by H. M. Ward
“So, what is this place?”
“It’s mine. I’m finally out of the hotel and back here. My ex-fiancé moved her things out while I was gone.” His voice becomes tense and his mood darkens.
“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head.
“Don't be. I'm glad I discovered her affair before we got married. Fidelity matters.”
He walks over to the fridge and starts rummaging around, taking out eggs and sausage and a few other things before he sets to work making food. I can't do anything but watch him move around the room with ease. I can barely boil water.
Watching him cook, though? I can't even describe it. He's obviously used to doing things for himself, something I wouldn't have expected. When the smell of pork fills the room, so does the sound of paws on the marble floors. The huge black dog that started this whole thing comes skidding into the room, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees me. It's actually quite comical.
The dog cocks his head to the side the way he did that day in the Gardens, studying me like he's trying to figure out exactly what I'm doing here. As if deciding I'm ok, his tongue flops out of his mouth and charges toward me.
Oliver sees me stiffen and says in a strong voice, "Barkley! Stay!"
Freezing in place, the dog looks between the two of us, obviously torn between his master's command and his need to mow me down again. Looking over at Oliver, Barkley whines pitifully as if to say, "but can't I slurp her just once?"
"Sit," Oliver says sternly, prompting Barkley to sit on his haunches, his entire body vibrating with his need to move. Satisfied that the dog isn't going to move, Oliver goes back to cooking and I start to walk over to the big animal. I have no idea what kind of dog he is, but he's big, his head coming almost to my waist and covered with silky black fur.
I snag a sausage link off the plate Oliver has resting next to the stove, stand in front of the dog and hold it out to him. I can see the drool pooling in the sides of the dog's mouth, and I grimace, not wanting to get slobbered on.
Holding out the sausage with a trembling hand, I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to watch his huge teeth get closer to my fingers. As soon as his mouth gets close to me, I drop the sausage, backing away quickly and practically hiding behind Oliver, who laughs silently, his shoulders shaking with mirth.
"Kayla, trust me. He’s safe." I can hear the laughter in his voice as he speaks and I'm embarrassed at just how quickly I backed away from the dog. “I trained him, and he’s usually a good boy, except for his cell phone obsession. I think he’s a pretty sweet fellow.”
I walk over to the dog slowly and pat his head. He swallowed the sausage in one gulp. “Poor Barkley.” I rub his fur and talk to him like he’s a toddler. The dog loves it, and from the look on his face, I think Oliver is enjoying himself, too.
CHAPTER 16
When breakfast is ready, Oliver pulls out one of the bar stools, gesturing for me to sit before he first brings the plates over, then coffee for each of us. He places milk and sugar on the table and grins at me sheepishly.
"I know it isn't a White Chocolate Mocha, but I'm not quite that talented."
I take a bite of the food he's made and almost moan at the taste. My usual breakfast is buttered toast or a muffin, so this is heaven. We eat in silence for a few minutes before he starts asking me questions. "How long have you lived in London?"
"Six months," I say warily, waiting for him to start asking why I moved and what happened in the states that would cause me to come here, but he doesn't. “Emily hooked me up with a job at the hotel pretty quick. It pays the bills and my boss is nice.”
"It sounds like everything fell into place."
"Yeah, it did." My thoughts turn sour as I recall how hard everything has been. I don’t want him to ask me about it, so I direct the conversation back to him. "This is a really nice apartment...err, I mean flat. What about you? How long have you lived here?" Okay, so it's not exactly original, but it's something.
He's quiet for a minute before he answers.
"Since I finished university."
I want to know why he suddenly sounds sad. I don't ask though because if he wants me to know, he'll tell me. He didn't push me, so I'm definitely not going to push him. The awkward silence returns and we both concentrate on our plates. By the time we're finished eating, I'm sure he's ready to kick me out and be done with me, but I don't know what I did wrong.
