Amour Battu: Timeless Love: A series of Standalone novels Book 2

by Mj Fields

  I board the jet after Bass, Oliver behind me.

  Mom’s audible gasp is enough a warning that the inside is as luxurious as suspected from the sleek outside.

  When I board, I can’t believe my eyes. The white leather seats on the left are a stark contrast to the black walls of the cabin. On the left, four chairs, in sets of two faced each other with a table between them. On the right is a built-in bench style couch, also in white leather.

  Past the entry area is a divider.

  “Beyond that wall is a less executive area. A television, a few reclining pod-like seats and another couch.”

  “It’s stunning.” And that word doesn’t even begin to do it justice.

  Oliver’s breath hits the back of my neck. “It’s a bit much.”

  “There’s a bedroom in the far back,” Bass announces. “Great place to rest.”

  “Uh huh,” Oliver sighs.

  I look back at him and scrunch up my nose. “Gross.”

  His chest heaves in a silent chuckle.

  “You don’t like it, Ollie?” Bass asks.

  “You downsized alright.” He lifts his sunglasses from his eyes and they’re red with exhaustion. “Got rid of two jets and bought one the same size as those combined. Makes perfect sense.”

  “Maisie can sleep, and so can you when flying transatlantic. It’s newer, safer, and more efficient. Believe it or not, it was custom built for a company who backed out on the deal with Boeing. I actually saved a lot of money.”

  Mom puts her hand on Bass’s back. “It’s beautiful.”

  He winks at her, leans in, whispers something in her ear, and kisses her cheek.

  Mom looks away from him and toward us. “One last hug and you two need to be on your way.”

  Once they exit the plane, I look at Oliver who stands arms crossed over his chest, shaking his head as he looks about.

  I can’t help but laugh and he looks at me sternly. “Oh, lighten up and enjoy. From what I understand, Bass deserves this, and from what I assume, you do too.”

  “You know assuming is just making shit up in your head, right?”

  He unbuttons his suit coat and tosses it over one of the chairs.

  “Well, since I can’t get you to open up to me, it’ll have to work.” I walk over to the seat across from the one he seems to have claimed and sit down, then deposit my bag on the table.

  When the flight attendant comes out, she tells us, “Please feel free to have a seat and buckle up. We’ll be taking off in a couple minutes.”

  “Thank you.” We exchange smiles as I buckle my lap belt.

  Oliver sits, leans his head back, and closes his eyes.

  “You don’t like flying?” I ask.

  “No,” he mumbles.

  “You look tired.”

  He replies with his eyes still closed, “You talk a lot.”

  I open my bag and pull out my earbuds, plug them into my phone, and hit random shuffle. O-o-h Child begins, and I smile to myself at the familiar words of a song Mom used to whisper in my ear before every surgery before they took me into the operating room. I glance up at Oliver whose eyes are still closed, and feel sorry for him that he wasn’t born to a mother like mine, or the one he got later in life. One that would have protected and loved him from whatever it is he endured, so that he wasn’t always on guard.

  I grab my sketchpad and a pencil for the first time all weekend. Toe off my shoes, tuck my feet under myself, sit back and begin to draw.

  The entire flight he doesn’t say a word. In fact, by the rise and fall of his chest, I know he’s sleeping.

  When we begin to descend, I start to quietly put away my things, hoping not to wake him. When we land, he sits straight up and looks around almost as if he is unaware of where he is. When he looks at me, he huffs, and I almost apologize for waking him, but I don’t.

  I gather my belongings and shove them in my bag as the plane comes to a stop.

  As soon as the plane fully halts, I spring to my feet.

  When the flight attendant comes out and the door begins to open, I hear Oliver’s voice, “Natasha, wait.”

  I look as he stands, grabs his jacket, and walks toward me.

  He stops and tells the flight attendant, “I’ll be back in two hours tops, after I escort Miss Petrov.”

  “Unnecessary,” I say, hurrying down the steps toward the waiting car.

  His voice calls from behind me, “God damn it, just wait.”

