by L. B. Dunbar
“Tristan, please.”
“Please what?”
“I can’t hear these things from you. They leave me wondering for weeks.”
“Wondering what, Ireland?”
“Why you say them?”
I looked at her, taking in her innocent face with the freckles across her nose. She had to know how I felt, despite what Guinevere said, despite what I said to Guinevere. I cared for her deeply, and I longed to believe that she might have meant what she said about loving me. I couldn’t be certain it was anything more than a moment in reckless passion, though.
I took too long to take her in visually, and she looked down at her watch.
“Why did you text me, Tristan?”
“I was afraid you wouldn’t answer if I called,” I said, avoiding the question that I didn’t exactly have an answer for.
“I promised you, I’d always answer,” she said softly.
I stared at her again, taking in her blonde hair that had grown past her shoulders and her lighter skin since she wasn’t in the sun so often. I examined her freckles and noticed her pink lush lips that I longed to kiss.
“I need to go. I have class in fifteen minutes and it’s across campus,” she said breaking into my thoughts.
“I’ll walk with you.”
We started out slowly, and I took in the blooming glory of a late spring day in New York City. The air was warming and the trees were budding. Some had even opened to fragile flowers and green leaves abounded. It seemed like such a normal thing to do as two young people, walk across a college campus. If our lives had been different, I would like to think I was her boyfriend, walking my girlfriend to class. But I’d never had a girlfriend, and I wasn’t her boyfriend. She was someone’s fiancée.
“So…ready for the wedding?” I began. I continued to look up at the sun shining sparsely through the trees as we walked.
“Not really, but do you really want to hear about it.”
“Not really. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
We stopped at the cement steps to a moderate building. Ireland stood on the first step, turning to face me.
“Are you okay?” I asked again.
She looked away, down the sidewalk and through the trees behind me. I waited.
“I can’t say how I feel. I’m mainly numb,” she said softly.
I stepped up the first step to join her, and she leaned back against the cement barrier that served as a railing. We looked at each other for a long moment. Blue sapphires taking in moss green-gold.
“I can’t sleep at night without you,” I said softly, reaching to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear.
She blinked at me, eyes opening wider.
“I don’t want you to be his. I want you to be mine.”
“And if I was yours?”
“I would never let you go.”
She swallowed and licked her lips. I leaned toward her, placing my hands on either side of her body, caging her in with my presence.
“I want to kiss you,” my voice rasped low, as I focused on her lips while I spoke.
“I…I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” My eyes flicked to hers briefly before returning to her lips. I was pressing in closer to her.
“The last time we kissed, we got carried away.”
“You didn’t like getting carried away?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m…I’m just saying, I don’t think you should kiss me here.”
“Can I kiss you somewhere else?” I smirked.
“Tristan,” she giggled softly. “I have class.”
“Here’s another lesson for you. What you need to learn…about getting carried away. I’d take those pink lips of yours in mine, and kiss them until you whimpered like you do. Then I’d lick you open and come inside to taste you. I’d lock my lips on you, until I was all you thought about, and then I’d carry you away.”
“You’re all I think about anyway,” she said so quietly I almost didn’t hear her, but I felt the words on my lips without touching hers. We were so close and my mouth watered with a thirst for her.
“Let me see you again,” I groaned. She used a notebook in her arms to cover her mouth, hiding her smile, but her eyes told me all I needed to know.
Chapter 31
[Tristan]
Until thoughts of innocence light a spark.
Children. I didn’t want them. I didn’t understand them. I didn’t even really think about them. I had gotten a call from Lansing that Elaine Corbin had gone into labor. Elaine had a long-standing crush on Lansing that turned obsessive one night. In his weakened condition, I believe she took advantage of him. She had one goal and it was about to be born.
As I stood in the waiting room, watching Fleur Tucker spin in circles, for the first time my mind wandered to what it would be like to have children. I hadn’t had any interaction with Fleur. I wasn’t a fan of Lila, for a while. In her defense, I didn’t know her, but I didn’t like the way she treated Lansing after he wrote that song for her. But she had that look, the look all women had around him: loyal to a fault. Elaine had worn it for years. I was certain her eyes would be more focused on another face about to be born. Lila, however, she still had that look, as well as something else I had trouble admitting. Lila Lovelourne loved Lansing Lotte, and he loved her in return.
Lansing wasn’t in the waiting room. He had a strange arrangement with Elaine. Even stranger, Lansing didn’t want to marry her as the mother of his child. He was going to marry Lila, who already had a little girl, Fleur. Lansing called her Ladybug, and it made sense in her red outfit with a black wiry looking skirt. The little beauty was lost in her own world as she twirled between plastic chairs while we waited.
Lila hadn’t addressed me, other than to say hello. We were waiting on the arrival of Perkins Vale and his wife, Hollister. I’d been told she was pregnant, too. The pressure to love, marry, and put baby in a baby carriage was heavy in the air. I wondered what Ireland’s babies would look like. Surely she would have them. Would they have blonde hair and blue eyes like her, or would they be dark like Mark? I shivered to think that Mark would lay his hands on her. I shuddered at the idea of him having sex with her. It would be sex. He would never love her like I did.
