The Deception Dance (18 page)

He slides off the rock and is inches from me, before I blink. “What
scares you more, Raven?” He smirks. “How strongly I feel
for you?” He lowers his face; his nose brushes mine. “Or
that you feel the same way?”

“You don’t know how I feel,”
I attempt to sound indignant, but my voice comes out shrill. “You
don’t know anything about me.”

His lips are so close.

I jump back and run up the path, then pivot,
before ascending the base of the hill, almost stumbling, catching
myself.

My outburst hasn’t melted Andras’s infuriatingly
confident smile.

“Andras just ...” I exhale loudly and shake my head.
“…leave me alone.” I somehow manage not to trip,
sprinting up the uneven trail.

I look back, after reaching my bike; he hasn’t followed.
Climbing on, I pull over my helmet and somehow remember how to kick
start the engine. Awkwardly, I back the scooter up and turn onto the
street.

The road between the parking lot and the tollbooth passes in an
instant. Braking suddenly, I peer into the booth; nobody’s
inside. I yank off my helmet and wipe my face. It’s probably
ten miles back to Hoganas. I just left Andras in the middle of
nowhere, and this scooter was his ride.

I’ve never done that before, deserted someone. Not even someone
crazy. What was all that ‘take you
from
me’
business? As if, because we kissed a couple of times, he owns me? I
don’t think so.

What if I’m overreacting? He could have meant what he said not
the way I took it. He is foreign. English is clearly not his first
language. Maybe it was all a misunderstanding. I hope not. I mean…

What do I hope? I’m not sure. On the one
hand, I don’t want him to be a possessive stalker; on the
other, if he’s not, I just made a fool of myself,
again
.

My palm smacks my forehead. Whatever Andras is, I can’t just
leave him in the middle of a nature reserve, ten miles from his
hotel.

Turning the bike around, once more, I drive back to the parking lot.

I can’t find him. Even when I return to the shore and call out
his name, nothing, no response. He is either ignoring me or already
left. Twenty minutes later, I trudge to the bike.

My watch reads two minutes to three, when I arrive at Nicholas’s
mansion. Nelly shakes out a rug in front of the guest house; she
retorts that the Rolls Royce hasn’t returned yet, when I ask.
The sun shines from a clear sky and the air smells like flowers and
fresh mowed grass again. I should go explore, but all I feel like
doing is crawling into bed. I follow Nelly into the guesthouse, walk
to my room, kick off my shoes, throw down the helmet and curl into a
fetal position, on top of my covers.

Linnie’s right, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep
since I met Andras.

Oh, I hate him! He’s so full of himself, telling me how I feel.
I don’t even think about him all that much. And who can control
dreams? Nobody.

I shouldn’t have deserted him.

No, I should have: he’s potentially a crazed stalker. Fleeing
stalkers is the right move, not thinking about how amazing they look
with no shirt on.

Oh, I’m thinking like a lunatic! I wish I could turn off my
brain.

I’ll drift off to sleep. Please God, no dreams, no traitorous
dreams.

****

“Up and at ’em, Birdie,” Linnie says, sitting on my
legs.

“No,” I grumble and cover my head with the pillow. “Five
more minutes.”

“Oh, no.” She snatches off my pillow. “You’ve
been sleeping at least fifteen hours, maybe longer, and you owe me an
explanation.”

I sit up. “Fifteen hours?” I reach for my phone.

“Don’t worry.” She pats my knee. “I got you
covered; I called dad last night and told him you’re catching
up on some Z’s. Now, why didn’t you make it to
Copenhagen?”

I groan. “I’ll tell you, if you get off.”

She shifts over, enough for me to wiggle my legs free. Linnie asks,
“What…?”

“Nothing happened.” I can’t meet her eyes. “I
just got lost and turned back.”

“I don’t think so!”

I have trouble maneuvering around Linnie and out of the bed. “What
is this?” I point to the dress bag, hanging on the door.

“Your dress; don’t change the subject.”

I unzip the bag and examine the deep-purple gown, pouring out. “This
is breathtaking, Linnie.” I pull the hanger free to get a
better view and laugh. “Do I have any money left for food when
we get to Paris?”

Linnie hunches up her shoulders and plays with her sleeves. “Well
...” she gazes at her feet. “Yeah.”