Oliver takes his plate and mine over to the sink, and when he's across the room I'm able to find my voice.
"Did I say something?"
Shoulders stiffening at my softly spoken words, he doesn't immediately answer my question. He continues rinsing the dishes and loading them in a dishwasher I didn't notice earlier, before finally turning to face me.
"No, you didn't say anything wrong."
"You don't have to explain anything to me," I'm quick to point out.
He sighs, rubbing a hand down his face.
"It's not that. I just don't usually find myself in a position where—” he sighs and tries to find the right words. “Meeting new people isn't something I do. I'll tell you whatever you want to know, just not today, okay?"
Completely understanding where he's coming from, I smile at him and nod.
"Sure. Trust me, I'll be the last person to push you."
Oliver visibly relaxes at my words.
Looking over to where the dog still sits, where he sat the entire time we were eating he commands, "Bed, Barkley."
The dog gives him what has to be puppy dog eyes. I swear they get bigger and it looks almost like they fill with tears. The dog retreats into another room and Oliver leads me out a door and up a set of stairs to a rooftop terrace. We walk over to the railing where he points out Kensington Gardens, Kensington Palace, and a few other landmarks.
He doesn't live very far from me. I don't know how we've never run into each other before. I know London's a big place, but I could easily walk from my flat to his. We share a common market, not to mention he and Barkley spend a good amount of time at the Gardens, one of my favorite places in London to go.
We spend the rest of our time on the roof talking. It’s nice, and this feels easy, which is unusual.
After a little while, he drops me back off at my flat, walking me to the door like a gentleman. We've had a great time today and I hate to end it. I stare into his eyes, not wanting to go inside but unsure how to make him stay. Suddenly, his whole body jumps and I swear a little cartoon idea light bulb pops up above his head.
"When are you off next?" His voice sounds eager like he can't wait to share a wonderful idea.
"Wednesday and Thursday, why?"
"I want to take you somewhere."
His careful omission of the location peaks my interest. I smile and play coy, "Where?"
"It's a surprise. Pack an overnight bag and I'll come collect you Wednesday morning. We'll return Thursday night." Oliver looks hopeful.
An overnight trip? I'm not sure this is a good idea, but I'm too curious to tell him no, so I only nod in agreement. Oliver places a soft kiss on my cheek.
"Goodbye, my American Girl."
I stand in the hallway long after the lift doors shut behind him wondering if this is going to be a mistake.
CHAPTER 17
It's Wednesday morning and I've been up since five, unable to sleep due to my excitement and nervousness. For the next couple of days I'm going to have Oliver all to myself. The thought makes my stomach flip.
I've packed and the closer it gets to eight thirty, the more I begin to freak out.
What am I thinking? I can't go away with a guy I barely know.
Yeah, we've spent a lot of time together recently, but letting him take me somewhere without even knowing where we're going? My sense of self-preservation is screaming, WARNING, KAYLA! WARNING!
Oliver arrives at eight-thirty on the dot to find me still hiding in my room.
Emily knocks gently on my door before opening it just enough to slide through and shuttin
g it softly behind her. "He's here!" Emily squeaks in an excited whisper.
I smooth down my long-sleeved gray top and pull out the bottom of the white tank I'm wearing beneath it. Even if I don't feel it, I can make my outer-self look calm and collected. My insides feel like they're trying to turn themselves inside out, and I'm not sure if it's excitement, nerves or I've contracted the bubonic plague. It’s too late to back out now, so I allow giggling Emily to open the door.
He's standing in the living room, gawking at the shelves where Emily keeps the majority of her kitty collection. I can see the look of horror on his face at the sheer amount and variety of cat figurines she owns. I wonder if he's noticed we don't actually have a balls-eating attack cat?
"Hey." My voice comes out high, squeaky, and barely audible. I have to clear my throat and try again before Oliver turns around. When he does, I can tell he heard me the first time because his eyes are dancing with amusement.
