Eternal Starling (Emblem of Eternity Trilogy) (5 page)

He shrugged. “It’s okay. Everything happens for a reason.” He looked down at his ring, which took on an ethereal glow in the candlelight. His eyes seemed to focus, like he was remembering another place and time.

“Did you get the ring from your parents?” I asked quietly.

He didn’t answer for a moment, but eventually said, “In a way, I suppose. The ring was a gift.”

I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. I knew it was probably difficult talking about the death of his family, so I let the discussion rest.

During the lull in conversation, the waiter brought out the main course: new potatoes roasted in olive oil and herbs, lightly breaded chicken, carrots, and rolls. The food looked great and we continued eating.

Between bites, Alex said, “Tell me about your family. Do you have siblings?”

“No siblings, just me and my parents,” I answered, choosing a roll from the basket on the table.

“Do they live near here?”

“No, they live in a small town in Montana called White Sulphur Springs.”

“How did they handle you moving to Colorado for school?”

I picked up my knife, spreading salty butter on my bread while I answered, “It was hard for my mom. I moved as soon as I graduated from high school. My mom was expecting to have three more months with me. It wasn’t easy, but I needed to get away and experience new things.”

He nodded his head in understanding. “Do you think they’ll visit often?”

I swallowed my food so I could talk. “I’m sure they’ll come down once or twice a year. They try to give me space, but my mom calls and emails a lot. My dad sends me maintenance reminders for my car and my mom mails me her special chocolate chip cookies.”

“I’m going to have to meet your mom,” Alex said. “I don’t think I’ve ever had someone send me homemade cookies.”

“I’ll let her know. She’ll start cooking tonight and you’ll have more cookies than you could ever wish for.”

He smiled like he was imagining his own mom making him cookies. “That would be nice,” he said.

A few more minutes passed as we ate.

“Do you think you’ll like college?” Alex asked, picking up his glass and taking a drink.

I nodded. “I’m excited to meet new people and I love to learn, so despite it being a lot of work, I can’t wait for school to start.”

“That’s great,” he said. “College was one of the best experiences I ever had.”

“What did you study?”

“I was a history major, but took a lot of different classes.”

“What did you want to do with a history major?” I asked. I didn’t know anyone who chose that major unless they planned on being a teacher or getting their Ph.D.

“I liked history the most. I knew having a career wouldn’t be as vital for me as it is for most people. I wanted to learn about a topic I enjoyed. Now I use my time and resources helping causes I believe in.”

I finished eating and slid toward the back of my chair.

“The volunteer work you do,” I said, “what exactly is it?”

His body tensed slightly. “I help people get out of bad situations.”

Something about his response triggered that feeling of familiarity in my mind. I closed my eyes, trying to get rid of the odd sensation.

“What’s wrong?” Alex asked, concerned.

I tried to laugh it off. “You’ll think I’m crazy, but ever since I met you I’ve felt like I know you from somewhere.”

Alex held my gaze for a long time. He ran his tongue over his lips and replied, “I feel the same way about you. We must have one of those connections.” He smiled, quickly changing the subject, “Do you want to go inside?”

I smiled back, glad he didn’t think I was insane. “I’d love to.”

I followed him through a massive set of mahogany French doors. We walked through a room with walls filled from floor to ceiling with books, the furniture antique.

I walked next to him as we went down a hall and into a massive room that seemed to be an art gallery. There were more paintings on the walls of the room than I had seen in some museums, and many seemed familiar. Alex stood back and watched as I strolled around the room, noticing the names next to the paintings: Philippe Mercier, William Hogarth, Benjamin West. I came to one painting that caught my eye. The clouds and bright pinks and blues of the sunset were reflected in the lake surrounded by hills with mountains in the background. The artist’s name was Richard Wilson and something about the painting made me think I’d seen the place, though I couldn’t remember where it was. I let my eyes wander as I tried to place it and was immediately sidetracked when I noticed a painting I would have recognized anywhere. The canvas was a copy of Vincent van Gogh’s
Starry Night
, my favorite painting. It was a fantastic reproduction; the brush strokes and parchment it was painted on looked so authentic.

I became aware that Alex was standing next to me. “This is beautiful,” I said, engrossed in the colors and chaos-like beauty of the swirling stars. “It’s my favorite painting.”

He didn’t answer for a couple of seconds. “It’s one of my favorites also.”

“It looks so real!” I reached up, mesmerized. I traced the brush strokes in the air with my fingertips.

Alex’s laugh brought me out of my trance. “It is real, Evie.”

I gasped and jumped back, not even wanting my air fingerprints to be near the painting if Alex was telling the truth. “You
cannot
be serious,” I said, completely stunned.

“My parents loved the arts and started this collection. I continued the tradition after they died. I acquired
Starry Night
several years ago.”

“I thought the original was on display at the Museum of Modern Art in New York,” I said, the disbelief still clear in my tone.

“I loan my family’s artwork to museums for extended periods of time. I borrowed this one back for tonight.” His implication was lost on me. If I’d been thinking clearly, I would have been more intrigued with why he would bring this particular painting,
my
favorite painting, back home when he did.

Instead, I stared, astonished. I absolutely couldn’t believe it and started looking more closely at the rest of the artwork in the room. Some I recognized, a Monet for sure, another that looked like a Picasso. For all I knew, he had the Mona Lisa stashed on a wall around the corner.

Amazed, I asked, “And the rest of these? They’re all the original pieces as well?”

He smiled again, seeming to enjoy shocking me. “Yes, they are.”

