Nicholas - The Road Less Traveled

← Previous Chapter: Chapter 6 /|\ Next Chapter → Chapter 8When the door to Briony’s room opens, despite my anger, I brace myself for the ever present kaleidoscope of butterflies. They don’t fail to impress upon seeing her fully kitted up. “Keys?” I ask with my hand out. She huffs as she unzips a pocket on her moto jacket, and drops the motorbike keys in my hand. “Thanks,” I say, nodding toward the stairway. Without another word, we swiftly descend the stairs, passing through a side door to step out into the sunshine and her waiting Honda Gold Wing. It’s a large bike for Briony, but with the amount of lorries passing through these country roads, I need her to stand a chance of being seen. It’s bad enough she still hasn’t told her family that she rides motorbikes. I have every confidence she can handle it, but there’s no way anything can happen to her on my watch. Pulling our matching black and blue helmets from the top box, or trunk space as Briony calls it, I hand hers over without a word. After getting our gear on, I slide on my gloves and take a seat, waiting for her to climb on behind me as I start up the bike. “Can you hear me?” I ask after linking the comms. “Clearly,” Briony responds dryly. It’s the same joke every time, but it still makes me smile. Annoying since she knows I’m upset. As I back out of the parking stall and pull into the street, I’m unprepared for Briony’s hands to settle at my waist. Correction, the butterflies were unprepared, and now they’re rioting. This is far from my first time riding with her. During a film shoot for an action movie about three years ago, I was required to do some minor stunts on a motorbike. I’ve been riding since I was 18, but wanted to make it look as natural as possible, so I bought a bike to get a ride in every day. During the first month of the four month shoot, Briony questioned me endlessly about riding, until one night after dinner I offered to take her out on it. I thought she’d be like Evie and decide after one ride it was too scary, and give up. I should have known better. All it took was one ride and my little daredevil was in love. After a couple of weeks of her tagging along on my nightly rides, she begged me to teach her how to ride. It was the most harrowing three days of my life. Thankfully, she got the hang of it quickly. Now, I daresay, she rides better than I do. Still, if her hands had felt like this wrapped around me when I took her out for those first rides, she may have never learned to ride. As it is, I’m wondering if it’s a mistake to bring her along. Instead of thinking about it, I focus on steadying my breathing as I open up the throttle on the empty country road. “Where are we going?” Briony’s warm voice comes over the comms a few minutes later as we pass the film set at the airfield. “Just need to clear my head.” My voice sounds strained to my own ears, and I can only hope she chalks it up to what happened back at the hotel. She falls silent, but her hands tighten around my waist, which makes me want to simultaneously pull her closer and jump off the bike. Eventually the quiet hum of the motor and her soothing presence calm my mind enough to enjoy it. We’ve been cruising through the green English countryside, passing through small towns with the crisp air flowing around us for some time before I realize we should get dinner. After another 20 minutes, I pull into the car park at a pub. “Where are we?” Briony asks, using my leg to keep her balance as she climbs down. “Nottingham,” I respond crisply as she pulls off her helmet and fluffs her curly bob before stretching. “Why?” She frowns, looking around at the little houses on either side of the street in front of the short white building that houses the pub. I look away as I pull off my own helmet. “Because I fancy some chips, and I don’t need the judgment the crew would likely have if they saw me eating them.” Her brows rise incredulously. “I’ve never known you to break your diet, and besides that, you don’t care about other people’s judgment or criticisms. So, what gives?” “Well, there is one person’s judgment and criticism I fear a great deal,” I sigh. “Let’s get inside first.” After removing the rest of my protective gear, I lock it away with Briony’s in the top box. Holding open the pub door, we enter the dated establishment with its wood tables, grey cushioned chairs, and colorful carpeting. The abundance of windows allows the warm afternoon sunlight to splash around the semi full dining room, and as I direct Briony to a table, pulling out the chair for her, I can feel the eyes of the other diners on us. “I’ll just see the barman,” I mention, dropping my jacket on the back of my chair. After speaking to the landlord and signing a couple of autographs, I return to the table with the menus. I barely hear the buzz of other diners as I notice Briony’s removed her fitted jacket to reveal a soft red sweater beneath. It matches her lipstick. I blink. Was she wearing that before? Come on gang…the least you can do is flock together, I think, glancing away as I try to breathe through the flutter in my chest. Handing her a menu, I sit across from her, staring blankly at my own. We’re just having a bite to eat, like we do nearly every other night of the week. We’ve eaten out before. Plenty of times. So, why does this feel…different? “So,” Briony leans forward on an elbow with a raised brow and cheeky smile. “Explain yourself, sir. How long have you been cheating on me?” A couple of heads nearby spin round at that, and I smile, knowing she’s trying to get a laugh out of me. “I thought you cared about my reputation, love. Do you plan to smash it to smithereens after so painstakingly building it up?” She laughs, her dimples