Shadows of the Past (7 page)

“That’s not a good plan B. Dear God, man! What do you do for a living anyway? Sit around looking pretty?” Oliver laughs and falls into step beside me again.
 

“That sums it up fairly nicely, I’d say. All right, I’ll let you in on my secret.” I glance over at him after he pauses. “I’m an underpants model.”

I start laughing again because he’s the last person I’d expect to see pictured scantily clad on the side of the bus.
 

“Ah, I knew you were hiding something. That explains it.”

“Yes, you see I feel overexposed most of the time. It’s nice to wear clothes.” He smirks and nudges me with his elbow. “Seriously though, I’d like to show you around. This is a great city and I picked some places that will pique your interest, history buff.”

“Ah, well, if you put it like that.” We stop in front of his hotel. The doorman doesn’t move, but obviously recognizes Oliver. “You wicked man, you, appealing to my inner nerd. How can I say no?”

“Smashing.” He clasps his hands together, truly excited. It’s nice to see. “How is Monday for you?”

“That works.” Is this a date? Going on a tour at some historical site isn’t dating, right? He’s just being nice.

The feeling of his hand in mine jerks me back to the present. He's touching me, and making my skin tingle. It's been so long since anyone has touched me, not counting the night of the near-hookup.
 

The truth is, I try so hard to keep everyone at a distance, physically and emotionally, but Oliver somehow smashes every defense. He's like a puppy, wiggling through the tiniest spaces in the walls I build to keep everyone out. I don't even know he's broken through until it's too late.

“Come up for a little bit.” Oliver watches me, waiting. “I can tell you my plans.”

A cold jolt shoots through me and I step away. I can’t breathe. Something about the way he says it makes me freak out. I feel the tightening of my throat and the rapid thumping of my heart. My feet want to run, but I’m glued to the sidewalk. “I can’t. I really need to get home, but thanks.”

Oliver offers a polite smile and holds his hands behind his back. “Well then, I’ll have to surprise you.”

“Yeah, that works. I need to go.” I’m ready to bolt when he takes my wrist.

“Kayla, I didn’t mean to spook you. We’re friends, that’s all. I was asking if you wanted to come up and chat instead of standing in the street. I won’t hurt you. I promise.” He seems to know what I was thinking. I feel like a skittish cat; if there were a tree here I’d climb it.

“Oh, I know.” I stumble on my words and feel incredibly awkward. So this affection thing is one-sided, after all. I’m so mental. “Of course. Hey, I guess I’ll meet you here on Monday. I know where you live so don’t do anything weird.” Oh God. Did I just say that? I grimace and start to back away.

“I’ll try to behave myself, but I can’t make promises for Barkley.” He shakes his head and is about to say something, but I cut him off.

Walking backward, I ask, “What time?”

“Noon?”

“That works. Ow, freaking frick!” I bite off my slew of words and look behind me. I walked into a huge flowerpot. Oliver moves to step toward me, but I laugh. “I’m a dork. I’m fine. I’ll see you Monday. Bye!”

Oh, God, someone shoot me, please. I’m that girl—the clumsy git who trips on her feet when Mr. Dashing is near.

CHAPTER 12

"Have you heard a word I've said?" His voice startles me out of my head, and we're standing at the base of a huge staircase. I look at the staircase and the paintings on the wall in awe, his question forgotten.
 

I feel bad, but my brain shorted out when he took my hand. I was freaking out about the touch, wondering if I should pull away. It made me lose sight of what he was talking about. Seeing my expression, he softens.
 

"This is the King's Staircase." We walk up slowly, studying the paintings on the walls, depictions of people at court, dressed in all their finery. They look so lifelike, I find it hard to believe they are just paintings. As we climb the stairs, we stop to study each glass box filled with figurines in different scenes.

"Oh, Oliver," I breathe, "this is amazing." I'm completely entranced.
 

We walk through the King's Apartments and a few other areas of the palace, but the place I'll remember most is that staircase. I've never seen anything like it. It has an opulence that is unique to this side of the ocean. Paintings are everywhere, on every surface, even the ceiling.

