Breathless (18 page)

Lewis just looked at his son for a moment with wide eyes. But then they narrowed. "Is that really what this is all about? You're jealous of Charlotte?"

Charlotte began, "Lewis, I don't think-"

But Jack didn't say anything. He just kept glaring at his father.

"Jack, how could you really be so ungrateful?" asked Lewis. He now sounded truly disappointed. "How could you be jealous of Charlotte? A girl who has been taken away from her family, taken away from her home, uncertain when she'll see either again? What did you expect your mother and I to do? Did you expect us to keep her in the attic? To not spoil her with the same treats that we give you? Or did you expect us to leave her in France and not help her at all? Is that what you expected from us?"

"No! No!" Jack blurted, frustrated.

"Then what?" cried Lewis, clearly not understanding. "What did you expect from us, Jack?"

Jack didn't say anything. His eyes wandered, and then fell to his feet. He put his hands in his pockets. He looked like a little child, reprimanded.

"It's the play," Charlotte finally murmured quietly.

"What?" Lewis asked, only just remembering that Charlotte was even there.

"It's the play, isn't it, Jack?" Charlotte asked him. He looked up at her, his eyes so childlike, so helpless. "Lewis, everyone keeps going on about how I inspired your play. It's all anyone talks about. And I can't speak directly for Jack, but if my father had written a play inspired by my brother, and there was no mention of me...I can't say that I wouldn't be upset. In fact, I'd probably feel very upset. Maybe like Jack is feeling now."

Lewis looked at his son in surprise. "Is this true, Jack?"

Jack sighed. "Dad. Charlotte has been here mere months. And suddenly everyone is talking as if she inspired the next great English play. It's all a bit...much."

"Jack," Lewis told him seriously. He closed the space between him and his son and put a hand on his shoulder. "I have been a playwright for far longer than since Charlotte has been here. And I don't mean to sound conceited, but I've written my fair amount of good shows. The two just don't correlate. I've had my inspirations from many people." He looked his son in the eyes. "And Jack, I've been your father for eighteen years now. And in those past eighteen years, every single show I've written has been inspired by you. Every single role. You're my son, my one and only. How could I not be inspired by you every day?"

Charlotte tried to gauge Jack's response, but his face didn't change. He just stared at his father, perhaps in awe, perhaps in surprise. Lewis pulled him into an embrace, and Jack held back tightly. Charlotte envied them, wishing she were still able to hug her own father. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, wishing the emptiness would leave.

But then, over his father's shoulder, Jack looked up at Charlotte with his piercing gaze. There was a moment of understanding between them, as if he were inside her mind telling her,
I never hated you. I never did. All I felt was anger, that you seemed to be the one thing my parents needed and never got from me. But it was never about you.

Later that evening, as Charlotte tried to fall asleep, she heard the door quietly creek open. As Jack climbed into her bed, she could feel his soft pajamas against her skin and smell his musky soap. These were the scents and feelings she usually associated with her tears, when he would crawl into bed to comfort her. But this time, nothing was wrong. This time, they both slept peacefully.

"You didn't make me one of those?" Jack asked Charlotte as she passed him in the hallway a few days later, a sandwich in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. She had been kept so busy with rehearsals lately that is seemed her life was a regimented schedule. Topher drove her home from school, she ate a quick dinner while pouring over schoolwork, before changing out of her uniform and rushing to the theatre for rehearsal. By the time she got home in the evening, all she wanted to do was sleep. She barely had the energy to even read. She would just slip into some light pajamas, perfect for the June heat, and crawl under the covers of her bed. Sleep instantly overcame her.

"You can make your own sandwich, Jack!" Charlotte told him pertly. "Do I look like your wife? If you're hungry, you can make something yourself."

"Ah, sounds like too much work for me," Jack joked. "So I suppose I'll have to find one of these so-called wives. They sound as if they're a pretty good investment." Charlotte liked Jack how he was now-like a teasing brother. He was still grumpy in the mornings and sometimes drank at night, but everyone had their faults. Charlotte was just glad that she finally knew more of his attributes.