winking at me gaily as she shrugs her shoulders. “Cheaters never prosper.” I chuckle and lean forward. “Fair enough, but you should know, as my chef, I would never cheat on you, Briony. Cheating on a diet is fair game though. And I’ve been completely responsible.” Briony’s cheeks grow pink, but she chuckles. “Define how you’ve been responsibly cheating on your diet?” Uneasily running my hand along my jaw, I consider the question. “Well, no late night calls to room service, and it’s usually only once or twice a year I’ll crave a burger and chips. Usually when you’re on vacation, and I get…peckish,” I finish abashedly. As she sighs, shaking her head, Briony quickly fluffs her curls the way she does when she’s annoyed. “How many years?” I frown, thinking back. “I’d say about…three years now.” She’s considering me thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing in concentration. “So, around the time I went on that family cruise, and you decided to go to Monte Carlo and got sick?” I sit up, clearing my throat. “It was a stressful trip. And, I got sick eating some chicken yogurt dish with raisins in the rice.” “I remember,” she says dryly. “But, the point is, that’s when you started cheating?” I lower my head, like a chastened pet. “I’m sorry, Bri. If it makes you feel better, I never enjoyed it, and always felt guilty after.” She ducks behind the menu, covering her face. “Yeah..so guilty you kept doing it for three years, and hid it from me.” “I won’t do it again,” I smile. Her head snaps up, the laughter evident in her face. “What? Cheat on your diet?” “No, I have needs,” I smirk. “But, I’ll always tell you from now on.” “The cheek of this one!” Briony playfully cries out. We both throw our heads back in laughter, and this…this is it. I’ve been missing this easiness between us. When the server shows up with a pot of tea and two cups, ready to take our order, Briony looks at me curiously. After we place our orders, I begin pouring our tea. “While retrieving the menus from the landlord, I ordered it,” I answer her unasked question. “The Lavender Vanilla sounded quite nice, and I could really use something calming right now.” After accepting her cup, Briony waits a beat before putting a hand on mine. Seeing our two hands together sends something diving in my stomach, but, I can’t focus on that at the moment. So, forcing my eyes to Briony’s face, I focus on her velvety brown eyes instead. “I’m really sorry we had that disagreement earlier,” she dips her chin sorrowfully. “I heard what you said, and I think there’s something you should know.” Gazing at her intently, when she hesitates, I gently rub the back of her hand with my thumb. “Go on, love. I’m listening.” Briony sighs. “I agree with you. I don’t enjoy being spoken to that way, but I endure it. I’ve endured a lot because I don’t want any seeming lack of professionalism on my part to cast a bad light on you. I would feel terrible if my inability to keep my mouth shut meant you lost out on meaningful opportunities.” Everything stills in me at once. She’s been taking abuse so that I’m not negatively affected? But, why? I frown, but remain silent as she continues. “I now understand that isn’t what you expect of me, or want. And, while I’ll do my best to maintain my professionalism, just know if you hear any wild stories about me and my mouth in the future, it’s all your fault.” That same mouth quirks up in a beautiful smile, but I can’t bring myself to return it. I’m properly horrified. “Bri..I had no idea you thought you had to sell your dignity, so that I could keep my reputation in tact. I’m glad you’ve told me, but I wish you told me sooner. Then, I would have told you that you’re never to sell your dignity—for anyone.” Nauseated by thought, I shake my head in disbelief that she would do such a thing. “There’s no job opportunity on Earth that’s worth being mistreated over. Neither yours, nor mine. If someone can’t see past the end of their nose, and would rather hold us over a barrel to make themselves feel good, I suspect we wouldn’t want to be associated with them in any meaningful way to begin with.” Briony’s eyes widen as she gazes me, looking awestruck as the impact of my words wash over her. She dips her chin in acknowledgement, and we go back to sipping our tea. I think the subject’s dropped until she quietly says, “Thank you, Nick. For always dignifying me.” I grimace as I shake my head. “No, love. Your dignity belongs entirely to you. God gives you dignity, it’s not something I bestowed on you. I’m merely upholding it.” The tender look she then gives me brands me to my core. I’ll never forget it, even if I don’t fully understand what it means. When she returns to sipping her tea, I do the same, while continuing to ponder that look. For the first time in weeks, I realize the butterfly gang is no longer a scattered buzz, but they’ve become a flock of starlings. Synchronized. Sure. It’s an interesting development. Does it mean this phase almost over? Will we be able to return to normal? There’s plenty of time to ponder it until our food arrives. Unlike being in London or anywhere in America, not many seem to recognize me in this quiet corner of the world, or if they do, they don’t let on. So, I settle back and soak in the enjoyment of a quiet dinner with Briony. As she stares out at the garden, a delicate smile plays at the corners of her month as she sips her tea. From my own taste of the tea, I know it isn’t a superior blend, so that isn’t what has her smiling like she has a secret. Just outside of the window, as the sun hovers over the horizon, two brave hawfinches swoop down from their perches high in the surrounding trees, to sip at the small stone water fountain in the garden. The garden is already in