The Knight Of The Rose (31 page)

sucked. No more. I’ll be wherever you want to be. Just say the words, and we’ll do it.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Come on.” Mike wrapped his arm around my waist and started walking again. “We’ve left

the shopping in the car a little too long, now.”

“I hope the chocolate hasn’t melted.”

“Nah, it’ll be fine.” He stuff ed his other hand in his pocket, and I snuggled against him as

we walked. “So, shall we go break the good news to Greg and Vicki—I know she’s been busting for

me to ask you since I first told your dad about the ring.”

“When did you tell them?”

“About a month ago.” Mike shrugged.

I groaned silently. That explains so much about their behaviour toward Mike. “Did you

show it to Vicki—the ring?”

Mike’s smile pressed his lips into a thin line. “She cried.”

“Sounds typical of Vicki.” I laughed.

A pale-blue light filtered between a crack in my curtains, reflecting dancing shadows of

raindrops across my carpet, while David paraded my mind.

The celebration di nner Vicki made for Mike an d I tonight kept me distracted until I was

tired, but I felt it even more, how hard it was going to get to find t hings every day that made the

time pass.

“I dream about you, you know?” I whispered, imagining David sitting beside me on the bed.

“When I close my eyes, I see your face. Will it ever stop hurting?”

The image shook his head and reached out to touch me. But, like a cloud of steam brushed

away by a hand, he vani shed. Only a streak of yellow light remained in his pl ace, filtering in from

the hallway. I looked up and smiled at Mike, who leaned against the doorframe with two steaming

mugs in his hands, wearing a cheeky grin. “You awake?” he whispered.

The clock beside me said midnight. “I am now,” I lied.

“Sorry, baby. I’ll leave you to sleep.”

“No. Wait. I’m awake. Please, come in?” My feather quilt ruffled as I sat up.

Mike closed the door with his foot and walked through the darkness to my bedside. The cups

clinked together on the side-table, and when my eyes adjusted to the di m light again, I noticed a

look of concern masking Mike’s face. “You were quiet, tonight—at dinner,” he said. “Is something

bothering you?”

“What makes you think there’s something bothering me? Maybe I’m just tired.”

“Ara—come on. Don’t pl ay games with me. I’m the one person in the world you can say

anything to—without cons equence.” He placed the warm mug in my hand, securing my fi ngers

around it before letting go. “Don’t try to lie to me.”

I sighed and looked down at the creamy l ayer of warmed milk, forming a white coating of

froth in the mug. “I was in love with him, Mike.”

“David?” He nodded after a deep breath. “I know. And I know you probably always will be.

I do understand that, Ara.”

“But how can you want to be with me—knowing I’ll always have another man in my heart?”

He paused, and thought changed his expression. “Ara, I love you—everything about you. I f

David’s always gonna be part of you too, I can live with that. Okay?”

My eyes filled with liquid; I was so glad it was dark enough that he wouldn’t see. “You’re

too great, Mike.” It hurt inside when he’d says things like that, but somehow, Mike knowing about

my reluctance to let go of David made it easier to carry the burden.

He unfolded my ring hand from the cup and made little circles over the stone with his

thumb. “You don’t know how happy I am to see this on you. So many times I dug it out, practiced

my speech, then put it away again. It’s where it belongs now.”

“How long have you had it?“

“I, uh—I
designed
it when I was fifteen—” He scratched the back of his neck. “Ara, I’ve

been in love with you for forever. I was just too stupid to do anything about it. So, finally, about two

years ago, I took the design to a jeweller and had it made.”

Two years? God, he
is
stupid. “It’s the most immaculate ring I’ve ever seen, Mike. I can’t

believe you designed this—for me.”

“You’re my beautiful rose, Ara—a sweet, soft flower.” He laughed then—at himself, I think.

“Look at me, Mike the poet.” He si pped his drink and shook his head. “I’m sorr y. It’s just—I feel

like I can speak from my heart when I’m with you.”

“Well, I like it. I’ve always been a sucker for a romantic.” I placed my cup on the side table,

next to Mike’s.

