small.” He hands it to
me anxiously.
I take it from him, feeling guilty.
He watches me worriedly, while I lift the
lid off the little jewelry box. Inside, there is a gold chain with
a golden heart and I immediately notice my name engraved onto the
heart.
I lift it from the box and then look up at
him again. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
He takes it from me. “Let me help you put it
on.” He turns it over and smiling he shows me the flipside. I see
his name engraved on the back of the heart.
I turn away from him and I lift my hair. He
drapes the necklace around my neck and then I feel his breath on my
skin as he fastens the clasp. He softly kisses the back of my neck
and I feel the same delicious warmth as always spread itself
through my body.
I turn toward him again. I rest my hands on
his shoulders, standing close to him, while he looks down into my
eyes, smiling demurely.
He holds the chain softly between his fingers
and then he lets his fingers trail down the chain. Softly his
fingers brush against the rise of my chest, until the heart is
nestled between my breasts, safely resting against my skin.
He leans toward me and whispers close to my
lips, “Now when you meet someone else, they would have to get
through me first, before they can get to your heart.”
I want to remind him that I do not have a
beating heart, but I did not want to spoil the moment.
He says, “I need you to know that I would
never let you go. I love you, Susie.”
I lean into him and I rest my cheek against
his chest. I can hear his booming heartbeat as if it is my own.
Chapter Twelve
Amanda and I arrive at the run-down, sad and
ruined château late in the afternoon.
When we drive down the dirt road between
the tall trees and past the derelict, once white, wooden fencing, I
have a sad feeling of dread. We drive through the overgrown bushes
and then there it is, large and majestic, from a lost
era.
We stop the car in front of the defunct pond
that used to be so imposing. The walls crumbling and the floor
bright green, covered in a multitude of moss variants.
Hesitantly we walk up the wide, flowing
stairs and then in front of the large wooden doors we stop.
Amanda looks at me apprehensively, while I
look for the key I have kept all these years. I pull the heavy
silver key from the navy velvet satchel and I push it into the
keyhole.
It scrapes as I force the lock to turn and
then together we push the heavy doors open. It opens silently and I
am shocked when I see the splendor and glitter that I was so used
to when walking through these doors, non-existent. Everything is
dull and grey, all the color sucked out of the heavy chandeliers,
the rich wood and furnishings.
Amanda walks further into the foyer and then
into the first reception room. Immediately she starts to pull the
heavy white sheets off the chairs and billows of dust explode into
the air.
I follow her and then I stop at the door,
looking up at the portrait of my mother. It is as if I am looking
up at my own reflection, except for our different hair color.
Although the painting is dull, I can still see her dark, long hair
and the brilliant sapphire eyes. This is the first time I notice
the sorrow in her eyes.
When I was younger, I used to look up at
her sadly and wish that I knew her. I grew up wishing that she
never died when I was born and I often wondered what it would have
felt like to feel her arms fold around me. I grew up with Francois
as my only family member, and more often than not, he used to look
at me with regret and longing in his eyes. I knew when he looked at
me he saw my mother and he missed her. The feelings of loneliness
and solitude I used to have flood back and I feel like that little
girl again.
Amanda’s voice breaks through my dark
memories, “Help me. We will clean this room, so that we have
somewhere to sleep. Tomorrow we will walk through the rest of the
house and plan how we will restore it. It is going to be a mammoth
task.” She
me anxiously.
I take it from him, feeling guilty.
He watches me worriedly, while I lift the
lid off the little jewelry box. Inside, there is a gold chain with
a golden heart and I immediately notice my name engraved onto the
heart.
I lift it from the box and then look up at
him again. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
He takes it from me. “Let me help you put it
on.” He turns it over and smiling he shows me the flipside. I see
his name engraved on the back of the heart.
I turn away from him and I lift my hair. He
drapes the necklace around my neck and then I feel his breath on my
skin as he fastens the clasp. He softly kisses the back of my neck
and I feel the same delicious warmth as always spread itself
through my body.
I turn toward him again. I rest my hands on
his shoulders, standing close to him, while he looks down into my
eyes, smiling demurely.
He holds the chain softly between his fingers
and then he lets his fingers trail down the chain. Softly his
fingers brush against the rise of my chest, until the heart is
nestled between my breasts, safely resting against my skin.
He leans toward me and whispers close to my
lips, “Now when you meet someone else, they would have to get
through me first, before they can get to your heart.”
I want to remind him that I do not have a
beating heart, but I did not want to spoil the moment.
He says, “I need you to know that I would
never let you go. I love you, Susie.”
I lean into him and I rest my cheek against
his chest. I can hear his booming heartbeat as if it is my own.
Chapter Twelve
Amanda and I arrive at the run-down, sad and
ruined château late in the afternoon.
When we drive down the dirt road between
the tall trees and past the derelict, once white, wooden fencing, I
have a sad feeling of dread. We drive through the overgrown bushes
and then there it is, large and majestic, from a lost
era.
We stop the car in front of the defunct pond
that used to be so imposing. The walls crumbling and the floor
bright green, covered in a multitude of moss variants.
Hesitantly we walk up the wide, flowing
stairs and then in front of the large wooden doors we stop.
Amanda looks at me apprehensively, while I
look for the key I have kept all these years. I pull the heavy
silver key from the navy velvet satchel and I push it into the
keyhole.
It scrapes as I force the lock to turn and
then together we push the heavy doors open. It opens silently and I
am shocked when I see the splendor and glitter that I was so used
to when walking through these doors, non-existent. Everything is
dull and grey, all the color sucked out of the heavy chandeliers,
the rich wood and furnishings.
Amanda walks further into the foyer and then
into the first reception room. Immediately she starts to pull the
heavy white sheets off the chairs and billows of dust explode into
the air.
I follow her and then I stop at the door,
looking up at the portrait of my mother. It is as if I am looking
up at my own reflection, except for our different hair color.
Although the painting is dull, I can still see her dark, long hair
and the brilliant sapphire eyes. This is the first time I notice
the sorrow in her eyes.
When I was younger, I used to look up at
her sadly and wish that I knew her. I grew up wishing that she
never died when I was born and I often wondered what it would have
felt like to feel her arms fold around me. I grew up with Francois
as my only family member, and more often than not, he used to look
at me with regret and longing in his eyes. I knew when he looked at
me he saw my mother and he missed her. The feelings of loneliness
and solitude I used to have flood back and I feel like that little
girl again.
Amanda’s voice breaks through my dark
memories, “Help me. We will clean this room, so that we have
somewhere to sleep. Tomorrow we will walk through the rest of the
house and plan how we will restore it. It is going to be a mammoth
task.” She
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