by Emma Scott
“Okay,” Isaac said. “Whatever you want. Though after a kiss like that, you ruined my concentration.”
A high-pitched laugh burst out of me. “I’m going to walk the maze.”
“Go for it.”
I went to the beginning of the maze and sucked in a deep calming breath. I tried to ignore the strange feelings pulling beneath my skin, but they were a magnetic force that wanted only Isaac.
I needed to put myself in Ophelia’s place at that moment in the play: the beginning of her spiral into psychosis and sorrow. But at that moment, standing at the start of the maze, I was stepping into something good and real.
“Oh, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!—
The courtier’s, soldier’s, scholar’s, eye, tongue, sword…”
I recited my lines as I walked through corridors of hedges, spring-green and buzzing with life. By now I knew the path perfectly. Likewise my lines came to me by rote; I didn’t have to think of them anymore. They came to me like song lyrics, and I added my own little tune to them.
I emerged from the maze. Isaac waited on the bench. My brooding Dane. Dark and dangerous to everyone in the world but me.
“Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh; that unmatch'd form…”
My eyes trailed over his unmatched form. Lean muscle under smooth skin. Power under softness. Strength underneath his gentle touch. The magnetic pull was inescapable now. I needed his hands on me.
He was silent as I move to stand between his knees. His hands slid over my hips. My breasts were level with his chin, my nipples hardening as his breath wafted over them. I grazed my fingers through the hair along his temples and fell into his eyes, dark and dilated, the gray-green stormy with want.
“And feature of blown youth.” I let my teeth and tongue taste the next words. “Blasted with ecstasy.”
“Willow,” he said, his hands sliding up my sides, his thumbs grazing my breasts and pulling a small sound from my throat.
“O, woe is me,” I whispered against his lips. “Woe is me…”
Our lips touched and then clashed together.
Something was different this time. He tasted differently in my mouth and felt differently under my hands as they ran through his hair and down the strong muscles of his back. Our breath rasped in our noses as we kissed and even the air smelled different as every inhale sank down into the warm heavy ache between my legs.
Through my eyelashes, I could see Isaac’s brow furrowed, his face drawn tight with restraint. His hand slipped up my stomach to cup one breast. I moaned and leaned into that touch, shocked at how good and right it felt. We kissed and clutched, the need mounting between us until his hand slipped between my legs. The tiniest brush of his palm and a jolt shot through me.
Isaac broke from the kiss. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay,” I said, breathing hard. “It’s just…new. I don’t want to stop. Not entirely.”
“There’s no rush. For anything, Willow.”
“I don’t want to take it easy,” I said, the words tangling in my mouth, suddenly awkward and embarrassed to tell him what I wanted. “I don’t want everything right now but I want… I mean, I need…”
“You need to come.”
A flush of heat swept through me, taken aback at hearing the bold words out loud.
“Yes,” I whispered. Then again, louder. “Yes. Touch me, Isaac.”
His mouth grabbed mine in a hard kiss, deep with a demanding tongue and biting teeth. His hands swept over my breasts, my waist, down around my ass to the backs of my thighs. I said yes to all of it and let out a little moan when he pulled me onto his lap, straddling his legs. I slipped my hand under his shirt, while he laid biting kisses across my neck.
My hands couldn’t get enough. Hard muscle and warm skin and a light smattering of hair over his chest. He let me explore him, all the while the need burned in me like the brightest flame.
My hips rolled and his hands slid up my thighs, his face drawn tight. He gripped my hips as I ground down on the coarse material of his jeans, the hard heat of him straining beneath the zipper.
A deep ache of pleasure was expanding down in my belly. All my senses narrowing to the place where we rubbed together. I sat up, riding him, glorying in the sheer desperation, shamelessly grinding myself against him and it was all perfectly okay. I was safe with Isaac. He wasn’t a shadowy monster. He was flesh and blood beneath me. His eyes locked on mine, his words coaxing me.
