of air. So she did drug me. I thought
maybe, just maybe, it could have been Horse-face, or just a random
evil-doer. Or even Mrs. Trandle's "he", even though that's…
crazy.
My shoulders slump so low, Linnie easily slings her arm around them.
“I asked Chauncey why she doesn’t just apologize.”
She presses her head to my temple. “She said, ‘it’s
too late for that. Even if I beg, I can’t take it back.’
And Raven, I know it’s hard to believe, but she started
sobbing.” Linnie brushes my hair behind my ear. “What
Chauncey did was wrong; she never should have left you. But believe
me, she feels awful about leaving, she just can’t admit it to
you.”
Because she did something dreadful, much more than you know.
Linnie gazes at me, “Do you think you could forgive her?”
Could I forgive her? Maybe, in a million years. Could I like her? I
doubt it. Could I trust her? Never. I sigh, “It sounds as if
she regrets what she did, so I can let it go.”
Linnie smiles, “Oh, Good. And look, our food.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. “Oh no!” I clap my hand
to my forehead. “I forgot to call dad!”
Linnie holds out her hand. “You carry up the food, I’ll
do damage control.”
I hand her the pulsating flip-phone and grab the two paper bags on
the counter.
We exit the restaurant and I leave Linnie chatting and gesticulating
on the street. The entrance at the bottom of the staircase is propped
open with a block of wood. I slip through the opening, laden with
fragrant curries. I adjust my grasp, as I walk up the stairs, tucking
a bag under each arm. The door at the end of the hall is also ajar
and I’m about to slip through, when Chauncey shouts, “...what
do you know, anyway?”
I stop. I shouldn’t listen, but I do. I
lean forward and stay silent.
Nicolas sounds serious when he responds; “I know that no
one has ever made a deal that has made him or her happy or even
content. I told you, it’ll be better for everyone if...”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” She
interrupts him; her voice is almost a growl. “I don’t
know what you’re doing or who you really are, but I’m not
going to...” She cuts off as Linnie enters the hall behind me
still chatting to my dad.
I spin to face Linnie.
She furrows her brow, asking ‘what are you doing,’ but
doesn’t pause her phone conversation.
I incline my head toward the door to tell her that I’m
eavesdropping, with a guilty grimace. When she catches up, she enters
first holding the door open.
Chauncey and Nicholas are on opposite sides of the spacious flat.
Nicholas stands behind a bar, in a teak and porcelain kitchen,
Chauncey reclines on a cream-colored couch, with horizontal white
stripes. Between them, are two bay windows and an oval table;
everything is light wood and cream-colored cushions.
My gaze snaps back to Chauncey; she looks stunning. Linnie might
think she’s depressed and brooding, but it has had no effect on
Chauncey’s complexion. She would look right on a modeling
shoot. I tear my gaze away from her, because I’m actually
gaping.
The apartment has three bedrooms and, that
night, I finally get to be alone with Linnie. I run to the bathroom
for my bed-time routine, then, rush back, excited to spill everything
that I’ve been keeping inside to her.
Linnie lies snoring, rolled in our blanket, on
half of the large bed.
Oh, well. I’m insisting that only us two
share a room in the castle. I settle in next to her and fall asleep.
Chapter Eight
Day Seven
“Oh yes,” Chauncey lowers her shades to peer at the
sleek, black Rolls Royce, parking in front of the harbor.
We took a ferry, I insisted, and are now in Helsingborg, Sweden.
Temperature-wise, the day is about what I expect from a summer at
home, but freezing, compared with Italy. The wind from the harbor
seeps through my thin sweater and I’m ready to be in the
controlled climate of the car.
I’m not immune to the Rolls’ attractions; the
maybe, just maybe, it could have been Horse-face, or just a random
evil-doer. Or even Mrs. Trandle's "he", even though that's…
crazy.
My shoulders slump so low, Linnie easily slings her arm around them.
“I asked Chauncey why she doesn’t just apologize.”
She presses her head to my temple. “She said, ‘it’s
too late for that. Even if I beg, I can’t take it back.’
And Raven, I know it’s hard to believe, but she started
sobbing.” Linnie brushes my hair behind my ear. “What
Chauncey did was wrong; she never should have left you. But believe
me, she feels awful about leaving, she just can’t admit it to
you.”
Because she did something dreadful, much more than you know.
Linnie gazes at me, “Do you think you could forgive her?”
Could I forgive her? Maybe, in a million years. Could I like her? I
doubt it. Could I trust her? Never. I sigh, “It sounds as if
she regrets what she did, so I can let it go.”
Linnie smiles, “Oh, Good. And look, our food.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. “Oh no!” I clap my hand
to my forehead. “I forgot to call dad!”
Linnie holds out her hand. “You carry up the food, I’ll
do damage control.”
I hand her the pulsating flip-phone and grab the two paper bags on
the counter.
We exit the restaurant and I leave Linnie chatting and gesticulating
on the street. The entrance at the bottom of the staircase is propped
open with a block of wood. I slip through the opening, laden with
fragrant curries. I adjust my grasp, as I walk up the stairs, tucking
a bag under each arm. The door at the end of the hall is also ajar
and I’m about to slip through, when Chauncey shouts, “...what
do you know, anyway?”
I stop. I shouldn’t listen, but I do. I
lean forward and stay silent.
Nicolas sounds serious when he responds; “I know that no
one has ever made a deal that has made him or her happy or even
content. I told you, it’ll be better for everyone if...”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” She
interrupts him; her voice is almost a growl. “I don’t
know what you’re doing or who you really are, but I’m not
going to...” She cuts off as Linnie enters the hall behind me
still chatting to my dad.
I spin to face Linnie.
She furrows her brow, asking ‘what are you doing,’ but
doesn’t pause her phone conversation.
I incline my head toward the door to tell her that I’m
eavesdropping, with a guilty grimace. When she catches up, she enters
first holding the door open.
Chauncey and Nicholas are on opposite sides of the spacious flat.
Nicholas stands behind a bar, in a teak and porcelain kitchen,
Chauncey reclines on a cream-colored couch, with horizontal white
stripes. Between them, are two bay windows and an oval table;
everything is light wood and cream-colored cushions.
My gaze snaps back to Chauncey; she looks stunning. Linnie might
think she’s depressed and brooding, but it has had no effect on
Chauncey’s complexion. She would look right on a modeling
shoot. I tear my gaze away from her, because I’m actually
gaping.
The apartment has three bedrooms and, that
night, I finally get to be alone with Linnie. I run to the bathroom
for my bed-time routine, then, rush back, excited to spill everything
that I’ve been keeping inside to her.
Linnie lies snoring, rolled in our blanket, on
half of the large bed.
Oh, well. I’m insisting that only us two
share a room in the castle. I settle in next to her and fall asleep.
Chapter Eight
Day Seven
“Oh yes,” Chauncey lowers her shades to peer at the
sleek, black Rolls Royce, parking in front of the harbor.
We took a ferry, I insisted, and are now in Helsingborg, Sweden.
Temperature-wise, the day is about what I expect from a summer at
home, but freezing, compared with Italy. The wind from the harbor
seeps through my thin sweater and I’m ready to be in the
controlled climate of the car.
I’m not immune to the Rolls’ attractions; the
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