There Can Only Be One

Chapter 1

As she stared at the ceiling, Bianca thought it would be nice if it didn’t have cracks in it. She sighed as her eyes roamed from the tile right above her to anywhere her gaze could reach from her vantage point.

She closed her eyes on another, longer, more heartfelt sigh.

Everything in the house had a crack in it from the ceiling to the floors to the freaking concrete patio partially sticking out onto the crap that passed for a backyard. It was obviously going to take a long while before she accomplished anything around here, she mused. At least, doing everything alone it was.

You should have stayed a few more days at the local inn, she berated herself as she pulled a sweaty strand of hair off her forehead. It was hot as hell in her room. You couldn’t tell it was nearly the end of April in the Midwest it was so damn hot. Although she had power, she wasn’t sure it was safe to use the AC. She’d had to open a window and this helped her survive. Barely. She had kicked the sheets down at some point in the night because she was completely bare. Just then, her alarm clock went off and was further annoyed. She’d woken up before the stupid thing.

Letting out a resigned groan, she shut the alarm off and swung her legs over the side of the bed in a practiced motion. Rearranging the tank she wore, she absentmindedly rubbed her right shoulder. Stretching her arms up over her head, she yawned and just sat there, staring at the window in front of her. She felt what could only be called hot air coming from that direction and could see the sun was still rising on the horizon based on the faint light peeking through the slightly billowing curtains.

She’d been lucky enough to find this place, she thought as she got up and fixed her shorts. Even if the house was in need of major repairs, she was glad to be here. Desperate times called for desperate measures and her times had certainly been desperate enough that she’d needed the gigantic impulse she’d taken on buying the house. Money wasn’t the problem; she had plenty of that. Her parents (and now, her career) had made sure (and continued to make sure) she never lacked in that capacity. No, her problem was something else entirely.

She stepped close to the window, pulled aside the curtain. Leaning against the sill, she admired the view in all its glory with the yellows and reds and oranges that resembled ribbons, stretching out like delicate fingers across the sky towards her.

“Well, at least that will be something to look forward to,” she muttered. And it would be, if she ever decided to wake up this early again.

She glanced around the room as she popped the bones in her fingers, one of the many bad habits she’d had for the longest time. Right next to the bed was a night table with a lamp, a pitcher of water, a cup, and pill bottles along with the nefarious clock. Slightly squinting (force of habit since she’d always had bad eyesight before surgery), she noticed the time—6:30 in the freaking A.M.

She went back to fix the bed—one of the few good habits she’d forced herself to pick up. She had a lot of habits that needed to be worked on. Another one that she needed to fix, she thought frowning, was the one that had her incapable of staying in one place too long. One would think that, as an adult, she’d be able to do it. A therapist would tell her that this incessant need to be nomadic could be a result of her “trauma”. And she was pretty sure they would be right.

Lifting a brow, she fluffed the pillows and wondered what it would be like to be able to stay in one place, get to know people, become friends with them. What was it like to live without anxiety, of any kind?

What was it like to live without jumping at shadows?

What was it like to live fearlessly?

Maybe one day she’d figure that out. Maybe not all of the threads have come undone by her choices recently. After all, her mother had been a huge help in the past and had never failed her. After that conversation in Miyako’s office, Bianca had to question herself long and hard about her way of thinking.

Buying this house was probably the first step to finding out the answers to some of those questions; a color she’d yet to identify finally woven somewhat shoddily through a bit of the huge section of monochrome. Maybe that “one day” was close at hand.

Enough. She lightly tapped her cheeks with her hands. She had people coming today to give her estimates on some of the house repairs. Come on, B, get it together, girl. She snapped sheets, comforter, and re-fluffed pillows. When that was done, she walked in the direction of the bathroom taking no more than five steps before ramming her pinky toe into a box.

“Son of a—” she sucked in air through her teeth as she rubbed the sore spot. “Oh, that hurt,” she said to herself as she continued to rub her toe. “Yes, yes that hurt, but its passing. I promise.” She whispered the last part.

Once she could walk without wincing, she continued towards the bathroom. The master bedroom was a mess with boxes scattered in every corner. And because it was on the east portion of the house (or was the proper term “mansion”?), the rays that were quickly making themselves known in no uncertain terms lit up the little dust motes that flitted through the space around her as well as the boxes. Sure they were somewhat small boxes, but still five more were piled in front of the desk that had finally arrived yesterday and even more boxes right next to that. Her computer was in one of them and she made a mental note to look for it later.

After taking care of business and a quick shower to wash off the sweat, wrapped in a towel, she rummaged through an open box near the still empty closet. She put on undergarments and a pair of athletic leggings. The shirt she found was a piece of work to take out, but stubbornness prevailed. Once she’d managed, it was ironic that it would have “Get Down and Dirty” in funky letters on the front.

She lifted a brow. “Of course.” Over her head it went.

