Falling From Grace (47 page)

He laughed.
 
“I can always feel your annoyance when you think about them, but I’m going to have to put them back on before I bring you home.
 
I’m just taking them off for tonight.”

“So my freedom will turn into a prison again at midnight.
 
All I need is a pumpkin and some mice and I’m all set,” I responded.

“And what shall I turn into when the clock strikes twelve?” he asked, his eyes twinkling at me in the darkness of the car as his hands skimmed my toes peeking out from the footed part of the cast.

“Nothing.
 
There is no midnight when it comes to you,” I breathed.
 
Or, rather, I didn’t, because right then I felt a strange tingle run up the back of my leg, as though someone had drawn a line running from my ankle to my thigh with a feather.
 
“Oh!”
 
I squirmed, the sensation was so…odd.

I looked at Robert’s hands, and saw that he was tapping the cast at the base of my heel.
 
Only, the tapping was very, very fast, the movement nearly imperceptible.
 
I only noticed it because I could feel it.
 
The cast was great at enhancing the vibrations the tapping created.
 
And then he stopped.
 
I inhaled, the rush of air filling my lugs to near bursting, and then I blew it all out in a gasp of shock when he lifted the cast off of my leg in one piece, although split open along the back, the front looking like it had been hinged.

“H-h-how’d you do that?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets.”
 
He waggled his eyebrows at me, and smiled.

“Ugh, what is that smell?!”
 
My nose wrinkled up as the pungent odor assailed my senses.

He laughed.
 
“That’s coming from you.”

I scoffed, offended, “It is not!”

He pointed to my leg, which was looking rather sickly pale, and…grotesquely hairy, and smiled.
 
“I’m afraid it is.
 
The cast has done wonders to make your leg a breeding ground of odor causing bacteria.”

I realized he was right.
 
Offended and offensive.
 
Great.
 
What a way to start off a first date.
 
Embarrassed, I groaned.
 
“What am I going to do?
 
I can’t go to the wedding smelling and looking like road kill!”

“Shh.
 
Don’t worry.
 
Let me take care of it,” he whispered, and held my foot in his hands.

I stared in muted shock as he brought my foot to his mouth, holding it steady when I tried to jerk it away.
 
He exhaled on it, sending a shiver up my leg and straight to that part of my stomach that made funny little leaps every time he touched me or looked at me in a certain way, only this time, my stomach didn’t just take a tiny leap, it did a triple jump, landing somewhere in my chest next to my rapidly beating heart.

I remembered him doing the same thing on my hand after I had burned it that first day after we’d met, and the blisters had just disappeared.
 
But what could that same ability do to a dank, swampy leg?
 
That was abysmally hairy?

I felt the strange tingling start at the very tip of my smallest toe.
 
It was like a fly was sitting there, and then it was walking across the span of my toes, each tiny footstep leaving permanent prints on my skin that pulsed and throbbed in ever widening circles.

I watched, awestruck as my leg started to change in color, the pale, moist skin turning from nearly translucent to a far more normal pinkish beige.
 
I felt my eyes ratchet even wider as I watched the patches of hair seem to retreat back into my skin.
 
I looked back into his face, “Wha-how?”

He smiled, and pulled the edge of my dress down, covering my now cast free, and strangely sweet smelling leg.
 
He reached for my arm and repeated the rapid tapping on my elbow.
 
When it, too, had been split open, the same awful smell assailed my nose.
 
As he had with my foot, Robert brought my hand up to his mouth and exhaled on it.

I started to pull my hand away, wanting to bring my arm right to my face, to witness the change as closely as possible, but he tightened his grip on my hand.
 
I watched him as he brought my hand back to his mouth, and he kissed the tips of my fingers.
 
He placed my hand on his cheek and sighed.
 
“I think you feel things better through your right hand than you do with your left.
 
It’s more sensitive.”

I couldn’t respond.
 
I hadn’t been able to discern any real difference between the way my right hand felt in comparison to my left.
 
And, in all honesty, it didn’t matter which hand was doing it; I could only feel the hammering of my heart and the gymnastic stunts my stomach was performing whenever I was touching Robert, or he was touching me.

He chuckled at my thoughts, and I looked away, embarrassed as always.
 
An awkward silence followed, and remained there, heavy, until the car finally stopped moving, and the passenger side door opened.
 
After he placed my casts on the floor, he stepped out of the car.
 
He turned around and held his hand out to me.

It was then that I realized I only had one shoe on.

“Robert, I-” he held up his hand, stopping my obvious announcement.

The front passenger side door opened and shut very quickly, only being slowed down by the physics of the door itself, and not by the individual opening it.
 
Then Robert was on one knee in front of me, placing the other sandal on my bare foot.

“How
—
what
—
where
—
when?” I stuttered, feeling absolutely foolish but unable to stop myself as my eyes flicked from the sandal to his face, and back.

“You forgot who and why,” he teased.
 
When he was satisfied that the sandal was buckled securely, he pulled me out of the car.
 
“Ready, Cinderella?”
 

Just as it had been when we’d last been here, there was a large tent filled with lights that sat over fully set tables and chairs.
 
This time, however, there were strips of shimmering bronze fabric running down the tables and tied to the chairs, like ribbons adorning a present.

The flower arrangements on each table were large glass trees that held dark orange and bright pink blossoms; crystal drops were dangling from each branch.
 
