I had some time to post a taste of what is to come next weekend.

Thanks to all my betas who contributed in different ways: lovingyouisbest, JD Bell; Joy Booth and Fredrica.

Final tweaking is my own.

this chapter next chapter we get to some M stuff (waggles eyebrows)

It's the way that you feel

A little bit of M stuff

Darcy, taking Bingley's advice recently began allowing himself to be more vulnerable- especially this week with Lizzy. At least during the moments when they were together. For all the good it had done. So far most of their time seemed to be longing looks at meals or breaks interrupted by someone.

Darcy was sure Catalina had something to do with it. Lizzy had sat down to dinner just this evening a relieved smile on her face, starting with the clichéd "Alone at last."No sooner had he agreed, laughingly, and inquired at her meaning, than did one of Catalina's minions interrupt the promising tete a tete. They and asked for him to see to some detail or other with his evening workshop that really could have waited. He apologized, hoping that she understood the meaning behind his penetrating look and his heart leapt when she mouthed 'meet me later'.

Darcy settled the details of his powerpoint presentation, finished off his now cold meal, and when the time came, blundered through the evening presentation while rushing answers to questions of hangers on afterward. Finally, he was done for the night. Not knowing where or when later meant, he determined her room might be a likely place.

No use in waiting. He knew which room she stayed in. Darcy came upon her dark room and assumed she was at the late night meditation group. He hoped to await her return and was about to turn on the light when Darcy came upon her in the dark was fully clothed, body prone and palms up in a classic corpse pose.

First he just sat and stared at her slumbering form. Her curls were spread out on the bed invitingly, Lizzy's peaceful face looked utterly kissable. Her décolletage was well highlighted and nipples clearly outlined under the sheer softness of a heather and knit top which rode up, exposing her creamy abdomen above galaxy leggings that left little to the imagination.

It was too much for his steely discipline to handle. Darcy reached out and with a feather touch stroked her hair, her face, grazed his hand over her body, savoring the sensation of her curves. Lizzy's eyes momentarily fluttered, she quivered and rolled over in her sleep.

" Lizzy" he whispered. She was out like a light. "You have no idea how much I still want us to be together. So many times in the past few days I've come this close to seducing you, only to draw back, afraid you'd think I didn't respect you, afraid of Catalina's stupid rules.

It takes every ounce of resolve not to push aside the paint and easel and straddle the art bench with you firmly ensconced upon me…. to wade into the creek, scoop you up and find a place near the bank to sit you so I could grind myself into you…. to lock the studio door and show you some Tantric positions while watching a dozen angles of us making love….

The movement of your head, the turn of each curl, the slope of your pale shoulder, the berry essence of your lips I want to taste- above and below….

How ardently I admire and love you…. I've never let anyone invade me, body and soul, as you so have, …. I may burst from wanting us to be together again. But on YOUR terms. I won't get in your way. Just let me be there for you, be with you.

This time I won't let you go. Don't toy with me- are your feelings what they were? If so, give me a message and I'll prevail upon you no further."

In sync with his soft words, Lizzy turned to him, those berry lips turning upward, smiling. Her hand flopped over and indicated to him the answer, written clearly. It was a journal entry, What am I to do if my love for him is unrequited? I want him so badly it's driving me mad.

He sighed, feeling the pang of recognition, a plan forming. At least I didn't compromise my position as a 'Creativity Coach'… hmph, Who cares what Catalina says? Lizzy loves me. I will conquer any resistance and she will be mine, no matter what, said Darcy's uninhibited side.

Lizzy whispered, "Who are you? Every time I see you, you change-"

He wondered if she was talking to him. He moved into the shadows, now uncertain if she was really awake. By her actions he had at first assumed she was just tired and had been awakened. Now he wasn't so sure. He moved into the shadows, waiting to see what would unfold, and whether he would leave or reveal himself to her.

