Chapter 2 A Bitter Reminder

Marcia stood with her head spinning, heart racing, and sweat forming on her forehead – even in the coolness of the office. Her eyes were darting about as she stood, stock still, in front of the open crate. Her hands were shaking...shaking with what? With anger? With rage? With embarrassment?

She started to pace and then suddenly rushed out of the office after Jullian. By the time Marcia reached the parking lot, Jullian had already crossed the street and was getting into his car.

Marcia looked on as Jullian got into his car and drove off. Her hands clenched at her sides as she watched the disappearing vehicle, she muttered under her breath, "Five years...just like that...five years. How? Why am I reacting like this?" She closed her eyes as his car disappeared from view.

"Well, how was it? You left pretty early this morning and you're just getting back now?" a dark-haired man asked Jullian as he walked into the brightly lit game room of his family's opulent mansion.

"Good evening, Father," Jullian responded, heading toward the minibar to pour himself some whiskey.

Jullian's father, Elander Grayson, raised his near-empty glass to Jullian in greeting. "How was it?"

Jullian walked toward his father, seated in his favorite dark brown leather wingback chair, facing the room's entrance. Jullian settled into the black three-seater leather sofa to his father's left, crossing one lean leg over the other.

Taking a sip from his glass, he replied, "As expected, she hates me."

"Now, now, don't worry about that. She's young. Of course, she has her passions, and she's allowed to have emotional outbursts," his father responded, a slight smirk playing on his lips, as he looked his son in the eye and took a sip from his glass.

Jullian, cupping his drink in both hands, stared down at the carpet. He was replaying the scene from that morning at Oltre Bacchus. The scene with Marcia's face as she worked on the crate, the scene with Marcia, mouth half open, the scene with Marcia...Jullian's eyes refocused as he pulled himself back to the present.

"What do I do, Father? How can I fix this? She won't even talk to me," He asked his father, his voice low and strained, his gaze not leaving the carpet.

"Well, my boy, there's the easy way and there's the hard way," Elander responded.

Jullian's brow furrowed and he looked up at his father with one eyebrow slightly raised. "How do you mean?"

Jullian's father looked at him, tilting his head to the left and lightly shaking it slightly as if he were sorry for his son, "Well, Jullian Grayson, heir to the Grayson empire, what do you want that is out of your reach? It's a simple matter of reaching out your hand and taking it."

"Or," Elander continued, raising his glass to Jullian in a mock toast, "you could do it the hard way, try wooing her." He said, his eyes laughing.

Jullian's father gave a small laugh before his expression turned serious again. "By the way, help me understand something. Why are you, son, so distressed over some college crush who just happened to walk back into your life?"

"Father, she's not just a crush. I was in love with her. And now that she's back, I need to make her understand –"

"Understand what?" Elander interrupted. "You're the heir of the Grayson family. You don't have to explain anything to anyone!" Elander Grayson stood up in a huff, looking down at his son, who remained seated, legs still crossed, his drink balanced on his knee.

"You don't have to explain anything," Elander continued, "As a commoner, a mere plebeian, she should know her place! Whatever you want, is what she must do. This is how it has always been!" Elander said, his voice sharp, his stance commanding.

Jullian met his father's gaze. "But, Father, you know that –"

"Ah, enough of this!" Elander spat, his eyes narrowing. "Then and now are not the same. Now, you want to prove yourself, right? You want to show us you can make your own decisions and that your choices are wise and true, right?" Elander retorted as he stared down his only son.

Jullian shifted his gaze back to the carpet, away from his father's intense blue eyes.

That is what we always do, whatever we want, all the time, no matter how it affects anyone, no matter the consequences, Jullian thought bitterly.

His lips pursed and his eyes darkened as he took a deep swig from his glass. "I hear you, Father. I understand. But this is something I need to handle, and I need to handle it by myself."

His father, now standing behind the wingback chair, rested his forearms on its back. "Well, you know how we handle things," Elander said, his tone calm and even. "And of course, if you need any help, you can always come to Daddy." He stared at Jullian while slowly turning his glass left and right, swirling the remainder of his drink.

He saluted his son with his near-empty glass, a playful yet dangerous glint in his eyes, downed the last drops of his whiskey, and walked out of the game room.

Jullian uncrossed his long legs and leaned back, exhaling, his arms hanging off to his sides, staring at the chandelier that graced the room.

He suddenly exhaled, long and exaggeratedly. He wanted to scream, but that would be unbecoming. So, he did what he'd been taught to do. He took deep breaths, staring at the chandelier, and counted down from ten in his mind, slowly and methodically.

When he reached one, he downed the rest of his drink, placed the glass on the side table, and headed upstairs to the home gym.

It was time to hit something and hit it hard.

Marcia remembered it like it was yesterday.

College club registration day for students. The sun was blazing overhead as she and her fellow club members sweated, running and jumping around passing students, cajoling, teasing, prodding, charming them to join their wine-tasting club.

Clothing damp from sweat and from the occasional spraying of cold water on their faces, backs, and arms to keep cool.

Taking occasional short breaks to sip water, soda, or some other allowable beverage, she and her club members were working hard to get as many signatures as possible.

As Marcia took a break, sipping her water, a dark figure caught her ever-watchful eye – a tall, well-toned student walking fast toward the main college school building, head down, shoulders stooped, seemingly doing his best to avoid the excessively, almost aggressively, boisterous wine-tasting club.

She looked closer and noticed that the student had a build somewhere between a runner and a swimmer, with sandy brown hair.