[Ambrosia Bellemore]
"Extra shirts?"
"Check."
"Earmuffs?"
"Check."
"Matchsticks?"
"Matchsticks?"
"Yeah, if you ever get angry and want to burn someone alive."
"Uh, yeah. That's likely."
"Pretzels?"
"Aha! Three bags."
"Those bags of space food I got you?"
"Uh, I'll pass."
"But there's mint chocolate chip ice cream flavour! And spaghetti! And mac and cheese!"
"My stomach doesn't bode well to space food, Frey."
"Yep, I always knew you weren't cut out for astronomy."
"Thanks, Freida."
"Your welcome."
"I think I'm all set. Whaddya want for dinner? Chinese sounds good?"
"Sounds breathtaking."
Two bowls of soup, a cup of noodles and another plate of orange chicken later, we finally give up.
"I can't believe you're going to Venice." Freida sighs, patting her full stomach.
"Same." I sigh, popping open the button of my jeans.
"With your boss." She says with a snigger. A few days ago, I'd have sighed in despair. But now, not so much.
"Yeah," I say hesitantly. Freida looks up when she notices my change of tone.
"What's wrong?"
"Wrong? Pfft. I'm great." I wave a hand dismissively, laughing airily.
"Such a bad liar," She mutters under her breath, eying me suspiciously.
"It's nothing you want to care about, Freida." I assure her.
"Come on, what is it? I know you want to talk about it." She prods.
"Freida," I begin.
"Yeah?"
"What would you say if I told you that I...um, kissed my boss?"
"You kissed your boss?" She mumbles back, her eyes glazed over.
"Yeah. Well practically, he kissed me first."
"And you kissed him back?" She asks, her face slowly returning back to normal.
"Well, yeah." I mumble, staring at my lap.
"Do you like him?" She asks all of a sudden, making me look up at her.
"Well I, um, I don't know. But the past few days have been a little...confusing." I admit.
"When did it happen? After your date?"
"That wasn't a date," I argue.
"If you say so," She snickers lightly. I glare at her.
"I don't know how that's a big deal. I mean, sure, things might get awkward at work. But if you like him, why should you worry about that at all?" She reasons.
"He's my boss, Freida. A few weeks ago, we couldn't even look at each other without glaring. How can we ever like each other?" I argue, almost ripping my hair off of my head.
"Hey, hey. Look, this can go two ways. Either you can act like nothing happened and forget about it, or you can go with the flow and see what happens. You'll be spending a week in Venice with him, Ambrosia, see where it goes with him."
See where it goes with him.
I can work with that.
"You're right. We're grown ups. I can take care of this."
"Good. Just don't think too much, okay? It never helps." I roll my eyes at her.
"Go sleep now. You need all your energy for tomorrow," She suggests, smirking at me.
"What do you mean 'need all your energy'?"
"Don't you see the pattern, Ambrosia? All of your adventures happen on a plane." She giggles, giving me a friendly shove in the direction of the stairs.
I smile back at her, thinking how true her words really were.
~•~
[Calum Achorn]
It's a truth universally acknowledged that a man in love is never allowed to have a good night's sleep.
But I wasn't in love, I couldn't be.
Or was I?
I sit upright in a flash, my eyes wide open and my arms flailing around me, as if I were drowning. I run a hand through my hair, which is messy and unkempt. Taking a deep breath, I slowly try to relax.
Love is not as easy as they make it seem, not at all. It's swords and daggers against your heart, hydrogen bombs in your stomach, a nuclear reaction in your brain.
I felt like a comet, hurtling towards earth.
What am I going to do?
When Mr Van Gough asked me to attend his charity ball in Venice, I didn't know what coaxed me to ask Ambrosia Bellemore to come.
What was I thinking?
A week with that infuriatingly addictive woman will drive me crazy, I might rip my head off, or worse, tear my heart out.
And what about the ten hour flight with her? Why didn't I think about that?
Sometimes, I prided myself for my quick analytical brain. But now, not so much.
I'm an utter and complete fool.
I'm moon walking on my own grave.
