“You’ve never heard of New Kids on the Block?”
Another shake of his head.
“Seriously?”
“Why would I joke about something as serious as a little shirtless poppet you carry around in your bag?” His lips twitched with amusement. “What other childhood souvenirs do you have in there? Jacks? Teacups?”
“Why would I have teacups in my purse?”
“For your doll to have a tea party.”
It made complete logical, illogical sense.
Like ninety-percent of our conversations I couldn’t tell if he flirted with me or teased me. Or both.
For the first week at the château, I swore he disliked me, maybe even hated me. After the party, I knew I at least amused him in a “silly American” way. I didn’t think much in his life amused him.
From our conversation at the party and subsequent ones, he seemed resigned to his life. Study business, work in business. Marry the right kind of girl, preferably with the right kind of family, bonus for nobility. Have perfectly respectable British children, preferably boys, who would wear short pants and knee high socks for most of their childhood. Everything had been planned for him as soon as he was christened Christopher Winston Liddell.
After listening to Madame Picou explain the importance of Rouen, its history and role in various political upheavals over the centuries, we were left to wander through the cathedral on our own.
I trailed behind the twins, half-listening, half-trying to ignore Christopher ahead of us. I didn’t think Joe or James knew I stood behind them while I pretended to study the tomb of Richard the Lionheart and read the sign. The tomb contained only his heart. The rest of him had ended up elsewhere. I could sympathize. Like many of us, he’d left his heart in France. I sighed over how silly my crush made me feel.
“Katie phoned twice yesterday. Kit’s grandmother is in hospital again.”
“Katie’s a saint to be concerned about his family . . . given what happened last summer.”
“You can’t be in someone’s life for years, have a long history, and not care.”
“The bastard doesn’t deserve her.”
“And you do? Sod off. You never stood a chance with her.” Joe knocked James off balance and the two of them scuffling caught the attention of an old woman in one of the pews, who stopped praying to shush them.
Breaking apart, James did a silly penguin waddle and salute in my direction. “Hello, Liz. Didn’t see you there.”
“I wasn’t eavesdropping. I swear.”
“It’s okay, love. We know Kit fancies you.” Joe received an elbow to his shoulder from James.
“Is everything okay?” I wanted to ask who Katie was.
“Nothing to worry yourself over.” James closed ranks. “Bit of family drama back home for Kit.”
Joe threw his arm around my shoulder. “The Liddells are a close, but estranged family.”
James walked on my other side. “Emphasis on strange.”
“He’s seems very normal to me.”
“If normal means boring, then yes, Kitty is.”
“Kitty?”
“Old nickname from our school days. You should have seen him then. All ears, teeth, and knobby knees.” James stuck out his front teeth and bounced his knees together as he walked.
I stifled a giggle, remembering we were in a church.
“Pity he never grew out of it. Have you ever seen him in shorts?” Joe made a very serious face.
As a matter of fact, I hadn’t. “It was fall when we met and then winter.”
“Yes, Elizabeth, that’s how the seasons work. First comes autumn, next winter.” He dodged my elbow and locked his arm around my shoulder.
“It’s a terrible curse to look like Kit. His mother suffers with worry over finding him a suitable bride. She frets the grandchildren will be as hideous.”
“Joe.” Christopher spoke from a few feet away, his voice unmistakable.
Joe turned us as one unit, awkward conjoined twins. “Ah, there’s Quasimodo now.”
Calling a man as beautiful as Christopher Quasimodo was too ridiculous for my self-restraint. Church or not, I burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the stone floor and pillars. Joe quickly stepped away and pretended to study some carvings.
Above me, some saint looked down from his stained-glass in disapproval. I squinted to see the figure more clearly. Oh, great. Not some random saint. No, she was Joan of Arc.
I said a silent apology to her for being a silly girl, then made the sign of the cross like I saw the little old ladies do in every church we’d visited.
“No curtsy for Joan?” Christopher whispered next to me.
“No, but I felt I owed her an apology for the giggling. I bet she never giggled around boys. Or in church.”
“She was human, not a robot. She probably laughed at some point. Maybe even liked a charming farm boy or two. You know, before going to battle and martyring herself.”
I stared up at the young face composed of glass. “I hope so.”
“She was burned not far from here.”
“That’s uplifting.”
“For her it was. Figuratively, speaking.”
I frowned at him. “That’s a terrible joke.”
“I know something to make you smile.” He bent his index finger to bring me closer.
“What?” I leaned in.
He mirrored me, bringing his face close to mine. “This church has a butter tower.”
I grinned. “Tell me more. Is it made out of butter? Or where they hoard the butter?”
“Neither.”
I pursed my lips at him.
“It was funded with butter. The church allowed its patrons to continue to eat butter during Lent if they promised to donate money for the tower.”
“Not nearly as good as actually being made of butter, but I approve.”
Amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I thought you might.”
“I really love the stuff.”
“I know you do. Shall we ditch the tour and go see Joan’s church?”
Christopher breaking the rules delighted me. How could I say no?
