I didn’t sleep well again, even though I hadn’t drank that night. I was on a high from the day, but something happened when we saw Ana and Lans at the dock. I physically felt the shift in Guinevere as she tensed and tried to move away. I didn’t want to seem like I was using her, but I was. I needed her as a shield from Ana.

Despite our relations – stepbrother and stepsister – Ana still wanted something from me. First, she was angry and she wanted money. Then, she decided she wanted recognition as the mother of my son. Finally, she wanted me. She tried to not-so-subtly remind me of that evening we spent together. What I did to her, what she taught me to do. She brought this up as a way to tempt me, but it only made me sick to think I had done things with her. Of all people, my own stepsister. I tried not to fault myself, reminding myself that I didn’t know at the time that we were related, and in many ways, we were not, especially not blood related. Still, it made my skin crawl to think I was with her and enjoyed her. I even had a famous song about her.

Ana openly made claims that I belonged with her. She suggested that the room next to mine should be hers, so she could slip into my room undetected. We could relive that night in college again, she promised me. It almost tempted me not to place Guinie in the yellow room. Almost. But I wanted Guinie close to me. I wanted her accessible to me if I needed her. After today, I was realizing just how much I needed her.

When I couldn’t sleep, I became inspired to record the day and I quickly noted lyrics for a song. Then I broke them into two songs, recognizing that I had two sentiments going on in one. One was need – and being pulled out of darkness. The other was lust – and opening up to it. Guinevere had certainly done that earlier in the day when she surprised me by having an orgasm based on kissing alone. I was proud of myself for bringing her such a beautiful release. I couldn’t get the image of her coming out of my head all day. Head back, lips parted, body arched into me, she was breathtaking. Especially with that red bikini exposing all her skin, she was the most gorgeous creature I had ever seen.

Secondly, I used Guinevere to drown out my jealousy. I wanted to stake my claim with Lansing that Guinevere was mine. I don’t know what immediately made me feel so possessive of her, but I was. I hoped her shift at the dock had nothing to do with Lansing, but I couldn’t rule it out. Lansing was stealing looks at her as we rode up, and with my concentration on landing the boat, I couldn’t tell if she was returning his hard gaze. I hated that whatever happened to make Guinie distant, it could be pinned to Ana and Lansing. They had potentially ruined an otherwise great day. Amazing, to use the word of Guinevere.

When we had dinner that night, Guinie was quiet again. I noticed that Kaye kept looking at her, though Lansing did not. Ana went home, thankfully. I wasn’t even sure I understood why Ana was at my house again. We typically tried to avoid one another after a big fight, and we had a huge one the day before.

When I arrived at Camlann, and shockingly saw Morte’s presence, my temper flared. I didn’t like to take it out on Morte, but I did not want him around. God forgive me, but I didn’t have much of a relationship with my son, and introducing the idea of Morte to Guinie in such a quick way, was not what I intended to happen upon arrival at the lake. As disconnected as I felt from Morte, I tried to be good to him the best I could, but I didn’t always present myself in a positive manner. Yesterday was one of those days. I hoped Morte had not heard me yelling at Ana to leave and take Morte with her. I even shouted at Ingrid for appearing on my first day at the lake. I wanted the whole trip to be special for Guinie. Ana, Morte, and Ingrid were all in the way as far as I was concerned.

I wanted Guinevere to relax. I wanted to get to know her. I wanted to find a way to help her find herself. I had called my friend who managed 4G, and to my pleasure they would have an opening in the fall. One of the women was expecting a baby and didn’t feel it was appropriate or possible to continue to perform with her large stomach in the way. She also wanted some time with the baby, so this gave Guinie an opportunity to try the group without a firm commitment to them. I thought it would be the perfect chance for her to shine on her own rather than mixed in a large group like an orchestra. Not to mention, it would keep her in New York. All I needed to do was record an audition and send it over to them.

My study in the old barn would be the perfect place for her, which was where I found myself at four in the morning, hammering out some sound for these new lyrics I was fumbling with in my head. I would have strummed in my room, but I didn’t want to wake Guinie in the next room. She seemed further disoriented and disturbed by whatever nightmare she had during her nap. I wanted to comfort her. I wanted to lie down next to her and let her go back to sleep knowing she was safe, but then I saw the red material sticking out from under my own sweatshirt, which she was wearing again, and all thoughts of sleep escaped me. The combination of the pieces of clothing brought other things to my mind that involved sleep later. Unfortunately, Guinie was closed off to playing along. Any hope I had of bringing her to another beautiful release, and possibly my own, seemed to be gone for the moment.