Oh, she was going to get down and dirty alright, if kneeling and scraping and kicking some grime butt was part of that. Checking the length of the sleeves, she raised her arms, testing how far they went up. If she didn’t lift her arms past her shoulders, she should be fine. She didn’t need twenty-one questions right now. Or ever, really. Walking back to the night table, she opened the small drawer and searched for a band to hold her damp hair. It was bound to frizz in this heat and she wasn’t took keen on that.

“Aha!” Bianca triumphantly fished one out.

Tying her hair, she made another mental note to schedule a hair appointment (a thought that made her cringe). Her mom always cut her hair for her, but that was officially over. Glancing back at the night table, she eyed the pill bottles. She had stopped taking the medicine a while back, but knowing she’d be around people...

She filled the cup, opened one of the bottles and took out a pill. Taking a small breath, she popped the pill in her mouth and chased it down with the water. Replacing the cup, she scanned the floor for her shoes. When she didn’t find them, she got on her knees, bent at the waist and pulled up the covers to look beneath the bed.

That was the problem that Whistler had always had with her; she was forever losing things, leaving them in one place and then promptly forgetting where she’d put them, and that always got her into trouble.

Whistler. The only being to be represented by the darkest of black thread. Now why had he shown up? Just thinking his name was enough to speed up her pulse something fierce. Without moving from her bent position, she closed her eyes and went through the process she’d acquired to stop the panic attack before it fully took hold. She placed a hand to her chest as she needed that physical contact to make sure she was actually breathing. It was a thing.

Calmer, she let the covers drop and sat back on her calves to think. Breathing was good, but she couldn’t stop herself from nibbling on her bottom lip. Looking behind her, she peered through the brightness until finally spotting the shoes she’d been looking for under the night table. Relief rushed through her. She also found a pair of clean socks. After tugging them on, she put on the shoes and walked into the hallway—another mess.

More boxes awaited her attention here as well. “I promise I’ll be back to go through you guys,” she gently told the boxes as she gave one of them a pat.

Once all the immediate building structure issues were dealt with, those would be next. Without the boxes, the hallway itself wasn’t so bad. Replace old wall sconces with modern lighting. As for the fugly wallpaper, it could either be replaced with better looking paper or paint and it would turn into a masterpiece.

Moving on, she came to the end of the hall which opened to the second floor loft and left half of the curving staircase leading down to the first floor. Directly on the other side was a mirroring hallway and staircase. That side of the second story held three other rooms and a full bathroom. She’d discovered what she could only assume were servants’ stairs on the far end which fed into the corridor directly below.

She put her hand on the railing and made her way down. She’d fallen in love with the staircase. It gave the foyer a semi-circular shape which was something she hadn’t seen too often. Bianca examined the banister for anything that might need fixing apart from the sanding and varnishing that she was already preparing to do. Seeing nothing else, she got off the last step and was about to make another left to go into the kitchen. Another interesting feature of the house: The kitchen was beneath the loft and boasted double glass doors with hallways on either side, same as above.

Before she could think of anything else though, her doorbell rang.

Stopping in her tracks, one foot on the last step and one the floor, she tensed. The second ring had her walking towards the front door. Thinking better of it, she switched direction mid-stride and peeked out one of the big front windows overlooking what was supposed to be the front porch. She tried not to wince at the overgrown brush, shrubs, and untamed grass she could see beyond that. She needed a landscaper. No way was she going to be able to get any of that in tip-top shape. Mental note number three.

She saw a white van parked outside on her u-shaped driveway with its algae infested fountain sitting smack in the middle a large circular patch of lawn. Reading the words on the side of the vehicle, she turned her attention to the person standing in front of her door. He was standing on the bottom step, head tilted to the side, thoughtful.

Okay, she thought, when she didn’t see anyone else. Person. A person. Not…people.

She could handle that. Right?

Maybe?

From her angle, she took in his windblown black hair, cotton t-shirt, well-worn jeans and serviceable work boots that had definitely seen better days. As she examined him, he stuck out his chin and scratched the slight stubble on it with one hand. If his profile was any indication, he was as good looking as his picture had been.

As if sensing her stare, his hand paused. Shifting, he looked straight at her. Bright green eyes framed with dark lashes crinkled at the corners as he smiled.

Yup, definitely just like his picture.

Okay, so he wasn’t just cute. He was damn gorgeous. She took a hasty step back, her heart picking up in tempo. Again. At the rate she was going, she’d feel as if she ran a marathon by the end of the day. That pill better be kicking in soon.

Lacing and unlacing her fingers, she chastised herself. “The man is here about your electricity.” And anyway, he was only one person. Just one. Hadn’t she just established that?

Also, she told herself, act normal. Like dealing with people is something you do normally. What was it like, she wondered not for the first time, to listen to herself?

Please, please, she looked at the ceiling pleadingly with her palms together, don’t let me make a fool of myself.

Taking a deep breath, she reached for the door.