Daring To Love

by Karen Ferry

  I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that love makes you feel that way, and yet I am astonished of its voracious power.

  I take a deep breath as I reach for the paper in front of me, removing the post-it note, and as I do, the photo that Fin told me was his favourite is revealed to me – the one that shows me in mid-air. The one that made me see myself in a different light when I saw it for the first time. Underneath it, there’s a caption that immediately awakens a flicker of hope inside me.

  The powerful Amelie Winters – the young woman who not only captures the hearts of her audience, but mine as well.

  Fully invested to read the article through, I turn to the correct page and sit down at the head of the table. My body trembles, but a new sense of purpose has come over me, and I am determined to read everything Fin has to say. My eyes widen as I take in the full spread he’s given me.

  Dear Readers,

  Yesterday, my editor did you a disservice: he broke the carnival rule as a journalist and chose to print a piece about a young woman which was never meant to see the light of day.

  You are probably asking yourself, why not? What was wrong with it? And I will answer your questions in a minute. But first, I have no other choice but tell you that the chief editor of this newspaper, Erik Beckmann, is a liar and a thief. He took my notes, twisted and turned them until they fit the type of story that he believed he had to print in order to sell copies of his newspaper.

  The aim of great journalist is to tell the truth – that is something I have always and will continue to strive to do – but there are many things he printed which hold no truth to them, and therein lies the problem: he was not driven by the truth.

  He was driven by greed.

  Unfortunately, we all know that greed has never been a promoter of the truth, and I cannot sit by and let what you read yesterday go unpunished.

  So, this is my own retribution: I have an obligation to tell you the truth about a dancer whose name is Amelie Winters, and that is what I will do.

  When I first met her, she ran away from me.

  Can you imagine it? Here I was, vexed and, dare I say it, bored out of my mind with the task of writing an entertainment piece, when in actuality, all I could think about was how to get out of it. And yet there was something about her that kept reeling me in the more time I spent with her…There is a certain air about her that is hard to put your finger on, but when she dances – because I was fortunate enough to witness her transform from a shy, young woman into a formidable lady on that very first night – parts of her real nature shine through.

  Even someone like me who does not know the first thing about dance fell under her spell.

  Needless to say, I was now fully invested in finding out who she was, and why she ran away from me when I first propositioned her. I was both charmed and curious.

  Throughout the course of the past month, I got to know the real Amelie Winters. She is not the love child of a member of the British royal family, and I have no idea how or why my editor got such a ridiculous idea in his head.

  Let me repeat that: it is crazy.

  Was she adopted? Yes.

  Did I uncover some deep and dark secret about her? Something that the press would gobble up as if they were sitting at the high table of the royal family? No.

  The very idea is false, plain and simple, and slandering our monarchy like this is not only wrong.

  It is career suicide.

  And yet, he chose to print something like that without the consent of the board of directors who own this newspaper. I have no doubt that the board members would never have agreed to print it had they known that was his plan all along. I am sure of that, and the legal department have already taken steps to ensure that Erik Beckmann will not get away with his thirst and greed for making money in the worst possible way.

  Despite all this, and in a weird, twisted way, I have to thank him for putting me in the path of Amelie Winters: I might never have met her if it was not for him; he wanted me to push that brick mortar she had built around her, force its collapse, and that is what I did.

  I am only sorry that our intimate relationship has been twisted into a sordid, dirty thing by being aired in public.

  For that, I am truly sorry.

  Yes, I got to know her very well, and that is what my editor wanted, but I doubt he ever imagined I would fall so deeply in love with her as I did.

  However, that is what happened, and I am man enough to admit it here, in a public paper, while I pray to the stars that she will forgive me for the utter mess I have put her through the past twenty-four hours. I probably do not deserve her forgiveness, yet I am asking for it all the same.

  I love her determination to succeed. I love the tangled mess of her hair when she wakes up in the morning. I love that she has a Plan B if her dancing career ends prematurely. I love her passion and drive. I love her brain –she is smart, and intelligence is something that I am, to put it bluntly, wildly attracted to. She is fierce. She is adorable. She is a million little things that make her perfect for me.

  The fact that she might disagree because our star signs do not match as perfectly as she would like – yes, she believes in her horoscope, dear readers – but I do not believe our fates were intertwined eons before we ever breathed on this earth.

  No, but I do believe our souls and hearts belong together. The fact is I cannot imagine my life without her – and I have only known her for such a short time, I know, but I want to spend more time with her. To explore the world with her. To grow with her.

  Forgive me, sweetheart. I cannot be without you.

  Now…please open the door and let me in.

  My fingers ache around the edges of the paper I’ve held in the tightest grip since I started reading, but then the last line jumps and I toss the paper to the side and practically run to the front door.

  “Amelie?”

  I barely register Daddy as he calls out to me, because even though I know it’s crazy, I have to know if Fin’s here. I unlock it and wrench it open, my entire being buzzing with both love and anger.

