Someone has mentioned that tabasco sauce probly wasn't around at this

point, and that is probably true, but hey, poetic license- bear with me!

Thanks a bunch for your reviews and please, please keep them up.

It was a beautiful but lazy afternoon, I decided, as I lay on my bed,

with the operative word being "lazy." Decidedly too laz...err, beautiful,

to waste doing those dull exercises in Latin that Darien had assigned

me that morning. The perfectly blue, cloudless sky seemed to beg me to

come outside and admire it for a while, and never one to argue with

Nature and its impulses, I dragged myself off the bed and stepped out

onto the balcony. And yet even the captivating way the light breeze

blew over the grass wasn't enough to keep my mind off, well, him, and

here I grimace.

Only two months had passed, and yet it seemed to me as though we'd been

fighting for years. Hundreds of barbs, insults, and practical jokes

later, we were growing to understand each other very well, as we (most

unfortunately) spent most of each day together, but it did nothing to

lessen our aggravation and utter resentment of each other's presence.

He never failed to point out my "utter immaturity," "disgusting

laziness" and "amazing ignorance," and I was always more than happy to

counter his remarks with my own biting ones about his "remarkable

insensitivity," arrogance and "affinity for unfailingly stupid remarks."

Suddenly I giggled, remembering the look on his face on that day weeks

ago when he brought a glass of red wine to his lips after I oh-so-

surreptitiously poured tabasco sauce into it especially for his benefit.

He had miraculously managed to swallow the disgusting concoction

without any indication that it tasted a lot like tar. What had followed

his smooth recovery, however, made the newly formed crease on my brow

show itself once again.

He'd proceeded to casually suggest that I supposedly needed to learn

how to properly sip wine and there was no time like the present for me

to do so. Then, as a true and perfectly innocent gentleman, he'd offered

his own cup of tabasco-ed wine to me, his mocking eyes dancing as usual,

and insisted that I first try sipping from his glass; I'd hesitated,

obviously, but my wonderful parents, completely oblivious to the foul

play, cheerfully encouraged me, and giving him a look of pure hatred,

I'd accepted, tasted, and spit the horrible liquid right back out, only

to have it project straight onto the cravat of Father's shirt. A

memorable experience, if nothing else.

And then there was the few times I'd "accidentally" toppled the bottle

of ink right onto Darien's trousers, but much to my regret, his reflexes

had kicked in after the first of these experiences, and the ink just

ended up all over the carpet. Almost I felt sorry for him, and for all

the hell I'd put him through those past few months in retribution for

his presence here...but no, never mind, he deserves it. He asked me

once, well, more like, demanded angrily, his eyes darkening furiously

after I made yet another flippant remark, why I was so bent on making

him miserable and I sweetly replied that it was the only way to make

him leave for good. Then, as usual, he'd pulled that stupid move he

enjoys so thoroughly (probably for the way it throws me off balance)

of leaning down very close to my face and whispering, "I have no

intentions of leaving you or this estate until I get exactly what

I came for." Leaving me to figure out just what that meant and why

he really did come here.

But nevertheless, I wonder now what would happen if my wish came true,

and I did wear him out to the point of leaving forever and finally

giving me some peace of mind. What would it be like, to wake up in the

morning without spending the rest of it in attempts to win an argument

against that ill-bred and irritatingly sharp-witted creature? Without

eating breakfast in a deliberately sloppy way just to aggravate him,

and have him fix me with that look of mixed amusement and annoyance,

which would inevitably result in each of us trying to stare the other

into submission? Without riding our horses over the rolling verdant

hills as he told me about the state and the history of our province?

Without the wind blowing through his thick, beautiful black hair and

his blue eyes snapping with energy as he raced me back to the stables?

No, no, must not go down that road, for that road leads only to madness.

You know you want to, Serena.

Want to what? I returned challengingly, though I probably knew quite

well just what the stupid voice was talking about.

Want to go down that road, see where it leads you, see if the promises

in Darien's eyes are real, and if they're for you, forever...



"No they're not for me, and... and they never will be, which is j-just

fine, because I don't want them, I don't need them!" I sputtered angrily,

not even realizing that I was speaking aloud.

"Don't need what, princess, more intelligence and class? Hm, somehow

I beg to differ."

A velvety voice spoke suddenly into the silence after my angry

declaration and I spun around to see who dared interrupt my

contemplation. Take a wild guess who was leaning lazily against the

doorframe.

"What the hell are you doing up here? Who gave a piece of scum like

you the right to come in here?" I responded furiously.

"Language, language; have you learnt nothing from me at all about what

is appropriate behavior for a girl of your age?" he smiled indulgently,

as he walked up to me, shaking his head in that infuriating way. I

wished him a crick in the neck.

"Anyway, to answer your amazingly polite and demure inquiry as to my

presence here, I'm just here to let you know that your mother has just

informed me about a ball King Diamond will be holding in about a month.

Your family has been invited, and thus it is my duty to ensure you do

not make a laughingstock of both yourself and them, a feat you could

single-handedly accomplish, I'm sure, with little or no effort," he

finished with a smirk as he stopped in front of me.