  I look back, and the numbness I have felt since boarding the plane on Friday is dissipating and the pain in my chest increases.

  When he grabs my elbow, I jerk it away. “Just leave me alone! I have done everything I can to be kind, in hopes that you and I could get along, maybe be friends, and you, you agree and then look at me the way you did just moments ago.”

  “Natasha–”

  “I have bared everything I normally hide in hopes you’ll feel like you can trust me enough to do the same. The way you look at me, talk to me, makes me feel like I did back–”

  His hands grip my biceps gently and he shakes me slightly. “I wish I could, but I’m not able to be as open as you.”

  I pull my arms away. “And I’m not stupid enough to let someone break all that I have worked to gain as far as confidence goes.”

  He opens the door to the waiting limo. “Just get in.”

  “Not with you,” I huff and begin to walk past him.

  He grabs me around the waist with one arm, lifts me up, and puts me in the car.

  When he tries to get in, I push against his chest, close the door and demand, “Get me out of here.”

  When the car begins to drive away, I look behind me and see him standing, fists clenched at his sides and glaring at the car.

  When I turn around, I take the first deep breath I think have since I saw him.

  For two days I’ve had to drag myself to classes that I normally have to force myself to stay in bed for so that I’m not too early.

  Since returning from Paris, I’m exhausted, yet I can’t fall asleep. I’ve gone back to watching James Charles makeup tutorials on YouTube to bring some joy back into my life, and sketching nurseries to share with Mom and Bass for the baby’s room and some new designs based on a conversation and concept the three of us had centered around Bass’s mother, Ella.

  Just weeks ago, I had left New York and my high school years behind for London, and college. I left behind my fears, my insecurities and so many of my inhibitions. Well, they’re all back now.

  A knock on my door causes me to push back from my small wall-mounted dorm room desk.

  I look up and see Shana, whose room is connected, and Harry, who I’d become friends with the first weekend here. I’d actually thought I could have had a crush on him, but the more I was around him, the more I realized I preferred his friendship over the idea of making the mess of a friendship.

  Harry is the first to speak. “Are you alright, love?”

  “Of course.” I stand and grab my book bag and portfolio. “I think my visit this weekend just tired me out.”

  “Can’t be jet leg, it was Paris.” Shana walks up and feels my head. “You don’t feel warm; do you have your per–”

  Harry interrupts just in time, “Alrighty then, I’ll meet the two of you in the lobby.”

  When he walks out the door, she covers her mouth as she giggles then says, “Oops.”

  “Imagine his embarrassment had I answered with yes,” I shrug.

  “Then you’ll be all better in a few days.” She nods to the door. “Let’s go.”

  After classes and being around my peers, including Shana and Harry for the better part of the day, I actually do feel better. I also think my period has a lot to do with my emotions being wonky.

  Shana begged me to go out with Harry and a couple of his friends to a pub after class. Telling me she thinks it’s exactly what I need.

  Standing on the sidewalk in front of the brick building located at 27 Great Portland Street, Sh
ana points up to the sign. It’s a Rooster and underneath the rooster are the words, The Cock.

  “I mean, how can it not make you feel better,” she snorts, and I can’t help but laugh. Then she takes a serious look. “You’ve been like a nun since you’ve been here, Natasha. I think that has more to do with your depressed mood than your period.”

  “Wh… what?” I feel my face flush.

  My phone vibrates in my hand and I hit accept to Autumn’s FaceTime request, never more grateful for the interruption.

  I look down at her smiling face when Shana says, “You never even talk about guys. I mean, unless you’re gay, and that’s totally cool.”

  I want to die but I focus on raising the phone up to my face as I hold my finger up, pausing this conversation that may possibly expose just how innocent I am.

  “What?” Autumn laughs. “She’s the opposite of gay. You should see her man.”

  Oh God, nothing, and I mean nothing, good comes from lies.

  When Autumn flips the phone camera and I see him, I think I am dying. “Tell her, Oliver.”