  And there he is, right in front of me, and despite the anger and hurt still flowing in my veins, I have never felt more loved than the way he gazes upon me. My breaths fall faster the longer we stare at each other, both of us ignoring the throng of paparazzi standing in a half-circle below the steps at my door. Faintly, I realise all the flashes from the cameras, and yet all I can see is him.

  “You bloody idiot,” I murmur softly.

  His solemn stare never wavers from mine.

  “I know. I’m a wretched fool in love. Can you forgive me?”

  I back away from him and nod.

  “Only time will tell, Fin. But I’m willing to try. Can you live with that?”

  He nods, his lips twitching once. That boyish smile always hits me right in my heart when he aims it at me, and today is no different.

  “Yeah.”

  I smile and take a step back when he moves towards me. I have the strongest urge to give the wretched people outside the finger, but my good sense finally kicks in, and I close the door firmly behind us without giving in to the urge.

  Fin stands close to my back, his warmth behind me both welcoming and scary. I have missed feeling his strength, and yet I feel I need to steel my heart for a bit longer. I don’t turn around when I feel his arms band around my waist, pulling me closer to his chest, but I don’t push him away.

  How can I, now that I know he loves me as much as I love him?

  “Do you think the masses will believe your story? Will believe your lie?”

  I feel the slow rise and fall against me as he breathes deeply.

  “I don’t know, sweetheart. But I hope the owners of the paper will.” He chuckles darkly. “I fervently hope that your solicitors will crucify Erik. He went against the contract, for one thing, and it’s his word against mine.”

  “Daddy’s been on the phone with them constantly today,” I grin. What does it say about me t
hat I take pleasure in the demise of a man’s career? Honestly, I can’t seem to muster up any forgiving feelings towards Fin’s editor, and I push the thought of him from my mind.

  “That’s good.” His arms squeeze me once and I rest my head back, unwilling to lose his touch now that I have it back.

  “My laptop is clean, Amelie. I want you to know that everything I wrote about you – all my notes and thoughts that brought this mess down on you are gone. If Erik believes he has any ammunition, he’ll be sorely mistaken. It’s been wiped clean.”

  His lips against my cheek sends my head spinning, and I close my eyes.

  “How did you manage that?”

  “I once wrote a story about the vulnerability of modern technology. My investigation brought me in contact with a group of hackers, and one of them…well, she owed me a favour. She’s also a romantic, apparently.” He sounds so non-plussed, a giggle erupts from my mouth. “When I phoned her last night, told her about my utter arseholeish way I’d unwittingly behaved, she was most willing to help me out.”

  “Can you…can we trust her to keep everything about me to herself?”

  “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

  I open my eyes, still unsure and vulnerable, but I choose to believe him.

  “So…,” he sighs. “What do you think?”

  “About what?”

  “Do you believe me when I tell you I love you?”

  Emotions run rampant as he voices the three words, and I have to suppress the tears that well up in my eyes.

  But I do believe him.

  “I love you, too, Fin.”

  “Thank fuck.”

  I turn slowly in his arms and raise my arms to wrap them around his head.

  “But hurt me again,” I narrow my eyes in warning, “and I’ll kill you.”

  His eyes widen.

  “Right.”

  “Trust me, I will.”

  He grins down at me, and bends to place a lingering kiss on my lips.

  “I’ll spend the rest of my life telling you how much you mean to me, Amelie Winters.”

  My belly swarms with butterflies at his talk about our joint future.

  I get up on my toes and fist his hair in my fingers.

  “That part when you wrote you don’t believe in the stars?”

  His eyes no longer dance with mirth; instead, they darken the closer my mouth comes to his, awakening my own desire.

  “What about it?”

  “I still think you’re wrong. Aries and Virgos are a match made in heaven.”

  “Bollocks.”

  I blink innocently at him.

  “Are you saying you don’t believe we were meant to be?”

  “Aye, that we are, but I still don’t think the stars have anything to say about it.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but I don’t get another word out as he closes the distance between us and meshes his mouth with mine. My lips tingle as I feel his tongue sweeping inside my mouth, and fire erupts in my entire being. The longer we kiss, the more I lose all ability to think rational thoughts, but the kiss doesn’t last long as a loud cough makes its way to my ears, and Fin releases my lips. I blink, slightly befuddled in my head at the fog of lust swimming through me, but when I feel his muscles tense, I twist my head around the breadth if his shoulders, and the hard stare of my beloved dad’s makes my heart plummet. I grimace at the cheeky smile Mamán aims at me.

  “You have a lot of explaining to do, young man,” Daddy bellows.

  I grit my teeth and look up at Fin.

  “Want to meet my parents?”

  Nerves dance in my belly, a little worried Fin is going to make a run for it. But I really ought to know that’s not the type of bloke he is. My arms fall down his arms, and I move to take a step back, but Fin doesn’t balk. Instead, he straightens his back and takes my hand firmly in his, and I breathe a small smile of relief. The warmth in his eyes as he looks down at me sets me fully at ease.

  “I’d love to.”

