Magical Weddings (70 page)

His eyes implore mine and I have to look away. He doesn’t admit his observations often, so I know this must be heavy on his mind.

“You’re already committed to me. Don’t try to deny it. You haven’t looked at a single suitor since we met.”

I know he can see the truth in me. It’s wonderful and unnerving. There’s nothing about me that I could ever hide from him because he would know. And the fact that I know he sees me for who I really am and still loves me, is the most freeing experience I have ever had. He understands me. I like that there isn’t anything standing between us. Except for one glaring, monumental thing. The one and only thing I can’t talk about.

“Suitor? Really? Haven’t we discussed your use of the English language and how you really should adopt a slightly more modern version?”

“You adore my proper English.”

“‘Proper.’ That’s another word that most twenty-seven-year-olds don’t use in this country.”

“You know I don’t have to do anything that any other man my age would normally do. Which is why, I assume, I ended up courting a member of the Morgan clan.”

“We’re not a clan. And yes, you’re somewhat contradictory to most of the guys I know.”

“Most of the men in this part of the continent are not wizards either, so my ranking should move up twice if I’m calculating correctly.”

I narrow my eyes at his assumption that his magical abilities outweigh those of non-magic users. “I’ll have you know that I don’t date wizards exclusively,” I say, acting appalled by the notion that I might be prejudiced.

“But I do earn extra points for it,” he says with certainty.

“I don’t think so. Your ability to see my true motivations and the inner workings of my female mind aren’t necessarily a benefit.” I lean away from him like maybe I should increase the space between us to protect my female right to be misguided and indecisive.

His sensuous mouth spreads into a humorous grin. “You turn our talk around and around, avoiding at all cost the real reason I’ve brought you out here today. But, I’ve seen our future, Aspen, and you can’t escape it. We will be sharing this life. I want to marry you. The internship is twelve long months and the rules are quite strict. No one is allowed to visit unless they are family. A fiancé would be considered family. How will we survive an entire year without each other? We’re getting married so you can come to Venezuela and Chile while I work on expanding my mind and learning about our vast universe.”

I tilt my face up to the glistening sun, stretching my neck and back. Closing my eyes, I think to myself that I won’t be going anywhere because I will never marry Rook. If only I had the courage to cut the cord now.
Would that solve my problem? Can I quit this amazing man and survive? Is this how my mom felt when she lost my father?
She didn’t live through the experience. It killed her. Aurora Morgan died from the consequences of a broken heart, and her only daughter would not suffer the same fate.

But the words fail me. They were pouring out of my mouth a minute before and now I can’t say five measly words out loud.
I’m breaking up with you.

I feel Rook shift on the blanket next to me as my eyes begin to sting and a glob of emotion gets stuck in my throat. Being a female member of the Morgan family means that you are born with baggage strapped to your back like an anchor and there is no way to be rid of it.

“Darling,” he says in his most seductive tone of voice. “Let me show you something.”

“I don’t think you should…” The past seven months have been mind-blowingly spectacular. Of course I couldn’t have ended this any sooner. No sane person would ever stop loving someone right in the middle of bliss. Yet my brain is telling me to tell him that we can’t do this anymore.
Why is he pushing for marriage? Why can’t we have fun and then call it quits when he leaves for his internship?

He scoots up behind me and I feel his long legs on either side of me. I smell the woodshop on him mixed with horses and just the slight crispness of pine forest. His body radiates heat and I lean back against his chest.

Had I known that love could make me this weak, I would have run away from him on the day we met. Weakness is what killed my parents and here I am falling into the same trap.

“You know it’s illegal to use magic on someone without their permission,” I say, relishing in the feeling of his muscled torso pressed against my back.

“You’ll not falsely accuse me of doing anything wrong here. I am but offering you a gift.”

“Really? I would swear that you’re altering my mind and making it hard to live without you.”

“Well then we’re even because you’ve already done that to me.”

“I guess we balance each other.”

“We do,” he says, and squeezes me in a little tighter.

