Kiss in Time 9 page

“With Robert?”

Amber rolls her eyes. “She won’t be innocent for long.” Ten minutes ago. I calculate. That means she showed up with the beers, saw Amber putting her tongue down my throat, and stormed away, only to fall into the clutches of the biggest player in school. He’ll probably try and take her to a bedroom or . . . something.

I pull away from Amber. “I brought her here. She’s my responsibility.” I stand on my toes, trying to see through the crowd.

Amber looks annoyed and stomps her foot. “So you’re going to look for her instead of being with me?” 198

“I have to.”

“But she went off with someone else. Face it, Jack.

There’s just something about you that makes girls want to make out with other guys.”

I turn back toward Amber. “What did you just say?”

“I didn’t mean it that way. I was kidding.”

“Funny.” I laugh. “You just think I’m some loser, don’t you?”

She shrugs, but then she says, “Of course not, baby.

You’re just being silly. She probably went home with Robert.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of,” I say. I turn my back on her and start looking through the crowd.

“You’re not going to get another chance with me, Jack!” Amber yells.

“I don’t want one!” It’s hard for me to say that. I know it’s not about me with her. It’s about the conquest, about winning, about proving to everyone that she can get me back anytime. And yet part of me really wants to touch her some more, wants her to be as into me as I am into her.

“I’m tired of being stupid around you.” Then I hear a scream.

Chapter 16:

j Talia

Jack is not my destiny.

I came to this party to make Jack happy. It did—a bit too happy, if you ask me, because I drove him straight into Amber’s waiting embrace.

I returned from fetching the drinks (me, fetching drinks like a common kitchen maid!) to find them locked in a tor-rid kiss. Jack just kisses anyone and everyone, I now see.

It was not special at all when he kissed me. His lips are everywhere.

I turned to run away.

That was when I realized I had nowhere to run. I was in a foreign land, a strange time, alone and friendless, all because I believed Jack—horrible Jack—to be my destiny.

But Jack was kissing some trollop named Amber.

Malvolia was right! He is not my true love. I should not 200

even be awake. I should be back in the castle, awaiting a kiss from a respectable prince!

“Is one of those for me?” a voice says while I consider this.

I turn to find myself eye-to-eye with a handsome, dark-haired young man. “I beg your pardon?” He points to the cans I am holding. “One for you, and one for me?”

I laugh, for it seems preferable to bursting into tears.

“Why not?” I hand him Amber’s can.

He takes it and drains it down. “Can I get you a refill?”

Finally! A young man who knows how to treat princesses, by fetching and carrying for them. But I say, “I have yet to finish this one.”

“Then finish it.”

This I do, under his watchful eye. It is cold and tart and fizzy. I still have not worked out how people of this century contrive to keep everything so delightfully cold, even on the hottest of days, but it is lovely, almost worth living three hundred years.

Then I think of Jack. Almost, but not quite.

“Lovely!” I say.

He laughs. “That’s a good girl.” He takes the can from my hand, then steps away to get another. When he comes back, he says, “I saw you come in with O’Neill.” There is a question in his voice. I answer it. “I am not with Mr. O’Neill.”

He glances over at where Jack and Evil Amber are still locked together. “Yeah, I can see. Stupid guy. If I’d come with you, I’d never have let you get away.” I like the tone of his voice almost as much as the tone of the conversation. A young woman clad in a scandalous costume passes by, holding a tray of jewel-colored objects which look to be some sort of confection.

“Want one?” the boy says.

“What are they?”

“Jell-O shots.”

I have no idea what a Jell-O shot is, but many people are ingesting them. So, as not to reveal my ignorance, I say,

“They look lovely.”

“Yes, lovely!” He takes two. I see other people slurping theirs out of the cup like a drink, so I do the same. It is cold, like everything else, and sweet as strawberries.

“Delectable!” I say.

“Delectable!” He laughs. “Here—have mine, too.” I do not argue. I have had little to eat, and my head is spinning. I hope this Jell-O shot will calm it down.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” he asks.

“Talia . . . Talia Brooke.”

“Well, Talia Talia Brooke, I’m Robert, and I think you’re definitely delectable yourself. Did you bring a bathing suit?”

