The Lie

It was midnight in Paris; isn't that how all great romances start? Midnight in a romantic city, or a party that your friends dragged you to, or your parents introducing you to a hot neighbor in a small country town. Romeo and Juliet

started out in Venice, Wuthering Heights

takes place in a English moor; they are perhaps the greatest love stories of all time, and they are both tragedies.

Isn't that ironic? The greatest love stories end in tragedy. Two teens, so desperately in love, but were supposed to hate each other entirely, had to die to be together. And even then, many others had to die because one boy gave his heart to one girl that he barley knew, but had to hate, because a Monague and a Capulet couldn't shut the hell up and settle their differences like normal people. In Wuthering Heights

, the only thing that kept them apart were stupid circumstances. It's terrible, just terrible.

But that's not my love story; in fact, my love story is pretty great.

I was lounging on my bed, clad in only a bathrobe, my black ebony hair sprawled over my red pillows. It was a honeymoon suite; it would make sense that everything was in it was red and pink, almost universal symbols for romance.

Except red; funny, it's also a symbol for war, hatred, and bloodshed.

Huh.

But that's not the point, is it? I'm waiting for the man of my dreams, my night in shining armor, my savior and my king; Gabriel Kingsley, head of the largest English law firm in history. I shiver, biting my lip in anticipation. Even his name

turns me on; and, God forgive me, I have been waiting for this night for too damn long. He's been driving me wild since the day we met.

It was in a court case, actually. He was the prosecuting attorney against my idiot brother, Theodore, who got involved in the Irish mob. We're English-American, for Christ sake, what the hell is he doing with the Irish? My father, Lord Hamlet, was accused of his association with the mob when I was a young miss of 7. Thankfully, my father had the money for a brilliant lawyer who got him out of that ridiculous charge. Only idiots get associated with the wrong crowd.

But, that's beside the point. I saw his curly brown hair dripping with sweat, the determination in his eyes, a fierce scowl on his lip as he fought to put my brother in jail. And he should have, it would have taught the scoundrel a lesson. But, again, my father used the same bloody lawyer to get him out of his fix, but I got Gabriel. I walked up to him after the case, clad in a innocent looking purple suit, as he whispered furiously with an elder gentleman.

As I approached, I only caught one sentence before my presence was known; "Dammit, Kingsley, do this or your off the case!" The older man turned to me, shock barely registering in his eyes before he tipped his hat and walked away.

I recognized him then; George Conrad Hale, an old lawyer and great-grandson of the original founder of the law firm where Gabriel worked. His hair was wispy and thin, but full of a crimson color, and his eyes held the same stunning sparkle my grandmother claimed made every sensible girl fall head-over-heels for him. Some of the older ones still do, even though he lives the life of a spinster. It was rumored he has a mistress in every country he's stepped foot in, and a child in at least 8 of them. He was still fit for a man of 64, and Gabriel was a fine specimen of a rugged, roguish 29 year old.

A perfect match of the "vixen of London", aging at a round 22; meaning myself, of course.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Kingsley," I said politely, giving him a dazzling smile that I had perfected over the years.

He seemed taken aback by my sudden appearance, looking me over in a hungry way. Now that I think of it, it was more like he was evaluating me that admiring me. His green eyes flitted up and down my chest, but I fought back my flush. It wasn't the time yet. "Good afternoon," he had replied, his voice like silk and honey. "I do not believe I have the honor of knowing your acquaintance."

I smiled at him, fighting the urge to bat my big blue eyes. "I am afraid I am not in the same predicament, Mr. Kingsley. Then again, I dare say there aren't many people in London who don't know who you are."

His eyes seemed to sadden for a moment. "Not all know who I really am, love, and almost no one ever will."

I laced my arm through his, bracing myself for my most dazzling smile. "Well, Mr. Kingsley, I will have to change that, won't I?"

He smiled at me and began to lead me down the street, my heart jumping out of my chest. "I believe you shall."

That afternoon we went for coffee and bagels, and he didn't learn my name then. Instead, we planned to meet there or at his estate whenever we wanted to get together. It was the first of hundreds of dates. When my brother got arrested again, only 3 years later, he recognized me as a witness against Theodore.

"Laura, love, I didn't know you were Theodore's sister," He told me over coffee after the trial, contempt and victory swimming in his eyes as he probably picture my brother led away in handcuffs.

I gave a half shrug, eager to move on. "You never asked."

He grabbed my arm and spun me around, his usually playful face deadly serious.

"I do believe I asked, many a time, who you were, which includes family.

Did I not?"

I glared at him as I broke free of his grip. "See why I said nothing? It changes everything."