He held out his arm and I took it, hooking mine around his forearm.
I didn’t expect the modern building of St. Jeanne’s church. Nor to cry visiting it.
After our tour, we stood outside in the golden evening light. Christopher, being the proper gentleman, had a tissue for my tears.
“Joan is my new patron saint.”
“I support this idea. After all, she is the patron saint of badass girls and strong women everywhere.” He put his hand on my shoulder and I leaned into him.
“She changed history and died at nineteen. I’m twenty and have nothing to show for it.”
“You’re a late bloomer, love. I have faith you’ll change the world or at least the hearts of a few men.”
“Do you call every woman love?” I stood up straighter.
He thought for a moment before responding. “No. Only the ones I fancy.”
“Do you call Katie love?” I had no right to be jealous of any woman in his life. He wasn’t mine and I knew he never could be.
He stepped away abruptly and I almost tumbled over. “Who told you about Katie?”
I twisted my ponytail over my shoulder. “Joe and James.”
“Bloody hell. Those two couldn’t keep their mouths shut for all the ale in England.”
“Is she your girlfriend?”
“It’s complicated.”
“That’s not a no.”
He chewed on his bottom lip. I watched as it went white and then deepened red. Color ruddied his cheeks
“Lizzy.” His voice sounded pained. “I never imagined meeting a girl like you.”
I held my breath. The way he spoke my name reminded me of being back inside the church. It held reverence and awe.
“You’ve probably figured out by now my life is not my own. Unlike you, who has always been taught you can be anything
you want, do anything, go anywhere, my path is more narrow. There are expectations for me to live up to, or fail trying.” Resolved sadness cloaked his face. The sweet smile and wicked spark in his eye disappeared.
Pulling at my ponytail, and feeling even more awkward, I tucked my hands into the pockets of my pink coat.
“Katie, or Catherine, is someone I’ve known since nursery. Her grandparents and my grandparents grew up together.”
“Are you betrothed to her?”
He chuckled. “No, this isn’t an arranged marriage situation. But my mother and grandmother would be delighted about the match.”
The meaning of his words sank in. “And you? Will you be delighted?”
“Katie’s a great girl. The best.”
He didn’t say he loved her.
“What do you want?”
He sat on a bench and held out his hands to take mine, pulling me between his knees. “What I want is of little importance.”
“Says who?”
He dipped his chin, then peered up at me. “Everyone.”
Removing my hand from his grip, I pushed the lock of hair off of his forehead. He hummed at my touch, encouraging me. I scratched my nails across his scalp. I felt him grip the back of my thighs right above the knee. Through the thin material of my pale green floral dress, the heat from his palms blazed on my skin.
With my other hand, I lifted his chin. “I believe in you. Everyone deserves to have their own dreams come true.”
His fingers flexed against the back of my knees, sending waves of something electric up my body. “Don’t.”
My head jerked and my hands dropped like I’d been physically shocked.
“I’m sorry. What?” I needed to hear him say it again.
“Don’t waste your time on me, Elizabeth. I’m not worth it.” Pain so real it had to have physically hurt clouded his eyes. Unshed tears reddened the whites, making the blue irises stand out even more.
“That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard spoken. And my father is a salesman.”
He let his gaze drift to the ground. “I wish . . .”
I stilled and waited.
Suddenly, he stood up, towering over me. Determination blazed in his set jaw.
Without another word, his hand framed my cheek and his lips found mine. I stood on my tiptoes to even out our height difference. He pulled me closer with his arm braced against my lower back while keeping one hand on my jaw.
My arms rested on his shoulders, my fingers reclaimed their spot in his hair.
Air felt like water and the only thing to save myself from drowning was his kiss. I inhaled him instead of oxygen, feeding something deep within me with his essence. My body sung along to the beat of his heart and the rhythm set by his mouth on mine.
“I can’t.”
When he stopped, everything I’d been feeling ceased as if it never occurred. I held my breath, my blood rushing in my ears and my lips on fire from his kiss.
“I wasn’t supposed to meet someone like you. No, that’s not right. Not someone like you. Only you.”
I gasped, oxygen burning my lungs. His words didn’t make sense. Feeling dizzy, I sunk onto the bench.
Christopher paced in front of me. “I’d ruled out your existence ages ago. I resigned myself to a life of duty, being a good Liddell. Companionship and the kind of love you grow into with time and age. Then you showed up, crashing into my carefully constructed façade with all your American brashness and silly notions about dreams.”
I frowned at his harsh words. “You have the oddest way of insulting me. I don’t know whether to thank you or slap you.”
“I deserve the slap. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“Is Katie your girlfriend?”
He shook his head while crouching in front of me. “It’s complicated. Yes, we’ve dated, and at times she’s been my girlfriend.”
“Do you love her?”
In his silence, my heart broke a little.
“It’s complicated. The simple answer is yes. The longer answer qualifies that love. Like a friend. Sometimes a sister. Once upon a time as a lover.”
I wanted to shove him away for his honesty. I pushed at his shoulders, needing more space. He didn’t budge. Instead, he grabbed my hands and held them to his chest.