Lizzy shifted in the bed, her mind in a haze. She felt a physical paralysis, with awareness of observing a dream. In her dream, she sat in a gondola with an ageless man in Roman costume in deep conversation as he stood at the bow, pushing it along. As she looked into his deep eyes, he changed into Darcy. A lucid voice in Lizzy's vision asked Tell me where I am.

The dream shifted so the cavern became backstage, behind a grand proscenium that went on forever. The man moved before her and Lizzy's hands swiftly removed a costume from a young, long-haired Ian Astbury, his soft, pale skin glistening in sweat from his performance under the lights. The lights fluttered in shadow and she realized the shadows were wings, his wings. They were something between angel wings and bat wings, appearing in turns like dreams often do. But this was not a dream, was it?

What was the box doing in her hands? It was impossibly divine. Made of metal, heavy in her hands, the box was embossed in script from a lost language that called out to her. She opened it to put some kind of incandescent makeup on him and found herself drawn to it, mesmerized. The man implored her not to put it on herself, not to look in the box. She couldn't help but stare into the opalescent substance that shimmered like all the sands in all the beaches shining under all the suns in every universe, all in this box. In some other language it spoke to her, telling her touch me…

Dipping her hand in, and she became immersed in the box, which was a portal. An ethereal dark creature with talon like nails, fangs, impossibly long hair, and bat or angel wings followed, latching on to her. They began making love and Lizzy found herself close to release when she saw what must be herself in a mirror, and she was hideous. She stopped in horror as she saw a beautiful woman enter. The woman in white was furious. You took my beauty cream.

Mother, you know it was mine. You have your own beauty. I can share mine with whomever I choose. Said the winged man.

You shared it with her and it's killing her because you're from different worlds. You can see it! Venus gestured to the mirror where Lizzy saw her hideous self.

The man threw back, That mirror is a lie. It tells us the worst of what we believe. It can hardly be called a mirror.

He shook Lizzy, You will die if you believe this is all you are. The man who was either the creature or Darcy began wiping copious amounts of fluid from Lizzy who now felt she was drowning. The beauty cream became strangling amniotic fluid. I want you to live. But you have to make yourself live. His caresses wiped the fluid as he spoke, urging her to live and to believe.

In the distance she heard a pounding, drumming, almighty sound. Lizzy gasped, sitting up in bed. She didn't notice the soft clicking of the door as Darcy closed it behind him. She blearily heard voices down the hall in earnest conversation. Was it her imagination or was it Catalina and Darcy? She shook the wool from her head and was compelled to document her dream, and as she did, it heightened the feeling of being there again. She wished, she could forget what her mind bade her to remember: his eyes, his face. After writing the recollections down, Lizzy googled the stories of Venus and found The Golden Ass.

The dream spoke its unspeakable truths to her. She must believe in herself in order to truly live, regardless of what job she had; whether or not her work was ever recognized. Whether others judged that her work lacked credibility or some other measure of 'good art', it didn't matter. But she realized she also needed the friction of criticism from trusted sources to better her work.

She trusted Maeve implicitly in this regard. She trusted Aunt Phil and Tia to give her career and business advice, too. They could all be counted on to be honest. She was saved more than one mistake by benefiting from their wisdom. Just then, she realized that HE, too, had always been honest with her when they worked together.

Whatever He said 'behind her back' must have been just as he'd said. Now that she was here, it made sense. She could, indeed, trust him to tell her the truth. And he had- he appreciated her as a person- and as an artist. And the whole time I was indignant at his well meaning but clumsy attempts to do just that. I treated him with ugliness. Aesthetics aren't just about how things look after all. He's influenced me. My work changed because of him- the whole neoclassical slant had been his idea for the show. I'd gotten inspired from it to do my own neoclassical pieces. He may have given a push, but my spark came from inside, He just helped fan the flames. Speaking of flames…

She had previously tried to force herself to forget His look of raw, aching desire. Lizzy thought she glimpsed it occasionally when she caught Darcy staring. It occurred disconcertingly often and Lizzy was sure that after she invited him to meet her later, surely he'd make a move tonight. But, he remained maddeningly platonic in his warm intensity. She tried to forget how it felt when they talked- like they were merely old friends. She didn't know how to be just friends with him, not now.

