In Love with the Prince (of Darkness, That Is)

"Good evening, Ms. Margulis. Mr. Gable sent me to make sure you have a good ride."

"I don't think we have to worry about that. And please, it's Dray."

"Dray. Well, then, I'm Robbie. I work for Mr. Gable, Senior."

"You're his driver?"

He laughed. "No, just a partner. I'm Tay's god-father, but there isn't much I won't do for him."
"Including playing chauffeur."

"Well, he begged."

Dreama chuckled and slid into the back seat. Robbie took the steering wheel and turned over the engine.

"So, do you have any idea what he has planned?"

"Not a clue. He wouldn't tell me anything. He was quite adamant that it remained a surprise."

"Should I be worried?"

Robbie chuckled. "I don't think you have a reason to."

"If you say so."

*~*~*

Taylor's house was just on the other side of downtown, in a ritzy neighbourhood that catered to rich, over-forty couples. The yellow brick house sat near the front of a gigantic brick-walled property, with an iron-gated entrance to the circular driveway. The bronze plate in the wall beside the gate read Gable Estate. Dreama leaned forward. "Robbie?"

"Hmm?"

"He lives with his parents, doesn't he?"

"Would you move out of this house?"

Dreama laughed. "I guess not."

"You don't have to worry. They've been on a second honeymoon for three weeks."

"Right."

The sun had just finished setting, and the sky was a velvety dark blue, dotted with silver stars and a crescent moon. Taylor, dressed in beige slacks, a red collared dress shirt, and a black v-neck sweater, was standing by the door. He had a lavender rose in his hand, with a card tied by a white-ribbon bow to the stem. He smiled when she emerged from the car.

Robbie winked at her and then climbed back into the driver's seat and took off, leaving the two of them standing awkwardly by the front door.

"You look really nice," Taylor said after a second. He offered the flower. "I thought you might
like this."

"It's pretty, thank-you."

"Do you know what it means?" he chuckled.

"Can't say I do."

"Read the card," he said with a little laugh.

Dreama opened the embossed card.

Rose Colour Meanings. Lavender Rose: Love at First Sight.

Dreama stared dumbly at the card for a minute. "Oh. Wow. Taylor, I--"

He smiled. "You don't have to say anything. Come in; dinner's upstairs." He offered a hand, which Dreama accepted, and led her through the house, which was done up elegantly with leather and antique wood everywhere.

"This is a nice house."

"I like it, too. You're not freaked out by the fact that I still live with my parents, are you?"

"Of course not. I'd still be living with my parents, too. Besides, it's not like you're thirty." She narrowed her eyes playfully. "Are you?"

He laughed. "No. Twenty-two."

"That's cool."

He led her toward some stairs, and she balked. "Don't worry. My room's in the basement. We're going to the roof."

"The roof?"

"Yes."

"You're the boss," Dreama sighed.

"I was hoping you would say that."

The roof was up another flight of steep stairs. Dreama stepped through the picture window and her breath caught. There was a clothed table and two chairs, with a tri-branched candelabrum in the centre, a bottle of wine, and expensive looking silverware. Around the table, Taylor had placed low-light lanterns that were burning what smelled like orange oil. There was a portable stereo in the corner, hooked up to an MP3 player.

"This is incredible, Taylor.”

"I do my best," he said with a grin, pulling out her chair for her. "I hope you like seafood.”

"It's my favourite.”

"Good. I'll be back in just a second.”

He disappeared back into the house, leaving Dreama alone on the rooftop. In reality, it was more of a balcony, except that climbing out of a window in the attic was necessary to get to it. But there were decorative plants along the edges where the floor met with the house, and a wrought-iron railing along the open side. Dreama looked up at the moon and blinked at its brilliance. That such a tiny little crescent could give off such light was incredible. She was still staring at it when Taylor returned.

"It's gorgeous, isn't it?" he asked, setting down a plate piled high with pasta and scallops, shrimp and lobster, topped with cream sauce and vegetables.

"Yes. Taylor, this looks amazing. Did you make it?”