A giddy feeling settles in my chest. This is going to be ok. This is going to be better than ok.
Emily clears her throat from behind me, interrupting my mental pep-talk.
"Are you guys just going to stare at each other all day or do you actually plan to go somewhere? Scoot! Get out of my flat," she says handing me my suitcase and firmly shoving us toward the door. "I'll just be here anxiously awaiting all the sordid details of your holiday. Don't hurry back. The longer you stay, the more delicious your story."
Emily slaps my butt, winks at Oliver and shuts the door to the flat in our surprised faces.
"Well," says Oliver, a grin spreading quickly across his face, "We do need to get going." I'm too shocked to speak. Did Emily really just slap my ass?
I don't regain my voice until we are down the elevator, outside and safely seated inside the black town car.
"Where are we going? Will you tell me now?" I feel like a little kid, begging.
"Sorry," he says with a laugh. "It's a surprise. If I tell you now, it will ruin it."
Oliver looks smug like he's sure I'm going to like wherever it is he's taking me. He rests his elbow on the side of the door and looks out his window. In his reflection, I can see the small smile on his face, but he doesn't offer up any more information.
CHAPTER 18
We pull up outside a tall glass building beside the River Thames and the car stops. The driver opens the door for Oliver, who climbs out and immediately turns to take my hand.
The building is nice, but has no distinguishing characteristics or signage. I can't figure out what we're doing here. It's not a hotel, airport or train station, but Oliver's driver is grabbing our bags to bring inside with us.
Bewildered, I follow behind the two of them and we're soon in front of a counter where a pretty redhead is smiling at us.
"Mr. Jackson?" Oliver nods and she gestures for us to follow her through another set of doors and out onto a big concrete slab. It's obvious now where we are by the big ‘H’ in the middle of a circle right on the river. Of course, the silver and black helicopter is easy to see, too.
I glance at Oliver in shock. "A helicopter? You’re taking me on a helicopter?" My jaw drops. Holy shit.
Oliver presses his index finger to my chin and closes my gaping mouth. "Yes, we're going someplace more... remote. The helicopter can take us directly there and should only take about an hour."
Suddenly very excited, I allow Oliver to help me inside the helicopter, which is surprisingly spacious.
The pilot hands both of us a huge set of headphones before putting on his set. The headphones allow the pilot to speak to us over the noise, and I smile, looking forward to having my curiosity quenched. I’m assuming there’s more to this surprise than a swicked ride.
Maybe the pilot will have to inform traffic control of our destination. A hysterical giggle tries to bubble up, but I swallow it whole.
I keep waiting for the guy to mention our destination, but he remains silent and the helicopter starts rising.
I glance over at Oliver in surprise and finding him smiling. "You didn't think I'd slip up that easily, did you?" He speaks so confidently, causing my lips to mash into a crooked smile. Drat! "Really, Kayla, I'm a clever fellow. Give me a little more credit."
I lean back in the seat, resigned to sit back and enjoy the surprise. I'm quickly distracted by watching the pilot and intrigued as the tall buildings of London transform into open green fields and pastures, dotted with sheep and separated by low stone walls.
England is a truly beautiful place. A small wave of remorse washes over me as I realize how little of it I've seen or experienced.
In the distance, a huge set of buildings rises out of the open landscape and the chopper—because it makes me feel badass to call it that—starts to slow and lose altitude. The mere sight of it has me pressing my face as close as I can to the glass so I can look.
It's. A. Freaking. Castle. A real-life castle, the kind where medieval kings and queens should live.
We land in a large grassy area right next to the castle. I'm so excited I'm practically vibrating and I finally turn to face Oliver. His sapphire eyes sparkle with amusement and he reaches out to squeeze my hand, pleased I'm so excited.
“Best surprise ever!” I reach over, shake his arm, and squee.
"Welcome to Thornbury Castle," he says, sweeping an arm around me as we climb out of the helicopter and stand on the grass.
