Once Upon A New York Minute: Part 1

by Sherry Ficklin

  He holds the flower out to me, and nestled in its delicate petals sits a ring, a single pearl surrounded by diamonds on a slender band. “Haven Sully, will you be my wife?”

  I feel the tear roll down my cheek before I’m even through processing his words. Achingly beautiful and raw and honest, I wish that I could remember it all in my mind, the way he’s looking at me, hopeful and terrified, every word, every breath. I wish I could hold it in my hand like a photograph, so I’ll never forget it. At the same time, I feel so unworthy.

  “I’m afraid,” I whisper, another tear falling free. “I’m so afraid I’m going to disappoint you, Aiden. That I cant live up to the person you think I am. I’m messy and impulsive, and reckless and you deserve someone so much better than me.”

  Frowning, he reaches up, wiping my cheek with his thumb, “You could never disappoint me. I see you more clearly than you think. I see every messy, impulsive, reckless part of you, Haven. And it only makes me love you more. I know you aren’t perfect, heaven knows I’m far from it myself, but I also know that you’re perfect for me. What do you think? Would you like to be perfectly imperfect together?”

  Leaning forward I kiss him. My arms circle his neck as I pull him against me. His arms ensnare me, one hand flat against my back.

  “Is that a yes?” he asks around my lips.

  “Yes,” I breathe the word into him.

  He pulls back, plucking the ring from the flower and taking my hand. Slipping it on, he kisses it gently. “I have been wanting to do this since the night we met.”

  I marvel at it for a long minute. The band is white gold, the pearl a soft, creamy white with a rope of small diamonds around it. It’s thin and delicate on my hand, completely stunning.

  “I hope you like the ring, it belonged to my grandmother, Queen Mina. I know it’s quite old fashioned,” he says, admitting it on my hand.

  I cup his cheek, “I love it. It’s perfect.”

  He kisses me again, this time slowly, deeply. Cradling me against him, he slides one hand up my thigh and a moan against his lips.

  “Haven, my Haven. I want you so desperately I think I might die from it.”

  “Here?” I ask in a breathy whisper.

  “Is that alright?”

  “Oh yes,” I say, letting him lift me from my seat and lay me on the soft clover.

  COMING CLEAN

  The next morning, I wake in Aiden’s bed. Reaching across the sheets, I find his spot cold and empty. Sitting up, I pull the blanket around me. After our rendezvous in the conservatory, we’d come back here and spent the rest of the night wrapped in each other’s arms. Looking down at my hand, I play with the ring, sliding it around with my thumb, reassuring myself it hadn’t all been a dream. It’s only then that I hear the shower running in the next room. Aiden’s suite is massive, all the parts of it separated by sliding doors—rather than just the bathroom and closet like mine. For a solid minute I debate joining him, but unfortunately some things are just never as fun as they should be—and shower sex is definitely on that list.

  Slipping from the sheets, I search for my clothes and dress quickly. I’m lacing up my shoes when Aiden slinks back into the room, his wet hair shaggy around his face, his bare chest glistening with moisture, a single white towel slung low around his waist.

  “You’re not sneaking out on me, are you?” he teases, stalking across the room and lightly pushing me back against the bed. Kissing his way across my shoulder and up my neck, he lowers himself onto me, soaking my dress.

  “Never,” I answer, drawing his lips to mine. “I was just going to go get cleaned up and changed for the day.”

  “You can do that here,” he insists, his hand sliding up my thigh and tugging at my panties.

  “I need to shower and change clothes,” I protest half-heartedly. “Unless you’d rather keep me naked in bed all day.”

  Lifting himself, he raises one eyebrow, “That’s an idea I can get behind.”

  Lifting my leg, he wraps it around him, pressing himself into me roughly. My resolve evaporates in an instant and I grab the towel, tugging it free and tossing it aside. Momentarily surprised, he raises up again, and I take the opportunity to slide free, bringing myself to my knees on his soft bed.

