"You make it sound like we were awful!" Wolfram complains, lip pouting at me. His hand snakes out to grab a peppermint but I swat it away.
"You were," I shoot back, not missing a beat. His angelic expression doesn't deter me; he knows as well as I do why I loathe him with a fiery, burning passion. And I'm not about to let him off the hook anytime soon.
"You'll still marry me, right?" He props his feet up on my desk.
I resist the all-encompassing urge to scream and drive my letter opener through his chest. I can't believe he just said that. This boy is truly incorrigible. "When pigs fly," I smile sweetly.
December 22, 2010 11:30 a.m.
The bathroom is surprisingly normal compared to the rest of the house. Luxurious, yes, but not to the point that I am afraid to touch anything. Like airport restrooms, the faucets in the house don't have handles for hot and cold; instead, all I have to do is place my hand underneath the gold spout and the sensor immediately releases warm water into my waiting palm.
The tile floor isn't cold at all, despite the chilly winter month, but is delightfully warm thanks to the under-floor heating. Opposite the commode is an enormous bathtub that could easily have fit three people, sparkling gold taps free of a finger smudge - and trust me, I looked. Cautiously, I twist the handle, and a steady stream of water comes out, quickly filling the tub. There is an elongated neck by the tap that has an oversize, immovable shower head. But there isn't a shower curtain, and I have a bad feeling that I'd get water everywhere, so I settle for a soak instead.
I strip quickly and sink gratefully into the hot water, feeling the grime of travel wash away. Using the elastic wrapped around my wrist, I tie my hair into a poofy top-bun to keep it dry, and help myself to one of the small slivers of soap in the wooden soap saver which is neatly placed on the ledge next to a mini-loofah. Each soap sliver is wrapped with a thin piece of recycled brown paper around the middle with the scent and ingredients printed in small typewriter lettering. I choose a light green soap that says "Christmas Bliss" on it and rip the paper off. I submerge the soap in the water and then lather it generously over my skin. Instantly, the aroma of fresh spices, frankincense, and balsam wood whisper through the air, tickling my nostrils with the subtle fragrance.
Finishing my bath quickly, I wrap a towel around myself and step out onto the bath rug, wiggling my toes in the soft green moss with perverse delight. A smile still on my face, I dress quickly in the clothing I'd brought inside with me.
Dumping my old clothing in the wicker basket next to the tub, I emerge from the bathroom fresh and sqeaky-clean. Even though I called my mother the moment I'd landed, I grab my iPhone and take a few pictures of the bedroom and still-steamy bathroom and send them to her. Without waiting for an answer, I leave my phone on the nightstand and traipse out of my room.
Before I even finish rapping on Xander's door, he opens it, eager-puppy expression fading swiftly when he sees me.
"Uh," he clears his throat. "Is that what you're wearing?"
Clearly my Ugly Christmas Sweater doesn't pass muster. It's a scarlet-red sweater with a pug on it, wearing cute antlers, and there's a bell on his collar that jingles gently when I walk. Paired with a pair of ripped skinny jeans and Ugg boots, I suddenly feel underdressed. Especially when I see his dark-wash jeans and classic, navy v-neck Ralph Lauren sweater.
"Should I change?"
"No," Xander says. "It's kitschy." He hooks his thumbs into the loops of his jeans. "I was thinking we could explore the village after we eat. Wolfram wants to show us around."
"You haven't already seen it?" I ask as we set off down the carpeted hallway.
I see him shake his head from the corner of my eye. "I figured I would wait for you so we could do it together. We've been apart enough already."
"Sounds like a plan. I got plenty of sleep on the flight so I'm not jetlagged or anything. I feel bad imposing on your friend like that, though."
"He offered," Xander says. "And once you get to know Wolf, you'll know he never does anything he doesn't want to do." He grins, elbowing me in the ribs. "Maybe he likes you."
"Doubtful," I drawl, following Xander down the stairs. "I get the feeling it's the exact opposite."
Xander probably didn't catch what I said, because he hops off the last two steps and turns around to face me, big grin on his face. "Into the lion's den we go!" he remarks cheerfully. "C'mon." He takes my hand and leads me in what appears to be circles before we finally round a corner and see the butler standing there.
He gives us a perfunctory nod. "Sir, Miss," he greets.
I envy Xander his optimism, especially since I was positive that it would be a lion's den - and that they'd all be hungry. And not for scones and orange juice.
The butler, Humphrey, opens the heavy, double doors of the dining room for us. The long wooden table is surrounded by high-backed chairs and is covered with a white lace tablecloth. On the side of the wall where the door opened, there is a huge buffet table, still empty as of now. I assume it's because it's not yet noon.
Immediately, all eyes turn to us and I tug my hand from Xander's uncomfortably before Graeme can notice. Blond and brunette heads regard us with interest, at least forty in total. I'm surprised the van der Waals found a table big enough to host this many people.
Xander gives me a strange look when he feels me pull away and I hope my eyes convey to him I'll tell you later.
"Alexander, Charlotte, please take a seat," Rhona says with a welcoming smile, half-rising from her seat at the foot of the elongated table to gesture us to two empty seats. Whether it's by Graeme's doing or not, I notice at once that the seats are not next to each other. Instead, one is conveniently between Wolfram and Graeme and the other is next to a handsome younger man who shares Wolfram's sinful eyes and lips.
His is the only face other than Rhona's which smiles at me. Taking that as a good sign, I move towards him and take the seat on his left while Xander slips between Wolf and Graeme.
