Love's Forbidden Flower (19 page)

“Why are you giggling? Are you on the piss?” I chuckle, pushing him away.

“Look at you being all British! It suits you.” Again he giggles.

“Why are you giggling?”

“Because you're going to laugh at what I say next.” Like a spy on a covert mission he cases the area. He then touches his lips to my ear, as if revealing a delectable secret. “Bonk me quick.”

I snort an embarrassing laugh.

“Shh. Bonk me quick before someone comes.”

I shoot him a look that implies he's insane.

“You know I’m joking. Well, half-joking.”

“Well that’s a bloody crime then, eh? Drop 'em!” I demand while turning the tables and pinning him to the brick wall. A look of intrigued panic hits his face as I undo his belt. Unsure of what I'll do next, I go for his zipper. With the mood I'm in, I'm leaning toward lifting my skirt and going for it. Just as the zipper comes down and I'm about to cave to my whims, a soft noise from around the corner distracts me. “Did you hear that?”

“Will you keep going if I say no?” he asks as the noise repeats itself. “Bloody hell! I’d better get you in. Remember what you were doing for later.”

Inside the restaurant my taunting continues. “How do you like the chips?” I ask with a snicker, knowing the answer won’t be favorable.

“Sweet Bloody Nora, they’re awful!”

“Then why did you want to come here?”

Christopher turns his gaze sheepishly downward, “Ulterior motive.”

“And what might that be?”

“I’m hoping to get you to like British food so as to up me chances.”

“So you took me to a place that serves
bad
British food?”

“You Yanks like this stuff so I figured even if it's bad then me chances were upped.”

“First, I don’t like British food.” Christopher predictably reacts with clownish disdain in a dramatic display of hand gestures. “I know. I’m sorry to offend you, let alone the Queen Mum, but this Yank has to be honest. The food is not a deal breaker. It doesn’t help but... Anyway, did you know the owners of this place are British?”

“Blimey! They must be from Liverpool.” He grimaces as he throws a crumpled napkin on the table, causing me to laugh. “Wait. Are you toying with me?” he asks with a sternly pointed finger.

“No, really. They’re East Enders.”

“Do you mean from a place called Cockney?” His bobbing head makes me laugh so hard my sides hurts. I finally catch my breath when he starts again. “I can’t believe you don’t like me food.”

“It’s not yours I don’t like, it’s England’s.”

Christopher puts his elbow on the table with his chin in hand. The same expression his face held the night before when he wanted to ask me to move but couldn’t bring himself to do it washes over him. Eyeing the room, he searches for a diversion. “Isn’t that a friend of yours over there? She looks familiar.”

I've devised a more inciting digression. “Sooooo, it’s 7:50 now and I have to be home by 10:00. If you finish those chips fast enough, the bonk won’t have to be quick.”

Christopher's jaw drops in mid-chew as he sees my look that tells of no humor. Under the table my unadorned foot slides along the inside of his leg as he comically eats faster and faster. Patience having abandoned me, I grab his keys and start to leave declaring, “Not fast enough! Don’t make me start without you!”

“Only if I get to watch,” he yells as he sprints to open the door for me.

“That’s a possibility.”

After our date I look at the stars outside my window while remembering Christopher's words regarding his realization of how far apart we were over Christmas. I'm lost like that now, and he's less than a mile down the road. The thought of him moving without me seems insufferable.

List item number one: Do I love Christopher enough to marry him? Simply, yes. When I'm with him I know no worries. He always unselfishly provides for me, just as I want to do for him. I can definitely envision all that goes with marriage like having kids and dealing with adult problems with him. Christopher would be an amazing father and faithful husband with whom I feel we could love and respect each other through anything. While nothing is definitive, the answer to this one is easy.

When I think of my friends and family, staying in the states appears to give me a better opportunity to see people more often, but there's no guarantee. Often people lose touch when they move to the next county. Conversely, if I don't go this is likely the end of Christopher and me.

Putting a check next to item one I denote that I could indeed eventually marry Christopher. I then write “six of one, half a dozen of the other” next to number three, regarding leaving friends and family. As far as the people in my life are concerned it all comes down to Christopher and Donovan—the latter of which I wish I could ignore.

“Why the cold shoulder?” I ask, unable to conceal the misery on my face.

“I still feel guilty for not telling you. I really balls-upped. I wish I could go back to before that audition.”

“And what? Not do it? That’s ridiculous.”

“Lilyanna, I have massively ‘screwed-up,’ to use your wording, in several ways. I had a bugger of an audition and didn’t tell you because I failed. Then I got accepted though I didn’t earn it. So I bodged everything right from the start, and now I've hurt you and destroyed us. It’s bloody ridiculous!”

Storming out of the car, he slams the door and charges off without me. Men! At least this one told me why he's broody.