"Thank you, and yes." He offered a smile as he sat down. "Just because I got accepted doesn't mean that's where I want to go. I've wanted to be a chef ever since I was old enough to make my own mac and cheese. I just have to figure out a way to tell my father that.”

"He wouldn't approve?”

"It's not that. He'd be disappointed, and that's the last thing I want to do. But I've always had this dream of opening my own restaurant. A really fancy one with gourmet food, and a live band, where people can just get up and dance if they feel like it. There would be a waterfall when you first walked in, and a rock garden with candles all around it.”

"Sounds great.”

He shrugged. "Yeah. It'll never happen though.”

"Why not? I mean, you said yourself that if you can get into Yale, anything's possible.”

"I believe I said that if I could get into Yale, you could do anything.”

"Well I'm reversing it on you.”

He smiled. "Well, thank you for the confidence. If I ever get out of my mom's basement, I'm sure it'll happen.”

Dreama had to laugh. "Well, be sure to call me.”

"What if you're already around?”

Dreama looked down at the flower she still had in her hands. "Wow. That's. uh… that's bold.”

"Well, what can I say? A girl as pretty as you tends to make inhibitions disappear.”

"The flattery is cute, but unnecessary. I'm here now, aren't I?”

"Maybe I'm making sure you'll stick around.”

"I think we're good for present.”

She picked up her fork and twirled a few strands of angel-hair pasta around the tines. They ate in silence for a while.

"Tell me about your brothers," Taylor suggested.

"Well, Jesse's the youngest. He's still in high school, but he's going to be great. The famous one, you know? He's going to university for a degree in journalism, and the Sun has promised him a job once he graduates. He wants to be a novelist, though. He's been working on a manuscript for a few years now.”

"Is he any good?”

"He's an incredible poet, and his short stories are good, but I don't know about his novel. He's very secretive about it. I think he's afraid of criticism at this point; Dad's passing has been hardest on him. Nathan and Craig are there for him, and I know he knows it, but he's struggling without a father figure.”

"Which one's Nathan?”

"The oldest; he's twenty-seven. He's the responsible one—he's an account executive right now, but I know he wants to be an art manager.”

"Wow. You have an ambitious family.”

"My dad taught us that the only way to live is as an over-achiever.”

"So what about Craig? What does he want to do?”

"Craig lives to spite people," Dreama said dryly.

"I take it he's not an aspiring actor, then.”

"No, he's an aspiring mooch.”

"That's pretty harsh.”

Dreama shrugged. "He's driven enough, I guess, but he's never really had a clear idea of the direction he wants to go in. He works as a day janitor at Jesse's school right now.”

"That's fair pay.”

"He's saving it all up for when he eventually decides to go back to school. It's Nathan and I that keep everything going.”

"Doesn't he make a good deal of cash, too?”

"Yeah, and the half that doesn't go toward rent and utilities buys food for three full-grown men. Then we have to worry about clothes, laundry, school things for Jess, paying off Nathan's student loans, saving for Jess's university, bus passes for the four of us, and paying off the loan from Dad's funeral. I only make ten dollars an hour, and thirty percent of that gets chewed up by income tax.”

"Wow. I guess I never realized how much work it is, being on your own.”

"You're lucky to have your parents to help you out.”

"I guess I am.”

"Tell me about them.”

"My parents are complicated. I know they only want what's best for me, but nothing I do ever seems to be good enough for them. I think the day I got the acceptance letter to Yale was the only time I've ever seen my father look proud of me.”

"That's terrible.”

"He just wants me to live up to the family name. My mom is a total health freak—it gets kind of scary sometimes. Some of her ideas—she's always trying to get my dad to go on some random diet. She says he doesn't exercise enough, and that if he doesn't watch out his blood pressure's going to go through the roof.”

"What does he say to that?”

"He lights another cigarette.”

Dreama laughed. "Well, at least he has a sense of humour.”

"I just wish it was about something other than his health. He had a miniature stroke last year, and he doesn't even care.”

"I'm sure if the doctors thought it was something to worry about, they'd ask him to quit.”

Taylor gave her a crooked grin. "That's what he said, too.”

