The Alchemist's Pride

Chapter 8. Living a dream

But Leyla knows nothing of this bliss. She is fully enjoying the dance. Who would have thought that the man could dance so well, she thinks amused as they walk back to the group where Juan Marc is busy telling a story.

Juan Marc’s eyes aren’t very friendly when he looks up at Stèfan, but he is surprised when he sees the seriousness in the other man’s eyes. “Please look after her.” Juan Marc nodded slightly. He doesn’t quite understand what it’s about, but realizes the Duke is serious. Perhaps Savour?

With one last glance at Leyla’s questioning face, Stèfan turns and steps out onto the deck while pulling a cellphone from his pocket, the look in his eyes icy and ruthless.

***

Leyla wakes with a groan. Goodness! I’m never drinking again, she thinks as she lies with her eyes closed, battling the throbbing headache.

She frowns. The bed feels strange. Why is the pillow so puffed up? She slowly opens one eye and struggles for a moment to get it to focus. Goodness, why is it so terribly bright in my room? My window isn’t that big.

The next moment she is suddenly wide awake, and jumps out of bed, looking around her in astonishment. This is definitely not her room! She finds herself in a room accentuated by different shades of gray. It is a beautiful room with heavy antique wooden furniture, but with a modern touch in the curtains, bedding, carpet, and lamps. The contrast between the antique and modern is striking, creating a classic picture that appeals to Leyla’s artistic eye.

Her red dress is lying on the cream-colored sofa, with her evening bag neatly beside it. She pulls her muddled thoughts away from the beautiful décor in the room and quickly looks down to see if she is wearing any clothes. Her legs are bare, but she is wearing a long t-shirt. A big one, and underneath she can feel that she still has her underwear on, she thinks slightly relieved. The shirt hangs like a sack on her, and it’s inside out, judging by the irritating scratch of the label under her chin. Leyla quickly pulls it off and puts it on right. Yes, that’s better!

This is not my room, she thinks again, still somewhat dazed, but at least a little more awake. It’s also not my shirt, she thinks wide-eyed. She walks to the large window and looks out in astonishment. She is definitely no longer in Prague! In front of her, there are only woods as far as she can see. Huge pine trees and mountains everywhere.. It is so beautiful, that it can be defined as humbling, yet scary.

Where am I? she wonders with sudden anxiety, now soberly awake. What happened last night? Where is Juan Marc, she wonders in distressed. This is certainly not his apartment! Quite the opposite!

Leyla carefully sits back on the bed and lightly rubs her temples. Goodness, how much did I drink last night? Why can't I remember?

She lies back against the pillows and closes her eyes while she tries hard again to remember what happened last night.

She and the Duke danced. A few times, if she remembers correctly. She and Juan Marc also danced. And there was quite a bit of G&T involved, she thinks with dismay.

She never drinks that much! Why did she drink so much last night?

Then she remembers! It’s that Frenchman’s fault! Louis Savour was there until a point and suddenly disappeared. She was grateful for that but was upset about the way he had spoken to her on the deck. However, he had treated her politely for the rest of the evening, and kept his distance.

The Duke and Juan Marc, on the other hand, had grown quite protective of her, she remembers. Between the two of them, she had hardly been off the dance floor, she thinks with a sudden bubbling laugh.

Ouch!

Don’t make sounds, Leyla, she tells herself as she lightly rubs her throbbing temples again. The whole evening is now gradually becoming clearer in her slightly hazy mind.

It was quite late when the Duke made his appearance again after being outside for a long time, talking on his cellphone with someone. She remembered that she wondered why his face looked like a thundercloud.

The Duke had walked over to them, taken Juan Marc by the arm, pulled him aside, and spoke to him seriously. She remembers Juan Marc also looking worried.

After that, the memories become a bit hazy again. She can remember that she and Juan Marc had walked together from the boat to his car.

Okay, so I am at least going home with Juan Marc, she thinks with relief.

Leyla closes her eyes wearily. If only this throbbing headache would subside. Perhaps she should go check where she finds herself.

Leyla gets out of bed again and quietly walks to the bedroom door.

What if the door is locked?