Mike smiled. “Squidge over.” He waved his hand to one side, ushering an imaginary me out

of the way. I moved to the cold side of the bed and let him slip beneath my covers.

Against my cheek, his chest felt so different to David’s; there was the heartbeat, for starters,

and the warmth was ten times greater—not to mention, Mike was a litt le bigger, too—broader and

maybe even more muscled. And I liked that he wasn’t careful—wasn’t afraid of his own strength—

how he’d let his arms fall heavily around me as he r elaxed. It felt comfortable. We

matched—fit together perfectly. My human match.

“Are you excited about the ball?” he asked.

“Mm-hm.” I nodded, drifting into a daydream with the soft rhyt hm of Mike’s heartbeat. As

he stroked my hair, the urge to sleep overwhelmed me. I watched the pictures dance around in my

mind, and when I saw the odd, ir rational images of my dr eams, I turned my he ad to se e Mike

smiling at the movies in my thoughts. But he didn’t. He couldn’t see them.

It shocked me how accustomed I became to David’s mind reading—almost came to rely on

it.

Mike’s arms dropped a little more while his fingers clutched tightly together to hold them in

place around my waist. His breathing became deeper, and I let myself fall asleep with him.

This is going to be my life from now on, and I have to admit, after all the pai n, after all the

loss and loneliness, it finally feels like I can breathe. I feel sort of…happy.

A semi-conscious dream stole my eyes to the images in the back of my mind; a wedding.
My

wedding; my white dress and the bouquet I dreamed of the night I lost David.

I wanted to control my thoughts and make th e image of the man by the alter turn into

David—but I couldn’t—it was Mike. It had always been Mike.

As I stood beside him, I pulled the rose, the red one, from my bouquet, and gave it to him.

“This isn’t for me,” he said, dropping it to the f loor. “I have
my
rose.” Mike smiled softly,

reaching for my cheek, and as I rolled my face into his hand, I jump ed back with the cold shock of

electricity through my skin.

My eyes flashed open. My ch eek—I touched it—was still stinging from the cold, while a

familiar, sweet scent filled the air all around me. “David?” I whispered, too low for Mike to hear.

No reply came.

I inhaled the orange-chocolate scent and closed my eyes again for a second, tasting it on the

breeze blowing through my now open window.

It was no dream. I felt his touch. I’m sure of it.

I ran my fingers over my cheek; still cold.

Mike didn’t stir as I jumped out from the warmth of his arms and ran to the window. The

street below was desolate and quiet, but he was he re. I fel t him. He was here, and he would’ve

found me in the arms of another man.

“I love you, David. Forever,” I whispered into the nothing, then reluctantly shut my window.

A tear rolled down my cheek as I l ooked, once more, into the night. The clouds, lit in a

silvery glow, parted enough for the full moon to shine brightly on the tr eetops—and one solitary

star sparkled through the eternal black.

“Make a wish.” Strong arms wrapped my waist from behind.

“I don’t believe in wishes anymore, Mike.”

“Well, I’ll make one for you, then.” He squeezed me tighter, then crossed his heart—making

two lines like an x over his chest.

“What did you wish?” I asked.

“Can’t tell you. It won’t come true.” He pr essed his hands to my waist and turned me

around. Under the luminous moonlight, his ski n looked pale and smooth—like a vampire. He ran

the back of a curled finger over the side of my face. “Why are you crying, baby girl?”

I sniffed back the runny liquid in my nose. “So much has happened. Everything’s changing

for me now, Mike. Sometimes, I feel like I’m losing control of it all—like it just goes too fast.”

“It does go fast, princess,” he said; I looked down. “But, that’s why you’ve got to make the

most of every day. To love whole-heartedly—” he kissed my forehead, “—to laugh with ever y

muscle in your body—” he kissed my nose, “—and to find the good in every moment; happy or sad

or difficult.” He pulled back for a second as he moved in to kiss my lips, and added one more thing,

“And I’m going to be here to do it all with you. For the rest of our lives.”