“So what sort of gift are you offering anyway?” I ask, now completely under his spell and not willing to give up the security of his arms for anything. I lean my head back against his shoulder and just breathe. Then I send out a silent plea to the gods.
One more hour. Is that too much to ask?

“It’s something I haven’t done with anyone since I was thirteen years old.”

“Are we about to play a game of I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?” I say, teasing, but part of me hopes that is exactly what we’re about to do.

“Sort of,” he says with a hint of hesitation that I can’t quite interpret.

I peek up at him from over my shoulder. His eyes are full of emotion and the grin I thought I would see on his face from my suggestion isn’t there.

“Close your eyes again,” he says.

I face forward once more. At first, uncertainty keeps my gaze trained on the forest at the edge of our little clearing, but I trust him completely and even though I could see something in his eyes that I’m not used to seeing there, I let my eyelids drift closed. Then I feel his palms gently cupping my face and covering my eyes so the world darkens.

“Wait,” I say, and reach up to remove his hands. I turn to look at him again. After being together for a little over half a year, I understand that I still don’t know everything about his powers, just as he doesn’t know all of mine. Magic is a complicated business. Throw in the human condition and it can easily take a lifetime to know the complexities of someone’s magical skills and abilities. At twenty-five, I’m still learning new things about myself all the time.

His hands rest on my shoulders as I watch him, looking once more for that wary signal I thought I saw in his eyes. It’s there.

“We have nothing, if we don’t have trust,” he says.

Rook is absolutely right and I’ve always felt I could trust him. My gut feeling about people is rarely ever wrong.

I settle back against his chest and he places his palms over my eyes.

The images come flooding in. It starts with birds. I’m not surprised to see the blue jays, magpies, sparrows and orioles. Rook isn’t named Rook for no reason. He has a connection with the aviary world and his parents understood it from the very beginning. Rook told me there was a nest of newborn crows outside his window the day he was born and the mother crow watched over him like he belonged to her. His parents had no choice but to name him after the bird that adopted him. The family of crows stayed with Rook as he grew up and he says, still live on the estate back in Devonshire, England. Birds seem to recognize him as one of their own. It’s not as strange as it may sound. In our world of magic users, there are much stranger things than being adopted by another species. Perhaps this is the reason I knew I could trust Rook as soon as I met him. My specialty is being able to work with animals. Did that make me more attractive to Rook? I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to know. Animals and I have been friends since I first opened my eyes and saw my aunt’s cat staring at me in the crib. Then Twinkle had to learn that he couldn’t sleep on my face, and I learned that cats aren’t always a witch’s best friend.

The birds circle the clearing and images begin to fill the meadow. It’s a vision and I know this isn’t the inner workings of my mind. My boyfriend is showing me his thoughts. He’s connecting us by placing his hands over my eyes. It’s surreal and not exactly disturbing, but definitely a bit unsettling. People should not place thoughts inside your head. His magic surprises me once again.

In the vision, we’re standing near the stream and a house appears. The mixture of Craftsman and classical architecture is so much like Rook that I instantly know he designed it and we’re looking at his future home in this very same field. The home is gorgeous with its covered front porch and rich stained wood. The stone foundation matches the stone of the two-story chimney. There’s a roof deck where I can see the top of Rook’s telescope stretching up to the sky and there are two crows sitting in a young cherry tree planted in the yard.

In the front garden, lavender bushes and Russian sage compete for space with the coneflowers and daisies. The reflection of the flowers in the front windows gives the illusion of the garden extending inside the house itself. There are so many windows covering the home that every room must have an extraordinary view of the forest, the ocean, or both. They beg me to peer inside and see what this magnificent home looks like within. I’m about to do just that when Rook takes my hand and leads me around to the back. His imaginary house isn’t extravagant, or anywhere near being a mansion, but it’s beautiful and looks comfortable. There would be plenty of space for a family, but no one would be rattling around, or feel like they could get lost in the attic or basement. That’s how I always felt growing up in the Morgan house.

