Bastian Read online

  “That’s awful,” she commented. “Well, he seems to be happy. Do you get to see him often? I’m assuming as a unit it had to be an adjustment not seeing each other every day.” She took a tepid sip of her drink, the tip of her pink tongue testing the temperature.

  I cleared my throat, trying not to focus on the explicit thoughts running through my head. “Yes, it was an adjustment,” I agreed. “And, yes, I see him every time I make it into town here.” We walked and talked, and I could see her body language relax. “How long have you worked at the Archives?” I asked, preferring to talk about her.

  She stared off, no doubt recounting the years. “Almost seven years,” she said, not quite seeming to believe it.

  “And tell me,” I said, the teasing tone back in my voice, “have you always been this…” I trailed off, not knowing exactly word I wanted to use to describe her tenacity. Or was it her attitude, defensiveness or stubbornness?

  “Rude?” she supplied.

  I stifled a laugh with my cup, but my eyes challenged her to disagree. I thought it was an ounce of progress and decided to stay silent in case she wanted to elaborate.

  “I know I owe you an apology for the way I acted the other day, but I really don’t want to.” The space between her brows became creased, giving her an adorable look of intense determination, as if an apology to me would be physically painful for her.

  That garnered a deep, honest-to-goodness laugh from me. “You are nothing if not honest, Alana.” We had just rounded the corner and since I still technically had thirty-three minutes of her time left, I motioned for us to sit at a bench which faced a water fountain. It was quite lovely, what with the sun teasing us occasionally, flowers lending their unique palette to the aesthetic and the gentle trickle of water.

  I tested my luck and leaned a little closer to her. “Trust me, I would never want you to fake anything, be it an apology, reaction or feeling.”

  “Ok, I’m going to just ask because I am not one for tip toeing and assuming anything,” she said, sounding a little huffy. “Why me? If I’m just a project or plaything for you, it’s a hard pass from me.”

  “Because of that,” I told her.

  “Because of what?” she asked, confused.

  “You. Your blunt honesty, how you’re not afraid to say what you want, even to a prince. I can’t figure you out and it’s driving me mad.” And you’re insanely beautiful, though I doubt you realize it, I thought. My eyes dipped to the gentle hollow of her throat where her pulse had increased with my confession. I wondered what kinds of sounds she would make if I ever got the chance to kiss and taste her there.

  “Oh,” she said, creating the perfect circle with her lips. She had no idea what she was doing to me. Driving me mad, indeed.

  “Have the tables turned, love? Have I rendered you speechless?” I threw in the pet name, if I was being honest, because I wanted to see her reaction.

  Before I knew it, she had swatted my arm. “Did you see that?” I asked no one in particular. “She struck her prince!” I was laughing, and within moments she was too. And it was a melodic sound, her laugh. High pitched giggles turned into genuine laughing, and I was quickly learning that I liked being around her. It was fun, real and refreshing.

  “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I’m sorry for assaulting you, perhaps I’m sorry for not addressing you properly, and maybe for judging the book by the cover.” Her giggles had subsided and she had grown more serious. “But I won’t apologize for who I am.” She looked at her foot as she said the last part, and kicked an imaginary pebble, sounding deflated.

  “Look at me,” I commanded. I twisted in the bench and faced her. She met my eyes with hers, vulnerability painted across her delicate features. “You don’t owe me an apology, and I hope you never apologize for who you are. I quite like you the way you are. Please, don’t change.”

  The air around us grew thick with my words, their weight hanging between us like an electric charge waiting to go off.

  As if it had, the sky opened up and rain began to pelt down on us, absolving us of our preconceived assumptions of one another.

  Alana pulled her jacket tighter, securing it with the belt at her waist as I searched for cover. Being a few blocks from the Archives, we improvised.

  Across the street in the park was an old bridge with a domed folly at its center. I grabbed her hand, coffees forgotten and we raced to it, laughing and vainly attempting to stay dry the entire way.

