by S. J. West
Malcolm leaps off me softly cursing me underneath his breath. I laugh as I take my opening and make a mad dash towards the safety of the house, but I soon hear the crunch of Malcolm’s boots close behind me.
I’m only a short five feet from the steps leading up to the veranda and sanctuary when I feel Malcolm grab the back of my jacket and yank me backwards until I’m flush against him.
“Well, you do play dirty,” Malcolm says against my ear, wrapping his arms around my waist, “but so do I.”
With no time to react, he crams a snowball of his own up underneath my sweater causing me to squirm against him, but he doesn’t let me go. He keeps his arms firmly around me while he laughs.
I suddenly don’t mind the snow against my belly even as it melts against my skin.
Malcolm is holding me and laughing. What more could I possibly want?
I begin to laugh too as the water begins to trickle down my pants.
Malcolm’s hold on me loosens, and I take the opportunity to turn around in his arms and face him.
The smile on his face makes my heart flutter with happiness and as selfish as it might be, I don’t want this moment to end. I wish we could just forget about the world around us and what needs to be done so we can keep our focus on one another. I like seeing this playful, happy side to Malcolm. It’s a part of him I haven’t seen before and all I want to do is keep him this way.
Unfortunately, the outside world isn’t something I can keep out, and I see the smile fade from Malcolm’s lips as it begins to intrude into the moment.
“You should probably change your clothes,” he tells me. “I probably should too if I’m ever planning to have children again.”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes with my breath.
“Kind of sorry about that,” I tell him. “Kind of.”
Malcolm raises an eyebrow at me. “I wouldn’t be. It was a good move because it was totally unexpected. I never would have thought you to be the type of woman to stuff her hand down the front of a man’s trousers.”
“I didn’t go that far down,” I defend.
“No,” Malcolm agrees, a devilish twinkle in his eyes, “not nearly far enough.”
I feel myself begin to blush and hear Malcolm chuckle.
He drops his arms away from me.
“You should go change clothes, and I should probably check on Lucas.”
I nod, turning to walk up the steps when Malcolm grabs hold of one of my hands to stop me. I turn back to face him and wait for him to say something.
He simply looks at me and doesn’t say a word.
I don’t speak either because I don’t think he took my hand to tell me anything. I get the feeling he’s like me and just doesn’t want the moment to end yet.
Finally, he lets my hand go. I hesitate, waiting to see if he wants to say something but he never does.
“I’ll be back down in a few minutes,” I tell him.
He nods his head but still doesn’t say anything.
When I walk into the kitchen, I see Lucas sitting at the kitchen table with three mugs of cocoa in front of him.
“Have fun?” he asks me, looking awfully pleased with himself.
“Yes,” I tell him, realizing Lucas is a crazy genius. “Although, I’m completely wet now.”
“Really?” Malcolm says like this simple statement intrigues him for some reason.
“Soaking wet,” I admit to him freely.
Malcolm's grin grows wider, but he doesn’t say anything else.
I’m totally confused but don’t question his odd reaction.
It’s not until I’m walking up the stairs to my room and taking off my gloves that I suddenly realize what Malcolm was actually thinking about when I said I was soaking wet. I feel my cheeks burn from embarrassment, but a small light of hope flickers inside my breast that maybe, just maybe, the wall surrounding Malcolm’s heart is melting enough for me to find a way in.
I go up to my room and quickly change out of my wet clothes. If Malcolm is ready to let me in, I don’t want to waste the opportunity.
CHAPTER twenty-three
When I go back downstairs, I see that Lucas has talked Malcolm into playing a game of checkers with him while they sip their steaming hot mugs of cocoa. Malcolm is sitting at the head of the table. So, I sit on the other side of him opposite Lucas.
The two of them look so serious as they study the board between them that I can't help but smile. Knowing Malcolm is smart but having to think so hard to play a game of checkers against a six-year-old tickles my heart.
As they both concentrate on their separate strategies, I look at them and understand why Lucas so desperately wants us to become a real family. It just feels right. I grew up in a home with only my papa and always felt that was enough, but now, feeling the way I do about Lucas, I wonder what it would have been like if my mother had survived my birth and been able to raise me herself.
I never felt the absence of a mother's love because my papa always lavished me with his. Yet, I begin to wonder how different my life would have been if my mother and Lucifer had raised me. Or, would Lucifer have even stuck around to be a real father to me? He obviously didn't want to have anything to do with me after I was born. Maybe he would have abandoned both my mother and me even if she had lived. I just didn't have any way of knowing because I didn't know much about my biological father. I didn’t know the real reason why he left me after my mother’s death any more than I knew the real reason why Malcolm asked my papa to take me to Cirrus right after my birth.
But, I wouldn’t change a thing about my life. Andre Greco was the most attentive father I could have ever asked for. He loved me enough to trade in his immortality just so he wouldn’t have to go through the pain of losing me to death. I had two parents who gave up everything for me. One gave her mortal life so that I could have a chance at one, and the other gave up his right to live forever and live as a human.
I look over at Lucas and know that if we ever found ourselves in a life and death situation, I would choose his life over mine without having to think twice about it.
