I will always remember the first time I met Sam. Nor will I ever forget the first thing they ever said to me.
I will also never forget Sam slamming into me hard enough to push me out of the way of a carriage, and then both of us falling straight into a rose bush.
But where are my manners? My father always said that a lady should first introduce herself before launching into stories that no one in their right mind would believe. They will still think you’re crazy, but at least they will hopefully be polite and call you by name as they kick you out. I can tell you from my own experience there is nothing worse than being called crazy. Except non-existence. That was unpleasant.
My name is Rosaline DuCarmont, of the DuCarmont Estate. You may know of my family since it is the oldest in our quaint town of Freehold. We may not be the richest family, or the most powerful, certainly not beloved by the community, but we are the oldest. Our line can be traced back to the Norman Invasion in which I always imagined some big burly Viking shrugging his shoulders and saying ‘I guess I’m a DuCarmont now”.
Of myself I am not too sure what to write. To my parents I am a good daughter. To my older brother I am an annoyance and to my baby sister I am a chew toy. My boss tells me I’m hard working and my coworker says my handwriting is atrocious. I had a schoolteacher once say I wouldn’t live past age twenty and a doctor say I’ll live to be ninety at least. I have heard myself described so many ways but the only one that ever truly fit me was how Sam described me at that very moment.
“You okay? Wow. You’re lucky I was here, huh?”
I was lucky. And Sam was beautiful. Dark skin framed by the early morning light, black curls drawn down by drops of blood, soft brown eyes being momentarily passed over because I was far too distracted by the blood.
“Good heavens!” I said, proud that I could form words with this heavenly figure on top of me. “You’re bleeding!”
“Not important!” My savior snapped in a tone I was not exactly happy with. “What about you Rosaline? Are you okay? Missing anything important? Is any of this blood yours? Have you had any children yet?”
“I think it’s all yours.” I replied. Those eyes I had only briefly thought about certainly were rather wild looking. I sat up as gently as one could while surrounded by razer-sharp roses tugging at my dress. “Wait, did you say about children?”
“Nothing! Nothing. I wasn’t even here.” With those last words Sam, although I did not know their name at the time, rolled off me. I had only seconds to take in the odd clothes (which were now ripped and stained) before they ran down the street in the opposite direction where the carriage came from. They bounded away like a gazelle, filled with a passion that to this day I have only begun to understand. As the first snow of the season began to fall I realized two very important things. One, I was in love. And two, I was now horrifically late for work.
And before you point it out, yes, I totally missed that Sam had said my name.