Magical Weddings (74 page)

With as much dignity as I can muster, I hold up my head, and squelch across the deck. His gaze flicks to my mane of tangles and I actually see a hint of humor twinkle in his eyes, but he’s quick to cover it up. He says he likes my hair and how it’s always doing something unexpected, much like the woman beneath, but I suspect he’s only the product of a decent upbringing and knows not to say anything to a woman that isn’t complimentary.

We’re still holding our silence and I wonder if it’s becoming a game. When I refrain from speaking first, Rook glances at the paper, and then back up at me.

I decide to play along. At least for another minute, and then I’ll have to go feed my horses. I pick up the note and unfold it. One simple line written in Rook’s neat handwriting graces the top of the page.

Will you join me for breakfast?

I let myself make eye contact with him for a very brief second and then back down at the paper. Staring at the message with uncertainty, I hear something slide across the table. He passes me a pen.

I write,
Maybe. When?
And then push the note and the pen back across to him, keeping my face unreadable. I’m still not sure what he’s up to and I’m not sure how I feel about this tween-aged behavior of passing notes.

He writes something quickly and pushes it back my way. I take a seat on the edge of the chair across from him and feel the water inside my boots shift uncomfortably. Trying to ignore the discomfort between my toes I read the next message.

Now.

I continue this mildly absurd and somewhat charming communication by writing.
I can’t. I have to go feed.

He writes,
I’ve already taken care of your horses.

Scowling at the paper, I scrawl,
You shouldn’t have done that. I’m perfectly capable.

It’s okay to have one morning off. Your aunts said you needed some rest. Snowdrop and Perry were pleased to see me.

I shake my head slightly. Not sure if I should be angry or grateful. I begin to rise to my feet with the intent to go check on my animals anyway, and put an end to this unscheduled meeting.

Half out of my chair I write,
I can’t go out to breakfast right now,
and then pass the final message to him.

He takes a look at it as I move away from the table.

That’s when I become fully aware of the power in the air. The magic is tangible, but that’s not unusual when two witches are together. I should have been paying closer attention, but it wasn’t a concern to me. Magic is usually in the air around my house like most homes have the lingering scents of cooking food. We have the food smells too, but residual magic is an extra current that tickles my senses and isn’t found just anywhere.

I can’t help but glance over at Rook. A nice spread is laid out before him. There’s cranberry juice in glass tumblers, a tea service, a covered tray of scones, croissants, and nuts braids, and a bowl of fruit. In addition to the food, he’s brought dishes and silverware.

Still not communicating verbally, I return to the note paper, and scribble,
You could have sent me a text. This is the twenty-first century.
I fold it into a tight little square and toss it at his chest. I don’t appreciate him taking my stomach hostage and I want him to know it.

But, darn! I’m starving and the damned English tea is more than I can resist. Especially after the late night I had last night. The caffeine is singing a love song that is melting my heart on the spot. I only resist for another second because I’m headstrong and obstinate. That, and the paper that just sailed through the air and tagged my shoulder.

I’m so tempted to leave it abandoned on the deck, but I keep going with this strange game.

It says,
You don’t have your phone.

Pointing out the obvious only serves to heighten my irritability. Rook must sense the rise in my blood pressure because he promptly leans forward and pours two cups of tea. He adds some cream and two spoonfuls of sugar and sets the spoon to stirring as he places a croissant and some melon on a plate. Then he places the mug of tea and the food across the table as an offering.

I didn’t eat dinner last night and I’m absolutely starving. The foods he brought are all my favorites and he knows it.

I plop down into the chair and take the croissant, savoring the first bite and then basically shoving the rest in my mouth. Washing the warm buttery pastry down with swallows of tea almost brings enough peace of mind to actually make me relax, but I can’t totally let go.

“Thank you,” I say and then realize that I spoke first. I hate that I forgot to win the game, but it’s too late. I slice my melon and glance up to see Rook biting into a blueberry scone.

“You’re welcome, Aspen,” he says after he finishes chewing. “Starting to feel any better?”