“That’s it…”
“Oh God,” I whispered, pleading.
“It’s okay,” he said between gritted teeth. “I want you to.”
“Isaac…”
“I got you… Come for me.”
“I need…more.”
I took his hand from my hip and moved it under my dress, between my legs. I cried out into his mouth when the touch of his fingers reached my panties. The pleasure increasing and expanding as he gently rubbed and stroked me in the exact right place.
“God, baby.” His breath was hot against my ear. “You’re so wet.”
The words sent me over. My body wanted this. I wanted this. The pressure building between my legs surrendered to him and a shockingly powerful wave of heated pleasure rocketed through me. My entire body tensed and tightened. My breath stopped dead in my lungs, then rushed out as the ecstasy flew through me freely, without shame or regret.
“Oh my God,” I breathed, collapsing against his shoulder. “Holy shit, Isaac…”
“Come here.” He pulled me close and I melted into him.
“I can’t believe I did that,” I said, and raised my head. “What about you? Shit, you must think I’m—”
“I don’t think anything,” he said. “I wanted that for you. You looked so beautiful, just now…”
“Oh God,” I said, burying my face against his shoulder. “I still can’t believe it.”
“Believe it, baby,” he said, laughing in my hair. “You are so fucking sexy.”
“Six months ago I couldn’t look at myself in a mirror. And now you…”
He took my face in his hands. “Six months ago I was fucking miserable. And then you showed up. When I’m with you, I don’t feel the need to be somewhere else or to be someone else. I can be in my own skin without it hurting so fucking badly. That’s a gift, Willow. One I can never repay you for.” He brushed his thumb over my lower lip. “So stop looking at me like you owe me something. You don’t.”
I clenched my jaw and sniffed. “Don’t make me cry over my first orgasm,” I said. “But don’t you want… How long will you be satisfied with just…?”
“I don’t want to sleep with you,” he said.
I crossed my arms.
“I mean, I do,” he said, laughing. “God, of course I do. But you’re seventeen.”
“So?” I asked, my tone huffy even as relief slipped into my chest, calming my electrified nerve endings.
“We should wait until you’re eighteen. Or whenever you’re ready, but at least eighteen.”
“Age doesn’t make a difference.”
“Yeah, tell that to an angry father.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me.” I traced my fingers along his chin. “You won’t get frustrated waiting?”
He shook his head. “I feel like I’ve waited my entire life for you, Willow. I can wait a little longer.”
Tears filled my eyes and I swatted his shoulder. “Now you’re doing that on purpose.”
He kissed me softly. “Never doubt.”
I shook my head. “Never.”
Willow
In Paulson’s English class the next morning, I slid into my desk beside Angie’s. Today’s T-shirt read Don’t read my shirt. She mimed pulling down a pair of eyeglasses to peer at me.
“You look different,” she said. “Bright and shiny. In fact, if I had to choose an adjective, I might say you look…orgasmic.”
The blood rushed to my cheeks and her eyes widened.
“Noooo,” she breathed. “
Did you?”
“Shh.”
She lowered her voice to a whisper. “With Isaac?”
“No, with Chef Boyardee,” I said. “Of course with Isaac. But we didn’t have sex. We did…other things.”
Angie clapped her hands under her chin. “Oh honey, I’m so happy for you. And other things are underrated. Nash and I did other things for a year before the deed, and it was amazing. Like extended foreplay.”
“Angie…” I glanced around.
She shrugged. “C’est la vie, ma chère.”
“So…” I bit my lip. “You and Nash waited an entire year?”
“Not all guys are assholes,” she said. “In fact, most guys are distinctly not assholes.” She pursed her lips, thinking. “Of course, there are guys in between who don’t think they’re being assholes. But that’s because society has failed to educate them on what constitutes being an asshole.” She sat up straighter and rummaged for a pen. “I should write that down for my blog.”
I shook my head, laughing. “You’re going to save the world, Angie.”
