She had forgotten how handsome he was, how his eyes shone like emeralds, his black hair a sharp contrast to her own blonde locks, the chiseled chin and strong jaw. He was well built, almost six feet, with strong shoulders and nicely shaped legs. There he was, Nicholas Morrow, who sat a horse as fine as any man she had seen, the tight breeches showing off the muscles of his thighs.
Elizabeth almost laughed out loud. She was beginning to sound like one of those trashy romance novels that she secretly read when she was a preteen. The kind she was too young for, that she hid under her bed, the ones her mother didn't know about. Or maybe she did? Seeing him canter away on his fine black stallion filled her with desires she wasn't aware she had.
A sudden thought struck her. Was he the same Nicholas the two older women were talking about earlier? Nicholas divorced? Nicholas had a son? She listened to the two elderly ladies arguing about China patterns and didn't dare interrupt them. Not that she would ever ask Mrs Dumfries something so personal anyway.
She was suddenly shy about seeing him again. What would she say? That she had haphazardly moved to New York City, lived in a roach filled dump in a bad neighborhood, and now wrote for a silly gossip magazine that practically stalked people like himself? Nicholas wouldn't care about that, he was never a snob, never was he conceited about his good looks and wealth.
But still, she looked all around her at the men and women, dressed to the nines, their outfits cost more than six months of her rent. The women were beautiful, their ample bosoms peeking out through frilly dresses, their fingers laden with diamonds bigger than Gibraltar, their shoes so delicate, made of the softest kid leather and fitted with impossible heels. This was the world he was born into, the one he seemed so at ease in, and she couldn't help but feel intimidated by all the finery.
She wondered if she should go over to talk to him. The beautiful colored leaves formed a silhouette around him and the horse, and he looked like one of those paintings she had admired as a young girl. The photographers appeared, their cameras clicking away. Nicholas moved his head, as if to avoid the flashes. His eyes landed on her, stared at her for a split second, and then lit up in recognition. Her aqua eyes clouded. She didn't know if it was the fact that she felt lonely for home, that she missed her parents, missed her friends and wanted to see a familiar face.
A wave of melancholy enveloped her and she felt tears come to her eyes. She quickly blinked them away. It would never do for her to cry at a polo match. What was wrong with her? She was acting like a silly school girl at the sight of a man who she hadn't thought of in years and who had probably forgotten she existed. It must be PMS, she thought.
It had been happening more frequently. Sometimes she would be sitting in the train going home, or laying under a tree at McCaren Park when a wave of loneliness would hit her. Sometimes she would think about Devon and his tragic death and she regretted that she had been helpless when it came to him. She was surrounded by eight million people but the isolation and reality of living in such a fast paced city, where it was every man and woman for himself hit her like a ton of bricks.
Snap out of it Elizabeth,! she thought to herself. You are here to write about the polo, interview some of the players, observe what everyone is wearing, go to the party tonight and do the best damn article you can. Now quit your internal whining and enjoy the match!
It was a whirl of activity, the horses were eager, and everyone watched as the first chucker began, The players focused as the umpire threw in the ball. It was obvious that Lance was the best player, but Elizabeth only had eyes for Nicholas.
She watched as they galloped in and out and around the other team, all trying to move the ball down field and into the goals. At about half an hour of play, it was half time, with his team leading the score. The spectators moved their way to the field to stomp the divots made by the horses hooves.
Elizabeth watched as Nicholas got off his horse and walked towards her, a grin on his face. Her heart thumped in her chest, while heat rose to her cheeks.
Hello stranger, he said , grabbing hold of her gloved hand.
Fancy meeting you here!
He looked even better up close. She could see his pupils widening, and her reflection in his irises. Elizabeth just stared, her lips parted, drinking him in.
Elizabeth Wakefield.
Nicholas, she murmured.
What on earth are you doing here? So far from Sweet Valley?
Um, I'm actually working. Part of the press.
Idiot!, she thought to herself. Can't you come up with something better to say?
I'm actually here with someone, she said.
Oh? Who?
Um, Mrs Abigail Wexford. She invited me here, to stay with her.
Calm yourself Elizabeth,! she thought. It's just Nicholas!
Mrs Wexford? I see. So will you be at the party tonight? Or is that not part of work?
I'll be there, she smiled at him.
Heyyyyyy, Nicholas, I see you've met my girlfriend, Lance's arrogant voice broke out in interruption.
Elizabeth looked at him as he approached, a crafty expression on his handsome face.
I'm not your girlfriend,! she insisted.
That's not what you said when you woke up with me on top of you, he said grinning and winking at her.
That's not true! It wasn't like that! We didn't meet until this morning, I swear,! she told Nicholas.
Don't worry Liz, Nicholas rolled his eyes. I know how Lance is. Always the Casanova.
Liz? No one calls Elizabeth, Liz without my permission! Trying to take liberties Morrow? Elizabeth came all the way here just to watch ME play, Lance declared.
That's funny, this morning you couldn't even remember my name. Now you're dictating how I should be called? She shook her head in exasperation, as both men grinned at her.
You just watch yourself with my girl, Lance pointed a finger at Nicholas, as he saw a group of women calling to him. See you at home, Sandy, he said, winking at her again.
Sandy?
He seems to think I'm Sandra Dee, Elizabeth explained. He calls me that when he's not calling me Gidget.
Typical. That guy flirts with anything in a skirt. Although I can't blame him, flirting with you.
The heat rushed to her cheeks again as the players were called to the field.
What are you doing after the match,? Elizabeth asked, eager to continue talking to him.
I don't have much time to chat afterwards. I have to go to Stamford, he answered. To take care of business.
Oh? She said, trying to hide her disappointment.
But I'll definitely see you at the party tonight.
OK, she smiled, her mood perking up. See you later, she said, as he kissed her hand again.
Tonight. Sandy.
Elizabeth giggled.
Bye Lance,! she joked as she watched his broad shoulders make their way in the distance.
Well. That was nice, she thought to herself as Mrs Wexford called her over to meet more friends. That was very nice!
She saw him then, not as the eighteen year old boy who declared his love for her the first night he laid eyes on her, but as a serious, mature, confident, and intelligent young man who was very much out of her league. She recalled standing there in the moonlight, at the threshold of her front door, with him gazing at her.
Memories of their friendship were coming back to her, particularly the time after the death of his sister Regina when he had been inconsolable and Elizabeth's heart had broken for him. She watched him now, throwing back a drink of rose wine with a flick of his wrist, his strong hand gripping the thin stem of his glass. She knew he had graduated from Yale, he had gone back east for college, the tragedy of his sister's death still fresh in his mind.
She remembered the conversations they had, how he had confessed to her that he wasn't coping very well with his parents' grief. It was like a knife to his heart, seeing his beautiful mother, a shadow of her former self, waking up well past noon every day and drowning her sorrows in the bottle.
His father had turned to his work, not wanting to peel himself away from his desk, his reports, his memos, his business meetings, anything to forget the emptiness of his beautiful daughter's room, her girlish laughter, the light in her blue eyes when he taught her how to drive, the way she smiled just like her mother.
Elizabeth scanned the field, thoroughly enjoying the excitement of the game, and primarily focusing on Nicholas as she reminisced about their past. She took more notes, tried to concentrate on the ponies, but all she could think about was their brief encounter that she wished could last longer. A dreamy smile took over her face as she admired him expertly riding around on his horse Jupiter. She watched the rest of the match in a daze, eager to see what the evening would bring...