You Turn

by Marion Croslydon

  “Don’t forget.”

  “At the break of dawn, I promise.”

  He leaves and I finally answer Charlie. “Josh isn’t a douchebag.” I push her fingers away from my face. “Anyway, I’m fine now.”

  That’s when I recognize Zach’s sharp profile emerging from behind a curtain on the stage. He leans against the back wall, the only unmoving form in a sea of bodies bouncing up and down. There’s stiffness in the angle his neck forms with his shoulders. I follow his gaze and catch a glimpse at the prettiest face: features cute like those of a kitten, olive skin, and a Pixie-like haircut.

  “Adeline,” my cousin names her lookalike. “The singer throwing tonight’s party. She’s been stalking him since he stepped in.”

  The flashing of the spotlights intensifies and the music pounds and pounds and pounds. Zach turns his head and his eyes find mine. The crease between his eyebrows disappears, his shoulders open up in my direction as if he’s about to head towards me, and he smiles. A brand new smile. Both boyish and wise. The smile I give back to him emerges through the trembling of my lips and the blushing of my cheeks.

  “It’s time for you to make a move, Lenor.” I shut my eyes and focus on the words Charlie is now whispering into my ear. “The guy’s hurt you, he knows that. He’ll be a friend as long as you don’t want him to be more. So what do you really want?”

  I shut my eyes even more tightly and rub my flat hands over my thighs. “I’m scared.”

  “I know you are sweetie, and he is too. That’s why it’s worth taking the risk.”

  It sounds cheesy, even to my currently topsy-turvy brain. I force myself to open my eyes again. For a couple of seconds, I’m blinded by the lights, and then I have to search for Zach again because the crowd has shifted.

  I find him again in the center of the stage and a gulp of air escapes from my lungs in relief. I must have stopped breathing. Adeline’s petite figure now stands in front of Zach, her back to me. I jump to my feet. I think I hear Charlie cheering a go girl!, but I can’t trust my senses anymore.

  First, Zach’s gaze catches mine and I rocket forward. His body then bends awkwardly. I notice the slender arms around his neck and the array of bracelets circling them.

  Next, the back of the Pixie haircut is covering his face. I struggle to make sense of it and stop in my tracks.

  Wait.

  I feel Charlie’s body at my side. “I swear, there was nothing going on before—“

  “I don’t want him to be my friend.” My voice has turned robotic. The girl is kissing him. That is wrong. All wrong. “And I keep fooling myself.”

  My feet take on a life of their own, and before I can even finish putting my thoughts together, I’m cascading down the revolving staircase, pushing aside anyone in my way and mumbling countless Excusez-moi.

  I crash down to the ground floor and I’m about to pass the entry-level bouncer when he places his unavoidable form right in front of me.

  “Mademoiselle, attendez, s’il-vous-plait.” He holds a cell to his ear.

  I don’t want to wait. I try going round his right-hand side. He blocks me. His left-hand side and he blocks me there too.

  “Mademoiselle, s’il-vous-plait. Mademoiselle,” he repeats and I repeat my side-steps. “Monsieur Murdoch will be joining any second.”

  Fingers grab my elbow. A familiar touch I’d recognize among thousands. I don’t resist being pulled away from the entrance door—and the scrutiny of all the guests entering and exiting—into a recess behind the stairs. The same fingers dial a code on a box at the side of the door. When the door closes behind me, the outside noise is muffled as if the room is sound-proofed.

  “Look at me.” It’s the second time tonight Zach uses those words. This time they’re said with a tremor.

  My gaze sweeps the space around me, right to left, ceiling to floor, without registering the décor. Slowly my eyes meet his. I read what is in them and I come undone because they are burning with pain.

  “I’ve tried to make it work, I really have.” I sound like a lost little girl. “I really wanted to be your friend. Just your friend.”

  Zach takes two quick steps towards me. His fingers trace a trail on the sides of my neck, cradle my cheek, and bury themselves in the messy tangles of my hair. He tips my head backwards and my next breath feels like it’s his too. My skin burns with the flush of desire. His lips fill my senses and I would die to taste them.

