by Alexa Land
When he stuck his head out, I asked, “Are you looking for Peter Pan?”
“No, but I used to. I desperately wanted him to be real when I was a child.”
It made me a little nervous when he stepped onto the ledge of the dormer window, but it wasn’t unexpected. He turned back to me and said, “There’s one more thing I want to show you. There are foot- and handholds, but the roof is pitched at a fairly steep angle, so please watch your step and take it slowly, alright?”
“I will. Be careful too, please.”
The roof of the turret was shaped like an inverted, pointy ice cream cone, and he wasn’t kidding about it being steep. But two rows of metal spikes, an antique-looking version of something you’d find in mountain climbing, provided a sturdy path around to the back of the turret, and from there, it was an easy step down to a flat section of roof on the main building.
A little closet was nestled among the eaves and spires, hidden from the world below. Alastair pulled out an old wool blanket and set it aside, then carefully picked up an antique brass telescope on a tripod and flashed me a delighted smile. “This is where I began,” he said. “Right here, on this roof, with this telescope. My love of astronomy, and in fact, so much of who I am, can be traced right back to this. As a bonus, the telescope belonged to Bernard Penelegion. Imagine my delight as a seven-year-old when I climbed out my bedroom window and found first the path around the turret, and then Bernard’s secret closet and telescope.”
I leaned over to peer into the closet and found it was lined with drawings of fantastical things like knights, castles and dragons, and yellowed newspaper clippings from the mid-nineteenth century with fanciful headlines, like a story about a lion who escaped from the zoo and was never found. I murmured, “This is amazing.”
“Isn’t it? As a child, it felt like my great-to-the-third-power granddad had left me a present through the centuries. It also gave me a wonderful glimpse into who he was. This part of the house wasn’t built until he was in his fifties. That means he was a grown man when he installed those spikes, built this closet, and lined it with things that amused him.”
“I love that.” As he set up the telescope, I asked, “Do your parents know you come up here?”
He shook his head. “The only people who even know any of this exists are Roger and Mark, and they’re sworn to secrecy. If my parents found out, they’d call it ridiculous and unsafe and would have the hand- and footholds removed immediately. Thank goodness the spikes blend in among the roof tiles. Even knowing they’re there and looking for them specifically, I’ve never been able to spot them from ground level, and neither has my family.”
Alastair made a couple adjustments as he peered through the telescope’s eyepiece, and then he straightened up and said, “Take a look.”
When I did as he asked, I murmured, “That’s amazing.” The surface of the full moon was in perfect focus, every crater well-defined.
We spent quite a while with the telescope, then stretched out on the blanket side-by-side, holding hands. I tucked my hand under my head and listened closely as Alastair continued his tour of the galaxy. He talked about what we were seeing with enthusiasm and passion, and after a while I said, “You have to make time for this. I know the company is important to you, but so is astronomy. I hate the fact that you had to walk away from your PhD program.”
“This will always be a part of me,” he said as his eyes searched the heavens. “It’s in my blood. My time in school was wonderful, but I don’t need it to feed my love of astronomy. All I need is a rooftop, a telescope, and you by my side.” That made me smile. After a moment, he said, “When I’d come up here as a child, I’d dream about building a rocket and flying off to colonize a distant planet. That’s how desperate I was to find a place worlds away from my disapproving family, where I could be happy and be myself. When I got older, I got my wish in many ways when I moved to California.”
“And now? What’s your wish?”
“Now, I just want to be wherever you are. It’s unabashedly corny to tell you you’re my happy place, but it’s also absolutely true.”
We rolled over so we were facing each other, and I kissed him before saying, “I feel exactly the same way about you. And if you decide to run away again, whether it’s to California or the moon or Mars, I’ll go with you.”
“Too right you will! But there’s no need for us to run away. Not today, anyway.” Alastair smiled contentedly and said, “I feel wonderful right now. I don’t think anything could ruin this weekend.”
If only that was true.
