Another step and she would be dead.

She felt a harsh hand grip her shoulder, pushing her back into the small crowd that stood close on the corner of the sidewalk. She gasped as her book, that seconds prior she was so absorbed in, fell from her gloved hands and into a puddle that hugged the sidewalk. It came to a halt in a quiet splash as the carriage raced inches away from where she stood. The coachman shouted something the woman couldn’t quite make out before he vanished from view.

The woman couldn’t believe it. She was seconds away from death. Or at least a serious back injury.

“Bloody bastard.” A deep, rather raspy voice behind her muttered. “Shouldn’t be saying shit like that.”

She turned her head, curious to see the person that had stopped her father from doing more paperwork than necessary.

The first thing she noticed was the glove, the black leather glove that still had a firm grip on her shoulder. The one that had pulled her back. Her eyes traveled upwards. The next thing she saw was a pair of light gray eyes. Or were they blue? Underneath the street lamp she had no clue.

Then she focused on his face.

He was pale, a light beard, with messy jet black hair. One of his dark eyebrows were raised, and that’s when she realized that they had been making eye contact for several seconds.

She looked away quickly, back at the cobblestone sidewalk they stood on. “Thank you.” The woman’s voice was barely louder than a whisper. She paused, but the man didn’t say anything. “Thank you.” She repeated.

Finally, the man’s mouth changed into a smirk.

“Not a problem. Best you be careful however,” He let his hand loose and traveled back down to his side. “Wouldn’t want you getting all trampled now would we?”

The other people, men in top hats and women with hair nearly as high, started to pass the two strangers and get across the snowy street.

“N-no sir.” The woman agreed. Being trampled was the least of her worries until a mere minute ago. “No, I wouldn’t.”

He chuckled. “I would hope not!”

She nodded, then turned her head to where her book lay. She bent down, picking it up by the spine only to realize that the pages were dripping off the cold once frozen water. The man seemed to notice this, as an uncomfortable look morphed his face. “Oh, I did that, didn’t I?”

The woman looked over at him, then back at her book. “I suppose. Needn’t to worry, I have plenty of novels at home I can read.” Shame however, she thought, for she had just started that one.

The man shook his head, and stepped forward to cross, as she did the same. “No, no, I shall worry. Were you enjoying that tale?”

The woman gave a soft shrug. “I hadn’t gotten too far just yet, sir.”

He held out a hand. “May I see it?”

She handed him the book, and he took a long look at the cover. His eyebrows narrowed, but only for a moment, before they shot up.

“Peter Pan!” He exclaimed. The woman blinked, eyeing him. He looked over and begun to explain.

“My sister, you see, she just turned ten a week ago and I had gotten her this exact story! Well, not this story, it has a different cover but the same title.” He smiled at her proudly.

“I hope she enjoys it.” She said, reaching her pale hand out to grab what was hers. The man put it out of her reach.

“I shall buy you a new copy.” The man stated. “It’s only fair.”

The woman’s eyes widened, as she brushed a few strands of her curly red locks out of her face. “Oh no sir,” She waved a hand frantically. “You don’t have to.”

“But I shall!” He exclaimed, handing her the book. “Like I stated, it’s only fair.” Something in the woman’s gut told her there was no way of convincing him otherwise, so why bother putting up a fight?

“Well sir, there’s a small bookshop just a few buildings down. If you must take me to get another copy then that might be your best option.” She pointed a few feet ahead of them. The man nodded and held out his arm for her to take.

“We best hurry, come on.”

Her face flushed slightly, and hesitantly she took it. This was not something she was expecting on her evening walk.

By the time they got to Storybound, the small bookshop owned by old Mr Meyer, more and more of the street lamps were on. The man pushed open the door, a small bell above ringing as he did so.

The woman had to hide a laugh as she saw Mr Meyer jolt up from over the desk. Late nights, she figured, or early mornings. Mr Meyer fixed his small round glasses as he smiled at the two.

“Ah, a late night stroll I see?” He questioned, his bushy gray mustache going with his words. The man, who still had her arm crossed with his, handed him the soaked copy of Peter Pan.

“I made her drop this into a puddle by mistake. You don’t mind showing us where the other copies are, do you?”

Mr Meyer picked up the book and frowned, placing it under his desk. “Why of course, follow me.” The little man walked around his desk and towards the back of the shop, the man and woman in tow.

“Here!” He said at last, reaching his arm out to show. “We have a couple of copies left, so take your pick!” He yawned before adding. “We close in ten minutes, so please be quick.”

The man scoffed. “Depends on how long she wants to take.” It sounded vaguely like a threat.

“We’ll be out shortly.” The woman added, surprised by the man’s words. Sure she loved books, but she wasn’t about to keep a man away from his sleep because of it.

