There was an awful lot of activity going on downstairs.
Yeah, I know I should be down there, waving goodbye to my parents like all the guests that had come to spend a few nights at the palace. My place should be in the front of the crowd, wishing my parents a safe journey as they headed into a bullet-proof limousine, off to a jet that would take them to somewhere beautiful and relaxing.
Instead, the children of William and Giselle Sparrow were: one--cooped in their room studying a secret way of alchemy. And two--sitting in a private music room up on the sixth floor, her fingers dancing softly against the ivory keys of the grand piano.
I had always liked this room. It was just a gigantic sqaure shaped room, with one of the walls being pure glass (bullet-proof, undoubtedly). A grand piano, a glossy edition of Yamaha's finest, sat majestically by the window-wall. A cello, bass, violin, and viola were clumped neatly in one corner, looking finely polished and preserved. Several guitars, electric, acoustic, and classical, were held up by their stands on one side, with small piles of music books stacked nearby.
Archer had asked for a drumset, but my mother hated that idea, almost fainting every time she imagined hearing drums echo loudly down the cavernous hallways of the palace.
My unnaturally sensitive ears could pick up the rambunctious noise of the other clans, some loud and shrill, others complaining, a few sounding rather excited. From the fifth floor, the noise level had been turned up to full volume, and even headphones plugged deep into my ear with the music practically on blast couldn't completely destroy what other sounds I heard in my surroundings.
So now I sat up here, out of the golden dress, and in a pair of dark blue sweats, a yellow cami and dark gray tank top as my earlier curled hair tied up into the messiest ponytail known to history.
Thee songs I had played at first were merely scales. Then they turned into cheerful, hum-worthy tunes that my fingers quickly played. But soon after, the sound took on a melancholy, nostalgic, and almost sad melody.
I was holding in tears, alright? Jasper had poked his head in (his hermit hole was upstairs on the seventh floor, along with Archer's) and asked me why I was so depressed. What, so I couldn't play sad piano songs without being questioend?
How sexist.
Wait, that doesn't make sense. Music-ist? Or was it...just pure stupidity from the both of us.
I didn't know. I didn't feel like learning anything more tonight. After I found out just how angry Logan was. How I found out that Archer had written a letter to my parents, congratulating them with his deepest love, but saying he just didn't want to see us. Darkwood had also informed me that before they sent him and the henchmen off to kidnap Jasper, he had overheard that the girl had another plan to hurt one of the princess' close ones.
I didn't even get cake. What was that even about? The only daughter doesn't even get a bite of the most delicious looking thing in the whole wedding? The one she helped choose?
A groan escaped my lips, and my head fell foward repeatedly, lightly smashing it against the top of the keys, creating an ugly sound that vibrated around the room. With every head-smashing action, I reprimanded myself mentally for my idiotic mistakes that I had ever made.
Including the one from ten years ago when I had thrown apple pie at Archer's head when he said he was leaving.
My actions did start to hurt after a while. And by a while, I mean right away. A painful whimper pushed itself out of my clenched teeth, my trembling hands pressing themselves to my forehead. There wasn't any blood, surprisingly.
Don't ever smash your head into the keys of a piano.
I didn't even stop with the lunatic destruction I was causing myself. Because after the headache that had been throbbing like a fire had been lit on that spot, I immediately longed for someone I shouldn't have even been thinking of.
I couldn't bring myself to stop thinking of him and the fury in his golden eyes. He said he wanted me to stay away and I knew this was him trying to get over me (in his own messed up way). Never before had he looked at me with such darkness and anger. Not even at the academy, where our vicious banter seemed like a friendly classroom bicker between two friends compared to this argument.
"Agh!" I groaned, frustrated beyond the point of recovery. My hands, both of them, ran themselves through my ponytail, so several strands began to fall out. I curled up onto a ball on the piano bench, slightly rocking back and forth as my nose began to sniffle.
This was all Cupid's fault. Why couldn't you have just shot Logan with a different person? There were a lot of girls back at Cross Academy who would've given anything for Logan Cross to look them in the eye and tell them that he liked them. But noooooo! Cupid just had to shoot both Logan and me.
Frick you, Cupid.
"Sparrow?"
For a brief instant, my breath was caught in my lungs, unable to leave as my heart slammed rapidly against my rib cage, causing my bones to ache unconditionally. Was this even happening?
Ever so slowly, like the world had been set to slow-motion, my head lifted towards the right, my eyes settling on the figure standing at the open brown doors. He was a wearing a pair of dark jeans that hung low on his hips. A dark gray t-shirt clung to his slim torso and for a second I had thought that I bought the wrong size. But then I realized that he had taken a shower, for his dark brown hair seemed a bit browner and the shirt seemed slightly damp.
His golden eyes narrowed as they flickered slightly to my forehead. Oh my god, did I have a bruise? In a flash, I slapped my hand to my forehead, which only resulted in a blubber of pain that fell from my lips.
