Woo! Update! Woo Semester break! Woo I'm going to London!
As always, mad props/love/respect for my Beta/PR Agent/Life Coach Erik!
"She took him to the wardrobe and property-rooms, took him all over her empire, which was artificial, but immense, covering seventeen stories from the ground-floor to the roof and inhabited by an army of subjects. She moved among them like a popular queen, encouraging them in their labors, sitting down in the workshops, giving words of advice to the workmen whose hands hesitated to cut into the rich stuffs that were to clothe heroes."
-From "The Phantom of the Opera" by Gaston Leroux
"Welcome home, Miss."
Christine blinked out of her thoughtful daze at the warm Italian-accented voice that greeted her, and she smiled broadly. "Hello Carlotta, how are you doing?" Her voice unconsciously grew more measured and she clearly enunciated every word, just like her parents had taught her.
"Sono molto buono! I'm very good, Miss, graci." The joyful cook grinned and turned back to the large island in the expansive kitchen; she promptly begin slicing carrots with an almost mechanical efficiency. Christine nodded and hung her pocket book and coat on the hooks next to the garage door; stepping further into the room, she leaned against the island countertop and watched the older woman work. Her thoughts swiftly returned to the alluring masked boy and his infuriating charm.
"Scusarme, Signorina, but if-a you are going to just stare at the table, at least peel those potatoes, eh?" Christine looked up to see Carlotta wink at her and push the large bowl of vegetables closer to her. Smiling faintly, she took up the peeler and set to work. As she dragged the blade along the potato's surface, she couldn't help but wonder what lay beneath Erik's surface; would it be possible to peel away the gritty layers and----
"Oh for God's sake!" She shook her head furiously and threw the cleaned spud into the waiting pot with a dramatic clang.
Carlotta gasped in surprise and clutched a hand over her heart. "Mio Dio! What on earth has gotten into you Miss?"
She blushed deeply and glanced away muttering, "This boy..."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said 'this boy'! I just sat here and compared this stupid boy that has weaseled his way into my head to a potato!"
Carlotta paused and simply looked at her a moment before falling into hysterical laughter, hugging her sides as her eyes teared with mirth.
Christine pouted a bit and began furiously peeling another potato as she muttered "Shuddup," softly, but the Italian cook only laughed harder until she had to support herself on the counter.
"What on earth is going on here?" Her mother's voice cut through the laughter, and both Christine and Carlotta looked up in surprise.
"Mum...what are you doing in the kitchen?" she asked curiously, potato and peeler forgotten in her hands.
Her mother noticed them though and sniffed in distaste. "Well, it is attached to my house isn't it, Christine? I have every right to be here," she answered with a hint of coldness. "I came down to tell Carlotta that we're having guests for dinner. Lord and Lady Covington-Smithe are going to be joining us, along with their son, Rahld." She finally turned to address the cook in question. "Try to impress them, won't you?"
Christine gave Carlotta an apologetic look as the older woman quietly nodded and began putting the meal she had started back into the refrigerator in exchange for something more high class. Her mother's eyes returned to the offending items in her hands and narrowed slightly. "Whatever are you doing with those Christine, we pay people to do that. Come along now."
She had little choice but to follow her.
Some days she wondered how it was possible for her to be actually related to the woman ahead of her. Her father was a man who took their shred of royal lineage far less seriously and enjoyed spending his time hunting or fishing with other sportsmen whose money was as old as his.
Normally it was easy to talk with her mother, you just had to do with good grammar and better posture, but now that she had finished school, her mother had turned her attention to finding her erstwhile daughter a proper husband befitting her stature. If Christine had any say in the matter, she'd have sworn off men all together and moved to a flat in the city to write and publish stories. Live the life of a proper feminist and just generally an independent woman.
"You remember Rahld, darling? He was at your fourth birthday."
She froze, she didn't remember her fourth birthday, but there had been stories of a her taking a naked romp through the garden ever since. "Oh? And how old was he, mum?"
"Seven."