  I want them on my mouth. I need them over every millimeter of my body. I need them over everything I am. I’ve wanted that my whole life and nothing has changed.

  “Don’t go,” he pleads before pulling me against his chest, my head snuggled beneath his chin. “Please, don’t go.”

  Chapter 17

  ZACH

  East Hampton ~ 12th August, five years earlier.

  I’ve been waiting for two hours in the ten square feet of shadows on the otherwise fully-illuminated Carrington driveway.

  I’ve had plenty of time to mull over what I want to say to her, but I still need to find the right words. I’m studying to be a lawyer, so really words should come easy to me. They don’t and maybe, just maybe, I should reconsider my career aspirations.

  The wind carries the haunting sound of the waves across the manicured lawn and the house, over its pitched roof, to me seated with my back against the wall, my arms wrapped around my knees. I’ve already smoked through half a pack of Marlboro’s.

  Police cars regularly patrol this neighborhood. Hell, a who’s who of Forbes 100 spend their summers here after all. Of course, there’s always the delightful possibility of Bruce Carrington—or worse, his nymphomaniac spouse—finding me here, a lecherous stalker. But a stalker is what I am anyway. I’m stalking Lenor and her scheduled return from the Vanderholt Ball. Because as jealous as I am, I know she’ll be back in her room—in her bed—tonight, no matter how chivalrous, gallant, horny, Prince Frederick ends up being.

  She’ll be back alone in her bed.

  My cell vibrates against my thigh. I extend my leg and twist my upper-body to extract it from the front pocket of my jeans. I check the I.D. and see it’s Mom.

  I consider letting the call go to voicemail, but guilt gives my heart a small stab. “Hi.” I keep my voice low. After all, I’m supposed to be hiding.

  “Zachary?”

  “The very same. You dialed my number, remember?” I make a fist. Why do I have to be such a jerk to her? What is it that I still hold against her?

  The fact that I’m not enough for her. The fact that the love for her son, her son’s love for her, is not—has never been—enough to fill the void of her husband’s indifference. I shake my head. Damn, that realization had been twenty-three years in the making.

  “I wanted to be sure you were safe… I mean, I checked your room and you weren’t there.”

  Mom hasn’t really worried about me since… well, a while. Eventually I mumble, “I’m fine. You should go to bed. It’s late.”

  “Lenor is at the Ball.”

  “Yes.” The straight answer sounds like a confession to my own ears.

  “You’re waiting for her.” That isn’t a question.

  “Yes.” I’m not even trying to deny it. “I’m waiting for her to come back.”

  “Good.”

  “What do you mean ‘Good’?”

  “Because you shouldn’t let that pompous clown Louise is forcing on her, sweep that girl off her feet.”

  “Maybe he’s a clown, maybe he’s better than I am. For her.”

  “Hush,” she says it with such a tremble I wonder how many pills she swallowed with her nightcap. “Zachary Murdoch, you are a knight in shining armor. So shining it’s sometimes blinding.”

  I laugh. She laughs too. Yes, there must have been quite a few pills. And I worry, “Mom, are you okay?” Of course, she isn’t okay. “I’m coming back”

  “You stay where you are and you tell that lovely girl how you feel.”

  “I’m not sure I can.
I’m not sure I know what I feel.”

  “You do. Watch what is in her eyes, that’s what is in yours.”

  I let her words settle and start to make sense inside me. I answer with a simple ‘Good night’ hang up.

  I hear the gravel crunch under the wheels of an SUV. Luckily the car’s headlights don’t illuminate my poor hideout. But I’ve enough time to feel dumb for not planning the whole thing better. The car stops. A minute passes as my jaw tightens so hard that I’ll probably strain a muscle. What the hell are they doing inside that fucking car? Is he fondling her? Kissing her? Is she letting him?

  The driver’s door opens and Freddie boy marches around the car and opens the passenger door. For her.

  He holds her hand so that she can climb out. She does it with infinite grace, especially when I get a first glance at her ball gown. It’s huge but falls perfectly around her long, lithe silhouette.