“True fact,” she said. Her eyes gave me an up-down and squinted. “Christ, Holloway, you’re practically glowing.”
Because my light’s coming back, I thought.
“I swear to God, Angie I never thought I’d feel this way again.”
“Happy?”
“Normal. Like I have a future where I can be just like any other girl.”
Angie’s smile dimmed down a notch. “Does this mean Isaac’s plans have changed?”
I frowned. “No. And I don’t want them to.”
She gave me a look.
“I’m serious. Of course, it’ll suck when he leaves, but he needs to go. For himself. He’s going to be a huge success and we won’t be apart all that long. I’ll turn eighteen in July and then I can be with him as much as I want. My parents can take their horrible bias against him and shove it up their asses.”
“But he hates Harmony and you love it. Won’t that be a problem?”
“I don’t know, okay?” I said, feeling my hackles rise. “Can I just have this little piece of happiness right now? You know what it means to have a man touch and kiss me. I thought that part of my life was over but it’s not. I thought that Xavier was coming to Indiana in a couple weeks but he’s not. Things are going really well. I have no reason to think they can’t keep going really well.”
Mr. Paulson called good morning and started droning about the poetry assignment coming up next week.
Angie leaned over for a final whisper. “I think it is very forward-thinking of you to let him go. I respect that. I just don’t know if …”
“If what?”
“If you’re ready for how bad it could hurt.”
That afternoon, I sat on my parents’ king-sized bed while Mom laid clothes in her Louis Vuitton luggage. Dad paced in and out of their walk-in closet, arms laden with ties and dress shirts.
“The play opens on Friday, remember,” I said, plucking a thread on the duvet.
“Don’t be so dramatic, sweetheart,” Dad said. “We’ll only be gone a week. We’ll be back in time for your grand opening.”
“Opening night,” I corrected. “Why do you have to be gone for so long anyway? I thought the party was one night.”
“Ross Wilkinson asked me to stay an extra few days to consult on an important project.”
“And you just jump on a plane and go?”
“Your father is important and indispensable to Ross,” Mom said. “Indispensable people jump on planes.”
My mother’s tone had the barest hint of sarcasm and my dad caught it. The tension between them always ratcheted up when talking about Ross Wilkinson. To me, he was like a shitty dog owner who hated dogs. He yanked on Dad’s collar, dragging him around, dangling bones, taking advantage of his loyalty by uprooting him from New York. Maybe the salary was worth it. Still, I didn’t get the sense my dad was indispensable. More like he was at Wilkinson’s beck and call, and everyone in the room knew it.
My mother wagged a finger at me. “No parties. No boys.”
Both sentences slugged me in the gut. “No,” I said softly. “No more parties.”
My dad stood over me, tying his tie. “Have you spoken to Justin Baker lately? He struck me as a stand-up young man.”
The kind who flies into a violent rage and chokes his costars?
“I’m not interested in Justin,” I said. “I’m not interested in anyone.”
Dad grunted. “You know, part of my tasks here is to straighten out the lapsed franchise owners. A couple of them are behind on royalties, but Charles Pearce’s station out on Calhern is the worst I’ve seen.”
“Dad…”
“He’s so in debt to Wexx, not even bankruptcy could help him. Legal thinks we have a pretty strong case for a lawsuit.”
I tried to keep calm but couldn’t help myself. “Wow, Dad. A giant, multi-billion-dollar company smashing its fist on the little guy. You must be proud.”
I rose to go but my dad caught my arm.
“Hey. First, you don’t talk to me like that,” he said, his voice hard. “Second, it’s something I want you to think about. How bad choices lead to situations like this. No one forced Charles Pearce to drink his business—which is a piece of my business—into the ground. In this world, who you associate with says more about you than anything else. And in this town, who you associate with is a reflection of this family. Remember that.”
He let me go and twenty minutes later, my parents headed out the door.
My mother kissed my cheek. “Be good,” she said, then whispered in my ear. “Please.”
