CHAPTER TEN

WINSOME

( — attractive or appealing in appearance or character. )

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

2009

          "ANYWAY, HERE'S WONDERWALL."

          Michaela wishes those were the first words Lincoln ever said to her. Instead, they were introduced to each other by mutual friends, including her college roommate, and it happened somewhere mid-October, when the trees slowly lost their leaves, but the rain hadn't yet arrived.

          He was lying on the grass, with his guitar's strap swung across his chest and the instrument lying over him as well, and, while she greeted him with a simple 'hi', he placed his fingers over the strings, seemingly lost in thought. Her roommate, Jillian, simply sighed, as if she was already used to it, but Michaela waited to see what was going to happen and sincerely hoped she wouldn't regret it.

          He simply played a chord or two before singing Mickey by Toni Basil. Everyone around them exchanged a nervous look and Michaela glanced at Jillian for support.

          "Ha-ha," she muttered, wishing Jillian had defended her, but she merely threw her dark hair over her shoulder and stared down at Lincoln as he kept playing without singing. His voice was soothing and captivating, but Michaela wasn't willing to admit it out loud, not when she felt like he was making fun of her and her name by quoting that God-awful song.

          She almost forgot who she was—a rich, spoiled eighteen-year-old girl from the Upper East Side whose Miu Miu boots were sinking into the humid soil beneath the grass. She and her superiority complex were far too good to be dealing with something like that, so she raised her chin, hoping he could see he wasn't getting to her head.

          Still, there was something strangely alluring about him, especially in the way he burst into laughter or how he let the gentle breeze caress his face and blow his hair to the side—he already wore it long by then, having let it grow down to his jaw, much like he keeps it now. She was seconds away from leaving him, Jillian and the rest of the group, but still stayed there, choosing to ruin her denim jacket to avoid doing it to her skirt.

          Jillian did most of the talking, even though Michaela has never been shy, but she also didn't really know what to say or how to act around these people. Jillian was her polar opposite in many ways, being the one who introduced her to everyone else instead of doing it by herself and simply being a social butterfly, but Michaela genuinely liked the girl and all her quirks.

          Michaela wanted a fresh start and Yale could give her just that. 

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

2009

          THE GROUP WASN'T BIG. It was the three of them—Lincoln, Michaela and Jillian—Jillian's cousin, who was Lincoln's roommate, two other seniors, and a junior. Nevertheless, they were tight, despite the age differences and the constant tension between one of the seniors—Opal—and the junior—Dane—and, somehow, made it work, even with their clashing schedules.

          Lincoln didn't scare her. It wasn't like that. Michaela rarely ever lets anyone intimidate her, but Lincoln felt like a breath of fresh air when compared to most New Yorkers she had met until then. They were the only New Yorkers in the group, with Jillian and her cousin Quentin being from California, Opal having traveled from Georgia, Dane being from North Carolina, and Willa, the other senior, being from D.C.. He was humble and kind, despite his fondness for bad songs, cheesy puns, and inopportune laughter explosions.

          She liked him, plain and simple. She didn't know where it had come from or how it began, but, once she managed to get past the Hey Mickey jokes and focused on the rest of his layers, the pieces simply came together. They enjoyed spending time together between classes, after dinner, and during the weekend, but they still knew everyone else was catching on to what they were doing. So, they took it down a notch, even though there simply wasn't anything going on.

          As both their majors involved a lot of reading and writing, it was only natural for them to discover they had plenty of interests and skills in common. Though he wanted to make it into the writing business, she wanted to write about people like him and they clicked—he wrote until his hand felt about to fall off, which was when he turned to his music instead, while Michaela found it was the perfect background noise to study.

          There was cute banter, there were flirty conversations, but there was no first move coming from any of them. Michaela was entirely focused on her studies and so was Lincoln, as it was his last year of college, and he was also working on what he hoped was the novel which would launch him onto the market.

          (Spoiler alert: it totally was. It was also what made him famous.)

