December 24, 2010 5:00 p.m.
By the time we actually arrive back at the van der Waal's home the next day, it's close to dinner time. After checking out of the Woodland House cabin at Efteling in the morning, our journey home was slow and ambling, spent in frequent stops at picturesque spots wherever the three siblings thought Xander and I would like to take a picture. Only when my 16GB iPhone was perilously close to running out of storage space did Graeme get impatient and insist on reaching home as soon as possible.
"These pictures look great," Xander enthuses, his chin almost on my shoulder as he peers at the photos I'm flipping through.
My thumb pauses over a group selfie of all five of us. Our faces are pink and we're all huddled together, but the happiness on our faces is unmistakable. It's a nice picture and I decide to send everyone a copy.
"Graeme, can I get your number?" As she recites it, I type it into my phone's contact list. "Levi, Wolf?"
"Baby, I knew you wanted my digits," Levi says, winking lasciviously at me.
"Shut up." Graeme kicks the back of his seat.
"My car!" Wolf growls. But he catches sight of the small smile on my face and his face softens. "What do you want our numbers for?"
"So I can send you this picture." Even though he's driving and can't possibly see the image clearly, I hold it up so it's reflected in the rearview mirror.
After I get both brothers to give me their numbers, I send the picture off, along with a few others I think they might want a copy of.
My thumb slides across my screen, swiping pictures to the right in a dizzying blur. Barely paying attention, I'm stunned when a picture of Steven Albright smirks up at me. I remember this photo; a charity dinner hosted by Steven's mother a few months ago. His arm is around my shoulder as we stand by the hors d'oeuvre table, one of his hands outstretched to take the picture. My shoulders are tense and bunched up a little - probably because the too-tight straps of my dress are digging into my skin. Not a great night, I remember. Steven had barely paid attention to me all evening, flitting from CEO to politician to socialite with the ease of a butterfly.
Without thinking about it, I press delete. He made his choice when he cheated on me.
"We're home!" Levi says, straightening in his seat.
Outside my window, the village comes into view, snow-capped roofs and cheery lights glittering. It's barely five but it's already dark out. Gray skies, thick with clouds, loom over us. The sun is long gone. It's hard to believe I could have been in Florida right now.
Wolfram slows down when we pass a speed limit sign, taking curves gently with both hands on the wheel. "I'm glad to be home." He reaches down to turn the radio off once the house comes into view.
"You can say that again," says Graeme, yawning. Her head droops onto Xander's shoulder like a sleepy child's. "I missed my bed. That mattress was terrible for my back."
"It was fine," Levi argues. "You're like that princess who felt the pea even under a dozen mattresses."
"Finally someone acknowledges that I'm a princess," Graeme says, grinning like the cat who ate the canary.
The car grinds to a halt against the pebbled drive and Wolf turns the engine off. On cue, the front door opens and Humphries begins his clipped walk down the steps.
Waving the butler off, Wolf opens the door and says, "We've got things covered, Humphries!"
Still, the butler sticks around. Once he's ascertained that none of us are struggling with our bags, his posture relaxes. "I'll just let Madame know of your arrival."
His gaze lands on each of us in turn, smiling and warm. "Welcome home."
The noise inside the house is deafening. Boisterous laughter echoes in the foyer as we all step through the door, followed by a cacophonous melody which sounds like it might have been played by a cat walking across piano keys.
"Shit," Levi whistles. "That sets my teeth on edge."
"Merry Christmas," says Graeme, wincing. "Sounds like Uncle Robbie burst into a rendition of drunken Silent Night."
"Which is ironic," Wolf says, "because it's so goddamn loud."
"I need a drink," Graeme mutters, dropping her bag on the floor. "Xander, will you join me?"
"As long as it's not eggnog," Xander agrees, face twisted with revulsion.
"I'll go put my stuff away," I say, starting for the steps.
"Yeah, I'll do the same." Xander follows me, his familiar footsteps just a couple of stairs behind me.
