December 22, 2010 3:00 p.m.
Levi shrugs amiably, then wanders off. As he approaches, Diana's head jerks up with the alert senses of a guard dog. Her face immediately falls when she sees it's just Levi and her attention returns to her phone.
Wolf clears his throat, drawing my attention back to him. His face looks stern and his eyebrows have drawn together in reproach. "You shouldn't have gone off with him." He shoves his hands into his pockets. "How do you think that looked?"
"Well, I wasn't going to fight her for the front seat," I point out, wrapping my arms around myself. Even though I slipped on my gloves in the car, I still feel incredibly chilled.
He sighs, as if I'm missing the point. "I'm just saying, Charlotte. It doesn't look like we're dating if you're jumping into cars with Levi like a Bond girl."
"It also doesn't look like we're dating if we stand here having a couple's fight while everyone else is off having fun," I point out, stamping my feet on the ground, trying to revive some circulation. I'm suddenly reminded how much I loathe the cold. My toes feel cold even inside my socks and my nose feels like it's about to start dripping. Even my eye lashes feel stiff and frozen. More importantly, Wolf looks completely at home in these frozen surroundings. His cheeks are a little pink, but his eyes look bright and sparkle like diamonds. The faintest of smiles is playing on his lips and I realize with growing indignation that the foul little cockroach is laughing at me. "Is my discomfort amusing to you?" I snap, rubbing my arms with ferocious vigor.
"You're right, girlfriend," he drawls out. "Let's go rub how in love we are in Diana's face." Without waiting for my response, he places a proprietary hand on my back and starts steering me in the direction of the bazaar.
Even though a second ago I was feeling numb, his hand makes my entire body feel flushed with heat. We fall into step easily as we cross the icy parking lot. I dare a glance at him, trying not to get caught. Everything about him confuses me, and I hate that he has this weird, compelling power over me. He's using me and I'm letting myself be used. This isn't me. He makes me feel weak and I don't even want to hate him for it.
As though he can sense I'm thinking about him, he catches my eye and the corner of his mouth lifts in a smile. Wait, an actual smile? One that was directed at me without my having to smile at him first?
And then I'm falling.
One of the things about slipping on ice is that it happens in an instant. There's a horrible feeling in your stomach when your brain realizes what's about to happen and that you won't be able to stop it. You try to stop yourself from falling, try to straighten your legs, try to throw your hands out in front of you to break your fall - but at this point, there's pretty much nothing that you can do except let it happen.
Uncle Quinn, my mother's youngest brother, committed suicide at age twenty-nine. At the funeral, the older relatives remarked what a shame it was that he had believed there was nothing to live for, but how considerate of him not to do something messy like blow his brains out all over his expensive paintings and carpets. A prolific poet of no small fame, Quinn's suicide surprised no one. He was the kind of person who always found a reason to be unhappy. He was unhappy in love, unhappy with his writing, unhappy with life.
He had killed himself with a thick cord of rope hung from his ceiling fan. When everyone had been talking about what a shame it was, all I could think was whether he had spent his last few minutes of consciousness clawing at the rope. Killing yourself was like falling, I had thought then. When the end is near, there's nothing you can do to stop it. Oh, you can fight it, but it'll still get you in the end. You're terrified because you know it's going to hurt, and as humans, we're hardwired to avoid pain.
I remember being sixteen and looking at the closed coffin. I remember wondering whether at the end he had tried to free himself because he realized he didn't want to die. To this day, I can't get him out of my mind.
"Charlotte!" Wolf cries out.
I close my eyes as I fall. I'm falling backwards and I know my butt will cushion my fall. I let it happen.
Wolf doesn't.
Hands grab me. My eyes fly open to see Wolf standing over me. One of his hands holds onto my forearm while the other supports my waist. I can count each individual eyelash, even though the softly falling snow clumps them together. "Thank you," I whisper.
There is a battle warring in his eyes and he nods tightly, pulling me against his chest. There is a bird in my ribcage and it's flapping its wings in protest. My chest tightens and I damn my hummingbird heartbeat for betraying me as the intense look in his eyes quells, softening into a look of tender...concern?
Wolf doesn't release me, just keeps looking at me with that same infuriating look in his eyes. I wish I had time to decipher it, but he doesn't give me time. His eyes close and he's leaning in. At the tiny squeak I emit, his lips curve into a grin for a millisecond before they're on top of mine. I hold myself rigidly, willing myself not to respond because I know that if he's kissing me, it's for a reason.
He's using me - I can't let myself forget that. His lips are surprisingly warm as they try to coax me to respond, but I can't bring myself to kiss him back. Kissing was never part of the agreement, after all. The only reason he's getting away with this is because he saved me from what was sure to be a pretty humiliating fall.
Too bad that it's already too late; he can't save me from a much more important kind of fall. Willpower, self-control, self-respect, don't let me down! I think frantically. Help, I've fallen and I can't get up.
