I release an unladylike snort with gusto. Wolfram looks faintly alarmed, like he can't remember the last time anyone in his posh circle made any noise even remotely related to a bodily function. I've never farted in front of a guy, but oh my gosh, now I'm really wondering how he'd react. I have an irrepressible urge to do something to jolt him out of his starched, just-so world. The thought is inane and wildly inappropriate and I'm giggling before I can stop myself.
"Something funny?" He draws himself up, offended.
I shake my head quickly. "Look, Wolfie," I say, slipping into what I used to call him when he was being particularly bothersome. I ignore his mutinous scowl. "I'm not the girl for you, fake marriage or otherwise. So just run off and find one of your usual bimbos to enact the part of doting fiancee, because for damn sure it's not going to be me."
I've never pictured myself as a feminist but I can suddenly see myself fitting the role. My own words make me feel empowered and in control, like I can do anything and be anyone, and that person is definitely not going to be sporting that gargantuan diamond on her finger.
"I'll pay you." He leans forward, smiling in what he thinks is a winning manner. As much as it makes my stomach tighten pleasantly, I'm not outwardly affected. A dimpled smile that perfect can't be achieved through natural means. He probably uses his mirror as his shrine and pays homage to it with a hundred smiles a day until he nails a smile that will make women's toes curl.
"Prostitution," I drawl. "Lovely."
"Is this about Christmas?" he snaps at me suddenly, like a feral dog.
"You know it is," I hiss back, both my palms flat against my desk as I stare him down. "You know damn well it is."
I'll skip the whole once upon a time thing because this is no fairytale and even if it was, Wolfram van der Waals would definitely not be my Prince Charming. Maybe Prince Arrogant Toe-rag. Or Prince Degenerate Scoundrel. Yeah, those fit him better.
Anyway, here's where our story begins. Five years ago.
December 22, 2010 9:45 a.m.
My best friend's arms circle around me and he almost lifts me off my feet. Me, cranky as hell after a twelve hour journey from New York's JFK Airport and an unholy amount of time waiting for a connecting flight. But all that floats right out the window the second Xander hugs me. Alexander Elliot, to be precise. My best friend since we were in college and even though he graduated a semester ahead of me and the last three months were horrible without him, I forgive him instantly.
"Oh my god, I can't breathe!" I manage to gasp between laughs. As soon as he sets me down I energetically kiss both his cheeks until they're flaming red and he's laughing with embarrassment.
People moving around us smile as they pass, openly meeting my eyes and nodding their heads to me in acknowledgment. They probably think we're long-lost lovers meeting for the first time in months, and except for the lovers part, they'd be right.
"Sorry," I tease. "Wrong country. I guess the Dutch don't have any cute mannerisms like the French, do they?"
Xander rolls his eyes by way of answer. "Is that all you have with you?" He gives my twenty-two-inch roll-along suitcase an appraising look.
"Hey, I'm a tiny girl who can't reach that high in the overhead compartments. Plus, no upper body strength." I give him a tiny push on his arm to demonstrate. "See?"
"So believable," he rolls his eyes again.
"Where did you pick up that bad habit?" I want to know. He never used to roll his eyes.
Before he can answer, Amsterdam Airport's loudspeaker starts to crackle and a female voice makes an announcement in words which I don't understand. Dutch is an interesting language. Some people think it sounds harsh and guttural, like Orc, but I like it. It has a stark beauty which most Germanic languages lack. My college roommate spoke German and it was ugly and stilted, all full of sharpness and bite. Dutch is somehow a friendlier, more upbeat version of German that doesn't make me want to cover my ears and groan.
"My friend is waiting in the car park," Xander says, reaching for my luggage.
I swat his hand away. "Xand, I got it." I appreciate his chivalry, but there's something awkward about him holding onto my stuff if we aren't a couple. "Are you sure your friend doesn't mind me joining his family at Christmas?" I ask curiously.
We had planned to go to Florida since almost everywhere else in the U.S. was covered in a foot of snow, but it turned out that one of Xander's colleagues had invited him to their ancestral home in the Netherlands. When Xander had turned him down because he had longstanding plans with me, his friend had extended the invite to us both. Oh yeah, and this friend wasn't just a colleague - he was the son of the man whom Xander worked for. And his name was Wolfram van der Waals.
"Nah," Xander replies easily. "Apparently they don't do a quiet, family Christmas. They have this tradition of the twelve days of Christmas, you know? They invite a ton of people and they stay with them all twelve days of Christmas and some even stay well into the new year." He flashes a grin at me as we follow the exit signs out of the airport.
I go ahead of him out of the revolving door and into the bite of the cold December air. "Must be a big house," I say idly.
"Oh yeah. There's easily thirty people there now."
I come to a stand-still. He nearly bumps into me and is about to protest when I screech, "Thirty people?!" I don't think I can even tell you the names of thirty people in my whole family, let alone invite them to crowd me out of my own house. Suddenly, I'm having visions of myself shacked up with ten people to a room and sharing a communal toilet. Oh my god. I gave up Florida for this?
"They're loaded, relax," Xander says, fixing me with a knowing look. Like me, he hates touching his butt on surfaces other people have also touched.
"Like we have our own rooms loaded?" I ask hopefully.
"With rooms to spare," he laughs in return. "There he is." He raises his hand in a wave and a sleek black car glides up to the curb.
I have no idea what make the car is but I know it's probably all four years of my tuition combined, at least, because there is no way a car looks that good and has a modest price tag.
The driver emerges and I'm rooted to the spot. Thick golden curls and lashes which should be illegal on a boy are the first thing I notice. Then my gaze dips lower. A slightly-rounded nose and pouty, inviting lips. His eyes look blue from a distance, but as he moves closer I can tell that they're gray, the color of steel.
"This is my friend and colleague, Wolfram van der Waals," Xander introduces.
"Wolf," the blonde man says shortly, looking at me. "Is that all you have with you?" His words end on a sneer, like he can't believe I travelled all this way with just one small carry-on.
It was okay when Xander said it, but now my temper flares. "Yep," I say in as cheery a voice as I can muster. Remember, Charlotte, you're a guest in his house.
He studies me intently and I'm waiting for him to make some pleasantry like "how was the flight?" or "it's nice to meet you". Instead, he reaches for my bag. I'm still holding onto the handle so I stumble forward slightly. It was my own fault; when he'd reached out, I'd instinctively held onto it tighter.
Wolf doesn't apologize, just takes my stuff and heads to the trunk of his car.
"Thanks," I say reluctantly, shooting my best friend a worried glance. Did Wolf not like me? How could that be possible when he just met me a moment ago?
Xander doesn't seem to notice my perturbed expression because he continues easily like he hadn't noticed Wolf's curtness. "And this is Charlotte, my best friend." He grins down at me with an adoring expression.
I smile back uneasily, but then I'm startled out of my smile by the expression on Wolf's face. While partially obscured by the open trunk, there's no mistaking the look of anger in his eyes. Anger that I'm certain I did nothing to cause. His entire face is cold and closed-off, his eyes dead and penetrating like a shark's. A chill goes down my spine. Suddenly, I am sure of one thing - Wolfram van der Waals hates me.
Author's Note: I know it feels like I left you on a cliffhanger, and trust me, that was intentional! I'm by no means done with this flashback and anticipate at least another 4 chapters of flashback to divulge more information about Wolf and Charlotte's past. This chapter is just hinting at what's to come. I hope you enjoy it! Don't forget to give my stories some love! :)