I'm not in love: a Legolas greenleaf story

CHAPTER 1: ENGLAND

I stared out the window and saw nothing but forests and narrow two-way roads. We were a good ways from the city now, the kind of civilization I didn't want to be away from. I kept imagining throwing myself out of the moving vehicle and running back to the city to catch the next plane back to New York. Why did he have to live so far out in the country?

The road we passed reminded me of a place you would consider for camping trips with your family or hiking adventures with your friends...taking a dead body and hiding the evidence here also crossed my mind. With nothing around but trees and bushes, it'd be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. But, I shouldn't think like that. If I ever had to walk this road on foot, I didn't want to think about a serial killer stalking me-especially at night. The people here would probably lock me away for running around like a madman. I quickly shook the thought away.

The driver stared at me in the back seat through his mirror, most likely speculating that I was having some sort of a nervous breakdown. I smiled at him politely and sunk a little bit more into the leather seat to hide my embarrassment. He slowly looked away and focused back on the road.

When I was no longer being watched, I traced my fingers on the leather seat. The inside still smelled like a new car. I'd been in town cars before, but this one looked like a newer model, a nicer model...an expensive model.

The man in the front seat was waiting for me outside the terminal gate of Heathrow Airport with a sign that read ISA CULVER when I arrived. The kind of sign you see held up for business people, diplomats and of course...celebrities. It made me feel a little special myself, minus the paparazzi.

"I am, Henry, your godfather's driver. Welcome to England," he greeted me. He was slim with sandy-blonde hair and in a simple suit with no tie. Somewhere in his fifties, I guessed. "Your godfather lives out in the country, so it'll be quite a drive." Two hours to be exact. He looked at me in the rear view mirror. I was already starting to get restless and the car hadn't even moved yet.

I looked out the window again, now wondering if my godfather's house would be some sort of cottage with one of those old-fashioned chimneys. It seemed like the kind of place for a cottage but it didn't fit the way he carried himself. He was some sort of English businessman so I assumed he had a nice house and a garage full of vintage cars. That seemed more like his taste.

The phone in my purse vibrated. "Yes, kydaraes, I'm in the town car...yes, I think we're almost there...mm-hmm...yeah, it was fine...okay...will do...bye."

It was my godfather, Thranduil Greenleaf. When I was younger, he wanted me to call him kee-dahr-ays and so I did. He said it meant 'godfather' in Gaelic or something. I used to love saying his name as a kid because it sounded so strange and cool to me, like a name out of a fairytale book with princes and princesses, and pretty unicorns. However, I've long outgrown those make-believe fantasies.

"We are almost there, Miss."

I sighed. Finally! I looked straight ahead at the road. His turn signal indicated that he was planning to make a right. The car slowly turned down a Private road. The way was still a little mucky from the rain they had the previous night. Any minute now and I would be free to stretch my legs.

"Here we are, Miss," he said after a few minutes.

I leaned forward to get a better look of what was ahead. Big black gates were coming into view. I sucked in a breath as we entered. I was completely wrong. My godfather didn't live in house, he lived in a castle! My make-believe fantasies briefly resurfaced and I was 5-years-old again. I couldn't believe my eyes! Seeing where he lived for the first time, it now occurred to me that I had no idea what he really did for a living. An English mobster perhaps?