A/N: As you can probably see, I'm breaking tradition a bit and putting two consecutive chapters in Alexis's POV. The next two chapters will be in Genevieve's POV to compensate. Why? Because I couldn't leave Alexis in limbo like that after dropping such a huge bomb on him!
When we pull away, I immediately bring Adele inside, covering her with the old blanket we always hang over the arm of the sofa.
I walk into the kitchen and prepare a cup of tea for her and me. There’s something strangely steadying about going through the familiar motions of making tea for myself and Adele. Two sugars for me, milk for her.
I set the tea on the table in front of the couch.
“So,” I say softly, “what did your parents say?”
“They were angry, naturally. I explained that we had a plan, and they accepted it. They’re going to let me stay in the house until we marry.”
My face falls a bit. Now that Adele is with child, all the romance and excitement has left our relationship. I can no longer make a big, romantic proposal of marriage because it won’t be a big surprise or exciting, because I already told her we’re going to marry.
She sighs, pulling me out of my reverie. “That’s the part Father’s worried about. He knows you’re still in school and doesn’t know how you’ll be able to get a place for us to live or support a family.”
Suddenly restless, I get up and start pacing, running a hand through my still sleep-rumpled hair. It has just struck me that I am going to be a father. When I still rely on my own father.
“Listen, I have some money put away from paintings I’ve sold. Father said there’s a spot open at his former company for a welder to help make jewelry, and that’s what I’ve been training for at school. I know the basics, and the rest I can learn. Maybe I can convince Father to help me out a bit at first. We’ll see,” I say, thinking aloud.
“Alexis, we were so stupid,” she says.
“I know,” I say, sitting back down. “But we’ll figure it out.”
“We’re in quite a mess, aren’t we?” she says softly.
I examine her face. “You never told me how you got those scars,” I say softly, tracing the one on her cheek.
She laughs. “It happened when I was ten and Catherine was four. I was chasing her around the garden, and my mother had left one of her gardening tools on the ground. I tripped, and my face hit straight into the sharp edge of the tool. It cut straight through my cheek and into my nose. There was blood all over my face. It was awful.”
“Oof,” I grunt.
“The scars used to be bigger, actually,” she says. “The one on my cheek faded over time a bit.”
I hear Father’s door opening. “That’s Father. You better go. I’ll talk to him, and hopefully he’ll help us out.”
“Goodbye, Alexis,” she says, gently hugging me. Then she’s gone.
I hear Father shuffle out and rush into the kitchen to make him his morning tea and to make myself toast. Ever since Mama left, I’ve made him tea every morning. It’s practically a religious obligation at this point.
He comes into the kitchen. “Good morning, Alexis.”
“Good morning, Father,” I say, taking a seat across from him and taking a bite from my bread.
I chew, my nerves making the bread feel more like lead as I swallow.
“Adele came by before you woke up,” I say.
YOU ARE READING
Corresponding Stars
Historical FictionIt all began with a letter delivered to the wrong address. Their correspondence. Their friendship... Genevieve Auclair is living in early 1900's Paris with her aging mother, eking out a meager living as a writer. Alexis Abbey is living in London wi...