Oh, but how that stung! I had been trying, I really had, for Father's

sake, if nothing else, to listen to Darien (although I'd never let him

know that) and learn what he had to teach me. And for all my efforts,

he was just throwing my clumsiness, talkative nature and, in short,

every flaw I possessed, right back in my face. Never once had I shown

that his insults affected me in any way, nor did I intend to do so,

but suddenly it seemed hard to repress the tears in my throat, fighting

their way to my now closed eyes.

"If you're quite done belittling me in every way possible, I'd appreciate

it very much if you'd leave now, please," I said hoarsely, hating the

waver in my voice, and opening my eyes to look straight at him, which I

found was not so easy to do.

Suddenly, the mocking gleam in his eyes disappeared, to be replaced with-

what was that? Sorrow for the pain he had caused me? Hah, wishful

thinking. How could it be? Since when had he cared how I felt?

At about the same time you started caring about what he thought of you.

"Serena, I..." he started, reaching his arm out to touch my shoulder

gently, as a gesture of apology. But I would have none of it, and

immediately stepped back, away from him and his effort to appease me.

"Just go, Darien! Damn you, just go!" I said in a fierce whisper,

turning around quickly so he wouldn't see the tears now freely streaming

down my cheeks.

I felt the warmth of his body behind me as he reached out to touch my

shoulder again, but then he just let his hand drop, and I heard his

footsteps fade away as he left the balcony.

The next day was strange, and the day after that, and the day after

that, even. Finally, I decided that enough was enough, and decided to

confront him, figuring that it was silly for him to be so awkward

around me, and for us to just shift from foot to foot like we had been

doing, from a loss of words, and his inability to speak for fear of

offending me again.

So, four days after our altercation, he sat against the edge of my

father's desk, fixedly reading Shakespeare's Sonnet 149 to me, and

refusing to make eye contact with me at all.

"Darien?" I interrupted, resolving to just rush in headlong and get it

over with.

"But, love, hate on, for now...yes, what is it?" he said, not looking

up.

"Look at me."

He raised his head and stared straight at me, as though he had meant to

from the start.

"Look, about that thing, on my balcony..." I started.

"Yes, I meant to...that is, I wanted to..." he cut in, trailing off

uncertainly, bowing his head again, so that all I could see was his

straight black hair, shining in the sunlight.

"Darien?" I said softly.

"Serena, I'm sorry. I really am. I never meant to hurt you like that,

I just, I suppose I just said whatever came into my head, not even

realizing that it was completely untrue, and hurtful. Can you...do you

think you could forgive me?" he asked quietly, lifting his head and

looking straight at me.

I was startled beyond words at the expression in those eyes, flashing

brilliantly, like sapphires under the sun.

Knowing I would never be able to speak unless I looked away from those

brilliant orbs, I fixed my gaze on the sunlight shining in from the

window, past his shoulder, for the sunlight wasn't nearly as blinding

as his eyes.

"You aren't very used to apologizing, are you?"

A ghost of a smile appeared on his face as he replied, "Is it really

that obvious?"

"Actually, for someone with little or no practice in the art of

apologies, you're really quite good. But you know, someone once told

me that asking for forgiveness, doesn't make anyone any smaller, and

that the one who is willing to forgive possesses a big heart. And

while my brain may be rather small, I'd like to make up for that by

possessing a big heart, at least. So yes, Darien, I do forgive you,"

I finished, with a smile.

My acknowledgement of what had happened that day cheered him up visibly,

and we agreed that everything was all right, so we could go back to

arguing just as usual.

But things had changed, and we both knew it, though neither of us was

willing to admit it.

We were softer to each other after that, and while we had again

commenced with the insults and mockery, it was different, for we were

careful to make sure we didn't say things we didn't mean, and that

nothing we said was too harsh. We certainly wouldn't say we were

friends, for what sort of friends never spoke except to argue and

throw insults back and forth? But we weren't 'enemies' anymore either,

and that made all the difference.

We spent the month before the ball making me "presentable." I learned

how to dance, how to speak slowly and clearly, instead of breathlessly

rushing my words together, as I so often did, how to eat, how to walk,

and how to conduct myself properly with other nobles and answer any

question posed to me.

This was all in addition to my regular lessons, so in all it was quite

tiring, but if I showed signs of fatigue or illness, he would smirk

and say, "Mustn't overwork the little princess, she might break!" in

that annoying tone of his, and immediately make me eat and then send

me off to sleep, postponing further lessons until the next day.

So, after a month of preparations, secret and significant glances

while we danced in the study, and, of course, enough laughter to make

my sides ache, I was ready for the ball.

Well, as ready as I would ever be, at any rate.

Disclaimer: If you or anyone you know has a particular affection for

red wine mixed with tabasco sauce, I'm terribly sorry, and in no way

do I mean to insult you or your taste. I've never had either red wine

or tabasco sauce, nor any combination of the two, so I have no way of

knowing whether or not it does in fact taste like tar, so once again,

please accept my sincerest apologies if that assumption offended you.

Oh, and a hearty thanks to Sabra for her review- I'm so glad you liked

it, your stories are so much fun too!!