I let out a squeak and frantically look around the great room for a means of escape.
Gavin (he must be Gavin) and his fiancée (she must be his fiancée) walk toward the front door, their voices muted through the cabin walls. He tilts his head toward her, they’re in a deep, intense conversation. The urgent look in his eyes sends goosebumps all over me. He’s so rugged, so good-looking. It’s like he’s the original artwork and all those movie stars and male models trying to look manly and rugged are the poorly done reproductions. It makes me dizzy just looking at him. But his fiancée doesn’t seem to notice. Like I said, she’s ice, and she must be used to him, I suppose.
Oh well.
I take one last, wistful look at my glass work, flowing like a crashing wave and then I run toward the kitchen, my shoes pounding on the wood floor.
Door, door, where are you door?
Not in the kitchen, that’s for sure.
There’s a hallway off the great room, leading to bedrooms maybe? Perhaps there’s a door that way. I fly over the floor, worried now. They’re almost at the front door. I sprint down the dark hall. It seems like there’s a dozen doors and I open them at random. An office, decked out with a computer and multiple flat screens. A massive bedroom with a bear rug and the biggest bed I’ve ever seen. Another bedroom, this one with a fireplace and a jacuzzi, it smells like roses and massage oil. A home gym. Another office. Another bedroom. Ugh. Is all this really necessary? And why don’t any of these rooms have a patio door to go outside?
Why didn’t I leave earlier with Tom and Diedre? Why did I stick around? Why?
I reach the end of the hall. There’s a tall mirror, and my reflection stares back at me. My hair is a wild flame, my braid frizzing, my overalls are more stained than I realized, and my eyes tell me exactly what I already know—I’m in trouble.
I’m about to be caught up in a romantic interlude, looking, smelling, like this.
Then I remember, there was a laundry room off the kitchen, which might lead to that big garage. And a door!
I take off, running toward the kitchen. As I race through the great room I hear the ping of the electronic door lock and the grinding of the bolt.
I’m too late. Gavin’s opening the door.
“—you should stay. I promise I can convince you—”
Gavin holds the door open wide for his fiancée, the sound of wind rustling the leaves, and the smell of damp tree bark blowing in. I’m directly in front of them, twenty feet away, right near my glass art.
“No, Gavin. I don’t love you. I’m not going to marry you.”
Oh.
Okay.
That’s awkward.
Gavin grabs his fiancée’s hands, and levels her with a smoldering look that would have most women kicking off their underwear. “Please. Give me another chance.”
He leans forward, maybe to give her a kiss, and I think this probably isn’t a good moment for me to interrupt. So I do what any normal, polite person would. I drop to the ground and hide behind the ugly white modern couch.
I feel like Shay, crouched like a cat on the smooth wood floor.
I cock my head. It’s quiet up there. So maybe they’re having a nice, long, passionate embrace. One with lots of tongue. Gavin looks like he’d use tongue.
Huh.
Maybe if they’re really going at it, like humping against the wall, I can crawl across the floor, slide into the kitchen and scramble out the (possibly there) back door.
Slowly, I crawl to the edge of the couch and poke my head around the corner.
There’s no kissing.
There’s no humping.
There’s not even any smoldering looks.
It’s just the fairy princess dropping the biggest diamond ring I’ve ever seen into Gavin Williams’ hand.