On the curve of the staircase, I glance down. Graeme's face is rigid, but then, as if giving in, she sighs and picks her bag up. I get the impression she planned to dump it there for Humphries to take care of.
I don't realize how tired I am until I get to my room. The bed looks so soft and welcoming that I waste no time in flopping onto it, kicking off my shoes and crawling toward the pillow. Finally, some quiet. I'm far from introverted, but the constant company and overwhelming sibling personalities make everything seem larger than life. Now that I'm alone, I feel more like myself and less like a marionette.
My sprawl is interrupted by Xander, who knocks on my door only to say he's going to spend some time with Graeme for a while. I grin into my pillow. The trip didn't give them a chance to be properly alone, so I guess Xander's seizing the day. "Have fun!" I call out, waiting until I hear his steps fade away before closing my eyes.
I jolt awake a while later to insistent knocking at my door. My chest feels sweaty from the warmth of the house, and my heart is pounding from the loud banging.
"It's Wolf. Let me in."
I resist the urge to crack a Red Riding Hood joke. Brow furrowing, I cautiously get out of bed and pad toward the door. I pull it open and blink at him. He's wearing black trousers, crisply ironed, and a white dress shirt, rolled up to his elbows. The top button is undone, leaving just a hint of his chest visible. The outfit shows off his tapered waist and broad shoulders, clinging to his trim physique like a second skin.
Wow. I knew Wolfram was hot, but the way he looks right now would have nuns trading their habits for silk lingerie because this boy is sinfully divine. The only kind of god I can think of right then is the one that starts with oh god oh god oh god and ends with flushed bodies tangled in cool sheets.
"Hi." I could kick myself. Way to be suave, Charlotte.
"You're about to miss dinner." He gives me a crooked grin. "It's in ten minutes."
"I completely forgot!" Blanching, I leave the door open and lunge for the dresser, rifling through my clothing.
Even though it's his house, he waits respectfully outside the threshold, simply watching me. "If you don't have anything semi-formal, I could grab something of Graeme's?" he tries to offer when my search comes up empty handed.
"No, I can find something." I hope, anyway.
"You didn't bring a dress?"
"To the Netherlands? In winter?" My lips crack a smile. "You don't have to stand out there. Come in."
He does, looking awkwardly around.
I have jeans, but that's not even business-casual, let alone semi formal. I'm screwed. I have a few nice tops and a pair of sweats - nothing which I could wear to Christmas Eve dinner without standing out.
"What about this?" Wolf holds up a dress from my overnight bag.
I turn a deep crimson. Wolf is holding my nightgown. It's a deep shade of plum and has black lace on the bottom. I hadn't worn it last night, since it was too cold, but it remains a necessity in the van der Waal's burning furnace of a house. I hate feeling hot while I try to fall asleep.
Wolf is still holding it out to me expectantly.
"That's what I wear to bed," I admit, snatching it from him just as I see the slow, lecherous grin spread from cheek to cheek.
"Oh, really?" he drawls, giving the dress an appraising look.
I clutch it to my chest, giving him a stern expression.
"I just had a brilliant idea." Moving quickly, he joins me at the dresser and begins sifting through my clothing faster than a bargain hunter at a fifty percent off sale.
"What are you looking for?"
He ignores me, combing through my clothing with rushed, careless fingers. My neat piles of folded clothing loosen haphazardly. Finally, he finds it.
"Here." He holds it out to me like a sacrifice, face somber.
It's my soft cashmere sweater. Apple-red and v-necked, it's the perfect item to be dressed up or dressed down.
"Wear it over your nightgown." Wolf glances at his watch. "You have five minutes."
Ordinarily I would have put up more of a resistance but with no other options and a five minute deadline until dinner, beggars couldn't be choosers. At least I wouldn't have to worry about shaving my legs. I thank my lucky stars that I'd done that in the morning before leaving Efteling as I dive into the bathroom.