  Gesturing to him with one finger, I grin mischievously. Without a word, he crawls across the bed and I slip off the other side. Reaching under my dress I slip off my panties, making a show of sliding them down my legs. Then I untie the strap of dress around my neck, offering him my back as I slowly unzip it, letting it fall to my hips. My bra goes next, tossed aside before finally slipping the dress to the floor. With my back to him, I look over my shoulder and see him watching me with hungry eyes. My hand slides to my belly, covering the scars without even meaning to.

  Much as I don’t want to ruin the mood, I know what I have to do next, though, deep down part of me is dreading it.

  I face him again, my hand running over vicious, intersecting lines scarring my stomach. “I’d only been in the city a few months,” I begin slowly. “I was walking home one night from work, it was late.” My voice shakes, and I have to force it out my throat. I don’t look at Aiden as I continue, shame welling over me. “I lived in Queens back then. It was a pretty nice neighborhood. But before I knew what was happening someone grabbed me from behind and dragged me into the alley about a block from my apartment. It was…someone I knew—” my voice cracks but I push on. “The attack was over quickly—he didn’t force himself on me, not like that—it was mostly fists and choking and slamming me against the bricks over and over. I screamed and I tried to fight back, I really did. That’s when he stabbed me with a broken bottle, left me to bleed out in the alley.”

  Aiden doesn’t speak, but I can feel him moving toward me and I hold up a hand. I know if he touches me I’ll clam up, and I want him to know. “Jerry found me, you probably don’t remember, but he was the guy working the bar the night we met. He was walking his dog, I think it must have smelled the blood.” Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes before continuing. “I was in the hospital for a long time, I’m still not entirely sure how they stitched me back together. I was dying, I knew it, I could feel it. I tired really hard to hold on, but at some point, I just gave up. That’s the part that still wakes me up at night. I just laid there, looking up at the sky, and…quit.”

  As if he can stand it no more, Aiden leaps from the bed and scoops me into his arms. I’m not crying, but he is. Fat tears wetting his cheeks as he cradles me, both of us kneeling on the floor. I don’t say any more, I don’t tell him about the shameful events that led up to the attack or my part in them. Gasping for air in his arms, its as if I’m back in that alley all over again, my life flowing between my fingers in a warm, sticky river.

  I let him hold me for a long time before finally I position myself in his lap, kissing away the tears still wet on his cheeks before bring my lips to his in a fit of desperation. Keeping my eyes closed, I tangle my fingers into his still damp hair, biting at his bottom lip gently, urging him forward with the gentle rocking of my hips. Once he’s ready, I settle myself over him, taking him inside me with a gasp and throwing my head back at the feel of it. He keeps kissing me as I ride him, driving us both toward the edge of ecstasy. The heat builds inside me, pooling in my belly.

  “Open your eyes,” Aiden commands, his voice firm but kind.

  I obey, reluctantly, slowly, afraid of what I’ll see there. He looks up at me as if I’m a shining thing, glorious and holy. “I love you,” he whispers and my strokes falter. Taking my hips in his hands, he moves me back into rhythm. “I love you.”

  The orgasm hits me like a tidal wave, pulling me below a sea of sensation. Crying his name, I kiss him again, moaning my pleasure into his mouth. I’m still trembling when he pitches forward, laying me on my back and drives himself into me in long, slow strokes. Then, without warning, he pulls out, kissing his way between my breasts, down my belly, kissing every scar before finally settling his head between
my quivering thighs.

  “Aiden,” I practically scream as he begins to lick, teasing my most sensitive place with teeth and tongue. Unable to breathe, he brings me again, this time I muffle the scream by biting down onto my own fist. Before he finishes, I come again, my back rising off the carpet in an impossible arc.

  I’m begging, mewling, desperate for an end to the torment while also hoping that he never stops. Finally, he rises up, his kisses returning to my neck as he plunges into me once more, this time his own need bare and raw as he moves, bringing himself to a shuddering climax.

