by Radclyffe
Her finger held to her lips as she ran past told me who the police were chasing. I swallowed hard and stayed put, facing up the street as if watching someone flee in that direction. Three policemen thundered past the bistro at full speed.
I folded my arms and toe-tapped to keep from running after Marina until the commotion died down, then used all of my willpower to shrug and stroll back to the dining room. It was empty. Marina must have run out the back door.
Crestfallen, I returned to the wait station to finish my work.
“Psst! Jen!” The sound came from somewhere in the corner of the restaurant.
Jerking my head up like a dog having just heard the call to dinner, I saw nothing. But I knew that voice, even if it was a harsh whisper. I bent to pick up some imaginary trash and saw something move in the shadow of the corner table. This shadow had intense brown eyes that instantly brought back that warm feeling.
Trying not to look elated, I walked to that part of the dining room, keeping an eye on the windows and doorway. I pretended to wipe the table and whispered, “You can’t stay there—a customer might come in!”
“The police will be looking for a while. Any suggestions?”
“We have a supply closet. Run into the kitchen and I’ll show you.” Spying a uniform crossing the street, I hissed, “Hurry and stay low!”
I did my best to amble to the doorway and nod a hello as he prowled by. Normally I would try to not attract any attention, but here I was, throwing myself under the bus for a woman who didn’t even know I existed. I couldn’t make sense out of it, so I couldn’t expect anyone else to understand either. All I knew was that I had to do it.
Sighing, I picked up some dishes on my way to the kitchen and pushed through the swinging doors. Imagine my surprise when I saw Marina and Ormond laughing and chatting like it was all some big joke. I ignored them and tried to keep busy until I felt a tug on my sleeve. Marina was warmly smiling at me.
“Merci, Mademoiselle Jen. I owe you a favor for rescuing me. May I ask, why did you do it?” Her eyes held more questions, but the fact that she was actually talking with me silenced the voice that insisted Marina was only being polite to the fool who had helped her escape.
“It was the right thing to do.” The odd look on her face made me worry I’d made another silly statement. Maybe my French was so bad that—wait. My French was perfect. I also understood every word that Marina and Ormond had said and responded to her query perfectly, too. Uh-oh.
“Your French is excellent! I didn’t think you could understand it or speak that well.” Her eyes had grown suspicious and she withdrew several feet from me.
Ormond stepped in and said, “Oui, and we have you to thank for that, Mademoiselle Kouros.” He quickly filled her in on the reason for my intensive study of the language, with me standing helplessly by, feeling the blush to every part of my body.
I’d heard enough and marched out of the kitchen only to see two policemen enter the café. When they saw me I held up one finger, said, “I’ll get the proprietor,” and made a U-turn. I grabbed Marina’s arm, whirling her until we were face-to-face. “Trust me.”
I slid my arms around her waist and lifted her, turning to Ormond. “Police.”
I walked us to the freezer locker and put us both inside. As the door clicked shut, we were in total darkness. I flipped the light switch with my elbow and there I was, nose to nose, in a walk-in freezer with my fantasy woman in my arms.
Marina didn’t move, maybe even tightened her grip around my neck. But her eyes were on my lips and she licked her own, slowly. The thought crossed my mind that the freezer had broken, because it seemed to be heating up in there.
She whispered, “Turn out the light, they might open the door.”
Forcing my attention to the new elbow maneuver, when I turned back I was met with the most incredible softness on my lips. I was lost in the sensation, drowning in emotion, and I responded without thinking, matching the intensity with my own.
We might have kissed for a second or ten minutes, but it wasn’t long enough. During that time whatever part of my heart and mind might have been in denial was lost completely to the marvelous woman in my arms. We only parted because the door opened.
I immediately dropped Marina to the floor and stood in front of her, sure my larger frame could hide her from the police. Ormond peeked in and then opened the door, staring at me.
“Well. I thought you two might be cold in there, but I can see that I was wrong. Would you like for me to close the door again? The authorities are gone.” He grinned at me.
