Between the Lines (29 page)

“That I do,” Socks says proudly.

“Good. Then why don’t you go there. Now.”

“Oh! You mean… Yup, right, third wheel. Got it.” Sheepishly, he bows his head and trots back along the path he rode in upon.

“I don’t think I really understood how you felt until now,” I admit. “To want so badly to be somewhere else.”

“I should never have assumed you belonged only to me,” Oliver says. “I wish there was a way to tell your mother you’re all right.”

At the mention of my mother, a cloud passes over my features.

Oliver touches my cheek gently. “Is there anything I can do to make you happy?”

“You can hold me,” I say, and in that instant, I am pulled into his arms again. I can feel his heart beating against mine, and the heat of skin. I can feel his fingers spread across the small of my back. He is every bit as real as I am. “Oliver,” I repeat slowly, the magic of this miracle truly sinking in. “You can
hold
me.”

“That’s not all I can do,” Oliver says. He frames my face with his hands and gently, tenderly, presses his lips to mine.

This is
so
not like Leonard Uberhardt, the first boy who kissed me, or rather swallowed half my face. This is sweet and soft. It’s like there is a whole story Oliver is telling me without words, as if what he’s feeling can’t be described, and has to be experienced instead.

When we break apart, I am breathing hard, and I cannot take my eyes off his.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” Oliver says.

I wind my arms around his neck. “Let’s do it again,” I suggest.

He puts his hands on my wrists and pulls me away. “I should think you, of all people, would realize we’ve got other things we need to do first.”

He’s right, of course. I want to go home. But that doesn’t mean I’m not disappointed, just a little.

Oliver seems to notice, for the first time, what I’m wearing. “What happened to you?”

“Mermaids,” I explain.

“I’m surprised they didn’t try to convince you to stay away from me,” he says. “They’re generally not too fond of men.”

“So what’s your plan? How do we get back home?” I ask.

“Well,” Oliver says, his face flushing. “I’m still trying to figure it out.”

“But you
always
know what to do. No matter what situation you’re thrown into, or whatever scrape you wind up in, you figure a way out.”

“That’s just the way I’m written,” Oliver confesses. “If I were truly clever, I’d be out of this book by now.”

“But in the book you always—”

“In the book I also fall in love with Seraphima every
time,” Oliver interrupts. “And believe me, that’s an act.”

I feel chilled all of a sudden. The enormity of my situation is becoming more clear. I’m stuck in a fairy tale that may never be opened again. After reading the story so many times, I’ve confused bits of the true Oliver and the fictional Oliver. I’m just not sure anymore what’s real.

I don’t realize I’ve said it aloud until Oliver reaches for my hand. “
We
are,” he says. “
This
is.”

By now the sun has slipped lower in the sky and has painted the horizon a vivid orange. “We’d best be getting home,” Oliver says, and I sit up a little straighter. “And by
home,
” he says, wincing, “I meant the palace.”

He tugs me to my feet and leads me down a beaten path through the field. I can feel the warmth of his shoulder against mine, and I can smell the scent of pine, which clings to his tunic. In front of us, fairies dance like fireflies, writing our initials in the dusky violet sky. I find myself smiling at their acrobatics, amazed to see the tiny creatures right before my eyes. As much as I want to leave this world, it’s breathtaking.

I am so wrapped up in the moment, in fact, that I don’t even see Seraphima until she is three feet in front of us. She stands with her eyes wide, her pale blond hair cascading down her back, her perfect features frowning in confusion. “Oliver?” she asks.

“Oh, um, hi, Seraphima,” he says. “Have you met… my cousin Delilah?” Oliver turns to me, whispering. “It’s not
her fault she’s clueless. I don’t want to hurt her. Just go along with me.”

Seraphima bestows the sweetest smile upon me. “Delilah!” she says, grasping my hands in her own. “I just
know
you and I are going to be the best of friends!”

I muster a smile in response. “I bet,” I manage.

“It’s getting late, and my mother’s expecting us,” Oliver says.

“Of course!” Seraphima replies. She gives me an impromptu hug. “Maybe we can go shopping tomorrow in the village square?”

“Um…”

“Delilah’s got a full schedule tomorrow,” Oliver interjects. “But maybe the day after.” He tugs me away and starts walking down the path.

“Oliver!” she calls out. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He stops, turns toward her again. “I don’t think so…” he says, grinning through clenched teeth.

Seraphima runs the short distance between them and throws her arms around his neck, kissing him full on the mouth. Pulling away, she bats her eyelashes. “Dream about me,” she says shyly.

The minute we turn a hairpin bend in the road I elbow Oliver in the ribs. “Your
cousin
?” I say.

