“Yes. Except for the suitors, most have been coming for years.”
Oh shit, here comes Gran.The ninety-year-old is the last to enter. Her wheelchair is rolled between the aisle and parked beside me.
After I lean over and give her a hug, I scoot back so she can see my escort. “Grandma, meet Sir James. Sir James, this is Mrs. Clarke.”
Her mind is as sharp as her tongue and her desire to see me wed even more than my mother. “So, young man. Did you ask her out yet?”
“My face heats. Gran, plea–”
“You’re not getting any younger. If you won’t ask him, I will.” She looks up at his surprised grin. “What’s wrong with you? Are you gay, too?”
My father rolls his eyes from where he sits at the piano and the front half of the room stops talking to titter.
Perfect.I look to both exits wondering which would be the faster escape but she grabs hold of my arm with the strength of ten grannies.
Yuri, seated right behind me stands but Gran points her knurled left index finger at him. “Sit down, young man. This is none of your affair. I like this one much better than you.”
What a circus.I picture the tabloids in the morning paper, shared on Facebook, and tweeted across the universe.Miss Calliope Bradford-Clarke laid to waste by crazy old grandmother.
Sir James, still standing, kisses my hand and turns to my grandmother. “I am afraid, madam, being at sea, gives me little leave for the fair Calliope. To dally with her affection would be cruel and in truth, break my heart as well. Did my heart ever love anyone before this moment? My eyes were liars, then, because I never saw true beauty before tonight.”
The whole room applauds, my bodyguard takes a bow, then sits as my granny beams.
I pull on his ear to bring it to my lips. “Was that Shakespeare?”
“I may have borrowed the last two lines from Romeo and Juliet.”
The embarrassing scene brought to an end by the famous bard, my father begins the Rachmaninov and a hush fills the room. The music takes me to a small village in Russia where life is simple and happy. Then, the music grows dark and angry, like a storm at sea where all drown and die in misery.
After, a playful Shostakovich uplifts me, followed by a rousing Tchaikovsky, I get so lost in the music I barely notice Sir James has stood.
“We need to go.” He grabs my arm and lifts me to my feet with one hand covering his ear.
“Can’t I say goodbye to my dad?”
“Not tonight, luv. Not tonight.” He rushes me out of the house through the nearest exit, across the snow, and into a waiting SUV.
Without coat and boots, I shiver as the snow melts in my shoes and turns into icy water. When the vehicle swings around the corner, gravity throws me into his body.
“What’s going on?”
“Your earrings please.” He holds open the familiar velvet pouch, I pull the hoops out of my ears, and drop them both inside.
Face grim, he tucks them under his cloak and when his hand returns, he’s holding a gun. He checks out the back window where circular blue lights race around the snow.
Oh my God, this is serious.I’m not sure if it’s from the cold or the close proximity of his weapon, but I’m shaking uncontrollably.
When we stop, he rolls down his window, and flashes his ID.
“Go right ahead, Sir James.” A policeman waves us forward.
I’ve had just about enough. “Am I being kidnapped?”
“Huh? No, of course not. Our guys caught thieves breaking into your bedroom so I’m taking you someplace safe.
“I don’t understand.”
“What do you generally do, after you father’s concert?”
“I change my clothes and give the earrings to Bert Stevenson for safe keeping. Then, I head home and thank God the shitshow is over for another year.”
He grunts. “Have you ever stopped to think how predictable your behavior is to a thief?”
I don’t like his tone, I don’t like feeling stupid, and I’m tired and cranky. “Just take me home, okay?”