"You bet it does!" He yelled, turning on his heel. I heard him mutter, almost to himself, "The game has changed, and I hoped it wouldn't."

That night, he asked me for my hand in marriage. Of course I said yes; he had told me he loved me not 2 weeks before.

I must admit, I am getting rather cold and impatient. I jumped off the bed, softly tip-toeing across the padded pink shag carpet. I heard Gabriel rustle around in the other room, a cellphone in hand. Maybe I could surprise him.

I leaned closer to the door, wanting to have the most perfect timing for a sexy interruption when I heard another voice, clearly not on the telly or the cell.

"Gabriel, you have f**ked up," a voice stage-whispered, anger clearly present. It took me a moment, but I recognized the voice; George Hale, the very same man my Gabriel spoke to the day we met. "You weren't supposed to marry

her, dammit."

"The assignment, as I recall, was to allow her to get as close to my alter-ego as possible, and I to her father, and if that involves marriage, then it involves marriage." Gabriel coolly argued.

How deliciously interesting.

"But things will get messy!"

"How? I see no possible way."

"What if you are assigned another mission? It's been 3 years, and the agency needs you to have active cases as well as this."

"I'm nearly positive the MI6 can do without me."

MI6? What does Gabriel have to do with the British spy network? We are moving to America, after all. He is expanding his law group to the States, he shouldn't be worried about the MI6.

"For Christ sake, you know

they can't! We are stretched as thin as the Yanks, dammit! And do you know how much of an insult it is to have this bastard cornered for nearly 25 years and not been able to put him behind bars?"

"I understand that, but if I have one more year, I'm positive that Laura's father will be behind bars."

Daddy? What does Gabriel want with him?

One of them sighed, and I am assuming it was Hale, because he then said "Look, Marcus, you need to put him behind bars. You've lied to this girl about everything that you are. She can't love a lie."

Marcus?

"You don't know that

!" Gabriel snarled. But why should he? Hale was addressing another man named Marcus. Unless-

"Your idiot father thought so too! So did my daughter! Look where it got them! They can't stand the bloody sight of each other because of 10 years of lies. Your my grandson, and you know I love you, but they can't stand to look at you because it reminds them of each other! Do you want that?"

He's lied to me...I love a man who never was who he said he was?

"I'll make it work. I'll put the bastard behind bars and fake my death or something. Start over."

I screamed.

The Truth

The conversation froze, and my heart stopped. I backed away from the door, tears falling freely down my face. I couldn't breathe. I could barely comprehend what I heard.

But I did, and that's what terrified me. All the strange calls, the mysterious remarks, the vague answers when I would visit his office, all his trips around the world. Everything made sense now, and it broke my heart.

He loved me though, didn't he? He wanted to make it work, right? Could I live with the fact that my husband wanted to destroy all that my father worked for?

No, I couldn't. I cried even more, falling onto the bed. I loved him dearly, I loved his lies

. How could I even tell that his love was honest? I couldn't love a lie, that much Mr. Hale had right; I needed to know the real him. I couldn't deal with loving a fraud.

My beloved Gabriel, he wasn't even Gabriel! He was Marcus, and I knew nothing at all about him. And he was walking over to me, Hale behind him, a grim mask on both their faces.

God, Marcus looked beautiful. That was the one thing I knew. As I gazed at him, tears still streaming down my cheeks, I felt my heart expand with all the love I grew to have and burst at the heartbreak I was forced to endure.

How could he?

"So you know," He whispered, his voice detached and even.

"I suppose I do," I replied, hugging my robe tighter. I looked at his gorgeous, wondrous green eyes. "How could you?"

This seemed to startle him. "I had to investigate your father, Laura, it's my job. I assume you know I'm a spy?"

I nodded and added "That's not why. I've had tens of you MI6 prats investigating Daddy. I don't care that your investigating him. I would have helped, to prove him innocent! I don't even give a bloody damn that you lied to me, which we will talk about later. I am pissed to all hell that, after you were done, you would put me through the pain of losing you!"

They both seemed shocked. They looked at one another as though I belonged to the loony bin. "I mean...I suppose it's also part of the job? I mean, I've done it before."

Hale smacked his forehead and groaned, falling on his back on my bed. I could feel the fire burning in my eyes, and Marcus could tell he f**ked up.

Big time.

"Get out, Marcus." I growled, tears flowing down my face. I knew exactly what I had to do, and it broke my heart to. "I never want to see you again."

His heartbreak shown in his eyes. "Laura, love-"

"Don't you dare!" I screamed, backing away from him. "How dare you have the nerve to call me 'love'; you lied to me about everything, you had the nerve to think about shattering my heart by dying

, you have the terribleness to say you've done this to another poor woman,

and not to mention the hateful way that you made me fall in love with you."