I'm stabbing myself with my own knife.
How am I supposed to spend ten hours with her? Hide in the bathroom to stay away from her? Like I did last time?
I couldn't even pretend to be someone else this time.
What if I swapped seats with someone else?
But did I want to?
No, of course not.
Why does everything have to be so damn confusing?!
I've never in my life felt so hopeless before. Everyone looked up to me for directions, I was supposed to be the level headed one. Then why was I feeling like I had no clue about what's happening to me right now?
"Ugh," I hit myself over the head for a few times, trying to keep the headache at bay.
"I don't like feeling this way. I hate this feeling." I mutter, groaning in despair.
No book, or movie had ever prepared me for this. I mean, I had written a few books myself, and even though they weren't romantic in any way, I was fairly sure I knew what it was all about.
Love is supposed to be a nice, bubbly feeling in your stomach, a soaring heart, a haywired brain, eyes shining brightly. And what did I get? A headache, a deep itching in my heart, and a gut wrenching feeling in my stomach, and I'm sure my eyes are blooshot and dark rimmed right now.
"Son, stop torturing yourself." A quiet voice rings out from the corner of my room and I jump half a metre into the air.
"Father?" I ask in disbelief.
"I let myself in when you didn't answer." He replies, almost sheepish.
"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice raspy and dry. I clear my throat quietly.
"I just wanted to see how you were doing," He admits, and even though I can't see him, I notice that there's a soft edge to his voice.
"Okay, father. What do you want to know? The House is doing great, the sales have risen up..."
"I didn't come here to talk about work, son. I know how efficient you are, sometimes even more so than me. I'm not worried." A huge lump lodges itself in my throat. I wasn't used to compliments, especially the rare ones from my father.
"Okay. Then what about?"
"I've noticed that you're taking things a little too seriously."
"Yeah? How?" I challenge him, which comes naturally to me. But today, I feel ripped, vulnerable and the usual harsh edge to my tone is gone.
"I have my ways," I see the huge silhouette of my father shaking his head in amusement. "But that's not why I'm here. I'm here to tell you that it's unnecessary."
I don't reply.
"You know, when your mother and I first met,"
"Mother has told me that story a thousand times, father."
"Yeah, but she has no idea about my side of the story. Do you want to hear it or not?"
He takes my silence as a yes. "So when your mother and I first met, I was dressed up as Romeo. I loved theatre then, one of those fleeting hobbies I took up to pass my time. Well, she was in the audience and the woman who was supposed to play my Juliet bailed out. The back stage was in a frenzy and we didn't know what to do, and she walked up to us and quietly suggested to take up the role.
"I liked her immediately. She was this petite woman, with those long bronze curls and I was fascinated, immediately. She had this calmness about her, and a tinge of rebellion, just like you.
"The play went smoothly and I spoke my lines perfectly, for the first time. We kissed, maybe it was just me, but it was a little too better to be just acting. When it ended, she gave me one last glance and walked away. I never saw her again, until one day, she walked into my father's office looking for a job.
"At first, she didn't realise who I was, maybe because of all the make up I wore for the play. We became friends, and she knew me only as her boss's son. I never told her that I was her Romeo and soon enough, it didn't matter. It never really does.
"When you love someone, every other thing fades into oblivion. I know I should've told her about it, and maybe I will someday, but why should it come in between two people who love each other? Some secrets are harmless, and they're better kept with you, just for the sanctity of it.
"I know it's not easy for you to love. I went through it myself. Constantly doubting and beating myself up for something I can't help. I know the pain comes hand in hand with the elation, but let me tell you, son, you can't let go of your feelings just because something's in your way. If you really, really love her, I'm sure you won't mind the trivial things, because it's always worth it."
After he was done, it was eerily quiet in the room. I didn't know what to say.
"Why, why are you telling me this?" I finally make myself speak.
"I just thought you ought to know." The old man mutters, a smile in his voice. "Don't let me keep you up. Good night, son." He says, quietly slipping out of the room before I can say anything back.
Nonetheless, I slept better than I had in days.
~•~
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