I did, of course, with no intention of wearing it. I note that several other young ladies also appear unable to swim and are simply standing in the water, talking, almost as if 202

the pool is the dance floor. But I am not about to wear such an immodest garment.

“I do not have one with me,” I lie.

He frowns. “Sorry to hear that. Don’t suppose you want to go skinny-dipping?”

I do not know what this means. Perhaps he can see this by the expression on my face, for he looks annoyed, then away. But I cannot let him leave me, for then I would be all alone while Jack kisses another girl. My head is spinning like a whirligig, I suspect from the beers I drank. I feel about to cast up my accounts like a common drunkard.

Still, I must keep Robert with me.

“It is a lovely night,” I say. “Perhaps we could go for a stroll.”

He looks back at me, smiling. “Someplace dark?” I blink my weary eyes. “Dark would be nice, indeed.” As I say it, I stumble upon my own feet. Robert reaches his hand out to steady me.

“You are so kind and helpful.” I glance over at Jack. “I have no idea what I would do without you.”

“That’s me—Mr. Knight in Shining Armor.” He laughs.

“It is true.”

We pass the young lady with the Jell-O shots. There is one remaining on her tray, and Robert picks it up and hands it to me. “For you, milady.”

“Oh, no,” I protest. “You have had not even one.”

“I insist.” He holds it out to me. It is as blue as a 203

peacock’s feathers. I take it. “Thank you. I am excessively grateful for your help.”

“Maybe we can figure out a way for you to show your gratitude later.”

“I am certain we can.”

He looks so happy about that that I begin straightaway to come up with a plan. Of course, back in Euphrasia, what he is doing is little more than common civility, but this seems to be a century completely devoid of manners and consideration. Therefore, common civility should be rewarded as heroism. If I return home (for it seems I may do just that, if Jack is not to be my husband—horrid Jack!), I could arrange a knighthood for this young man or, at the very least, a medal of some sort.

Jack will be beheaded.

But it is hard to think about it, with my own head so light and floaty. The only time I have felt like this before was once, when Father received a case of that special bubbling wine from France. I consumed almost an entire bottle and, in the end, felt wonderful and terrible and nothing at all like myself.

“Ah, you don’t have to do that,” Robert is saying.

“Do what?”

“Arrange a knighthood for me. I’m happy to help out a beautiful girl like you, especially when mean old Jack ditched you.”

Did I say that aloud? Has the beer done me in?

We stroll through the crowds of people, Robert’s hand 204

still steadying my elbow. I swallow the Jell-O shot, allowing it to play upon my tongue as it falls down my throat.

“Where are you from?” Robert tightens his grip. “Your accent’s really hot.”

“I’m from Euph . . . Europe. Belgium.” My head is spinning, and I am barely able to place one foot before the other. Were Robert not supporting me, I would surely fall. I begin to, anyway, or perhaps it is more like floating, flying, jumping from an airplane and landing in a jewel-colored cloud.

And then I feel his mouth upon mine, Robert’s mouth, this stranger whom I have barely met. His mouth is upon mine!

I begin to voice my displeasure, but with his tongue in my mouth, it comes out as a moan. We are standing at the far side of the pool, away from the boys and girls playing ball. Robert kisses me again. My brain is in a fog, like the moment—I now remember it—the moment after I touched the spindle when I was falling and helpless to prevent it.

“You’re so beautiful, Talia.” Another kiss. It is too difficult to fight him in my tipsy state. He kisses me, and then I feel his hand traversing inside my trousers toward my nether regions.

“No! Stop it!” My cries are almost soundless. He means to dishonor me!

“No!” I shriek, although in my fog, I fear my shriek is weak. “No!”

Indeed, he ignores my cries, his hot, rough hands searching where they ought not search. I hear sounds around me, people conversing. Does no one notice or care that he is disgracing me before their eyes?

“No!” I pull free of him, raising my hand to slap him, and then I am falling down, down into the cold shock of water.

Water! “Help!” I cry. The icy water sobers me somewhat but not enough. I cannot touch bottom. “Help! I cannot swim!”

I reach for the wall, but in my beer-drenched muddle, my fingers slip away from it, over and over, scraping. Then I cannot see. All I can see is Robert above me, a surprised expression on his face. Does he not understand that I am drowning?