His eyes softened. "You love me?"

I glared at him, nearly ready to spit. "I loved

you."

His own heart shattered as my words registered. He fell on his knees, his heart pouring onto the floor, Hale shaking his head slowly, handing me a dress. I snatched it from him, and I spat on his shoes.

"I told you, Marcus, that she couldn't love a lie." Hale said, walking over to the puddle on the floor.

I shook my head, walking to the door. "I fell in love with a lie. I can't love the man who refuses to come out of one."

Marcus looked at me with desperate, heart broken eyes. "Please, Laura, one more chance. I swear, total honestly from here on out."

With a gentle push, I had them both outside the door. "Don't leave me with another lie, Marcus. You know that can't be."

I closed the door and the man left me, heartless and alone.
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How could she? How could I? I loved her, and now she can barely stand me. What have I done to deserve this?

And how can I win her back?

The Passion

It was five years before I saw him again. And it was the worst five years of my life.

Theodore got arrested again, just after he earned parole. This time it was for drug trade, possession, fraud, murder, attempted murder, and blackmail. The poor devil will never see the brilliant hills of York, our childhood love, again, nor shall my father.

He was arrested just before Theodore was caught, after Marcus dug up affiliations with head Mafia members, and my Daddy's old journal, which held all his affairs with Mafia members, account books dealing with illegal drugs, and a murder log

. To think, my Daddy, a murderer. I shook my head, my new black curls dangling in front of me. The line for coffee was ridiculously long.

I tapped my black stiletto, my short black dress hugging me tightly. I was supposed to be at Theodore's engagement party. Only he could get engaged while rotting in prison. To me, though, it was just an excuse to get bloody drunk on a Sunday. Hence, my reason at a coffee shop.

At 10 in the bloody evening. Alone. I really am rather pathetic.

I felt a presence, something warm and hard, behind me. Warm, silky breath tickled my bare shoulder, sending shivers down my back. Damn, I shouldn't have worm this dress, it makes me look enticing in a desperate sort of way. I turned, my ruby red lips a wonderful comparison to my porcelain skin, my eyelashes elongated and my eyes decked in a dark purple eye-shadow.

Goodness, I really am becoming a Yank, aren't I?

"Sir, would you mind backing away a few inches, my skin is getting soaked from your breath." I whispered as the line inched forward. Oh, sweet god, someone ordered a Caramel Macchiato; they just wanted to torture me.

"I would, but you look all the more delicious up close," He whispered, a delicate kiss being placed on my shoulder. I turned completely around to face him, blond hair draping over his face as a smug smile danced on his lips. He extended his hand. "Luke Hemingway, not at all related to the other, but I can if that's what you desire."

"I desire

for you to keep to your own bubble." I turned away from him, my curls not giving me the least bit of protection from his ticklish breath.

"Feisty," He whispered anyway, placing an unwelcome hand on the small of my back. I stiffened. The people here would assume we were a couple and that's not what I wanted. "So, your a Brit?"

"So what if I am?"

"It makes you a challenge; English girls are more...unreceptive. But don't worry, darlin', there hasn't been a girl that hasn't been cracked yet."

"Congratulations," I muttered as I finally stepped up to order. "This is your first. One Caramel Macchiato, please."

He laughed, and the sound was light and bubbly. God, he needs to shut up.

And I wanted him; badly. I don't know why, but I did.

As my coffee was handed to me, I paid and ran out the door. The sounds of Virginia Beach were muted at night, and I missed that, but London was home; minus the perverts in the coffee shops. I walked the familiar streets, my long black coat flying from behind me like wings from a bat, looking at familiar sights. There, at the corner, was the hotel Daddy took us too when we were small country kids visiting London for the first time. Past that was where I signed my first book contract, in that small bookshop I worked in for so long. And there was Phantom's Hotel

, where I spent my honeymoon with Mar-

I froze, tears on the verge of falling. Five bloody years and I'm still not completely over the prat. But, at least, one good thing came of my heart not knowing where it's loyalties lie.

I heard the footsteps behind me.

I picked up my pace, fear slowly prickling at the back of my neck. A dab of sweat ran down my back, a touch of panic settling over my heart. I heard an increase in footsteps, and fear cloaked me. I turned a sharp corner, knowing it was the quickest route to that damn engagement party. I sipped my coffee, trying to calm myself, when a hand clamped on my shoulder.

I was turned to see the same smiling, perverted face of the coffee shop guy.

"Hi, darlin', I thought I lost you for a second." He whispered, forcing me to my knees.

I glared at him, swiping a kick on the back of his knees. As he winced, still applying pressure, I said "We can only dream, can't we?"

