7 Years Later

Astrid

A coffee-tinted envelope lies dormant on the table amidst the spare keys and framed pictures. My hand lingers over the envelope for a few breaths. Bordering my line of vision, two pictures smile back at me.

The first is of us. Sitting around the table at the castle, eager to have our pictures taken for the first time. The second is of a grinning, freckled boy beside his sister.

They give me courage.

I pick the envelope up.

The house is quiet. Usually, my children would be wreaking havoc in the living room where I now sink comfortably into the couch. Now I feel their absence so dreadfully – but there is also the guilty relief of a night off from changing a two-year-old’s diapers while simultaneously chasing after the boy who detests baths.

They know of my past. We call it my ‘origin story’ whenever we’re feeling dramatic. It took them a year or two to finally accept that bringing that story up in front of friends and teachers would only warrant comments like, “How cute,” and, “Now tell us the truth.”

This is Lady Selaena’s parting gift to me: the choice of where I want to live after that day. The day I lost the love I so desired.

My thoughtless reverie is interrupted by the clicking of the front door. I don’t have to glance over my shoulder to know who it is.

“Astrid?” the man who has stuck by me through all my years in this world calls out. His feet pad across the wooden panels of the floor.

“In here,” I say.

“It’s uncharacteristically quiet in here. Where are the kids?”

“Sleepovers. With, uh…” I try to recall their friends’ names. “You know, Mrs. Khoo’s son and all those other boys Trent likes to hang out with. The boy’s got a new PlayStation set they’re all trying out. Aria’s next door.”

“Ah.”

He makes his way around the couch and plants himself on the opposite end, kicking his feet up on my lap. I lift the envelope out of the way in time.

He notices it and frowns. “Is that…?”

“The final draft?” I hold it up for him to see. “Yeah.”

“Astrid,” he gasps, sitting up and crossing his legs. My favorite smile broadens across his face. “That’s amazing. You did it!” He lets out a quick laugh. “Let’s see it.”

His hand stretches out for it, but I snatch it out of his reach.

“No, not yet.”

“Why not?” he pouts.

“Because…” I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because my whole story is inside this envelope, disguised as fantastical fiction. Maybe it’s because it will finally be out for the whole world to see and criticize and form opinions about. Maybe that’s why this story is different from the others I’ve written.

“Because I haven’t heard about your first week,” I say instead. “How did it go, Professor?”

He gives me a look that tells me he isn’t going to let it go so easily, but there is nothing he wouldn’t give me if it weren’t in his power.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

So he scoots closer and finds my free hand, making circles over my knuckles with his thumb.

“I think it went pretty well,” he says. “It’s...rewarding? Like the things I’m telling those students actually make sense to them. They have opinions about everything – it’s exhausting, but kind of inspiring.” That grin returns. “And I think my colleagues don’t hate me. Yet.”

“Yet,” I repeat, nodding seriously. “That’s a good start. I’m proud of you, Kieran.”

“And I’m proud of you,” he nods to the envelope in my hand. “Whatever happens next, it’s going to be another great adventure.”

I chuckle, a tickle of warmth spreading across my chest: an emotion I now identify as contentment.

“Although,” I purse my lips skeptically. “There’s one thing you’ve got to be careful of.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Some really pretty girls are going to develop crushes on their cute Political Science professor. Now, I think you should be aware that there will be professional repercussions. Not to mention things could get a little messy. What you might want to do is to show pictures of your kids: responsibility usually frightens college students.”

Kieran smirks. “Don’t worry,” he reaches to angle my face towards him so that he can kiss me. “I’ve already told them I’m married.”

His lips begin to stray towards my jaw.

“Hmm,” I try not to sound so breathless. “Did you do it subtly? Because you could’ve come across as presumptuous.”

“Don’t worry.” He murmurs against my neck. We both pause our conversation so his hands can stray to my lap and waist, and mine to his neck. “I made it seem like I was bragging about you to the kids. They think you’re hot, by the way – I showed them pictures.”

“Nice. I hope you didn’t use a recent one.”

“Astrid?”

“Mm-hmm?”

His kisses travel to the base of my neck, and then to my shoulder blade.

“Can you shut up for a second? I’m trying to make the best out of tonight before the kids come back.”

“Okay.” My eyelids flutter closed. I allow myself to revel in the warmth of his touch, his breath over my skin. My fingertips trace shapes across his chest.

Then I remember the reason why I told myself I cannot allow this right now.

My hands fall from his body. He doesn’t notice at first, still preoccupied with his unwasted touch. I have to blink several times to clarify my focus.

“Kieran?”

“Yes, love.” He nuzzles my neck.

“Did you use the mirror yesterday?”

He stills.

When his exhale tickles my skin, I find the strength to fold my arms. He pulls away and runs his hands over his face, groaning.

“Yes,” he sighs. “But in my defence, I only did it because Eli needed help dealing with a bully! He wouldn’t talk to Bayorn.”

I narrow my eyes. “And you didn’t think my help counts for anything?”

“We solved it. I confronted the kid.” He throws his hands in the air. “We can go visit them this Sunday, if you want.”

“Isabelle’s coming up to Vancouver this Sunday! She wants to go skydiving with me.”

His nose scrunches up, betrayal evident in his eyes. “Just you girls? Nonsense. She’d never exclude me from her plans. I’m her favorite.”

“Not this weekend, you’re not.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but then probably thinks the better of it. We’re even now. No need to tip the scale once more; he knows I’m not a force to be trifled with.

“Fine, fine,” he huffs. “Thanks for not waiting until tomorrow to have this discussion, by the way. You totally ruined an opportunity for me to woo a beautiful woman.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I shrug. “The night is still young. Maybe the opportunity will arise in a couple of hours’ time.”

“Right. I’ll check in with you in…” he pauses to check the clock hung on the wall above the television. “Five seconds?”

Laughter betrays me. Satisfaction takes over his cheeky grin and he shifts his position so that his head rests placated on my lap. He takes my hand again and presses my knuckles against the softness of his lips before lacing his fingers in between mine. Sighing contentedly, his eyelids cover those deep blue irises.

“Read to me?”

What he requests, I cannot deny.

With one hand I undo the string on the envelope and pull out the neatly-bound stack of papers. I kick my feet up on the coffee table and flip the page.

“There never occurred a fraction of a moment…”

“...in which I believed impossible dreams could play an interlude between reality,” he hums, finishing the sentence for me.

I shoot him a dirty look, one he does not need to see to feel. One corner of his lips quirks up.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says without much remorse. “Please, my lady, do continue.”

So I read the rest of the story to him well into the night, from the beginning right up to the here and now.

As for our future adventures, that book remains to be written.