Chapter Seventeen
I awoke before Alastair and shifted slightly so I could see his face, being careful not to disturb him. We’d left the windows and curtains open, so the bed was bathed in sunlight and a gentle breeze stirred our hair. I’d been kidding around when I brought one of his childhood stuffed animals to bed with us, but during the night, one of Allie’s arms had wrapped around the toy, the other around my waist, seeking comfort in both of us. He always looked young and vulnerable when he was asleep, and the teddy bear just added to it and made me feel even more protective of him than usual.
My heart tripped over itself as I watched him. It was a sensation I was used to. Somewhere along the line, I’d fallen madly, completely in love with Alastair Spencer-Penelegion. Even though that had been my truth for quite a while, I had yet to tell him.
I’d said it too soon with Tracy, and then I was left hanging for the next three years. Even though I knew what Alastair and I shared was completely different, I still waited. I needed it to be the right time, the right place. I wanted it to be special.
And if I was being honest…maybe I wanted him to say it first. There was no real reason why it had to happen that way. But some insecure little part of myself needed it, somehow. But that was silly, and arbitrary, and part of me wanted to wake him and tell him I loved him right then.
Instead though, I let him sleep and ran my gaze over his handsome face. The sunlight turned the tips of his lashes and his short razor stubble gold. When his lips parted and he gasped softly in his sleep, as if in the throes of an erotic dream, it made me smile.
A moment later though, I swore under my breath when someone knocked on the door. Alastair spent his entire week functioning on not nearly enough sleep. So why the hell was someone disturbing him on a Saturday morning?
He stirred a bit, and I slipped out of bed and quickly pulled on my jeans, then hurried to the door before whoever it was knocked again and woke him. When I cracked the door and saw Roger standing there, I whispered, “What are you doing? You know as well as I do that he needs to sleep.”
Roger kept his voice down too as he told me, “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”
I opened the door a little farther and asked, “Did something happen? Is it his dad? Did he have another heart attack?”
“It’s not that. Come downstairs with me so we can stop whispering.”
I stepped into the hall and had just begun to pull the door shut when Alastair called, “Did I hear Ro? What’s going on?”
I opened the door again and Roger said, “Sorry to wake you, mate. Why don’t you get dressed, and then you and Sawyer come talk to me in the kitchen, alright?” I was pretty sure that was the first time Roger had ever used my real name, instead of the nickname that amused him to no end.
“It’s not your dad,” I said as I went back into the bedroom.
“Well, thank God for that.” He was sitting up in bed and pushed his dark blond hair back from his forehead, then looked around for his glasses. I found them in his overnight bag and handed them to him, and he murmured a thank you as he swung his bare legs out of bed.
It only took us a minute to get dressed, and then we descended the spiral staircase wordlessly. A muscle worked in his jaw as he ground his teeth. I took his hand when we reached the ground floor, and when he turned to look at me, I kissed the worry line between his brows and said, “Whatever it is, I’m here,
Allie, and I’ll help you get through it.” He nodded and hugged me before we continued on to the back of the house.
As soon as we stepped into the kitchen and Alastair saw the grave faces of Mark, Roger, and Mr. and Mrs. Foster, he exclaimed, “Oh God, who died? Don’t try to cushion the blow, just tell me.”
“It’s not that, love. Come and sit down, the both of you. Would you like some tea?” Bertie bustled over to us and tried to guide us to the table.
“No, thank you,” Alastair said. “I’d just like to know what’s going on.”
Mark looked at his dad, who gestured at him as if trying to get him to say something. Finally, Roger stepped forward and said, “Mark went into town this morning, bright and early. Bertie wanted him to pick up some of those pasties, you like, Alastair. Anyway, he walked past a news agent on the way to the bakery, and….”
Alastair asked, “And what?”
Roger sighed and went over to a stack of newspapers on the counter. He pulled two from the top, and as he handed them to Alastair and me, he said, “We’ll figure out a way to fix this.”
