Dear God,

All I hoped for was a nice and relaxing vacation, which has been the case by far. I appreciate everything I've seen here and our hosts have been so kind to us that I'm afraid I may get too attached. I like Mrs. Eleanor a lot, if I were to have another mother in this lifetime; I wish she would be just like her. I dare say that all is well, except for one thing . . .

I'm yawning audibly as I place the diary back in my suitcase. Writing has been my therapy whenever things overwhelm me emotionally. It was Dr. Snape's idea and it helps me alot. Hugging my pillow tight, I try to forget all my torments and get some sleep.

I wake up abruptly from a horrible nightmare. It was the accident scene from when I was seven. The blood, the shredded pieces of glass, and the fire outbreak make my heart pound fast as I sit comfortably against the headboard of the bed.

It was horrible. Sometimes I wonder why God allowed such a thing to happen. Why can't he just let me forget it altogether? I despise thinking of it, and even more, dreaming of it. I'd rather live in oblivion than experiencing this horrific m.

Despite the time passing, I still can't connect all the pieces together. I don't have a clear recollection of some facts—like how I managed to survive and so on. But I do remember something vaguely, that we weren't alone inside the car.

Tired of the past, I pace towards the balcony. I'm welcomed by a gush of soft wind that blows my curls slightly. It's already past midnight, and everyone must be fast asleep. That includes my neighbor next door, whose room seems to be dark for a change.

Maybe he's dreaming right now, I smile.

Staring at the twinkling stars, I end up captive of their merriment. I love doing this, and it always hypnotizes my mind. I feel relaxed in an instant, but coming to the knowledge that there's still a long way until morning makes me in need of a new strategy.

Perhaps a good or boring book will do, I conclude.

With utmost discretion, I walk towards the library, for the second time, after a little self-tour I gave myself earlier in the afternoon. I know just what I need and where exactly to find it. Reaching the entrance, my heart almost sinks. The lights inside the library are on.

Did they forget to switch off? Or is it that someone is actually inside? I flounder.

When I walk in, my heart freezes.

"It can't be him again," I mutter soundlessly.

Why is it so hard to escape this man's invisible web?

I find Liam sitting in one of the twin chairs. He's holding a book, and I realize that he's dozed off. Wow, what a sight! He is so calm, so absent, and so handsome. I peek at him closely; he's seated cross-legged, his head resting on the right fist, supported by the elbow that's placed on the armrest.

Right now I see zero degree of his cynicism, and it's a marvel.

I should just take my book and leave, I decide, by slowly turning my toes further into the library. Wide wooden shelves are filled with books, and that old paper smell attacks my nostrils.

I love it.

Either I'm not as discreet as I'd like to be, or someone's never really sleeps at all. I try to walk past the chair but Liam suddenly gets ahold of my wrist, making me shudder to the cores.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, and his voice tone is neither cold nor calm.

But it's still tempestuous.

"I just came to borrow a book, I didn't mean to intrude," I reply, feeling his grip tightening my wrist and it begins to hurt. Oh no!

Liam comprehends and immediately frees my hand, remorseful. "I'm sorry," he utters, panting slightly as though he's been trapped between reality and somewhere unearthly.

What's wrong with him? A strange wave of disquietude fills me.

"It's okay," I reply, my eyes bored deeply into his unsettled ones.

"A book?" He tries to compose himself, I believe, and it makes me narrow my gaze. "Shouldn't you be sleeping by now?" he asks while rising up to his feet.

"I could ask you the same thing, Mr. Darcy? Shouldn't you be sleeping in your bed instead of here?" I return boldly, replacing my previous worry.

We're a few inches apart and his gaze burns my soul.

A soft breath escapes his lips as he finally responds. "What sort of a book do you want?" He walks past me. I sigh heavily, oblivious of his question. "Ms. Jones?" His calm voice pulls me back to Earth, derailing my blank space.

Oh boy! There's a way he utters that 'Ms. Jones' and I love it.

I think I love a lot of things lately. But in short, I love the way he speaks. The combination of his voice and that British accent is such a fine tune to my ears. I quickly dismiss these unhealthy thoughts.

"Um, anything but Shakespeare's," I reply, and he looks a bit astonished. Okay, new approach. "I mean, not that I dislike him, I just want something different," I say truthfully, so as to avoid confusion. "Okay, I know you like him, or his works, but I—"

"How do you know that I like him? Or his works?" Liam queries with a faint smile.

Because he's an icon . . . maybe?

"Well," I start my scheme. "There's William Shakespeare's portrait over there." I point at it. "And also, all of his books in this library are arranged in a way that suggests how often they are read. Well, aren't you his fan?"

He whirls his head in my direction, but doesn't respond to my question. He delicately places the book he was holding on the old, wooden shelf carrying countless books.

Most are old classics from prominent authors. Fitzgerald and Charles Dickens being one of them, I also see a few from the Brontë sisters.

"Do you have something else in mind?" Liam asks in a normal tone of voice.