His eyes narrowed before he made his way to leave, turning around and almost disappearing out of the frame.
"Logan!" I called out. Something in my mind told me he wasn't going to turn around, that he was still incurably pissed at me. But then his figure leaned against the doorway, an icy expression on his face as he raised an eyebrow.
"Stay," I asked, softening my voice to almost the minimum volume I had.
Cross scoffed and once again, he seemed to have no interest with me, like I was a toy he was tired of. He turned away.
"Please?"
Even from here, where the light blinded out the shadows, I could see that his shoulders had tensed. His arms were shaking, his hands closed into white fists. Crap. I probably stepped over a line. He did just yell at me earlier.
Logan turned around, and my heart did The-Can-Can inside my chest. Gosh, it was like a Dubstep concert in there. I scooted over on the bench, allowing him to sit beside me. The smell of his spicy cologne wafted around me.
A memory spiked in the back of my head, that I knew this scent from somewhere. Not with Logan, of course, he's worn this cologne several times with the months he's spent with me. No, this scent was from somewhere far away and long ago.
"What do you want?" he asked, snapping me out of my reverie. No answer was given as I watched his willowy fingers slide across the ivory keys, as if they were trying to find something they couldn't see.
And, of all the things he could've done that would've surprised me, Logan started playing. A grand, rich, yet wistful melody filled the spacious room. It rose from major and down to minor, switching between the two so it created a contrasting harmony with each other.
"You play?" I asked, curiosity at the brim of my quiet voice. Logan gave me a small shrug, not looking at me as his attention was placed onto the lullaby.
"I haven't played in forever. I got too busy with the agency," he replied. Whoa! He was actually speaking to me!
"Doesn't sound like you haven't played in forever," I muttered to myself, wondering if his forever meant a day. The corner of his mouth twitched, something so small and unnoticeable that I wasn't even sure it happened.
"You have until this song ends to tell me what you were going to say, or else I'm leaving," he said.
Oh, okay. Let's be bossy and decisive with the biggest rule-breaker ever, shall we?
"No," I snapped. "You can go then if that's how you're going to be."
He shot a split second look of utter disbelief and annoyance. "I'm sorry, I'm not the one that was called in here because someone else wanted to speak to me. I'll leave then. You don't have to talk to me."
I laughed at this. Not a laugh of humor but a smug scoff. "Go on then, leave. But you'll never know what I'll have to say. And I knew you well enough that you hate that. You hate missing out on opportunities, King Cross."
The look on his face was absolutely nostalgic, and it took me back to the days when he and I would stand in the middle of the hallways, spitting out nasty retorts back and forth, and I would occassionally say somethng that completely overtook him with surprise.
"You can go, you know," I said with a fake smile, batting my eyelashes as if I didn't say anything wrong. "Go on, now. Shoo." I held my hands and my fingers flitted back and forth. His golden eyes narrowed dangerously. The music stopped playing as his hands dropped and he turned to face me.
Smiling triumphantly, I turned away from him. One for Park!
My left hand started playing the harmony to a song that I couldn't recall. Even with just one hand, the song sounded absolutely beautiful, and just like Logan's previous song, turned from minor to major then back to minor again.
The melody joined in, but the hand that was playing wasn't mine. Logan's right hand was playing along with mine, our fingers dancing across the ivory and ebony keys of the grand piano. The weirdest part?
I had no dang clue as to what this song was.
"You're pretty good," I commented, trying to put off my original plan. He turned to me, and a soft smile lit his handsome face. "You're not so bad yourself, Sparrow," he answered.
There was a spark between us now, and the worst part was that I was feeding it kindling. I'm supposed to be putting out any signs of a fire, but here I was, sitting side by side with Logan, smiling as if there wasn't anything in the world that could stop me.
Snap back to reality, Park. I thought you said you didn't want to hurt him.
"Logan," I started, yanking my hand off of the keys. "I have something to tell you."
He took his fingers off of the piano as well, though less harsh and more slowly than mine. There it was again, a shield in his eyes that I couldn't quite get pass.
"I'm betrothed."
Logan froze. I couldn't actually see his face because he was facing the piano, and the wet strands of his hair blocked my veiw. Well, wasn't that a surprise?
"You're...what?" he asked.
"Preparing to be engaged with someone," I said. "You know, kind of like Sleeping Beauty when she was young and Prince Phillip and her were engaged. That's me and..."
"You're engaged?!" His voice shot up, incredulity strung throughout his weak tone. If we had been standing, I'm pretty sure he would've fallen to his knees.
Logan turned to face me, an unbelievable expression on his face as his mouth was hanging open, golden eyes bulging like topazes as he waited for me to explain.
"No," I said. "It's more complicated than that. Sometime this winter, my parents are going to sign an agreement to have us engaged and married. I'm not tied down just yet, but I will be."
"Why?" he demanded. "Aren't arranged marriages outlawed or something?"