“I am drowning, you fool!” I yell, but the last words are lost as my mouth fills with water. I emerge again, fighting my way up. “I am . . .” I submerge. Is this the end of me, then, the end of Princess Talia of Euphrasia? Shall I meet a watery grave three hundred years too late but not a moment too soon? Will I lie forever on the bottom of this man-made lake with no one to mourn me, no one to know what has become of me?

I submerge for the third, and what I believe shall be the final, time. I lack the strength to fight my way back up.

This is the end. This is the end.

And then, all at once, I feel a strong grip upon my arm, someone pulling me up. Once again, I can breathe. I can breathe!

Then I am unceremoniously dumped upon the patio. I take many great, gasping breaths. I lean forward, choking on great quantities of strange-tasting water. There is a hand on my back, hitting me. I choke and inhale, choke and inhale many times before I feel well enough to look upward into the eyes of my savior.

“Come on, Talia, let’s go home.”

I open my eyes.

Jack.

I collapse against him, feeling his warmth against my cold skin.

Chapter 17:

j Jack

“Come on, Talia. You’re drunk.” I’m trying really hard not to hit Robert. I’m in enough trouble without coming home with a black eye I got at some party.

“I’ nodrunk,” Talia slurs. “Ihadtreebeers. Wehad wine ev’y nighat home.”

“See that?” Robert says as Talia falls on the floor. “She’s not drunk.”

“Well, she’s going home, anyway. I’m taking her home.”

“Home!” At the word, Talia begins to sob. “Idonawanna-gohome!” She clutches at the patio chairs.

“See?” Robert says. “She doesn’t want to go home.”

“You really know how to pick them, don’t you?” Amber comes up behind me. “What a ho.”

“Shut up.” I look at her. “You honestly think this is all about you?”

She shrugs. “Who else?”

I get down on Talia’s level and start to pry her fingers off the chair. “I don’t mean home-home. I mean home with me, my parents’ house.”

“She’s staying at your house?” Amber screams.

“What do you care?” I say.

“Buthey haaate me. Theymakemesleeponairmattress.” Finally, I manage to get Talia up and headed toward the door. A bunch of people are standing around, drinking Jell-O shots, and Talia says, “Ooh! I want another one!”

“Another Jell-O shot?”

“Yes. Hungry.”

“Did you have one before?”

“Three,” she says, reaching for the girl who’s carrying them.

Well, that explains that. I do a quick calculation—three beers plus three Jell-O shots. I try to remember the movie we saw about alcohol poisoning in health class. “I’ll get you something to eat.” I pull her away from the group and toward the door.

“If you walk out of here, it is over between us!” Amber screams after me.

I turn on her. “It was over a long time ago!” I put my arm around Talia and lead her out the door.

I’m feeling pretty sober myself, considering I spent most of my drinking time with Amber’s tongue down my throat.

Still, I drive through McDonald’s.

“What are we doing here?” Talia says. She’s not slurring so much anymore, but she’s really, really loud.

“It’s called a drive-thru. You get food here.”

“You get food in the car?” She screams it so loud that the drive-thru guy asks me to repeat my order.

After I do, she starts screaming again, “You can drive your car up to a window and get food? We have nothing in Euphrasia! Nothing! It sucked! Sucked, I tell you!” I reach the pickup window, and when the guy hands me my burgers and fries and two large, black coffees, Talia begins to jump in her seat. “This is so cooooool! Did you like how I used an American word? Coooooool! And sucked, too.”

I laugh. She’s so cute. “Yeah, you’re a real American.

Have some coffee.”

But she’s already eating fries. “These are so cool, too!

What are they called?”

“French fries.”

“They definitely do not suck.”

By the time we get home, she’s eaten her way through her fries and my own, sticking me with just the burgers, and she’s fast asleep.

I’m in luck because my parents are asleep, too. I try to help her onto the air mattress.

Good to know: It’s not easy to get a trashed person onto an air mattress, especially when it’s not blown up enough.

But finally, I get her onto it and tucked in. She closes her 210

eyes again, and she looks so beautiful and innocent, like a little angel, and not at all like a girl who just had three, count ’em, three Jell-O shots and quite a bit of beer. I stand there for a minute, just looking at her. Then I start for the door.

“Jack?” Her voice follows me to the door.