The huge headline read: ‘The Prince of Penelegion’s and the Poofter.’ Below that were four photos: one of Alastair exiting his office building, one of him and me stealing a kiss at a restaurant, a photo of me walking into my coffee house dressed in heels and a short skirt, and finally, a photo of me wearing only jeans and looking at the camera. While the first three had clearly been taken without our knowledge, it took me a moment to place the last one. Finally, I muttered, “Shit, that’s from when I applied for a job at that strip club, right after I arrived in London. How the hell did they get their hands on that?”
“I don’t know how they can even print that derogatory word,” Mark said. “It’s hate speech, that’s what it is. I cleared out all the copies they had at the news agent’s to make sure the locals don’t get their hands on it. I suppose it’s all over London, though.”
My mouth had gone dry and it was hard to swallow. I unfolded the paper and scanned the article, which began: ‘After years of speculation as to the identity and whereabouts of the heir to the vast Penelegion fortune, we here at The Spy bring you this exclusive! He’s been identified as Alastair Spencer-Penelegion, age twenty, seen above exiting the offices of Penelegion Enterprises, where he recently seized control of the company. Long kept a secret by his family, possibly for his bizarre sexual proclivities, Spencer-Penelegion recently came home to roost, and he brought company in the form of American transvestite and stripper Sawyer McNeil.’ “Could have at least spelled my name right,” I muttered. “It’s right above the door of my fucking coffee house.”
“They’ve been following us,” Alastair said. His voice was low and full of menace. “Those bastards have been sneaking around snapping photos without our permission. How did I miss the fact that this was happening?”
“I’m so fucking sorry, Alastair,” Roger said. “I failed you, mate. I had no idea anyone was sniffing around.”
Bertie clicked her tongue and said, “Ach, there’s nothing you could have done, Ro. These paparazzo types are slippery as eels, and those first few shots were obviously taken with a telephoto lens. They could have been miles away.”
“Not miles. They were right there in the restaurant when they took that second shot, and I fucking missed it. I want to go to that rag’s offices, find the people responsible, and tear them apart!” Roger’s eyes flashed with anger.
“Let my lawyers tear them apart,” Alastair said as he patted his pockets. “Where’s my phone?”
“It’s upstairs with mine, I’ll get it,” I said as I threw the paper on the table.
I jogged up to the bedroom and found both phones. We’d turned our ringers off the night before so we could get some sleep, and when I glanced at the screens, I saw we had dozens of messages each. On my way back to the kitchen, I played my first voicemail. It was from Horton, who said, “You need to call me, mate, soon as you get this. You’re on the front of a sleazy tabloid, along with your boyfriend. The shop’s only been open ten minutes, and already it’s filling up with paparazzi and so-called reporters. I know I promised to handle whatever came up while you were away, but I gotta admit, this one’s throwing me for a loop.”
The next six messages were also from him. They spanned forty minutes and got more and more frantic. He sounded a lot calmer in his last message though, which was: “I’ve cleared the shop and locked the fucking doors. I wanted to get the okay from you before I did that, but it was turning into a bleedin’ media circus. If I hadn’t done something, the fire marshal would’ve shut us down for overcrowding. I’m holed up in your office, I sent the baristas home with pay, and I’d suggest you stay the fuck away from here for a few days until this blows over, because it’ll be a feeding frenzy when the paparazzi catches up to you. Anyway, call me.”
The rest of the messages were from reporters, and I muttered, “How the fuck did they get my number?” I stopped listening after the third message requesting an interview, and shot Horton a quick text telling him he’d done the right thing by closing early.
I’d reached the kitchen by that point, and when I handed Alastair his phone and he scrolled through his texts, he murmured, “Shite.” He started on his voicemails next, but shut the phone off and put it on the table after a minute. “My parents and grandparents are on the way here,” he said. “They left London an hour ago, so they’ll be arriving any minute.”
Mark asked, “How did they know you were at Wordsworth?”
