Nice Day For A White Wedding

“It’s like being in a hotel,” I laugh as Alex pours me a coffee.

“I know. Babushka prides herself on being a good host. She insists that every option is available to make her guests feel at home. Cream and sugar?”

“Please,” I say.

He finishes making my coffee, then pours himself one, which he leaves black. Dark and stormy. Just like him. Except being here, I’m starting to see a very different side to him. A caring, almost gentle side comes out in him when he is around his great aunt. I smile to myself as I remember the way he lifted her in the air when we first arrived yesterday.

“What?” he asks, as he brings my cup over to me.

I shake my head. “I’m just thinking how different you are here.”

“Different?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Sweeter,” I say teasingly.

He laughs shortly. “I don’t think you’ll find too many people to agree with you.”

“Babushka would.”

He smiles slowly. “No, she wouldn’t. She knows exactly what I am, but she loves me anyway.”

I take a sip of my coffee, savoring the rich taste and the caffeine hit I so desperately need first thing on a morning. I look up and find Alex watching me in amusement.

The hunger is back in his eyes. He masks it almost immediately though. “You like your coffee, don’t you?”

“Oh, God yes,” I agree with an awkward laugh. “It’s pretty much an essential if you want me to string together a sentence of more than three words.” Avoiding his eyes, I quickly stab my grapefruit half with my spoon and slip the segment into my mouth. The grapefruit squirts its tart juice onto my tongue.

“Juice?” Alex asks, his voice courteous. Like he is a stranger, which I suppose he is.

I nod and he pours me a glass from an elaborately cut crystal jug. I smile my thanks at him and sip the juice. It’s icy cold and so refreshing.

“So what’s the plan for today?”

“I thought I’d make good on my promise and take you out to the stables. If you still want to see them,” Alex says.

“I’d love that,” I gush enthusiastically.

“Good. We might even go for a ride up to the lake,” he says. He laughs when he sees the horror on my face. “What’s wrong? Do you not know how to ride?”

“I rode a few times when I was very young. I had a rich friend who owned a pony, but that was a long time ago. I’m not sure I’d be brave enough to try it now,” I admit.

Alex throws his head back and laughs. “You? Scared of riding? Cindy Forrester, either you are just being coy, or you don’t know yourself.”

I mean when he puts it like that, how can I really refuse? And to be honest, I’m not afraid of riding. I’m exhilarated by the thought of getting up on a horse again after all these years. “The thing is I might need a few lessons to get started …”

“You never forget how to ride. Once you get back in the saddle, it’ll all come back to you. And you can take Nikita. She’s very gentle.”

“Ok,” I agree with a laugh. “But no galloping off and leaving me behind.”

“Ah, you spoil all the fun,” Alex mocks.

Something about the way he says that makes a completely unrelated thought flash into my head. One where we are both naked and having fun. Avoiding his eyes, I put the grapefruit aside and stroll over to the long table. I drop four slices of bread into the toaster. Then I pick up a couple of sausages, some slices of the bacon and put them on my plate. As the toast pops I add them to my pile of food and make my way back to the table. There I start to assemble myself a breakfast sandwich.

At first Alex watches me with amusement as I make the sandwich, then he shrugs and, using my left-over sausages and bacon copies me with a grin.

“Good?” I ask, my cheeks full of food.

“Very good,” he agrees, his eyes full of surprise and the sunlight slanting in through the half-open blinds on the glass walls.

Cindy

When we’ve finished eating our sandwiches, Alex stands up. “Are you ready?” he asks me.

“Yes,” I say confidently, even though I have visions of me lying in a ditch somewhere with my neck broken.

Alex opens the door for me and waits for me to step outside. As I do he puts his hand on my arm and stops me for a second. “Really, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

I don’t think that’s entirely true though. I think there’s plenty to be afraid of. Like the way my whole arm is tingling where his hand is. And like the way he’s holding my gaze with his eyes, which are all dark and deliberately unreadable. And the way I know if we stand like this for much longer, I’m not going to be able to stop myself from reaching up, touching his aristocratic face, and pulling it down to meet mine.