The vision continues, and as real as it all seems, I know we’re still sitting on the picnic blanket in the meadow. I walk with him excited to see more, and the back of the property doesn’t disappoint. There’s a large sunroom and all the windows are thrown open to catch the fragrant air. I take in the flagstone patio and the stone paths leading to a fenced garden and glass greenhouse. It’s the yard dreams are made of. I can see more of my favorite herbs and perennials growing everywhere. The chamomile and poppy blooms are bursting with color and life, while hollyhocks lean against a trestle, and the sunflowers crowd a corner of the garden. Bunches of blue flax sway in a light breeze and the delphiniums alone make me want to take up residence and never leave.

Rook doesn’t speak in the vision, but I begin to hear the sounds of this place. Always the birds are chattering and singing, but then I notice the buzz of bees and the clicking of grasshopper wings as they hop from one patch of grass to the next. The call of the raven turns my attention to the south and I see the well-marked trail leading away from the backyard and off through the trees. He leads me in that direction next.

The small barn, a workshop, and Rook’s truck parked next to a tractor all scream at me as being home. This is the home I have dreamed of all my life.
The place that would never exist in reality.
Then Snowdrop rounds the corner of the barn and approaches the paddock fence looking at me for his molasses oats, a carrot, or some other favorite treat. As I near the barn, I see Perry grazing in the pasture beyond.

“What are you doing?” I ask as I slip out from Rook’s arms and climb to my feet.

“Showing you our future,” he says and stands to meet me face to face.

I take a step back. This part is going to hurt. I can already feel it starting to burn inside. I cross my arms over my stomach with the need to protect myself.

“How were you doing that? Can you manipulate anyone’s mind?” I hear the accusations in my tone and I hate the sound. This is where I become the person I loathe. The heartbreaker and the crusher of hopes and dreams. Not only my own, but those of the unsuspecting men I love.

I was in love once before, or at least I thought I was. It was years ago, but I’ll never forget the misery and soul-crushing heartache of breaking up with someone I care about.

“Aspen,” Rook starts. He looks ruffled to say the least. Confusion furrows his brow, and there’s a line of tension in his jaw that isn’t normally there. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I haven’t shared this with anyone since I was thirteen. The visions I have are real. They don’t come often, but I know when one is true.”

“You didn’t have a vision of me when you were thirteen,” I say with disbelief. Even if he actually did, I don’t want to hear about it. I can’t have a long term relationship. It’s not in the cards for the Morgan witches. The witches of Lane County are cursed, and even though no one says it aloud, everyone knows it’s true.

“No. That isn’t what I meant.”

He sounds frustrated as he rubs the back of his neck with a work roughened hand.

“I haven’t shared one of my visions with anyone since I was a teenager and this is why. The last person reacted about the same way you are right now. Being inside someone else’s head isn’t a grand idea. Showing them the future is an even worse one. I thought you would like it. I mistakenly thought you would be as excited as I am. My visions have never been wrong.”

“You’re wrong this time,” I say while staring at my riding boots.

“I wanted to show you before I have to leave on this internship. Today is perfect. You and me and the horses, here on my land. I knew from the day I was born that I would not live on the family estate in England. I’ve always felt that I was searching for something. I’ve traveled all over and studied the heavens and the stars and now, finally, in this northwest corner of the world I feel like I am home. This place is not for me alone. I know you are part of it.”

“But I’m not, Rook. You may have found your piece of ground here, but I will never be able to live with you.”

“You saw your garden and your horses. It’s only a few miles from your family. Why do you keep insisting that you won’t marry me? Why are you so afraid? You know as well as I do that we were made to be together. The stars align for a love like ours only once every few centuries. We both feel it and don’t deny it to my face.”

He sounds more than frustrated now, and as cold-hearted as it sounds, I can handle anger a lot better than sadness. Fury and resentment toward who I am is always much easier than the devastation of knowing that I have no control over my future or my fate.