segunda-feira, 26 de dezembro de 2016

Just one more try

So, I've said it soon enough... 2016 can't stop being horrible.
I'm terrified to write this even...


George Michael
no, 2016, no!

I have so much to say about my favorite artist ever that I seem to be unable to find words. How ironic.

His song was love at first chord for me, I fell in love with his work without even seeing his wavy blond hair and funny smile. Always thought it funny, how he smiled (professional smiles, maybe) with his upper teeth perfectly aligned with his lower as if preparing a bite. I'm smiling here but if I don't concentrate, a few tears my escape me - and I think: why would I be so sad for a person I didn't actually know?

I know the impression his work made in my life, my growing musical taste, the parties and dreams rocked by his voice. The sole concert I watched, oh dear... I remember singing in screams, loving every little second. 

When a friend told me about his passing yesterday, I felt overwhelming sadness and then guilt for not being more tuned to what he was up to. But do fans have to like everything a favorite artist produces? I'm not talking about his private life, who he loved and how or where. In my second book he is there in a big live concert and one of the characters say (not about him, take notice): 'Who you fuck don't determine who you are.' I doesn't. George Michael never stopped being the oh-so-cool-and-talented-George-Michael to me.

My thoughts on his passing were: I'll write him a mashup! My humble talent as writer united with his magic... But the only song that comes to my mind is 'One more try' that could even fit the WIP I'm dealing now, Snow White version for my Portuguese series of modern fairy tales but I'm so sad... Bianca and Caê don't deserve such gloominess.

So I'll give my sorrow a few days and my hommage to his talent will come, hopefully from Fastlove. 
For now, I can only say I'm devasted.



Because there ain´t no joy
for a Brazilian girl
whose teacher her taught her goodbye
Goodbye
Goodbye


sábado, 24 de dezembro de 2016

Let it go

Hello, there.
This time of the year usually make us very nostalgic, maybe Christmas Eve is not as powerful as December, 31st but 2016 brought such a turmoil that I'm looking forward to its end.

I'm not THAT desperate as to sing Elsa from Arendelle, this 'let it go' comes from Baroness Karen von Blixen-Finecke. As a young girl renting VHS tapes in my small home town, Out of Africa was the movie that touched me the deepest because I felt Karen's helplessness. As a teenager in a weird hair phase, I felt for her but more than that it was her struggle to tame both her farm and Dennys Finch Hatton's heart that tugged on me. At the time I thought Meryl Streep's long white face influenced me (it was the first time I saw her), but now I see it's the eloquence in the realization of failure.
A scene I never forget is when in a sudden downpour, the lake she had been trying so hard to build doesn't hold. The employees hurry to rebuild the fragile sand walls and she sighs, hangs her head and says a guttural: 'Let it go, let it go.'
I always remember that.



This is a perfect illustration of 2016.

We had an impeachment of a deeply incompetent lady President (let me not mumble about lost women empowerment opportunities here), saw the Supreme Court work almost exclusively to put order on the Congress' brats and then be challenged by the House leader, the biggest and more gruesome embezzlement scandal that ever existed in this planet, a broken country with beggar states that can't afford to pay salaries, unemployment levels go sky high.
How about the Olympics, you may ask. It was great, so much fun... But prices went up to profit from turists and stayed high, the Olympic Park is abandoned, new subway... well, you know: embezzlement, corruption, 2 governors in jail.
The country and Rio de Janeiro state in such chaos, small business like mine are almost impractical. Some days we feel like Rio is one of those Old West cities with hay balls rolling by.

In spite of all this - or probably BECAUSE  of all this, I managed to write almost daily. As soon as 2016 vanishes, I'll have tons of new stuff to brag about. But frankly, I'd rather wait a few more days and try my hand in 2017.


Very bold of me to wander far from Mr Darcy and Lizzy, but I did. Aside from a reviewed version of Love hurts on Kindle Unlimited, I'll release the full version of Eclipse of the heart and the all new Love inside and out completing my Regency Era Trilogy (aka Moira tries to wear petticoats). And then comes the cats! Lovely Persian cats entwining love stories. Let me take a break to say I'm proud of how this book fitted so nicely around itself.
And a much loved reviewed version of Friendship of a special kind with a few new scenes.

In Portuguese there'll be a lot of new stuff as an alternative version of Prince of Pemberley (JAFF) and a new series of modern fairytales. Maybe these princesses will have an English version...

So, as Karen said: Let it go, let it go... 2016 was tough, but we shall live to see 2017.


Happy holidays!
wash away the bad year, Dennis... Make it all go away... :D



Bright and successful New Year!


C ya
M.

segunda-feira, 5 de dezembro de 2016

Daqui para frente


Daqui para frente
é o quarto romance da minha primeira série


Brincar com fogo, andar sozinha pela floresta, arriscar... Quem resiste? Nenhuma Chapeuzinho vermelho deixar de visitar a vovozinha por medo...


Cecília é a fisioterapeuta responsável pela clínica de terapias holísticas de sua mãe, vive um romance frio com um namorado de adolescência que em boa parte é ela quem alimenta, empurra a vida com a barriga.

Serafina (princesa nº2 - Noiva em 6 pérolas), sua amiga de infância, a sugere uma temporada longe de tudo que ela conhece. Uma vez fora da influência da sua rotina, Cecília ganha forças para ir mais longe, tentar coisas novas e é essa coragem que a leva para perto de Oswald (Também do livro 2). Daí em diante, estão juntos na floresta e ficam muito bem...

Alegre e leve, 
esse romance tem muito de


Para ler o primeiro capítulo,
basta esperar só um pouquinho já que...


na Bienal o livro já vai estar disponível 
no BOX com as amigas e single,
aqui já está disponível para pré-venda com envio 
logo após a feira.



Ceci é uma lobinha que acha um caçador à altura...
Adorei como a estória se desenvolveu.
Espero que gostem também!
bj

domingo, 27 de novembro de 2016

Te encontro lá


Te encontro lá

é o terceiro romance da minha primeira série

Um romance maduro sobre pessoas maduras enfrentando momentos delicados na vida. Essa estória nasceu aos poucos, uma ideia aqui, outra acolá e de repente virou uma deliciosa love story sobre estar no local certo na hora certa.


