One historical romance

Welcome to The Spot Writers. This month’s prompt: a cat stares at something behind its owner’s back. What does it see? (You can write the story from the cat’s perspective, if you wish!)

This week’s story comes from Chiara De Giorgi. Chiara dreams, reads, edits texts, translates, and occasionally writes in two languages. She also has a lot of fun.

One historical romance

by Chiara De Giorgi

My roommate, Jenny, loves to read historical romances.

Historical romances are basically love stories: out of eight hundred pages, at least six hundred are devoted to detailing hot intercourses and describing massive male chests and backs that are as vast as Greenland, but since in the remaining two hundred pages a king, a battle, a stronghold – or something of the kind – are featured, then they’re called “historical romances”. I also suspect the term “love stories” is widely despised.

So, anyway: Jenny loves those books. Recently, she’s been seeking out all those that are set in Scotland, where the manlier men in the world apparently live: men that are so manly, they can wear a skirt! (The reason I know all these things, is that I normally sit next to Jenny while she’s reading, so as to peek at the pages and read along. Sure, sometimes I fall asleep, but that is normally not an issue, because when I wake up the hero and the damsel are still setting fire to the woods with their uncontrolled passion, just where I had left them.)

Sorry, I lost my train of thought.

A few nights ago Jenny threw a party. I really don’t like it, when Jenny throws a party. All those strangers prancing around the flat with their dirty shoes, claiming all couches and armchairs... it’s irritating. So, as usual, I stayed out of the way, half hidden behind a curtain. I was very still, and I scanned the crowd. I like to observe and deduce, I know things about people at first glance, that you wouldn’t believe. Once Jenny made me watch “Sherlock Holmes”: finally, a kindred spirit! Of course he had to be fictional.

Anyway. There I was, doing my thing, when he entered the room. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I stared at him from my hiding place, considering my options.

Suddenly, Jenny realized I was staring at something right behind her and she turned around. Damn it, now she was facing him, and her reaction was exactly what you can expect. She gasped and dropped her glass. He gallantly picked it up, while Jenny let her gaze slide all over his muscled body, his white shirt, and the sexiest kilt you can ever imagine. He looked like he had just jumped out of one of those historical romances, and Jenny was clearly determined to become his damsel. Could I allow such a waste of manhood? Of course not.

I quietly slipped out of my hideout and slowly made my way towards the two of them, keeping my eyes fixed right behind Jenny’s head – I know it creeps her out when I do that.

When I reached them, Jenny was flirting shamelessly and even shifted just enough as to conceal me from his sight. Unperturbed, I brushed up against his legs with a special technique of mine, tripping him up. He caught Jenny’s arm so as not to fall – not what I had wanted. But he had noticed me, and I knew he was mine.

He stroke me on my head and between my ears, baby-talking to me. “And who’s this beauty?”

I seized the moment and jumped in his arms, then I curled up against his formidable chest. Jenny was already defeated, but I lifted my eyes, stubbornly staring behind her head. There was nothing, of course, there’s never anything, but she doesn’t know that, does she? 

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The Spot Writers—Our Members:
Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/
Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/
Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com
Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/