          Though Michaela was getting frustrated by the lack of action, she also didn't want to do anything out of fear she had misread the signs and was simply seeing things where they didn't exist, so she kept it to herself, not even uttering a word about it to Jillian, and waited for something to happen. Tate women don't wait—they go for it.

          Up until then, she had never felt less like a Tate.

          It happened on a December night, close to the day of Michaela's first exam. She's great at winging stuff, but she's also really good at losing nights of sleep and forgetting the meaning of proper nutrition when she needs to meet a deadline. Therefore, it was no surprise to anyone to see her spend nights in the library, hunched over heavy textbooks.

          That night, Lincoln walked her back to her dorm, as he had joined her to keep on working on his novel (exams? What exams?), but, instead of saying goodbye with a quick wave, he leaned his head down and kissed her. Just like that—his hand held the back of her head, and she could have sworn she had heard him sigh against her mouth when she returned the kiss, fingers gripping the fabric of his sweater.

          When she took a step back, too flustered to say anything, she knew Lincoln was waiting for something. Instead, she simply turned around and made her way inside, completely certain her cheeks were so hot they were seconds away from bursting into flames.

          "Go out with me!" he asked, still standing outside, and she could hear him perfectly, even if she had already climbed a flight of stairs.

          "In your dreams," she replied, raising her voice just enough so he could hear her, but making sure she wouldn't wake anyone. Jillian, for example, was a light sleeper, waking up with the faintest sounds.

          "I'll text you in the morning, then!"

          She laughed, leaning over the railing so she could see him, and his grin was bright, even in the darkness of the hall. "I'll be waiting."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

2010

          MICHAELA FOUND OUT SHE WAS IN LOVE IN MARCH OF HER FRESHMAN YEAR OF COLLEGE. It hit her like a train, as Lincoln wasn't doing anything remotely interesting to most people—he was standing in the middle of his dorm room, trying on pair after pair of sunglasses, and, when he turned around to face her, the hot-pink frames stood out against the dark lenses.

          "I look ridiculous," he stated.

          "I think you look adorable," she replied, flipping through the first draft of his novel. It was a quick read, despite its length, and Michaela's gut told her that book was getting him a publishing deal.

          He sighed, taking off the sunglasses. "I think these are Jill's." Michaela sat up on the bed. "What do you think of the book so far? How much editing does it need?"

          "Some"—she set the notebook aside, crossing her legs over the duvet—"but I think it's really good as it is, so it can only get better. Sir Isaac Newton was only twenty-three when he discovered the law of gravity."

          "Lincoln Calloway was only twenty-two when he published his first novel." She grinned at him. "Thanks, Mickey."

          She could have simply replied with a quick 'you're welcome' or even a 'no problem', but she didn't. Of course she didn't. If she had jumped headfirst, then she was doing it properly. She thought he was scared of being the first to say it, worrying it might be too early in the relationship and it could potentially scare her off, but she was scared of nothing.

          "I love you," Michaela declared.

          Lincoln blinked, seemingly astounded, but his lips eventually twisted into a small smile, and he pinched her nose. "I love you."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

2010

          "MICKEY, OH MY GOD," Lincoln croaked out, on the other side of the line, as she let the burning sun rays of the Hamptons soak up her skin. Jillian, lying on the recliner next to her, sipped her mimosa. Lincoln had always had a knack for being too melodramatic at times, but his voice sounded like someone close to him had died. "I'm—oh my God."

          They were halfway through August and Michaela and Jillian were bound to start their sophomore year of college, meaning they were enjoying any opportunity they had to not think about it. When Michaela's grandparents invited her to go visit them at the Hamptons, she didn't think twice before telling Jillian to pack her bags.

          Until Lincoln's call, she didn't think she'd have something to worry about during the summer.

          "What's going on?" she asked, immediately sitting up straight. Jillian couldn't possibly look more unbothered, having nearly finished her fifth illegal mimosa of the afternoon. "Are you okay?"

          "The publisher called me back," he replied, in a shaky voice, and Michaela began to brace herself to return home earlier than she was supposed to, knowing he'd need her by his side if the novel had gotten rejected. He had poured his heart and soul into that book, and she knew for a fact he deserved to get that deal—if they rejected him, it surely had to do with his age. "I got it. I got the publishing deal. They want to edit it, publish it and offer me a longer contract."