“I told my uncle I was coming here for the weekend when I left work yesterday afternoon. I figured there was no harm in being truthful about my whereabouts. Of course, I also let him think I was going by myself.” When Alastair turned to look at me, his expression was unreadable.
“Tell me what you need me to do, Allie,” I said. “I can get the hell out of here before your family arrives if that’s what you want. Maybe you can deny the whole thing and say that picture of us together was photoshopped. God, I’m so fucking sorry. I thought we were being careful, but obviously I was wrong. The last thing I wanted was to cause trouble between you and your family.”
He took my hand and said, “You’re not going anywhere, Sawyer. You belong right here, at my side.”
“But, your family—”
“I was going to tell them eventually. The tabloid just beat me to it. I was waiting for two things: I wanted to be sure my Dad was out of the woods before upsetting him, and this may sound crass, but I also wanted time to get my financial affairs in order. I assume my family will try to coerce me into breaking up with you by threatening to disown me or cut me off from the family fortune. But I’ve been taking steps over this past month to make sure they don’t have that power over me.”
“They shouldn’t have found out like this though, with the two of you all over the bloody papers,” Bertie said. She was wringing her hands and looked like she wanted to cry. “And then there’s the issue of your safety, Alastair. Your parents always tried to keep you out of the spotlight, and now you’ve been thrust smack-dab into it. I hate to think what’s going to crawl out of the woodwork now that everyone in the UK knows who you are.”
Ralph’s phone beeped, and he glanced at the screen and said, “A car just entered the front gate. Your family’s here, Alastair. What would you like us to do?”
Allie thought about that for a moment, then said, “Somebody put the kettle on. Poor Bertie looks like she could use some tea. I could too, as far as that goes.” Mark looked surprised, but did as he asked.
My boyfriend was oddly calm as we waited for his parents and grandparents to arrive. He took several teacups from the cupboard, then turned to Mark and asked, “Did you ever get those pastries, mate? The ones you went to town for?”
Mark shook his head. “Sorry, I never made it that far. I saw the papers and came right back here with them.”
“That’s alright, I bet Bertie has something good to eat around here.” Alastair turned to her and said,
“By the way, I want you to teach me some of your recipes. I tried to bake for Sawyer when we first met, and it was a disaster. Sadly, I’ve been too busy lately to try again, but I fully intend to make time for that soon.”
“Allie, are you alright?” I asked.
He turned to me and said, “Don’t I seem alright?”
“Honestly? You seem like you’ve entered a level of denial rarely achieved by humankind. Your family is going to flip the hell out when they get here, and you’re talking about muffin recipes.”
“Scones, actually. Bertie makes them with fresh blueberries and serves them with a bit of clotted cream. They’re lovely.”
“Okay, now you’re scaring me. Your family’s approval means everything to you, and you’re acting like what’s about to happen doesn’t matter.”
“That’s because it doesn’t,” he said. “My family is going to walk through that door any minute now, and they’re going to be horrid. They’ll yell at me, and tell me what a disappointment I am, and forbid me to see you again. But it’s not going to change a thing, Sawyer. I love you. I’ll always love you, until the day I die, and if there’s a hereafter, then even death won’t put an end to it. And here’s the thing: there’s not a bloody thing my family can do about it.” From the other side of the huge house, we could hear a door being thrown open and someone yelling Alastair’s name.
He smiled at me and continued, “They know I disobeyed them, and snuck around behind their back, and that I’m seeing you. Now that they’re here, they’ll also find out I intend to marry you one day. Incidentally, I sincerely hope you wear something sexy, outrageous, and totally you to our wedding. And yes, I know that’s jumping the gun because we’ve only been going out a few months, but it’s going to happen. If my family doesn’t like it, then they don’t bloody well get to come to the wedding.”
I stared at him for a long moment, and then I closed the gap between us, took him in my arms, and dipped him back as I planted a huge, deep, passionate kiss on his lips. His family burst into the kitchen as that was happening. There were gasps and cries of outrage. We went right on kissing.