Love's Forbidden Flower (2 page)

“Are you sure you're all right?” Donovan asks while opening his car’s passenger door for me.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just too much on my mind last night.”

After shutting my door he strolls around the car and enters on the driver’s side. He’s unshaken and either not getting my drift or is using his patented poker face.

Our natter is uncharacteristically reserved as we pull out of the driveway. I have about two seconds to create conversation and avoid a silence that screams of uneasiness.

“I kept thinking about life after graduation. Being stuck in a classroom is not for me. I'm not going to college. I'm going to pastry school.”

The pause is deafening.

“What, no smart ass comments?” I ask.

His eyes stay focused on the road. “Lil, I know you absolutely hate school and would probably rather join the military and fight in some made up war than go to college, but are you really sure this is what you want?”

“Absolutely. You’ve seen how my baking skills have evolved. I'm so far beyond being Betty Crocker that the idea of not doing more with it is inconceivable. I can either suffer through four years of college, and be miserable, or go to pastry school for a year and come out ready to hit the ground running and happy. Do you really need to question which choice is better? Besides, if I go to college I may wind up like Mom and become a disgruntled career woman who gives up everything to have children. Instead I can have my own bakery while raising my family and live life on my terms. When you come right down to it, that’s what I really want.”

“Dad's going to kill you. Then again, you're the one who can do no wrong. It is the son who always disappointeth.”

“Donovan, you know that's not true.”

“No Lily, I don’t know that. I really don’t. You just don’t see it, do you?”

As he parks the car in the school lot, my hand gifts his arm with support. “I see it Donovan. I just don’t want it to be true. He needs to see you like I do.”

Finally he faces me. “Well, my darling sister, I don’t know how anyone sees me anymore. Anyway, pastry school is a great idea. You need to do whatever it takes to be happy and not listen to what others say. Then again,
you've
always been good at that. Have a good day,” he says upon exiting. “I’ll see you at home tonight. I have practice this afternoon.”

Yep, Donovan starts concerned about me and ends being annoyed because of Dad. Things are normal.

As if by magic, Donovan appears out my window and opens my car door. The quick action makes the grip on my books tighten. “I’m sorry for giving you a bad time this morning.”

I give him a double pat on the face, my nose crinkling as I speak. “Don’t break anything at practice.”

“Jinx!” A clamor from down the hall jolts me as the side door burst open.

“What? What are you talking about?” I shout back to Donovan.

“You. You’re a jinx! Remember what you said when you got out of the car this morning?”

“Not a clue.”

“You said, and I quote: ‘Don’t break anything at practice.’” Donovan rounds the corner into the kitchen sporting a shiner on the right side of his face and a small gash on the other. He laughs at my stammer for words. “It’s fine, you should see the other guy.”

“Yeah, right.”

“No, really. I got off easy. Peter broke his leg. Or rather, I broke Peter’s leg when he broke my fall. How do I look?” Holding his arms out the to side, he flutters his eyelashes, looking like a blood-battered Cupie doll.

“Purple.”

“I was hoping for
dashing
or
heroic
. Do we have any frozen peas?”

“I’ll look and meet you upstairs,” I announce while heading for the freezer. It figures. Just as things seem normal he had to walk in looking all wounded and sexy. Damn! How have I never noticed how gorgeous he is before?

Trudging up the stairs, my feet thud on each step. Who did I offend in what life to deserve my predicament? This just sucks!

Donovan is admiring his black eye in the dresser mirror upon my entrance into his bedroom. “Impressive, huh?” he asks.

“Yeah, I'm sure all the girls will think so.”

“They already do. I had half the cheerleading squad crying over me.”

“Great, The Bimbo Brigade. Yeah, that
is
impressive.” I smack the bag of peas in his hand before placing it over his eye. “I’ll go to the bathroom and get something for that cut. Did Peter really break his leg?”

“Yeah, he sure did.” There's an obvious sound of remorse in Donovan's voice. “Honestly, even though it was an accident, I feel horrible about it.”

Upon my return I find he has plopped down on the bed with his elbow on his knee, his head hung with the peas pressed against his eye. Bending over I raise his chin to face me, as if consoling a sensitive little boy who has been picked on. “Hey, these things happen. If it was an accident, then it wasn’t your fault. It could just have easily been the other way around.”

“Yeah, but I only play football to keep Dad happy. It actually means something to Peter, and he's out for the season now. This may have killed his free ride at a decent college. Accident or not, I'm still a part of that.”

Sitting next to him I swipe antiseptic on his cut, making him shutter a small wince. “Were you the only ones involved?”

“No, actually another guy landed on me. I accidentally used Peter to break my fall, but it was my landing on him that caused the injury.”

“Again, it’s obviously not your fault. There are so many things that happen to us in life that we can’t let ourselves feel guilty over those that we couldn’t have possibly controlled.”

“Yeah. I suppose you’re right.”

He's locked into my grey-violet eyes again, sporting the same gape as yesterday—like he's beholding something fascinating for the first time. His hold on me causes a muted gasp and I inhale his shower-fresh scent. A disappointment really, because his aroma is always best after his cologne has absorbed into him, creating his own apprehending musk.