“Yes,” I admit grudgingly. “But only because caffeine is a mind altering drug.”

“You were not supposed to know my ulterior motives behind the pot of tea.”

“And I’m not responsible for my actions when someone so recklessly gives an addict her drug of choice.”

“Fair enough,” he says with deadly serious eyes, but the hint of playfulness at the corner of his sculpted lips doesn’t escape my notice.

The laugh bubbling up in my chest feels full of glitter and lights and butterfly kisses. I suppress the feeling and chew on the cantaloupe as I try to return to my former state of brooding.

“I want to apologize for my behavior yesterday.”

I nearly choke on this statement.

His brows knit with concern, but relax as I decide that choking isn’t in my best interest. I stop gagging.

“There really isn’t a need to put pressure on you. I was thinking narrowly because of what I saw in my inner sight and because of my upcoming internship. I’m now aware that other arrangements can always be made.”

“Rook, I don’t think you’re fully grasping the situation between us.”

He interrupts before I can go on. “I’m positive that I am not one hundred percent informed of the circumstances that surround you and your family. I can also add a few things up for myself.” He lifts his cup and takes a drink of his tea.

“I don’t think we should be talking about this,” I say with legitimate concern.

“Please, Aspen, I don’t want you to put yourself, or your family, in jeopardy.”

His sincerity is heartfelt, but it pisses me off. I grab my mug and begin to rise again. Our breakup is inevitable. I can’t speak about my problem with him and I don’t want our splitting up dragged out until we’re both miserable and broken beyond repair.

“Don’t run again,” he says quietly, laying his hand on the table. “Hear me out. I’m not here to quarrel with you or talk of marriage.”

Pausing allows me to refill the mug, and gives me an excuse to stay and find out what he came here to say. I only hope this doesn’t shatter me more. After the things I said and an all-nighter reading the private inner workings of my mother, I feel fragile. Like the smallest upset could tip me over and break me into a million pieces.

“I propose…”

I’m falling.
The crash is going to be a messy one, I think, after I hear these two simple words. I glance at my feet wondering how I am going to rebuke him once again when I’m already a mess.

“I propose we become friends. Nothing more. My parents are the closest of friends and they have always been. They’re relationship is a lasting one and a fine example of partnership and respect at the highest level.”

I clear my throat. “What?”

“Let’s take a step back and start over by becoming friends. I already consider you my closest confidant, so the transition for me will only be to put away the physical attraction. That is, until you’re ready to resume that part of our relationship.”

“You’ve put some thought into this, haven’t you?”

“I have. You said you can’t commit and I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to. That isn’t what friends to do each other.”

“Friends bring breakfast and don’t pressure one another,” I reiterate.

“That’s correct.” He looks pleased that I’m following his line of thinking.

What Rook doesn’t know is that it’s not only what is going on inside his head that matters. The intensity of the love I feel for him will determine how the curse takes him and crushes the life out of him. He thinks he will have to control his sexual attraction to me, but I’ll have to control every emotion I ever have when he’s around if I don’t want to be responsible for killing him.

“Did Aunt Ivy make this suggestion to you?” I ask.

The confusion that furrows his brow is enough to let me know that Ivy didn’t come up with this plan, and Rook confirms it.

“No. I stayed up last night thinking about everything you said. I have to leave for a year. I accept that you aren’t ready to settle down, but I don’t want to go away with so much distress between us. Your friendship at any level is enough. I could never push you into doing anything against your will, Aspen. If you want me to leave and never come back, I can do that. As your friend, I respect your wishes to whatever end.”

End.
That is the word that stands out. My shoulders droop with the weight of it all. He’s offering unconditional love on a platter. Just like the perfect breakfast he brought me. Take what I want and enjoy it with no attachment. But in the end, death finds a way to ruin love. My parents experienced the Morgan tragedy. Aunt Ivy had a long term friendship with Tori’s dad, but the end eventually collided with fate when Ivy couldn’t suppress her true feelings anymore. Uncle Grant met death in a boating accident and although they had eighteen years together, he still faced an early end because of the Morgan curse.

