Night Mares in the Hamptons Read Free

who’s ever read a Regency romance knows what that means. Pride and prejudice, pomp and privilege, along with vast fortunes, hordes of servants, and a hundred pieces of silverware on the table. Yeah, I’d fit right in.
    Grant said we didn’t have to spend all our time in England. They were setting up a branch of the Royce Institute here in Paumanok Harbor, so he could use Long Island as an alternate base. He flew all over the world and I could go with him, he promised. As if constant air trips were a selling point. Or as if I could write in a plane, a hotel, or a palace.
    No matter what he did now, where he lived, how far he traveled, he’d be the Earl of Grantham some day. I’d be a countess, taking tea with royalty.
    I could talk about my writing. What my own family called comic books. Or how I put myself through college working at my grandmother’s farm stand. Maybe they needed tips on picking a melon. And I could wear my denim cutoffs and flip-flops under the ermine—or was that for dukes?—and tiara.
    Grant said they’d love me, because he did. Besides, we were meant for each other. He was the only one who could translate the tender inscription on my pendant, wasn’t he, the one made from my mother’s heirloom wedding band? What he meant was that the matchmakers at Royce decided we were genetically compatible, which I resented. Oh, boy, did I resent that. No one was going to pick a husband for me, no matter how brilliant and talented our children might turn out. Look what such a preordained coupling did for my parents, not that I am complaining about being born, but they’ve been divorced for almost as long as they were married. Besides, what if he only loved me because someone said he should? How could I know?
    It wasn’t going to work, Grant and me. The distance, the life-styles, the way I’d be doing most of the compromising. I touched the pendant. I and thou, one forever. That’s what it said in an ancient mind-speaking language I could not imagine or comprehend. Like I could never imagine a happily ever after for the two of us. I had a great imagination, but I’m only human. I wasn’t sure about Grant.
    That’s why I was afraid to make the call. I had to ask the most wonderful man I’d ever met to come help this poor, plague-ridden little village. And tell him I couldn’t marry him.
    I poured a little more Kahlua over my melting ice cream.
    I got his voice mail. What I had to say couldn’t be left on a machine, so I just asked him to call me back as soon as he could.
    Reprieved for now, thank goodness. I could wring my hands, go for a walk, or get some work done. I chose to lose myself in the book I was writing, usually the perfect escape from reality for me. I hadn’t done much on the story since the nightmares began, so I had to reread it from the beginning.
    I’d decided to write about a teenaged girl this time. Girls read more than boys, and they deserved the kind of heroic adventure I tried to write and illustrate. There’d be a boy later, but as a partner, not any knight in shining armor come to rescue the helpless maiden. No, my heroine was going to be a kick-ass kid, doing battle with evil. The problem was, according to my outline, she was in a wheelchair and she needed a magical flying steed. A white magical flying steed. Holy shit.
    I went back to the kitchen. Instead of a little Kahlua with my ice cream, I served up a little ice cream with my Kahlua. I didn’t usually drink, but desperate times called for dire measures. And this was medicinal. Heaven knew, I needed a shot of something. I looked at the drawings I’d done. I looked at the ringing phone. I didn’t usually pray either, but this seemed like a good time to start.
    â€œHello, sweetheart,” he said. I could hear the smile in his voice.
    â€œI didn’t do it!”
    â€œYou didn’t make the plane reservation yet?”
    I had