I closed my eyes and breathed him in; soft warmth, velvet smooth lips. My heart raced down

into my legs then up to my hands, and swirl ed around in my head. “I l ove you, Mike,” I whispered

through our kiss.

When the dark, shadowy morning greeted me, I opened my eyes and felt for Mike in the

empty space beside me. But he wasn’t there. He must’ve gone back to his own bed some time in the

early hours—driven away by my mad, incessant tossing and turning. Or maybe it was the sleep-

talking. I wonder if this means he’ll sleep in a separate bed when we get married, because, somehow,

unless David magically comes back into my life, I doubt my restless sleeping will improve again.

The screen of my iP od lit the small space ar ound me as I s crolled through my playlists—

deliberately passing right over th e ‘David’ one. But, after a moment’s thought, I ca me back to i t;

maybe it will help to hear the journey I went on when we first met--the journey that’s mapped out in

song. But as the song began, I double-checked the title, frowning to myself. I always knew I was a

little absent-minded, but downloading mysterious songs in my slee p was a littl e bi-polar, even for

me. I mean, I’d heard of John Mayer before, but
never
owned any of his music.

As the mystery tune began, I popped my

earphones in and tucked my iPod into my

trackpants pocket as I stood up. Th e delicate piano told a sad story for the first few seconds, and as

the words began, I checked the title again; ‘Dreaming with a Broken Heart’.

I wonder how this got on here.

Outside my window, it looked cold and grey—like the world was readying itself for rain.

The streets were empty and the lights still on along the footpath, while a soft red glow outlined the

mountains to the east below purple fish-bone clouds.

Tiny bumps of chill dotted my belly with the kiss of a cool breeze, blowing in from a small

crack where the window hadn’t sh ut properly last night. I pushed down, hard. Then again. “Close,

you stupid thing!”

It closed, with a wet-sounding crunch, leaving the remains of a green stem sticking out from

the lip of the frame.

“What the...? How did you get th ere?” Through the glass, at the end of the long stem, the

yellow petals of a rose brightened the grey morning. I threw open the window and took the flower

just as the sun touched the earth, warming ever ything around me; the treetops became pink and

gold, and the gent le wind blew as orange leaves floated softly down to the gr ound, like autumn

snow. Then, the words of David’s song filled every other space around me, and the sweet scent of

the rose, like pears, tri ckled happiness into my se nses. I ran my fingers down the thornless st em,

believing, with all my heart, that the rose was a message from David. I was sure of it.

Carefully pinching one of the cool, silky petals at the base, I plucked it from the stem, then

held it out over the windowsill for a moment. “He loves me,” I said, listening to the words of the

song. As the icy breeze came around again, I flicked the petal, opening my hand; it floated up, into

the air, making circles on the breeze, then followed the autumn leaves to the old oak tree in the

garden, finally resting, with one last kiss from the wind, right on the seat of the swing.

I smiled then, because I knew in my heart that, though we’d never be okay again and we’ d

never move on, he at l east loved me enough to say; “Goodbye,” I said before closing my window

and turning away.

Standing in my wardrobe, faced with the ever-tedious task of outfit selection, I looked at my

blue ball dress and folded my arms; maybe I shouldn’t wear it—maybe I should just go in my green

one. After all, it’s not like David can yell at me for it. Hell, I’d welcome him to.

I dug into the s pace between my old purple sweater and f aded jeans, and as I l ooked at the

green dress, an epiphany hit me with a proverbial rock in the head.

I ran for my bedside, grabbed my phone and tapped my finge rs against my arm anxiously

while it rang.

“Hello?”

“Em. It’s me. Come over. I have the perfect dress for you.”

Mike, sitting on the stair with hi s coffee, smiled as I ran past to answer the door. “Hey,

beautiful? What you doin’?”

“Emily’s here—I have a dress for her.” I jumped the las t step and swung the fr ont door

open. “Hey, Em.”

“Hey, Ara—” She took my hand aft er waving to Mike, who shook his head at us as we

bolted past and shut my bedroom door.