  He collapses on me, his weight both comforting and somehow overwhelming. He rolls to his side, propping his head up on one arm.

  I’m sure he wants to say something, I can see it on his face, in the crinkle between his brows, in the downturned corners of his mouth.

  “It was a long time ago,” I say finally unable to bear his silence. “I’ve worked so hard to put it behind me, but every time I have to talk about it, its like reliving it over again. But I needed you to know. I wanted you to understand.”

  He just stares at me, tracking the edges of my face with tender fingertips.

  “There are things—things I’m ashamed of,” I begin, but he lays a finger on my lips.

  “You think somehow that this diminishes you,” he says. “But nothing could be further from the truth. The things you’ve done, the things you’ve survived, they all led you to this moment, to the person you are today. I wish, more than anything, that I could go back and protect you, to save you from this terrible thing—and I would if I could—but Haven, you are a miracle. You’re my miracle. There is no shame in any of that, and there’s no shame in doing whatever you had to to survive.”

  Kissing his finger, I smile, “How is it that you always know the right thing to say?”

  He grins, “Because we are all made of stars, my beautiful Haven, but you and I, our stars shine the same.”

  ****

  Much as I’d been joking about spending the day in bed, we nearly do. It’s well past lunch time before we finally dress and he walks me to my room, saying goodbye formally before heading to an important meeting with the Prime Minister. I stand in the hot shower for a long time. I don’t regret telling him about the attack, but saying the words left me raw and remembering. I’m jumpy, despite the thorough release I’d found at his capable hands, itching to do…something.

  If I’d been back in the city, I’d have gone to the Dojo and worked off some steam. As it is, I’m aching to hit something, hard. In the bathroom I fumble with the ring around my finger. The sensation is new, just the weight of it on my hand. Part of me wants to shout it from the rooftops. But the other, more practical part wins over and I slide it off my finger, setting it carefully in the silver soap dish before washing my hands. Changing into some workout shorts and a sports bra, I zip up a light jacket over it and make my way to the person most likely to know where I can get in a good workout. Unfortunately, Liam doesn’t answer his door, so I settle for asking the hall guard. He directs me to a private gym on the second floor, in the left wing.

  It’s a small gym, the kind you might see in a fancy hotel, with a few treadmills and stationary bikes, but beyond it is the open mat area where the guards train. There’s a few in there now, practicing their hand to hand. Seeing me they stop, bowing.

  “Lady Sully,” one of them says, jogging toward me.

  Heh, good news travels fast.

  “What can we do for you?” he asks, sweaty and out of breath.

  “Actually, I need a sparring partner,” I say. “Preferably someone not squeamish about hitting—or getting hit by—a girl.”

  He blinks, then looks from me to the group of guards, then back to me. “Um,” he fumbles.

  “Relax, I’ve got this,” Liam’s unmistakable voice comes from behind me. With a thankful nod, the guard walks back to his group.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “I heard you were looking for me, and that you came down here.”

  “Oh, yeah, I was just gonna ask you where I could find a place to blow off some steam, but I found it on my own.”

  He smirks, “And you, a duchess as of yesterday, thought it’d be fun to beat up on some guards too afraid to hit you back?”

  “No,” I scoff. “They can hit back, title or not. This is combat. This is fight or die,” I exaggerate.

  “A little worked up, are we?”

  I nod once.

  He rolls his eyes, “Fine. You warm up, I’ll go change and meet you back here. You can show me your moves.”

  “Don’t expect me to go easy on you,” I say as he walks away.

  “Never.”

  I spend a few minutes stretching and the guards mostly clear out except for a few stragglers who are probably more interested in watching a duchess get her ass kicked than doing any real working out. Liam returns in a pair of grey sweatpants and a loose red tank top.

  “Red shirt?” I ask. “Is that so they won’t see you bleed?”