I played with a few more chords before I saw the door of the barn open and a familiar face enter.

Mure.

“What are you doing here so early?” I laughed at my old mentor.

“I could ask you the same thing.” A gleam in his turquoise eye made me smile, but the other stormed dark with concern.

“What can I do for you at this time of the morning?” I asked, setting my guitar down.

“I came to ask the same of you. What can I do for you?”

“I’m fine.” I shrugged.

“Are you?”

I stared at the old man. Mure was fishing for something, or he had something to say. Either way, I would spill the truth and then so would Mure.

“It’s Ana and Morte. And Guinevere.”

“I see.” He paused and stroked his white-bearded chin. “Tell me about Ana and Morte first.” So I explained the fight. How Ana wanted to stay in the house, knowing that Guinevere was present. She purposely brought Morte as a shield to get her way. I was upset that Ingrid allowed the whole scene in an attempt to get me to behave better toward Morte.

Mure simply shook his head. “Morte will be the death of you,” he said sadly. “Most children are,” he added as if that was additional comfort.

“Guinevere? Well, we had an amazing day yesterday,” I smiled to use her word for the feeling of her orgasm, “but something happened when we returned back to the house, and she shut down. Ana was here. So it might have been her. Lansing was here. And it could have been him.”

Mure eyed me with concern. “Why would you say it could be Lansing?”

“I don’t know. It was probably something I did,” I snorted quietly and shrugged my shoulders again.

“You need to be careful with Guinevere.”

“People keep telling me that, but I think she’s stronger than she lets on. Her shyness protects her, but I don’t believe she’s as shy as she comes across.” I smiled again, thinking of her boldness in a bright-red bikini.

“Either way, strong or shy, I don’t know if it is a good idea to be involved with her,” Mure warned.

“Why not?”

I could tell that Mure wouldn’t elaborate.

“Let’s just say I have a feeling. It isn’t that she’s not a good person. I just don’t think she will be good for you.”

“Well, let’s say I have a feeling,” I replied angrily. “It’s a good feeling. And it involves Guinevere.” I hated to discredit Mure, and I felt the sarcasm in my voice despite being serious. I’d never known Mure to be wrong in his hunches, but I was certain my own feelings were right.

I called the band over to test out my lyrics. My newly inspired motivation brought them all with a mission to make music and Mure helped with the mixing. By the end of the day we had the potential of two new songs, and I was on a music buzz. When Tristan said he heard that Elaine Corbin was at the lake and hosting a party, I was pumped to go. I needed the high a party could bring to keep the euphoric feeling, but I also wanted the high I felt around Guinevere from yesterday to return as well.

Elaine Corbin was old money. Her physically disabled father had some unknown story of familial wealth, and the family could trace their bloodline back to historic giants. They seemed to have a mystery about them, and I was certain there was some scandalous story that was protected from generation to generation. I had my suspicions it had to do with a girl I saw at their home a few summers in a row as a teenager. Either way, they were one of the original families to bring money into New York City, and one of the original families to settle a summer home in the woods surrounding the lake.

Their summer home was more like a mansion with its numerous bedrooms rumored to sleep twenty couples, if need be. It was enormous and classic looking. The house was not the brown fieldstone of mine, but rather a dull-gray limestone that actually was rather pretty. Various windows were decorated in a stained-glass design rather than clear glass. In the evening, the grounds were lit with fairy lights, accentuating private alcoves in the garden. I loved this home for its Old World look and I enjoyed the spirit of Elaine Corbin, whose feisty strawberry-blonde hair matched her personality.

Fortunately, Elaine had never been to bed with me. It was not from a lack of trying though on my part. She gently turned me down on the drunk occasions I propositioned her, telling me that while she found me attractive, she was in love with someone else. Her eyes would then wander over to Lansing, and I would sigh dramatically in defeat. Elaine would claim that Lansing Lotte was her destiny, and I didn’t wish to fight with Lansing over another woman. The fact her affection for Lansing did not seem to be returned made no difference to me. She belonged to him. When all was said and done, it was a good thing I had never been with Elaine. She was one of the only female friends I had.