Only then did I register Marina standing at my side, but I wasn’t able to force myself to look. Whether frozen in place or resisting breaking the spell, I was rooted to the spot. Ormond seemed to study Marina, and his smile increased.
“You, too? Well, please come out of there, you are turning blue!”
Marina stepped out first and when she turned, her cheeks were blushing a lovely shade of rose against her olive complexion. She pulled me from the freezer and held on to my hand.
Looking deeply into my eyes, she said, “Why are you afraid of the police? And why did you risk being seen for me?”
“How did you…?” I know I had accusation in my eyes when I glared at Ormond but he shook his head and excused himself, scooting a wide-eyed Pierre in front of him.
Marina had stepped closer and demanded, “Why?”
Miserable, I blurted the truth. “Because I had to. Because you…are important to me.” I studied my worn and dirty tennis shoes, refusing to say more.
After a few seconds of silence, Marina tapped my chest to get me to look at her. Once I was locked into her incredible gaze and perfectly helpless to look away, she stared hard at me.
“Thank you. And, Jen? This isn’t over. I always get what I want. Always.” Her smile was enigmatic, and with those words she slammed the door to my heart, locked it, and spirited away the key.
Tears and Champagne - Gun Brooke
GUN BROOKE, award-winning author of several romance novels and the Supreme Constellations sci-fi series, resides in a Viking-era village in Sweden with her family. The ancient scenery provides the calm and inspiration she needs to be able to write her stories. During the worst of the Swedish winter, Gun escapes to Texas or other warm areas, and during these trips she encounters the many people that sooner or later inhabit her books.
Her latest romance, Sheridan’s Fate, is a 2007 Lambda Literary Award romance finalist. Look for her newest romance, September Canvas, coming in 2009.
Visit her on the Web at www.gbrooke-fiction.com.
Tears and Champagne
Gun Brooke
Wearily, Christina dropped her briefcase on the floor and glowered at the pandemonium in the kitchen. The whole sink area looked as if a bomb had detonated. Pots, bowls, and plates were stacked in messy piles together with slicing boards and knives. Open cans fought for space on the kitchen table with paper bags, empty Styrofoam containers, and a sticky page torn out of a magazine. The sight of the mess Amanda had left behind added to Christina’s exhaustion and fueled her anger and resentment. Christina jerked the hairpins out of the tight twist that had kept her blond hair in place during the day. Her scalp ached, and she squeezed the pins tightly in her hand, the small pricks of pain from the pins poking her palms working like a diversion from her headache.
She was so damn tired after a week from hell. Not to mention today. First she had struggled to finalize negotiations with the Italian delegation, and then her boss had maneuvered her into joining him and the three enthusiastic gentlemen at a celebratory dinner. She had looked forward to a quiet Friday evening at home with Amanda, but had to smile politely and play nice with flirtatious Italians instead. Frustrated, she had called Amanda to let her know that she would be late. That had not gone very well. After an ominous silence, Amanda had hissed something inaudible and hung up the phone.
Christina rubbed the aching muscles in her neck, making a face at the memor
y. What happened to “I understand that your job is demanding” and the promise of support, Amanda? It was becoming clear that Amanda’s support was not what it used to be.
Christina walked through the hallway towards the bedroom. When she passed the large mirror she neatly put the hairpins in the little ivory box on the dresser she used for this purpose. A quick glance at her reflection confirmed how she felt—dark rings under her eyes and a haggard appearance made her look older than her thirty-eight years. Christina didn’t particularly like the way her mouth was pressed into a fine line of discontent, or how two deep wrinkles marred her forehead between her eyebrows. The sullen look was not becoming.