My father looked back from the front door. “I want to remind you, Willow, that your mother and I trust you. And to break that trust would be a serious violation of our relationship. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, Dad,” I said, rubbing my arm. “Loud and clear.”
Isaac
“First dress rehearsal tonight, boys?” Brenda Ford asked, joining Martin and me at the table with a plate of rolls. I dug the Fords’ kitchen. Especially the eclectic jumble of art on the walls: small town Americana mixed with African tribal masks from their honeymoon in the Congo.
“First of many,” I said.
“Nervous?” she asked. “Martin, you look like you’re the one who’s going to be on stage for four hours.”
“I’m on for one and that’s plenty,” Martin said. He helped himself to fried okra and gestured at me with the spoon. “This one, as usual, is cool as a cucumber.”
“You’re awful quiet, Isaac,” Brenda said. She glanced between her husband and me. “Is this part of your process?”
I blinked and came around. “What? No.” My thoughts couldn’t have been further from Hamlet. “I’m thinking of staying. In Harmony.”
Martin’s fork fell to his plate with a clank. “Say again?”
“Or coming back, I guess.”
They both stared.
“I have to leave to make some money but then…” I nodded. “Yeah, I’m going to come back.”
“Here?” Martin said, touching a fingertip to the table. “You’re going to come back and live here?”
“Yeah. Not here in your house, but… Yeah, I’ll come back.”
“I just… I mean, you’ve always…” Martin laughed a little as he sat back in his chair. “You know, I was dreading opening night. I know those agents are going to snatch you up and I figured I’d never see you again. Not unless I showed up at your movie premier.” He sat up straighter. “Speaking of which, the casting agent coming to see you has a role he might want to put you up for in Hollywood. Big time director. Big time money.”
“Maybe that’s it then,” I said. “Maybe I get this movie, make some money to help Pops turn things around. Help you turn things around with the theater.”
A slow smile spread over Martin’s face. “And then you come back.” He clapped his hands together, shaking his head at me with an awed smile. “Fantastic.
I couldn’t be happier. And Isaac…” He huffed a shaky breath. “Helping me out with the theater—”
“Is the least I can do,” I said, meeting his eye and speaking with my own damn words. “You’ve done more for me than anyone. Both of you.” I cleared my throat. “I don’t want to hear any more about it.”
“Well now,” Brenda said, still smiling. “Perhaps it’s not wise to spend money you don’t have yet. Not that I don’t fully believe in you, Isaac, but I thought you wanted to do Broadway. Stay on the stage?”
“I do, but Hollywood is where the big money’s at. I figure I’ll see what I can do out there. Then later, after I’m settled here, audition out east now and then.”
I thought Martin’s smile was going to spread into the next county. “That’s right, by God. Dream big. Put it out there. And what do you do with the leftovers from this Hollywood fortune?” He laughed. “Marlon Brando bought an entire island—”
“I buy Willow a house in The Cottages.”
Marty fell silent again and Brenda covered a smile with her fingers. “Willow?”
I nodded.
“How long…?”
“A few weeks.”
“Is it serious?”
“As serious as I’ve ever been about anything in my life. Including acting.” I smiled at their stunned expressions. “I’m not going to propose to her on opening night, if that’s what you’re thinking. But I know she wants one of those cottages, so I’m going to get it for her and…Jesus, Marty, get a grip.”
Marty wiped his eyes with the napkin Brenda handed him.
My chest felt warm. He’d always treated me like a son and asked for nothing in return, except that I show up to rehearsal on time. The heat in my heart was pure gratitude, but also relief.
I don’t have to say goodbye.
I leveled my fork at him. “You can’t say a word about Willow to anyone. No one can know about us. Her dad will flip his shit and you’ll be short one Ophelia.”
“Lydia is a passable understudy…”
I gave him a look.
“Oh fine, Willow’s extraordinary. But Isaac, she’s…young.”