Of Literature & Kisses (Forbidden Romance)

Chapter 40 - Golden Dreams

Hello all! Just a disclaimer: some mature writing elements later on in the chapter. And in the following chapter as well. Hope you enjoy. We have two more posts until the end. Thank you for all your support ❤️❤️

***

The only other time I had been on an airplane was in the third grade, when my parents flew us to Vermont to see family. The only reason we hadn't taken a car was that it had been giving us too many issues for a drive that was longer than we were used to. It had been Thanksgiving weekend, and the airport was so crowded and disorderly that my little hands had been clammy against my mother's palm.

Now the airport was much less hectic, though still quite populated by summer travelers, and my hands were clammy for wholly different reasons. Nine hours on an airplane. I would be on a transatlantic flight in forty minutes, en route to my dream destination... but it all paled in comparison when I looked to my right and saw Jamie, solid and gorgeous as he read a novel. His body was too big for the small airport seat.

We were going on this transatlantic flight together, alone. Far away from every person, every ghost, that we knew in Massachusetts. I couldn't have worn a more genuine look of contentment.

***

"You've gotten us a private cottage in the Cotswolds," I spoke, my heart flatlining for a moment as I looked around us. It was straight out of a picture book, walls of original cobblestone with a stone slab roof that had stood the test of time. A grand chimney stuck out like a proud flower on the right side of the cottage. Rambling roses in varying shades of pink adorned either sides of the main doorway, which was painted a deep gray, and ethereally bright trees created a cover of magic over the small home. The natural beauty didn't end there. A small garden, lined by white stones that served as fencing, housed yellow poppies, violets, and pale pink peonies just in front of the structure. Butterflies danced over the blooms.

It was no exaggeration; I had never seen grass as green as English grass, or roses as wondrously wild and vividly in bloom. I stood transfixed, near to tears from the sheer beauty of it all.

"Unbelievable," I murmured.

He pressed his lips to my head. "I'm glad you like it. Come on, let's head inside. We'll be staying here for two nights, and we'll continue moving through the country. Next stop is Stratford."

"Stratford... Birthplace of the Bard."

He chuckled, moving me forward with a nudge. I treaded carefully, almost expecting the place to slip away as if by magic. Upon entry it was only normal that I staggered, romanced by the exposed wooden beams of the ceiling, the white paint and single accent wall of cobblestone. Plenty of daylight streamed in from the windows and played with the warm colors of the rich furniture, which had been chosen to accentuate the classic feel of the English cottage. A grand chimney, composed entirely of cobblestone, stood as the hearth of the home, surrounded by a comfortable loveseat and two wooden rocking chairs. The kitchen was to the right, with cabinets painted a soft blue that could have been mistaken as white by an untrained eye. There was a small breakfast nook for eating by another window, and a wooden staircase that I was sure would lead to a single bedroom and bath.

A warm shiver went down my spine at the thought of sleeping in the same bed with him, every single night for the next two weeks. I noticed with slight guilt that I could hardly wait for the nighttime, when I should have been more excited to explore the village we were staying in. Was it wrong that I just wanted to settle in, have a glass of wine with him as he played some obscure song, perhaps outside, where the evening was our only visitor?

"What do you think?" he asked, setting down our two bags. He took off his jacket, laying it on a coat rack just beside the door.

"I think I'm still recovering from the shock. I almost expect Elizabeth Bennet to walk down the staircase."