Damn, there was a chance he'd remember the bloody event. She frowned lightly behind her mother's straight back; great, he was another stuffy rich boy and he had the opportunity to tease her mercilessly about her wild days as a little girl. Looking out the window in the direction of London, she wistfully wondered what Mandi was doing tonight. Naturally that led her thoughts back to Erik, and without realizing it, she fell into a rather pleasant fantasy of him taking her out to dinner at a gritty Indian place, which actually had the greatest curry in the whole city, and they'd laugh and have interesting deep conversations, revealing his more sensitive, caring nature. Then he'd take her for a walk in the park, actually listening to and valuing her opinions rather than simply looking for trophy wife to carry on the noble bloodline--
"Christine Marie Dawson, have you heard a word I've been saying?"
The terrible urge to blush came on and she shrugged sheepishly at her mother's disapproving look. "No, I'm sorry, my mind wandered."
Another distasteful sniff--her mother had never approved of what she called Christine's 'excessive and unnecessary use of her imagination'. "I was saying that you'll like Rahld, he's on his way to being a world-class tenor, and he's a member of your father's hunting club."
Christine fought the urge to roll her eyes; lovely, he enjoys killing small animals. This thought was promptly followed by a spiteful inner voice muttering, Erik probably sings better. That voice caught her by surprise, and she blinked. Where did that come from? She didn't like the direction her thoughts were taking; she couldn't possibly be developing a crush on Erik, he'd been a complete ass to her! But he apologized... She blinked again and frowned deeply; oh this is not good. Maybe meeting an insufferable boy would do her good, remind her why she hated men.
Lord and Lady Covington-Smithe were as boring as ever and Christine used the time to savor Carlotta's cooking; the woman was amazing in the kitchen and partly the reason why her parents were still very much in favor with the rest of the Nobs in the area.
The sole highlight was watching her father and Rahld the Elder get very excited as they relived a thrilling hunt and wound up leaping to their feet and running around the table to demonstrate the climatic end. Both wives disapproved of such behavior, while she and Rahld stifled laughter.
Rahld Covington-Smithe III was not at all like the other boys who had tried to court her. For one thing the earlier suitors were all horse-faced, pasty creatures that showed the early signs of marrying too many cousins, and Rahld was...well for lack of a better word, he was beautiful. He had striking green eyes, a perfectly masculine nose, full, symmetrical lips, and wavy brown hair that fell around his face in a layered style not unlike David Cassidy's, if a bit shorter. What with his tan and the hint of dirt beneath his fingernails, Christine couldn't help but compare him to what Adam must of looked like, or at least Tarzan after he had been civilized. In the risky lottery that is the genetic pool of the British upper class, this boy had hit the jackpot. He was also quiet, which was highly uncharacteristic of any young man who came to call on her. Where the others had tried to chew her ear off by listing their accomplishments, Rahld sat silently, looking almost as uncomfortable with the situation as she was.
And why shouldn't he be uncomfortable? He was here doing her a favor really. Rahld looked like some sort of Greek god, and Christine was, to put it mildly, unremarkable. Her features where not ugly, but there was nothing to mark her as pretty: nondescript nose, thin lips, and flat, straight blond hair framing matte grey eyes. Hell, the only things the boys remembered about her was her oversized bust! And yet, she had not seen Rahld eyeing her once the entire evening. She didn't know how she felt about that.
By the end of the night she had decided that Rahld was drop dead gorgeous, but not much else. Christine began to think that he never spoke because there simply wasn't much going on in that pretty head of his; that explained why he was being paired up with her, she was too smart for her own good. Her mother must think it was better to marry her off to a good-looking simpleton so that Christine could just control him like all good wives did really.
Well, she wanted no part of it. Tomorrow she decided she'd pack a bag and spend a few days with Mandi, just to get away from the strict dance that was what remained of being nobility. Christine much preferred the chaos of Mandi's life, the freedom of it, and she'd be able to see Erik again--She blinked, then frowned lightly.
He wasn't a good man, he was trouble, she reminded herself though she knew it would do her little good at this point. Why, she lamented as she went to bed, do the good girls always fall for the bad boys?