  “Good night,” she says to him and kisses him lightly on his cheek.

  “Good night, Eleanor.” Yes, I can hear it distinctly. The dude sounds pissed off, probably already dreading the worst case of blue-balls this side of the Atlantic.

  She steps away but waits for him to get back into his car and drive away. She even waves at him but stops as soon as the taillights disappear around the corner at the end of the road. She exhales and mumbles something. I laugh. She turns, her hands flying to her chest.

  “Who’s there?”

  I get to my feet and step out of the shadow. “Only me.”

  Her body relaxes and her arms fall to her side. “Only you.” She says it with such relief that I feel it’s more than just about escaping a possible psycho’s threat.

  “You look so beautiful.” I lower my head, swallowing an embarrassed chuckle. “Sorry, bad old line.”

  She gives herself the once-over. “You mean I manage to transcend the meringue-look?”

  “That’s what I meant.”

  She comes closer and with her full length ball gown, it’s as though she’s gliding towards me. I can’t keep my eyes off her bare shoulders and how the skin there shines like silk under the moonlight.

  “You’ve been waiting for me.”

  “I have.”

  “I would never let anything happen between Freddie and me. You know that?”

  “I do.”

  “But still, you’ve been hiding here, spying on me.”

  I feel like a fucking idiot. I’ve got nothing to say to explain myself and I’m left rubbing the back of my neck like a guilty schoolboy. Lenor walks even closer, the tips of her fingers now brushing my jawline, my cheekbone.

  “You never need to spy on me, Zachary. You never need to hide in the shadows. All I want is for you to be by my side. All I want is for you to be in the light. With me.”

  Her hand drops and she entwines her fingers with mine. Without another word, she leads me away from the house, and soon the waves fill our silence. I take in a deep breath of salty air. We sit on a wooden bench at the waterfront but we don’t talk. The moonlight filters through the clouds illuminating the top of the waves. I anchor my eyes on the Montauk Point lighthouse further down the coast.

  At that moment, we couldn’t look more different. I’m wearing jeans while she could have walked straight out of an Edith Wharton novel. Still, our hands are joined and her hold on me is strong.

  “I talked to my mother tonight.” My voice has cracks in it. “She called to check on me.”

  “You sound surprised she did.”

  “Well, lately she’s been, let’s say… absent-minded.”

  “But she loves you. I can see that in her eyes, unwaveringly so.”

  “Funny. She told me to look at your eyes too.”

  Her fingers tense against mine. “And what do you see in them?” She straightens against the back of the bench, her lips pursed together.

  I turn sideways and blink while staring at her. “Difficult to say. It’s quite dark out here.”

  Her hand untangles from mine and she slaps my upper-arm. I seize and lift it, brushing the inside of her wrist with my lips. I feel a shiver running from my touch throughout her body and back to mine like an electric current.

  “As different as the two of us are, in you I can see my doubts, my fears, my hopes.”

  “What are you hoping for?” she whispers, her face now leaning in two inches from mine.

  I hope for her. But I don’t have the guts to say the truth. My truth. Ours. “It’s like with a wish. If I say it out loud, it might never come true.”

  Her mouth is on mine. It’s not even a kiss, more a promise.

  Slowly my tongue traces the gap between her lips. Once… and twice. She lets out a raspy breath that sets me on fire. It burns down the last barriers inside me and my need for her springs out of every secret corner of my soul.

  I wrap my arms around her waist and in one swift move, set her up on my lap, the silk of her gown ruffling in the process. She buries her hands in my hair and angles my head upwards, deepening our kiss. With the sides of my thumbs, I follow the curve of her waist, up along her ribcage to the side of her breasts. I draw small circles there and she arches her back, pushing against my erection. I’m so in want of her, it punches me right in the stomach, kicking up my heartbeat, speeding the flow of my blood through my veins.

  But she breaks the kiss. “Do you remember what I said about restaurant and backrooms?” She rushes through the question.

  “Mmmm,” I groan and try to own her mouth again. I don’t have a second of her lips to waste.