Anja Ariela é uma mulher segura de si, recém-separada de um casamento de quinze anos que ainda tem laços na sua vida. Apesar dos conselhos da prima Cibele (BibliLove - romance nº1 da série), ela aceita embarcar com o ex-marido em um cruzeiro pela Costa Amalfitana na Itália e a bordo conhece Jonas que ao seu modo é um príncipe - do tamanho que Ariela precisa.




Resumindo sua aventura


Para ler o primeiro capítulo, 
está aqui!...



quinta-feira, 24 de novembro de 2016

Projetos para 2017


Na torcida por um ano melhor que esse 2016 tão turbulento quanto produtivo, 
tenho vários novos projetos para 2017. 
Anos ímpares são ótimos, né non?



romance OFF Austen
CARNAVAL 2017

levemente inspirado em 'Orgulho e Preconceito' e muito inspirado em 'The Prince of Pemberley'
AQUI

romances para todos os gostos! AQUI




Pride and Prejudice inspired love stories

an OFF Austen furry romance
HERE





terça-feira, 15 de novembro de 2016

Noiva em 6 pérolas


Noiva em 6 pérolas 
é o segundo romance da minha primeira série,

Esse romance gostosinho, queridinho, nasceu em 2014 no meio da Copa do Mundo. Era para ser um conto bem curtinho e infelizmente foi abandonado por conta do 7 x 1. Cruzes. Fiquei maturando a estorinha até que nas Olimpíadas tive inspiração para recomeçar com a intenção de postar no Twitter. 




Porém, um personagem puxou outro e... que aventura! A série começou a tomar corpo.
EBOOK & BROCHURA

Aqui, Serafina poderia bem ser Cinderela porque sua estória é assim:  
Em 2004 nas Olimpíadas de Atenas, Nicolas era um adolescente com talento para o esporte e foi medalhista de Bronze. Tudo foi fun&games.
Em 2008 em Pequim, ele caiu nas semifinais.
Em 2012, Londres, nem fez mais parte do time por causa dos compromissos da vida adulta.
Em 2014, Copa do Brasil, insegura com a virada em sua escolha de curso na faculdade, Serafina acreditava que a conquista do hexa de alguma maneira significaria que tudo ia ficar bem. E veio o 7x1.
Em 2016, Nicolas já era chefe de um renomado escritório de empresa multinacional e se viu rodeado de pérolas. Serafina, já uma profissional disputada no mercado, tem que lidar com um escritório de head hunter insistentemente querendo a entrevistar. E de novo, o Brasil enfrentou a Alemanha em uma final de campeonato de futebol...
Nas Olimpíadas do Rio, só o ouro interessa para os dois.

Uma dica? 
Dou várias nesta música perfeita! <3


Para ler o primeiro capítulo, vem aqui ó...






quinta-feira, 13 de outubro de 2016

EntrevIsnta

haha, que trocadilho!
Dei uma entrevista no Instagram (entrevInsta! haha) para a fofa Lillian do @livrosdaliih, achei as perguntas muito fofas...
Vai lá dar um heart, mas lê aqui ó:


instagram.com
See this Instagram photo by @livrosdaliih • 29 likes

Signo: Sagitário com ascendente em escorpião 🦂 
Time de futebol: Flamengo, mas não sou muito fã...
Comida preferida: guacamole... acho. Só pode uma? 😬
Uma data importante: nascimento do meu filho, casamento & formatura no mesmo mês ❤️️
Viagem inesquecível: lua de mel em Paris
Um lugar que tem vontade de ir: Japão (Lizzard e Will vão parar lá na continuação de 45 dias- Oops, never mind...)
Uma cor: preto, 80% do meu guarda-roupa é preto!
Um filme: Closer
Uma música: ando vidrada em Wherever I go do One Republic 😍😍 pq ela se encaixa perfeitamente no que ando tramando. Minha inspiração voa com essa 🎶 musica!
O que te levou a escrever o primeiro livro? Insônia! 😁 meu filho era bebezinho, eu dormia pouco, resolvi escrever uma cena que estava sempre na minha cabeça. Acabei escrevendo quase um livro todo (meu primeiro, 'Friendship of a special kind') nas madrugadas!
Um sonho: passar os dias viajando e escrevendo sempre que tiver inspiração 
Um autor(a) que vc admira: Jane Austen, amo. (hahaha, coitadinha, tão fofa! Sabe de nada abrindo esse assunto comigo!) Mas tenho vários. Stephen King que li por último. Ele é o cara mesmo, e estou amando Austin Wright.
Uma frase: Se um livro é bem escrito, sempre acho muito curto. É de Jame Austen. Uma fofa, né? ❤️️
Livro preferido: Orgulho & Preconceito, forever. (Well...What can I say?)
Tem algum de seus romances que é seu xodó? Ih, que maldade... isso quer dizer que algum não é? 😂😂 Se vc me torturar, vou falar que é o último que escrevi, mas amo todos os casais e suas vidinhas. São meus amigos queridos.💓💓
Um elogio que vc gostou de um leitor? Olha, tem uns que a gente grava na memória, né? Uma vez me disseram que ler minhas estórias é como ouvir a conversa de alguém na mesa do lado num restaurante. Amei! E tem gente que me diz que começou a escrever porque as inspirei. Não fica melhor que isso, né? ❤️️
Seu passatempo favorito: escrever!
Os personagens são baseados em pessoas que vc conhece? Tem sempre algo dos meus amigos... eles têm um brincadeira de se perguntarem: já se achou no livro novo dela? 😂😂 Mas às vezes eu mesma peço para usar uma frase ou outra... 😉


Fofa ou fofa essa Lii?
popkey

bjus

terça-feira, 11 de outubro de 2016

Me and Ms Jones

We (definetely) have a thing going on...
Besides Mr. Darcy, there is!...

Mr. Mark Fitzwilliam Darcy...
I applauded when the minister said his name - hubs shushed me...

I always loved the movies, hated the books, laughed and groaned with Bridget. And guess what? We're the same age!