My voice is a low rumble, “Linnie?”

“He didn’t give me a choice!” She says, “I
just said, ‘Raven would love this’ and before I knew what
was happening the store-lady handed me a bag.”

“I thought Nicholas was on some sort of assignment?”

She furrows her brow and shakes her head. “No, he was with us
the whole trip. Stephen left though, about the time you called, and
Albert took off, first thing, when we got to Copenhagen.”

“Well,” I grumble, “you shouldn’t have let
Nicholas buy this, anyway.” Staying mad is difficult, as I
caress the crystal-embroidered hem. I sit down next to Linnie, “Hey,
will you promise me something?”

“Depends on what it is,” her usual answer.

“Promise me we’ll leave this Sunday, after the party, no
matter what.”

She sighs. “You want to leave that badly? Don’t you like
it here?”

I bite my lip, “Please.”

“Okay, Raven.” She gives me a half smile and a pat on the
shoulder. “I’ll ask Chauncey.” She immediately
hollers, “Chauncey!” making me jump.

This must be one of the first days, in the week and a half we’ve
been here, that Chauncey hasn’t left before I rose. She leans
her upper body through the door; her curls hang down like ribbons of
spun gold. I’ve never seen a face so perfect, as if her beauty
casts the room around her in shadow.

I must be holding my breath, because when she speaks I’m
lightheaded. “Yeah,” she
drawls
breaking my
admiration. I keep forgetting her exquisiteness runs as deep as her
skin.

“Raven, here ...” Linnie slings an arm around my back.
“Wants to leave the morning after the party.” She pouts.
“What do you think?”

Chauncey flips golden curls over her shoulder. “We should do
whatever Raven wants.” Her tone churns my stomach.

Linnie narrows her eyes at Chauncey, then spins my way, instead.
“Alright, Birdie, we’ll leave in five days. Now, I’m
going to the bathroom.” She walks out of the room, past
Chauncey, and disappears into the hall.

The mattress slumps down beside me. Surprising:
I assumed Chauncey would follow Linnie out.

I concentrate on my unpainted toes. Maybe, if I pretend she’s
not there, she’ll evaporate.

“You’re so lucky,” Chauncey whispers.

Faking a smile, I turn her way. “Because I’m so gorgeous
and wealthy?” I forcefully break from her gaze.

Chauncey’s pupils are unfathomable depths of despair; if I
look again, I might stumble in and plummet downward forever.
Cringing, I curl up my knees.

She starts sobbing, quietly.

My usual reaction is embracing any crying person; with Chauncey, I
know better. I know what you get when you help an injured cobra: two
holes in your hand and poison coursing through your veins. No, thank
you.
Please leave Chauncey, please go
.

She does; the bed shifts and her feet patter
their retreat.

I glance after her, when there’s no chance of being ensnared by
her misery. I’m stuck with Chauncey; but in five days, I’ll
be out of this castle, back on track for our sightseeing, and I’ll
never see Andras again.

Day Twenty-One

I spin, keeping my gaze on the mirror, for as long as I can. Maybe,
if I’m really careful, I’ll get away with wearing this
once and Nicholas can still return the dress to the store. I grin at
my reflection and run my hand down the embroidered crystals, from the
strapless top to where the purple satin flares below my hips. I twirl
again, this time a little faster, the satin fans out, crystals
sparkling above the hem.

The top is tight, but having no sleeves, it needs to be, and the snug
fit over my hips doesn’t bother me, either. This dress makes me
look more like an hourglass than a string bean.

Linnie comes up behind me, in the lavender gown that Chauncey lent
her, and scrunches up one of my ringlets. “These turned out
perfect.” She smiles into the mirror over my shoulder. "Are
you sure you don’t want to use any of my make-up?”

“Positive.” I beam back at her reflected face.

“I’m sad we’re leaving; I could get use to this.”
She swishes her gown back and forth.

I’m not sad and couldn’t ever get ‘used to’
the grandeur. I don’t say anything.

Glancing down at my wrist, I realize I’m not wearing my watch.
“What time is it?”

“Time to go.” Linnie hooks her arm in mine. “Chauncey’s
already waiting with Tobias, outside.” She raises her eyebrows.
“Poor Chauncey.” Linnie’s expression looks half
sympathetic, half amused.