"Hi," I say, giving him a friendly smile. "I'm Charlotte Wright."
"As in Miss Right?" the boy's lips curl into a grin. "Are you telling me that I've met Miss Right?"
His joking immediately puts me at my ease. It's not the first time I've heard this joke, but a wide smile cracks my face anyway.
"I'm Levi," he introduces, sticking his hand out for me.
Two male servants enter with silver trays and begin filling the buffet table, which is directly behind us. I pull my chair in by another couple of inches to allow them more room to move.
"That's a cool name." I give his hand a firm shake.
He rolls his eyes elaborately. "No offense, but all the names here are 'cool names', compared to yours." Levi says it with a teasing wink, so I'm not insulted - much. "I mean, Rhona, Wolf, Graeme, hell, even Xander."
If Wolf had said it, he would say it with a sneer on his lips and a hard, cold tone. Levi is open and forthright, matter-of-fact in his conversation.
"When I was younger, it really bothered me," I admit. "So on the first day of third grade, I told everyone I wanted a nickname, but when I didn't like the ones they came up, I decided to be known thenceforth as Charmander."
"The fire Pokemon?" Levi can't hold back his whoop of laughter. "Oh my god, that's so awesome. Did it work?" He runs his hand through his short, golden curls.
His whoop has drawn Wolfram's attention and his eyebrows knit together at the same instant his lips press into a mutinous, thin line. Why should he care that I hit it off with Levi in a way I never hit it off with him? I flash Wolfram a sunny smile. I suppress my childish giggle when I see his face blanch with surprise. He hesitantly offers me a half-smile, but then Graeme turns to look at me and whispers something to her brother which drops the smile from his face.
A sense of loss fills me and even though that smile was never really mine, I miss it. I want it back.
"Charlotte?"
Levi's question pulls me back to our conversation. "Sorry," I apologize.
"I asked whether it worked?" Levi glances at Wolfram, then back at me with a question in his eyes.
"Not even for a day," I reply with chagrin.
"At least you have a normal name and not a brand-name of jeans," he whispers conspiratorially to me, and this time, my giggle slips out and I duck my head. Please don't let Wolfram have heard that.
When I raise my eyes again, I see it hasn't worked. Wolfram is still staring at me, an unmistakable look of anger on his face. Ugh. Seriously?
"You're so much nicer than his last girlfriend," Levi remarks and I shoot up straight immediately.
"What?!" I yelp.
"My brother," Levi says, giving me a quizzical look. "You're Wolf's girlfriend, right?"
"You're his brother?" I gape. He couldn't be more different from Wolfram, I think. Even though they share some physical characteristics, clearly good manners and friendliness are not genetic.
"...and I take it that from your appalled expression, you're not his girlfriend."
"So you're Graeme's brother, too?" I demand.
"Uh, yeah," Levi says, his hand nervously playing with a springy curl near his ear. "I'm sorry, I'm confused."
"You and me, both," I say with a breathless laugh.
"I just assumed because, well, you guys can't take your eyes off each other." Levi lowers his voice. "He's still looking at us."
I don't want to see if it's true, so I avoid even looking in Wolf's direction. Luckily, I'm spared from having to say anything at all because the servants silently exit the room, closing it behind them with a soft click, and Rhona stands up, clapping her hands. "Please, everyone, help yourselves."
Immediately, everyone stands up and begins filing towards the table. Levi gestures for me to precede him, which I wish he hadn't, because as luck would have it, I'm right behind Wolfram. I stare at his broad back and silently wish for him to turn around and say something to me. I can't stand his game of hot and cold - maybe some girls like that sort of thing, but not me.
I'm reminded of the adage be careful what you wish for when Wolfram half-turns, smirking at me. "Since you're new here, I'll give you a little piece of advice," he says from the corner of his mouth. "Don't set your sights on my brother."
"Excuse me?" I hiss as the line move forward.
Wolf picks up a plate and silverware and I follow suit. Ahead of us, Graeme is smiling and talking animatedly to Xander as they serve themselves. I see a mountain of bacon on Xander's plate and a fruit cocktail on Graeme's. Typical Xander.
"I see you've started without me," booms a loud voice from behind me, sending me into a startled jump.
Wolf just raises an eyebrow at me, and I make a face at him. The childishness surprises him because his mouth drops ever-so-slightly before slipping back into its indifferent mask. I feel a moment of triumph at having successfully ruffled his feathers.
A handsome older man in a well-cut slate-grey suit has entered the room, and even though there is a jovial smile on his face, the temperature in the room has dropped markedly. The smile looks out of place on his face and his eyes look too calculating and assessing to ever pass for kind. A chill goes over me as he approaches Rhona.
"Marcus," Rhona says cooly, presenting her cheek for a kiss. "Charlotte, may I introduce my husband, Marcus van der Waals."
Her husband's eyes, the same color as his children's, scan the single-file line of people until he sees me. "Hello, Charlotte. Welcome."
"Thank you for having me, Mr. van der Waals," I reply politely.
He nods curtly and stands in line behind his wife, the very last person to serve himself. I glance at the table and realize that he'll be sitting at the head of the table, only a couple of seats away from me. Why does that realization send a shiver down my spine?
Author's Note: HAPPY NEW YEAR'S EVE/NEW YEARS! :~) I hope you all have a safe and happy celebration! This extra-long chap is my present to you. So is this family crazy or what? xD
Oh, any resolutions anyone wants to share? Mine is to form better writing habits in 2016 and to try and write every day without fail! Anyone else have writing-related goals?