Romance: Young Adult Romance: The Perfect Game (A Highschool Football Romance) (Bad Boy Nerd New Adult Romance)

by White, Stella

  “Yes. You look…happier. Your voice has a lift to it that wasn’t there before.”

  “I’ve only said a few words to you, papa.” She enjoyed calling him her father. Back home, she had only her grandmother and siblings. Her parents had already passed. She missed them every day. It was nice to have a father again.

  When he didn’t respond, she looked up at him. The look on his face was so kind, she wanted to cry. “It’s more than you’ve said to me for a long time, honey.”

  “Why?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.

  He smiled softly, but the look of confusion on his face was obvious. “That would be something I would have to ask you, dear. Are you done being mad at me?”

  “I don’t remember being mad at you, papa,” she replied, honestly.

  He stared at her. “You don’t remember why?”

  She bowed her head and lowered her eyes. He touched her chin to lift her face back up so he could look at her. “Helen, you know I would never want to hurt you.”

  “I know, papa.”

  “You must learn to trust me when I say that someone is not good enough to be with you.”

  It was about a man. She thought, forcing herself not to roll her eyes. Probably the one her grandmother had told her about. “I’m over it.” She wondered if they said things like that in the time she was in and quickly went on as if she didn’t say it in the first place. “I am happy with your decision, papa. I am not thinking about that anymore.”

  She could see why Helen was miserable. From what she’d seen of the men at the ball, she wasn’t highly impressed. Their behavior had not been chivalrous and kind. It had been wild and unruly. The only man she’d truly been impressed with was her cousin.

  “I’m so glad to hear that, Helen. I am glad you want to talk to me again. I am glad you are happier now.”

  “Thank you, papa.”

  He grabbed her and pulled her into another hug. “I want you to be happy, my girl. I really do. But you must find a man who is worthy of your love. You know I will not force you to marry an Earl or a Duke. We don’t need the money. You aren’t desperate for love. You will find the right man.”

  “Yes, papa.”

  “Now you get some rest, and we’ll talk in the morning.” He stood up and moved toward the door.

  “Papa?” She stopped him.

  “Yes?” He looked back at her.

  “I…I love you.” She was actually speaking to her own father, whom she had loved dearly. She just wanted to say it again, knowing it was all right.

  He smiled a genuine smile that reached up and into his eyes. He sighed. She instantly knew that was where she had eventually gotten her own habit of sighing heavily. “I love you, too, Helen. I really do. Talk to you in the morning.”

  “Okay, papa.” She replied, thinking that she would not be seeing him again. It weighed heavily on her heart. She watched him walk out the door. He waved slightly before pulling the door closed behind him.

  She looked back at the bed and couldn’t resist crawling up onto the top quilt, laying her head down on the pillow and relaxing for a moment. Seconds later, she was fast asleep.

  When she woke up the house was quiet. She didn’t remember where she was at first and sat up abruptly, staring around her. When she remembered, she relaxed and tried to focus her eyes in the dim light. There must have been a gas lamp left on outside the house, because some kind of light was coming through her window. She slid out of the bed and opened the thin curtains to peer out over the lands surrounding the house. Back home, there were neighbors all around. Here, there was nothing but green grass and rolling hills as far as she could see.

  She could see well enough to pick up a candleholder and matches on her bedside table. She lit the candle, picked the holder up by its handle and moved to the door. She wanted to go back to the attic and take off the dress, hoping that would send her back home. As long as she had the dress and the painting, she was sure it would work.

  She moved through the quiet house on silent stocking feet. She hadn’t come in the shoes, so she figured she didn’t need them to get back home.

  Back in the attic, she went directly to the spot where she had put on the dress, stood in front of the trunk where it had been stored and reached up behind her to unfasten the ties. Before she could pull one string, she stopped.

  There was no painting here.

  Chapter Four

  Eve’s heart sank. Maybe it was hanging in the house somewhere. Could she possibly find it in the dark? She thought about how big the house was. It would probably take longer than she had even if she ran all around the house.

  “What am I going to do?” She whispered in a panic. “Oh, what am I going to do?”

  She picked up the candle and went back to the stairwell in a hurry. She was going to go through as many rooms as she could tonight. But what if it was hanging in her parents’ room? How would she even know?

  She hurried through the hallways, stopping at each portrait long enough to lift the candle and take a good look. After an hour, she had still not seen the painting, and there were many other rooms left to go through. She tried not to cry. She wanted to go home. She missed her grandmother.

  She had no choice. She went back to her room, collapsed on the big bed and cried herself back to sleep.

  She had a lot of trouble getting dressed the next morning. She had no idea what type of dress was meant for a ball and what was meant for casual day to day. She finally chose a small gown that she thought had to be for every day. She dressed and hoped she had chosen correctly. The dress that had gotten her into all the trouble lay safe over the back of the chair that still held the sweater. She used Helen’s brush for her hair, pulling it back and away from her face with barrettes. She only blotted her face with a bit of powder and put a small amount of color on her lips. She’d never worn much makeup in the first place, happy with the way she looked naturally.