Elaine welcomed the members of the band lovingly. She never used us for her personal gain. She valued our friendship as members of the community from the Lake District, not just some popular band. As Lans, Perk, and I all had strong ties to Lake Avalon, like Elaine, she did not infringe on this connection. She didn’t really need to, though, because she had numerous political and spiritual connections of her own to people in high places. Her father was a very powerful man with a determination for some undisclosed purpose with Elaine. In some ways, Elaine and her father were similar to Leo DeGrance and all of his connections. However, Elaine’s might have been slightly more legal and reputable than Leo’s.

I guided Guinevere through the throngs of people, introducing her as I went. My hand stayed possessively on her bare back, as she wore a halter dress in a bright coral color. With her dress tied at the neck and her hair swept up, her back was fully exposed like the night I first saw her at The Round Table.

Many people recognized her as Leo DeGrance’s daughter, and I was surprised at how Guinie and my social connections intersected. I was ashamed that I hadn’t really noticed her before this summer. I realized this was a statement to my character, as I was probably too busy with some groupie, fan-wife wannabe, or the latest empty-headed model, to notice a beautiful, sincere woman like Guinevere. Not to mention that she was four years younger than me and most likely still in school while I moved in this circle of people.

Many people stopped me in my own right to discuss the band. Discuss Pendragon Empire. Discuss Camelot Records. I didn’t have answers to all their questions, nor did I want to in regards to Pendragon Empire, but I was feeling that itch again to start something with Camelot Records. I knew Mure had been waiting for me to grow old enough to become more invested in this part of the overall company. With my musical talent, Mure’s musical mentorship, and Leo DeGrance’s ability to groom a band, I was beginning to think I might have the essential people I needed and trusted to reorganize Camelot Records and make a go of it. However, I needed to make it through the commitment of my next world tour in the fall before I could think about anything further.

I noticed as I guided Guinevere through the crowd, and occasional separation, that she seemed rather relaxed in this societal environment among the rich and famous. She was good at making compliments, asking intelligent questions, and giving reasoned opinions on topics of politics, religion, and, most important to me, music. She seemed seasoned and trained for this community of people, and I realized that any connection with Guinevere might be one of the first positives in my rather rebellious public image and dysfunctional family.

On that note, I found my mother and Guinevere in a discussion with someone I sadly recognized. He was the lead singer of a rival band, the Dark Agents. Mel Agent had become his own entity from his band, like Adam Levine was almost separate from Maroon 5. He was a dangerously powerful entertainer, who often stole what he wanted. His personal life off stage was highly questionable and he was often rumored to be connected with disreputable people. He had tried to purchase Camelot Records for years as an investment, and I refused to sell. At the moment, Mel seemed more interested in attaining Guinevere.

I watched as Mel placed his hand on Guinevere’s back, leaning in to say something to her, like a lover might do. He appeared to share a secret that made Guinevere force a smile as she glanced at Ingrid. Guinevere was poised and controlled as I had seen her all night, but I could tell by the way she held herself that she was uncomfortable with Mel’s touch and proximity. As I drew closer my mother spoke to me, but I never took my eyes off Guinevere, who seemed to be begging me to come to her.

“Ah, there’s my son. Arturo, you remember Mel Agent?” Ingrid smiled at the younger man.

“Of course,” I replied and in one move shook hands with Mel and slipped my other hand around Guinevere, pulling her into my side. Ingrid’s eyes opened wide and she tried to smother a smile. Guinevere stumbled only slightly as I practically dragged her to me. Her eyes didn’t leave my face.

“There you are,” I sighed, as I leaned in to kiss her on her exposed neck. “I’ve been searching for you.”

“I’ve been taking good care of her.” Mel smirked as he raised his drink to his lips. “Haven’t I, Guinie?” he breathed, as he looked over the rim of his glass before taking a sip.

“It’s been wonderful to see you again, Mr. Agent.” She smiled sweetly, more relaxed now that my arm was wrapped around her waist in full possession of her.

“No more Mr. Agent now that you are all grown up, beautiful. Mel. And I look forward to seeing you soon in New York.” He leaned forward and blatantly kissed Guinevere’s cheek, despite the hold I had on her.

“Excuse us,” I said as I gently, but forcefully, guided Guinevere outside one of the many French doors open to allow fresh air into the large entertainment room. Once out on the flagstone patio, I spun Guinevere and watched her down her drink in one swallow.

“What was that all about?” I demanded with anger clearly in my voice.

“He offered to get me a job with the New York Orchestra.” She swallowed a final drop from her glass.

“I offered to get you a job,” I said with a bite in my voice.

“I’m just trying to keep my options open.”

