"Fine. You win."
"Ooh," Guen says excitedly. "You have to wear it when you go visit Lancelot tonight! For they say the veil was spun using magic threads by the fey folk who made it. The woman who wears it will be irresistible to her true love."
"Guen, darling, when are you going to learn that I already am irresistible?" I joke, lifting the veil and folding it over my head so I can see better. "But thanks. I'm sure it'll knock his socks off."
"And his tunic as well?" Guenevere asks, her eyes sparkling.
I laugh appreciatively. "Yeah, baby. I'm sure he'll be completely unable to keep a stitch of clothing on when he sees me in this sexy veil."
But, I think as I thank Guenevere and walk down the hall to my room, it's not whether I can seduce him out of his clothes that I'm worried about now.
It's whether I can convince him to come back to the future with me.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I lie in my bed, pretending to sleep, waiting for my midnight rendezvous with Lance. I ponder over how I'm going to phrase the whole your-time-or-mine conversation. The more I think about it, the more I convince myself that he's got to come back with me.
I mean, look, I've finally met the guy of my dreams. Someone loyal, strong, sweet, giving, loving. I could go on and on. And call me shallow, but I dig a guy who, even after almost nine months, makes my heart go pitter-patter like a schoolgirl's. No guy I've dated has ever come close. He is the complete package. Michelangelo's David, sculpted in flesh. So what if he's from another millennium? Obviously destiny (i.e. Nimue and Merlin) brought us together. So why does that mean that once we're finished changing history we have to break up?
I slam my head into my pillow, trying to get comfortable. I don't want to break up. I know he doesn't either. So why let a little thing like a millennium keep us apart? And since I've already spent quality time in the Middle Ages, isn't it only natural that it's his turn to come visit my little world?
Besides, he has to admit that the twenty-first century is a tad bit cooler than medieval England. It's got stuff like Krispy Kreme doughnuts, IKEA, and IMAX movie theaters for a start. Sure, it may take some getting used to. He'll have to learn slang, figure out how to type, and come to terms with the fact that the world is round. But hey, I got used to roast pigeon. (It really does taste a lot like chicken, by the way.)
Yes, I determine, Lancelot will like modern-day America, if only he agrees to give it a chance. Now I've just got to convince him to do so. But he loves me. And if that's true, he'll do anything possible to make sure we don't spend even a minute apart, won't he?
I think it's about midnight—they have no clocks, of course, so I'm stuck estimating. I slip out from under the fur covers and pull back the curtains of my canopied bed. All is quiet. Nosy Elen is sound asleep and snoring in the next room. Good. I tiptoe across the floor, slipping into my shoes and grabbing Guen's veil and slipping it over my head. She says it makes the wearer irresistible, and I'm going to have to turn on the charm big-time to convince Lance to pack up and move.
I open the door, cursing the squeak and remembering another great, formerly unappreciated invention: WD-40. I peer out into the hallway.
I've got a long walk. The knights live clear across the castle from the ladies and the queen. I guess it's supposed to make sure everyone behaves themselves, but it's a pain in the ass when you're trying not to.
I reach Lancelot's door and knock lightly. Footsteps approach and his also-WD-40-less door creaks open. I smile underneath the veil. He's shirtless, and I have to resist the urge to reach out right then and there and run my fingers down his perfect chest. I can tell he fell asleep—he has major bedhead, and his eyes have that half-sleepy look I love.
But instead of smiling at me, his eyes widen. "Oh, I am sorry. I… You woke… Are you hurt? In need? What brings you to my chambers at this hour? Is it the king? Is he unwell?"
I suddenly realize he thinks I'm Guenevere 'cause of the veil. Too funny. I'm half-tempted to keep up the charade. At least his fluster assures me he certainly has no intimate relations with her majesty. Not that I doubted the guy. Well, at least, not anymore.
"It's me, silly!" I say, throwing back the veil.
His jaw drops. "I thought…" He shakes his head. "That veil…"
"Yeah. Guen gave it to me. Sorry—didn't mean to scare you like that." I step inside, and he shuts the door behind me. "Still, you'd think you'd recognize that I wasn't her. I mean, I'm a good three or so inches taller, for one thing."