  She doesn’t let me. “I don’t have the same reservations about the beach.”

  My stream of thoughts starts running faster, shooting mental images of Lenor I’d keep for myself and myself only, but I try to loosen my grip on her.

  We share the same breath, and then the next. Our gazes are riveted onto each other and it’s like she’s captured me. Still I’m strong enough—wise enough—to answer, “No.”

  Her face frazzles. “Why?”

  “That’s not how it’s meant to be.”

  “We’re not meant to be?”

  “Not we––it.”

  “It being…”

  I kiss the hollow of her neck, nuzzling the tip of my nose against her soft skin there. “It being our first time. Yours.”

  She lets out a chuckle. “A beach at midnight under the moonlight? Romance books are filled with that cliché.”

  “But that’s not in the story I want to write for us.”

  “What genre is it?”

  The wind picks up, carrying a wisp of her hair across her face. I tuck it back behind her ear and I can’t help the smirk. “Definitely not the shit I used to download on my laptop back when I was fourteen.”

  She gives a teasing bite at my lower lip. I pretend to wince, but her reaction is a fucking turn-on. The taunting smile she gives me tells me she can feel how exactly turned-on I am right now.

  “I’m sure you had a perfectly pleasant time watching that shit.”

  “I did, but for you––between us––I want more than pleasant.” I want earth-shattering. I want once-in-a-lifetime. I want it to be what Lenor measures up to all the men she’ll give herself to after me. I want it to be no other men.

  And, like that, I turn shit-scared. I swallow the lump in my throat. My fingers grab her waist so tightly she tenses beneath my touch.

  “Whatever just crossed your mind wasn’t pleasant.” Her tone is teasing, but I hear her worry. Since when has Lenor become so attuned to whatever freak show is going on inside me?

  “Why are you with me?” My question startles her. It startles me too.

  She recovers quickly. As if there isn’t much to think about. As if why I’m worthy of her is obvious. “Because your soul is loyal, your spirit free, and your heart warm.”

  Part of me wants to laugh, laugh at her words, at her naiveté. Part of me… part of me fights the tears burning my eyelids. So I shut my eyes, let out a sigh of relief, and snuggle my head back
into the crook of her neck.

  That part of me wants to be all that she thinks I am. All that she deserves.

  Lenor joins her hands around my neck and starts rocking me gently against her.

  I never want this moment to end. I never want to let her go.

  Chapter 18

  LENOR

  Paris ~ Present.

  I have packed light.

  I usually do, but at one a.m., I could be forgiven for blindly stuffing my bag. I go straight to the bathroom I made my own—since the one in my bedroom has been turned into a dark room—and splash water over my face. I brush my teeth too, as there’s nothing like fresh breath to keep me awake.

  I zip up my travel bag and give my tidy bedroom one last look. My camera is on the shelf where I left it after my trip to Montmartre. Wherever my destination, there has to be something, someone or a part of someone, to take a snapshot of. So I pack it as well.

  It’s only on my way back to the ground floor that I realize a text to Mom or an old-fashioned note she’ll find on the breakfast bar later this morning might be a smart move. I opt for the note and head to the kitchen. I’m on its threshold when a shadow and a fleeting ray of light in the back of the room startles me. A flimsy cry bursts from my lips.

  “Who’s there?” My mom shouts.

  I turn the light on and find her with one hand holding a jug of orange juice, the other one over her heart.

  “Only me, Mother. Why do you have to be in the dark?”

  She ignores my question and pours herself a glass of O.J. then another one for me. Only when she hands the glass to me, do her eyes seem to notice the bag over my shoulder.

  “After years of going to bed either drunk or stoned, it’s difficult to find non-medicated sleep.” How very matter-of-fact of my dear mother. She checks the time on the grandfather’s clock. “Are you going somewhere? A bit early, isn’t it?”

  “I was about to leave you a note.” I readjust the strap of the bag over my shoulder. “I’m going away for a few days.”

  She sips half of her glass, puts it on the kitchen island, and rewraps her silk kimono.