  Everyone who had been out had already sought shelter, and we had the structure to ourselves.

  “Oh, my goodness, that was sudden!” she exclaimed, catching her breath. She shook her hands out, expelling some of the water, then gathered her thick brown hair to one side and rang it out as much as she could.

  I couldn’t look away. Her trench coat was sodden, melded to her body, accentuating her petite hourglass figure, and the act of pulling her hair to one side was erotic in its simplicity. I’d take this fully clothed look over a wet tee shirt any day.

  My breathing became more labored, and it wasn’t from the short jog. I was wearing a leather jacket and had boots on, so the water hadn’t affected me much. But my hair was almost completely soaked, a tuft of it lying on my forehead. I pushed it back, mussing up the already unkempt look.

  “Do you think it’ll let up soon?” she asked. And for a moment I hoped she had forgotten the ticking clock she had set on our time together.

  “Hope not,” I said honestly, pinning her with a stare. A single water drop had clung to her lashes and as badly as I wanted to reach for it, I settled on the end of her makeshift pony tail.

  Her breath hitched at my touch, but she did nothing to pull away. “You don’t?” she asked, if not timidly.

  “No. It’s rather a good look on you.”

  She had never broken eye contact with me, the air between us growing thick once more.

  “Bastian,” she sighed, hooding her eyes.

  I was still playing with her hair, finding myself unable to stop the contact, as miniscule as it was; it was still a connection, our bodies bridged through the desire that neither of us were willing to acknowledge. Giving it a name would make it real, tangible. And it was utterly unnerving.

  In the past, when I wanted someone, I pursued them and it never took long. But Alana was different.

  Every woman I’d been with had showed their cards up front. They knew it and I knew it, though neither of us cared. That was the game though. Hardly a game, if you ask me.

  The circle of predictability was my norm for a while. And though I’d had such little time with Alana, it was apparent that she was different.

  Pursuing her would be a challenge. She kept her hand close, revealing a card at a time. Whether she realized it or not, she was enchanting me, and it was something I would gladly succumb to.

  The rain had begun to let up, and as much as I didn’t want to cut our time short, I wanted to earn her respect more. Could I have taken what I wanted? Kissed her as the rain cascaded over the dome, protecting us like a stone umbrella, shrouding us from others?

  Probably.

  Would I have dared to taste her in the crook of her neck like I had wanted to earlier?

  Most likely.

  It would’ve happened in the past.

  But Alana was worth more than a quick romp in the sheets. She was special and seeing as we started out questionably, I controlled myself. Our potential was as thin as a thread, fragile and delicate, threatening to teeter off the edge.

  One wrong move could push us to a quick and final end before we even got started, whereas the other direction held a promise of something new for both of us, I’d wager.

  “I better get you back, love.” I hesitated for a fraction of a second, then dropped her hair. It was enough to break the spell. I took a step back, while she tossed her hair over her shoulder so it lay like a glistening waterfall down her back.

  By the time we had left the park, the rain had completely stopped and the s
un had made its presence known. Steam rose from the cobblestone streets, creating an ethereal, foggy backdrop that echoed how I was currently feeling. The rich scent of rain was all around, the ever-present notion that spring was in full swing.

  The walk back wasn’t long, but neither of us had a sense of urgency. When we reached the Archives’ back entrance, we both spoke at the same time.

  “Thank you,” we said in unison.

  Alana smiled at our blunder, but spoke first. “I had a surprisingly good time,” she said.

  “Well I’m glad it wasn’t as torturous as you had imagined,” I said, a slight chuckle to my voice.

  At least we were back to the playful nature we started with. But I felt the time dwindling rapidly, like watching the last grains of sand fall to the bottom of the timer.

  “Well, thank you again,” she said shyly. She held her hand out, waiting for me to shake it. I was damned if this was going to turn into one of those awkward goodbyes where one went in for a hug while the other went in for a kiss.