He continues to lead me through more rooms, showing me dresses that date back hundreds of years. They belonged to former queens, some even belonging to Princess Diana. Her eldest son lives here now, but since he and Kate had the baby, they aren’t here much. At least that’s the latest gossip. They wanted to raise the child themselves with no nanny.
 

Oliver leads me into a room filled with little chairs. They’re all empty, save one. My heart contracts when I read the sign. This was set up to commemorate all seventeen children Queen Charlotte lost. The chairs range from tiny infant-sized seats to a chair big enough for her son who died when he was eleven. It’s like a birthday party for her dead children and the evocative nature of the display rips my heart out. I could barely survive losing two children; I can’t fathom losing seventeen.

“I need to find the ladies' room," I say, rushing out the door. "I’ll meet you downstairs, okay?” Before Oliver can answer, I’m gone.

I shove into a tiny restroom and try to gather my thoughts. I’m a shaking mess. I turn on the sink and splash some water on my face, then dry it off. I stay there too long, breathing, trying to regain my footing, but it feels as if I’ve been whacked on the back with a cane. I can’t breathe.

I lean back against the sink and fish my phone from my pocket. I could have Emily call me in a few minutes and say something came up and I have to leave. The problem is, until now, I didn’t want to leave. I was having a nice time, and I loved the palace.
 

“Screw it.” I can’t share this with him. Emily doesn’t even know. I call her quickly. “Hey, call me back in five minutes and tell me that they need me at work.”

“Uh huh. Is this about your non-date?”

“No, I just need an out. Will you help me or not?” I sound panicked and am having trouble keeping my voice steady.

“Did he hurt you? What’s wrong?” Emily sounds alarmed.

“No, it’s nothing like that. I just feel like I’ve seen a ghost and I don’t want Oliver to see me nuts. Please, just call in five, okay?”

“Of course. Come home. We can watch trashy TV and play Jenga. I found a cat edition!” She squeals and hangs up.

Crap, I walked right into that.

After I catch my breath, I head outside to the gardens. Oliver is waiting for me. “Hey,” he smiles carefully and tips his head to the side to catch my gaze. “Everything all right?”

I tuck my hair behind my ear and nod, fake smile firmly in place. “Yeah, of course. It was just a little warm up there.”

“Warm?”

“And cramped. All those people make me a little claustrophobic. Sorry, I didn’t mean to rush out like that.” I walk toward the manicured gardens. “This is lovely.”

Oliver nods and we walk through in silence. I stop every few feet and look at the flowers, wishing Emily would hurry up and call. I have my hand in pocket, tapping my phone. When it rings, I pull it out. “It’s Emily. One second.”
 

Oliver nods and steps away for a moment to offer some privacy.

“This is your afternoon booty call. Get your ass home for some pussycat Jenga with your bestie. Now, girl, and I won’t take no for an answer!” Then she purrs into the phone, unexpectedly.

I try not to laugh. “Fine, are you sure someone else can’t do it? I’m in the middle of something.” Oliver turns around and watches me.

“You don’t want to know what I’m in the middle of.” There’s a distinct female giggle followed by kissing sounds.

I make a face and hang up on her. I glance up at Oliver. “I got called into work. I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

He nods, and I think I’m home free, but I’m not.
 

He suddenly asks, "Are you upset with me?"
 

“No, not at all. I have to work.” I think he can sense the lie.

He nods and shoves his hands into his pockets. Stepping closer, he says, “Right and this sudden urge to run has nothing to do with me?”

“Nope.” I beam at him. “We’re all good, Ollie.” To show him how good we are, I lean in and kiss his cheek. “I better head home.”

He grabs my wrist and whirls me back to him. “Fine, but next Monday I’m taking you out for tea. You’re mine all day. No working.” His voice is deep and confident.

I stammer, trying to find the right words. “I, uh, this wasn’t part of the plan. I wasn’t supposed to work today.”

“I know.” He smiles. “It’s all right. Next Monday, meet me at my hotel. High tea at three, my treat.”

I stand there saying ‘uhhhhh’ too long. Oliver laughs lightly. “Run along. I don’t want your horrible boss to take it out on you.” He watches me and I swear he knows that I'm blowing him off.

“Okay, I’ll see you next week.” Why did I just say that? Damn, he looks nice. Stop it, Kayla!
 