"Um . . . Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen," I tell him. "Or maybe . . . Sense and Sensibility?" I contradict my own choices, and he smiles at it.

"Is Jane Austen your favorite?" he quizzes, a sweet glow in his cool eyes.

"If we're speaking of Classic romance, then yes, she's my favorite. I prefer happy endings to tragedies, and Jane Austen always grants my wish. Well, all the Brontës are amazing, too." I go dreamy; oblivious of whom I'm talking to.

Liam smiles. "Are you sure Northanger Abbey is what you want?" he inquires, as though trying to correct my scruple.

Well . . . Looking around, I spot a few of Danielle Steels' books and she's one of my favorite authors.

"Can I just have that one?" I point it out.

I try to keep calm, watching him moving graciously, before he plucks a well preserved copy of Heartbeat, together with Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey. I think I'm going to stick with this one tonight—gladly rereading it.

When Liam returns, he hands me the books and says, "Not every story has a happy ending, though. Perhaps William was being realistic."

"Perhaps. But I do believe in a happy ending!" I snap, and he doesn't seem to mind at all. He smiles even. "Don't you?" I add,

"Does it matter to you?" he queries, and I just stare blankly at his so-sure kind of look. "Okay, good luck with the reading."

"Thanks for the books, but I think I'll just take this one." I return Jane Austen's, and I can tell he wants to argue, but decides against it.

"As you wish," Liam remarks.

"Sure," I prompt. I may have just sounded a bit aggressive, but I don't know why.

I'm about to reach the exit when I hear, "Why do you call me Mr. Darcy?"

Is he serious now?

With a sigh, I return closer to catch a perfect look of his face while I give him my reply. "You started the honorifics yourself, or have you forgotten already?"

Again, he doesn't answer.

With menace, he moves closer and looks at me for a minute. "And why do you seem so afraid of me?"

"I'm not afraid of you." I almost laugh ridiculously.

"Are you sure, Ms. Jones? Even after what happened when we shook hands?"

He also felt it?

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say rigidly. "A handshake is no big deal, is it?" I raise a tough eyebrow.

Liam digs his shimmering blue eyes into mine for a very long moment, as if reading my mind. I use all my power not to weave.

He's obviously trying to intimidate me with his weird innuendos, but I won't let him.

I simply don't understand what he has against me, that he always gives me the impression that he knows me more than I do myself.

"Goodnight, Ms. Jones," he smoothly says. "I hope you get to sleep well tonight."

"You, too. But before I go, let me ask you something important, may I?" I ask.

"Go ahead," Liam complies smoothly.

"Do you love my friend?" I ask. Okay, maybe I shouldn't have asked such a personal question. I regret it as soon as I do. It's not my place after all, right? But I'm very curious about his intentions.

"What did you say?" He frowns.

"Maybe the word love is a bit too much. Let's say . . . like. Do you like her?" I devise my question, hopefully he'd catch the bait.

His face remains impassive, and it's my turn to frown. "I do not love her," he finally answers, his voice cool. I can't help but gape at his fine precision. He looks mindless, leaving no scruple to his statement. Just wow!

"You don't?" I ask ridiculously because it's quite clear that it can't be love. "Well, you're right; it's too early for it to be love."

"It's very late, Ms. Jones, you should go to sleep now," he tells me off, completely neglecting my reaction. He doesn't seem to appreciate my inquiries, but I couldn't care less.

I had to know, damn it!

I watch him returning the book he was holding earlier back to its place, as though I'm no longer visible to his eyes. This is strange, so very strange. He doesn't want to talk about Sam, and there my friend is dying with excitement.

What's going on here? My goddess of curiosity scratches her head harder.

Back to my room I climb on the bed and my mind is still ablaze. How could Liam say that so bluntly? He and Sam, what do they actually share? Is it friendship? I don't think I understand anything about their relationship. Maybe I should stay out of it.

And why am I so interested? My subconscious quirks her eyebrow at me, saying no word with her twisted lips. I'm nosy, I know, and it's time to mind my own business. I sigh heavily while settling in bed, ready for the first chapter of my novel.

***

This morning during breakfast, Eleanor informs Liam about a wedding party of someone they know. According to her, it's taking place tonight, and wants her son to attend. As always, Liam doesn't seem interested at all.

"You have to go, Liam," Eleanor cries. "The mayor has personally sent me the invitation, but given my schedule, I won't be able to attend tonight."

Oh boy. I can almost feel some trouble coming. I sit straight, my gaze at Mr. Intense.

"I'm afraid I can't do it either," Liam answers blatantly, and he doesn't even pretend to consider.

"But why?" asks Eleanor, her well made up face into a small furrow.

Malik, who has been awfully silent, immersed in his latest iPhone, suddenly barges in, "We're flying to Helena in a few minutes, Aunt. We can't possibly be in two places at the same time, can we?" His grin is such a pacifier.

I smile indulgently.

"Oh. And what are you up to in Helena? Is there something I don't know?" Eleanor sounds pissed, her patronizing tone manifesting through her speech.