"Charlotte, kiss me back," he whispers against my lips and I know I'm done for. My lips relax infinitesimally, and he presses his advantage by moving his lips against mine. Wolf's tongue traces my parted lips in a tantalizing, languorous move and I swear that the damn bird in my chest is going to kill me. My heart is hammering frantically and I gasp for air, stealing some of the peppermint breath from his mouth.
He releases me slowly. His eyes are still closed, but mine pop right open. There's still the faintest smile on his face, like he's reliving the memory of our kiss. What the hell? For some reason that makes me angry. I grit my teeth. Why isn't he letting me go? It's all for Diana's benefit, anyway. Against my better judgment I look at Diana. I expect a furious expression and a promise in her eyes to drive a stake right into my heart. Instead, I see her bowed head next to Graeme's, looking at a T-bar jewelry stand laden down with necklaces. She's not even looking at us.
Somehow, that makes me feel cheated. "What the hell did you do that for?" I hiss, resisting the urge to give Wolf a push.
His eyes open. "What?" Why the hell does he sound so blissful?
"She's not even looking, Wolfram! Why did you kiss me?"
"Has the thought 'because Wolf wanted to' crossed your brain?" He lifts one aristocratic brow at me.
"Um, no?"
"Then you're not as clever as you look," he points out, giving me a lazy smile. "Let's go."
Is he really trying to avoid talking about this? "Fine," I say in a clipped voice.
We don't get more than two feet before his hand finds mine, loosely holding my wrist. At my questioning look, he just shrugs. "You could fall again," he points out.
Yet by the time we reach the others, his hand has slipped to lace his fingers through mine. His mercurial behavior ceases to surprise me. Wolfram van der Waals is like falling - you just have to let it happen and things will be so much easier for you.
"What took you guys so long?" Graeme asks as we approach.
"Stuff," Wolf replies vaguely. "Things."
I raise my eyebrow at that. Seems like there's at least one thing we have in common; a certain love affair with a certain scruffy AMC sheriff.
"Uh huh," Graeme says archly. "Charlotte, look at this pendant. I think it would look good on you."
Diana sniffs, drawing all our attention to her. "Yes," she says, smiling sweetly. "Tacky jewelry just suits some people." Her finger toys with her necklace. There's a silver pendant that I think at first is an apple, but on closer inspection, turns out to be a Christmas tree ornament.
"Meow," Levi mutters. "Chill, Di. It's not a competition."
"Everything is a competition," she fires back, stalking past us. "It's not my fault that I'm winning."
"Only because I'm not actually playing with you," I call after her retreating back. "So have fun playing with yourself." Pun intended.
She stops short and I see her shoulders tense, but she doesn't turn around. Instead, Diana makes a beeline straight to one of the little boutiques wreathed with holly and disappears inside.
"That was brilliant!" Levi exclaims the moment the door shuts behind the blond.
Xander squeezes my shoulder and for once Graeme doesn't even looked pissed. She offers me a hesitant smile. "People don't usually stand up to her," she explains.
"That's because she's a bully," I say simply.
Even Wolf looks a bit more respectful as he offers me his arm. I take it and let him herd me around the bazaar. On the other side of him, Graeme chatters to me about jewelry and I half listen. My attention has been stolen by a pair of lovely labradorite earrings. Set in sterling silver, the silvery earrings wink at me with every step, the color shifting subtly from gray to green as I move. It would be perfect for Graeme.
I noticed she favored green from the first moment we met, and even now, she is decked out in a green tweed coat with matching woolen mittens and a red infinity scarf dotted with green sequins. "You guys go ahead, I just want to look at this," I say, waving them away. Graeme is only too happy to oblige, dragging her brother off to look at artisanal chocolates. Levi ambles away from us to look at a vendor selling cigars. Only Xander lingers behind, following my gaze towards the jewelry.
"Hello," a gray-haired, spectacled woman says kindly to me. "You like to look at the earrings?" Her English is almost flawless, only a slight accent giving her away.
"Yes, please." I wait while she removes them from the velvet-lined display case. She drops them in my hand, then stands back, watching my reaction.
"Real silver," she says proudly. "As sign says."
"They're beautiful," Xander admires.
I nudge his foot with my own. Yes, the sign says "sterling silver" but I notice that the price is conspicuously absent. In places like this, they have one price for locals and a separate, more expensive one for tourists. The last thing I want to do is make her drive up the price more by pointing out how how exquisite and unique the craftsmanship is.
I turn the earrings over in my hand. They match Graeme's eyes. The stones gleam an iridescent green and feel silky-smooth in my palm. "How much?"
"Thirty-five Euro," the shopkeeper says promptly. "Buy more and I will give discount."
"How much more?" I ask dubiously.
"Are these for your mom?" Xander whispers.
I shake my head mutely, but his words give me an idea. My mom would love some of this jewelry and I wouldn't mind buying something for myself, too. I pick up a gold necklace with a golden-green labradorite pendant in the shape of a teardrop. Next to it is a pair of matching earrings. They twinkle at me, looking almost magical. I hold both the necklace and earrings up in question.