Dreama looked down at her plate. "My dad had a heart attack. No warning signs, no health problems, nothing. I mean, he drank a lot, but that had nothing to do with his heart, and his liver was surprisingly healthy. He was complaining about chest pains, so I took him to the emergency room, and they rushed him in for tests. Next thing I know it's twenty minutes later and the doctor's coming out and telling me that they lost him. I couldn't believe it.”

"Life's crazy like that, isn't it?”

"It was so out of the blue. He'd never had so much as the flu my entire life. I didn't even fully comprehend it until after we buried him. Even all throughout the planning it felt like I was talking about somebody else's father, or that I was walking around in a daydream.”
"It's a hard thing to accept.”

Taylor was panicking. This wasn't right; she was supposed to be happy and laughing, not reminiscing about death and looking like she wanted to cry. But then, he considered, it wasn't the kind of wound that closed in a couple months. Maybe there was no one else for her to discuss this with, in which case he should let it play out and see where it took them. At the same time, the melancholy expression she wore wasn't making him eager to continue this particular avenue of conversation.

Dreama brightened suddenly. "But it's passed now, so there's no use dwelling on it. I came to have fun tonight, and that's what I'm going to do.”

Taylor relaxed visibly and smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that." He chewed over his last bite of food, stood, and walked over to the stereo.

As the brassy sound of a swing band came pouring from the speakers, he returned to Dreama's side and extended a hand. Dreama smiled and took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. They danced first to the swing music, then a salsa, and continued to go through the music on the MP3 player for over two hours before they took a break for a drink.

As Taylor poured the wine into the glasses in front of them, Dreama looked through the music on his MP3 player. He had hundreds of dance songs, even a few club remixes of some of the Latin music, and a lot of classic rock, but what shocked Dreama was stumbling across Missy Higgins.

She asked about it when Taylor came over to hand her a glass.

"You know who she is?" he responded, sounding just as surprised.

"I'm a hardcore fan," Dreama admitted as she stood. They drank in silence, staring out at the stars on the horizon and overhead, childishly pointing out imaginary pictures made by the lights.

"I feel like I'm in The Lion King," Dreama laughed.

"I like that movie.”

"You do?”

"I love the Disney classics. Especially Beauty and the Beast. I know it isn't very macho; I'm sure you were expecting a James Bond fan, but there it is. I'm a total sucker for Disney cartoons.”

"That's funny.”

"Gee, thanks.”

"No, no! I wasn't making fun of you. I meant funny 'what a coincidence' funny, not 'ha-ha' funny.”

"Coincidence?" he repeated questioningly.

"I love Beauty and the Beast. The only movie I like better than that is The Phantom of the Opera—the original and the musical.”

"I'm not much into the musical, but I love the original, too.”

Dreama felt a little thrill for some reason. She had never met a guy who liked the same movies as her. Then again, her tastes were admittedly childish and girly. But still—most people didn't appreciate The Phantom of the Opera, and especially not the 1925 spoken version.

She took Taylor's glass from him and set it next to hers on the ground as she bent down to the stereo.

Your warm whispers
Out of the dark they carry my heart
Your warm whispers
Into the dawn they carry me through

Taylor gathered Dreama into his arms and held her against his chest with his arms around her waist while she locked her hands behind his neck. By the end of the first chorus, Dreama had laid her head on Taylor's shoulder while his hands rested lightly on the small of her back. She breathed in deeply against his neck—he smelled of laundry detergent and soap, and, faintly, of aftershave. After Warm Whispers, another slow song came on, and Taylor tightened his hold on her slightly.

Dreama lost track of how many slow songs they went through, and neither of them even noticed when the music stopped. Dreama lifted her head from his shoulder to meet his eyes. They were sparkling dangerously in the moonlight as he stared down at her, and Dreama felt her heart speed up under his intense gaze.

Slowly their lips came together for a gentle kiss that quickly deepened as Taylor raised his hands to cup her face.

The kiss ended as slowly as it began, and Dreama dipped her head to rest it on Taylor's shoulder when their lips had parted. He stroked her arms while they stood in silence, listening to the other breathing, eyes closed.

"I should go home," Dreama whispered.

"I'll take you.”