A Tale of Two Centuries

now one fifteen. Fortunately—or perchance not, depending on how you look at it. Mama would certainly think not—Reid is more than happy to wait outside with me.

I peek again at the emptying lot.

It’s not that I am ungrateful for Reid’s attentiveness. Being alone out here would be much worse. But if Austin does not appear as promised soon, all my fellow actors and actresses will be gone, and I will be left again in Reid’s company without a chaperone.

It is odd that I am not similarly concerned with being alone with Austin.

“Maybe we can grab some lunch and run lines?” Reid suggests, interrupting my faulty logic. “I know you said someone’s coming to get you, but I’ll be happy to bring you home later.” When he speaks again, his voice is nearer to my ear. “Besides, I’d really like to get to know you better.”

His words, and the unpleasant reminder of Matteo they bring, get my attention.

My gaze snaps up, and Reid gives me his child-who-got-caught grin. “We are playing history’s most beloved couple of all time. I think we should at least grab some coffee.”

Though the offer of a hot beverage is innocuous enough, at least in light of the more aggressive twenty- first-century courting rituals I witnessed Friday in the school hallway, it is the way Reid says it that makes me nervous. The jut of his chin, the teasing lift of his eyebrow, and the melodic rising of his voice imply he means much more than a mere sharing of refreshment.

Swallowing hard, I wet my lips and stammer, “Oh, well, I-I very much appreciate the kind offer—”

“Sorry, man,” a familiar voice cuts in, laced with humor and a distinct edge of possession. “But this one’s mine.”

The voice registers a second before a strong arm slips around my waist. Reid’s eyes widen. I turn to the boy beside me and watch Austin’s face twist into a sardonic mask of challenge, daring me to argue with his claim. I subtly shake my head.

I couldn’t argue if I tried. My ability to speak left the moment he tucked me in tight against him.

“Hey, sorry, dude,” Reid says, lifting his palms up as he takes a step back. “Didn’t know she was taken.”

Although I am sure Austin is only pretending to be jealous for his own purposes, they so happen to align with mine. Reid believing that I already have a suitor will ensure future rehearsals stay neighborly. But had Austin and I truly been betrothed, and any of this were actually real, I think I would take severe umbrage with the both of them. A woman being thought of as a man’s possession may not be too far from the truth for my time, but from what I’ve witnessed in my short stay and learned from Cat’s many tales, it’s certainly not how things are done now.

Austin shrugs and leans his head down to place a swift kiss on the tip of my nose. A tingle explodes from the point of contact and shoots shivers over my entire body, making me gasp audibly. He smirks.

“No problem,” he says, “I’m just glad I got here when I did. Alessandra has a habit of being a little too nice—” He says this while giving me a pointed look, but I’m too busy hyperventilating over his unanticipated kiss to make any sense of it. “So I see where you could’ve gotten the wrong idea.”

The two continue talking about me over my lowered head, while I remain in an Austin-just-kissed-me daze. A series of questions runs through my mind: where did Austin come from, why was he late, why did he kiss me, and most importantly, why did it have that shocking effect?

I’m not so sheltered to believe we shared the sort of embrace for which poets write sonnets, but it’s the closest I have ever come. Even when Matteo brazenly pulled me into seclusion at a dinner party or social gathering, he only did so to whisper promises of our future. He was never so bold as to take me in his arms and show me what a true kiss of passion could be like.

And now that I have gotten a taste—granted it was on my nose, but still a taste—I decide I would very much like another.

Austin shakes me, jarring me from the fog. “Anyway, thanks for looking out for her until I could get here. I’m taking her to my family’s place in Malibu, so we better get on the road.” He looks down at me and winks. “Ready, baby?”

I stare into bright blue eyes twinkling with false affection, and my stomach clenches.

What would it be like to have a boy really look at me that way?

A cough pulls my attention back from my melancholy thoughts, and I find Reid watching me intently. “See you at rehearsal tomorrow?”

I nod. “I look forward to it.”

Austin grumbles something under his breath and pulls me toward his hastily parked red truck. The driver’s side door is ajar, and the engine is still running. As I climb in the passenger seat, I realize his truck is another example of the duality that lies inside this complicated, clearly intelligent boy. Cat told me that although she and Austin are in the same grade, the school held him back due to insufficient grades two years ago. Unlike her, he doesn’t have to worry about bothering parents or hiring kind drivers when he desires to go somewhere—he is free to take me in his own car wherever he’d like.

On his own, without the need of a chaperone.

Stamping down the unfamiliar burgeoning heat in my core, I risk a glance back at the theater, knowing Reid is watching. His lips lift in a mischievous grin and he waves. Twisting fully in my seat, I wave back and Austin slams on the gas pedal, reversing abruptly. My head lurches toward the hard dashboard.

“Oof!”

As I rub my temple, I glare at him with everything in me, sending forth as much venom as I can muster.

To which he replies, “Oops,” and attempts to look innocent, but fails miserably.

Any lingering heat in my veins from his shocking kiss turns to red-hot fury. I know he drove in such a manner on purpose—I only wish I understood boys better as to know why.

Sinking into my seat, I vow to ignore Austin for the rest of the trip. If he can be maddening to the point of complete exasperation, well, so can I.

I see him look at me from the corner of his eye, and his lips give an infuriating twitch. Then he pulls the truck forward, whistling a happy tune, as though he has not a care in the world. I clench my teeth to keep from growling.

As we drive pasts the front of the theater, I glance out my window to meet Reid’s friendly gaze….and notice the gentle smile that graced his face before has grown.

…

The Michaels family beach house in Malibu has been transported from the pages of a storybook, adding only the wonderful modern convenience of electricity. Perched on the bluff over the ocean, the house is framed by towering trees and elegant stone work. The crashing sound of waves greets me as I step from Austin’s truck and the scent of the salty air erases all the tension and confusion from the interminable drive. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and cannot contain a small squeal of excitement.

Austin shakes his head and tromps to the front door. He unlocks it and walks through, and after a short pause on the threshold, foolishly waiting to be escorted or at the very least welcomed inside, I kick my shoes off at the entrance—as I have learned is a polite thing to do when entering someone’s home. Truly, twenty-first century-people have no issues with ankle viewing—and follow in his wake.

The atrium opens up into a long, wide corridor, filled with elegant touches. As I walk, I lift my head to the soaring ceiling and accidently brush against a vase of flowers atop a polished mahogany table. It wobbles, then rights itself again. Up ahead, Austin turns right at the end of the hall, but I choose to take my time, soaking in the energy and sweet scent of the space and marveling at its secrets.

Family photographs line the walls, but it takes me a moment to recognize the boy who brought me here. The frames tell a story of a different Austin, one with close-cropped hair who wore suits and collared shirts. Who won awards—lots of them—and who appeared very close with his family.

There is his father, interchangeably wearing a stern expression in a handful of photos and an inauthentic smile in others, and then an attractive, frail woman I assume is his mother. Her gentle spirit seems to leap out from behind the frame, and I softly touch the glass. And, of course, I recognize Jamie right away. Unlike Austin, she looks almost the same as the girl I left an hour ago, except possibly a few years younger, and appears as smiling and jovial as ever. If I had to guess, the most recent photographs are a glimpse into Austin’s world about