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Boris opens the carriage door, hops out, and extends his hand back inside to help me exit the interior.
Standing in the doorway of the home is Margaret. Her white hair is free flowing around her shoulders, and she’s wearing a white dress with a small flower print. She wipes her hands on an apron tied around her waist. When she sees me, her eyes light up in recognition.
For one moment, hope lives in my heart that she remembers us, but as she leaves her front porch and strides down the walkway between her flower beds, I know she doesn’t. She only knows me as her queen because if she still had her memories, she would be walking faster and straight to Boris, not me.
“Queen Ivy,” she says, curtsying before me. “What an unexpected pleasure. My name is Margaret.”
When she looks at Boris with no recollection of who he is or what he meant to her, my heart breaks for him. Instead of wallowing in what was lost, Boris smiles at her.
“My name is Boris,” he says, bowing at the waist to her. “I am the queen’s father.”
Margaret holds out her hand to him. He takes it, but instead of returning a handshake, he kisses the back of it.
Margaret blushes profusely, gazing at Boris with newfound interest.
“Did we know each other?” she asks. “I feel like we did for some reason.”
“We did indeed, my lady,” he says, keeping a hold of her hand. “If you would like to know more, I would love to tell you how we met.”
Margaret nods. “I would love that, Boris. I truly would.”
“Does anyone else live here with you, Margaret?” I ask, holding my breath as I wait for her answer.
“Yes. A nice young man by the name of Damon woke up with me here. I’m afraid I bashed him in the head with a frying pan when I first saw him,” she says with a small laugh. “I didn’t know who he was, but then I realized I didn’t exactly know who I was either. After a while, we came to the conclusion that he’s probably my son. Do you happen to know if our assumption is correct?”
“He is your son,” I reassure her. “Where is he?”
“Out back chopping wood. Would you like me to take you back there?”
“No,” I say already walking away, “I know where to go.”
Like a mad woman, I dash across the lawn and around the house. Before I see him, I hear the loud thud of an axe hitting wood. As I make the last corner, Damon comes into view. His white shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbows. He stretches down to pick up the wood he just split. When he tosses the wood in the pile he’s making, I catch his eye.
There’s no love in his eyes for me. In fact, there’s barely a note of recognition. My heart breaks all over again, but then I remember how Boris was with Margaret. Half my battle of having him back in my life has already been won. I’ve found him. Now, all I have to do is figure out a way to have him fall in love with me all over again.
“Queen Ivy?” Damon tosses the sharp edge of the axe into the stump he was using to chop wood on.
I walk up to Damon being mindful that he doesn’t remember we made love and the long road it took us to get to that point.
“Hello, Damon.”
When we stand barely a foot apart, all I want to do is throw myself into his arms and press my lips to his, but I don’t. If I want him to fall back in love with me, I’ll have to be patient.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
I hold out my hand to him palm up. Looking uncertain, he places his hand on mine. I lean in and kiss his hand before holding it in between both of my palms.
“I’ve come here to tell you who I am, who you used to be, and what we once meant to each other.”
“Did we know each other?” he sounds surprised.
“We did. Would you like to know how?”
He lifts his other hand and touches the side of my face. I close my eyes, basking in the feel of him again.
“I would love to hear the story,” he says, caressing my cheek and running his hand along my jawline.
“Then let’s sit down and I’ll tell you everything.”