  So, I settled for somewhat of a compromise. I took her hand, but I rotated it and kissed the top of her knuckles, her cheeks blushing at the old-fashioned gesture. Looking up at her, I said, “See me again.” It was now or never and my words felt rushed, but no less sincere. “Let me take you on a proper date. Tell me you’ll say yes.” My heart was beating fast, and I honestly couldn’t recall the last time I had felt so nervous.

  She searched my face, looking for any tell-tale farcical giveaways. I was putting myself out there with nothing but an honest heart and I prayed she wouldn’t take it and step on it.

  And in what was quickly becoming true Alana fashion, she finally answered me. “For someone as good looking and eligible, you seem kind of desperate, so I’ll take pity on you and say yes.” It was the first time I saw her smile wholly. The sight made my knees want to buckle, her beauty and wit taking me down with a one-two punch.

  I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “You really mean that?” I asked, sounding like a kid that was told he could have dessert before dinner.

  “I really mean it,” she said, giggling.

  “Here,” I said, typing something quickly in my phone and handed it to her. “Type your number in so I have it.”

  “Really?” she asked incredulously. “Sugar Tits? After everything, that’s what you’re saving me in your phone as?”

  “It’s fitting, no?” I mused. “You were covered in frosting—” I tried to explain before she cut me off.

  “I remember quite well, thank you very much,” she quipped.

  I gave her my million-dollar smile, hoping I hadn’t blown my chance. I personally found it amusing and rather accurate.

  Her demeanor changed, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “It’s as fitting as what I’ll save you as in my phone,” she deadpanned, finding resilience once more. “Now, if you don’t mind, you’ve kept me longer than my intended break. Us commoners have our day jobs to get back to,” she said with an impressively posh accent, albeit a mocking one.

  “Of course,” I agreed. “Until then, m’lady,” I said, bowing deeply and playing along.

  She turned the handle on the door and pushed it open. The squeaking of her damp soles could be heard after the door had closed.

  Now it was time to start planning the most impressive date I could think of.

  Chapter 4

  Alana

  I hadn’t even made it back to my office before my phone dinged and I didn’t have to look to know who it was.

  Pompous Prince: You free Saturday? In case you haven’t saved me yet, this is Prince Charming.

  Me: Weird, that’s not the name I saved you as…

  Pompous Prince: Surprising…Prince Charming might be even more fitting than Sugar Tits. Oh, I know. You must’ve used just the eggplant emoji

  Me: Wishful thinking.

  Pompous Prince: You’ll just have to wait and see.

  Me: Awfully presumptuous of you.

  Gray bubbles appeared, then disappeared. Hah! He didn’t have a response to that. Sitting back at my desk, I placed my phone down.

  I had been so distracted with texting, I didn’t even feel Zara’s eyes boring a hole in me.

  She cleared her throat, announcing her presence.

  “Hi,” I said cheerfully. I couldn’t help it. Everything that had just happened was something I was not expecting in the least. I’m not sure I really understood what just transpired between us, but I was pretty sure I just had coffee with a prince.

  And shared what? A moment, an experience with him in the rain? Even I had a hard time ignoring the intensity and the way he looked at me, the two of us lost in each other’s gaze.

  He could be crass and naughty, but in less than an hour I was able to tell that Bastian was a good man, effectively taking my preconceived notions about him and rendering them useless. That had been his mission though, hadn’t it? To prove to me he was a decent guy?

  How foolish I had felt, falling for the embellished fodder, relying on gossip alone to sway my opinion of him. I knew better than to wrongly judge people, but with surprising ease, Bastian had showed compassion and understanding for others, including me.

  I had been awful to him, and yet, he wanted to take me on a proper date? Skepticism wormed its way inside me like a parasite settling in, the self-doubt covering me like a wet blanket.