Yes, this yet another post about getting old! *sobs incontrollaby*

Renée Zellwegger is a goddess, I mean, always has been a walking stick and had to make an effort to gain weigh for Bridget Jones - and Oh, God, thank you - is 5 years older than me. But Bridget is my age. The birthday in the office fiasco, when they bring her a cake filled with looots of candles, there's a card with a coffin and 1973 written. My vision blurred, I only saw those four numbers: 1 + 9 + 7 + 3.
NY daily news
know exactly how you feel, Bridge

And, aside from Mr. D. (and Firth), me and Miss Jones have this thing about diets, about self image and I cannot help comparing to her. Let´s not talk about Miss Zellwegger, just how Bridget is pictured. 

 A little overweigh in Diary. Ok, me too.
google - all 3 pics
A lot fatter in The edge of reason - I pannicked thinking I might get to that? Oh, God, how awful.

Skinny in Baby. Not me, no. 
Still between Diary and Edge. Sadly.

But now there's not only that, there's wrinkles! 
Shoot. Me. Now.
metacritic

If with all Hollywood has to offer they looked like that, imagine poor me?
metacritic
And there's botox there, right? *groan*

Bring wine, 
bring Austen, 
bring rom-com: 
I am depressed!

Will not talk about Ms Zellwegger non-plastic surgery or the plot flaws like the gentleman-to-gentleman talk in the hospital (ugh). Just worried about my age here.

But laughed my heart out with the movie! 
At least that, right?

telegraph

See ya.

segunda-feira, 29 de agosto de 2016

I just called, to say, I'll always like Ted

Oh, my, Gene Wilder is gone...
The other day I talked about Robin Williams and to be honest, Gene was just as dear to me. 
My love affair with him started with Willy Wonka. Who wasn't in love with the chocolate factory? 


When my parents took me to a real chocolate factory here in Brasil, Garoto, I dreamt it'd at least as friendly. 
Maybe I could see the different areas or products? 
An occasional midgeon? 
No? 
Nothing?... 
*sad little me*


And then, there was Ted Pierce. 
*grin* 
Ted is so great!


Woman in red is one of my favorite movies of all times, it's all so funny... The lady who worked with him, his wife, the punk kid in love with her, the gay friend... Love it.

Can't say how many times I watched WiR, thousands. All the times I cracked.
RIP, Mr. Wilder.
And today I'll watch Ted again, one more time.



sexta-feira, 26 de agosto de 2016

O silêncio de Maria Antonia Marisguia

Se seu livro 'Preconceito, orgulho & CAFÉ' tem um silêncio muito pesado de Toni entre as páginas 187 e 192, peço que desculpe a gráfica e a editora.

Sendo assim...


14 Agosto

‘Cancelei uma viagem a Miami por isso, porque acho que não posso sair de perto de você quando está assim.’

Sentiu o peito arder. ‘Deveria ir.’

‘Quer que eu vá? Duas semanas fora?’

‘Não sou sua responsabilidade, você não é minha esposa, nem vai ser.’ Disse olhando diretamente nos olhos cor de mel, se sentindo um idiota por falar e por ter que repetir tal coisa. ‘Aqui não é sua casa.’

A cabeça girou momentaneamente e apertou os olhos com raiva, como sempre se enchendo de coragem quando era atacada, ameaçada. ‘Já sou. Já é.’ Ele sacudiu a cabeça e na intenção de sentar, se jogou no sofá em frente a ela. O braço imobilizado ainda o deixava com o equilíbrio prejudicado. ‘Você sempre fez questão que eu dormisse aqui, que trouxesse minhas roupas, me deu a chave e pediu uma reserva do meu carro. Se isso não é um tipo de casamento, não sei o que é. Eu nunca te escondi que quero isso, não pode negar.’

Sacudiu a cabeça. ‘E eu sempre disse que não quero me casar. Nunca.’

‘Está aborrecido.’ Prendeu os olhos nele que não resistiu à pressão e desviou primeiro. ‘Insistiu muito até me convencer a ficar aqui com você, Mau. Mesmo quando eu resisti, você me pediu, antes do assalto até. Pensei que-’

‘Não pense.’

Silêncio pesado.

‘Você me chamou aqui.’

‘Chamei, mas não te dei minha mão em casamento.’ Era uma batalha de egos fortes, de mentes confusas e apaixonadas que infelizmente não falavam a mesma língua. ‘Não quero casar com você.’ Disse cruelmente. ‘Nem com ninguém.’ Completou por covardia.

‘Nunca pensei que casaria com alguém estranho aos meus círculos de amizade, que não viesse de onde venho, mas você me conquistou aos poucos, venceu minhas barreiras. Se esforçou nisso.’ Disse sinceramente, seus olhos o implorando para alcançá-la. ‘Claro, haveria muito mais esforço, a epopeia de unir sua tia e irmã com minha mãe e irmãs, quando você fica contrariado é quase insuportável. Tudo acho que é contornável; como eu, você gosta disso que temos, fez força para construirmos isso, esse casamento informal. Tudo bem, até poderia abrir mão de oficializar a união por um tempo, se você quisesse. Mas sabe que eu não poderia ter uma união estável sem garantir a separação total de bens.’

‘Não temos um casamento. Isso- ’ Apontou dele para ela. ‘Não vai ser um casamento.’ Falou ofendido, magoado.

‘Está terminando comigo?’ Desafiou vendo que não havia mais o que ser dito, tudo estava claro. ‘De maneira tão grosseira?’ Encostou as duas mãos fechadas em punho na boca, cotovelos nos joelhos, olhos fixos nele.

Sempre foi suscetível ao poder dos olhos de mel e vê-los assim magoados, cheios de ressentimento e desespero – sabendo que era sua culpa e que era necessário esclarecer mais uma vez o que na cabeça dele era verdade inabalável – o quebrou, mas sob dura pena manteve-se firme. ‘Não foi grosseria me insultar dizendo que decidiu querer casar comigo apesar da minha inferioridade, da necessidade de se proteger caso eu quisesse roubar seus bens como o outro cara quase fez, que minha tia e irmã são mal-educadas?’

‘Acha que tenho que agradecer pelos comentários maldosos e intrometidos?’ Apertou os olhos. ‘Sua tia está criando sua irmã tão... Fora da realidade-’

Estava muito aborrecido, o estômago fraco e em jejum fez a cabeça rodar e se recostou no braço do sofá. ‘Ela não teve a vida fácil da sua mãe, sofreu muito. Abriu mão de tudo por minha irmã e por mim!’