Shoving thoughts of how nicely he fills out a pair of pants from my head, I turn the opposite direction to head for home. When I close the door, I find Emily standing in the kitchen making supper. Even the thought of her cooking terrifies me.
 

When she was growing up, her family always had household "help," including a maid, a cook, and a nanny. She never had to do anything for herself, including cooking. She's not any better at it now, even after six years of living on her own. Usually cooking dinner is something that falls to me--her version of making us dinner is calling for take away. Approaching the stove cautiously, I steel myself against the disaster awaiting me.

"Hullo," she says happily. "You’re just in time!"

She looks up at me from her stirring, and I blurt out. "I went to the Palace and sort of freaked out."

"YOU visited the Palace? As in Kensington Palace?" she asks in disbelief, mouth gaping.

"Yes, Kensington Palace. It's really nice, and thanks for skipping over the freaking out part."

She snorts. “You do that all the time. And ‘It’s really nice?’ Really? After years of living here, you finally take an interest in visiting the local landmarks and all you can say is ‘it's really nice?’ So, you were with Hot Guy again?"
 

“Maybe.”

“Getting tossed to the curb once wasn’t enough for you? There are lots of other guys in the city, believe me, I know.” Shaking her head, she turns her attention back to the pot she was stirring when I first came in. "Damn it all, now I've burnt it. Well, how 'bout Indian food?"

“Bring it. I want to stuff myself and fall asleep.”

She waves a finger in my face. “Not until Jenga!”

“You’re a little crazy, you know that, right?”

Emily grins. “Admit it, your life would be so boring without me.”

CHAPTER 13

By the time Monday arrives, I’m so nervous I almost bail on tea. I'm standing in my room, looking at the assortment of clothes in my closet and wishing I'd gone shopping. What does one wear to tea?
 

Should I wear a dress? Something fancier? My normal jeans and t-shirt? I'm not sure and hate not knowing.
 

"What are you doing, Kayla?"
 

I've never been so glad to hear Emily's voice as I am right now. "Trying to figure out what to wear to afternoon tea. What would you wear?" I can hear the panic in my voice and try to contain it.

"Whoa," Emily says with a smile. "Who are you and what have you done with my flatmate? YOU are worrying about what to wear?" I send her a death glare and turn back to fretting over my wardrobe, making her laugh. "Where are you going to tea?"

I shrug. "I have no idea. I'm meeting him at his hotel, but that's all I know."

"Oooh," Emily shrieks, clapping her hands together in glee. "I bet that means he's taking you to The Orangery!" I have no clue why she's excited. She looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to show the level of enthusiasm she has—which is about ninety-five on a scale of one to ten.
 

When I just look at her blankly, she sighs, shaking her head in disappointment at my lack of reaction. "We need to educate you on the things to do in London, babe. You're a bloody awful visitor." I wave off her comments.
 

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. So what am I supposed to wear? Is this okay?” I show her my jeans and black tee.
 

Her eyes widen with surprise, and her mouth twists into a disgusted expression. "You are not wearing jeans to afternoon tea!" She rushes into my closet, pulling out clothes and shoving them back in when they aren't what she's looking for, muttering about Americans and their "awful taste in clothes." All I hear out of my closet is yucky sounds and ‘what were you thinking?’
 

"You call these trousers?" or "This blouse is horrible!"

She finally comes out with a pair of black pants and a white shirt with purple piping on the collar.

"Put these on, I'll be right back." Emily leaves the room, and I hurry to put the clothes on. I don't want to be naked when she gets back--at least I don't want my lower stomach showing. Clothed, my body passes for young and carefree, but without my clothes I can't hide the stretch marks growing twins left behind. A guy might not realize what that means in the heat of the moment, but she will.

Emily returns with an emerald green cardigan and a pair of black ankle boots. She hands them to me, crossing her arms over her chest and impatiently tapping her foot while I finish dressing.
 

Glaring, she says, "Don't you dare wear a hoodie!" She grabs a gray peacoat from my closet and holds it out to help me put it on. A little scared of her now, I slip my arms in and spin around for her approval.
 

"Perfect. Now, you just need to do something about all that hair."