“Shhh,” I say. “Don’t wake my parents.”

“Sorry,” she whispers, a really loud whisper.

“What is it?” I say, coming closer to her so she won’t have to yell.

“I am sorry,” she whispers again.

“You said that already.”

“No. I mean about tonight. About drinking too much and going off with that boy, Robert, and allowing him to . . . almost allowing him . . .”

“That wasn’t your fault. He’s a sleaze.”

“And what sort of party was that, anyway? There was no food, no dancing! When Father gave parties, there was a feast! I do not like your sort of parties.” I laugh. “Me neither.”

“But I like your French fries. Are they really French?”

“I don’t know.” I lean to kiss her on the forehead. “I’m sorry about tonight, too.” I start to leave the room.

“Jack?” She stops me again. “Do you love Amber?”

“No.” I know that for sure. “No. I am totally over the Amber thing.”

“Good. She is not a nice young lady.” 211

I open the door, then start to close it again. That’s when I hear her voice, real small, like she’s trying to be good and not wake my parents. “Do you love me?” But I pretend not to hear her, because I really don’t know.

Chapter 18:

j Talia

Iam asleep on a mattress of Jell-O shots. It jiggles and wiggles, but when I try to bite it, it tastes most unpleasant. Still, I see it, orange, red, yellow, and blue, and it begins to break into individual Jell-O shots, which dance before me, laughing and singing.

Princess, in your dreams we creep, To dance by light of moon.

Though we may disturb your sleep, You’ll sleep forever soon!

Over and over, louder and louder, dancing dangerously around me. I wish to open my eyes, to run from the room, to stop them. But my eyes remain stubbornly shut. The Jell-O mattress holds me fast. Their whirling motion 213

mesmerizes me, turning to a blur of light and color.

And through it all, I see Malvolia.

I know it is Malvolia because she appears exactly as I saw her three hundred years ago, a humpbacked old woman in robes of black, holding a spindle in a gnarled hand.

But gradually her spine straightens and she is young.

The spindle fades, and the room around her changes. It is not a castle but a peasant’s cottage made of stone with a thatched roof. Through the windows, I see woods and one lone holly bush. I know that holly bush! I know where she is, deep in the Euphrasian hills, where Lady Brooke and I used to picnic when I was small. Could Malvolia have been so close by? Could she have been watching me all those times?

“Ah, Princess, we meet again! You are well, if intoxicated?”

I do not, cannot, answer. Is she real or merely a dream?

“Cat got your tongue, Your Highness? No matter. I am aware that rudeness runs in your family.” For this, I have no answer, either. The woman, Malvolia, looms closer until her face is the only thing I can see.

“You were wondering if I watched you when you came to picnic with your governess near my cottage on the tallest hill.” She laughs at my surprise. She is real, not a dream.

I am certain of it, for I can feel her warm, sour breath on my face. “Of course I did, Princess. I watched you from the windows under the eaves. Those who place curses are always curious to see if the accursed one is turning out well.

But that was not the only time I watched. I also watched when you were in the castle. I watched you as you studied naked drawings behind your art master’s back. I knew from that that you would not be immune to temptation—to the spindle’s lure—and on that fateful day, when you came to me in your quest for more and better dresses, I knew you would be alone.”

I gasp. It was my fault for tricking Lady Brooke away.

But still, I can say nothing through my sleep, intoxication, and despair. It is as if I have died and am merely a ghost, watching those still alive.

“Do not worry, Princess.” The witch’s voice is soothing.

“You will not have to return to your cruel father. I shall be there soon.”

And then she is gone. The whirling, singing Jell-O

demons, the shaking Jell-O bed, return. I cannot move. I can barely breathe. In the light from the window, I try to examine my arms and legs. Have the Jell-O demons tied me up? Will they take me away?

Then, suddenly, there is a knock on the door.

It is Malvolia!

No. It is not Malvolia. Malvolia would not knock.

“Talia, are you okay?”

Jack!

The Jell-O demons vanish, wishing to be seen by no one but me.

“Talia?”

I will my lips to form words.

“Yes?”

“Can I come in?”

I straighten the T-shirt and pants I was given in which to sleep. “Yes, please.”