  He’s wearing a gray dress shirt with a deep burgundy tie. His shirtsleeves are rolled up enough to see the black ink peeking out from underneath them and it appears he hasn’t shaved in days. But he looks… like Oliver.

  He looks up from mom’s old desk. “Tell her what, exactly?”

  “Holy shit,” Shana whispers as she looks at the phone.

  I close my eyes as the invisible knife tears into my chest.

  “Tell her that your Natasha isn’t gay.”

  The knife is now twisting into my heart.

  I can’t see Autumn’s face but I imagine her mouthing threats laced with obscenities at him if he doesn’t.

  Oliver’s face is unchanged, but his eyes darken.

  Autumns voice raises slightly, “Tell her about your romantic weekend in Paris, Oliver.”

  He cleared his throat and crosses his arms over his chest, of course making his pectoral muscles flex and his forearms bulge even more.

  “Sweet baby Jesus,” Shana whispers.

  “Good evening, Natasha.” He looks into the phone.

  “Hey.” My damn voice cracks.

  “Do you think that any part of this weekend needs to be shared between anyone but you and I?”

  Oh my God, he looks annoyed. But also, oh my God, he didn’t try to make me look like an idiot and he could have. I shake my head.

  He looks at Autumn. “Now how about you get back to work.”

  “When I’m done talking I will.” She flips the phone around. “Tell me where you are, show me, let me live vicariously through you!”

  I flip the phone around and show her the sign., “At a pub.”

  “Does that say cock?” she laughs out loud.

  “Sure does, Autumn, sure does.” I turn the phone back so I can see her.

  Oliver has gotten up and walked behind her. He’s rolling his eyes. I’m not the only one who sees it, so does Autumn.

  “Jealous, Oliver?”

  His eyebrow quirks. “Of a rooster? No.”

  “It’s a cock. You girlfriend is going to–”

  “Autumn, you’re pushing,” he warns.

  “Right, anyway, you have fun with the cock and call me when you leave. We need to dish about your weekend, this guy,” she thumbs over her shoulder, “hasn’t stopped smiling.”

  I can’t help but laugh, because Autumn is being over the top sarcastic and I can only imagine it’s very annoying to Oliver.

  I find it oddly comforting and think maybe it’s moments like this. Moments that are silly and nonsensical that will make Oliver loosen up, and then maybe, just maybe, he will someday have more memories built on happiness, than the pain he has clearly suffered.

  20

  Natasha

  It was a huge transition moving from Brooklyn to London. It was filled with excitement and hope. But thinking back on that day, just a few blinks ago, as I sit in the back of a Mercedes SUV, being taken to a private jet to fly from London to Paris, I kind of feel like I’m not just across the ocean from a life I loved, but on a completely different planet. Add to that the mind-blowing reality that, this weekend, I’m going to actually be designing patterns, picking out fabrics, talking with seamstresses, and beginning to bring my sketches, my designs, to life. I realize I’m actually in another universe.

  Walking onto the sleek black jet, I try to contain my excitement, excitement forgotten for a couple days, but as soon as the flight attendant shuts the door behind her in the cockpit, I raise my hands in the air and spin around in circles while laughing at the insanity that has become my life.

  Hidden from the world, so no one thinks I am not eternally grateful for all I’m blessed with, I don’t care that I’m being childish as I turn in circle after circle giggling. I’m being present, Mom would be proud.

  When I’m so dizzy I have to stop, I stumble back and hit something of a brick wall, but it’s soft.

  I inhale a smell that I couldn’t define before, but I can now. It’s almost like a bayberry candle. The sweetness in it reminds me of Christmastime. A hint of nutmeg and unknown spices settles nicely into an outdoorsy, earthy smell that reminds me of the forest in the spring.

  “What are you wearing?” I ask as I did when he put the wool jacket over my head last weekend.

  “Clothes.” I look back over my shoulder and his hand leaves my hip. “What are you imagining?”

  His question catches me off guard because it’s delivered with narrowed, intense, near black eyes.