Christina stopped on the threshold to the bedroom. Amanda’s dark head on one of the pillows indicated that not only had she not waited up for her, she’d ignored the mess in the kitchen and simply gone to bed. Amanda was most likely still in a lousy mood, even in her sleep. Christina knew her partner pretty well after five years together. Amanda had a temper of volcanic proportions. Astonishingly, she worked as a kindergarten teacher, which she loved and where she demonstrated endless patience with her little pupils.
Looking down at her sleeping lover, Christina wanted to wake her. It wasn’t the first time she had come home from work and found the apartment a disaster area, but tonight, with all that had been going on lately at work, she was furious. After all, she took care of her part of the household chores meticulously and thought her expectations that Amanda do the same were fair and reasonable. Amanda didn’t. She often called Christina a nag when all she wanted was for their condo, their home, to look neat and tidy.
Christina turned and stalked back to the kitchen. She didn’t bother trying to be quiet. If she happened to wake Amanda, all the better. She could join Christina in the kitchen and do the dishes.
The coffee Christina had craved after the large meal she’d suffered through with the Italians now burned in the back of her throat. She opened the fridge, looking for mineral water, and noticed bowls and platters covered with plastic wrap. Curious, she peeled back the cover on one. Assorted vegetables, asparagus, peas, shredded carrots, and broccoli—all her favorites—arranged beautifully in even circles made her mouth water despite the heartburn.
Frowning, she put the plate down on the table behind her and took out the next one. Roast beef in large, paper-thin slices covered with spices and roasted onions, surrounded by a bed of potato salad. A more thorough search of the fridge revealed three more of her favorite side dishes. Thinking of the mess on the sink with a sinking feeling in her stomach, Christina put the plates back and checked the wall calendar with their working hours and social commitments. A big red heart circled today’s date. Inside the heart, Amanda had drawn a pattern of flowers that created the number five. Five years. Today.
“Oh, damn.” Christina leaned her forehead against the calendar and cursed quietly.
A sudden faint memory made her walk out to the living room. Amanda had tidied it up and cleaned it perfectly. Christina had walked right past the living room when she came home, not seeing how the small dining table over by the window was set with a white linen table cloth and their best china. Delicate candles stood unlit in beautiful crystal candleholders next to a large bouquet of red roses and a bottle of champagne in melted ice in a wine cooler. A card was barely visible between the dark red petals, and Christina pulled it out and switched on a table lamp.
Five years of love, Christina, but I’m greedy; I want at least fifty more. I love you with all my heart.
Amanda
All of sudden Christina could hear herself when she had called home four hours ago, how she had rattled off the information that she had to take the Italians out to dinner, not giving Amanda a chance to object. Instead, Amanda had sounded unusually quiet at first, later becoming angry and slamming down the phone.
Christina returned to the bedroom, her feet as heavy as her heart. She switched on her bed light and the soft glow confirmed her fear. The proud face with its high cheekbones and curvy lips was damp and flushed. Amanda had not only been furious, she had hung up on Christina because she’d been crying. Amanda hated to show her tears to anyone, even Christina. Or perhaps, Christina suddenly feared, especially to her?
Cautiously, she pushed a dark tress from Amanda’s forehead. From the first time she had laid eyes on Amanda, Christina thought she was the most extraordinary woman she had ever seen. They had met during a local film festival where they had literally collided at the popcorn stand. Christina’s box of popcorn had rained over them and Amanda had laughingly apologized and bought her a new one. It had not taken them long to recognize the mutual attraction. Christina thought Amanda was charming and stunningly sexy. Amanda, as usual guided completely by her emotions, had overwhelmed Christina with her passion and capacity for love. Christina had found her utterly irresistible, addictive, even, and had fallen in love with her with every cell in her body.
Amanda stirred in her sleep. Christina leaned over her and kissed her swollen eyelids. “I’m sorry, darling,” she murmured huskily. “This was unforgivable of me. I should have remembered.”
“You’re home?” Amanda, dressed in lace panties and a tank top, slowly opened her eyes and regarded her sleepily. In a few seconds, she clearly went from drowsy to infuriated. “You’re home.”