The castle and grounds look so much like something you'd see in a movie, I can't believe I'm really here. The blue sky stretches out forever behind the moss-covered stones of the castle walls. Birds circle the innumerable collection of tiny chimneys along the roofline, carrying twigs for nests, and I hear the cheerful chirping of tiny little baby birds.
We walk hand in hand into a manicured courtyard through a main entrance complete with arrow slits and an iron portcullis. Tiny cottage-style gardens peek out from pots and corners of the courtyard. A circle driveway separates the courtyard from a grassy area where guests sit at tiny white tables drinking tea from honest-to-God silver tea services carried out on huge trays.
A man in a black sweater and trousers comes out to greet us with a huge smile on his face.
"Mr. Jackson, it's good to finally meet you. I'm Liam, the concierge. Follow me, please." He leads us to a huge wooden door with scrolled iron decoration and opens it for us.
When we walk in it's like stepping into the past. We walk into a high-ceilinged library. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in golden rays of light and illuminate tiny reading nooks recessed into the windows. Lush velvet drapes hang to the sides of each nook, giving the illusion of privacy.
A full bar and a bartender stand at one end of the room. On the opposite wall is a door leading to a reception desk. Oliver follows the concierge through the room to check in, while I turn in circles, trying to see everything at once.
I don't know what to look at first—the antique upholstered furniture, the painted portraits, the fresh-cut flowers on every surface, or the elaborate rugs on the floor. I flop down on a leather couch overwhelmed by all the things around me.
A few minutes later, a hand touches my shoulder and I jump about a mile. “Oliver!” I swat at him. I was so lost in the splendor of the room that I didn’t hear him approach.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Oliver says with a grin.
"Oh, not in the library, sir," Liam says matter-of-factly, "she usually sticks to the guest rooms above the library. That's where the nursery was located before this castle was renovated into a hotel."
Oliver and I exchange a look.
I open my mouth and blurt it out first, "She? Are you talking about a real ghost who actually lives here?" Surely I misunderstood. I’ve heard of haunted places, but I don’t really believe in that sort of thing—poltergeists and all. However, now that he’s said it, I’m a little giddy.
"Of course. We affectionately call her ‘Lady Gray,’ because of the gray dress she wears. You can usually hear the rustling of her petticoats before you can se
e her. Many of our guests claim to see her walking the battlements or rocking in the guest rooms above the library. No one knows who she is—err, was, but she's frequently spotted around bedtime and has a fondness for children or those who have lost children."
I feel the blood drain from my face. Maybe I do believe in ghosts.
I see Oliver register my sudden change in mood and am grateful when he changes the subject. "Let's go freshen up, shall we?"
That snaps me out of it, but I still feel the prickling sensation on the back of my neck.
“Wait. Room or rooms?” I hesitate, wondering what his plan is for the evening. Are we sharing a room?
One set of anxious nerves is replaced by a set of nerves anxious about a whole new topic.
“Stop worrying, Kayla.” Oliver holds out his hand. I take it and he pulls me up. We follow the concierge to a winding staircase with polished dark-wood banisters and carved griffins in place of knobs.
We head up several flights of stairs. As we go higher, the beautiful wide wooden staircase morphs into a narrow stone staircase. I look up and instantly regret it—the stairs seem to go on forever.
Oliver continues to climb in front of me. I take a minute to breathe and resume the climb. Every few steps, I stumble like a drunkard and curse under my breath. What the heck is wrong with me? I never trip on stairs.
"No worries, love, it's not you. 'Tis the stairs," Liam says with a reassuring smile. "The stairs were built unevenly on purpose. In an attack on the castle, they'd have kept the valuables up here. The stairs were built narrowly so that one man with a sword could defend the tower rooms. After you climb them a few times, your brain will begin to learn how high to lift your feet so you won’t trip. Someone attacking the castle, however, would stumble several times providing ample opportunity for his head to be lopped off by the man above."