Oh come on, woman! Get it together. Juan Marc wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

Leyla slowly opens the door. Thank goodness. It’s not locked.

She peeks carefully around the door frame. It’s a long corridor. A wide corridor. This room is at the far end of the hallway. The walls are painted a beautiful taupe color, and there’s a lovely long Persian carpet on the floor that contrasts beautifully with the earthy walls.

At the far end of the corridor, Leyla can see there are wrought iron railings and wide stairs leading down. She moves quickly on her toes to the top of the stairs.

Her mouth hangs open in astonishment as she looks down. Wow, this is an incredibly beautiful house, she thinks as she admires the extraordinary paintings, carpets, Moroccan-style ceramics, and chandeliers everywhere. Or are they antique pieces from the Bohemian period? Everything speaks of good taste and certainly no lack of money. Yet, despite the initial impression of luxury and comfort, the tasteful house appears more like a home than a show house.

From the top of the stairs, she has a lovely view of what seems to be the living room and dining room. It is a tastefully furnished space that is delightfully earthy and exudes tranquility. Definitely a living space, she thinks surprised. The front of the room opens onto a porch, and the separation between the room and the large, wide porch is giant glass panels that can slide open. The entire wall is glass, she thinks wonderingly. The room is wonderfully light and sunny, and her artistic eye immediately focuses on the lovely light streaming in through the windows.

Sounds somewhere on the lower level draw Leyla’s attention. There’s definitely movement at the bottom of the house, she thinks excitedly. She can hear pots and pans clanging, and there’s a pleasant smell of fried sausage and fresh bread in the air.

It looks and sounds to Leyla like the kitchen, pantry, and wash area are to the right side of the house. To the left, she sees a door, which seems to lead to a study.

Leyla walks through the beautiful living space to the sliding glass panel wall, which lets in lovely fresh mountain air in abundance. The porch steps down to a large lawn with a huge fountain in the middle of the grass. There are flower beds with roses still blooming, but beginning to shed leaves due to the approaching winter.

From what Leyla can see, it is a lovely country house, spacious and large, with climbing vines creeping up the walls and beautiful wooden windows.

Goodness, this is a lovely place, Leyla thinks in admiration, unaware of two dark eyes that have already noticed her, carefully studying every astonished expression on her face. Another pair of eyes stared at her in amusement.

“My world, it’s alive!” A familiar voice rings out from the right side of the porch.

Leyla jumps in shock and whirls around.

Sitting at a beautiful wrought iron patio set are Juan Marc and the Duke, with a large pot of steaming coffee and freshly baked scons, served in beautiful bowls with homemade butter and jam.

“Good morning, Leyla. Did you sleep well?” She tries to avoid eye contact, but her eyes are drawn like a magnet to the jet-black gaze of Stèfan Von Freudenberg.

There’s a suspicious spark in his eyes, and he sits openly with a huge smile on his face while he looks her up and down, from the wild black curls framing her face to her bare feet.

To Leyla, the Duke looks perfectly rested, with no signs of a late night.

Juan Marc on the other hand, doesn’t look quite as good as Stèfan. His hair is wildly disheveled and slept crookedly on one side. He is also wearing an oversized t-shirt, and boxers at the bottom, which make his two thin, white legs look even thinner. He looks at her with raised eyebrows.

“Where’s your pants, Petal?” he asks bluntly, gesturing to her bare legs, with a steaming scone in his hand.

Leyla frowns dangerously. “What do you mean, where’s my pants? If I remember correctly, I wore a dress last night. I don’t have any pants here. That being said, what are we doing here? Why am I not at my apartment?”

Her two large eyes glare at him while she waits for his answer.

“Did you check the drawer in front of the window in your room? Stèfan’s housekeeper, Mrs. Donatelli, was kind enough to leave you a pair of pajamas along with the t-shirt there last night. At least as far as I can remember."

"Goodness, how much did you drink?” Juan Marc sounds genuinely shocked, but his eyes sparkle mischievously at her, while the spark in the Duke's eyes turn into a full twilight of stars, as he and Juan Marc burst out in a harmony of laughter.