“Let me go.” My voice remained steady even as my heart angrily shook the cage of my ribs.
“You were never mine to hold onto.” His hands dropped to his thighs. “You deserve to be happy. I envy the man who gets to be the one you love. He’ll be the luckiest bloke on the planet.”
I didn’t want some other man.
My heart wanted him.
“If . . .” He stood again, but this time he stepped away. With a shake of his head, he mumbled something to himself.
“Pardon me?”
“I was about to go down an impossible path of hypotheticals. If is a dangerous word. I’m sorry, Lizzy. More than you can ever imagine.”
I nodded because I was sorry, too. If the Duke of Windsor could give up his throne for a divorced American, why couldn’t he stand up to his family obligations? Maybe he wasn’t the prince charming I’d first imagined.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you, but I’ll never regret it. Or meeting you. Even if your memory is a reminder of everything I can’t have.” He stuffed his hands in his front pockets. His hair flopped down over his face. I wanted to brush it back again. With his ruddy cheeks and sad expression, he looked completely lost.
I hoped his loyalty and sense of duty would be rewarded. He deserved happiness.
“Fortune favors the brave,” I whispered.
“Be brave for both of us, Lizzy.” He leaned down and kissed the top of my head. It was both endearing and crushing.
“If I Ever Lose My Faith in You” ~ Sting
CHRISTOPHER SAT ALONE on the ride back to Paris. Pretending to sleep, I leaned my head on the window and watched the twinkling lights of the most romantic city on earth pass by. Rain sprinkled the windows and the shadows of the drops sliding down the glass hid the tears on my cheeks.
I declined the offer to join the Brits for a drink after we arrived. Christopher gave me a small wave a la the Queen. I curtsied.
His grandmother took a turn for the worse later in the night. He flew out the next morning to be by her side.
The following week, a small article about her funeral appeared in the Sunday Times. I went to Notre Dame and lit a candle in front of Joan for the woman Christopher loved so dearly.
He never returned to the program. James told me Kit had worked out a deal with his professors to finish from England.
Weeks later at the good-bye party Joe gave me the letter. He apologized and said Kit had left it for me, but it had gotten lost in his room.
Those few weeks wouldn’t have changed anything.
Part of me wanted to throw it away and never know. What weight would his words have? Nothing had changed. I decided to wait to open it. Maybe with an ocean and time between us, it would no longer break my heart to remember he existed.
Two weeks before the end of the program, Maggie announced Julien would be coming back to Washington with her. It wasn’t a total shock. They’d been inseparable for months. I guess she took my advice and opened herself to the possibilities.
How ironic.
The night she told me she loved him, I decided to read Christopher’s letter.
Two things I knew about myself.
One, I was an emotional masochist.
Two, I was a hopeless romantic.
If Maggie could fall head over heels in love, there had to be hope for me. Someday. If not charming Christopher Liddell, then someone else was out there waiting for me.
I tore open the envelope and pulled out a piece of thick linen stationary. It felt expensive in my hand. My finger traced his neat penmanship before I let my mind translate the shapes into letters and words.
Lizzy,
I’m happier knowing you exist in the world.
/>
Be brave and love deeply.
For both of us.
Yours always,
Christopher
There wasn’t a return address. Nothing about staying in touch. No hint at a hypothetical future.
I kissed his name and said good-bye to the first man who stole my heart.
Like Richard the Lionheart, my heart would forever be separated from my body. A piece of it remained in France; another part now lived in England. At least I had enough remaining pieces to put back together and carry on.
Quinn Dayton, 22
Studio Art
Senior
What do you want to be when you grow up?
An artist with a capital A.
Pop culture has always been my muse and my lifeblood.
It was my safe spot when I didn’t fit in anywhere.
Even the summer in high school when I ran away and lived on the beach for a couple weeks “camping,” I could still fit in by mentioning some pop culture trend.
“I love Madonna’s ‘Holiday,’ but what was she thinking with ‘Like a Prayer?’”
“You know Miss Piggy and Kermit could never consummate their marriage.”
“Vader is Dutch for father.”
“Is there anything MacGyver couldn’t get himself out of with some tape and a box of paper clips?”
See? Conversation starters were the key to surviving any situation.
That’s what art is for me. A way to engage and not be invisible.
I knew I could be an artist when I first heard about Keith Haring. He changed everything for me. Like me, he loved pop culture. Like me, he was gay.
He broke down the lines between low and high art. He wasn’t too proud to slap his work on a mug or T-shirt to help pay the rent. Plus, he had the coolest friends ever. He hung out with Warhol.
Haring was my idol.
Was.
He died earlier this year from AIDS.
“Bizarre Love Triangle” ~ New Order
LIZZY CAME HOME from France a month ago looking like a chic Audrey Hepburn with bangs and shoulder-length hair. The suitcase of pretty vintage dresses added to the similarity.
We Were Here: A New Adult Romance Prequel to Geoducks Are for Lovers (Modern Love Stories Book 1) Page 23