How did this happen? In Gunnison, Colorado, some of the most famous artwork in the world was hanging on the wall of one of the most beautiful homes I’d ever seen. I wondered what I would discover on the rest of the tour. Maybe the Venus De Milo was in the foyer.

“Will you come with me?” Alex asked, his eyes glittering. “I want to show you one more thing.”

“Sure,” I agreed, wondering what else there could possibly be to see.

I followed him through the foyer and up the wide winding staircase with railings of mahogany like the French doors. When we reached the top, we were standing in front of two enormous doors. He glanced at me, opening the doors slowly and stepping out of the way. For the tenth time that night, my jaw dropped. The floors were the same redwood I had seen in the art room below. A breeze flowed from windows that ran every eight feet along the perimeter of the room. The entire top floor was an enormous ballroom. I remembered my mouth was still open and closed it.

“You must like dancing,” I said.

He laughed and walked over to a technical array of stereo equipment. After about thirty seconds, I heard music start to play. It was “Moon River” by Andy Williams, one of my favorite classic songs. Either Alex was a spy, or he guessed really well—then again, maybe we both liked the same things.

He locked eyes with me as he walked back to where I was standing. My heart was beating so fast I didn’t know how long I could stand on my own. Alex’s dark hair rippled as the breeze blew through the windows. His eyes flickered like flames and an unfamiliar determination lingered on his face. He stopped when he was about two feet in front of me, pausing for what seemed like an eternity. “Will you dance with me?” he asked, extending his hand out toward me.

We’d never touched, but just being this close to one another felt like an electrical current flowing between us. I gave him a huge smile and nodded. Slowly, feeling the current get stronger, I reached toward him and rested my hand in his. As soon as we touched, I noticed a warmth rush into my back right where my lily-shaped birthmark was, but I was too busy concentrating on Alex to dwell on the heat. The connection between our hands was intense, like I was being pulled into him, and a part of me I didn’t know existed was suddenly present.

And then, without warning, I felt like I was falling into a dream. I watched as a girl not much older than me brushed chestnut colored ringlets off her face with a gloved hand. She was beautiful in a long scarlet ball gown with a deep lacy neck, and skirt that opened slightly in the front, showing a ruffled petticoat underneath. A male figure stood about ten feet in front of her. They were outside, shrouded by darkness and trees. Though I could see the girl clearly, the male figure was too far away to make out any details—but I could hear him.

“This is your choice?” he asked, contempt obvious in his tone.

The girl nodded in response, the slight movement emitting a palpable sadness.

“Why him?” he asked. “Why now?”

“I can’t help what I feel,” the girl said. “I’m in love with him.”

“No,” he said through his teeth. He paused, then stalked to a tree and punched his fist against the trunk. “You’re in love with what he wants you to see, not who he is.” He exhaled in disbelief and shook his head. “I’ve done everything I can up to this point, and now you tell me you’re in love with him? Stabbing me in the heart would be no less painful.”

The girl moved toward him, her eyes downcast. “I’m sorry,” she said, coming up behind him and putting a hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He tilted his head toward the spot her hand was resting and abruptly reached around her and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her with him into the darkness. She gasped in surprise as he leaned down and kissed her, hard at first, like he was trying to prove a point, then becoming gentler until he pulled back from her lips and rested his head against her forehead. In a husky voice, he asked, “Do you still think you love him?”

She didn’t move.

“Do you?”

She didn’t look at him as she gave an almost imperceptible nod.

He dropped her from his embrace and stepped away, turning his back toward her. Minutes ticked by and the muscles in his shoulders tensed. He shifted his head to the side, his profile barely visible, and said, “He will disappoint you.” He stood for a few seconds more, before he started walking away from her.

She ran her fingers lightly over her lips and looked up, eyes wide as she watched him leave. “Wait!” she yelled. “Where are you going?”

He stopped and pivoted on his heel, his legs apart and arms crossed over his chest. His face was shrouded by his shoulder length hair as he stared at her. Then he answered her question, “To prove which of us truly loves you more.”

As the dream faded and I came back into consciousness, I stumbled away from Alex.

“Are you all right?” Worry lines formed at Alex’s eyes. I nodded my head, still trying to understand what I’d seen and if it was even real. “What happened?” he asked. “I took your hand and you closed your eyes, then you almost fell down.”

I shook my head, trying to clear it. “I don’t know.” I was about to tell him I’d had some sort of waking dream, but thought better of it. There was no reason to make Alex think I was going crazy. If I’d been acting strange during the dream, Alex didn’t seem to notice. “It was nothing,” I answered, trying to convince both Alex and myself. “I was just dizzy all of a sudden.”

Alex pressed his lips together, trying to decide if I was really okay.

“Honestly! I’m fine,” I tried to sound reassuring. “And you owe me a dance.”

Alex cracked a smile and walked back over to the stereo equipment. “Moon River” started to play again. The vision—if that’s what it was—happened right after I touched Alex. I wondered if it would happen again. As Alex came closer, I reached toward him, gently taking his hand. Nothing. I smiled in relief and tried to assure myself that what I’d seen had been my imagination. I had no other explanation for it.

Alex put his right hand on the small of my back and held his other hand out for me to take. I put my left hand on his shoulder, trying desperately to remember something, anything, from my high school ballroom dancing class. But when he guided me into the middle of the room, my feet glided over the dance floor like I’d been waltzing professionally for years. I breathed in the cedar scent of Alex’s cologne and could still feel the current everywhere our bodies touched.

The song changed and Alex pulled away, his expression tight like he was having a mental argument with himself. After a moment, he moved back toward me, this time pulling me in so close that we were embracing. I wrapped my arms around his neck resting my head on his broad chest and sighed. Alex wrapped his arms more tightly around me.