The door opens. It is still dark in the hallway, dark everywhere. What time is it in Euphrasia? When Malvolia appeared, it seemed like morning. I could see the sunlight.

“Did I wake you?” he asks.

“No. I mean, yes, but I am glad you did.”

“Yeah?” He lights a lamp. I try to turn away from him, that he may not see my face, but it is too late. He does.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I saw her again!”

“Who? Amber?”

“Worse. Malvolia. The witch Malvolia. She was in this very room.”

He kneels beside me and takes my hand. “Nah, that’s impossible. My parents have alarms and broken-glass sensors, the works. Not a single witch is getting in this room, no sir.”

I have no idea what a broken-glass sensor might be, and the word alarm means the palace guards telling of the presence of an intruder. There are no guards around Jack’s house, though. “It matters not. Malvolia can get past anything. She has done so already. It was her. She is coming for me!”

“It was your imagination.”

“She was in her cottage. She said she would take me 216

there. She has been watching me forever. She knew everything about me, and I could see her, even though she wasn’t here. She was communicating with me through magic.”

“She was in your head.”

“Exactly. She’s in my head!”

“No. I mean, she’s in your mind. It’s all in your mind.

You had beer and Jell-O shots, so you’re dreaming about witches or fairies or whatever they were.”

“Jell-O demons!”

“Jell-O demons?”

I nod. “They seemed so real.”

“That’s because you’ve never been drunk before. Believe me, last year, Travis and I drank some tequila from his parents’ liquor cabinet, and I was seeing purple monkeys.

That’s why I try not to drink much anymore.” He pats my shoulder.

“I suppose.”

Then Jack takes me in his arms, and although I am still distraught, I cannot help but notice how well I fit in them, my head perfectly right for the crook of his neck. I snuggle closer, enjoying his nearness in a way which would have been scandalous in my time. His arms are safe, warm, and strong, and he whispers, “I won’t let anyone take you away.”

“But your mother said I could only stay one week.”

“I’ll deal with my mother. We’ll find somewhere else for you to stay. You don’t have to go back to your parents if you don’t want to.”

But if he does not love me . . . I remember Malvolia’s words. “Do not worry, Princess. You will not have to return to your cruel father.” I feel a sudden chill from the air-conditioner blowing on me. I do not know what to do.

“We’ll figure out something,” Jack continues. “You could sell your jewelry and get an apartment. Or you could be a model, like on South Beach. You know, Stewy Stewart’s mom works at a modeling agency. Maybe I can get you in there.”

I grip him more tightly. “I do not wish to think about it.”

“Okay. It’s okay.”

He holds me for a long time before saying, “Hey, this air mattress could use some actual air, huh? It must have a leak.”

I laugh. “Is that it? I thought perhaps your parents had put me into a torture chamber.”

He laughs. “Like yours did? I wouldn’t put it past them, but no. It’s not supposed to be like that. I’ll get the pump.”

He retrieves the air pump, then installs it against the proper place in the mattress. It springs to life. He uses a pillow to muffle it. He turns to me.

“Look, about last night, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For using you to try and make Amber jealous.” Although I know this is what he was doing, I still feel a bit angry about it. “So, did it work?” 218

“Oh, yeah. And it was totally stupid. I don’t even know what I saw in Amber.”

I nod. “Nor I.”

“I should probably go. My mom would freak if she caught me in your room. But we’ll figure out a way for you to stay.”

After he leaves, I settle in on the air mattress. It is certainly nothing like what I am accustomed to, but it is not bad, and I am comforted to know that Jack cares about me. In any case, I manage to sleep a bit. The demons do not return.

Chapter 1 :9

j Jack

Idon’t actually know why I went down to check on Talia.

I just had this sort of weird feeling that something was wrong—not that Talia was being visited by the witch Malvolia and her Jell-O minions, but just . . . something.

And I felt responsible for her being here.

I’ve never actually felt responsible for anyone before.

A lot of things have changed since I met Talia. I’m even working on that sketch of a garden, the one I started on the plane, to show her before she goes. But I don’t want her to leave in a week. I want her to stay.

Maybe—probably—that’s just the beer talking, but if so, it’s talking pretty loud.

It keeps right on blabbing away. I can’t sleep, so I take out my pad and start working on my garden design again.