I don't have time for makeup and my foundation is already looking tired and oily, so I'm forced to leave it as-is. Hopefully people will think it's a dewy glow instead of day-old makeup that needs retouching. I reach up and pull my hair from its ponytail. Even though my hair has a dent at ear-level, I tilt my head down and fluff it up a bit. Now that I have decent volume, I emerge from the bathroom, self-consciously tugging the bottom of my "dress" down. It's modest, hitting mid-thigh, and no one will know it's actually a negligée, but it feels strange feeling cool silk on my skin when I'm not alone in bed.
"You look great," Wolfram offers, eyes crinkling a little as he smiles at me.
"Thanks." My voice is breathless from rushing through getting dressed, but I take his arm gratefully as he escorts me from my bedroom. Even if I get a raised eyebrow or two tonight, I'm thankful that Wolf was good in a crisis. A pretty good quality in a boy, honestly.
By the time we reach the dining room, everyone else is already there. There doesn't seem to be a proper seating arrangement, and no one looks up when we enter. Suddenly, I realize that I don't even know any of their names, except the dubious Uncle Robbie.
Wolf pulls my chair out for me, a surprising gesture, and with a tentative "thanks" to him, I sit down, letting him scoot my chair in. A frisson of electricity courses through me as his warm fingers accidentally-on-purpose graze the bare skin where neck meets shoulder - the only part of my upper body that isn't covered in cashmere.
He sits down next to me and is promptly engaged in conversation by someone or other. Across the table, Graeme scrutinizes my outfit. I'm about to make peace with the fact that I won't pass muster when she says, almost reluctantly, "That's cute. I wouldn't have thought red and purple go together."
Xander flashes me a dubious glance. "Isn't that...?" he starts to say, but I cut him off with a loud, "Thanks, Graeme." The last thing I want is for Graeme to realize that Xander knows what my nightgown looks like. It's a totally platonic story, but she wouldn't see it that way.
I'm already regretting wearing the stupid sweater. The back of my neck is feeling hot and itchy and I'm sure that my perspiration has already drenched my silk negligée. I can feel it sticking to me like paint.
"Charlotte!" booms Marcus from the head of the table. Immediately, everyone goes silent. Even Uncle Robbie shuts up long enough to gape at me.
I offer an embarrassed smile. "Hi, Mr. van der Waals."
Wolf tenses next to me, and even Graeme looks apprehensive. I can't see Levi anywhere.
"Given any thought to working for van der Waals Enterprises?" He gives me a searching look, like he expects the answer to be written on my forehead.
My mouth opens, flummoxed. I honestly haven't given it a thought. It was a flattering, if somewhat unorthodox offer, but despite getting Rhona's blessing, I probably still don't have Graeme's. Not that Graeme should be the deciding factor in my future or in my career choices, but if I'm being honest with myself, I have to admit that keeping her on my good side is partly motivated by my new, tenuous relationship with her brother.
"Um, I wish I could say yes, but I haven't been able to decide one way or the other yet," I respond, trying to take the diplomatic route. "I'd have to talk with my friend Brett first, since I did commit to her already." Then, impulsively, I lean forward like I'm about to divulge a secret. Marcus mirrors my movement. "Plus I'm having way too much fun here to even think about mixing business with pleasure," I stage-whisper.
Wolf's hand lands on my thigh at the word pleasure and I almost jump out of my seat, except he starts tracing idle patterns on the silk fabric that sends tingles of awareness throughout my entire leg. Damn him.
Author's Note: This chapter was actually double the length, but it felt a little overwhelming all at once (because of a ~certain~ scene which you may hate me for when it's posted LOL but I hope not!) so I decided to split it up. The second part to this chapter will be posted tomorrow! So at least it's not a long wait for you guys.
Also, AMOC reached 4K views! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I can't tell you guys how much I appreciate the support this story has been shown. I love writing AMOC for myself, for Charlotte/Wolf, and also for you guys, because your feedback really motivates me to keep going and making this story as good as it can be. :)