“It was the first thing I could come up with,” he says. “I feel bad for her, okay?”

“Still, you didn’t have to kiss her!”

“She kissed
me
!” Oliver argues.

“You didn’t exactly fight her off,” I point out.

Oliver beams. “Someone’s a bit jealous.”

I toss my hair. “You wish.”

He twines his fingers with mine. “I did,” he says. “It came true.”

*   *   *

By the time we reach the castle, night has fallen. There are torches lining the drawbridge that leads to the doors, and the knights that stand at attention on either side like statues bow as Oliver walks by. “I can see how you might wind up with an inflated ego,” I murmur.

“I prefer to call it confidence,” Oliver says.

When we walk inside, we are in a huge stone hall. Tapestries line the walls, woven with pictures of princesses and knights from the past. A crystal candelabrum ringed with burning candles hangs overhead, casting long shadows on the floor. A footman approaches, dressed in dark blue velvet, with the royal crest embroidered over his chest. “Your Highness,” he says. “Queen Maureen has retired with an ache of the head, but she wishes your guest to know she’s welcome to stay in the north turret. The chamber’s been prepared.”

“Thank you,” Oliver says. “I’ll see Lady Delilah there myself.”

“As you wish,” the footman says, and he offers the candle he’s holding to Oliver.

My stomach rumbles. “Is there any chance I could just make a quick peanut butter and jelly sandwich before we go upstairs?” I whisper.

“What’s a sandwich?” Oliver asks.

“A snack,” I correct. “I’m sort of hungry.”

He grins. “If I know Queen Maureen, you won’t have to worry about that.” The footman has vanished, leaving us alone in the Great Hall. I follow Oliver, holding on to his hand so that he can guide me through the dark. As we start up a spiral stone staircase, the candlelight jumps on the walls, revealing our silhouettes.

We climb seven stories. Finally, Oliver pulls me onto the landing and stops in front of a heavy wooden door. “I know it’s not home, but I hope this will do,” he says, and he pushes it open.

The chamber has high, vaulted ceilings and an ornately carved four-poster bed draped with gauze netting. A fire blazes in the hearth. Two red velvet chairs are arranged in front of the fireplace, and on a low wooden table nearby is a feast: a roast chicken, a bowl of fresh fruit, a platter of tiered cakes, two loaves of bread, and dishes piled high with vegetables. “Oliver,” I say, “how much does she think I eat?”

He smiles. “Cook tends to go a bit overboard.”

“Well, I’m not going to let it go to waste. Come on in and grab a fork.”

He looks horrified. “I can’t come into your chamber.”

“Why not? You’ve been in my room dozens of times.”

His face reddens. “It’s different in here, somehow.”

“No, it’s not. Besides, we’re seven stories up in a tower. Who’s going to know?”

For the next few hours, Oliver and I sit in front of the fire making a small dent in the sumptuous meal. He regales me with stories of practical jokes he’s played on Frump, and gives me brief verbal sketches of each of the characters I am likely to meet. I tell him about my fight with Jules and how my mother tried to cheer me up. Then our conversation turns to a brainstorming session as we try to figure out what we can do to force an exit from the story.

“As soon as the book is opened,” Oliver says, “you’ll disappear, because you aren’t part of the story.”

“Even if that’s true—which you don’t know for sure—you wouldn’t go with me. We’d be right back where we started.”

“But isn’t it better to have at least one of us on the outside, instead of neither?”

I can’t answer that, not honestly. Before, I wanted Oliver by my side, but I didn’t really know what I was missing. Now that I understand what it feels like to be near him, it’s going to be that much harder to have it taken away.

“The book is stuck on a shelf in my bedroom. No one’s ever going to notice it, much less open it.”

“Then we have to force its hand,” Oliver says. “There must be a way to get a book to open itself.”

“Magic,” I suggest, joking.

Oliver looks up at me. “Of course,” he says, raising his brows. “We need to start with Orville.”

I stifle a yawn with my hand, but Oliver sees me do it. “You,” he says, getting to his feet, “have had a very long day. It’s time for you to go to sleep.”

He takes the candleholder he used to lead us upstairs and walks to the door. “You can’t just leave me here alone,” I say, panicking. What if I go to sleep, and when I wake up, this is all gone? I don’t know the rules of this world. I don’t know what’s likely to happen.

“I’m right downstairs,” Oliver says. “One flight. Stomp on the floor and I’ll come running.”

We are standing at the threshold to my chamber. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” I say, repeating Seraphima’s words.

He grins, then leans down and kisses me good night. We are both still smiling when we break apart. Oliver starts down the stone steps. “Dream about me, Cousin,” I call out.

I can hear him laughing all the way down the stairs.