Wait. When did I notice that?

My mind circles back to the thought of him in the shower. I've witnessed him in merely a towel countless times, but how he looks like a glistening marble statue that would make Michelangelo jealous of God's tinkering is suddenly ornamenting my thoughts. The full view must be breathtaking.

“You know Lily, you have really turned into a lovely lady. When did that happen?”

His lips call to me, making me confused and embarrassed. My glance shies away and notices his hand upon my knee. It then recasts onto his arresting eyes as he slides his arm around me, drawing me closer as we begin to embrace. My heart hammers as my body turns to molten lava.

Disparagingly his eyes break their hold as he brings my head onto his shoulder, violating the tone of the moment but not the sentiment. I glimpse up at him and softly kiss his wounded cheek while he toys with my long chocolate brown locks. As his fingers trace my jawline, our foreheads gently meet.

“Hey, is anyone going to feed me?” Dad yells from downstairs. The interruption is both a welcome relief and an intrusive disappointment.

Looking up, the reason for my discomfort becomes apparent. Donovan is staring at me like he needs to talk. I need to talk to him too, but I’m just as closed off. For the first time in our lives we dodge a pressing subject in an attempt to break the proverbial ice.

“If you’re trying to figure out how to ask me to do your trig homework for you, the answer is no.” I swear when he goes off to college we'll be on video chat two hours each night just working on his math assignments.

“I gave up on it a few minutes ago,” he says as my eyes roll back into my head. “I know! I’ll get back to it in a minute. Actually, I’m failing miserably at moving on to a sample college admission essay I need to write.”

“What’s the topic?” Why am I buying into this? He's probably making up something ridiculous just to keep me on edge.

“That’s the source of the writer’s block. The only guideline is that the essay be based on personal experience and the insight that it brings.”

“So, what are you feeling insightful about?”

“How if I screw this up Dad will probably send me to military school. Unless I was a girl. Then he’d tell me a C is a perfectly acceptable grade and buy me something pretty because a daughter can do no wrong.”

“You're such as ass,” I say, resuming studies in minor annoyance.

“Call ‘em as I see ‘em. But seriously, I’m stumped.”

He really should know better than to hand me the open can of worms to dump on him. Maybe he is not dodging me after all. “How about the importance of communication and what happens when people fail at it?”

“And tie it to world affairs?”

“No. College admission essays are to be personal. You’re just like me. When you can’t communicate to your satisfaction you turn into a wreck. You can eventually handle anything as long as you know what you are up against. It's when you don’t get the information you need, or can’t express yourself, that you have a real problem.”

“You make it sound so easy,” he says, his voice slightly cracking as his fingers grace his notebook.

There’s not much more tension that can be tolerated before I throw caution to the wind and spill my guts. My new tone reflects that we should talk about something deeper. “It is, and it isn’t. But if I have all the information, even if it's something that hurts, I can face it.”

Donovan peers down at his assignment, his fingers caressing a pen that sits on the desk. “What if you're in a situation where you've always been able to talk to someone, and you have something you want to share, but you're afraid if you do it could ruin the relationship?”

I pull my chair around next to Donovan's, taking his hands into mine. Intimate conversation was mastered years ago, but it somehow feels different now. “You and I have always shared everything, no matter how personal or awkward, and there's certainly no reason to stop now. There's nothing you can possibly say that would damage what we share.”

“You can read me like a book.”

“You always have that same power with me. I can only do it most of the time.”

“Why? Because when you get emotional your inner voice shuts off and your real voice loses it filter? I'm well aware of what happens when you get emotional. It ain’t pretty,” he says while pretending to resume his studies.

“Gee, thanks.”

“Given that little fact, I guess I don’t have to tell you what I wanted to talk about.”

“No. Act-ually... you do. I'm a little blocked right now.”

Squeezing my hand, he raises his eyes so they peer straight into mine, as if in search of the very depths of my being. “There is something I need to talk to you about.” He takes a poignant breath before dodging the subject and sporting a huge grin, which I quickly remove from his face.

“I'm not finishing your trig homework.”

Donovan scrunches his eyes with a groan. “Damn it, Lil! I thought you said it's turned off.”

“Some things are still obvious. Like how you’re such an ass.” My annoyance with him propels me away, but I am more irritated at myself.

Pulling me back down onto the chair he leans in as if the empty room has ears. “Really, there's so much more to say. I just don’t know where to start, or even if I should. It's all pretty overwhelming.” He gazes down at my hand and strokes it before raising and kissing it gallantly, pressing it against his cheek, and looking at me with puppy eyes. “But seriously, can you help me with my trig assignment?”

But seriously, whom am I kidding? This labyrinth of perplexity shows I'm falling in love. No matter how wrong anyone says it is, my feelings cannot be altered. I wish it were merely lust. I could accept that and move on. But love complicates it. Not only does it ensnare me, it makes me want to jump into its clutches and surrender.

The worldview of my feelings being gross, evil, and deviant are pushed away for self-preservation. Traumatization by a moral situation is pointless if the condition does not exist. Without verbal confirmation, it is still possible Donovan's end is entirely a fabrication of my distorted perception.