The Melanie Chronicles Read online

  THE MELANIE CHRONICLES

  by Kim Golden

  Copyright 2012 Kim Golden,

  All rights reserved.

  Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com

  http://www.eBookIt.com

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-0735-7

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  The Start of Something New

  In Edinburgh

  "Miss...? Miss?"

  Melanie started. The woman sitting beside her grunted and muttered under her breath.

  Hovering over her was the strawberry blonde flight attendant who'd griped at her for not being able to fit her backpack into the overhead compartment. Now the woman was flashing a smile so bright it was frightening.

  "A passenger in first class wonders if you'd like to join him."

  "Him?" Melanie rubbed her eyes and tried to hide the dopey smile spreading over her face. "Which passenger?" But she knew who it was.

  "Mr. Ballantine, Ms. Jamison." Still the flight attendant wore the false smile of one always pleased to serve. "The seat beside his is available."

  "I can't afford to pay for the upgrade." She could barely afford the Economy ticket she held. It had cost $600. "So you'll have to decline for me."

  "Oh no, Ms. Jamison, he's already taken care of that."

  They hadn't seen one another since just after Finals Week. That was the agreement: wait until they were in Edinburgh and away from everyone they knew, and see how they felt. During those three months, Melanie had avoided every urge to call him and concentrated on working and spending as much time as possible with her mother and her sister Susannah before for her year abroad.

  Though her mother supported Melanie's decision to go to Edinburgh, she thought it was a long way to go to avoid an ex-boyfriend.

  "Crossing the ocean isn't going to make John disappear," Diane said the night before Melanie's departure. "When you come back, you'll still have to deal with him in one way or another."

  "I need to be away from him. He's everywhere I turn. And he's with someone else," Melanie reminded her mother as they packed the last of her suitcases. "I need to be around people who don't know anything about him or me. Besides, this is a once in a lifetime chance. I get to study in Scotland for a year and experience all of the history and culture."

  But there was more to it than that.

  Damian was a secret she kept buried deep inside her. He was the one who'd first put the idea of a year abroad in her mind. He'd already enrolled and was so positive about a year in Scotland that he'd made it sound like Nirvana compared to another year at the University of Philadelphia. During one of their study sessions in the Irish Reading Room, he'd handed her the Year Abroad program's glossy brochure. It was packed full of enticing photos of Edinburgh: the Castle against a moody sky, charming Georgian townhouses with jewel-toned front doors and shiny brass doorknobs, a mist gathering at the base of Arthur's Seat and the Crags. The more she saw, the more she knew she had to go. He must've seen the longing in her eyes, the desire to escape to a place where she could be anonymous for a while because he urged her to apply.

  "You're an English major, you of all people should be in Edinburgh--think of all the great writers who've been inspired by it. You could be next!"

  She didn't want to tell her best friend Maria about Damian yet. The thought of telling Maria tied her stomach in knots so tight and complicated she couldn't sleep. How did you tell one of your closest friends that the person who caught your fall was the same person she'd coveted for nearly two years? Even though Maria was dating someone else now she still mused about the day when Damian would come to his senses and ask her out.

  Neither of them had told anyone.

  Everything had happened so quickly: John dropped the bomb that he didn't know if he loved her anymore and left for Greece with Chloe a few days later, she'd seen the notice in the school newspaper about people dropping out of the international program, then Damian kissed her that night in the library and things had spiraled from there.

  "I need this, Mom," she'd said with such fierce conviction that she even startled herself. "I don't know what I really want. I just know that I can't be here right now."

  "Fancy meeting you here," she said as she settled into the comfortable seat beside Damian. "I thought you weren't leaving until tomorrow."

  "I didn't want to wait," he admitted with a sheepish smile. "Three months is long enough."

  He turned to the stewardess and said, "Thanks for delivering her safely to me."

  "Of course, Mr. Ballantine." She smiled brightly, hovering for a moment as if uncertain what to do. "Would you like more champagne?"

  "D'you want champagne, Melanie?"

  "Maybe later, thanks." She said it so easily, though she'd never had real champagne in her entire life. Was it so different from sparkling wine, she wondered? But just then she was too busy masking her giddiness at seeing Damian again to muse over the supposed benefits of champagne. Then he kissed her, lightly first as though he were testing the waters, then again and with more verve.

  Once the stewardess was gone, he shifted in his seat and grinned at Melanie. "I missed you--I even came by that bookstore where you were working looking for you one Saturday."

  "You did?"

  He nodded. "But you weren't there. I asked one of the girls at the Information desk if you were around, but they said you had the entire weekend off."

  "That must have been the weekend I went to Virginia Beach with Karen."

  "Ah, so I can blame her for depriving me of your company."

  "We had a deal."

  "Mmm. Not a very good one. We should've just spent the summer together," Damian said and then stroked her hair. His touch sent a whirlwind of electricity through her.

  Maybe he was right. Maybe if they'd spent the summer together the part of her brain still inhabited by John would've been cleansed. And there would have been no need for subterfuge.

  "These seats fold out into beds. Did you know that?"