During the game, Malcolm diverts his attention away from the board and looks over at me. A small smile lifts one corner of his mouth, and for the first time since meeting him, I see an emotion within the depth of his gaze as he looks at me that brings a much needed warmth to my heart. He looks…content.
I know then that Lucas’s Operation Family is having the desired effect on one Malcolm Xavier Devereaux.
The game ends about 30 minutes later with Malcolm winning. I have a hunch Lucas might have let him win.
This day was designed to make and keep Malcolm happy after all. And Lucas did say that Malcolm liked to win.
Malcolm stands from the table and says to Lucas, “Why don’t you put your coat on and come to the workshop to help me with my project?”
He then looks over at me. “I think it might be time for you to begin our bet.”
I look to Lucas. “I thought Lucas and I were going to make supper together.”
Malcolm smiles. “That was before we made our wager. I don’t think it’s a true bet if you don’t try to prepare supper by yourself, do you?”
Lucas looks startled, like he thinks this is a monumentally bad idea, and turns his gaze to me. “Have you ever cooked?”
“No,” I say hesitantly. “But I’m sure I can figure it out.”
“All of the meats and perishables are in the preserver,” Malcolm tells me. There are some canned items in the cabinets. I’m sure you can find something to make.”
“Like I said,” I tell him confidently, “I’ll figure it out.”
Malcolm puts on his thin black jacket and takes hold of Lucas by the shoulders.
“Come on, Lucas. I have a feeling it might be safer for us outside.”
I feel my forehead crinkle at the remark.
“You don’t think she’s gonna burn the house down do you?” Lucas asks, looking up at his dad in worry, like it’s a
real possibility.
“With her family’s history for cooking, I wouldn’t rule it out.”
“Oh, please,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “I’m not going to burn the house down!”
Malcolm doesn’t look convinced. “Well, if you do, then I definitely win the bet.”
“What’s the bet?” Lucas asks.
“None of your business,” Malcolm tells him, ruffling his hair. “Come on. Let’s go to the workshop. I think Anna is going to need the next couple of hours to figure things out.”
As they walk out of the house, I just shake my head at them thinking Malcolm is being a bit ridiculous. Even the lowliest of servants in Cirrus knows how to cook. How hard could it possibly be?
I rummage through the items in the preserver and settle on a cut of frozen meat that looks a lot like a roast. Millie always made the best roast beef, and I at least know what it should look like once it’s fully cooked. I find a deep roasting pan in one of the cabinets and set the meat inside it. Also in the preserver, I find some potatoes, carrots and onions. I locate a cutting board and a knife and slice up the vegetables to a paper thin width.
I shake my head not quite understanding why Malcolm thought this would be such an impossible task for me to accomplish. I just hope he doesn’t try to back out of his part of the wager when I win.
I find some dried herbs and seasoning salts in the cupboard and sprinkle them on the meat. I turn the oven on and try to guess what temperature the meat will need to cook at, wishing I had read at least one cook book in my life. Though, cooking in Cirrus was definitely faster than here. We had ovens which cooked food almost instantaneously. I decide to set the temperature to 400 degrees thinking this should be plenty hot to cook the meat.
After this is done, I begin to wonder what I should do with the rest of my time. Not having anything else better to occupy me, I put my jacket on and go out to the workshop to see what the boys are up to.
When I open the door and step inside, Malcolm and Lucas look up at me in surprise.
“Done already?” Malcolm asks.
“It’s cooking,” I say, completely confident in what I’ve prepared.
Malcolm sets the small hammer in his hand down. “What exactly are you cooking?”
“A roast.”
Malcolm raises his eyebrows. “In the oven?”
I nod my head. “Yes.”
“At what temperature?”
“Four-hundred degrees.”
Malcolm looks at an old-fashioned clock on the wall as if he’s making a note of the time.
“Wanna help, Anna?” Lucas asks me.
I walk over to where they are and look at the wooden house they are standing in front of on the workshop table.
“Is it a playhouse?” I ask.
“No, it’s a bird house,” Lucas tells me.
“Lucas likes to watch the birds when we’re here,” Malcolm says. “I built him a small one but apparently that wasn’t enough for Little Lord Fauntleroy. He wanted them to have a mansion instead.”
The birdhouse they are working on looks like a miniature replica of Malcolm’s home. It stands at least three feet tall and two feet wide. It even has the front and back porch built onto it. I notice the small bird house that they mentioned sitting on a corner of the worktable.
“What are you going to do with the small one?” I ask.
“Really haven’t thought about it,” Malcolm says with a shrug.
“It looks like it needs to be painted.”
“Do you know how to paint?” Lucas asks me.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried.”
“Caylin was an excellent artist,” Malcolm tells me. “Maybe you inherited some of her skill.”
“It might be fun to try,” I say, walking over to the bird house.
Malcolm finds me a stool, some small paint brushes and some paints. While he and Lucas continue to work on the large bird house, I study the small one and try to envision what I want to see. I soon figure it out and start to work.
I become so engrossed in what I’m doing that I don’t notice the passage of time. I’m faintly aware of what Malcolm and Lucas are doing but don’t really pay them much attention either. It’s not until I feel someone beside me that I look up from my project to meet Malcolm’s amused gaze.