  I turn around and shrug, “Being happy?”

  A near smirk forms in the corner of his mouth when he asks, “Happy, huh?”

  He looks so much more carefree today in his fitted dark gray Henley, loose dark blue jeans held up with a black leather belt, and on his feet, black leather boots, unlaced. I assume it’s his weekend look.

  “Yep,” I grin. “You should try it.”

  To that he scowls, and I am brought right back to Monday and Oliver in a power suit.

  “Forget it,” I turn around and walk to one of the pod seats.

  When he sits across from me on the leather sofa, I glance over as I reach in my bag for my earbuds.

  “I wasn’t being a dick, Natasha,” he sighs as he leans back. “Besides, I think you owe me some niceties for covering your ass with the girl trying to pick you up the other night.”

  I laugh, “Oh please, Shana isn’t a lesbian.”

  He links his hands behind his neck and shrugs, “So you say.”

  “What makes you think–” I stop mid-sentence. “Never mind.”

  He sighs, “Just like that, never mind.”

  Half of me wants to completely ignore him, but the other half of me wins as I take out the one earbud I managed to put in before he; my mind stutters over words until it comes up with the perfect one, he ‘Olivered’ all over my party.

  I can’t help but laugh. “You know what?”

  He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “No, what?”

  “I have spent most of my life trying to blend in so I won’t be bullied by people like you.”

  Both his eyebrows shoot up in shock.

  “And I’m sorry that you get to be my guinea pig when it comes to sticking up for myself with your type.”

  “My type?” he huffs.

  “Yes, your type. But because you’re safe, because you won’t hurt me anymore than I’ve already allowed you to.”

  He interrupts, “I wasn’t trying–”

  So, I cut him off, “I’m not finished. So just be quiet.”

  He sits back and folds his arms over his chest, looking at me with an intensity that would cause me to waiver a couple days ago, but I’ve figured him out.

  “I wasn’t–”

  “Bullshit,” I snap.

  “Watch your mouth,” he scolds me.

  I poke my thumb in my chest. “When I’m angry, I sometimes curse, deal with it.”

  His e
yes narrow.

  “You and I, we may not be the same, but the burden we choose to carry, or should I say, I chose to carry, and you still lug around on those big old shoulders of yours, is self-imposed. You’ve been shit on–”

  “Natasha,” he warns.

  “Oh whatever, I’m going to curse, you… you, big bully.” I stop, waiting for a reply, he doesn’t give one so I continue, “A week ago, I saw myself in you. Where I hide behind makeup and lowering my head so my hair covered this fucking scar.” He winces like I slapped him across the face, and I’m glad. He deserves it. “I spent an entire weekend either avoiding you or trying to show you I cared and you, you just couldn’t do the same. So, whatever.” I throw my hands in the air as the plane takes off. I don’t even miss a beat as I buckle myself and continue. “So that’s on you, pal. Not me. You do what you need to do, and I’ll do what I need to in order to avoid the freaking freeze that radiates around you.”

  It was the moment I said the word bully that everything I’d ever been taught about people who treat others poorly, because inside they’re miserable, comes true.

  “That all?”

  “Yes, as a matter-a-fact, it is. I won’t even bother giving you the common decency reminder when it comes to safety, like now. I should be saying,” I change my tone to mimic someone younger, “Hey Ollie, you should buckle up, we’re taking off, but I won’t.”

  He chuckles, “You just did.”

  As he buckles himself, I huff, “I was giving you an example.”

  “Bullshit,” he laughs.

  “Watch your mouth, Ollie.”

  I try not to pay any more attention to him, but I happen to notice the way his knuckles turn white where he grips the white leather seat of the couch.

  Once the plane evens out, I start to put my earbuds in.

  “I did try to apologize.” he says as he sits back with his arms crossed and eyes closed.

  “I must have missed that.”

  “I’m sure you did, when you slammed the door in my face and ordered the driver to go.”

  “After you picked me up like I was some petulant child, when in fact it was you who–”