Finn,” I say tensely. “That girl has the ability to surprise
all of us.”
He looks at me with
sympathy in his eyes, like he feels sorry for me and how I’m holding onto this
thin thread of hope for my lost best friend. I swallow and look away, blinking
back tears. When I feel like I have them under control I look back at him.
“I’m going to hug you
now,” I tell him before I fold him into my arms. He seems taken by surprise a
little but then hugs me back.
It really is just so
good to see him alive and kicking.
“I’m glad you’re alright,
Petal,” he murmurs giving me a little squeeze before releasing me.
“I’m glad you’re
alright, too,” I say and trail my fingertips softly over the bruise on his
face. “Tell Alvie to make you up one of Rita’s healing cream recipes. It should
get rid of this in no time.”
He nods and gives me a
warm smile before moving to leave. When the door slams closed I exhale and feel
relieved that I’m going to see my friends tomorrow, even if Rita isn’t going to
be there. When I return to the living room, Ethan and Lucas are deep in
conversation. I’m far too tired so I leave them to it and climb the stairs to
Ethan’s bedroom where I promptly fall asleep.
Sometime later I find
myself in an endless white room. I know I’m dreaming but it all seems so real.
I look around myself but there’s nothing here, just this eternal whiteness. I
have a momentary thought about this being what limbo feels like when suddenly
there’s a man in front of me.
He’s tall with jet
black hair and ice blue eyes. His skin is pale and I realise that his colouring
is almost the exact same as mine. I also realise that he’s one of the
handsomest men I’ve ever seen. Vanity thy name is…me. His eyes stare endlessly,
a reflection of my own.
His body pulsates with power
and it affects me in a strange way, makes my pores tingle, makes me feel that
tiniest fraction more alive.
“Who are you?” I ask,
my voice unexpectedly filled with wonder.
The man wears a
pristine grey suit, a black shirt and a silver tie. His tall form is sleek and
I can tell he’s probably got some serious muscle going on underneath his
clothes.
A smile creases his
eyes and I get the distinct feeling that although he appears to be no more than
thirty years of age, he is in fact much, much older.
“You’ve been asking
after me,” he says in a deep, thrumming voice.
“I have?” my tone goes
up a notch at the end in anxiety. I don’t feel like I’m in danger, however I do
feel intimidated.
“You have,” he states.
“I am Roman.”
Roman? My grandfather,
Roman? Oh God, I suddenly feel incredibly uncomfortable at the thought that I
had just been checking him out a moment ago. Only my bizarre life could present
me with a long lost grandfather who looks just a couple years older than me.
“Ah, right, uh, yes.
Good. Thanks for, um, answering my call.”
This is so strange. How
on earth could he have known I was asking Emilia about him when he’s not even
supposed to know that my mother was his daughter? Or that Emilia had been
pregnant with his child at all, for that matter.
“I can hear when people
say my name,” he explains, answering my unvoiced question. “No one has uttered
it in a long time, not until a couple of weeks ago when I heard an old lover
say it to you.” He pauses and the silence drags out as a thoughtful look
crosses his features. “Why did she say it to you?”
Right, so maybe he
doesn’t know the ins and out of it all. I guess I’d better tell him. “B-because
you’re my grandfather.”
The moment the words
leave my mouth he walks towards me until we’re standing as close as possible,
his chest pressing against mine and his cool breath hitting my cheeks.
“Your grandfather?” he
breathes. “How?”
“Emilia Petrovsky is my
grandmother. She had a baby that was yours but she never told you about it. Her
name was Darya. She’s dead now.”
He absorbs
all of us.”
He looks at me with
sympathy in his eyes, like he feels sorry for me and how I’m holding onto this
thin thread of hope for my lost best friend. I swallow and look away, blinking
back tears. When I feel like I have them under control I look back at him.
“I’m going to hug you
now,” I tell him before I fold him into my arms. He seems taken by surprise a
little but then hugs me back.
It really is just so
good to see him alive and kicking.
“I’m glad you’re alright,
Petal,” he murmurs giving me a little squeeze before releasing me.
“I’m glad you’re
alright, too,” I say and trail my fingertips softly over the bruise on his
face. “Tell Alvie to make you up one of Rita’s healing cream recipes. It should
get rid of this in no time.”
He nods and gives me a
warm smile before moving to leave. When the door slams closed I exhale and feel
relieved that I’m going to see my friends tomorrow, even if Rita isn’t going to
be there. When I return to the living room, Ethan and Lucas are deep in
conversation. I’m far too tired so I leave them to it and climb the stairs to
Ethan’s bedroom where I promptly fall asleep.
Sometime later I find
myself in an endless white room. I know I’m dreaming but it all seems so real.
I look around myself but there’s nothing here, just this eternal whiteness. I
have a momentary thought about this being what limbo feels like when suddenly
there’s a man in front of me.
He’s tall with jet
black hair and ice blue eyes. His skin is pale and I realise that his colouring
is almost the exact same as mine. I also realise that he’s one of the
handsomest men I’ve ever seen. Vanity thy name is…me. His eyes stare endlessly,
a reflection of my own.
His body pulsates with power
and it affects me in a strange way, makes my pores tingle, makes me feel that
tiniest fraction more alive.
“Who are you?” I ask,
my voice unexpectedly filled with wonder.
The man wears a
pristine grey suit, a black shirt and a silver tie. His tall form is sleek and
I can tell he’s probably got some serious muscle going on underneath his
clothes.
A smile creases his
eyes and I get the distinct feeling that although he appears to be no more than
thirty years of age, he is in fact much, much older.
“You’ve been asking
after me,” he says in a deep, thrumming voice.
“I have?” my tone goes
up a notch at the end in anxiety. I don’t feel like I’m in danger, however I do
feel intimidated.
“You have,” he states.
“I am Roman.”
Roman? My grandfather,
Roman? Oh God, I suddenly feel incredibly uncomfortable at the thought that I
had just been checking him out a moment ago. Only my bizarre life could present
me with a long lost grandfather who looks just a couple years older than me.
“Ah, right, uh, yes.
Good. Thanks for, um, answering my call.”
This is so strange. How
on earth could he have known I was asking Emilia about him when he’s not even
supposed to know that my mother was his daughter? Or that Emilia had been
pregnant with his child at all, for that matter.
“I can hear when people
say my name,” he explains, answering my unvoiced question. “No one has uttered
it in a long time, not until a couple of weeks ago when I heard an old lover
say it to you.” He pauses and the silence drags out as a thoughtful look
crosses his features. “Why did she say it to you?”
Right, so maybe he
doesn’t know the ins and out of it all. I guess I’d better tell him. “B-because
you’re my grandfather.”
The moment the words
leave my mouth he walks towards me until we’re standing as close as possible,
his chest pressing against mine and his cool breath hitting my cheeks.
“Your grandfather?” he
breathes. “How?”
“Emilia Petrovsky is my
grandmother. She had a baby that was yours but she never told you about it. Her
name was Darya. She’s dead now.”
He absorbs
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