He draws me into his arms, silencing my rebuke with a hard kiss that takes my breath away. He's always doing things like this. And I, the sucker, usually give in immediately, succumbing to the pleasure and forgetting what I was about to say.
But today, I have other things on the agenda. I pull away, walk over to the bed, and sit. I look down at my hands. They're shaking. Why am I so nervous all of a sudden?
He joins me at the bedside. "What is it?" he asks, perhaps sensing my unease. He strokes my knee with a warm hand, and I nearly give in to the seduction once again.
Focus, Kat. This is important.
"I need to ask you something, Lance," I say, placing my hand over his to stop the stroking. This, of course, invites him to instead intertwine my fingers with his, his thumb lightly grazing my palm. The shivers start again.
"Anything, my love." He squeezes my hand. I stare at the floor, feeling his questioning eyes on me, but I can't look up. One look into his eyes and I'll lose it. Discussion first and, if all goes well, making love afterward. Man, I can't wait till the afterward part.
What if he says no? Then there can't be any afterward, can there?
I shove the negative thought from my head and clear my throat. He won't say no. He loves me. He's pledged his loyalty. He already nearly lost his job and got banished from Camelot for me.
"Summer solstice is only like a month—er…moon away," I remark casually, still staring at the ground.
"Aye." Out of the corner of my eye I can see his nod. "Do not think I have not thought of it. Especially on nights when I have been away from you. Wasted nights that could have been spent in your arms."
Aw. He's so romantic. Maybe once we're back in the twenty-first century he could hold motivational seminars for guys who don't know how to talk to women. I can see the Learning Annex catalog advertisement now: Chivalry 101. Taught by former knight in shining armor Lancelot du Lac.
His hand lets go of mine, and his fingers trail up my forearm. I close my eyes, enjoying the sensation. I wonder if he'd be interested in taking a class on tantric sex when we get back. I always wanted to try it, and I bet he'd be amazing.
"I don't want to lose you," I say, opening my eyes and turning to look at him. Our gazes connect, and I once again marvel over the pure sapphire of his eyes. Forget motivational speeches—he could be a male model. I could introduce him to some agents. We could feature him in La Style or maybe our brother magazine, MenX. That is, if I want to share him. Maybe instead I'll lock him in a closet and keep him all to myself. I grin wickedly at the thought.
His hand has now reached my shoulder, and he plays with strands of my hair. "What?" he asks, of course not understanding my smile.
"I love you." Simple, open, honest. Yet I could never have said those words that way before I met him.
He smiles back at me. "No more than I love you. I am sure of it. You are sunshine and rainbows to me. How can I ever let you go?"
"Then do you think…" I draw in a breath, hope bubbling through my stomach like so many clichéd butterflies. "I mean, if it were possible…."
"Aye." He reaches out to catch a tear I didn't notice falling from my eye. My desire for this to work out consumes me, and his ready agreement to change his whole life for little old me makes me a little emotional. "I would like nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you."
"Really?" I'm thrilled. This was so much easier than I thought. He doesn't even need a lick of convincing! He's practically packed f
or the trip. Oh, what was I so worried about? Of course he'd want to come with me. He loves me. I love him. We're destined to be together. He's not going to let a little thing like time travel stand in the way. "Oh, Lance," I bubble, "this is wonderful. I'm so glad you feel this way. I'll talk to Merlin in the morning and make sure it's possible. Oh, I'm so happy. I was afraid—"
He silences me with another one of those breath-stealing kisses, and this time I don't resist. I throw my arms around his neck with wild abandon, pushing him back on the bed. After reaching down to hike up my gown, I straddle his thighs and continue to ravage him with kisses.
I'm so happy I could sing from the rafters. He's going to come back with me! I'm going to get to show him all the wonders of the twenty-first century. He'll love it.
I sit up, too excited to kiss and not talk. "I'll buy you all new clothes," I say. "I bet you'd look stunning in Armani. And you'll get to meet Gucci, my dog. Of course, you'll want to get a job eventually. Maybe you could be, like, a bouncer at a nightclub or something. Use all that physical prowess of yours. Though I have no idea how I'm going to wrestle up a Social Security card for you. But if the illegal immigrants can get fake ones, I don't see why you can't. Or maybe they'll pay you under the table."