  She could smell coffee floating through the air, which surprised her, considering how big the place was. She went through the hallway, following her nose to find the kitchen. When she went in, the cook stared at her as if she was completely out of her mind. She smiled weakly.

  “H…Hello.”

  “Can I help you, lady Helen? Did you not receive the breakfast you wanted this morning?” The older woman looked at her sympathetically.

  “Um… no… I just… wanted to see how you were doing. How have you been?”

  The cook blinked at her, her face revealing her confusion. “I’m well, madam. I hope that you were able to sleep.”

  “Yes, I…I certainly did. I… am famished so I will just… get going now.” She grinned and backed out the way she’d come in.

  She berated herself for going into the kitchen without thinking that it would not be where this family would eat. There was a great dining hall across from the vast living room. She pulled open the double doors and slipped through, pulling them closed behind her. Her father was seated at the head of a long table, holding a newspaper in front of him while he ate from a plate of eggs, biscuits and bacon strips.

  She eyed the bacon hungrily. It had been a very long time since she’d eaten. She felt like it had been days. She hurried to the seat on his right and sat down. He gazed at her.

  “You are still feeling happier?” He asked.

  “I am, papa.”

  “That’s wonderful. Have you chosen to change your seat then? You will sit next to me now?”

  She moved her eyes down the table and saw that a plate had been set in front of a seat further down the table. She looked back at him. “I don’t want to sit far away from you, papa.”

  He gestured to one of the girls standing on the other side of the room. She came over to him, holding her hands clasped in front of her.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Bring Helen’s plate and utensils down here, Anna. She will sit here from now on.”

  Anna grinned wide at Eve. “I’m so glad. Would you like me to t
ake your plate and get your breakfast for you, madam?”

  “Yes, please.” Eve nodded. “And may I please have a few extra pieces of bacon?”

  Anna’s eyes widened. “More than usual, madam?”

  Eve hesitated. It sounded like that might be quite a lot of bacon from the tone of Anna’s voice. She nodded. No matter how much bacon came on her plate, she felt strongly she would eat it.

  When Anna left, she turned back to her father. “Papa, do you have a painting of me with the dress that I was wearing last night to the ball?”

  Mr. Downing put the paper down and looked at her, lifting a large glass of water and taking a sip. “I don’t believe so, Helen.”

  “Will you commission one to be painted for me? I love that dress, and I never ever want to forget it.”

  “I would be happy to do that.” He smiled with that warm smile again, and she loved him for it. She could see some resemblance to her own father, though the hundred plus years between them had made many changes to the family appearance. She was amazed she looked so much like her ancestor that it fooled them all into thinking she was her.

  But it was time to return home. And she couldn’t do that without the painting.

  “How long do you think it will take for the painting to be complete?”

  “That depends on the artist, dear. And are you in a hurry? Is this going to be…some kind of gift?” He was teasing her.

  She grinned. “Yes, it’s for your birthday. It’s going to be a surprise!”

  He laughed. “Not now, it isn’t.”

  “That’s okay. It was a surprise when I just told you!”

  They laughed together.

  The first time she saw the painter her father had chosen, whose name was Eric Anthony, she was enthralled with him. He was not like the men at the ball or even the men in her Jane Austin novels. He seemed so down to earth, almost as though he had come from a more relaxed period in time, like she did. He shied away from pomp and circumstance.

  She admired his looks, as well as his calm and relaxed demeanor. He was tall, with short brown hair and a trim beard and mustache. When he saw her in her green dress, his face lit up.

  “Good morning, Lady Helen,” he said when he entered the room, his hands full with an easel, a bag filled with paints and brushes, a paint palate and an untouched canvas. She rushed to him, holding out her hands.

  “May I carry something for you, Sir Anthony?” She offered.

  He took a step back at first, gazing at her in wonder. Then he held out the hand holding the canvas. “You could take this canvas before it falls from my fingers, if you’d like.”

  “Certainly.” She took the canvas and followed him to the area he was using to paint. He took it from her without a word after he set up the easel. He was still giving her a strange look. She just smiled at him.

  “You may go over there and stand while I paint. Do you have a tall stool to sit on or will you be standing for this portrait?”

  “I will stand.”

  “This could take some time. Several weeks, in fact.”

  Her heart thumped, and she held in a gasp. “Several weeks?”

  “Yes, my lady. I hope that is not going to inconvenience you.”

  “Can we put a rush on it?”

  “Put a rush on it?” He repeated. It was a strange phrase he hadn’t heard before.

  “Can we hurry with it?” She regretted her use of modern terms. She wasn’t talking like Helen did, that much was for sure. She was glad they were both from Virginia so that her accent would be much the same.

  “Yes, madam, if you would like to. I can try to hurry. Put a rush on it.” He grinned slightly, enjoying the new phrase. “However, if you want quality work, it will take at least five sessions.”

  She sighed. “All right. You may do whatever suits you, Sir Anthony.”

  “Please call me Eric.”

  “All right, Eric.”

  “Stand here.” He came over to her and adjusted her as if she was a mannequin, being careful not to touch her too frequently and cautious about where he put his hands.