She got her arm out of his grasp and picked the copy in front of her. “This one will do.” Her eyes looked over at the man. “I really hope this isn’t much trouble.”

He raised his leather bound hand. “Not at all! I want to make up for the trouble I caused.”

“But you didn’t cause any trouble, sir. It was all my doing.”

“Are you telling me I’m wrong?”

“…Yes.”

His eyes widened. “Huh. Well I’m not, but I thank you for the bluntness.”

She hesitated for a moment, not quite sure how to respond. “You’re welcome?”

He let out a low laugh and put his hands in his coat pocket. “Would you like anything else? My treat.”

She blinked in shock. “You only said you would buy me a replacement copy.” She stated. That was what he said right? Or had she understood it wrong?

“Well, yes,” He sighed. “I did say that, but if you would like anything else, I’d be happy to get it for such a lovely lady such as yourself.”

“No sir,” She insisted, holding the book tightly in her hands. “I’m just fine with this and this alone.”

“Positive?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

He shrugged. “Whatever you say, miss.”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

They made it back to the counter, where Mr Meyer lay barely awake. The man grabbed his wallet and handed him a five dollar bill. The woman was surprised. He was good looking and wealthy.

He handed her the book. “Here, I hope that this makes up for my misdeed.”

“Yes, it does. Thank you.”

They walked out of the shop and the woman was surprised that stars had started to show in the sky.

“Do you have a pocket watch on you?” She asked quickly.

The man looked down and fiddled with his pocket for a moment, before pulling one out. “Yes, it’s 7:03.”

“Oh dear.” She looked down, eyes wide. “I must get home, my father will be worried.”

“Ah, I see.” He sighed once more. “I suppose I should as well.” He turned to face her head on. “Have a lovely evening.”

“You as well.” She added. She turned her back to him, new book in hand, and walked back the way she came.

—

The woman with the long curly red locks had a name. One that gave her no mind. Anna Orlova.

She marched down the streets, snow starting to fall down upon her head. Her mind was in a frenzy. She almost got run over by a carriage and that man-a random man-saved her and bought her a book! She saw her own breath form clouds in front of her, as she went along. She wasn’t sure how long she was walking for, as she was lost in her own world. Her thoughts were full of recipes she could make for her and her father that night, and what she would wear to meet Ethel the next morning. She was coming back from Scotland from visiting her sister if she remembered correctly.

Soon enough, she made it to the two story house on the lane. Her lane. Her home.

She made it to the second last house on the lane, and pulled an old key from her coat pocket. Lord, it was freezing out there.

She fumbled with her shaking hand for a moment, before the key was caught in the lock. She turned it left, then right, before she pushed open the door with force from her body.

The warmth of the fire filled her lungs as she quickly slammed the door shut. The winds were strong, and she had to adjust to the wind being there no more. She took off her coat and boots before heading into the kitchen.

The home was small, cramped even. Everything was in the same place she had left it. She knew her box full of her necklaces and earrings was upstairs, along with some of her fathers old paintings. The kitchen was clean, mostly. All that was left was a plate that she had had her early breakfast on that morning. Walking over, she placed it into the sink just as she heard the door swing open. Anna jumped, dropping the end of the plate into the sink with a clang.

She heard shuffling come from the other room. She let herself relax, she recognized the sound of her fathers heavy boots being placed on the ground, along with his heavy breathing. She hurried out of the kitchen, going to her father.

He looked exhausted.

He had large eye bags underneath his brown eyes and Anna couldn’t help but guess that loss of sleep had to help with his head of gray hair. Still, his eyes lit up slightly as he noticed her.

“Hello Annie dear,” A weak smile crossed over his face. “How was your evening?”

Anna nodded, a faint smile forced on her face. It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy, it was just that smiles had to be put on her face, they didn’t come naturally.

They were supposed to.

She knew that.

She was trying.

“It was fine.” No need to tell her father what had happened, it ended in a stern lecture more than anything. Sure, she might’ve been nineteen now, but that didn’t stop her father from treating her like a child. A scared, small child.

She wasn’t a child. She wasn’t scared. Not anymore.

Anna had gotten good at lying to herself over the years.

Her father made his way into the living room, her not far behind. He sat down on the old couch, groaning.

“Tired?” She asked playfully.

Her father looked up, and nodded. “Yes, yes. Very.”

Anna stopped herself from moving into the kitchen and starting dinner. Something was wrong about his father’s face. He looked…she didn’t know what. His eyebrows were furrowed and his frown was deeper than normal.

She stood there, the air inside almost as cold as it was outside now, her breathing shaking slightly. “Is everything alright?”

Her father sighed gravely. He looked up at her, his eyes heavier than she had seen on anyone. “We need to talk, Annie. Sit, please.”