I sat up straighter. I loved her.
I looked at Lila, who was watching Fleur. She was a pretty girl, hot for a mom. Her honey colored hair and dark eyes gave her a playful innocent look, but her body spoke of sin. Not that I was interested. I wasn’t crossing any lines like my band brother. Lila was all his, but I could tell by the look on her face she was worried.
“I need to apologize,” I began. Lila slowly turned toward me and blinked, as if she wasn’t sure I had spoken to her.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” I started again. She continued to stare at me with those big brown eyes.
“I misunderstood when you ran off. I wanted you to know how hard he worked on that song for you.”
Lila continued to stare. Her face changed. It softened at my words, but her eyes still held concern.
“Are you okay?” I asked. She turned her head to the door of the maternity ward and then looked back at me.
“I’m fine,” she replied weakly. I wasn’t great at reading women. I was good at working them, but there was something in the way she sat that that told me Lila had a worry.
“Is there something I should know? Is there a concern for Elaine? The baby?” my voice rose slightly. After what I witnessed with Guinevere over nine months ago, visions of horror flashed through my mind.
“No, no nothing like that. It’s…” She let her words trail away. I waited, but she wasn’t finishing. Suddenly, I felt the presence of someone else and noticed Guinevere standing there.
“Is something wrong?” Her voice trembled, “With the baby?”
Lila stared at Guinie for a long moment before she repeated her answer, “
No, nothing like that.”
It was clear whatever Lila’s concerns were, they were something other than Elaine and the baby, and she was not going to share them in front of Guinevere. It wasn’t a cold front that came through the waiting room, but there was definitely a chill in the air. Fleur stumbled forcing us to look over at her. She righted herself then smiled at us. Her unusual dark eyes twinkled at me, and I felt like I was put under a spell. My mind returned to Ireland and her having children someday.
I had a vision of a little person digging in the sand next to Ireland, while she pushed her hair behind her ears as it blew in the breeze. I could see that the child would have freckles across her nose like her mother. Her hair would match her mother’s: bright blonde. She would look like an angel.
“How is she?” The voice of Perkins Vale interrupted my thoughts. I stood to face my friend. He looked good, much better than he looked after the incident last winter. How much more could we take as a band? How much more pain? But looking at Perkins’ face, I saw nothing but a sly smile above his roughly stubbled face. He was a happy man. He had finally found the woman he’d been waiting for. He’d actually taken it two steps further. He married her and found out she was pregnant with his child. The heaviness of children in the air became oppressive.
Hollister stood beside the bulky guy, her hand wrapped around his bicep. She was quiet, aloof almost, in my opinion, but she was not shy. She stood with a fierceness that said, “Don’t mess with me.” I almost laughed at the juxtaposition between my big friend with his soft heart and the tough girl standing next to him.
“She’s fine,” Lila said, a bit of a bite in her tone. It clicked with me then that Lila was trying to cover her concerns.
“Let’s take a walk,” I said, but it was a demand. My apology from moments ago was lost to her. She stood with a huff and reached for Fleur’s hand.
“Let’s go see if they have something to drink, Sweet Pea,” she addressed the child. Fleur skipped toward Lila, and I followed as we walked down the hall away from the others.
“What’s really going on here?” I asked again, attempting to soften my tone. Lila didn’t respond as we stood waiting outside the elevator. When the door opened, Will Galehaut exited and Fleur jumped toward him.
“Will!” she squealed. He reached out to grab the ladybug leaping through the air.
“Ladybug,” he laughed in that hearty voice. I had only partied a few times with Will, one of Lansing’s friends outside the band. He was a huge guy, a bit disheveled, and rather socially awkward. I didn’t know what the appeal was between Lansing and Will, but it was their friendship, not mine.
Will lowered Fleur and reached for Lila.
“He loves you,” Will said, reassuringly without Lila even saying anything. It clicked with me then. Could Lila doubt Lansing’s feelings? He wrote her that song. He took her in. He moved them to a larger place. He worshipped the girl.
“Guinevere’s here,” she mumbled without looking up at him.
“Damn it,” Will muttered back. I was about to defend Guinevere when I realized that Lila knew the truth. She had nothing to worry about, though. I saw the way Lansing looked at Lila. Our journey in search of drinks was derailed when Fleur said she wanted to go back to the waiting area with Will. When we trudged back, we found Lansing standing in the waiting space talking to Guinevere, Perkins, and Hollister. The second he saw Lila he smiled and pushed past the others.
“Where were you?” he asked, reaching out to tuck a hair behind her ear, similar to how I had done with Ireland.
“I…” she began to speak, but Lansing leaned in so close to her, I didn’t hear her response. I wasn’t sure he kissed her, but he was definitely in her space, and he spoke into her ear. A slow smile crept over her face, and she bit her lips to hide it. That was my friend; The Lady Killer still had some arsenal. Lila visibly relaxed and Lansing wrapped her in his arms. Over his shoulders, I saw Guinevere staring as the couple embraced. Lansing kissed Lila’s neck and I was jealous. Not of Lila, but of the open affection. My mind flicked to Ireland and I in the bathroom of my uncle’s apartment. Hiding. Ireland was going to have to remain a secret.