‘E se ressente por isso. É maliciosa, rancorosa, está estragando sua irmã!’

‘Chega, Antonia!’

Ficou de pé indignada com a voz elevada para ela mais uma vez. ‘Tem razão. Chega.’ Fosse outra a situação, teria corrido para acudi-lo, beijar a testa, a boca, deitar com ele. Agora o olhava e via um homem preconceituoso e cabeça dura. Estar ali naquele apartamento lhe fez mal.

Irritado, aborrecido, magoado viu sua Lindona sair da sala e sumir no quarto, mas não ouviu barulho. Pensou em juntar as forças e a paciência, ir atrás dela, conversar abraçados na cama, esclarecer que a adorava, mas que não seria ele a dar-lhe um sobrenome e uma aliança. Não que ‘Noronha’ parecesse ser um sobrenome que ela achava digno de adicionar a Maria Antonia Marisguia Froes. Sentiu o sangue ferver, a mente conturbada achou novas ofensas no que ela havia dito com sinceridade, com o coração dolorido – ao menos isso era claro para ele. Era uma tola, uma garotinha mimada cismada com a ideia infantil de casamento.

Mas enquanto pensava sem chegar a nenhuma conclusão de como e quando levantar para falar com ela, Maria Antonia voltou para a sala, apoiou sua bolsa de viagem na mesa da sala para calçar os sapatos e vestir o casaqueto acinturado.

A cabeça rodava a ponto de grunhir e precisou sentar para recostar no sofá.

‘Deveria estar em Miami, atrasei negócios sérios por você. Fiz força para não me meter no seu trabalho, apesar de deixar você se intrometer no meu. Inacreditável como tive mais consideração por você do que por mim mesma.’

‘Seu pai não é Deus, ele não tem poder sobre a advocacia, muito menos sobre mim.’ Rugiu indignado. ‘Nunca tive um relacionamento importante o suficiente para influir no meu trabalho, você não seria a primeira.’

Balançou a cabeça. ‘A repetição é sempre mais eloquente, aprendi minha lição.’ Pegou o chaveiro preso na bolsa e tirou a chave dele, mostrou e colocou sobre a mesa. Sem mais uma palavra, pegou as bolsas e saiu.

Maurício pensou na dramaticidade feminina, em como sua Lindona era ainda mais bonita irada e só então se lembrou da jaguatirica. Fazia semanas que não a via, achava que ela estava se retraindo porque ele estava adoentado e isso fez uma nova onda de irritação o atacar. Levantou com calma e tomou o resto do café frio, passou pela cozinha e pegou o pão que ela tinha lhe preparado e a caminho da cama, por costume, desviou os olhos para o closet e banheiro. Parou e olhou com atenção, chegou perto para ver melhor. Vestidos, camisetas, jeans, perfumes, maquiagem, lingerie e as fotos que ele tinha admirado há pouco: tudo havia sumido.

14 a 18 Agosto

Saiu tremendo de raiva, de ódio.

“Que bostinha! Para que insistiu se não me queria?”

Dirigiu sem rumo, pegou a Lagoa-Barra que incrivelmente estava desobstruída e de repente estava em Grumari. Manhã fria, praia vazia, pensou em parar o carro, enxugar as lágrimas de raiva e escrever uma carta. Um e-mail longo. E mandar do telefone mesmo explicando tudo que ele tinha entendido de errado, o bosta. Mas se decidiu contra. Não tinha que se explicar, ele não merecia saber de nada. Não merecia nada mais dela. Tinha consciência de um defeito que possuía, talvez o mais proeminente em sua personalidade: a habilidade de cortar laços sem titubear quando uma pessoa provava não merecer sua boa opinião. Sua boa vontade uma vez perdida estava perdida para sempre.

Tinha um bom pinto, mas era um merda. Havia pintos bons em pencas e homens merda a cada esquina. Para sua surpresa, pegou-se rindo da imagem de uma penca de pintos bons, grandes, rijos, poderia dar essa ideia para aquela artista plástica que colocava pênis de madeira em tudo. Até poderia fazer uma encomenda.

Deu meia volta e dirigiu em direção à Zona Sul, no caminho parou no shopping de decoração para comprar uma penca de bananas de madeira que tinha visto na grande loja de móveis quando compraram a poltrona do quarto do gravatinha pingado de merda.

Tirou os sapatos no elevador e preparou a chave para entrar em casa o mais rápido possível. Já era meio da tarde do dia nublado, não bateu na porta do pai, não acendeu as luzes nem fez barulho para não chamar atenção de Don, mas foi ao abajur de pé caríssimo e pendurou o cacho de bananas nanicas, bem à vista. Assim, cada vez que acendesse o foco de luz veria a sombra de vários pintos bons e se lembraria de que existem vários à disposição. Achou um vinho, abriu, escolheu uma taça bonita de cristal e sentou no chão perto da janela vendo o Cristo.

Não chorou, não se permitiu. Terminar com o gravatinha pingado de merda não era nada se comparado com desfazer o noivado com Saulo um mês antes do casamento. Apartamento montado, festa pronta, já dormiam juntos na casa nova ensaiando a vidinha conjugal no apartamento da Vieira Souto. Ele era o homem certo para ela, aceitava ir a São Paulo provar um novo fornecedor de macarons quando já tinham escolhido os que serviriam no casamento; na verdade, ria dos seus devaneios casamenteiros, chorou quando ela terminou com ele. Pediu que ela não fizesse, que lhe desse uma chance de acertar as coisas nos negócios, disse que a amava.

Maurício nunca disse que a amava.

O gravatinha não era nada. Foi só um veículo onde ela mais uma vez depositou suas esperanças vazias de uma vidinha conjugal medíocre, suas frustrações emocionais, seus sonhos infantis de felizes para sempre. Tudo ilusório. Claramente forçou uma situação com um cara que não era dos seus círculos, que não se encaixava, era um cubo sendo enfiado em um tubo. O gravatinha não era nada. Foi só um delírio.

Tentou imaginar se o vô Marisguia aprovaria o gravatinha e achou várias razões para acreditar que não, a principal era a dor no seu peito. Enganou-se repetindo para si mesma que como Saulo era do seu nível, do Clube de Vela, da escola, dos amigos, ele é que era para ela; aquele é que foi um golpe duro, difícil de lidar. Ainda era.

