Waiting on Your Ghost

I spend all week thinking of the moment I can throw my head back to the slow caress of you down my throat, of the shudder that wracks my whole body as you slip through me, of the aftertaste of salt on the edge of my lips. I rush home at the end of the work day to find you in the kitchen, waiting and ready for the clink of bottle against glass, for the anticipation before being pressed to my mouth. I lose myself in the taste of you, the burn of your touch sliding low, the lightness of knowing you’ll take charge.

I want the hangover you bring. I want the ache in every inch, the heaviness in my eyes. I want the rasp in my throat as I guzzle you down again and again in an effort to drown the loneliness that takes your place come Monday morning. I want the crash of your reality.

I want you to fuck me up.

I Would Still be Surprised - Chapter 14

Dear Nikolas,

My uncle has informed me a betrothal has been arranged between your father and mine, in which you and I are to be married. I would be impressed if you could imagine the shock I felt at the announcement, as I was unaware my parents remembered they had a daughter still unmarried and tucked away in Gildore. My shock only grew when I learned I was to be your wife.

I know we are not a love match, but I believe if we are lucky – if you have not changed too much and I am not too altered from your memories – we may find it easy to love each other. If nothing else, we shall be able to create marriage of respect and affection. I believe that would be enough for me, if it is enough for you. I will not ask for more.

Always yours,

Mr. Darcy reads to me from the sheets and sheets of poetry he’s scribbled about fine eyes and witty women, draped across the couch with an untouched glass of whiskey beside his hand. He’s asking what he could have said different to make her fall in love and I’m staring out the window wondering how I can find better friends.

Christian sprawls out on the floor and hums heartbreaking melodies until I turn on the radio to drown him out. We’ve all heard his story too many times, know he’s just waiting for another doomed lover to stroll through the door and break his heart again. When I walk past, he always asks if it’s my turn to fall in love yet.

Lancelot hands me a shot glass over the kitchen counter, clinks his against mine before we throw them back. He never says much; he’s still trying to forgive himself for loving the one woman he never should have. The guilt he carries is in every twitch of his hands, every blink in the light. He refills my glass before I can ask.

Once Romeo settles down to a game of cards with Lancelot, once Christian hauls himself up into an armchair, once Mr. Darcy puts down his papers and takes a drink, I sit against the wall and finally spit out the story of a winter night filled with swing music. I tell them about the skirt I wore, the song that played, the stars.

I don’t tell them her name. They know better than to ask. Some tragedies shouldn’t be spoken.

I Would Still be Surprised - Chapter Ten

He watched me silently, his jaw clenched as if he had to physically keep himself from saying anything. He had shed his jacket, vest, and boots, leaving him in just his loose white shirt and dark gray trousers. His hair was messy, as if he had run his hands through it several times. His gorgeous hazel eyes were wary. I looked away and smoothed the skirt of my nightgown against my legs, suddenly understanding why he chose to admit to everything from the other side of a door. I did not know how to say what needed saying.

I Would Still Be Surprised - Chapter 9

“Marriage seems to agree with you, Lady Victoria,” she said innocently as the men began to fence. Iris forced herself to look away from them and smiled pleasantly at me. “Or perhaps it is merely the colors you wear now. The pastels you wore before the wedding washed you out.”

I bit down on the inside of my lip to keep from saying something I would regret. I would not give Iris a single thing more to use as ammunition against me. “It is marriage. There is nothing like having a husband as dedicated as his highness.”

Iris’s smile turned brittle at the edges. “Then I offer my congratulations. I have heard not everyone finds such joy in marriage, or such devotion.”

I Would Still be Surprised - Chapter Seven

“I do not recall hearing you had many suitors before your betrothal,” Lillianna commented. She ignored Nik’s glare, her cold hazel eyes fixed on me. “Your parents kept you quite isolated.”

I Would Still Be Surprised - Chapter Five

“My father said the only reason the prince is marrying her is because of her dowry,” one of the ladies said, her girlish voice not quite sweet enough to cover the poison in her words.

I froze, yanking Elena to a stop beside me.

“I heard she turned down a marriage offer from the Haskan ambassador, and then her uncle kept her locked up at his fief as punishment,” the other countered. “She was his responsibility and she obviously did something unladylike with the ambassador’s son; why else would he supposedly have been so mad for her?”

impulse piercings, taking the long way home to scream along with a song, my collection of crop tops, the placement of my tattoos, every daydream I’ve had of being fucked against a wall in front of an open window, uninhibited, without shame, free

Wild

Don’t know how to get there, wish I had a map.

Tamed implies wild came first, I just want to be a feral thing; to walk away from this domestication and reclaim my natural place in the world.

Wild

Aren’t youngest daughters supposed to be trouble? I never raised enough Hell as a teenager, maybe that’s why I itch to invite demons to my door now. I want to know their bite. I would like to leave some scars on them in return. Wish I could go back and be truly wild in my hometown: kissing on the football field and on the side of the road, finding out what the backseat of all those cars felt like.

Damn the consequences, I was seventeen and invincible. How did I let myself forget? I would have kissed her on that mattress in her cluttered room if I’d had the chance. Would have been a star in the backseat of his car if he’d asked. Seventeen, you fearful thing, I’d make you so much wilder this time around. I missed out on so many stupid decisions, and now I’m supposed to be settled and responsible, but I so desperately want my wild years instead.

When can I be wild if not now? When will I become feral if not now? When will I learn to bite back if not now? When was any of this supposed to happen? It never fit in any of my schedules. I don’t know if I would have been able to properly appreciate it at seventeen, but at twenty-six I crave it like a cheeseburger after a stressful day: one order of wild with a side of reckless for immediate pickup. No, you can hold the regret. I know enough to choose this now.

Meet me by the shore of a lake. I’ll bring the blanket, you bring the smooth lines and pretty mistakes. I want to make this a habit; something I can taste - touch - hear -  know without a doubt is wild.

I Would Still Be Surprised - Chapter Three

Elena handed me a wine glass. “You can be honest with us. We wives stand together, do we not?”

“We do,” Ingrid concurred. “Although you at least have family in the country. Perhaps knowing you do not have to leave everything you know for your marriage provides some comfort?”

“Or perhaps having known Nikolas as a child provides comfort,” Elena commented. “Has he changed from how you remembered him?”

I blinked, unsure which question to answer first. “He seems much as I remembered, but I have only seen him a few times in the last few days.”

“That is better than some future husbands,” Elena said with a slightly bitter smile. “Zackery barely bothered to meet me before our wedding. I arrived two months before our wedding day, and I only saw him three times before we reached the altar. I was not sure I would recognize him there.”

I Would Still Be Surprised - Chapter Two

He grinned. “I was thinking of how heartbroken Benedict would be. He wouldn’t stop rhapsodizing over you after you left this morning.”

“What could he possibly have had to say?”

“Oh, the usual things: your hair is the red of the leaves in late autumn, your face is lovelier than any painting, your voice is sweeter than any song. He thinks himself a poet,” he said, grinning at the way I crinkled my nose in distaste. “I worry if I had fought a match against him today, he may have tried to skewer me with his practice sword just so you would be free to marry him instead.”

“I would never marry a man so fond of poetry,” I informed him. “I much prefer plain prose.”

“I take it that means I should burn the verses I wrote for you last night?” he teased.

Character Aesthetic: Prince Nikolas Tuscan of Blaine

Character aesthetic: Lady Victoria Barron