Her tone was cold and hot at the same time, and Christina knew she deserved it.
“What time is it?”
“Around ten thirty.”
“I suppose you saw the mess.”
“I did. And I saw the roses, the wine, the lovely table, how you cleaned the living room and prepared my favorite food.” Christina took both of Amanda’s hands, holding on when she felt Amanda trying to pull back. “I didn’t blow you off. I didn’t. I forgot. I don’t blame you for being mad at me.”
“Your work always comes first.” Amanda slowly pulled her hands free. “I can never win, can I?”
“It’s not a competition,” Christina exclaimed.
“Isn’t it?” Amanda said, her voice rising. “If you had a lover, I could at least have a face to go with the reason for your absence. Instead it’s this faceless, but oh so damn important company that handles more money than I’ll see in a lifetime.”
“You criticize what I do because it isn’t creative or artistic, and you don’t care who overhears. I don’t see you complaining about my money when we go on vacation.”
Hurt and upset, Christina still wanted to take the words back instantly. Amanda recoiled as if Christina had slapped her.
“Your money? I can’t believe you said that.” Amanda drew a deep breath, and tears made her voice low and trembling.
“Neither can I. I didn’t mean it.”
“Didn’t you?” Amanda wiped quickly at her eyes. “I think you did.”
“For a second.” Christina knew that nothing less than the naked truth would suffice. “Once that second passed, I wanted to take them back. I love that we share everything, money too. You’re entitled to anything of mine. I really mean that, darling.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that your boss and your clients get the best of you,” Amanda said, clearly hurt.
Christina slumped back. It was true. At work she was energetic, full of ideas, and ambitious. Amanda got the leftovers, what little remained of her energy at the end of the day. “I suppose so.”
“I thought tonight was going to be different,” Amanda muttered. “I had such plans, as you can tell from the kitchen. I…I was so sure that you’d remember and… Who was I kidding?”
“I’m so, so sorry.” Christina carefully clasped Amanda’s hands again, and this time Amanda didn’t pull them back. “I feel so bad about it. I don’t know what else to say to make you believe me.”
“I don’t know either.” Amanda squeezed Christina’s hands. “We always spend our anniversary together at home, just you and I.”
“I know. Of course I kn
ow that.”
“And still you forgot.”
“I did. I can’t believe how I could screw this up. I’ve thought of this day for over a month, I even have a present for you—oh, damn.” Christina groaned and tipped her head back. “It’s still at the office.”
To Christina’s surprise, Amanda started to laugh, a contagious giggle that was something in between joy and tears. “Only you, Chrissy. Only you.”
“I’m a disaster. Please, darling, forgive me.”
“I should also ask for forgiveness.”
“What for?” Christina eventually asked.
“I never meant to hurt you by teasing you about your work. I have a big mouth.” Amanda gestured helplessly, palms up. “You never said anything.”
“I knew you were joking, it’s just…some days—”
“—I can be a bitch.”
“So, apparently, can I.”
“I thought you didn’t care about our day,” Amanda whispered.
“I do.” Christina fought the urge to cry. “I’m hopeless.”
“Yes, you are.” Amanda hesitated for a few breathless seconds longer and then wrapped a slender arm around Christina’s neck and pulled her down into the bed beside her.
“But you’re here now,” she whispered between kisses. “It’s all that matters. You’re home.”
“Yes, I am,” Christina whispered back.
Amanda released Christina and gestured toward the bathroom. “Get out of those clothes and get comfortable.”
When Christina returned to the bedroom dressed only in a towel, Amanda was sitting up in bed, offering a glass of wine.
“Here,” Amanda said, a small catch in her voice. “Let’s drink to us.”
Christina took the glass and they raised them quietly. “To us,” Christina mouthed silently, and the soft smile on Amanda’s lips tore at her heart. After they clinked their glasses and sipped the wine, Christina put her glass down and leaned in for a kiss, wanting to close the distance between them in more ways than one.