Louca de dor, meio bêbada, triste, pegou o telefone sem pensar e ligou sem se importar que já era mais de meia noite. Escolheu o rosto dele tão bonito, tão viril e ligou. Uma mulher atendeu rindo e Antonia ficou muda. A garganta fechou, o coração ardeu e em seguida, os olhos vazaram.

“Me dá isso aqui!” Ouviu a voz alterada. “Princesa?” Saulo disse feliz que ela finalmente tinha ligado de volta, esperava ansiosamente por ela. “Princesa, fala comigo...”

Cortou a ligação, desligou o telefone e chorou muito. Quando secou o estoque de tristeza que certamente estaria cheio novamente pela manhã, lavou o rosto, tomou um remédio para a ressaca de uma garrafa inteira de vinho no estômago vazio e deitou. Incrivelmente dormiu um sono pesado, sonhos confusos, inquietos.

Por volta do meio dia, o pai preocupado usou sua chave como não fazia nunca e a viu na cama, recolheu a garrafa vazia, a roupa jogada no chão e saiu em silêncio para cruzar o corredor e tranquilizar a mãe.

Acordou, tomou um banho quente e demorado, comeu uma fruta e um iogurte, olhou em volta e vendo tudo vazio exceto pelas bananas que a convidaram a continuar fugindo, foi para Duc Mare, para os braços da lembrança afetuosa do avô.

Ficou de pijamas e meias de tricô daquelas que machucam os pés quando se anda vendo o rio correr ao longe. Até comeu bananas, mas não chorou mais. Considerou que deveria mesmo mudar de ares, talvez outra temporada fora do país cuidando das importações. Seria bom.

Quando voltou ao Rio depois do final de semana prolongado, decidiu ir para o escritório de São Paulo. Tinha amigos lá, não tinha namorados lá, faria novos conhecimentos lá. São Paulo era seguro.


Arrumou a vida e a mala e foi na mesma semana sem olhar para trás.


segunda-feira, 22 de agosto de 2016

Regency love fairy tale - part 10

After such an emotional chapter, let's have some... LOVE. In capitals, please. We deserve it!

Bring on the luv!



Love in acts

2nd act

ECLIPSE OF THE HEART

angst, rated M, short, P&P, Alternate Universe
Part 9


It rained the next day and Elizabeth couldn’t take her morning walk. At breakfast, when she commiserated her bad luck with her sister and the housekeeper, Darcy entered the room for a cup of tea.

‘Seat and have a proper meal, sir.’ She smiled at him.

‘I had two hours ago.’ He smiled back. ‘Bennett and I have taken a ride across the park.’

‘In the rain! Lizzy, Lesley will catch his death!’

‘Nonsense! Trifle rain is not enough to kill a man.’ Darcy mumbled bringing the cup to his lips.

Mrs. Reynolds, the old housekeeper chuckled. ‘He learned that, ma’am, when he was a lad. Because he always loved his horses and at Pemberley, rain often comes in thrice.’

He nodded sadly.

‘At least we can visit the mansions Lord Brakenbury pointed out, I’ll talk to Ben.’ Elizabeth mused. ‘Possibly antique rugs.’ She added for Jane.

‘I’d like to accompany you two.’ Jane’s eyes tinkled with the chance of snooping around titled gentry properties.

---

Predicting the weather as a sorceress, Mrs. Reynolds proved to be right for it rained on and off for the next two days, never clearing enough for a brisk walk, much less for an encounter near the creek.

Georgiana kept talking very little although she seemed to always be close to approach Elizabeth who felt her disquietude grow with each drop that felt from the sky. At one side, the sister seeming to lurk around her but never being able to speak her mind; at the other, the brother looking ever so handsome but unfortunately out of her reach.

Darcy noticed her impatience and loved it. For him, having a woman as fetching as her craving his company as he craved hers made his skin crawl. Soon, very soon he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything other than her figure, the sashay of her dress as she walked in front of him, the rising and falling of her cleavage as she breathed… He blinked and looked the other way.

‘…And so, the candle holders were massive, heavy horrendous things sporting one fat cherub grabbing the other who tried to escape the monstrosity with his little arm up waiting for a candle-’ Ben stood to mimic the pose he described, one knee bend looking towards to floor in agony while one hand pointed to the ceiling. ‘And the women fought for it like harpies over a dead hyena!’

Bingley guffawed, Georgiana giggled, Darcy chuckled amused at how the lad’s disposition brought him memories of his happy youth rested against the large chair his father used to occupy, and Jane held her middle laughing while Elizabeth shook her head from the other side of the library.

‘It wasn’t that ugly or the fight that vicious.’ She said not distracting her eyes from the spines of the books while searching what she wanted. ‘The pieces were heavy monstrosities but had great value, so the ladies of Bath confirmed.’

‘They were absolute indignities, ma- Lizzy!’

‘The winning bidder thought it not.’

Ben sneered pointing his thumb at her. ‘She was the one to find it lost in Clarence’s old great-aunt’s attic and convinced the woman to let us sell it. The lady was pretty pleased with the money we sent her.’

‘See? It was a gem!’

As Ben continued to tell his auction anecdotes, Darcy watched Elizabeth peruse the book shelves searching his own mind. Had he witnessed her son almost call her ‘mama’ before? He was a handsome lad, shorter than Darcy but lean and elegant like his mother, her eyes and good humor, and also so much from his sire. The man who had the gall to fool this lovely lady when she was a debutante… The man he considered trustworthy and honorable, his favorite cousin, but who parted without acknowledging an understanding with her father. Her smile brought him back, he answered with another smile seeing her satisfaction with a book she took from the shelf and walked to him.

‘Any of these?’ She asked handing him three small thin books of sermons.

He laughed, she sipped her forgotten tea with smiling eyes and the others noticed the communication. ‘I’m not sure anymore, perhaps I can try to find it if I can remember where it was usually kept.’

‘Oh, dear!’ Jane’s hand shot to her bosom. ‘If Lizzy is trying this hard to find a book, I’d better retire before she finds.’

Ben grimaced. ‘Me too.’