  She shook her head no. This was her first time on an overseas flight. She'd been saving money since her senior year of high school to afford a trip to Europe. She'd assumed she'd use the money next summer when she'd planned on treating herself to a summer train-hiking across the Continent. Once she and John had begun dating, she'd always imagined him beside her. Where was he now? Was he still in Greece, or was he in Philadelphia again moving back into his room at the fraternity house?

  Don't think about him, she reminded herself. He's the past.

  "What happens when we get to Edinburgh?" she asked.

  Damian shrugged. "What do you want to happen?" He was holding her hand, massaging her skin with the soft pad of his thumb.

  "I don't know. I just want to be alone with you," she said. Admitting this to him lightened her. All summer the feelings she had for him had cohabited uneasily with those she still harbored for John. Thinking of one inevitably led to thoughts of the other.

  "Are you still going to stay at that hostel the first few nights?"

  She nodded. "I may as well. I don't have access to my student rooms until next week."

  "Stay with me then. I've got a room at the Caledonian until my flat is ready."

  She grinned. "Are you sure?"

  "'Course I am," he said with a perfect Scottish brogue.

  The lights dimmed. Melanie turned away and looked out the window. The sky was already inky black. Somewhere below them were land and the Atlantic, and for a moment she wondered just where they were--off the coast of Newfoundland,
over Greenland...? She might've gone on wondering, but Damian interrupted her thoughts. He kissed her neck, ran his hand along the curve of her waist and made her body come alive again.

  Damian enchanted the front desk clerk but this didn't surprise Melanie. Nearly everyone who met him fell for his easy smiles and the smooth way he had of putting everyone at ease. He knew everyone who worked there, addressing the concierge by name and asking after the man's family. Even the front desk clerk knew him. Before they'd made their way to the desk, the staff present all greeted him with, "Welcome back, Mr. Ballantine" and Melanie wondered briefly how often he'd come there and who with.

  She looked around, taking in the immaculate marble floor, the richly hued wood details and thick damask curtains. In a cabinet by the elevator were souvenirs of the hotel's past: a black and white photograph of a debonair Sean Connery in his younger James Bond days, programs from an official visit by the King of Norway, a personal note written by the Prince of Wales. She nearly expected someone from the pages of Tatler to breeze past her, some statuesque titled beauty with a name like Hermione Rhys-Jones that'd barely notice Melanie and would stalk over to Damian and plant lingering kisses on both cheeks. But so far the only other guests checking in were two elderly women, both in mud-colored tweed suits and sturdy looking pumps with thick heels. One of the bellhops was loading their luggage onto a trolley. From the looks of it, they'd planned a long stay. And the bellhop, a young man no older than Melanie and Damian, already looked exhausted by the weight of their bags.

  In the elevator, Damian handed her a plastic card with their room number printed on it. She slid it into her jeans pocket.

  "How many times have you stayed here?" she asked casually.

  He shrugged. "A few. Now that my dad has decided to rediscover his Scottish roots, we're here a few times a year. We always stay here and then travel north to visit our cousins."

  "Am I the only girl you've brought here?"

  "No. Is that a problem?"

  "No, no. I sort of expected it," she said, but a part of her was disappointed. She knew they'd sleep together here and she didn't want to be in the same bed with him that he'd shared with other girls. She was tired of being haunted by the ghosts of ex-girlfriends. That had been a thorn in her relationship with John: traces of his exes were always around them, no matter what.

  "It's not the same room, if that's what you're thinking." He reached for her hand. "My parents always arrange suites. I didn't want that. We've got a nice room on the fourth floor."

  The elevator slid to a halt. The doors opened slowly, and they exited. Hand in hand, they walked along the carpeted hallway, the floorboards squeaking beneath their feet. There was something eerie about the hall. Perhaps it was the quiet. She almost felt as though the hotel were deserted for there were no sounds from the other rooms. Was anyone watching them through the peepholes? The hush made her feel as though the hotel was holding its breath, waiting to catch them off guard and startle them with a haughty laugh or a whispered jibe.

  She gripped his hand a little tighter.

  One night when she and Damian had been studying for their final on A Midsummer Night's Dream, he launched across the table and kissed her long and hard. White flames shot through her like liquid fire, burning away the icy core that had formed in her. Maybe it was the play's fairies and their shenanigans that had triggered what had blossomed into weeks of kisses stolen in the library stacks, of quickies on the tables of the library's private study rooms. The subterfuge was exciting and nerve-wracking. How could she want him so much when she still loved John? She couldn't look at John without feeling the sour burn of rejection coursing through her. But when Damian was around he made her forget John, at least for a while.

  They'd been so furtive.

  After the first time they'd had sex, they'd agreed it was best to keep this to themselves.

  "If we tell anyone," Damian had murmured in her ear after that first time, "they'll just make you feel guilty about not waiting around for John and he'll give me grief about being with you..."

  Damian was right, of course he was. The more she tried to move on, the less her friends seemed to understand.

  Though John was already with his new girlfriend Chloe, he'd still reacted whenever he'd seen Melanie with someone else. And Melanie couldn't stop herself from watching him and forcing herself to stare each time Chloe bent in for a kiss. Sometimes she'd caught herself biting her lip so hard she'd drawn blood. Then she'd looked away, silently berating herself for being so weak that she needed to see him at all.