There appeared to be bright pink boxes at each place setting, their bows looking like bronze firecracker explosions, and I didn’t think that after tonight I’d ever want to sit at a table that didn’t have the very same centerpiece or place setting.

Shaking his head at my thoughts, Robert pulled me towards a smaller tent set up near the gazebo.
 
It, too, had been decorated in bronze, pink, and orange, with crystals dangling everywhere.
 
There were chairs set up facing the gazebo, and I assumed that’s where the wedding would be taking place.

The majority of the seats had been filled, but Robert wasn’t taking me to sit down.
 
He was taking me towards someone.
 
The murmurs of acknowledgement and excitement couldn’t be missed as we passed row after row, stopping at the first one where one chair had been removed to allow for a deceptively frail looking woman and her wheelchair.

She looked up from her conversation with the woman next to her and smiled, the creases around her startling blue eyes deepening with her obvious joy at seeing Robert.
 
“Robbie!
 
I was wondering if you’d get here in time!
 
And at last I get to meet your Grace!”
 
She looked at me, her eyes full of warmth and welcome.
 
“I’ve seen your face so many times, but I must say that his thoughts don’t do you any justice.”

I smiled at her compliment, not wanting to tell her that all the images in his mind were of the normal, everyday me.
 
The Grace standing in front of her was an anomaly, but she didn’t need to know that.

Robert bent down on one knee and took the woman’s hand, which seemed so small and fragile in his, I was afraid he’d break it.
 
He raised it to his lips and kissed it reverently.
 
He looked into her eyes and grinned, then looked at me.
 
“Grace, this is Eloise MacInherney.
 
She’s the friend whose granddaughter is getting married tonight.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. MacInherney,” I said.

“Oh pish, it’s Ellie to you and everyone else who matters,” she replied, waving her hand at my formality.
 
“I’m so glad you could come tonight.
 
It’s always good to be around family and friends.”

I looked around at the guests in attendance and realized, oddly, that no one looked familiar.
 
Heath wasn’t exactly a small town, but with so many people here I thought I’d at least see one person that I’d recognize.
 
Instead the faces belonged to strangers.
 
With the exception of two who were standing off to the side, conspicuous as always.

Lark and Ameila both nodded at me and smiled.
 
Lark, beautiful in an ivory gown, looked amused, while Ameila, who resembled a rare jewel in her blood red dress that pooled on the floor beneath her feet, looked concerned although I probably only noticed that because I had seen the same looks on their faces before.
 
While no longer concerned as much about Lark’s opinion of me, considering the great leaps we’d made since our first meeting, the way Ameila seemed to stare at me with a mixture of pity, sadness, and concern made me feel wholly inadequate.

Lark, having heard my thoughts, turned to look at her mother.
 
Ameila made no show in trying to hide her emotions, and that seemed to upset Lark, who shook her head and started stomping towards us, her feet leaving distinct and deep impressions in the grass behind her.

“Lark is on the warpath,” Ellie remarked.

Robert didn’t need to turn around and look for himself to see that she was right, but he did so anyway.
 
He then looked at me, and shook his head.
 
“Mother’s not upset about you and I being here, Grace.
 
Someone else is here that she did not expect to arrive.”

I didn’t understand.
 
Who could be here that would upset Ameila?

Ellie shook her head as well.
 
“Sam.
 
It’s got to be Sam.”

Sam?
 
“Who’s Sam?”
 
I asked, obviously out of the loop and not liking it.

Larks voice behind me answered, “Sam is sort of like our adopted brother, and a pain in the a-”

“Lark!” Robert hissed, cutting her off.

Lark smiled.
 
“He’s also Robert’s best friend, and a complete piece of sh-”

“LARK!”

Sighing, Lark walked away.
 
I don’t need to say it for it to be true.

I couldn’t help but giggle at that, and then tried desperately to stop myself when I saw the look in Robert’s face.

“Sam’s not that bad of a lot, really,” Ellie said, her eyes misty from trying to fight the humor herself.
 
“He’s just a bit rough around the edges.
 
Like a cookie.
 
A salty, slightly over baked cookie, but still, you know what it’s supposed to be, and with enough milk, you might even be able to enjoy it.”

Tucking my lips between my teeth to keep from bursting out into full blown laughter, I nodded my head.
 
It was the only response I risked giving, not wanting to take the chance that anything more would release the floodgates, and I’d be unable to control myself.
 
And in front of so many strangers.

Someone in a long, fuchsia dress tapped Ellie on her shoulder and whispered something in her ear.
 
She nodded, and raised her hand in some sort of signal.
 
I tried to look at who it was she was signaling, but in the same time it took me to think about the action, I was no longer near her, but in a seat somewhere in the back, Robert sitting serenely next to me, his hand holding mine.

“What was that?” I asked, the sudden change of scenery causing my heart to race in surprise.

“The ceremony is about to start,” he answered, and patted my hand.

A voice so incredibly lovely began singing what would later be described as “the most romantic of all arias”, and the procession of bridesmaids and groomsmen began.
 
The woman who had been wearing the fuchsia dress appeared to have been the maid of honor, as she was the last to appear before the bride.

She was dressed in a very simple spaghetti strap dress that was made to resemble a mermaid’s shape.
 
She had a soft, gauzy veil over her hair that was held in place by a very whimsical tiara made of pearls and fuchsia and orange crystals.
 
It stood out dramatically against her dark hair, but did not look out of place.