“I don’t know,” I say, and close my eyes.

“Then until you make a decision, I will leave you alone as you requested of me yesterday.”

I nod and chew at my lower lip as I stare inwardly at nothing, hoping to find peace.

“I leave the country in three days. You know how to reach me.”

I lay my hand on the table with the vague forbidden hope that he’ll take it, but he doesn’t. When I open my eyes, he’s gone. Vanished. He left breakfast laid out before me, but I’m not quite so hungry now.

I drag myself back inside and sink down on the edge of my bed. Glancing over at my pillows, I make the decision to not curl into a ball and sleep the day away. Instead, I pick up the lilies that Rook left for me the day before and plant my nose in the center of one of the blooms seeking its lovely and comforting scent.

An instant charm takes over my bedroom and transports me into a fairyland. I can feel my bed beneath me so I know I’m not actually transported, but the scene takes over my room. The vision feels much the same way it did yesterday when Rook placed his hands over my eyes and showed me what he saw in his mind.

I’m standing inside an aspen grove with hundreds of white tree trunks surrounding me. The ground is carpeted with blue forget-me-nots and the sky is enchanted allowing the stars to shine even though it’s early in the evening. Songbirds singing from the branches tickle my ears and then I’m aware of something or someone breathing near my feet. I look down and see Basil. He’s wagging a happy tail and wearing an odd looking collar. It’s certainly not his normal one. This one has a black bow tie on it. He barks at me and then runs off, darting around tree trunks.

“Basil,” I scold. “Come back here.”

He stops long enough to look at me and then barks once more and takes off again.
Follow him
, my inner voice says. I do because this is only a vision and I know Rook wanted me to see it.

With the soft blue and green carpet of flowers and wild grass beneath my feet, I hasten after my rambunctious dog. Wildflowers, quaking aspens leaves, the babble of a clear mountain stream, and a brilliant moon hanging above a snow covered peak accompany me in this place, and I give Rook bonus points for making the scenery so wonderfully appealing.

Then I’m walking toward a tent with lots of white tulle and a million fairy lights. A string quartet plays a classical melody from a small stage beneath the tent and I want to dance instead of run. Then I see the people. It’s a small crowd. Some I recognize, like my aunts and my cousin Tori, and others I don’t, but they’re all watching me as I approach. Next, I notice Rook. He’s wearing a black tuxedo. I glance down at my body and notice for the first time, the lace, and pearls, and ivory satin of my dress.
My wedding dress.
Shocked, I look back up at Rook. As he turns to face me, I drop the vase of lilies.

I bound from the bed, jumping over the broken mess of pale blue glass and white petals and rush out of my room. Then I whirl back around, race over to the window, grab my mom’s journal, and flee from the room like the soles of my feet are on fire.

By the time I make it to the kitchen, I’m breathless. I drop onto a barstool and collapse against the counter.

“Should I even ask?”

I don’t look up, but I recognize my cousin’s voice instantly.
What’s she doing here?
I pant and try to steady my breathing and calm my heart rate. The flush in my cheeks isn’t only from running down the stairs.
He shouldn’t have shown me that! Our wedding! What in the name of the saints and angels was he thinking? It was stunning and perfect and magical in every way my heart desires.
I’ve never let myself dream of a wedding day because I knew there would never be one. But Rook’s charm on the lilies was a beautiful dream that I didn’t need to see.

But he left them for me yesterday
, my brain says.
And it had to have been before our ride to his land. He didn’t know I was going to break up with him. What a bloody freaking mess I’ve gotten myself into.

“What cha’ got there?” she says, and tugs on the book in my hand.

I don’t let her take it. Prying myself up from the counter, I hug the journal to my chest.

“That good, is it?”

“I…umm. It’s…”

“Wow. You’re speechless. Now I have to look at it. Hand it over before I steal it from you,” she says, a devious gleam in her eyes.