The Favoured, The Fair and Ms. Vérité Claire

13 In The Dark (Part 2)

At nearly quarter to four, Orson returned from the hills and once again found himself standing over Julia, watching her sleep. As deep, even breaths passed through her parted pink lips and gave rhythmic swell to curves which could drive sane men to bay at the moon, the thought foremost in his mind was that here was an angelic Katie Sleane worth paying every tab in the bar for.

Her hair spread on the pillow was like a mosaic of sunshine. Her eyes, that infinite, ancient blue, closed could draw any man out of hiding, but open could send him running back for cover. How could a face hold so much of the universe and so little of the world? How could any man not stare to his fill, given the opportunity?

But Orson could've waxed romantic about her features and figure all day and still remained relatively immune if it weren't for something so intrinsically beautiful in Julia's very being which, when he'd kissed her, moved him in a way no million dollar contract words could ever hope to describe. It was a feeling which spoke to him, at once so foreign and yet so familiar that he'd had to kiss her again. Out of necessity. It gnawed at him even now, daring him to do it again, but Orson knew better than to feel some delusional claim to what was merely lent permission. He wanted her, but so did everyone else. The more comfortable she was in her own skin the more she shone and Orson refused to be a fool groveling in a spotlight. He would not be a joke again, not in front of these people. The sooner he remembered he was not the besotted Irishman of his story but instead the crafty, plotting old drunk at the bar, the sooner he could spare them both that humiliation. He cared enough for Julia that he vowed to. He owed her that much.

He nudged the bed with his knee to rouse her from her nap. When he was sure she was awake he collapsed next to her as if he had just arrived.

"How was your spa day?'

"Pretty wild," Julia said with a lazy stretch.

"Oh yeah? So was mine."

Julia turned her face to his. Still in trouble, she thought.

"Pine needles are nature's exfoliation." Orson said.

He had brought the cold air into the room with him, smelling of fresh snow and firewood.

"I did it," Julia said. "I told Brom what you told me to."

Orson did not get excited even though Julia leaking false information to Brom just as Sylvie had to Orson had been part of their plan. The opportunity to do it had been the main variable.

"Did he go for it?"

"Yes, but I'm not sure how. You should've told me you were going to tell him we weren't exclusive. Why did you?"

"I wanted to see if he'd tell you. Besides, no use implicating you any more than I have to. Now you and I are going to get out of here. Take a little 'lovers' walk' and make sure everyone knows we won't be back for a couple of hours so Brom feels free to snoop." He grabbed her hand.

"You're sure he will?"

"I would've."

"Pull me up," Julia said. "Without any knots I feel like a rubber chicken." She wasn't ready yet to admit to the knot in her stomach.

They went to a bar in the village popular for its ice wine, bought a few bottles to take back with them and sat down to a couple of beers. Julia was so full of nervous energy that it was impossible to dim herself down to a less conspicuous aura. Heads turned, away and back again, knees jumped, and eyes reached to hold the beauty and her unlikely companion in their sights. Julia only had eyes and ears and everything else for Orson in the moment, but he scanned the room with a sort of tired irritation, too agitated to recognize Julia's doe-eyed angst.