"Fifty Euro!"
I hold up another necklace. This one is also labradorite, suspended from a gold chain. It's cornflower blue and when I turn it in my hand, it catches the light and reflects gold streaks in the oval gem. It would look gorgeous against my skin and blue is my favorite color. I can't bear to leave the necklace behind.
The woman smiles at me, taking pity. "Hundred Euro for all."
I want to haggle the cost, but then I look at her kindly, lined face and decide not to. It's Christmas, after all. Even if she is charging me at the tourist rate, I won't begrudge her a few extra Euros. I hesitate only a moment before nodding decisively, my hand diving into my jacket pocket for my wallet. I pull out five crisp twenties and place them in her hand.
"That's a lot for souvenirs," Xander comments, giving me an appraising glance.
"Those silvery-grey earrings are for Graeme. I didn't realize Wolf had a sister so I didn't get anything for her before I left the States," I admit. "The others I got for me and my mom."
The shopkeeper busies herself by putting each item into its own little bag and tying it tightly shut with a thin red cord. With a satisfied smile, she tucks a little sprig of holly into the cord manacling the bags shut.
"What did you get Graeme?" I ask, watching her as she works. It's so small a thing, yet the extra mile she's going to package my purchases astonishes me. I watch her tie the cord with care, gently smoothing the brown felt bag when it creases, and painstakingly snipping a two-inch sprig of holly to give the present a festive quality.
"What do you get the girl who has everything?" he asks rhetorically. "I came armed with gift cards."
I can't keep the dismay out of my voice. "A gift card? Xander, that's so impersonal! You do realize that girl likes you, right?"
A calculating look slides over his face. "Did she tell you that?"
A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. "I'm not exactly swapping girl talk with her, Xand," I tease. "But it's written all over her face. Do you like her back?"
"I..." he trails off. "I don't know. She's not like anyone I've ever liked before. She's...capricious. She's beautiful. She's like a figment out of a book."
Xander is a boy who loves love. He loves first kisses and texting until 8 a.m. He loves choosing what shirt to wear on the first date and then texting me a half-dozen pictures demanding to know which I like best. He loves ordering champagne when there's something to celebrate - and sometimes even when there isn't.
He's almost always blinded by how wonderful a girl is, never seeing them for who they really are. This time is different. He sees Graeme for who she really is. And that's the problem, I realize.
"Merry Christmas," the old woman says. She has put the pouches into a plastic bag. She extends it to me and I accept, rolling it into a ball so it will fit into the pocket of my jacket.
"Thank you. Merry Christmas." I smile at her as we walk on. I'm still thinking about what Xander said. I'm starting to wonder whether I'm not facing the same problem with Wolfram. He's too vivid, too attractive, too everything. The van der Waals are of a different echelon of society than us and it's so easy to forget that when they're actually being normal.
"So what's going on between you and Wolf?" Xander asks curiously. "I tried to ask in the car but Graeme dug her elbow into my ribs. Pretty sure there's a bruise."
"I'm pretending to be his girlfriend."
"WHAT?!" His yelp is loud.
"Shhh," I hiss, clapping a hand over his mouth, praying that Wolfram, who is looking at blue and white Delftware milk jugs, doesn't hear it. "He asked me to. So Diana leaves him alone."
"He's using you," Xander says, appalled. "I cannot believe him. I warned him not to be a fucking dick."
Oh, so I guess Wolf's rudeness hadn't gone completely unnoticed by Xander. "I agreed. Don't blame him. I wouldn't have if I didn't think I could handle it."
"What about you and Steven?"
I sigh. "There's no Steven. Well, there is. But he's just Steven now. There's no 'me and Steven'."
"What happened?" Xander asks as we pass by a chocolatier stall.
I tug on his sleeve to stop him, so I can look at the wares on display. "We broke up. He, um, was cheating on me."
"Oh."
Xander goes quiet as I converse with the merchant, finally settling on a small box of chocolate truffles for Humphreys, to thank him for his kindness to me. I'm out of room in my pocket, so I swing it in my hand, the sharp corners hitting my knees as we walk towards the three siblings.
Wolfram's face splits into a smile when he sees me and the beauty of it is infectious. I feel my own smile returning to my face. Damned if that bird hasn't started fluttering in my chest again.
Author's Note: I think this is my longest chapter yet! Anyway, some new developments in this chapter which I hope you enjoyed and can try to make some sense of *evil cackle* I promise you, even if it's a small detail now, most of those details will wind up contributing to some larger theme or plot point. Wolf's behavior WILL make sense and you will get to see how they turned out five years later and whether there is any hope for them.
The entire story is plotted out thanks to my productivity over the long weekend (Monday was a holiday) and I am so excited to keep writing this. Thank you all for reading this, especially Lots0fJoy, Mandee92, TheaCallow, leia009, and @amaturewiter who have been with the story from the beginning. Your support is appreciated more than you know. xoxo