Лиза Смит - Origins

Or do you need a book to decide?” Katherine asked, grinning as she held the volume just out of my reach.

I cleared my throat, my mind racing. Damon would have said something witty in response, without even thinking about it. But when I was with Katherine, I was like a schoolboy who tries to impress a girl with a frog caught from the pond.

“Well, you could compare my brother to a summer’s day. You’ve been spending a lot of time with him.” My face reddened, and instantly I wished I could take it back. I sounded so jealous and petty.

“Maybe a summer’s day with a few thunderstorms in the distance,” Katherine said, arching her eyebrow. “But you, Scholarly Stefan, you are different from Dark Damon. Or …”

—Katherine looked away, a flicker of a grin crossing her face—“Dashing Damon.”

“I can be dashing, too,” I said petulantly, before I even realized what I was saying. I shook my head, frustrated. It was as though Katherine somehow compelled me to speak without thinking. She was so lively and vivacious—talking to her, I felt as though I was in a dream, where nothing I said would have any consequence but everything I said was important.

“Well, then, I must see that, Stefan,” Katherine said. She placed her icy hand on my forearm. “I’ve gotten to know Damon, but I barely know you. It’s quite a shame, don’t you think?”

In the distance, the band struck up “I’m a Good Old Rebel.” I knew I needed to get back outside, to smoke a cigar with Mr. Cartwright, to twirl Rosalyn in a first waltz, to toast my place as a man of Mystic Falls. But instead I remained on the leather club seat, wishing I could stay in the library, breathing in Katherine’s scent, forever.

“May I make an observation?” Katherine asked, leaning toward me. An errant dark curl flopped down on her white forehead. I had to use all my strength to resist pushing it off her face. “I don’t think you like what’s happening right now.

The barbecue, the engagement …”

My heart pounded. I searched Katherine’s brown eyes. For the past week, I’d been trying desperately to hide my feelings. But had she seen me pausing outside the carriage house? Had she seen me run Mezzanotte to the forest when she and Damon explored the garden, desperate to get away from their laughter? Had she somehow managed to read my thoughts?

Katherine smiled ruefully. “Poor, sweet, steadfast Stefan. Haven’t you learned yet that rules are made to be broken? You can’t make anyone happy—your father, Rosalyn, the Cartwrights—if you’re not happy yourself.”

I cleared my throat, aching with the realization that this woman who I’d known for a matter of weeks understood me better than my own father

… and my future wife … ever would.

Katherine slid off the chair and glanced at the volumes on Father’s shelves. She took down a thick, leather-bound book, The Mysteries of Mystic Falls. It was a volume I’d never seen before. A smile lit her rose-colored lips, and she beckoned me to join her on my father’s couch. I knew I shouldn’t, but as if in a trance, I stood and crossed the room. I sank into the cool, cracked leather cushion next to her and just let go.

After all, who knew? Perhaps a few moments in her presence would be the balm I needed to break my melancholia.

I’m not sure how long we stayed in the room together. The minutes ticked away on the grandfather clock in the corner, but all I was aware of was the rhythmic sound of Katherine’s breath, the way the light caught her angular jaw, the quick flick of the page as we looked through the book. I was dimly conscious of the fact that I needed to leave, soon, but whenever I thought of the music and the dancing and the plates of fried chicken and Rosalyn, I found myself literally unable to move.

“You’re not reading!” Katherine teased at one point, glancing up from The Mysteries of Mystic Falls.

“No, I’m not.”

“Why? Are you distracted?” Katherine rose, her slender shoulders stretching as she reached up to place the book back on the shelf. She put it in the wrong spot, next to Father’s world geography books.

“Here,” I murmured, reaching behind her to take the book and place it on the high shelf where it belonged. The smell of lemon and ginger surrounded me, making me feel wobbly and dizzy.

She turned toward me. Our lips were mere inches apart, and suddenly the scent of her became nearly unbearable. Even though my head knew it was wrong, my heart screamed that I’d never be complete if I didn’t kiss Katherine. I closed my eyes and leaned in until my lips grazed hers.

For a moment, it felt as though my entire life had clicked into place. I saw Katherine running barefoot in the fields behind the guest house, me chasing after her, our young son slung over my shoulder.

But then, entirely unbidden, an image of Penny, her throat torn out, floated through my mind. I pulled back instantly, as if struck by lightning.

“I’m sorry!” I said, leaning back and tripping against a small end table, stacked high with Father’s volumes. They fell to the floor, the sound muffled by the Oriental rugs. My mouth tasted like iron. What had I just done? What if my father had come in, eager to open the humidor with Mr.

Cartwright? My brain whirled in horror.

“I have to … I have to go. I have to go find my fiancée.” Without a backward glance at Katherine and the stunned expression that was sure to be on her face, I fled the study and ran through the empty conservatory and toward the garden.

Twilight was just beginning to fall. Coaches were setting off with mothers and young children as well as cautious revelers who were afraid of the animal attacks. Now was when the liquor would flow, the band would play more loudly, and girls would outdo themselves waltzing, intent to capture the eyes of a Confederate soldier from the nearby camp. I felt my breath returning to normal. No one knew where I’d been, much less what I had done.

I strode purposefully into the center of the party, as if I’d simply been refilling my glass at the bar. I saw Damon sitting with other soldiers, playing a round of poker on the corner of the porch. Five girls were squeezed onto the porch swing, giggling and talking loudly. Father and Mr.

Cartwright were walking toward the labyrinth, each holding a whiskey and gesturing in an animated fashion, no doubt talking about the benefits of the Cartwright-Salvatore merger.

“Stefan!” I felt a hand clap my back. “We were wondering where the guests of honor were. No respect for their elders,” Robert said jovially.

“Rosalyn’s still not here?” I asked.

“You know how girls are. They have to look just right, especially if they’re celebrating their impending marriage,” Robert said.

His words rang true, yet an unexplainable shiver of fear rushed down my spine.

Was it just me, or had the sun set remarkably quickly? The revelers on the lawn had changed to shadowy figures in the five minutes since I’d been outside, and I couldn’t make out Damon within the group in the corner.

Leaving Robert behind, I elbowed my way past the party guests. It was odd for a girl to not show up at her own party. What if, somehow, she’d come into the house and she’d seen …

But that was impossible. The door had been closed, the shades drawn. I walked briskly toward the servants’ quarters near the pond, where the servants were having their own party, to see if Rosalyn’s coachman had arrived.

The moon reflected off the water, casting an eerie, greenish glow on the rocks and willow trees surrounding the pond. The grass was wet with dew, and still trampled from the time when Damon, Katherine, and I had played football there.

The knee-high mist made me wish I were wearing my boots instead of my dress shoes.