Face Palm...

Again, I've been a bum and forgotten to write my blog that I, yet again, promised at a certain time. One of these days I'll learn to schedule things a bit better so they don't overlap. (I'm really bad about that!) 

So, here I am at 1:22 AM trying to find the right scene to include. There have been so many "deleted scenes" it's almost impossible to pick one that is polished enough to post without being embarrassed! Most of my scenes are extremely rough, as I write things down before I forget, and I hate to put unedited work out there. However, sometimes you just gotta do whatchya gotta do!

So here's a deleted scene. I'm not sure which book it was from or what changed to make me exclude it. When the characters talk, I listen...

Deleted Scene from Legacy of Secrets {unedited}

     He took my hand and led me up the wooden stairs and, for the first time, I was able to appreciate the beauty of his home. I’d spent most of my time wandering around so much I could find my way in the dark, yet I never realized how large the house was. He kept it free of dust or clutter, but it was clear that most of the items were never touched more than they had to be. Pictures donned the walls of the long hallway; some of family and other of beautiful landscapes and waterfalls. Pretty autumn colored wreaths wound in the spaces where the wall might show. Small nick-knacks were positioned neatly on cascading shelves beneath the pictures. It all looked as if it were from a magazine rather than ever being lived in. Everything had its place and Christian made a point to keep it that way.

     “This house really is beautiful. This is the type of home people dream about you know.”

     “Well my father worked very hard to give my mother everything she wanted. While he never faltered from his vows to her. He was the type of man everyone wanted to be but was too afraid to admit it. The type of man I hope to be one day.”

     “You’re lucky. You can remember your parents. I’m having a hard time with that these days. I’ve spent so much time ignoring the pain that I’ve ignored the pleasant memories as well. The worst part is that I don’t know how to get it back. Am I terrible for that?”

     “No, you’re not terrible. You’re in pain. That pain will never really go away but it will subside. It’s all about how you mourn and what you choose to celebrate about their lives.”

     “Celebrate? How could I ever possibly celebrate what happened to them?” I asked bewildered. I winced as the mental pictures fluttered through my mind. I often dreamt about the night they died and nothing was more frightening than reliving that horrible night.

     “Silly girl…not celebrating what happened to them, celebrating their lives. Granted they were short, but great things came from them and those things should be celebrated. That’s how you remember the good things and the bad become less relevant.”

     “I can’t remember much of what they had done. I was thirteen when they died. I want to remember, but it’s hard. I’d like to know what accomplishments they made.”

     “Lia, you’re missing my point” he had led me to a room at the end of the hall and still held my hand as he spoke softly; a smile playing in the corners of his mouth. Breathlessly I answered his challenge, a bit annoyed. I hated it when he danced around the subject. 

     “Well what is it then? I’m not a mind reader.”

     “You may not remember them, but the greatest thing they did is staring at me.” He laughed briefly yet deeply, clearly amused. “I don’t think you realize how adorable you are when you try to be angry with me. If you weren’t absolutely frightening when you were furious, I might have tempted you one day” he laughed aloud and all I could do was melt into his laughter with my own.

     “Well, I think you’re a bit biased. I’m no catch. Besides, how can I celebrate myself? That seems a bit conceited don’t you think?”

     “Happiness, Lia. Celebrating is about happiness. Indulge in what elates you and your possibilities could be endless. I indulge myself with you, which is incredibly selfish, but you are my happiness” he kissed my fingers that were wound in his and my heart fluttered. 

     His lips were soft and warm on my skin and an unexpected burst of rippling joy exploded through every pore on my body. I’d never felt that before and I wasn’t sure how to control it. Instead of focusing on an object or a way to channel, my attention was only on him. He attempted to tell me how he felt, but didn't quite succeed. But when he spoke to me sincerely, without guard, he didn't have to say a word. 

     I couldn’t take my eyes away from him and I could feel my joyous bubble growing larger which each beat of my heart. The only thing I could see was Christian and I never wanted him to let me go. This wasn’t the same passion as the night before, not quite as raw. I knew then, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was my rock; my bread and water; my air. Soft, happy tears to fell freely as I used the fingers he was kissing to turn his face toward mine. I didn’t think that he could feel the bubble, but he was instantly on guard when he saw me. Before he could say anything I blurted, “I love you."