The Weight of Words (The WORDS Series)

  Cover

  Title Page

  The Weight of Words

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  Georgina Guthrie

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  Omnific Publishing

  Los Angeles

  Copyright Information

  The Weight of Words, Copyright © 2013 by Georgina Guthrie

  All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

  ...

  Omnific Publishing

  1901 Avenue of the Stars, 2nd Floor

  Los Angeles, California 90067

  www.omnificpublishing.com

  ...

  First Omnific eBook edition, November 2013

  First Omnific trade paperback edition, November 2013

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  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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  Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

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  Guthrie, Georgina.

  The Weight of Words / Georgina Guthrie – 1st ed

  ISBN: 978-1-623420-73-4

  1. Contemporary Romance—Fiction. 2. University—Fiction. 3. Shakespeare—Fiction. 4. Forbidden Romance—Fiction. I. Title

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  Cover Design by Micha Stone and Amy Brokaw

  Interior Book Design by Coreen Montagna

  Venus and Adonis

  Titian (Tiziano Vecellio) (Italian, about 1487 – 1576)

  Venus and Adonis, about 1555 – 1560, Oil on canvas

  The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles

  Aubrey

  Chapter 1

  The Wise Man’s Son

  Journeys end in lovers meeting,

  Every wise man’s son doth know.

  (Twelfth Night, Act II, Scene 3)

  SOME PEOPLE THRIVE ON CONFLICT, but I’ve never been a fan of it. Years of listening to my parents arguing in their bedroom taught me to flee at the first sign of any verbal altercation. So when the sound of a heated conversation drifted out from behind my boss’s door one morning, I cringed. Unaccustomed to hearing the dean of Victoria College shouting, I distanced myself from the argument, crossing to the far side of the outer office where I started plucking dead leaves from a hanging plant. It was a wasted effort. The voices only got louder.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me, Dad!” I heard from inside the office. “Do we really have to go over this again? Enough already!”

  Dad?

  I froze, a dried leaf crumbling in my hand. Dean Grant was arguing with his son? I considered escaping to the washroom down the hall, but before I could bolt I heard Dean Grant angrily directing his son to stop shouting. Both men dropped their voices until all I could hear were harsh murmurs.

  I tiptoed back to my desk, prepared to dash out if things escalated again, but there were no more eruptions. The dean’s door swung open a few moments later, and his son strode out, averting his face as he walked past my desk. I shuffled a few papers around, pretending to look busy, but I couldn’t help taking a quick peek as he made his way to the door.

  I’d never met this son—or any of Dean Grant’s family members for that matter—but from what little I could see, this young man’s appearance clashed entirely with that of his perpetually well-tailored, carefully-groomed father.

  “Different as chalk and cheese,” my mother would say. A recipe for disaster.

  As Dean Grant’s son crashed out of the office, his leather laptop bag banged against the door frame. Stray papers threatened to spill from the top flap, and he muttered, “Fucking damn it,” while jamming them deeper into the bag and kicking the door closed with his foot.

  I blushed, not because I was offended by colorful language—far from it—but because I was certain Dean Grant, a consummate gentleman in every way, was standing right behind me. Sure enough, when I turned around, he was in his office doorway, grimacing in the direction of his son’s retreating figure.

  “Sorry, Aubrey, I’m sure that was unpleasant for you,” he said. “That’s my son, Daniel. He’s having a bad time of it at the moment, but there’s no excuse for crass behavior. I apologize on his behalf.” He handed me several manila folders. “Can you please file these?” he added before returning to his office and closing the door.

  I wasn’t sure if I was more embarrassed for myself or him. In the five months I’d worked in the office part-time, I’d never once seen the dean lose his shit or overreact, even though his position required him to deal with all manner of crappy student issues. Then again, it’s the people we love most who have a knack for pushing our buttons. Hearing him lose his temper with his son didn’t make me respect him any less. It simply allowed me to see a human side I hadn’t been privy to before.

  I glanced at the clock. Eleven twenty. Ten minutes left in my shift. I rounded my desk, filed the folders, and organized some other papers and documents. Then I knocked on Dean Grant’s door.

  “Yes?” he called.

  I poked my head into his office. “I’m on my way, sir. I’ve left Gisele some notes for this afternoon so she knows what I didn’t get around to finishing. I hope your day gets better.”

  “Thank you, Aubrey. I hope so, too. See you on Wednesday morning. Don’t work too hard, now.” He wagged his finger at me, and I smiled as I left.

  We both knew I wasn’t about to ease up simply because the end was in sight. I was eager to maintain my excellent GPA and my place on the dean’s list, an honor which meant so much more given the admiration I had for the man who conferred it.

  Belongings in hand, I locked up for the lunch hour. Outside, the wind buffeted me across the snow-covered quad and over to Jackman Hall. All was quiet inside the residence apartment, my roommates nowhere to be seen. I tripped over the boots and coat Matt had left in the middle of the hallway the night before. His door was closed. I tried to move quietly, imagining him inside and sleeping off a brutal frat party hangover. Joanna’s bedroom door was wide open, but I didn’t look for her. She had a full morning of classes.