  I grin up at him as I entwine our fingers.

  Things have a certain way of sorting themselves out, and as I take in the way Fin acts around the two most important people in my life, I still hold on to the belief that fate plays a big part in putting us in each other’s paths.

  Because Fin and me?

  I believe we were meant to be.

  I believe that we were written in the stars.

  There’s no doubt in my mind that we’ll have to face many storms together in our lives – that there’ll be times when we’ll even hurt each other – but at the heart of them, love will see us through them.

  Epilogue

  Finlay

  Three years later

  The roar of the audience as my girl glides to the stage in a carefully choreographed curtsy is deafening, and my cheeks hurt from smiling. It’s the night of her premiere, and no matter how many times I watch her dance, the first night on the stage is always the hardest for both of us.

  But each time, she smashes the nerves to the ground the minute she enters the stage, and I lose myself in her dance and in the stories she shares with us through the meticulous movements of her body.

  She is a force to be reckoned with.

  Somehow, I always knew she would be, only it has taken her some time to come to see herself in the same light as me. There are even times I think she doesn’t believe me, and maybe my feelings for her cloud the way I see her, but who gives a flying fuck?

  I love her more each day I get to wake up beside her in the home we have made together, and I tell her each night that she takes my breath away.

  I’ll never tire of watching the utter joy on her face when I do. I doubt I ever will.

  Tonight, though, the nerves haven’t disappeared, making it almost torture to wait the three long hours she’s been enthralling me, along with the rest of the audience, before I get the chance to hold her in my arms again.

  Tonight, I’m on a mission, and while I watch her receive the obligatory bouquet of flowers from the director of the performance, I apologise to the couple sitting next to me as I move from my seat to get to her. The glare of the lights hits her eyes, concealing me from her, but still, she always seeks me out, as she knows I’ll be there for her, on the front row. But this time, there’s a small frown between her eyebrows as she turns her head, as if she can somehow sense I’m no longer sitting among all the strangers, and I hurry to reach her. My feet eat up the distance between us in strong strides, and while the nerves are still present, the love I feel for her beats stronger.

  Love and pride.

  I run up the tree steps to the stage and almost run to reach her side, my heart pounding as hard and fast as if I’ve run a marathon. When Amelie sees me, the frown disappears, and her eyes widen in surprise.

  “What are you doing up here?”

  Simply being close to her sends a wave of calm through me, and I reach for the little black box in my suit pocket before I drop to my knees. The clapping from the audience slowly dies down, but I don’t really pay any mind to them. I know that my display of love and commitment will be on the front pages in the morning, but I don’t care. All I care about is the woman in front of me – I want the world to know she’s mine. That we belong together, and I’ll never let her go.

  Her jaw falls open, and I smile softly up at her.

  “Amelie Winters, I love you more than anything in the world. I don’t know if our lives were meant to cross – I don’t know if our love was written in the stars – but I do know I want to spend the rest of our lives together. A thousand kisses will never be enough. I want at least a billion in this lifetime. Please marry me?”

  The flowers fall to the floor, completely forgotten, and she beams down at me.

  “Yes,” she sniffles through her laughter. “I’ll marry you, mon cœur. Of course I will.”

  Joy the likes of which I’ve never felt courses through me, and I open the box.

  “I hope it fits, sweetheart.”


  She wipes the tears from her cheeks as I place the delicate, white gold band with a single, square-cut diamond on her ring finger. I get up from my knees and am knocked back a step when she launches herself at me, her mouth covering mine, and I lift her in my arms to the sounds of applause around us. Amelie wraps her legs around my middle, and I grin as she keeps kissing me, probably smearing her stage make-up all over my face. It doesn’t matter. Nothing else in this world matters except the woman I’ll soon call my wife.

  I spin her in a circle, but a face in the crowd grabs my attention, and I squint down to the front row as someone I’d never thought I’d see again grins wickedly up at me. I’d recognise that mass of straggly hair and a face covered in wrinkles while she gives me the thumbs up beams at me, and I shake my head in wonder. She’s even wearing that awful-looking black coat when I met her.

  It’s her: the strange woman who approached me in the park when I met the love of my life for the first time. But how can she be here?

  She stands from her seat and brings her fingers to her mouth. In a theatrical move, she kisses the tips of them and blows softly, as if she’s giving us her blessing, and I huff out a bewildered laugh. No matter who she is, I’m not going to drop Amelie and set off in a run to her. I can live without knowing who this mysterious woman is, and maybe I don’t need to have all the answers to everything.

  Maybe it’s true that fate decides to intervene in our lives from time to time, and if that’s the case, I won’t question it.

  I cling to the woman in my arms as she raises her head, her smile almost blinding me, and send out a silent gratitude to the universe.

  I’m not sure what I did to ever deserve the love of Amelie, but I’m going to hold on to it for all eternity. This is one story I’m never going to share with anyone else, except perhaps, in time, I will tell my wife about the strange lady who, in an enormous, yet strange way, had a part in bringing us together.