Something niggled at the back of her mind. Darcy, telling her how he ardently admired and loved her. He never said those words, did he?

Before it became bizarre, the dream had started out so pleasantly with this declaration. Was all of it a dream?

* if you have not done so, the Golden Ass is a lovely story and you can find it free if you do a word search. I highly recommend it. There are also antique/ vintage books with magical illustrations, if you are so inclined to seek out such a thing.

It's the truth in your eyes

Before the morning workshop session he asked to sit down with her at breakfast. They had difficult start.

"How's your family?"

"Very good." She looked up at him, her eyes searching his.

Unable to maintain eye contact, afraid she know about last night, he concentrated on his plate. "The bacon and parsnip combination is particularly good with the eggs."

"Mmm, I agree. My compliments to the chef." They dug in, thankful for the delicious reason to not have to talk. It still felt awkward.

"And your family's doing well?" She caught his eye and giggled, "Yes. As far as I know. They're poor correspondents, mostly sharing facebook posts. You know, the usual. So, um, what workshop are you doing today?"

"Well, I am leading the journaling session. Today's topic is What is inside Pandora's Box?" His eyes bore into her.

She returned his gaze. "This is cheesy- I don't know if it's the red rocks 'vortex' effect or whatever, but I think I just had a weird coincidence. I just dreamed about a metal box with magical properties."

"Maybe that means you should come to my session, then. If you like." He wore a knowing expression. Lizzy found it odd that he didn't ask more about what she'd meant. She'd always assumed before when he would do things like that- not ask an obvious question- he was being pompous. Her feelings told her something else. He had that expression and he didn't ask because somehow, he did know. He didn't need to ask.

Lizzy was compelled to attend the session. She realized her dream was a sort of code as she journalled.

Sometimes it's hard to find the wherewithal to go on.

I don't admit that to myself, ever. I looked for something outside myself for confirmation or direction. When I met Cole, I thought he challenged me but really he just made my anxieties worse. I attributed my successes to some kind of magic Cole had but in truth, my work would have grown whether or not he was there. When he disappeared, I had sworn that I was never going to rely on a guy for validation.

I had to change course because of how that summer went with Jane. No, I didn't have to. I thought I had to then. Now I realize that I chose to change course. I've always felt a bit adrift, even with mentors like Tia Lena, Aunt Phil and Maeve. Their well meaning advice is taken, but I'm not going to own a shop or design costumes in a theatre, so their advice only goes so far.

But Darcy knows what it is like to truly be on his own, selling his work in his gallery. I think that is why he invited to support me. I've been denying too long the effect that people have on me, especially him. Opening myself up here is a re discovery of the inner desire to see my artistic visions come to life.

But I now see there will always be risk- whether I'm with someone or not. I will always have critics and I have to listen to them before throwing out advice I don't want to hear because I'm too insecure to consider it may be true.

Before, I blamed those feelings inferiority on Darcy- just like I felt in the dream- but I chose to allow myself to relate as if I was his inferior. The dream expressed my change of heart- the recognition of my true heart's desire- and my carnal desire. That man drives me crazy and I need to take the risk with him. I need to figure out how.

She was thankful the workshop came to an end and she could distract herself from this line of thought. Everyone gathered in the large common room for the free-form gouache project. Why did he have to sit next to her? It was maddening. Her thoughts were ill concealed as she worked on the small gouache, a scarlet mesmerism of nocturnal colors and bodies come to life. Her body burned as she felt his dark eyes on her, surely, knowing the truth.

tada!

Happy MLK day, everyone.

Here's to the Big Dream.