  “Woah,” Zara said forcefully. “Your face just cycled through a myriad of emotions, and all in about fourteen seconds.” She crossed her arms, challenging me to disagree. “You went from elated to freaked out to more freaked out.”

  I made a mental note to work harder at my poker face. “When did you become a body language expert?” I asked, scrunching my nose in annoyance.

  “Since you have zero game hiding your emotions. What happened exactly?” Curiosity drove her question, but she also sounded concerned.

  “I don’t really know,” I said, exhaling loudly.

  “Start at the beginning.”

  After I caught her up on the happenings, including his interactions with the child and barista, the rain, the moment and then exchanging numbers, her eyes were as wide as saucers.

  “You realize what this means, right?” She had taken the seat next to me as I was recounting the details of the date, and she slapped her knee with gusto.

  “Um, I’m going on another date with Bastian?” I replied with a calculated guess.

  “Yeah, no. I mean, yes you are, which you still have to respond to him and tell him you can squeeze him on Saturday—you don’t want to seem too available—but it means,” she continued, “that you’re DATING THE DAMN PRINCE.”

  My cheeks flushed on their own accord. Was it true? I was a damn scholar, held two degrees and not once in my life had I ever had my mind feel like scrambled eggs.

  The weight of her words sank faster than an anchor, hitting me all at once.

  “It’s just a date,” I said, trying to convince myself more than anything. “Another trial run, if you will…”

  “You’re full of shit.”

  My eyebrows shot skyward, surprised at her bluntness.

  “We’ve been talking for what, two minutes? Your phone has beeped seven times during that. He gave you his number, his number, Lana. He’s a damn prince and he gave you his digits and you two have been texting like teenagers. You shared a moment together, and it affected you.” She was making valid points, her voice full of vehemence. “Lana,” she said, her voice softer. “You know you’re like an older sister to me, right?”

  I nodded. We’d known each other for a few years, but our opposite natures made us click. It was hard to describe, but it worked for us and I knew that regardless of her tones, her accusations and her pushiness, it all came from a place of love.

  “Then believe me when I say that I’ve never seen you this happy. You’ve been on one date the entire time I’ve known you, and your reaction to him was a fraction of what I’m seeing from you now.
”

  It was true. I hadn’t dated much, but to be fair, nobody was interesting enough. I honestly didn’t even know if I had a type. Well, I guess I knew the answer to that now: my type was Bastian—give or take the title—his personality was fun and I had found myself really enjoying our time together.

  He was in fact someone I wanted to get to know better, to learn each facet that made him who he was.

  My phone beeped again and Zara looked at me, asking without words if I was going to answer him.

  “What if this is a mistake?” I gushed. “What if this ends up to be a complete waste of time, or worse, what if I get hurt?”

  “And what if you say no, bury your head in the sand and live the rest of your life wondering what could have been? Life is short, Lana. Take the bull by the horns and enjoy this. Take it for face value. If it turns into something more, then you bask in it then. But for now, allow yourself some happiness, ok?”

  I couldn’t argue with her. The doubt would always be present in my mind, albeit minute at this point. I wasn’t the type of person to indulge on myself much, so I took her advice and decided to take this once-in-a-lifetime leap. I’d allow it to take me where it went, and go from there.

  “Thank you,” I told her. I stood and hugged her, right as Mathis came in.

  He eyed us carefully, gauging, deciding whether or not our embrace was for a happy occasion or if someone had just died. When it became evident it wasn’t for the latter reason, he relaxed slightly.

  Zara opened her mouth to speak, and he cut her off. “Don’t want to know, la, la, la.” He stuck his fingers in his ears, looking like a six-foot toddler. Zara threw a pad of sticky notes at him and we all shared a relaxed laugh before settling back to work.

  I told myself I wouldn’t answer my texts until I got home this evening. A little anticipation never hurt anyone, right?

  After I got home, I made a light meal, poured a glass of wine and settled in on the sofa. It was then that I allowed myself to read the missed texts from Bastian.