Love's Forbidden Flower (38 page)

Christopher’s words ease my soul. Looking at him with new admiration, I display affection upon him that leaves his mates cheering.

Eric returns, carrying a guitar case. There's something charmingly special about him. His electric eyes make it obvious why he'd been the one that girls flocked to, including my mother. “Sorry, Lilyanna. We can be a bit crude at times.”

“It’s fine. Christopher told me how you taught him to play, among other things.”

Eric smiles at Christopher in admiration of his perfect son. “Yeah, I suppose I taught him a thing or two. Hopefully at least one was good. Christopher, I thought you might like to give this a go.” He removes the guitar he just brought over from its case. Instantly I know it’s not just any guitar. It’s unique pentagonal shape is unmistakable—even to a novice like me.

“Aw, she’s lovely!” Christopher’s expression is like that of a toddler at Christmas. “You know what this is, luv? It’s a—”

“Vox Phantom XII,
the
guitar of the British Invasion. Eric's famous for playing that on many of The Chestermen’s early records. They're sexy, but apparently the Phantoms are a little overrated as far as playability.”

Christopher shoots me a look of blinding amazement. “Crikey! How'd you know that?”

It’s one of the many little things I learned while we were apart, because I missed him more than I ever admitted to anyone—even myself.

Eric seems rather impressed as well. “You'd better keep her happy, else I'm going to swipe in and wangle her away.” He tugs the still stunned Christopher by the arm. “Come on. Join us a spell.”

The improvement in Christopher's playing is astounding. Whether it's the result of school, more time with Eric, or Manchester itself, Christopher's definitely in his element. In my mind it's settled. While the States will always be home, seeing Christopher in his glory, along with feeling the happiness that glows within me, it's time to buy my own Manchester United T-shirt.

“Well Lilyanna, what'd you think of the boy genius? Cracking, eh?” Eric and his captivating smile return with Christopher to join me. He also accidentally lets the cat out of the bag that we may be moving. Christopher's coyly immodest grin brings about cautious optimism.

“Remember how you said we could go anywhere you could find a decent job? Funny thing, Eric got me a fantastic job as a session musician for a major label. I start in less than two months. It’s almost an impossible job to get.”

“That’s amazing! Are we moving to London?” I can totally move to London, as long as it’s
with
Christopher.

“I suppose we could,”—Eric chuckles as Christopher toys with me in a transparent attempt to wind me up—“but the job is in Los Angeles.”

The chair supporting me slides away as I attack Christopher like he’s unearthed the secret of the universe. “Graham!”

Eric let’s out a bold laugh. “This girl’s a clever one. Cheers, mate.” Patting Christopher's arm as he departs, his face shows a blend of pride over Christopher’s accomplishments and the sorrow of releasing a son into the world.

“Christopher, do you really want to do this? I thought you hated America.”

“I never
hated
America. I needed to learn about fitting in. I'm not some guy who formally studied music all his life like the people in school. I learned it from my fathers. Sure, some had formal training but mostly they taught themselves before teaching me. I'm very happy this way. I'm bloody good with a guitar and can play anything and make it sound any way you want. Thing is, when I came back and got a good look at meself well, look at who me friends are. They're great blokes, but they're in their sixties, and I'm barely twenty. So I have to ask if I really fit.

“It’s time to make my own mark and earn an honest living like me mates did. I don’t want to be like Dad, nor do I really want anything he left me, but I’m not stupid. I should set us up properly so we can survive on our own with the knowledge if things go balls up there's a safety net. I’ve lived in survival mode for too long and so have you.”

“But I thought your dad only left you something if you went to college?”

“Funny thing that.” Christopher scratches his head in mock perplexity. “We lads all had the same trust funds, but the wording on mine was different. Theirs said they had to graduate. Mine just said I had to go. Apparently
someone
had it changed before it was signed.” Christopher lets out a little snicker before facing me, looking like the Artful Dodger upon discovering the wallet he's lifted is loaded. “So, what do you say? Shall we go to California and find ourselves a little castle?”

It’s been nearly six weeks and seeing Donovan provides a jubilant, yet agonizing, reunion. Once the embracing starts, the doctor needs a crowbar to pry us apart.

We seem to astound Dr. Coe quite a bit. While we've both warned him about how we interact, seeing has become believing.

“This has gone very well. We have covered every point except one. When we all last spoke I asked you to find legitimate reasons not to be together. Have either of you had success with that?”

Donovan and I stare blankly at each other before both turning to the doctor and responding in what sounds like rehearsed unison.

“None.”

Dr. Coe again raises his eyebrows at us. “You two have been very interesting today. Let’s see if we can come up with something.”

“Can we detour first?” I ask, before turning to Donovan.

Donovan slouches in his chair and releases a sound of doom.

“Don’t get all broody on me. Spill it. I know what it is, but the doctor should hear you say it. Personally, I wish you didn’t have to.”

Dr. Coe continues to be stymied by our antics as Donovan fidgets in his chair and fesses up. “It's just that this isn't exactly easy. You look fantastic, you smell great, and it never should have been this way. I should've done something—I
wish
I could do something to change it.”

My hand takes his. He’s right; it never should have been this way.

Dr. Coe speaks respectfully of our situation. “Now might be a good time to go back to that question. Can you find a legitimate reason not to be together? One where you don’t feel robbed or denied by others.”

We look blankly at each other as Donovan drops my hand. “Your turn, Lil. You have a whole speech waiting to come out.”

