into heaven.

The entrance into the ballroom sweeps me off of the floral carpet as I soak in the arched windows boasting magnificent drapes of maroon that drip into perfect folds. Crowing the glory is a ceiling of rosettes that descend flowers from heaven.

Christopher and I dance the night away in each other’s arms, all but ignoring the presence of others. During this rite of passage into adulthood, high school fades away and the enigmatic future unfolds ahead.

As the romantic melody ends and the thump of dance music begins, Christopher escorts me into the elevator.

“Where are we going?”

“To find a place where we can have a moment alone. I have something for you.”

In our exploration of the hotel we discover an empty lounge with a roaring fire burning in a marble fireplace adorned with golden urns filled with flowers of red and white. Curling up together on a sofa we take moment to indulge in the ambiance and enjoy our privacy.

“Have I told you how incredibly gorgeous you look tonight? You have always been the most striking woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. I didn’t think it possible for you to be more beautiful than you normally are, but tonight you’ve proved me wrong.”

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he removes a small box. My heart nearly goes into my throat. He said he wouldn’t propose, but this certainly looks like a ring box.

From inside he brings forth a gold ring that sports a single pearl, my birthstone, surrounded by adorable little diamond baguettes. “Lilyanna I—it’s taken everything I have not to ask you to stay with me. Though I’ve no idea what it is I’ve always sensed you have unfinished business to attend to. But once it’s done I hope you’ll find your way back to me. I saw this, and it reminded me of the necklace you wore on our first date. I hope it will always remind you of the ring I really want to give you. Maybe someday…”

My heart is destroyed all over again as I watch tears unashamedly pour down his cheeks.

“I love you, Lilyanna Beckett. Now and always.”

“Oh, Christopher. I love you, too.”

The same day I receive a bouquet of eighteen white roses with an anonymous card reading, “Thinking of You.” At least Donovan is being his usual ass of a self. I hadn’t expected to hear from him after my little stunt with the photo, but here he is acknowledging his stupidity. Knowing him the way I do, the card might as well say he's sorry and that he loves me.

Now, ready or not, I find myself grabbing my bags and walking out the front door of my parent’s house. I'm off to my new home hundreds of miles away in mid-state New York. In some ways I wish it were further—like in another country. In other ways I'm relieved that I can drive home or to Donovan in a few hours. Either way—I'm moving forward.