A Kiss Stolen

I say my parents’ home number aloud and he types it in.

“Liliana!” Dad calls out urgently.

Tears fill my eyes, as I hear how much terror is in his voice. “Dad,” I try to say as confidently as I could, but my voice breaks and there is not a thing I can do about it.

“Liliana! Are you all right? Where are you?”

“I heard about the accident,” I whisper, my mind going to the mangled image of his vehicle from the news report, and I have to fight back my tears.

“Are you all right?” he demands, his voice trembling with emotion.

“I’m fine,” I respond.

“Then why the hell do you sound like that?”

“I just heard about your accident,” I answer. “It shocked me.”

“It was nothing. I’m fine. Where are you calling from?”

“I just wanted to call you on my birthday to tell you that everything is all right and I’m fine. Can I speak to Mum, please, Dad?”

“Hang on. She’s right here.”

“Mum,” I say and tears begin to flow down my face.

“Oh, baby, I miss you so much,” Mum sobs into the phone.

“Oh, Mum. You know I love you, right?”

“I love you too. When will you be coming home, honey?”

“I … I … I don’t know yet. But soon. Please be patient okay. I just wanted you to know that I am fine and I will be back soon. Please tell Dad that there is no need to look for me. I will come back when I am ready.”

Suddenly my mum starts sobbing her heart out. She is crying so hard she can’t even speak. My father comes back on the phone. “Liliana, do you remember everything I taught you?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Can you tell me anything?” There is almost a note of pleading in his voice.

I close my eyes with sorrow. Oh, Dad. I would rather cut off my hand than tell you where I am. “I’ll be home soon,” I say quietly. “Please take care of yourself and Mum … I love you, Dad.”

“Liliana!” he roars, but I look up at the kid in the hoodie and make a quick slashing motion with my hand to indicate that I want the call to be terminated. He complies immediately.

I stand and walk over to the window. I am certain now that my father has made it his sole mission to find me. Whether he believes my disappearance is by choice or not, my days of being MIA are numbered.

The young kid leaves with his equipment and I turn around to look at Brand. My eyes follow him as he shuts the door and heads towards me.

Brand is a regal man.

His gait is without haste as he strolls across the room, his hair thick and rich as velvet falls in soft waves. It is just long enough to brush his shoulders. Today he has not shaved and his stubble makes him look dark and dangerous. His sweater a thick rich beige and his slacks are jet black. In different places they take the shape of the virility and strength of his legs. His boots are heavy duty and black. I realize also that I no longer feel any fear at his presence. I am able to hold his gaze until I feel my heart begin to quicken.

“Happy Birthday, Brand,” I wish softly.

He frowns.

“I never knew that we had the same birth dates.”

There is absolutely no expression on his face except an insurmountable coolness. This is going to be so much harder than my silly fantasies.

“I got you a cake. Do you mind if we share a piece?” I say and start walking towards the cake that I got Lindy to bake and ice for me. I pop open the lid and turn around to look at him. He walks over to me and stands looking down at the cake.

Lindy has decorated the cake with little blue and pink flowers and the words: Happy Birthday Liliana & Brand.

“I’ve got some candles,” I say hopefully.

He turns to look at me, his face grim, a vein pulsating in his throat. “What do you think we are? Boyfriend and girlfriend?”

I shake my head. “Of course not. It’s just what people do on their birthdays. They light some candles, sing a birthday song, blow out the candles and make a wish. After that they cut the cake and eat a slice.”

“I’m not people. I don’t follow silly traditions.”

“What do you follow?”

“I follow what my body tells me to do.”

I stare deeply into his eyes with all the confidence I can muster. “And what does your body tell you to do?”

“My body tells me to wait for your recovery so that we can get back on track.”

“On track with what? My death?”

“My end for you is not death, its misery.” Just like Lindy said, his smile is borderline cruel.