My thoughts of Ireland were again intruded upon when Lansing announced he had a son.
Galahad Corbin Lotte was born.
Chapter 32
[Ireland]
Stolen kisses allowed time to pass.
Seeing Tristan standing there, watching me be photographed the other night, was a slightly surreal experience. I had willed him to come to me in so many places, in so many ways. I almost didn’t believe it was him standing on the edge of the lamps. He looked as beautiful as a model himself, with his sandy brown hair combed back, and his green moss eyes sparkling as he looked at me. His t-shirt hugged tight against the flat abs I knew he had underneath, and his jeans hung low on his hips, covering what I also knew led to the sole object of my desire There he stood before me, until Mark arrived.
It was as if Mark sensed Tristan’s presence and appeared out of nowhere. He tried to prove his ownership of me, whenever he was near me. I wasn’t loved by him, like my mother tried to convince me. I was possessed by him. He had to have me as a commodity, not a wife. He loved the attention he received when we entered a restaurant or a fundraiser. He loved the attention he received when he was introduced at a function by my parents or at social events that he previously did not attend. Mark Cornwall was using me for his personal gain, despite the gifts, compliments, and professions of love.
I’d hardly believed it again, when Tristan texted me the next day to meet him. I couldn’t sleep, so I used images of him over me, under me, and behind me to ease the tension building inside. I craved him with every part of my being. Meeting Tristan made me nervous. I hadn’t spoken to him, since the encounter in the bathroom during my birthday. We hadn’t actually spoken much in those brief moments together, however. I willed myself not to think of the words I said to him. I hoped he would have forgotten, as well. I didn’t want to come across as a lovesick admirer. I’d read the papers. I was aware he had several of them already. I also knew if I gave into my desire and let him kiss me again, I’d never be able to let him go.
I entered my class to stare at the clock and daydream. Mark had set the date of our wedding for June 21st, the summer solstice, and I felt the date quickly approaching. I was running out of time and options. My stomach was eating me alive, as I struggled each day with nausea. I had frequent headaches and constantly felt tired. My mother complained that I’d gained some weight in my breasts, which seemed impossible due to my lack of appetite over the past few weeks. I was a bundle of nervous energy that was spiraling out of control.
I fiddled with my pencil, tapping it back and forth on my notebook in the rhythm of a Nights’ song, as I continued to think of Tristan. He looked even more amazing up close. I saw that sparkle in his eyes, when he looked at me, which sent butterflies in flight between my legs. I crossed them to still the ache and tried not to think of things I remembered he’d done to me down there. His description of kissing me was enough to open the floodgates below. If he’d been able to touch me, he would have encountered a slippery surprise.
My body responded to him. His voice. His presence. His scent. I would never admit to him that I’d stolen the t-shirt I’d worn for three days, while we had our love fest. I often slept in it at night, in order to feel him around me. His scent still lingered on it, and I caught myself inhaling it like the lovesick admirer I didn’t want to be. I was more than a fangirl; I was obsessed with him. Well, as obsessed as a girl can be with a man she can’t have.
Two days passed before I received another text.
Walk with me in Central Park tomorrow.
I agreed.
Central Park would be slightly more public than the campus, but we would still be private enough as to not worry about Mark. It wasn’t like we were alone on a secluded island again. Or locked in a private bathroom. We were simply taking a walk in the park on a summer
day, with other people visible and present.
When I seemed distracted during dinner the other night after class, Mark accused me of my studies being in the way of my focus. He wanted my input on our wedding plans, which my mother was eagerly in charge of organizing. I was so numb to the process. I had nothing to contribute, but it was more that my mind was on another man.
“Isolde,” Mark said before he left for the night, “you can tell me if something concerns you.” He used a finger to push back my hair in the same manner as Tristan, but it wasn’t the same.
“It’s nothing,” I replied, pulling back in hopes to not offend him, but also not have him touch me.
“Are you worried about the wedding night?” he half-smiled, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. “You know I will be good to you.”
I swallowed hard as the taste of bile rose in my mouth. I didn’t want him to touch me. I certainly didn’t want to be with him like that. I tried to block all thoughts of a wedding night out of my mind.
“I will make you very happy. You will be satisfied with me, and I will be the luckiest man in the world,” he said, running his hands over my shoulders and down my arms. I held very still.
“You’re so rigid at times,” he said shaking me gently at first, attempting a laugh to lighten the mood. “We need to get you to relax.” He returned his hands to my shoulders and began to massage them, working my upper back over my shoulders. Involuntarily, my muscles relaxed and I felt my eyes close. I was so tired at the end of each day lately. I’d actually yawned during the shoot the day before, which never happens. My mother would give me a caffeine pill just for the boost of energy.
I hadn’t realized that Mark had pulled me toward him as my eyes closed for a moment, and I was suddenly pressed against him. My eyes flew open and I made to step away from him, but he firmly gripped my arms.
“Where are you going?” his voice was gravelly.