"Good luck finding one with that attitude!" Charlotte teased as she walked into her room. "No girl is going to want a husband who only wants her for her cooking!"

"An ugly girl would!" she heard him yell back from the hallway. Charlotte laughed and shook her head, setting her plate and glass on her desk. From the hallway, she heard the telephone ring. After a moment, Jack called for her.

"Charlotte, it's for you."

Charlotte sighed and went back out to the hallway, where Jack was holding the telephone out for her. "Who is it?" she asked, already presuming that it was Celia.

But Jack made an odd face. "It's Wesley," he replied, sounding less than amused.

"Really?" Charlotte asked, taking the receiver from his hand. Jack nodded, but stayed where he was. "Really, Jack, are you going to give me any privacy at all?"

"This hallway is for everyone," he protested. Charlotte shot him a quick glare. "Fine," he scowled back at her. "But don't take too long."

Charlotte rolled her eyes as he retreated back into his room. "Hello?" she asked into the phone.

"Hi, Charlotte? This is Wes."

Charlotte smiled just hearing his smooth, calm voice. "Hi, Wes. How are you?"

"I'm doing well. And my mood is even better since I heard the good news."

"What good news?" Charlotte asked excitedly.

"Mr. Danube has come down with a terrible case of the flu. So I suppose that it's not very good news for him, but wonderful news for us since it means a break from rehearsal! I asked Helen if I could give you the good news myself."

"No rehearsal tonight?" Charlotte twirled the telephone cord around her.

"Nope. You sound a little disappointed, Charlotte," Wes told her.

"It will be nice not to have to rush to finish everything tonight," Charlotte admitted. "But I have to say, I am a little disappointed. I love going to rehearsals. I love seeing everyone and seeing how the play is coming together."

"Normally, I'm exactly the same way," Wes told her truthfully. "Why else do you think I wasn't able to stay away from the theatre while I was at University? But I have to say, I do have an ulterior motive. I've been dying to take you out, Charlotte. Do you think we might be able to tonight? Please, you've left me waiting for so long."

Charlotte smiled. It had been ridiculous how many times they had already put off their first date. And she did wanted to go with Wesley...even if he made her nervous and excited both at the same time.

"Yes. Let's go out tonight," she agreed. "Who knows when we're next going to have the chance?"

"Perfect," Wesley exclaimed, a smile in his voice. "Don't rush, at all. I'll come around at about seven o' clock to give you some time to finish your schoolwork and get ready. There's this restaurant I really want to take you to, and I'm positive you're going to love it."

Charlotte laughed. "All right, I'll see you then. Goodbye." She hung up the phone, grinning.

"So are you going to go?"

Charlotte turned to see Jack leaning against the wall. "I really can't get any privacy around here, can I?" she asked, brushing past him to walk to her room. "But if you really want to know...yes. Wes is coming for me at seven." She walked to her wardrobe and pulled open the doors, trying to imagine what she could possibly wear that evening.

"Do you even know much about him, Charlotte?" Jack asked, standing in her doorway. "I mean, you've known him for a couple of weeks. How could you really know who he is?"

"Jack, remember how much I knew about you two weeks after we met," Charlotte pointed out.

"Exactly!" Jack exclaimed. "I could still have been an ax murderer for all you knew."

Charlotte sighed and walked over to Jack. "I highly, highly doubt that your cousin Wes is secretly Jack the Ripper," she told him pragmatically. "But if he does turn out to be an ax murderer, I will take full responsibility for my actions."

"How could you?" Jack asked smartly. "You'd be dead."

Charlotte scowled at him. "Goodbye, Jack!" she called, shutting the door on him.

"At least make sure I'm here when he comes to get you!" Jack called through the door. "Helen and Lewis are going out for the evening and someone needs to make sure you're safe!"

Charlotte rolled her eyes. It really felt as if Jack were her brother-her very overprotective, annoying brother. But it was still nice to feel taken care of. "Fine," she finally agreed, and continued to get ready for the evening.