  It felt like she'd never get over John. She'd lie in bed and feel his touch on her skin, the slow drag of his palm moving from her shoulder, over the curves of her breasts--his strong fingers rolling her nipples hard--the quick dip of his mouth grazing her skin and the moist heat between her legs. She still dreamt about him, heard his voice in her head saying all the things she wanted to hear. She'd wake in the morning with his name on her lips and a dull ache inside her.

  She was upfront with Damian, not wanting to hurt him with lies and half-truths. And she told him that she didn't know what she felt for him but he made her feel alive again. She'd expected him to be annoyed, disappointed even that she couldn't just shelve her feelings for John, but he'd shrugged it off and said, "Maybe I'm just your rebound guy."

  "What if we are together and I'm still not over John?" she'd countered.

  "If we stay together long enough, you'll forget about John."

  She hoped he was right.

  With its thick velvety carpeting, silk damask draperies and imposing view of Edinburgh Castle, the room caught Melanie unawares. She paused at the door, taking in the ornate furniture and the rich fittings, and bit her lip. Damian had already tipped the bellboy and thanked him for his help. Now he slid off his shoes and settled into one of the armchairs by the window.

  "Everything all right?" he asked. He stretched his long swimmer's body.

  She nodded yes and closed the door. Her backpack was still on her shoulders and she shrugged it off, placing it carefully on the floor by the bed. Before she could speak, the telephone rang. Damian answered it, at first sounding irritated by its intrusion but his voice soon warmed and Melanie knew he was talking to the couple whose apartment he'd arranged to sublet during his stay in Edinburgh. She'd seen the photographs they'd sent Damian in an e-mail: it was the sort of sprawling loft apartment she'd read about in the upscale interiors magazines her mother always bought and dreamed over. Subletting an apartment like that cost a fortune; Damian had already griped about the price but also admitted that its location and comfort were worth the money. He'd already done a semester abroad in Scotland during his freshman year and lived in the student rooms, some of which he claimed were grottier than the dorms at University of Philadelphia.

  He wanted her to stay with him at the apartment, but she opted for sharing a set of rooms with a Scottish girl named Gillian from Aberdeen who would be back in Edinburgh a few days before the term started.

  "It's better this way," she'd told him. "If we decide to go our separate ways, we're not tormenting each other." He'd accepted her decision, but she knew he thought it was silly. She'd seen it in the slight raise of his left eyebrow and the tight smile he'd given her. But he didn't try to push the issue. "If that's what you want..." was all he'd said.

  While he took care of the details with his new landlord, she went into the bathroom, figuring she could use the time to shower. The bathroom was as luxurious as the bedroom, with its shiny marble countertops and basket full of expensive-looking bath products, old-fashioned fixtures and gilt mirror. There were even burgundy damask curtains and blinds hanging at the bathroom window.

  A shiver ran through her. All of the fixtures were so perfect and shiny she was afraid to touch anything--it was like being in a museum: look but don't touch. Did Damian ever feel this way? She doubted it. He always seemed so at ease wherever he was. And he'd grown up in this world; he didn't need to feel out of sorts in it.
She stole a peek at her reflection in the mirror above the sink. Her hair, which she'd tried so hard to tame into straightness, had gone wild and disheveled again, and her tired eyes showed obvious signs of jet lag. She grimaced and stuck her tongue out at her reflection.

  After undressing quickly, she turned on the shower and waited for the water to heat up. It had taken a few seconds to figure out how to turn on the shower there were so many handles but she soon got the knick of it. Once in the shower, she let the warm water run over her, washing away the tiredness settling in her muscles. She'd tried to sleep during the flight but it was difficult. Every foreign noise startled her, and then she thought of all the air catastrophe films she'd ever seen--from Airport to Fearless. Even mouthing a few Our Father's hadn't calmed her. Damian, though, had slept a while, unfettered by the jolts and pings and thuds of turbulence. When he woke, he reached for her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "It'll be okay. You'll soon get the hang of it."

  She hoped so. She didn't want to feel like a bumpkin, wide-eyed and terrified of every new experience. Maybe that was why John was drawn to Chloe--Chloe wasn't afraid of anything, and she'd do anything just for a thrill.

  Don't think about them, she told herself and dipped her head under the shower's hot stream of water.

  When she emerged from the bathroom, Damian was still on the phone. He smiled at her and said, "I'm ordering lunch for us. Are you hungry?"

  She nodded. Her stomach had growled fiercely during her shower. "Could we have some coffee too?"

  He added a pot of coffee and steamed milk to the order then hung up. "Lunch'll be up in twenty minutes," he told her and pulled her over to him. She sat on his lap carefully and leaned against him. "You smell good. Maybe I should shower as well."

  "I had to get that airplane smell off me," she admitted. Sitting with him like this was nice. She curled into him, feeling safe and desired. She could feel his hand stroking her neck, his fingers brushing her damp hair. She kissed him and tried not to think of John.