‘Why?’ Bingley asked twisting his head from his wife to his brother. ‘She always reads it aloud for us when she finds a book she likes. Remember the last one about China, with all the drawings and- Wait!’ He said as his wife stood.

‘Let’s go Charles.’

‘Miss Georgiana, I wouldn’t advise you to stay. Good night, ma’am.’ Ben walked towards Elizabeth, leaned in and kissed her cheek. ‘I bid you good night, Lizzy.’

‘Good night, Lesley. Maybe I can take the book to you later.’

Ben gritted his teeth looking nervously at Darcy.

‘I shall not call you ‘Lesley’, Bennett.’ Darcy said holding his laughter.

‘See?’ He balled his hands. ‘I begged you not to say it anymore.’

‘Oh, such a dear little babe Lesley was!...’ Jane hugged his arm. ‘He used to giggle when our sister sang  ‘Janey and Lizzy and Mary and Kitty and Lydy and Lesley’…’

‘Seriously, sister.’ He shook his arm free. ‘Good night, sir.’ He bowed stiffly at Darcy and left.

As they teased after Ben, Darcy stood to close the door. ‘No one will bother us here.’

‘Good.’ She smiled saucily. ‘Find me the books, sir. Both of them.’

He smiled back, took her hand to place a kiss on her palm and wrist and walked to the far end of the library. There, he made a show of searching the higher shelves for a moment until he turned and fingered the cushioned seat bellow the window.

‘I knew it would be low!’ She gasped. ‘You were but a little boy!’

He chuckled and handed her a worn-out book a little bigger than the ones she had selected. Her eyes twinkled with amusement and to appreciate it; he sat at a large sofa facing the big windows, tugged on her arm to bring her to his side. The book of sermons was a regular volume, old and weathered, smelled of dust and mold even but inside it hid a prohibited French book of anatomy.

As she perused the pictures spending little time reading the explanations, his lips found the back of her neck, her ear, the spot behind that caught fire whenever he was close. ‘You are warm here, my lady.’ He whispered giving her goosebumps.

His fingers traced her evening dress’ low neckline, the perfumed valley between her breasts and she sighed leaning her back against his chest. He groaned in her ear, buried his nose in her neck and undid the crimson delicate lace bow so his fingertips could caress a nipple from inside the undergarments exactly as she found the drawings of a naked woman.

‘Is this where you first learned?’ She whispered.

Reluctantly he moved his eyes from her nipple between his fingers to the book in her hands. ‘How can this drawing compare to you?’ He ran his nose from her shoulder to her ear. ‘You are exquisite, my lady.’ Her breathing was quickened for he held one nipple inside the neckline and the other from outside. ‘Please grant me access to you chambers, my lady.’

‘Can you enter without being seen, Fitzwilliam?’ She had spent countless years hiding secrets and now that she was offered a clean start, how could she jeopardize everything for lust again? As if for cruelty, the page she turned revealed a naked man.

‘There is a side passage from the morning parlor to the private drawing room you are using, my nymph.’ As he squeezed her breast, instinctively she squeezed her legs together and shut the book. ‘I can be there in twenty minutes.’

‘I’ll be waiting.’


The drawing room or the bedchamber? She paced from one to another, her night and dressing gowns swishing around her legs and she tried to decide.

The drawing room seemed more appropriate, they were not married. The bedchamber could be more comfortable for her to lay down and let him- well, wait for him to… do what he said he thought about and hoped she dreamt about.

There was no denial he was a handsome man. Tall and strong and brooding, dark hair and marvelous lips. His kisses were nothing like she remembered or was stolen over the years by a more brazen gentleman offering to court her. His were different, heartfelt, the intensity put her in turmoil; she believed the difference was his intentions behind the kiss – at least she wanted her naïve romantic imaginings not to be misguiding her judgment once again.

Distracted against the window between the drawing room and bedchamber, she yelped when his strong arms encircled her shoulders. ‘I apologize for being a few minutes late.’ She shook her head unable to speak when he hugged her from behind and glued his lips to her ear. ‘My valet was exceedingly careful today and I waited until he left. I could have sent him away, but I wanted to be careful.’

‘Thank you.’ She whispered.

‘I locked the door I came in, will lock the others to the corridor and servants’ quarters.’

‘I already did.’

‘My lady…’ He breathed trying to calm his breathing and taking care not to let her feel his arousal on her buttocks. ‘I was going crazy waiting for the moment you would allow me in here.’ He opened the sash and pushed her dressing gown from her shoulder until it fell on the floor.

Her eyes downcast, she soon saw the shadow of his pooling around his feet too. She turned to hug his neck and he quickly took half a step behind so only his torso met hers. ‘I’m afraid I have little to offer, sir-’

‘Fitzwilliam.’

‘Fitzwilliam. Your book is basically the best reference I have.’

He chuckled both happy and saddened. She was naïve and unpracticed in spite of having bred one child already; her body inside the nightgown put him in sweet agony, he craved to see all of it, all she had to offer but that wouldn’t happen that night, their first night. She needed patience to forget the traumatic experience, needed to be courted and treated like a genteel well-bred man could, like he would.

Taking her by surprise, he ducked and easily swept her up into his arms. ‘Finally.’ He grinned and without breaking the hot kiss she gave him, he deposited her in her bed. His big hand caressed her ankle to take off her slippers, first one then the other. ‘I managed to give you swans, but the slippers still haven’t arrived.’

‘Slippers?’

‘I ordered you new ones, because of the grass and punch from the masquerade.’

‘Oh, you didn’t have to, Fitzwilliam.’

He merely smiled because the light coming from the candles and the low fire keeping her bedchamber protected from the north wind played on her face and white nightgown making his mouth water with the small lumps her tiny nipples produced against the fabric. Slowly he climbed to lie beside her as she scooted further up until her head bumped against the headboard.

‘Oof!’ She complained and gasped a second later when his hand grabbed a breast over her nightgown. ‘Oh, pray, do you think we-’

‘All you have to do is tell me to stop.’ He offered half lying on top of her, his mouth on her neck doing wonders against her skin, licking and kissing and nibbling. So overwhelmed she didn’t notice him opening the buttons until his hand easily crawled inside and pushed the fabric aside so his mouth could capture a nipple. She arched her back and clamped her tights shut letting the bolt run through her, not sure if her body would let her tell him stop if she wanted.