  He pulls his arms across his chest, stretching the shoulders before we walk to the mat. “You ready for this?” he asks.

  “Just to warn you,” I say, “I’m not going to pull any punches.”

  “I think I can handle myself,” he says with a grin, crouching into the sort of typical street fighting pose.

  Rolling my eyes, I focus, stepping back and putting my hands up, palms open. In a swift move I lunge forward, faking a left strike before ducking his counter blow and landing a shot to his solar plexus. Stumbling back, he wheezes. “Oh, ok. Yeah, that caught me off guard.”

  He moves again, this time grabbing my arm as I strike, spinning me around into a choke hold. Taking a deep breath, I twist free, counter stepping between us and knocking him off balance. Before he can regain position, I press forward, kneeing him in the chest before pushing off.

  He comes for me again, this time carefully but quickly. He rolls me over his back and I land on the mat with a huff, the air pushed from my lungs and leaving me gasping. He’s on me before I can move, pinning me to the mat.

  Using a monkey hold on his wrist and elbow, I trap his foot and bring my hips across, flipping our positions. He grunts and kicks free using his long legs for leverage. Scrambling to our feet, he kicks out, catching me in the stomach. I fall back, rolling as I hit the mat and spring back to my feet. He reaches for me and catches the collar of my jacket. Unzipping it quickly, I wriggle free, abandoning it to his grip. My had covers my stomach reflexively.

  He watches me with a wary expression, his gaze sliding to my midsection then back to my face.

  Although he says nothing, I can see his expression change, softening. Rage boils inside me. I come at him again, this time without considering my attack first, and he easily twists me into a choke hold. Pivoting, I escape, but he’s already got me again, this time dragging me back by my neck.

  In my mind, something snaps. Maybe it’s the unexpected hold or the way it feels so similar to being dragged into that alley, but panic explodes behind my eyes. I scream, a strange, guttural sound, and drop into a crouch before springing back, flipping myself over him so we both tumble to the mat. Scrambling, I get to my feet, low and catlike as I wait for him to attack again.

  He steps forward and I pounce, grabbing his arm and twisting us both back to the mat, trapping him on the ground face down, his arm trapped between my legs.

  I feel the muscles in his arm strain, and I know just how easy it would be to snap it completely.

  He taps the mat twice. It takes me a moment to recognize the tap out, to release him, to calm the throbbing sound of my pulse in my ears.

  When I do, he climbs to his feet, holding out a hand to me.

  “Everyone has scars, Haven. Some wear them on the outside, some wear them on the inside—and then there’s those lucky few of us that wear both.” His tone is gentle but firm. There’s no pity in his expression now, only determination. “But they don’t define us unless we let them.
”

  I take his hand.

  We go on this way for some time, blow for blow, kick for kick, until I’m sweaty and out of breath and pretty sure I’m just one giant bruise. Finally, spent, I fall to the mat, staring up at the buzzing overhead light. Liam lays beside me, panting.

  “Was it good for you?” he teases, but I nod.

  “It really was. Thanks.”

  “Mind if we just lay here for a while?”

  I grin, “I don’t think I could move if I wanted to.”

  “Me either.”

  After several minutes lying there contemplating never getting gup again, I roll over and stand with a groan.

  I hold a hand out to Liam and he takes it, pulling himself up as well.

  “So, what now?” he asks, leaning forward to stretch his back out.

  “Food,” I decide, my stomach rumbling at the thought.

  “Right on. Let’s hit the kitchen.”

  We walk down the palace halls, and I can’t help but notice everyone bustling around. Maids and butlers scurry from room to room, various Lords and Ladies mill around, a general feeling of anticipation humming through the air.

  “What’s going on?” I ask in a low voice as we finally reach the kitchen.

  Aiden shrugs, “No clue.”

  It’s only then that I realize that people are staring at me as I walk past, their eyes expectant—searching. Aiden must have made an informal announcement about the engagement, I realize, and a chill runs over me.