I want to say, ‘Poor Tobias,’ but I don’t.

We walk through the guesthouse, arm-in-arm. I feel like a different
person, being dressed this well. Linnie and I drop our chummy posture
and walk, single file, out of the front door. A fleeing sun still
lights the sky and a breeze passes by with the faintest taste of
night.

Tobias sits in the driver’s seat of the Rolls Royce, peering in
the opposite direction from Chauncey, who’s in the back seat;
when Linnie crosses to the car, she takes the seat beside Chauncey.

Stephen and Nicholas stand by the front of the
car. Nicholas looks more comfortable in a tuxedo than anyone I’ve
ever seen, as if he were born in formal wear. His tie matches my
dress.

Stephen flicks his cigarette onto the driveway, and then climbs into
the passenger seat. Before he closes the door he calls, “see
you there.”

Tobias glances over at us, and then drives out of the driveway.

I examine the road with no cars. “Where’s my pumpkin
carriage?”

The gray Lamborghini I admired in the garage drives up and stops
beside us. The beefy chauffeur steps out and Nicholas waves him off
with a smile.

Nicholas gestures. “Here you are, Askungen ...” He shakes
his head and says, “I mean, Cinderella.”

I stretch to touch the hood, lose my nerve and withdraw my hand. “Are
you trying to impress me?” I tease.

He lifts up the passenger door, vertically. “Is it working?”

I scrunch up my nose and nod.

“Finally,” he says, smiling. Standing there, Nicholas
looks like a picture in a magazine; ‘this is elegance’
would be printed in bold letters at the bottom. Right now, outwardly,
I’d fit in pretty well with his ad. For Nicholas, this is
reality; I’m just playing ‘dress-up’.

His lips brush my cheek as I slide onto the seat. I’m careful
not to let my crystals scrape the leather and don’t put too
much weight on my seat, which is, of course, cream-colored. The gown
takes up my entire side of the car.

In the driver’s seat, Nicholas gives me a gleeful grin, as the
doors rotate into their tracks and we take off down the driveway.
Nicholas keeps a comfortable silence; we sit for thirty minutes
without needing to talk. The Swedish countryside changes colors with
the waning daylight.

“This feels right,” Nicholas says, glancing over.

I huff out a laughing breath. “I was just thinking how this
feels like a dream.”

Nicholas turns into an unpaved driveway with an open gate and two
small brick pillars. After driving up a short road, we wait behind a
line of luxurious cars, next to a night-blackened hedge.

As the line of cars inches forward, I ask, "So, how come
Albert's not coming?" Not that I'm complaining... "Or, is
he?" I glance back.

"He's not," Nicholas replies. "Albert avoids certain
people. He doesn't want to see two people in particular, actually."
When a long silence follows his vague explanation, Nicholas
continues: "He's avoiding the host's sister-in-law, Bridget
Ruuth, and her daughter, Madeline."

"Why?"

"Madeline and her mother are...” he pauses to glance over,
"…they're... well, my grandfather would say, '
they
have strayed far from the path.'"
Nicholas imitates a soft,
shaky, lightly-accented voice.

It seems Nicholas's grandfather is ready to pass judgment on us all.
I just make a 'hmm,' sound in response, as it is finally our turn to
drive up to a castle. There’s no doubt in my mind, this
property is also considered a ‘castle’. Several small
lamps light the brick facade from below; the leaves of the
ivy-drenched second story flutter with shadows in the breeze.

The car doors swing up and a man helps me out of my seat. Another man
takes Nicholas’s seat and drives off with the Lamborghini.

Five baroque gables top the castle's façade,
standing out from the unlit sloping roof, reminding me of a giant
five-armed candelabra. We walk through a two-story archway into a
courtyard, where a group of men chuckle and smoke cigars, by a small
central fountain.

I bite my lip. Walking in here, I feel less like Cinderella and more
like a big phony; I hope no one asks me about my pedigree… or
anything like that. I inhale, smelling cigars and perfume and a
light, earthy scent. The smile I flash at Nicholas probably looks
more nervous than excited, as we climb the stairs and step into the
splendor.

In a spacious room, beyond the foyer, chandeliers hang above wine
drinking, chatting, laughing, dancing women, glistening with jewels,
and men, chic with sharply tailored lines. Their merriment does not
drown out the string quartet’s playing…