"You look nice," Jack told her as she stepped out of her room later that night.

"Do you think so?" Charlotte asked, looking down at herself. She had fussed for over an hour on just her hair alone. During the months since she had been away from France, her hair had grown past her shoulders, and her fringe brushed the tips of her eye lashes. After quite a bit of time, she had figured out how to use the hair curler she had found in the bottom of her vanity, and had managed to coax a bit of wave into her straight hair. In her wardrobe, she had found a new dress, no doubt which Helen had made for her. It fit like a glove, the wide neck hugging her collarbone and shoulders nicely, the sleeves like a second skin, reaching to her mid-forearm. The waist was slim, and then the skirt billowed down past her knees, flaring out in a very satisfactory way. She had slipped into some shiny black and white heels, which had made her feel taller and more elegant. She felt pretty. But hearing it from Jack just made everything better.

"I think so," Jack said honestly, observing her in a way that made Charlotte feel a bit silly, as if she were some pretty little doll. "I think you'll have to keep Wes in check tonight."

"Is he here?" Charlotte asked.

"He's sitting in the parlor with some coffee," Jack told her, leading her down the stairs. "But don't worry, I already told him you had to be home by ten tonight."

"Oh, Jack!" Charlotte cried. "Please don't start acting like my father. I'm almost seventeen years old! I don't need a curfew. I can take care of myself."

"Oh, I'm sure you can," Jack told her with amusement. "I'm just not sure what you'll be doing to Wes. Don't break his heart too badly, now."

"I'll try not to," Charlotte assured him as she walked into the parlor. Wes was sitting before the fireplace in a smart suit. When he saw her, he stood straight with bright eyes.

"You look beautiful, Charlotte," he told her, extending his hand to her. His smile was enough to melt her heart.

"Thank you," Charlotte smiled, taking it. "You do, too." Her insides squirmed with butterflies as she felt the warmth of his palm against hers. All she wanted to do was pull closer to him, to feel his warmth, to smell his familiar scent, to hear his heartbeat. He made her feel nervous like no one else ever had.

"So," Jack said, interrupting by clearing his throat and stepping between the two. "Charlotte, you're going to be home in a few hours, right? I don't need it on my shoulders if Helen and Lewis come home late and you're still out."

"Jack," Wes told him with a small smile, "I hardly think Lewis and Helen will mind very much if I'm the one she's out with..."

Jack cast Wes a sharp look. "Still, all the same. She still has school tomorrow. So just don't get her home too late. And...be careful," he finally added, looking strangely serious.

Charlotte smiled at him. "Stop worrying, Jack. Everything is going to be fine." Without hardly thinking, she reached out and hugged him and pecked him on the cheek, as if he really were her brother. But as soon as she did, she realized it didn't feel right. He wasn't her brother. It didn't seem right. And by the look on Jack's face when she pulled away, she could tell that he thought it was strange, too.

"Yes, well," Jack said, clearing his throat uncomfortably again. He walked the pair to the door and opened it for them. "Have a nice evening," he said in a clipped voice.

"Thank you, Jack," Charlotte told him gratefully. "I promise I won't be home late." She gave him one last smile before heading out the door with Wes.

Wes had been right. The restaurant he took her to was beautiful and elegant. Charlotte pictured people like her parents dining at its classy, dim-lit tables, garnished with candelabras and bouquets of roses. She couldn't help but feel very mature and glamorous, especially as she sat across from Wesley, who was the epitome of class.

She did everything right. She gracefully sat in the chair that Wes pulled out from under the table for her, and crossed her ankles delicately. She gently laid the cloth, embroidered napkin across her lap. She made pleasant small talk and ate in small bites, sipping politely from her water glass. And of course, Wesley was the perfect gentleman that she could always count on him to be.

That was maybe what she admired most about Wes. He was always charming, he was always generous, always pleasant. There were no surprises with Wes. He was exactly what he was at face value. And Charlotte appreciated that more than she would have ever expected to.