I even go online to see what kind of plants will grow in 220

Belgium, since the garden’s for Euphrasia. It looks pretty good. Not that I’d ever show it to anyone, except maybe Talia.

It’s three o’clock before I go to sleep.

I wake in a state of total alarm shock to the sound of the cleaning lady vacuuming my room. The clock says eleven.

“Excuse me?” I pull the sheets up to cover my boxers and then realize I slept in my clothes. The events of last night swim before me—Talia, Amber, Jell-O shots, beer, French fries, thinking I was in love with Amber—I’m not in love. I’m also not hungover, but I feel like I am. I can almost hear Talia’s Jell-O demons laughing in my head.

But, of course, they weren’t real. They were figments of Talia’s imagination.

Talia!

She might not have slept as late as I did. After all, she’s way more well rested than I am, seeing as how she slept for three hundred years.

If she’s awake, she could be downstairs with my family. She might be telling them about her sixteenth birthday ball and the curse and the witch and how she saw that very same witch in our house last night.

And even though Mom pretty much ignores my friends, that she would notice.

Or she could be telling them about her Jell-O shot experience, which would get me grounded for sure.

Or how I left her to be pawed by that perv, Robert.

Ditto.

By this time, I’m out of bed, running downstairs, buttoning my shirt as I go.

When I reach the landing, I stop.

“My governess would not let me read that book—can you believe it? Claimed it was unfit for young ladies’ eyes.

But I sneaked it out of the library and hid it underneath the mattress. I was quite ill-behaved, I am afraid.”

“Ill-behaved?” My mother’s voice, the voice she uses on her Junior League friends. “Who would prevent a child from reading Don Quixote? It is a classic.”

“It had something to do with Dulcinea being . . . er . . .

a woman of ill repute. Neither did she permit me to read Canterbury Tales. But I studied The Prince. ”

“Machiavelli—an odd title for a young girl to read.”

“It was about diplomacy. And, of course, it helped me work on my Italian.”

“You read it in Italian?” Mom is impressed.

“Talia had an Italian art master, too, Mom,” Meryl says.

“What was his name?”

“Carlo Maratti. It was nothing,” Talia says.

They’re talking about books. My mother loves to talk about books, but Talia’s so old that she wouldn’t have read most of the books Mom knows. The King James Bible was a new book in Talia’s time!

Mom sighs. “I was a lit major in college, but I can’t get Meryl to read anything but comic books—” 222

“Manga, Mom.”

“—and Jack reads nothing to speak of.”

“Well, Jack . . . he’s more of a vigorous outdoorsman, isn’t he?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“Yes. Well, he told me how he likes . . . plants.” I clear my throat, the better to drown out Talia telling my mother my deepest, darkest secrets.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Talia says.

“Jack, you’re awake.” My mother smiles tightly. “Did you know that Talia speaks four languages and has read Arabian Nights in French?”

Talia looks down, all modest. “It is naught. I was in training to be a diplomat.”

She is a diplomat, I realize, the way she’s schmoozing my mother.

“Hey.” I stand next to Talia. “I was thinking maybe after breakfast we could go to South Beach and check out modeling agencies.”

Meryl sort of snorts when I say that, and Mom says,

“We had breakfast several hours ago, Jack.”

“Your mother made me something called pancakes.

They were a bit like crepes, a dish from Brittany.”

“My mother hasn’t made pancakes since I was five years old. How’d you rate pancakes?”

Talia shrugs. “Sometimes, when one communicates with others, one produces results.”

Like I said, a diplomat.

“Like I’m going to get Talia to help me with my French,” Meryl pipes in.

“Exactement,” Talia says. “Or like I got you to bring me here and introduce me to your lovely family. You should try talking sometime.”

I shrug. “Maybe so.”

But it’s weird. Talia’s not a witch, and yet somehow it’s like she’s put everyone under a spell, her spell. Meryl’s talking in more than monosyllables. Mom’s making pancakes.

And me, I’ve totally forgotten about Amber.

Chapter 20:

j Talia

“ So a model is someone who wears clothing and is photographed doing so?” I ask Jack as our car traverses a bridge. The water on both sides is deep blue, and for a moment it reminds me of Grandmother’s sapphires, then the view from the castle in Euphrasia.

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 506