  In my own room, I changed out of my nicer work clothes and put on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. I surveyed my face in the mirror. The February blahs had set in and, along with them, a pallid complexion that positively screamed for some sun. Some girls could carry off the pale skin associated with long Canadian winters, their eyes leaping out of the creamy landscapes of their faces. I was not one of those girls.

  I grimaced at my reflection and rooted around for an elastic hair tie, noting as I combed my hair back that my warm streaks were looking less like honey and more like molasses. Yet another victim of this year’s long winter. I needed some vitamin D in the worst way. I also needed to hurry the hell up and quit mooning at myself if I wanted to get across campus in time for my class at noon.

  Dragging my coat on, I dashed out of the apartment and hiked across campus. The stinging wind urged me along the paths through Queen’s Park and bit my ears. Why hadn’t I worn a hat? And where the hell were my gloves? I picked up my pace, setting my sights on the other side of the park, all but jogging by the time I reached University College, the imposing gothic building where I’d attended countless English lectures and tutorials over the past four years. A wall of warm air greeted me as I vaulted inside. Sweet relief.

  I made my way up to the second floor, full of anticipation for my new class. This wasn’t any old course. I was on the brink of the final semester of my U of T undergraduate career. M
y four full-time classes had reached the mid-term point, but I was starting my second half-course of the year—Studies in Shakespeare—a full three months studying my favorite writer. To say I was excited was putting things mildly.

  The room was already crowded, but I scouted out an empty aisle seat near a heating vent by the door and made myself comfortable. The air blasting from the heater smelled faintly of wet gym socks. I wrinkled my nose but stayed put, prepared to suck it up. I was way too cold to switch seats.

  A flurry of movement at the front of the room signaled Professor Brown’s arrival. I craned my neck around the people sitting in front of me and watched as he settled in behind the podium, smiling at the assembled students. I’d taken two of Professor Brown’s courses in the past, and we’d always had an awesome rapport—a definite bonus. His smile always made me think of my grandfather—a combination of cheekiness and unquestionable wisdom. I couldn’t think of a better way to round out my course load as I neared graduation.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, moving over to the oak door and peering at his watch. “Or should I say good afternoon? I gather you’re all here because you have an immeasurable love for the Bard and his works, and if that’s not true, best make a speedy retreat now. I’ll close my eyes for thirty seconds so you can run for it.”

  He made a show of covering his eyes. The class laughed politely as he peeked through his fingers.

  “No takers? Excellent!” He closed the door soundly. “My name is Martin Brown, and I’ll be your guide as you pursue your own passionate inquiry into some facet of the great Master’s work. We will read some of his plays and sonnets together, but you will also chart your own course, studying an aspect of this unparalleled dramatist’s work which most appeals to you.”

  Around the room, many of my forty or so peers smiled and whispered to each other. During this brief interlude, we were interrupted when the door reopened and a young man with a now-familiar head of dark messy hair flew in and headed straight toward Professor Brown.

  “So sorry I’m late, sir,” he murmured, moving past the professor to drop his bag on the table at the front of the room.

  Professor Brown turned back to the class with a warm smile and gestured toward the newcomer. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to my graduate teaching assistant, Daniel Grant.”

  At that point, Dean Grant’s son turned around and I saw his face for the first time as he scanned the room. He had the most glorious blue eyes I’d ever seen.

  Shakespeare who?

  Chapter 2

  Playing the Fool

  The fool doth think he is wise,

  but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.

  (As You Like It, Act V, Scene 1)

  PROFESSOR BROWN MOTIONED FOR DANIEL to take a seat at the wide table at the front of the room and then continued his introduction to the course. He might as well have been speaking Egyptian for all I heard. I was completely distracted by the young man sitting behind the table, appraising the students before him. He seemed tense, probably still reeling from his earlier argument with his father.

  I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t drag my eyes away from his features. My first impression of him earlier that morning had been right on the money. Unlike his father, he had a complete disregard for his appearance. Half of his collar was tucked inside the neck of his shirt, and there was an enormous hole in the knee of his jeans. If he was going for the absent-minded professor look, he was on the right track. Yet despite his shoddy grooming, his glorious eyes, defined cheekbones, and full lips tipped the scales completely to the other side. Simply put, he was gorgeous.

  As he tossed his head to flick the hair out his eyes, I found myself mirroring his gesture, my own headshake an attempt to make myself focus on Professor Brown who was gesturing toward Daniel and suggesting he go through the tutorial process. Daniel stood and pulled his bag toward the podium.

  “Yes, as Professor Brown said, I’ll be the TA for this course. I’ll attend classes along with you, and I’ll be responsible for evaluating some of your term work,” he explained. “You’ll each participate in one tutorial a week. The class will be split into three fairly equal seminar groups, and part of your course mark will be a result of the effort you put into these tutorials. I’ll post these sign-up sheets outside the seminar room downstairs tomorrow morning at quarter to nine.”