“There isn’t a single reason why we wouldn't have worked, and no one can tell me contrarily unless you’ve had some kind of epiphany. I've accepted we're making a decision based on circumstances over which we have no control. I wasn't ready to do that before even though you saw it and waved it in front of me like a big red flag.”

The focus of my diatribe flips to Dr. Coe. “It all comes down to us accepting that we can't have the life we want together because others are close-minded.”

Donovan turns to the doctor in agreement. “What she said.”

House hunting with Christopher has been a whole new kind of adventure. The intention of buying someplace cozy romanced us. But after realizing how insanely expensive homes are in California, Christopher decided to take advantage of a depressed market and put an offer on a mini-mansion to accommodate our future needs. When I asked if he desired an excuse for his brothers to stay with us, a case of the dreaded lurgies loomed before he made the head-smacking announcement that a guesthouse is required.

For all my blessings, guilt lurks at me from around every corner. It would be foolhardy to think my head is stable until the man who gave nearly everything to shield me from ugliness has healed. My liberation has arisen like a flawless flower from a pool of Donovan’s blood, leaving behind a trail of thorns on which he treads.

“Why do you feel so guilty?” Donovan beseeches as we sit in our usual adjoining chairs in Dr. Coe’s office.

“Asks the man in the funny farm to his sister/ex-girlfriend who can leave any time she wants and go home to her enchanted palace.”

His head rolls back along with his eyes. “God, is that what this is about?”

My hands flail into the air like those of a puppet frog. “That and Christopher wants you to move into our guesthouse. How do I tell him you can’t possibly do that without spilling why? I’m compelled to tell him everything, but that would be the mistake of a lifetime.”

Donovan squirms in his chair to get a better look at me before again fidgeting. Trying to talk like this is ridiculous. He grabs my hand, escorts me to a sofa, and sits me in the middle while he plops into the corner facing me. Automatically we kick off our shoes and put our feet up on the sofa, our legs entwined at the knees, Donovan still holding my hand. “You tell me what we need to do. Should we tell Christopher, and how are we going to handle this if he bails?”

“I'd be absolutely devastated if he left, and I'd never, ever forgive myself for hurting him. Also, you and I have a pact not to discuss this.”

“Whatever, Lil. I'm willing to let that go in this case. Just how much do you love this guy?”

Concern over fragile words when discussing anything with Donovan is a thing of the past. “I wish he'd ask me to marry him, but he hasn’t because it's obvious I'm not ready.”

“Why not? You've been in love with this guy for years. What could you possibly be waiting for?”

All I have to do is look at him.

Donovan drops his head back and groans. “Lil, you're no longer allowed to feel guilty about me. It should have stopped long ago. Seriously, why are you letting the bad things that happened in the past delay you getting all of the amazing things you really want while they sit waiting?”

“I do love Christopher, but how do I move forward with him when you're in here largely because of loving me?”

Toying with my fingers, his annoyance at my dallying caves to inner sentiments no longer suppressed. “I wish it was me instead of him, but I'm glad you’re getting all the amazing things you deserve. I can’t help you move on without being in the way. Accepting that I can’t always help you may be the toughest of all challenges.”

Tears well at the comfort of just being near Donovan. For the first time in years we're talking like we always used to. I've needed him so badly for so long.

Dr. Coe, clearing his throat upon his approach, distracts our attention.

“Well doc, what do you think? Any wisdom for this lovely lady?” Donovan asks.

“I think you said everything she needs to hear, but I have to ask if you have heard everything that you said. Look at the two of you. You are exactly as you said you wanted to be the day you walked in here.” Dr. Coe reveals two envelopes he’s had tucked behind his back and hands them to Donovan. “I had the front desk intercept these a few days ago. I thought you might want to open them with Lily here. Congratulations.”

Inside the first envelope is an acceptance letter to Dr. Coe’s alma mater, Ramsey University, a private school in Colorado known for their physiological studies. It’s the perfect place where Donovan can continue both school and his care. The second envelope contains a partial scholarship Dr. Coe helped Donovan obtain designed for those who have overcome mental challenges. Between that and what is left of both of our college funds, Donovan is set—and then some.

“Registration begins soon. I’ve made arrangements with your mother to get you out of here early so you can get settled before school starts. Be sure to keep those grades up so I can write you that letter of recommendation next year.”

“Letter of recommendation?” I ask.

“Once step at a time, Lil. I have a master plan.”

“Given the choice I'd rather you be by my side, but that seems awkward too.”

My being surrenders to his touch as he caresses the line of my jaw. “Doesn't matter, either way the result's the same. You look lovelier than I've ever seen. The only way you could be more enchanting is if you were marrying me. Sorry, I just had to get a last one in.”

He’s not sorry at all. At least, I don’t think he is. My nerves are so on edge that his thoughts couldn’t be grasped if he glued them into my hand. “Do you think you'll ever do this with Anna?”

“Time will reveal more than can be foreseen. All I know is that since I've met her my plans are falling into place.”

“Donovan, I'm so anxious that I can't hear myself think. Am I doing the right thing?”

His words are almost hypnotic, relaxing me into a near trance. “You're doing exactly what you're supposed to. You have a long and happy life ahead, and I'm going to always be with you making sure you don't blow it. I remember all you've ever wished, and I'm going to ensure we get
everything
we've ever desired. It’s all just a matter of time. You ready for us to take that walk so you can put the shackles on your scrawny dreamboat?”