I remain unfazed. I let a smile hover over my lips. “I once read a book about a random land with dragons. They had a tradition: whenever someone saves another’s life, he’s responsible for him forever.”

“Yes, that probably works well in a random land with dragons.”

“I apologize, Brand, for everything my father and I did to you. From the depth of my heart, I apologize. From this moment on I choose to be your friend.”

“Friend?” he drawls. “Spoken like a true Eden.” He drags his finger across our names on the icing and turning to face me brings it to my mouth. I see it happen almost in slow motion. He smears the sweet cream on my bottom lip and waits for me to lick the cream before he bends his head and licks my tongue. Then he lifts his head and stares into my eyes. Hypnotized by his gaze I forget even to breathe.

“We will never be friends, Liliana Eden,” he says quietly before he walks out of the door.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Liliana

I don’t see Brand all day and that night Mark comes to my room and asks me to follow him. We go up a small wooden staircase to a flat roof where a helicopter is waiting.

“Where are you taking me?” I shout above the noise.

He grunts, pulls open the door, and looks at me with a menacing expression. The flight to London is accomplished without the exchange of a single word. When he pulls the door open again and grunts for me to disembark, I just climb out without protest. It is particularly icy and windy, and the chill seeps into my bones as we walk to a waiting black car. The car speeds off into the night. Half an hour later we quickly make our way up the white steps into a private plane.

Brand’s wealth is surprising. He is just in his 24th year and no matter how capable he is, going from homeless to filthy rich in nine years does not sit well with me. For some reason I had expected him to be in the plane, but there is only an impeccably dressed, smiling hostess, who shows me to one of the seats. Seconds later she is back around with a plate of fruits.

“Where is Brand?”

“I’m sorry I have no idea.”

“But is he not flying with us tonight?”

“No, Miss Eden. You are the only passenger.”

I exhale. “Where are we going to?”

“Paris,” she answers with a broad smile.

“What about passports and stuff?”

Her smile falters slightly, before it rights again. “Don’t worry. Everything has been taken care of.”

A meal is served once we hit cruising altitude. It is good food, but I can only pick at it without much interest. I do not know when I fall asleep, but a sudden turbulence jerks me awake about an hour later. Soon the pilot announces that we will be descending.

A man wearing a peaked cap

is standing beside a blue Range Rover with blacked out windows on the tarmac. The back door of the car is open. He touches his cap as one of the men who had accompanied me in the plane escorts me down the steps. Once I am enclosed inside, he closes the door, and gets into the front seat. Neither man speaks.

I keep my eyes peeled on the illuminated streets of the city. I have travelled extensively with my father, especially around Europe, but I’ve always had a love for Paris. I consider it to be the most romantic city in the world. Soon we leave the city and go past an endless silhouette of street lamps.

It is well past midnight when we finally arrive at our destination. The door is pulled open for me to exit. I expected a villa of some sort, but to my surprise the car rolls to a stop outside a simple farmhouse built of yellow stones. The front is partly covered in vines.

“You will find everything you need in the house,” the driver says to me just as we arrive at the front door. Then both men wordlessly exit the house and shut the door squarely behind me. I wonder if they will lock me in, but after I hear the car drive off I open the front door and go stand outside. The air is cold and eerily silent. I quickly go back into the warmth and lock the door.

For a brief second I feel the discontent of a real prisoner, but I quickly cheer myself up with the thought that the house itself is bright enough and actually quite cozy. I decide to take a quick tour. There is a big green couch in the living room and the walls are decorated with small framed murals of food. There is a large open fireplace. The numerous plants, and antique wooden cupboards placed at different positions all show that either too much thought was put into the décor, or not enough, but regardless, the space has an incontestable charm.

The kitchen is another storehouse of trinkets. The emerald green tiles and red wooden cupboards make it look like something out of an old painting. Copper pots and pans hang from the ceiling, and on the shelves are rows upon rows of small jars of at least a hundred different condiments and spices.