  He gestured to three crumpled sheets. Were those the papers he’d mashed into his bag earlier? I suppressed a smile. He really was a hot mess.

  “It’s up to you to get here early tomorrow to secure the tutorial spot you’d prefer, and the first session will be on Wednesday,” he added, casting his eyes around the room. As his eyes flickered over mine, my stomach flipped.

  What the hell?

  “Are there any questions?” he asked. I saw movement in my peripheral vision. “Yes? Go ahead, name first, please,” Daniel said.

  “Hi, I’m Cara. Cara Switzer.”

  I stifled a groan. Of course. When I leaned forward, I noticed her D-cups—her best asset—commanding the attention of all the males in her general vicinity. Even a couple of females looked suitably impressed. Having taken a couple of courses with Cara in the past, I remembered her inability to string together an intelligible phrase and braced myself.

  “I was wondering,” she said, her inflection going up at the end and making the statement sound like a question. “If we, like, need extra help, will you be available in your office to meet and stuff like that?”

  Her inane question along with its suggestive undertone aroused a few muffled titters. I glanced at Daniel, interested in his reaction. A muscle in his jaw twitched before he looked at Professor Brown, who merely waved his hand at his TA as if to say, “You’re on your own with this one.”

  “Well, I don’t actually have an office of my own, but it’s incumbent on me to be available at certain fixed times to discuss any questions or difficulties you might have,” Daniel said. “Of course, you could make an appointment outside of those times as well.”

  I peered around at Cara who was making a show of nodding innocently, her genuinely intelligent inquiry answered. She didn’t fool me. I was sure she was racking her brain to figure out what the word “incumbent” meant.

  Daniel took his seat, and Professor Brown proceeded to deliver an introductory lecture, which I did my level best to pay attention to despite the epic distraction sitting at the front of the room. After a thirty-minute spiel, Professor Brown gathered his papers into a neat pile.

  “Okay, folks, we’ll leave it there for today,” he said. “You know from your reading list that you’re to have read Hamlet before Wednesday. It’s a whopper to start with, but ‘though this be madness, yet there’s method in’t.’”

  He looked around the room, one eyebrow raised. This was a challenge. Among those who took his classes, Professor Brown was known for quoting Shakespeare from time to time and expecting someone to be able to identify the play, the character, or the scene. He continued to look around, but no one was biting, perhaps not realizing what he was waiting for.

  I raised my hand reluctantly.

  “Miss Price! Nice to see you again. Taking a stab at it, are we?”

  “Yes, sir.” I saw Daniel lean forward at the front table, perching his chin on his clasped hands. “The speaker is Polonius in act two of Hamlet, reacting to the strange behavior of King Claudius’s nephew,” I said, confident in my knowledge of the play.

  “Nicely done, Miss Price.” Professor Brown’s smile was complimentary. “I see you haven’t lost your impeccable attention to detail. I’m eager to see what topic you select for study this semester.” He nodded to indicate he was done for the day, and people began to gather their belongings and move toward the door.

  I snuck a glance at Daniel. He’d relaxed back in his seat, rubbing his chin as he appraised me. I held his gaze boldly, and he tilted his head forward, as if to commend me for impressing Professor Brown. I averted my
eyes, stomach somersaulting again.

  What, now I’m in grade nine?

  When I looked up again, Cara was flouncing past the table at the front of the room with one of her ditzy friends. “Have a good afternoon, sir,” she purred, sashaying toward the door, and then giggling at her dopey girlfriend beside her, mouthing, “I know, right?” She wasn’t even remotely discreet.

  Daniel nodded at the two idiotic girls, remaining seated and busying himself with his wrinkly papers. I was pulled out of my reverie by a sudden noise behind me—a girl clambering down the aisle and then throwing her arms around my neck.

  “Aub! It’s so good to see you!”

  “Julie? I’m so glad you’re here!”

  My enthusiastic greeting was entirely genuine. Julie Harper and I had taken several courses together over the last three years, hanging out between classes and sitting together at lectures. We’d been in touch on Facebook over the past few months, but we’d both been busy and struggled to find time to meet in person. I was happy to see we’d be able to rekindle our easy friendship.

  “I didn’t see you when I came in,” I said. “Where were you sitting?”

  “I was at the back. Normally I don’t care if I can’t see anything as long as I can hear, but I was kicking myself today,” she added, her voice dropping to a lower register. “If you know what I’m sayin’.”

  She raised one eyebrow and gave her head a subtle bob toward the front of the room where Daniel was doing his best to iron out the three wrinkly papers. I put on a face of mock horror. “Julie Harper, I am shocked and appalled at what you’re suggesting.”

  She laughed. “I’ve missed you, girl,” she said. “We’ll get caught up later, okay? I’ve gotta run. Rehearsal in fifteen minutes on the other side of campus.”

  “Rehearsal,” I said, pointing to the tightly coiled blond bun perched on the top of her head. “That explains it.”