bloom with its blue, red, pink and yellow flowers, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the woman sitting in front of me. It’s a peaceful moment, and as I quietly sip my tea, drinking in Briony, I realize I want this. I blink. I mean..I want to keep this. When I look up again, Briony’s gazing at me as if she can savor me, too. I’m filled with a certain rightness of the moment, and if it weren’t for the arrival of our food, I’m sure I could have sat there the whole of the evening wondering if forever were possible. After a lovely dinner where I fought off the Chip Pirate Briony, we head out to capture what’s left of the day. I thoroughly enjoyed my cheeseburger and chips, as well as the scoop of Beef in Guinness Briony was forced to concede as reparations. She had the last laugh though, as I was forced to watch her groan over how good her caramel and apple pie was, while I nursed a second cup of tea. We laughed so hard when I tried to steal her last bite, and she hurried to dodge, shoving it in her mouth. I had to be satisfied with the tiny drop of caramel I was able to swipe from the plate. Briony then forced me to allow her to pay for dinner, stating it’s a mark of true friendship. When she insisted that my paying wouldn’t be anything different from what we always do, I finally agreed that it’s only acceptable when done in commemoration of our friendship, but not as a habit. She just winked over her shoulder as she stepped into the spring sunshine. As her arms slip around me once again, I nose the bike onto the road, knowing exactly where to go next. It’s not another 20 minutes before we pull onto the Abbey road, and into a parking space. “Where are we?” Briony asks. I smile behind the shield of my helmet as she once again uses my leg to dismount. “This is Newstead Park.” Taking off my helmet and packing my gear away, I point to the stone building rising near a stand of trees. “That’s Newstead Abbey. Lord Byron inherited this place as a lad, but he spent most of his life elsewhere,” I hasten to add. Briony fluffs her curls after pulling off her helmet, but stops mid fluff with a frown, her gaze swinging to mine. “Wait, the Lord Byron?” I can’t stop the smile spreading across my face. “Yes. Old ‘Georgie Boy’ himself, as you like to call him.” Of the countless hours we’ve spent discussing poems and their famous composers, I most enjoy the times when we disagree. And, there’s always contention when discussing Lord Byron. “I said what I said,” she sniffs. A bark of laughter erupts from me, drawing disapproving looks from several visitors. I just laugh harder. “Come on, let me show you around,” I chuckle, offering my arm. I don’t know why I do, nor do I know why she accepts, or why it feels right. Rather than question it, I just allow myself to enjoy the peaceful stroll through the substantial gardens. While dodging the peacocks in the quiet, green estate, I point out various features of the property. Usually when we’re in England I’m filming in London, with very little time for venturing outside of the busy capital. It’s been a pleasant change to visit the countryside again after many years. As we leisurely stroll through the different gardens, some parts manicured, others overgrown, I tell Briony about the many times Evie and I have been here with our parents. Briony laughs at tales of our escapades, occasionally asking questions. “Is it typical to travel around visiting places like this on summer vacation?” Settling my hands in the pockets of my leather jacket, I fondly smile at the memories of my childhood. “Hmm. I don’t know about typical, but when your Mum is a renowned scriptwriter for period dramas, and your Dad’s a professor of literature at a prestigious university, I think it’s to be expected.” She looks up at me, a twinkle in her eye. “It definitely explains this inexplicable love for Byron.” I chuckle as we amble into another section of the gardens. “Dad passed on a love for most of the romantic poets, including Byron. I may not respect some of Byron’s life choices, but I can respect his passion. I’m glad Dad tried to pass it on to me.” Briony nods with a straight face. “Ah, so then I suppose you’ll bring your children to Disney World, and Universal Studios…” We chuckle, but I shake my head. “No. I ended up in movies and TV series, but my first love is theater. If anything, my children would end up being dragged to plays on and off Broadway, to the West End…wherever good drama is to be found really.” Briony smiles serenely. “They’ll definitely share your enthusiasm for it.” As we stroll along, I then fall silent, pondering where I would be getting the children I’ve never given a single thought to before this moment. When Briony’s eyes light up at a duck in a nearby pond, the desire to wrap an arm around her washes over me, but forcefully shoving it down, I stop with her as she gazes at it thoughtfully. “I remember you saying how much you love theater. When was the last time you were in a play?” she glances at me. “What, haven’t googled me, yet?” I tease, my brows raised. “I thought that’s what you Gen Z-ers do first.” “Ha!” She scoffs with a smack to my arm, “First of all, I did google you, but it said prehistoric files haven’t been converted to digital at this time.”I pinch her cheek and laugh when she playfully rubs her cheek disgustedly. “Second of all, my poor elderly friend, I’m actually a Millennial. I was born in ’96.” My brows shoot up as my mouth forms an ‘o.’ “Well, that certainly changes things.” Briony eyes me sharply. “Does it?” Why would it? I pause…should it? ← Previous Chapter: Chapter 6 /|\ Next Chapter → Chapter 8Subscribe for new posts every week! Get full access to I'm Just Here For BOOKS at everblueauthor.substack.com/subscribe