She did so quickly, sitting down in the chair across from him. “What is it? Did something bad happen?”

He held up his hand, silencing her. “No, it’s none of the sort. Listen,” He closed his eyes as he spoke. “You’re nineteen now. You’re a bright, beautiful young woman. But…Annabelle, the man I’ve spoken to…it’s for the best really…” His eyes finally opened, tears starting to well up.

“Annabelle, you’re getting married. I’m so sorry.”

—

The man with the gray eyes had a name. One that possessed him with great wealth and power. Lester la Rue.

He watched as the woman hurriedly walked away, her new book in her grasp.

How odd she was. It charmed him.

He smiled to himself, turning on his heel and heading towards home. His home. Lord, he needed a drink. Thinking about dealing with his father…maybe he would stop at the pub before he came home.

He wasn’t expecting to do that tonight. Any of that. The one time he left his work to get fresh air he came back short of five dollars and short of a name that he would’ve loved to know. God, why did he have to be so stupid? He should’ve asked.

She was quite beautiful. Her long curly red hair, those ice blue eyes, the soft pink flush on her cheeks from the cold. He was also surprised at how blunt she was. Many women, especially with him, would try and mind their words. She didn’t.

Sure, he has had his fair share of bluntness, he had his siblings for that. But from a complete stranger? And a beautiful one at that? Forget it.

As he made his way in the dark, the only thing he could see was the streetlamps, but he soon made it back to the la Rue estate. He paused at the large, rusted black metal gates. He sighed, letting a cloud of smoke cross his view. It faded into the snowfall. He pushed the gate and it opened with a creek. The dead flowers and bushes decorated the garden, with trees standing tall and their branches pointy. He looked up at the front of his home. Every room had a light on, all but the one his mother lay.

Basically dead, as his father put it.

She wasn’t dead, Diana la Rue was very much alive. She was ghostly pale, and coughing after every second sentence, but she was alive.

He grabbed the key from his pocket and twisted the lock. The front door swung open and was instantly hit with the familiar smell of her sister’s burnt cooking. He quickly took off his boots and raced for the kitchen. He could hear the faint sound of his siblings fighting.

“I didn’t mean to!” He heard his younger sister cry. “I was just doing what the recipe said!”

“I don’t think burning bread was a part of the recipe.” His brother spat. Lester walked into the room, and leaned on the door frame, crossing his arms. His sister, Stella, was the first to notice him.

“I burnt the bread - well I didn’t mean too, I left it heating for too long-”

Lester put a hand up to quiet her. “It’s fine. I can make it.”

“Are you sure?” Stella asked, looking up at him with her big brown eyes. Lester nodded and his brother scoffed.

“She has to learn to do stuff like this, you know, become a proper lady.”

“I am a proper lady!” Stella protested.

“You’re ten.” Arthur rolled his eyes.

“I can teach her.” Lester said simply, getting off from leaning on the door frame and walking towards them. “Mother taught me more than just looking pretty, you know.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, glaring at his older brother. Lester couldn’t help but notice that he had changed. He was wearing one of his white shirts, and over top was a light cyan vest. Why on Earth did he change? When his gaze turned to Stella for only a moment, he saw that her light pink dress was stained at the front.

“Best go change.” Lester said, making Stella blink.

“Why?’

“You know how father is about looking nice. Now run along.”

She groaned dramatically, but made her way up the stairs, her feet making a small thump on each step. Lester couldn’t help but to smile as he placed the burnt bread down on the wooden counter. He paused for a moment, hearing another set of steps coming down the stairs.

His father. Fuck.

He turned, preparing himself to face him. Arthur looked stiff all of a sudden, ill even. Before Lester could even ask Johnathan la Rue made his way into the kitchen.

Ever since he was a teen, Lester hoped and prayed that he wouldn’t end up looking as his father did now. He was balding, many ugly wrinkles on his face. He looked like a miserable man.

He was, but that didn’t seem to matter too much.

“Arthur,” His father said, turning to his youngest son.

“Yes father?”

His cold eyes moved over to Lester, but his voice was still at Arthur. “Leave. I must speak to Lester alone.”

Arthur gave a quick nod, hurrying out of the room, looking more worried than anything. Lester made sure to look his father in the eyes as he made his way closer to him. His breath stunk of cigars and alcohol, a sent Lester himself knew all too well. He either smelled like that, or like paint.

“Lester,’ His father began. “You’re a man now, and men like you get married. I assume you know what I’m saying.” His gaze was cold, something Lester was all too well accustomed too by now.

But as he said those words, Lester’s heart fell down to his gut. This couldn’t be happening. Not again.

“You’re getting married, Lester.” His father spat. “Whether you like it or not.”