"There's an important business to attend there, so we can't go to that wedding," Liam says strenuously, his gaze quite earnest as he doesn't bat an eye.

I wish I could just leave because it looks like a family matter.

"Well, you can attend your business and return before sunset. Both of you are going to that wedding, and that's it. You can't ignore politicians, given that you're businessmen," Eleanor says sternly, and Liam's brow wrench quizzically. "You know fully well you may need them at some point. Well, at least that is what I learned from your father."

Wow, she looks like an ice queen at the moment.

"Me, too?" Malik snaps, his eyes bigger in surprise. I almost chuckle, and Sam doesn't seem indifferent; her lips curled into a humorous, repressed laughter.

"Yes, Malik. And not just you two, Sam and Kira will accompany the two of you so you won't look like tactless bachelors," Eleanor states. Us, too? I blink. "Is it fine with you, girls?" She's now facing us.

"Um, why not?" Sam prompts quickly, smiling wider.

Jeez! She loves speaking for the both of us, and it's annoying at times.

Turning towards the boys, I find Malik lifting an amused eyebrow, and Liam has an indescribable look that doesn't tell whether he's mad or elated by the news. Probably the former. His indifference is already stale news to me, however.

He is what he is and I can't even judge him.

Done with breakfast and the unhappy arrangements, Chopper 64 picks the boys from the ranch grounds. They look great walking side by side like some macho CIA agents on a mission.

You should really quit watching movies, bitch! Seeing Tom Cruise in every man and helicopter? My subconscious scoffs.

At last the boys fly to wherever they are going, and I'm stuck alone with Sam inside her room so that I can give the piece of my mind without an audience.

"How could you just accept that? I don't have anything proper to wear at that wedding," I snap, trying hard to conceal my displeasure over the matter.

"What was I supposed to do, Kira?" she says innocently, giving me a puppy eye look. "Besides, I told you countless times that a Lady should carry at least one evening gown when going for a trip."

Hell, I've failed the fashion extravaganza.

"Okay, madam, pardon my naïveté. Look, you can go with the boys, I'll stay right here and enjoy the solace," I decide, and it's the only option.

"Well, I'm not going either." Sam pouts, pursing her lips. "How do I go there without you, huh?"

"Have I just heard some fashion emergency?" A voice interrupts by the door, stealing our attention. Eleanor walks in with a big, hopeful smile. "I'm sorry, the door was open and you were practically yelling."

"It's okay, Eleanor." Sam sits down dejectedly, as though I've taken something precious from her.

"No one is staying home today!" Eleanor states, and Sam's face lights up. "I'll be leaving for Rome tonight, but before that, I'm going to fix your problem first." She now looks at me with an ingenious smile, resembling an enthusiastic teenager.

"I don't understand," I mutter, stupefied.

"Get dressed, both of you," she says urgently, returning towards the door. "We're going to the city in an hour. Liam and Malik will meet you there later."

"On it!" Sam answers cheerfully, already at her feet.

Apparently I'm the only one who doesn't get the photo.

"What has just happened?" I gape quizzically.

"What happens is that we are going to steal those men's hearts tonight. I'll get my Liam and you'll get your . . . playboy?" Sam teases and it's a horrible joke.

Before our departure, Sam tries on her new ocean-blue, lace dress that fits her perfectly. She looks amazing as she twirls around. It's a slim-fit, reaching just about the thighs, with long sleeves.

Since she's a bit bustier, it looks even more divine. With her cream strap heels, and that giraffe height, she couldn't do better. She's always beautiful and she knows it. Admittedly, at times I feel jealous of her body confidence.

She gives me the how-do-I-look stare and I answer her, "Magnifique!"

"Really?"

"Definitely."

She flushes. "Do you think Liam will like it?" Her eyes are gleaming hopefully.

I swallow hard upon recalling my last night's encounter with Liam at the library. 'I don't love her' He blankly said so.

"Any man in his right mind would." I smile.

What am I supposed to say?

Peter drives us to the city in a calm silence. I never get tired of this place, no matter how long I keep staring. Arriving at the respective place, we spend the rest of the afternoon touring around Mrs. Eleanor's business establishment.

She has a grand boutique hotel with a spa and saloon. Being the boss lady, she assigns someone to give us a tour and make sure we receive any service we desire. What a life!

I'm still stunned as the lady leads us to the saloon for hairdressing. We both relax at the comfortable chairs and let the professionals do their jobs. Sam is attended by a woman and I by a guy who's quite sassy.

"Would you like to change your hair color by any chance?" he asks in a cheesy way that I end up chuckling. "Trust me, darling, your curls are beautiful; but you'll look much greater if I put some blonde highlights," he suggests. "What do you think?"

My hair has always been deep chocolate—I've never changed even once. But well, it won't hurt to try, will it?

"Okay, only if you promise I'm going to like it." I take the risk.

"Oh you surely will, darling," he answers with a contiguous enthusiasm, making me smile.

"Let's go with the highlights," I say hopefully, making myself comfortable.

"As you wish, gorgeous." He smiles from ear to ear.