Powerful sensations ran through her as she saw his big figure rise on his knees, felt his hands on her legs pushing the hem of her nightgown up, the heated air reached her skin and finally he rested one knee between her tights. His mouth never left her breast, sucking and kissing and pressing her nipple between his lips.

Only when his hand glided upward from her knee to inner thigh she raised on her hands behind her.

‘What?’ He asked feeling his heart stop in frustration. ‘What, my love?’ Words failed her when she noticed his organ tenting his nightgown, impressive in size even if covered, seemed hungry too for the drop it let out was caught by the fabric. He followed her gaze and ducked his head to capture her lips in his for a tender kiss. ‘I won’t hurt you.’ He promised in a whisper as his hand glided the rest of the way up until it reached the tuft of soft hair between her legs and only stopped when his fingers reached her womanhood.

He rested both knees between her outstretched legs, arranged pillows behind her back using only one hand as the other continued to caress her gingerly. His fingers outlined her folds mesmerizing his touch with the softness and delicateness, from her mound to where she rested over the mattress several times allowing her to get used to the caress. He could lower her nightgown to give her privacy, but he craved to see and fell her, as much as he could in their first night together.

‘Do you like it?’ He asked adding a nipple to his caresses, touching her over the nightgown as his fingertips carefully probed between her folds and groaned when he found her damp. ‘Does it please you?’

‘Does it please you?’

‘So very much, my love.’ He whispered and let go of her for a moment to lift his nightgown to his waist and rest fully over her. Very carefully, he let his fingertips open her delicate folds enough for the head of his member probe her entrance.

She had her eyes shut, lower lip between her teeth, mouth dry, all the different smells overwhelming her nostrils: expensive wax, roses, strawberries, soap perfumed linens, man, sex. When he pushed inside slowly, she gasped feeling everything so different from what she remembered, bigger, slower, private, intense.

Having had time to prepare for this night, even though he heard her surprised gasp, he didn’t stop and kept pushing in with care. Loving that woman so much, knowing she had not been touched for the last two decades and before, touched only once - even if she asked him, he wouldn’t be able to stop at that point. Impossibly snug, as if she was sucking him in, wet and warm, perfumed of rose water and woman and sex, he buried himself in her treasure to the brim. ‘My love...’ He breathed and her eyelids fluttered opened. He wanted to ask if she was well, brazenly if she liked that too, but her eyes glowed alive with the flickering candles on the tall dresser by the window. ‘You are free to explore.’ There was surprise in her fine eyes, he wanted lust. He wanted her to be addicted to this, to any bed he laid, to the moment he would visit her chamber; Darcy knew he would be and wanted her to reciprocate. ‘Explore everything.’ He took one of her dainty hands clawing the mattress and balancing on his other elbow, pressed her palm to his hip inside his nightgown. She sucked in her breath; he smiled and slowly moved her hand up his side until his nipple graced her palm. ‘Everything belongs to you.’ He breathed in her opened mouth, her tongue waiting for his and as he gave her the kiss she anticipated, he pressed her hand to claw his chest and started a slow pumping.

Her breathing quickened, her head spun, she shot the other hand to this neck inside his nightgown collar feeling his course beard against her fingertips and moaned like a cat desperate to escape. He leaned back amused by her sound, almost in trance from the sensation her delicate sex produced in him, and decided to be brazen, much more than he had planned. Putting his weigh on his knees, he raised enough to unglue their bodies and took off his nightgown. Her hand never left his chest, the other returned to his neck, he smiled.

His expression, boudoir satisfaction she thought, fueled her courage and when he took her hand and guided it over his body; she was ready to enjoy it. Strong chest from an accomplished horseman and fencer, ribs covered by strong skin, dark tangled hair descending from his stomach to his small belly of a man who ate what he liked when he liked. Her fingernails hid in his hair until they moved to hers, and it surprised her how her skin seemed different from his, soft while his was firm and to compare, her other hand moved from his neck to his ribs.

‘Fold your legs, my lady.’ He asked, and groaned in pleasure, his lips stretching in a smile when she did cradling him between them. She would have complied even if he had ordered because the sensation that took her over when he withdrew to his head rendered her breathless. He saw and felt her reaction and still smiling, guided her fingertips to her folds wet and warm and delicate and the most fetching tone of pink. She gasped, tried to jerk her hand but he held her by the wrist. ‘Explore everything.’

There was no defense when his eyes were that deep and a wicked desire burned low inside her, so when he moved her hand by her wrist, her fingers gained life. She touched herself feeling how he stretched her entrance, imagined it might cause her injury but it felt too positively marvelous to be bad in any way; moved from her warm meaty silk skin to his paper thin pulsing member and heard him gasp. She waited to see if he would take her hand away or tell her to stop, but he closed his eyes and let go of her wrist to let his arms fall on his sides. Understanding he gave her leave, she explored him from the base covered by coarse dark hair to the tip still inside her feeling powerful and brave to let her index fingertip surround his mushroom slightly inside her.

‘Pray, take off your nightgown.’ He whispered spooking her. She had been keeping her eyes on his chest, seeing how his skin rose on prickles when he had goosebumps from her exploration, so distracted she didn’t notice he had his eyes opened seeing what she was exploring.

As soon as she was naked, his mouth closed around a small nipple, the other was covered by his hand and he pushed fully inside. She yelped and then giggled and moaned melting under him when his lips rested behind her ear as he pumped.

She didn’t remember much from that afternoon with Colonel Fitzwilliam aside from what her remorse sieved: pain, sweat, fear of getting caught, his groan. Now, everything seemed new and delicious, intimate, private, accepted, invited, luxurious and lustful.

His weight over her, his grunt of pleasure, his lips moving from behind to her ear, the almost regrettable feeling of him leaving her immediately replaced by the pleasure of his return, the smell of his skin exhaling sex, his hand on her hips to her buttock to her knee to her inner thigh to her knee over the crook of his arm built up a fire pit scorching her delicate parts, taking over her stomach, her chest, her neck, behind her eyes that flew opened and burst out of her in a powerful meow she never believed herself capable of uttering.