“Is that what you want? Options? Like Mel Agent? He’s too old for you.”

“What are you talking about?” Guinevere said and hiccupped.

“How many of those have you had?” I asked briskly, as Guinevere swayed unsteadily on her high heels.

“Three. Maybe four.”

I ran my hand through my hair, making some of it stand out, emphasizing the choppiness of my waves.

“You are so good-looking with your hair like that,” she said with a grin.

I opened my eyes wide and stared at her. She had never said anything playful like that to me before.

“Are you drunk?”

She laughed. “You have a fresh-fucked look,” she giggled. “There. I said the word for you.”

She was definitely drunk, I decided, but I had to smile at her flirtatious attempt.

“I think we need to get you home.” I reached for her elbow.

“No,” she pouted.

“What?” Anger returned to my voice.

“I can’t go back to that room knowing it’s hers.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know about Ana…and her room.”

I looked over Guinevere’s shoulder and pulled her closer to me, away from the open doors.

“What do you think you know about Ana?”

“I’m sleeping in her room.”

“Who told you that?” I watched as she swayed toward me.

“Ana did.”

“What the fuck?”

“She told me all about your M.O.”

“My M.O.?”

“Yeah, the picnic on the boat, the day in the sun, the kissing. I should feel privileged that I’ve made the list. The legendary list of woman that are satisfied by Arturo King.” She hiccupped again.

“This is ridiculous,” I hissed. “We’re leaving.”

“I can’t leave, yet. I just got kissed by Mel Agent,” she shivered with an exaggerated full-body shake, “and I cannot sleep with that image in my mind. I need one more.”

“You’ve had enough.”

“Pot,” she pointed at me, “calling kettle black,” she pointed at herself.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I scooped Guinevere up in my arms and she dropped her glass. It shattered on the flagstone and she squeaked, but I didn’t stop. I stepped through the opening in the low garden wall and carried Guinevere around to the front of the house like a thief in the night. When I found my car, I deposited her in the passenger seat and secured her seatbelt. I gently closed her door, but slammed my own. I hit the gas hard, sending up gravel as I exited the Corbin property and headed onto the dark road that wound around the lake.

“First,” I started as I gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, “that bedroom is not Ana’s. It never has been. It never will be. No woman has ever slept there. Ever.” I emphasized the last word so strongly I spit.

“Second,” I said as I took a dark curve a bit sharply, “I do not have an M.O. Whatever that might mean. I have never taken Ana or any woman on a picnic in the boat. I haven’t brought women that I’m interested in up to the lake before. Ana might have said some things, but the signs were obvious. I had the picnic basket. We were on the boat.”

I took another curve and Guinevere reached for the dashboard to steady herself. I slowed down; suddenly realizing I was driving too fast on the curved road.

“How she knew about the kissing, I don’t know. Did you say something to her?”

“No.”

“Well. It was a lucky guess on her part, I’m sure.”

“You’re Arturo King. I’m sure it wasn’t a stretch.”

I slammed on the brakes, forcing Guinevere to slide forward and then be restrained by the seat belt. I hadn’t pulled over, just stopped in the middle of the dark road.

“Whatever you might think of me, I don’t keep a list of women I’ve had experience with. And despite my history, I have no experience with someone like you.”

“With someone like me?” she muttered and I watched her close her eyes. “Of course not. I’m too plain for the likes of you. I’m just some ridiculous girl who had a fucking orgasm during her first kiss with a man.”

I let out a breath of air.

“Guinevere,” I said, softer, “you are not plain. You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen in my life. You’re everything I never knew I wanted.”

Her breath hitched at my words.

“Those sound like lyrics to a song,” she muttered.

I ignored her comment.

“As for the fucking orgasm, if we were fucking, that would be a fucking orgasm. But we haven’t done that. Yet. And what do you mean your first kiss with a man? Surely you’ve been kissed before.”

“Not like that,” she muttered, rolling her head on the headrest behind her.

A smile crept across my mouth.

“Well, you should be kissed like that and often. By me.” I reached for her chin and made her look at me.

“Do you hear me? By me. Only me. Not Mel Agent.”

She shuddered at the name. “Not Mel Agent,” she said softly.

“How are you feeling?” I asked as I put the car back into drive and slowly wound my way through the remainder of the dark road.

“Nauseous,” she said, closing her eyes.

“Try to keep your eyes open until we get home. It will help with the dizziness.”

My words were too late; she was passed out.