His eyes darken, and a shadow of confusion flickers over his face. "Slow down, Katherine," he says, sitting up. "I have no idea as to what you are going on about."
"Sorry." I grin, dotting his nose with a kiss. "I guess I'm getting carried away, blabbing on and on. It's just that I'm so psyched. I mean, it's not every day that a guy agrees to change millennia for you."
"Kat—"
"Guess that's how we know it's love though, right? Love, sweet love. You know, I always used to swear I'd never fall in love. Too much risk, I guess. Like, you give so much of yourself to one person, and then if they let you down— which they so often do—you've left yourself vulnerable and hurt. But our relationship is different. I mean, you're willing to leave everything behind to be with me. I love that."
"Kat, I didn't—"
I put a finger to his mouth to silence him. "Wait. I'm not finished. I want to tell you everything that I feel before I lose my nerve. I'm in love with you, and for once, I'm not scared to admit it. I know you won't hurt me. Sure, it'll be tough at first, living in a new time period, but we'll make it work. Because with you by my side I feel invincible. To paraphrase the great Sonny and Cher, 'love won't pay the rent'—or mortgage, actually. I've got a condo—but 'I've got you, babe.'" I lean over and plant a great big kiss on his lips. It's actually tough to purse my lips, as I'm grinning ear-to-ear.
"Kat! Listen to me!" he cries, pushing me away. I stare at him in surprise. He stares back, his eyes wild. What's wrong with him?
I bite my lower lip. "What?"
"I think you must be confused. I cannot go back to the twenty-first century with you."
* * *
Bastard! What a freaking bastard!
I grab Guen's veil and throw it over my head as I storm toward the door. Lancelot calls out to me, but I ignore him. There's absolutely nothing more to say to the loser. I slam the door behind me, no longer caring who hears.
I can't believe I ever let myself trust him. Allowed myself to fall in love. This is why—precisely why—I don't get into serious relationships. Guys suck. They're selfish. They think only of themselves. Bastard!
I can't believe he thought the entire time that I was saying that I would stay in Camelot. That I was asking if he wanted to get freaking married, not come back with me! Why the hell would I want to stay in Camelot? The place is a freaking craphole without flush toilets. Here I am, offering him the travel opportunity of the millennium, and he wants to stay here out of some ridiculous displaced loyalty to the stupid king.
"'The king needs me,'" I mimic under my breath. Utterly pathetic. Like the king doesn't have a billion other knights in shining armor knocking down the castle doors. Why, he'd be able to hire a replacement immediately. Wouldn't even need to send out for a temp. And besides, Lance would be giving way more than two weeks' notice.
"Oh!"
Lost in my anger and hurt, I'm not looking where I'm going, and I slam straight into a person walking in the other direction. I look up. Oh, great, it's Mordred. Just what I need.
I open my mouth to apologize, but before I can get the words out, the boy prince stumbles into a hasty bow in front of me.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty," he says. "I was not looking where I was going."
Wait, what?
Then I realize: the veil. He must think I'm Guenevere. Thank goodness. Now I can duck out of here and escape hearing him bitch at me about my murderous brother or my failure to act like a proper lady in court.
I nod at him, not wanting to give myself away by speaking, and walk by. I know it's rude, but I'll have Guen apologize tomorrow or something. Right now I need to get out of here. Get back to my room before I burst into tears.
I feel his stare burning a hole in my back as I continue down the hall and start to get the creeps. Maybe I should go back and let him know that it's me, not Guenevere, wandering through the halls at night, lest he get the wrong impression of the Queen. But when I turn to find him, he's disappeared. Weird. I look for him for a few minutes then give up and head back to my chambers. I'll find him tomorrow and set him straight.
