The Wild Heir(11)

“Your mother is looking for prestige. And looks,” my father says to me with a wink. “So she can have grandchildren the world will fawn over. But, Son, don’t go for that. Go for the nicest, smartest one. The one with the biggest heart and the boldest mouth. Being kept on your toes is more attractive than anything, believe me. Have a smart woman in your marriage and you’ll never be bored a day in your life. Be with someone you can have a conversation with, who will challenge you, no matter what she looks like.”

So far in life, my ideal woman has been someone who keeps me on my toes until I’m ready to move on to someone else who keeps me on my toes. I don’t think any type of personality—or looks—will change the fact that after a week or so, I’m already moving on and looking for someone else. I’m not even doing that to be a non-committal asshole, I honestly have never met anyone who captures the attention of my heart, soul, and dick for long enough.

When I look up from the clipboard, my father’s eyes are closed and his head is back against the chair.

“Father?” I ask softly, and his eyes open briefly.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m afraid I’ve gotten to the useless part of the night.” He yawns and then closes his eyes again. “Remember, we’re not only doing this for all of us. We’re doing it for you, too. You just can’t see it yet, but one day you will. You’ll see that...” He trails off and starts to snore.

I stare at him for a few moments, wishing I could talk to him more, selfishly, of course, just to argue and try and get out of this. But there is no getting out of this.

After I leave his room, the nurse comes back in to help him to bed and I wander the halls aimlessly, not sure what to do with myself and how to handle the ticking time bomb I’m holding in my hands. My mother and sisters all seem to have disappeared, so I hunt down Einar and he takes me back to my place.

With my father’s words ringing through my head, I turn on a lamp, sit down in my armchair with a beer, and start flipping through the pages of princesses.





Three





Ella





St. Andrews, Scotland





I’m having that dream again.

The one where I’m standing on the pebbled shoreline of some northern island, maybe the Outer Hebrides of Scotland, maybe the Faroe Islands. The clouds are low, dark, and broken, stretching from the gray horizon of the sea across to the barren lands behind me. The wind is strong and sharp, the kind that would drive you insane over time.

As usual, I am alone on the beach. Alone, except for the dozens of beached pilot whales that stretch out in the surf, their shiny black bodies floundering for air, struggling to breathe. The waves pound over them but it’s not enough to carry them back into the sea.

They are dying and I am powerless to stop them. I can only stand there and stare. My mouth is mute.

Then the black oil bubbles up from their blowholes, a sticky ebony glaze that coats them, the waves, the shore, until it’s swirling around my ankles, then my knees. I will drown with them here.

But this time the dream changes. Off in the distance, from around the bend of the clay cliffs, I see the figure of a tall man, sloshing through the oil toward me.

He’s come to save me.

For the first time, this dream brings a ray of hope along with it.

But before he gets any closer, the oil rises, and I am covered from head to toe, unable to breathe, unable to speak.

Unable to scream.

I wake up as I usually do, sweating and out of breath and it takes me a few moments to realize where I am.

In my room.

In the evening.

The last vestiges of twilight coming in through the window.

What on earth just happened?

I blink and fumble for my phone, finding it underneath my arm. It’s seven forty-five in the evening. The wine and cheese party started fifteen minutes ago.

“Shit,” I swear, jumping out of bed. Thank god I’m fully clothed and still wearing makeup so I can just join the fun. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but I guess that’s what happens when you have too many late nights of studying in a row.

I double-check myself in the mirror to make sure I don’t look horrendous and then head out the door into the lounge and kitchen area that I share with my three other roommates, ready to apologize for falling asleep and being late.

Except that there’s no one here. The flat is empty.

Odd.

“Audrey!” I call out, not wanting to go around banging on their doors. “Catherine?”

I look at my phone again. It’s Thursday night and it’s wine and cheese night here in our dorm. Or at least it’s supposed to be. That was what Audrey had said before I closed the door to my room and proceeded to pass out.

Actually, that was what I had said to her. “I got the best gouda I could find for tonight,” I’d told her, overly proud, like the big dork that I am. Only I don’t think she ever responded to me, just gave me a tight smile and kept walking past.

Shit. What if wine and cheese night isn’t tonight?

I take in a deep breath and try to think. I’ve only been living in this dorm for a month now and the girls had said they wanted to do a wine and cheese night on the first Thursday night of the month. And it’s the first Thursday of October, so…