§ § § -- January 7, 2000 – Lilla Jordsö
At precisely the same moment, twelve hours behind Fantasy Island, Christian was in the middle of a vivid dream. He and Marina had separate bedrooms, which was about the only thing that had kept Marina from murdering him in his sleep—for Christian's dreams were invariably filled with Leslie. Right at the moment he was reliving the night he'd made love to her, seeing everything exactly as it had actually happened; and his murmuring had grown loud enough to bring an exasperated Marina in from her bedroom.
"Enough," she snapped and shook Christian hard, bringing him awake with a very rude jolt. "Maybe you'd better find some other place to sleep, such as your office! I can't get any sleep myself because of all the noise you make."
"I can't help it," Christian said, breathing a little hard and perspiring freely. "I don't know how to stop these dreams, Marina, and I'm sure you know it and couldn't care less."
"That's true," Marina agreed. "As I said, you deserve it."
"I think we've established your take on the situation," Christian retorted sarcastically and glared at her. "If you have nothing even remotely kind to say, then just leave me alone."
"Happily," she shot back and left the room.
Christian pulled himself into a sitting position and then swung out of the rumpled bed, knowing sleep was probably a lost cause. Not that it mattered; he wasn't sure he really wanted to sleep again. Anna-Kristina hadn't spoken to him since the day he had delivered her to Arnulf; but word came back from other family members at the palace, and he was glad to know that Arnulf had given in on her demand to be freed from Asgar after both her sisters had testified to seeing the man's rude treatment of her. They were apparently still in discussions about transference of the succession; but Christian knew firsthand that Gabriella was aware of Anna-Kristina's wish to let her take the crown when the time came, and Gabriella was beside herself with delight and hope. Better, he thought, to have a queen who would gladly put her whole heart into the job than to have one who felt she was forced into the role. If only his own problems could be so easily solved.
He wandered out to the living room, booted up his computer and, on a whim, brought up an internet search engine and typed in "amakarna". Just as Fernando had said on New Year's Eve, very little came back. An internet encyclopedia was the first source listed, but the entry was woefully short and mostly focused on black lightning, the deceptively beneficial drug that was derived from the spice. Christian gave a sigh and went to check his e-mail, trying to squelch the ridiculous wish that he'd see something from Leslie there. Of course, he didn't. It's your own fault, stupid, he reminded himself severely.
But he couldn't concentrate on the messages he did have. His mind stuck stubbornly on Leslie and refused to move, and glumly he let it have its way. Marina had just that day finally wormed it out of him that he'd made love with Leslie, and she had been so incensed that he'd thought her infuriated shrieks would break the windows. He could still hear her ranting even as he sat there. "You talked her into it—even got Mr. Roarke's blessing!—and yet you chose to leave her? Christian, you are without question the biggest idiot I've ever known! Don't you realize how that looks?"
"How it looks?" Christian had echoed blankly.
"She let you have your way with her, and when you finally got what you really wanted from her, you walked out on her," Marina had shouted.
Christian had been thoroughly shocked. "Is that how all women think, then? I wanted only to have the experience with her, just the once, knowing I would never have the opportunity again, and I wanted it for her as well. You won't let me touch you—not that I want to, mind you—and I refuse to seek out anyone else. And here you are suggesting that she may think I abandoned her!"
"That's exactly what you did!" Marina had retorted. "Yes, that's the way just about any woman would see it. If she had said no, would you still have left her?"
Christian was sure his face must have turned stark white with this even larger shock. Even now, thinking of it made him shudder. "No," he had roared back at her, losing his own temper, "that was never my intention! When Leslie told me that damned spice can't be grown on Fantasy Island, it was then that I began to think there was no hope—I had no intention of callously having my way with her, as you put it, and then walking away. I only meant to give us both something beautiful to remember all our lives, but you're making it sound sordid and calculated!"
"It does sound sordid and calculated, you idiot!" Marina yelled. "Maybe you ought to ask Leslie herself what it looked like to her! I have no doubt she looks at it precisely the same way I do. What you think is a lovely memory may be permanently tainted in her eyes. What do you think of that?"