He stopped very still, thighs trembling from the effort of waiting the absurd pleasure of one thousand infinitesimal ants prickling his member at the same time, delicate and scorching hot. He had had mistresses, countless, from the Ton even, who had had pleasure with him, liked his visits but never ever had he received an attack such as that. He waited; she didn’t even suck in air until her pleasure slowly ebbed away. Once she breathed again, he still on fire, clamped her mouth in his for as long as he needed to pump before tossing his head back and grunting very ungentlemanly like a wounded wolf and ended up falling over her.

Several moments of complete silence.

‘Pray, what was that?’ A whisper.

‘A wolf being bitten by an angry pussycat, I reckon.’ He panted.

She giggled. ‘Dear Lord. Is it supposed to be like this?’

‘If you don’t give me this every night, I shall be heartbroken.’ She widened her eyes. ‘It’ll be even better with time, my Lizzy.’

‘Not ‘my Lizzy’.’

He frowned leaning his head away from her neck. ‘You are mine. Forever.’

‘I want to be.’ She caressed his hair. ‘Lesley learned to correct his impetus of calling me ‘mama’ with ‘my Lizzy’.’

‘Ah.’ He blinked slowly. ‘My lady, my nymph, my love, my woman, my lust.’ She giggled but he was still serious and still inside her. ‘My wife.’ She bit her lip. ‘If you think I’ll let you refuse me again, you are mistaken.’

She shook her head. ‘Pray, won’t you leave?’

‘Will you?’

‘No...’

‘Me neither.’

She laughed, he chuckled kissing her neck.

---

Perhaps it was magic that operated Pemberley after all because the next morning there was  sun and when Darcy wandered inside the woods at their spot, he found her seated a few twists of the creek ahead with her feet in the water. Mesmerized, he once again repented from leaving her chambers well before the day dawned, still felt very sorry for abandoning such a handsome lady alone in her bed. Her cheeks were flushed, her body loved, her eyes hooded and lips stretched in a lazy catlike smile that could have convinced him to return to the sweet confinement of her legs. He did try but she sent him away afraid a maid might climb up to check the fireplace and as much as he wanted, there was little he could deny her – even if it was against him.

Slowly he opened his coat, rested his crop and gloves on the grass and seated behind her. She yelped surprised by two long legs straddling her from behind and giggled when he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. ‘You could kill me, sir!’

‘By kissing you senseless?’

‘Scaring me senseless!’ She leaned against his chest as if he were a cushioned chair. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘No.’ He sighed deeply. ‘I’m afraid only in your arms I will be able to sleep well.’

She thought about sharing a bed with him, the big bed Georgiana showed her in the mistress bedchamber. Her parents always used separate chambers, never slept together. ‘Do the master chambers open to the mistress?’

‘There is a private seating room between the dressing chambers. I have been using it as a den for business I want to keep even from my secretary.’ He kissed her neck and her ear. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll only use the desk by the window, you can have the rest of the room.’

She twisted to look him in the eye. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘Whatever you meant, you can have the seating room to yourself, where you can rest as you are now, barefoot, smiling.’ With a lingering kiss on her cheek, he pushed her cape behind her shoulder to bare it for another kiss but stopped. ‘What is this here?’

She blushed. ‘All the care was of no use, my maid can well suspect what happened last night.’

‘Did I hurt you anywhere else?’ He closed his eyes when her delicate fingers touched his lips.

‘You didn’t hurt me.’ She shook her head. ‘You didn’t.’

He sighed touching the rosy bruise on her shoulder gingerly and inspected her neck, her other shoulder and opened the buttons from her morning dress’ décolletage, pulled the string from her shift glad for the cutout bust of her stays and arranged her over his shoulder to look closely. ‘Ah, my love…’ He sighed covering the purple bruise near her left breast’s aureole. ‘I shall be more careful in the future, I promise.’

‘Last night you asked me if your caresses pleased me…’ She looked at him and he nodded. ‘I was very pleased, and slept like an angel, woke up to the delicious memories of you in my bed… pray, would you return tonight?’

‘I almost didn’t leave it.’ He lowered his head to kiss her, she raised a hand to the nape of his neck and he closed his hand around her breast. ‘My wood nymph seducing me here, her feet in the water… I’m a defenseless fool.’

She smiled resting against his bent leg to face him fully, her garments opened and both her breasts exposed to him. ‘The seducteur is you, sir.’

He lowered his head more and kissed each nipple in turn and as she moaned sweetly, he sucked one before licking. ‘If I hadn’t promised to court you properly, I would make a little less effort to hold myself now.’ He caressed the wet nipple torturing her with delicate kneading and pulling. ‘The perfume of your secrets lingered on my fingers.’ He whispered in her ear, eyes on her dress bunched around her knees. How easy he could snake a hand inside her skirt and reach heaven. ‘Once you accept me, you’ll spend days naked.’

‘I shall enjoy that.’ She hid her hand inside his waistcoat to palm his chest. ‘When that happened before-’ She whispered and he stopped the nibbling on her ear and the torturing of her nipple to look at her. ‘It wasn’t like it was yesterday. I remember pain and insecurity but yesterday… tell me it will always be that way.’

He nodded. ‘You will be loved as you deserve, my lady.’ He kissed her lips lovingly. ‘Do you love me? Can you?’

She shook her head. ‘You overwhelm me, your kindness, your love, your care for me and Lesley.’ Her eyes searched his to read his emotions. ‘I am well in the way of loving you to madness.’ She sat up to attack his mouth, her tongue searching his with hunger and urgency, he hugged her waist and let her find what she needed in him, any reassurance she deemed necessary. Breathless, her chest moving quickly, her eyes on his lips she lowered her hand and touched his breeches; surprised, he sucked in air and held her wrist. ‘Allow me.’ She asked. ‘Open the flap.’

How could he deny her? But he had to, she needed care before she could be loved anywhere – that spot he was sure to love her many times through the years but then, at the beginning of their love, he wanted her to feel safe in a comfortable bed. Closing his eyes with force, he pressed her hand on his turgid member over his breeches and glued his lips to her ear. ‘Wait for me tonight. In your chambers I’ll belong completely to you.’



rp.eliteskills


a revised & unabridged version of this story will be available  Kindle, ebook, brochure from Jan 25th, 17.