After the morning passes without word from Christopher, at lunch I decide to take matters into my own hands. Normally I'd let Christopher greet me with a respectful peck on the check, but after his wobbly this morning that's no longer an option. Upon his approach to my locker, I pin him to it and gave him a kiss that makes half the people in the hall stop and whistle.

“I’m feeling rather Randy. Ready for a little of the old How’s Your Father?” I ask a tad too loudly thus causing Christopher to turn Lobsterback red.

“Well, that’s a good way to call me an arse, isn’t it? You should be smacking me head against the wall and turning it into a pulp. Instead you’re nice to me. I don’t deserve you.”

“Yeah, I know. Come on. Let’s get out of here. I need some serious cuddle time.”

He bows to me grandly. “Anything for Milady.”

Taking my hand he leads me to the parking lot. Upon reaching the car Christopher snatches my keys and opens my door before kissing me. “I missed you last night. I’ve been such an arse today. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

As I tell him that in a few moments he can make it up to me, I'm distracted by a figure in the distance playing with her cell phone. Is she taking pictures?

Knowing she's detected, the blonde girl quickly jumps into a blue car and speeds off. Is she stalking Christopher? For what sick reason is she taking pictures of him kissing another woman? Does she have a wall of them with my head X’ed out?

Without a word as to the reason, I get Christopher out of there immediately.

Removing my laptop from my dresser I crawl back into bed on a mission to choose a premiere school that is as close to Christopher as possible and hope they have a scholarship program for foreign students. To my stupefaction merely one culinary school can be found in all of Manchester. Are there really no pastry schools? I continuously widen my search until something appropriate appears in London.

Is London even a possibility? It doesn't take long to learn that—at best—it's a two hour and thirty minute train ride each way. It's longer still by car. This equates to five hours commuting on the train alone! Fare is between fifty and one hundred pounds
each
way
. If I could convince Dad to let me go to another country, while paying for school and living expenses, to be with a man he doesn't like, the commute is so great my only option is to live in London and see Christopher on the weekends.

This can't possibly be true! Throwing on yesterday's clothes I bolt for the door.

It's still dark out when I arrive at the bakery. My entrance through the back door practically scares the life out of Josette. She shrieks while flicking her spatula, making a big chocolate splash on the wall behind her. I grab a rag and wipe away the blotch that looks oddly like Connecticut. “I’m so sorry to drop in like this. I really need a friend and you’re the best person for the job.”

Josette looks at me through eyes of concern. “Of course Lily. I would be happy to help you. Pull up a chair, and I‘ll grab us some coffee.

Sitting by the back door my fingers tap anxiously on the table. Josette brings me coffee and a freshly baked Pan Au Chocolat. It’s sad that I've no appetite. Coffee will only add to my agitation, but the warmth of the cup in my hands aids in centering my focus.

“I have a decision to make that will have a big impact on my future. I don’t need to put my career one hundred percent first, but I can’t screw up. I need your advice strictly from a professional standpoint. Please don't hold anything back. My personal feelings are not important.”

“I understand.”

My voice is aimed at sounding as mature and focused as it did the day I met Josette. “Christopher is moving back to Manchester, and I want to go with him. I can’t find any pastry schools near him that are on the level that I'm committed to attend. The closest one is in London. I would have to live there and commute to him on the weekends. I'm very uncertain if that is where I should go to school. Can you give me any guidance?”

Josette drops her head before giving me a long and sympathetic look. My heart sags in acceptance that the reply will not be favorable.

“Lily, per your request I am going to be very blunt. There are fine schools in London, but given your ability and desires, what you need is a true culinary arts program that combines targeted business skills with the study of your craft while earning a degree. It would be one of the strongest moves you could ever make. What you need is an AA or bachelor’s degree from the pastry division of the Culinary Academy in mid-state New York.

“Think about it, Lily. To do anything less would mean going to pastry school and college at the same time. It would be exhausting, and you wouldn’t get the right education. In London you would rarely see Christopher. Will you be happy? Once you are in school, you are committed to the program. I don’t think your father would allow you to jump on a plane, come home, and start over. You haven’t told your parents about this yet, have you?”

Josette's truthful words are like being in the path of a plummeting cactus. As hard as I try to be professional and stay emotionally detached, my heart is shattered. “Oh, Josette, I want to go with him so badly. It’s just so—”

The sudden banging of garbage cans outside abruptly cuts my thoughts. That was no rat or stray cat. A human caused that noise, and I'm being followed. Bolting outside, I see a blonde girl getting into a blue car and speeding off. This time I know exactly who it is. Her name is Cheryl, or, as Christopher came to name her on New Year’s Eve, Donovan’s Bird.

“Where should we start with our research? You name it, and I’ll surf on it,” Sally says while reclining on her bed with her “supportive” face on. It's not at all to be confused with her “supportive because you are right” face.