  For the next few hours, she stood listening to him. Whenever she wanted to speak, he would shush her abruptly. “You must not move!” He would say in a firm voice. She resisted grinning whenever he said it, mostly because he had usually just asked a question and she was trying to answer.

  “How am I supposed to answer your question if you keep yelling at me not to move?” She asked at one point.

  “I guess you will not be able to answer my questions then.” He looked around the canvas at her to see if she could tell he was joking with her. She could see it and it warmed her heart. He talked to her about his family, how they had immigrated from France originally but that he had no ties to the country and couldn’t speak the language. She found out he was born and raised here in Virginia, he had two sisters and a brother, whom he adored and that his favorite animal was the horse.

  “Such majestic creatures they are, you know,” he said. “They have minds of their own. They will do what they want to do whenever they want to do it. They are free spirits, roaming the mountains around us.”

  “I agree.”

  “Do you?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I do.”

  “You mustn’t move.” This time, he said it very gently.

  Five days later, after hours of standing for the portrait, Eve was relieved to hear he was finished.

  “Come and take a look,” he said, standing back. “I hope for your approval.”

  When she moved around to see the front of the painting, she felt a wave of emotion. It was exactly as she remembered. She would surely be able to get back now.

  The problem was that she had come to think of this as her home, this time as her own. There had been no more dances or balls, only standing for the portrait being created with strong hands by a handsome man she had come to adore. His voice was deep and gentle. His words were always encouraging and positive. He held an outlook on life that matched hers, in a way, at least, how she felt when she wasn’t constantly being questioned by a negative, angry man.

  “Do you approve?” He asked in a gentle voice.

  She looked at him and then back at the painting. “I do.” She breathed.

  “I am happy to hear that. Will you be giving it to your father for his birthday?”

  She wondered how he knew about that little joke she had shared with her father earlier that week. She laughed softly. “It was never really intended for that but…I might.”

  She had been waiting so long for the portrait. But in the meantime, she had fallen in love. The look in Eric’s eyes when she looked at him made her feel as if perhaps the feeling was mutual. She wasn’t sure she could leave now.

  “How…did you know I was thinking of giving it to him?” She asked.

  He lifted one hand and brushed a lock of her hair back from her cheek. The slight touch sent chills over Eve’s body.

  “I talked with him this morning before coming in to finish the portrait.”

  “Oh?” She gazed at him, biting her lower lip.

  “Yes. I…I also asked him a very important question.”

  She felt her heart thumping when she gazed up at him. She wanted to grab him and plant a huge kiss on his soft-looking lips. But she couldn’t do that. How inappropriate would that be!

  “I asked him for your hand in marriage, Helen.”

  She almost fainted but held her own. “Oh?” The question came out shaky. She cleared her throat.

  “Would you like to go for a walk with me sometime? Perhaps we could get to know each other better before taking a step that large?”

  “What did my father say?”

  Eric smiled. “He gave his approval.”

  She chewed on her bottom lip. She was supposed to go home. She thought about her grandmother.

  When she looked back up at Eric, she knew what her decision would be.

  “Will I be able to talk on this walk?” She asked.

&n
bsp; He laughed. “You will be able to talk all you like, my lady.”

  “Then yes. I will stay with you.”

  “Stay?” He tilted his head.

  “Yes. A walk would be lovely. So very lovely.”

  He took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it softly. “That makes me very happy.”

  She could only smile at him. She was about to change her family’s history books.

  *****

  THE END

  COLLEGE Romance Collection – College Desires

  The College Rockstar – A College Rockstar Romance

  Chapter one

  He likened an angel in a heavenly chorus.

  That is, whenever any random angel in a heavenly chorus decided to set aside the commonplace harp and pick up a wicked hot axe in its place.

  Cara Donahue sat at a quiet corner table at Night Grooves, a low-lit night club that formed the eastern border of the campus at Primswell University. She stared with wide eyes at the man who stood center stage at the crowded, compact club; the ebullient backdrop of a red scarlet curtain seeming a perfect accent to his ethereal show.

  She listened enrapt as the statuesque man before her, a beautiful vision of flowing golden hair, wide azure eyes, bronzed chiseled features and—for an angel at least—a downright devilish smile, performed a rousing rock instrumental titled “Nightsong.”

  "This is an original composition,” she whispered as an aside to her companion at the table, a petite blonde who rolled her blue eyes heavenward in response to this news.

  “You don’t say?” sniffed Morgan Cleary, Cara’s roommate and partner in crime (well, as much crime as two relatively sedate English lit majors possibly could muster). “You’ve only told me that at least once during each of the eight consecutive evenings that we’ve spent here, hidden in the corner and drinking lukewarm beer while we drool profusely over the object of your desire.”

  Cara shook her head.

  “Ian so is not the object of my desire,” she mumbled these last words in a low abashed tone, even as her rebellious bespectacled eyes devoured the sublime vision of the angel with the guitar; an angel dressed tonight in a skin tight leather jumpsuit that accentuated every muscle of his tall, statuesque form.