I arrive at my room and swing open the door, throwing myself onto my bed, my thoughts turning back to Lancelot. Seriously, where does he get off expecting me to stay here? Tears run like rivers down my cheeks, and my nose gets all stuffed up and runny. I hate crying. It makes my eyes look puffy and gross, and I don't have any cucumbers to put over them to bring down the swelling. But I can't help it. It hurts so much to know that the guy I am so in love with doesn't want to spend his life with me. I knew it was too good to be true. I should have let him fall in love with Guenevere. Not that she deserves his crap either. She's got Arthur. I bet he'd give up his entire kingdom if she asked.
I ache. I ache inside. I feel like vomiting. I try to control myself, rein it all in, but I can't, knowing that soon I will never talk to him again, never make love to him or laugh with him. I must separate myself from him for the rest of my Camelot prison sentence. Keep a distance. There's no way I'm letting him have his cake and eat it too. If he's not willing to sacrifice for me, I'm not willing to share myself with him.
And soon I'll be gone for good. Then I'll never see him again. Ever. It's not like twenty-first-century breakups, where I might run into him at Starbucks. I can't spy on what he's up to by checking his Facebook updates.
Because when I get back to the twenty-first century, Lancelot will be dead. Long, long dead before I am ever born.
* * *
I wake up the next morning feeling like I've run a marathon. In a way, I have—a sleep-deprivation one, anyway. All night I tossed and turned, thinking about Lancelot and his refusal to go back with me. And when I finally did get a minute or two of sleep, wouldn't you know, I was completely haunted by bad dreams. In my dreams, unlike in reality, Lancelot had come to the future with me. Which would be a good thing if he didn't insist on wearing a pink tutu around Manhattan. The shrinks would have a field day with my brain.
I get dressed and walk down to Guenevere's room. I'm sure she'll be more than willing to let me bitch about my guy troubles. After all, I listened and gave her good advice when it came to her and Arthur. She's actually become quite the friend here in Camelot. I'll definitely miss her when I'm gone.
Ina escorts me inside and then disappears into the next room. I find the queen sitting alone at a large table, hands cupping her chin, looking glum. She misses Arthur—I can tell. I wonder when he's coming back from London.
I plop down beside her and toss the veil in her direction. "Here. You can have it back. The 'irresistible' thing didn't work for me. Maybe you have to be a queen or something."
She looks up. "Things did not go well with Lancelot, I take it?"
"They couldn't have gone w
orse." I give her the short version of his rejection.
"I am so sorry, Kat," Guenevere says with a long sigh. "That must have been terribly heartbreaking to endure. Perhaps he is scared and is retreating into his cave."
"Yeah, yeah." I love it when she spouts back my psychobabble. "What's wrong with you?" I ask, deciding to change the subject.
"I do not know," she says. "But something bad is brewing inside the castle walls this morn. Since I have awoken, I have been given the strangest stares. I walked in on Gawain and Agravaine whispering amongst themselves. They stopped talking the second they saw me. Their faces looked guilty. I wonder what game is afoot?"
"Who knows?" I say with a shrug. "They're probably plotting their jousting strategies. The tournament's in a couple weeks, right? I wouldn't worry too much about it."
"You are right, I am sure. It was just…odd." She sighs. "I will be happy when Arthur is back from London. Camelot is not the same without him."
I smile. "You really love him, don't you?"
"Aye." She glances over at me with shining eyes. "More than anything."
I shake my head. "You're so lucky. Your relationship is, like, way simple compared to Lance and me."
"You once said you had thought of staying here. What of that?" Guenevere asks.
I nod reluctantly. "Of course I've thought about it. But I don't know. I have a life there. A family. A dog. I can't abandon them all. And there is so much stuff I'd be missing out on, too. The twenty-first century has a lot of amazing stuff you guys can't even imagine."
"Perhaps Lancelot feels the same way."
"You'd think, but no, he's perfectly content to stay in the dark ages."
"No," Guenevere corrects me. "What I mean is that perhaps he feels attached to his own time, the same as you are to yours."
Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. She's totally right. Even though I, who have experienced both worlds, think going to the twenty-first century is a "Movin' On Up" situation, Lancelot has no idea if it's better or worse than the world he lives in now—the world he loves. He has a job. Friends. A life. All the things I refuse to give up for him. Who am I to dictate that he lose everything simply because I miss shoe shopping and gel manicures?
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