He gave me a swift kick in the stomach. I went down, coughing like crazy, as he unzipped his pants. "Mine's about to come true."

He pulled back my head, forcing my neck to be fully exposed. He pressed his lips to my neck and inhaled deeply, his hand roaming up and down my back. I closed my eyes, just wanting the whole world to go away. I felt the muzzle of a gun touch my neck, the coldness spreading through me like fire.

"Leave her alone!

" A new voice growled. I felt the pressure get released, I heard the scuffles near my left, I heard a gun shot ring in the streets, and I heard a dying "Umph" and a crash of a dead body. But I didn't open my eyes, I couldn't open my eyes, until a familiar voice whispered "Laura, love, please look at me."

My eyes flew open and I scanned the street. Coffee Pervert was on the ground, dead, a knife in his chest. I felt a warm, sticky liquid pooling by my right hip, and I turned, half expected to see the face of an old friend, or a kind officer from my past. When I saw those startling green eyes starring back at my, green depths of love and understanding creating endless portals to another, more Utopian world.

"Marcus," I whispered, tears falling on his cheeks. He reached up a hand, I suppose to caress my cheek, but I grasped it, my raft in the midst of an ocean. "Don't you dare leave me."

"I never had, love."

The dams had burst, and I saw myself, in an odd 6th sense, sobbing over his body. The blood was pooling less, probably because my chest was blocking the wound. I heard myself dial 9-1-1, patiently waiting for the ambulance to rescue my savior.

"My name is Marcus Kingsley," He whispered as the minutes ticked on. His breathing was slightly fainter, and he whisper, once full and passionate, was becoming raspy.

"Hush, Marcus, hush, you mustn't talk." I replied, gently touching his cheek with my finger.

"No! Let me finish," I didn't speak, I just kept touching his face. "I lived in York until I was 5, when I moved to London. I spent my youth at a boarding school for gifted students, and I went to the college of Notre Dam."

"Rich too," I muttered. "I'm beginning to regret leaving you."

He gave a faint smile. "I joined MI6 when I had learned my 5th language, Arabic. I was on a mission to hunt down a supposed terrorist cell in Israel when I was told I was reassigned, and I had a degree in Law at that time. I was told to become the best known lawyer in England, as a prosecutor. After reaching that objective, they told me I would be a sleeper agent, waiting for one particular criminal to come to the stands.

"I didn't know I was waiting for your father, to have a chance to investigate him. Golde had told me-"

"Gold?" I whispered, eager for him to continue. The sweet truth at last, and the sirens in the background. I could still have a happy ending; I could still get my king.

"You know him as Hale. His real name is Frederick Golde. He briefed me the first time your brother went to the stands that I was to get as close to the family in anyway possible" He closed his eyes and his breathing increased. "I thought you were on the defense's side, because I was gone the day you testified. I thought, while trying to get close to your father, I could have you. Those were the three best bloody years of my life.

"When your brother got put on the stands and you gave your name, I finally had an excuse to marry you with the consent to the agency; otherwise you would have been too involved, and then at the hotel...you broke my heart. It wasn't until after your father was arrested when I realized yours must have been broken as well. I couldn't rest until I found you, and I used my "ins" in the agency to track you down; but, damn him, your father protected you extremely well before he was hauled off. It took 4 years of following false trails to realize that you were not

in Cuba, as I was led to believe, but in America. I felt so idiotic; you told

me you wanted to move there.

"So, I had to work with the FBI to find out where you were, but your father was a clever son-of-a-bitch: he protected you there too. Thank god Golde saw you at the party, or I would have never had found you. And look where you would be if I hadn't."

I smiled; Golde had talked to me even, chatted about my life now. I heard paramedics frantically gathering the supplies it would take to save Marcus.

"I never stopped loving you," I whispered. He smiled: what a beautiful sight, one I though I would always have to live without. "I know you feel the same."

He closed his eyes and a small, nearly inaudible sigh passed through his lips. The paramedics whisked him away, and I cried, this time for joy.

I had found my king at last.
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At 8pm this evening, a young woman was saved from a rape from local gang member, Darnay Karol. Karol has been arrested for drug possession and was currently wanted by a hit-and-run. Darnay was killed by none-other than Gabriel Kingsley, the remarkable lawyer that was last seen in the States, and the young woman was his ex-wife, Laura Bergs. Gabriel died in the hospital from loss of blood and Laura was then taken to the local Insane Assylum, and promptly killed herself. She wrote her story in a notebook later found at the scene, along with the suicide note saying "My king awaits me." More at eleven...

Fin.

Impressum

Texte: Me
Lektorat: Me
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 13.03.2012

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