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As always, people bump into me left and right because my petite form makes it easy for them. I bet nobody ever bumps into Hendryk. I bet bicycles never crash into him and make him fall onhisass. A nostalgic smile tugs at my lips and I start walking toward my destination.
First, I’m going to the pharmacy because that’s close by. Then I’ll head on over to the bookstore, if I still have time. My schedule’s set and I push my hands into the pockets of my trench coat, before getting lost in thoughts about Hendryk as always.
Did he have a good day at work, does he get along with his colleagues, do I ever cross his mind?
I’m too busy thinking about him to actually notice he’s right across the street, until it’s almost too late. A bell seems to pang in the back of my head. The pumping thing in my chest starts acting like a cheerleader.
He walks with fast, effective steps and that coat that reminds me of an April sky flutters behind him. For a short, destructive moment I fear it’s not really him. But there aren’t that many seven feet tall men with cream blond hair and natural, almond highlights.
It has to be him and excitement does the jitter-bug in my veins. I forget all about the pharmacy and run after him, without a clear plan in mind. I actually don’t know what I’m doing, or why I’m running toward him like a crazy woman but I have to do it.
There’s no way I’ll let him slip through my fingers, when he has become all I think about. And it can’t hurt, because I’m going to be discreet. I’m not going to knock on his shoulder and squeak,yoo-hoo, remember me?That would be nuts. I’m just going to watch from a distance.
Watching him eases a ton of the discomfort I’ve been feeling lately. The air feels a little bit fresher, my steps a little bit lighter. A secret smile crosses my lips, as I push through the throng, my eyes fixed on Hendryk’s massive frame.
People make way for him but not because he’s intimidating or aggressive. He just has that natural presence that expects to be respected, without giving it a second thought. I wonder if he’s like that because of his affluent background.
I’ve looked him up a bit, but couldn’t find as much information as I wanted and my boss refuses to talk about him to me. But what I managed to find is that his father serves as the chancellor to the Dutch Royal family and his mother is an Olympic skier. They still live in Holland and Hendryk is their only child, but he did have a twin sister in the past.
She died several years ago.
It made my heart squeeze small. Poor Hendryk. It must’ve been so difficult for him. I have more siblings than I can count, but I can’t imagine losing any of them.
And I wish I could comfort him somehow, but the thoughts about comfort halt the moment Hendryk passes two jet-setters with bleached locks and shoes the height of skyscrapers. He pays them zero attention, but they still do goggly eyes after him then burst into an exhilarated laughter.
”A little louder, please,” I grit under my breath as their laughter rings in my ears. ”Don’t think he heard you.”
I sigh, because I need to knock it off. Hendryk’s highly attractive and sought after, nothing unusual there. I already knew that, so there’s no reason for me to get worked up about those two girls. He can have anyone he wants, a waitress, a duchess, a demi-goddess. I’d get lost in that pool of women, wouldn’t even be able to compete.
But that’s okay. I’m okay with watching. I drag a deep breath, knowing in my heart that I’m just kidding myself.
****
Hendryk
Dragging a hand down my face, I try to shake off the excessive energy running through my limbs.
I’ve been in court all day and desperately needed to stretch my legs. On top of it, I’m hungry enough to eat a horse. I cross the street, heading for my usual spot and as I do, I pass the park where I helped the little redhead a week or so ago.
The memory of the distressed state she was in, is still fresh in my mind. Her green eyes were on the verge of tears, her earthy features twisted from anxiety.
But I still thought she was insanely pretty.
I’ve never seen hair like hers on anyone else before. It’s a sharp copper that’s almost orange and I can’t help but wonder if it’s natural. A muscle tightens in my wrist when I clench my fist. That day I almost reached out and brushed it over her shoulder, when it kept sticking to her lipgloss.
Her body shook as she gathered the laundry, her hands trembling in fear and I felt so fucking sorry for her. The nasty crow she works for isn’t the easiest. And of course, I don’t know the girl but I think she’s worth something more…worthy of her.
I did my best to lighten the mood, tried flirting with her a little but I don’t think she picked up on it. Or maybe she did but chose not to respond. Perhaps she’s not the kind that responds to strangers advances in a random park, which I totally get. But I wouldn’t mind being face to face with her again. She stands out from everyone else.
That bleak day seemed a little bit brighter after I met her.
And I liked the way she smelled. Of poppies, sweet and subtle and in no way suffocating. I hate being suffocated, dislike pushy women, men and frankly anything that tries to lock me down. I suspect it’s because my family has dealt with royalty for generations and I guess that gives you a need to always fight for the top.
My friends on the other hand, crave women who take matters into their own hands. They go goo-goo-gaga over women who take charge and claim what’s theirs. I’m not so sure, but maybe I’m missing something. Maybe it’s a hell of a thrill when a woman shows you just how much she wants you, desires you as much as you desire her and doesn’t back down.
I can imagine it being an ego boost and I frown. Fuck it, maybe my friends are on to something after all. And I think about Red Riding Hood again, walking up to me and hanging herself around my neck, before she sticks her tongue down my throat and demands I make a woman out of her.
A low, excited chuckle builds in my chest even though I can’t imagine her doing anything like that in real life. I saw the way she looked at my clothes, my posture, the way I carry myself. The girl felt inferior, and watched me as if embarrassed she wasn’t sitting in a throne with a crown on her head.