          "Lincoln," she breathed out, "congratulations. That's amazing. I knew you'd get it."

          Jillian sat up and Michaela's cheeks hurt from smiling so much. "He got the deal?" Michaela nodded. "Congrats, babe!" She raised her voice so he could hear her. "Our best friend is going to be famous!"

          Three years later, Jillian would move back to California and sign a movie deal, becoming even more of a celebrity than Lincoln himself and having Yvonne Tate design her red carpet dresses. At the time, none of them knew it would happen, so they didn't care.

          They lived in the moment. They didn't have a single worry in the world.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

2013

          "YOUR FANS THINK I'M PREGNANT," Michaela announced, closing the front door of their apartment with her hip. She was twenty-two, fresh out of college with a marvelous degree, and she was in no condition to become a mother. She had relatively supportive parents, financial, emotional, mental, and physical stability, and a steady relationship, but she was still twenty-two and her internship wasn't doing much for her.

          Lincoln, with two bestsellers out there, had become a celebrity during the past three years and almost made it look easy. It was fun at first, when it was just her and Jillian, naïve nineteen-year-olds laughing about it at the Hamptons and thinking about all the perks fame came with, but, after Jillian left, things quickly became too much and too hard for them to know how to handle.

          Sure, they were still friends with Opal, Dane, Willa, and Quentin, but they had become a lot more reserved after the press began to pay more attention to Lincoln and, by association, to Michaela. Cameras followed them around almost everywhere they went, and, as bratty and selfish as it sounded, they found themselves thankful that Lincoln wasn't a model, an actor, or a singer—the harassment would be a lot worse if he were.

          Michaela had no idea how Jillian could handle it, being under the spotlight and the bright flashes of the cameras, having her flaws pinpointed for the whole world to see.

          Lincoln lifted his stare from his laptop's screen, already working on his third novel. At twenty-five, he almost looked twenty-eight, with seemingly permanent dark circles underneath his gray eyes and purple veins marking his eyelids. "What happened?"

          "These two girls approached me"—she threw her bag to a vacant couch—"and asked me if we were going to be parents because I've put on weight."

          Lincoln furrowed his brows. "You don't look pregnant."

          "I know." She picked up an apple from a cork basket and doused it with water. She had only gone up a size in jeans since her freshman year of college and, for someone who had always been a size 2, having trouble gaining weight, it was a massive feat for her. "Even if I did, I don't think there'd be a problem, but you know how those people are; I gained weight because I needed to, but they think I'm pregnant. When I lose it, they'll probably think I'm doing it on purpose to please you."

          Lincoln sighed. "I'm sorry, Mickey. They're awful to you sometimes."

          "I can take care of myself." She tilted her head to the side. "Do you want kids, though?"

          "Nah." He shrugged. "Not right now, at least. Unless they're born with advanced reading skills so they can proofread my books."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

2015

          "IF YOU LOSE, YOU MARRY ME," Lincoln taunted, handing Michaela a Wii remote. She narrowed her eyes, staring at the velvet box he held in his free hand, but still said nothing when he fell to the couch next to her, starting the Mario Kart game. It was unfair, as he had always been a lot better at the game than her.

          Growing up a Tate, you don't get to play such foolish games; you have brunch with other influential families whether you like it or not.

          "And if you lose?"

          Lincoln winked at her. "I marry you. I mean, it's a gorgeous ring, so I definitely wouldn't mind wearing it. I bought it after a lot of deliberating and chose one we'd both love wearing."

          "You"—she finally took the remote, sitting up straight—"are a terrible person, Lincoln."

          "I know." He leaned to the side to press a quick kiss to her temple. "May the best player win."

          At twenty-four, she was engaged. At twenty-four and twenty-seven, they were in love—more than they had ever been up until then.

          It was no fairy tale, though, despite it certainly looking like one. Michaela just didn't want to think about it.