"The Cimerian army is small. We don't have the necessary forces to fight a war or even to protect from terrorist attacks at times. Yeah, we have allies, such as America, Japan, Russia, and several other European countries. But Britain offered us their strength as long as the princess is to be married to the son of the Prime Minister."
My answer took Logan by great surprise. That was his first reaction. He was absolutely crushed by the moment he deciphered all my words.
"There's no way out of this?" he asked. Stiffly, I shook my head. Rage flickered across his face. "That's not fair! Why don't you get a say in who you want to be with for the rest of your life?"
"If I do this, my kingdom will be safe. If a war ever happens, at least we'll know that England will come to our rescue. I'm protecting what I need to protect, Logan. My opinions don't matter when it comes to my kingdom."
He was silent for several long, dragging minutes. I awaited his response for a time that seemed like eternity before he finally looked at me, a defeated look in his eyes.
"Who is he?"
Oh, wow. Of all the questions that could've been asked, it was that one.
"Vincent Van Hastings."
The name still brought eerie chills running down my spine. Vincent wasn't a bad kid. He wasn't spoiled, rude, snobby, or that kind of guy that just doesn't talk because he has to act like a royal. He was a kind boy, gentle, sweet, and the perfect gentleman. He helped the elderly cross the street every time I hung out with him, lifted boxes and bags for those who looked like they were about to fall over. He'll pick up strays from the streets and turn them into the nearest animal hospital.
I just didn't like the thought of being married to him.
"Do you like him?" Logan asked, his voice quiet and almost low as a whisper.
A noise was made at the back of my throat and with an exasperated sigh, I smacked him on the shoulder. "Why the hell do I like you then? So much for brilliant boy genius."
I swear, when I said that, the dejected look that had been so prominent on his features vanished to be quickly replaced by a look of exhiliration, and something sparked in his eyes. Crap! No sparks, remember, Park? What happened to that?
"But that's why you can't like me. Not anymore. That's why you need to forget about all of this and just be my bodyguard. We can't be anythin--"
"Does he like you?"
Rude. Did he enjoy interrupting a sentence that was full of emotion and hurt and compassion? You know what? Forget it! I'm done with being in touch with my feelings, no matter what my therapist says I should do.
"No," I said. "Not in that way. We will always be friends. We're not too happy about it either, but Vincent's parents really want this, and I just really want to help my kingdom. There is nothing between us, nothing at all!"
I shot a look at Logan. "I agree with you. This isn't fair for me, but you know what? This is kind of your fault too. Why did you have to be such a good agent that you're requested as my bodyguard? Why did you have to make me like you?"
My following words were cut off by his lips, which had met mine in my crazed frenzy.
For a second, we both sat there, wide-eyed and frozen, our lips merely touching before he decided to lean in and tilt his head. At first, it was just him, his lips moving slowly against mine, weakly trying to force mine to move.
All I could smell was him, and the warmth of his body against mine screamed to me that I should move in. I couldn't respond. I just couldn't. So I settled my hands on his shoulders and tried to push him off.
I did try. I really really tried. But I'm not the strongest at eleven-thirty at night, especially a long wedding, and especially with Logan Cross' lips against mine. They were smooth and cold, but the kiss was sweet and pleasant.
I didn't fight it, and he took it as a sign to pull me even closer, cupping his hands around my face. His lips moved against mine slowly, hesitantly almost, before he pulled away, this far-off look in his face.
"I'm sorry, I just--"
And when he spoke, his voice was husky and faint, weak from the kiss even though I hadn't done anything. So then I realized that I did want to do something, and this might've been my last chance to.
I surged forward, wrapping my arms around his neck as I pulled him back towards me, and locking our lips in the most fiery meeting ever.
The campfire that had been lit and tended to earlier was now gone, replaced by the most dangerous wildfire. I pulled him tighter, my arms like snakes hanging around his neck. His hands slid from my chin, sliding down my back with a slithery motion, causing thrilling chills to run up and down my spin, before wrapping them around my waist.
I couldn't remember how my last kiss went. I couldn't remember who my first kiss was with. I didn't remember the name of the city I was hiding out in, or what song I had been playing before he walked in. Because all that matter was that his lips were on mine, claiming them, sending electrical sparks of energy sizzling all around us.
We were like hungry wolves, and yet this was the only meal that could fulfill us. He pressed me even closer, as if I was way too far apart, our lips moving in unison as we leaned backwards. He tasted like sweet green apples and sugar, and I wanted more.
Suddenly, Logan broke apart. We were both breathless, catching our air as our foreheads pressed together. His hands once again cupped the sides of my face.
"This isn't fair," he sighed, his lips brushing against mine but pulling it away. "Why can't I have you? Why are you making it so hard for me, Sparrow?"
I didn't reply. All I did was make it even more hard for him to forget, to put away all of our stupid little moments together as I leaned forward and kissed him one more time. It was soft and slower, yet the same fire before was here again, burning brightly between us as the moments passed.