“Having fun?” he asks me.
I let out a small laugh. “Is it that obvious?”
Malcolm grins at me and looks at the house. “You have a natural talent. I thought you might. Most of the girls retained Caylin’s aptitude for painting.”
“I never knew I could do it,” I say, surprised by how good I am at it.
Lucas comes over and stands by Malcolm to see the front of the birdhouse which is all I’ve finished so far.
“Looks kind of girly,” he comments, scrunching up his little nose at it.
I study the house and have to admit that it does look a bit girly with the flowers I’ve painted.
“Well, I’m a girl,” I say, thinking it perfectly logical that the house should look girly because of this fact.
“Come on,” Malcolm tells us, “we should probably make sure the house is still standing.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” I ask, getting up from my stool and placing the paint brush in my hand into a cup of water Malcolm got for me to wash the brushes in.
“It’s been close to three hours since you came out here,” he tells me.
“Three hours!”
I rush out of the workshop and into the house before either Malcolm or Lucas have a chance to react.
The kitchen is a little smoky but not nearly as horrible as I feared it would be. I go to the oven and grab a towel from the counter to pull the roast out of the oven. The outside of it looks dry and burnt and the thinly sliced vegetables surrounding it are dehydrated to a crisp. I know my only saving grace is to see if I’m able to salvage some of the meat on the inside. I quickly find a knife and begin to cut the roast, but, the knife doesn’t make it all the way through the meat. The core of it is still frozen solid.
I sigh because I know I’m completely defeated and have lost my chance at being kissed by Malcolm. I can’t deny my extreme disappointment. I would have liked a kiss from Malcolm. And I have a feeling he wouldn’t have voiced any complaints about it either.
“So,” I hear Malcolm say as he and Lucas come into the kitchen, “how good are you at chess?”
“About as good as I am at cooking,” I admit with a sigh. “It should be a very short game.”
Malcolm tries to hold in his laughter but finally gives into it and laughs so hard he starts to cry.
I don’t mind. I don’t even mind losing the bet that much since I at least get to hear Malcolm’s laughter again. In a way, I feel like I have won. His mirth becomes totally infectious and Lucas and I soon join in.
Since my plans for supper are completely ruined, Malcolm makes a quick meal of sandwiches for us to eat.
All the activity from the day seems to have made Lucas extremely sleepy. After we eat, he crawls up into my lap while Malcolm is washing the dishes in the sink. Lucas kisses me on the cheek and whispers in my ear, “I think Operation Family was a success.”
I smile down at him as he lays his head on my chest and closes his eyes.
“Anna, would you sing to me again?” he requests.
I begin to sing the same lullaby as before to him and find that it lulls him fast to sleep. I cradle him in my arms and stand up.
“Could you fix his bed for me?” I whisper to Malcolm, not wanting to unintentionally wake Lucas.
Malcolm nods and precedes me out of the kitchen up to Lucas’ room.
After Malcolm has the covers of Lucas' bed drawn down, I lay Lucas on the mattress and slip off his shoes for him. Malcolm covers his son up with the sheet and quilt. He leans down and kisses Lucas on the forehead before we both leave the room.
“Ready for that game of chess?” Malcolm asks me as we descend the staircase.
“Like I said,” I tell him, “it will probably be a short game. I’ve never been very good at it.”
“That’s all right,” Malcolm says with a shrug and sly grin. “I like to win anyway.”
I have to smile because his words are almost a mirror of his son's from the previous night.
When Malcolm reaches the bottom of the staircase, he turns around to face me and holds out his hand for me to take.
“I don’t think I’ve shown you my study,” he says to me. “I have my chessboard set up in there.”
I slip my hand into Malcolm’s and let him lead me to his study which turns out to be a room just off the foyer.
The room is homey with tall bookshelves lining three of the four walls.
I look at all the leather bound volumes in amazement.
“Are all of these real?” I ask, never having seen so many books made with paper before.
“Yes, we still produce them here on the surface,” Malcolm tells me, letting go of my hand to walk over to the fireplace to start a fire.
The smell of the room is overwhelming but in a good way. I love the mingled scents of leather, wood and paper. It just seems so much like Malcolm that I instantly feel comfortable in it. In a short time, Malcolm has a roaring fire going to take the chill out of the air, and I see that he has his chessboard set up in front of the fireplace with two brown leather wing back chairs on either side of the table it sits on.
I raise an eyebrow at the board as I sit down in one of the chairs.
“Another contraband item?” I ask, having seen this particular type of chessboard before.
Malcolm grins. “I like chess and this is the best board money can buy.”
Malcolm runs his hand across the board and holographic images of real people dressed as their particular chess piece appear on their designated square. I’m given the white pieces to play while Malcolm is black.
“White always makes the first move,” Malcolm says.
I tap one of my pawns on the head gaining his attention and touch the square I want him to move to.
As promised, the game is short and sweet, and Malcolm wins in less than twenty moves.
“You really weren’t kidding,” Malcolm says. “You’re awful at this game.”