Christian had glared at her, then called her something quite nasty in jordiska, which had had no effect on her at all since she had never learned the language anyway. Now he sat and shook his head. Marina hadn't deserved that; she'd been right, although he had honestly never thought Leslie might see it the way Marina described it. To him, it had been the most beautiful and moving experience he'd ever known, and he had meant for it to be so for Leslie as well. Regret swamped him, and for the first time he began to think he might have had a moment's insanity in breaking off the relationship. It's probably too late, though. Congratulations, Enstad, you've officially committed yourself to a lifetime of living without the one woman you'll ever truly love. He rested his head in his hands and let the tears fall, as they had so many times that week.
§ § § -- January 8, 2000 – Fantasy Island
Spencer was treated to a round of Mariki's cooking—not to mention a healthy dose of her gruff concern for her two charges—that evening when he joined Roarke and Leslie for the meal. He watched in amazement as Mariki eyed Leslie sternly. "You'd better clean your plate, Miss Leslie," she said warningly.
"What, doesn't she always?" Spencer asked, honestly surprised. "She used to be a real trencherman at school lunch."
"Tattletale," said Leslie without much heat, and Mariki leaned over and peered back and forth at them both.
"Oh? And you knew her before?" she finally asked Spencer.
Spencer grinned. "I went to school with her in Connecticut," he said.
"Right," Leslie confirmed. "This is Spencer Gray, and Spence, this is our cook, Mariki. She's really all bluster though, so just ignore her."
"Hah," Mariki proceeded to bluster. "Mr. Roarke, you didn't teach this girl enough respect for her elders. Listen to her abusing me."
Roarke grinned at Spencer's astonished look. "This is normal, Spencer," he assured the younger man. "Mariki's afraid Leslie will continue to shun her food."
"I don't shun Mariki's cooking at all," Leslie protested. "Come on, Father, you know how I get."
"We all know how you get," said Mariki blackly. "Maybe she was a trencherman back in school, Mr. Gray, but now she doesn't eat the way she should."
Spencer surveyed Leslie with appreciation. "She looks just fine to me."
Mariki rolled her eyes and enlightened him while she put dishes on the table. "No, she doesn't. This skinny-skinny mentality just isn't right. Not only that, but when Miss Leslie gets depressed, she pretty much stops eating. She's done that ever since I've known her, and the previous cook said the same thing. Miss Leslie, I'm telling you right now, not eating isn't going to bring that man back. You've never understood how fortunate you are to be living here on this beautiful island, under Mr. Roarke's care, doing a job you love so much, with so many good friends. Instead you just focus on the wrongs that have happened in your life. I'm sure Mr. Roarke would tell you if you got him angry enough, but if you ask me, he's much too easy on you, so I'm telling you. You need to think about the good things in your life, and for heaven's sake, forget about Christian. For all the things that foolish man has done to you, he'd better hope I never get my hands on him." She saw Roarke's mildly admonishing look and stood up straight, clearing her throat. "Well, that's my say on the matter. Enjoy your meal, everyone. Especially you." This last, she directed at Leslie, complete with pointed finger, before leaving with her cart.
"Wow," said Spencer, astonished, staring after her. Something seemed to occur to him then and he turned to Leslie, a faint frown on his face. "Who's Christian?"
"Nobody special," Leslie said and lifted the cover to one dish. "Oh my. Spence, I hope you still like Italian. Mariki makes some mean pasta dishes, and I remember you ate spaghetti as if it were going to be outlawed the next day, when we were kids."
"I still do," Spencer said, after a quick glance at Roarke, who simply smiled. "Why, what'd she make?"
"Lasagna," Leslie said with relish, putting the dome aside. "This is going to be good, and I'm definitely eating my share. If Mariki complains after this meal, then there's something wrong with her."
That made Roarke and Spencer both laugh; but while Roarke allowed Leslie to change the subject, he could tell from Spencer's expression that this wouldn't be the end of the discussion of Christian. He rather hoped Spencer would eventually drag it out of Leslie; she really needed to talk to someone about it.