11 - promises

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"Why don't you want me to accompany you?"

Esmé sighed, her eyes meeting Leslie's. They had been discussing this for the last ten minutes and her friend was persistent. She had gone up to her room to get her bag before leaving with Wyatt and she found Leslie organising her vanity table.

"It's not that I don't want you to come, Leslie. You've been working a lot lately. You must be tired." Esmé explained, "It's just a siblings' night with Wyatt anyway."

"Siblings' night, my foot."

Esmé chuckled, "You've been sassy lately. I like that."

"Don't change the topic, my Lady." Leslie crossed her arms in front of her chest, unfazed, "You just want to go out in hope of finding out something new."

"That's true," Esmé nodded, but she also wanted to get her mind away from Jack and her father. "Can you bring me my shoes?"

Leslie walked to the wardrobe to pull out a pair, "I'm with you in this. Just let me be."

"I know!" Esmé threw her hands in the air,  glancing at her friend with a sincere expression. "But tonight, you need to rest!"

Leslie rolled her eyes, handing her a blue pair of shoes with golden ornaments. They were the ones that had started everything. Esmé shook her head rapidly, pushing them away from herself, "I'm never wearing those."

"Why?" Leslie studied her lady with a confused look, "They are your favourite."

"Ill-luck, that's what they are."

Leslie stared at the blue flats in her hands, shrugging. She handed Esmé a different pair - black ones this time. Putting them on, Esmé quickly adjusted her hair in front of the mirror before leaving.

"Please be careful."

"I will!" She pulled Leslie into a quick, loose hug, leaving her with a slight smile on her lips and in hopes that someone would make her Lady forget her hardships and stay by her side. Even if it was just for tonight.


"So this is the place Leslie and you hang out?" Wyatt examined the building in front of him. The White Shore. A wide grin spread on his lips, his hands deep in his pockets. It was appallingly dark in the streets of London. Only the splendid full moon shone on them as the siblings approached the entrance of the famous pub. His eyes fixed to the writing underneath the pub's name.

"Ama et fac quod vis, " Esmé read out loud.

"That's Latin."

"I know, smartass."

Wyatt chuckled, "But I don't think, they'll allow me inside." He looked at his sister with pouty lips, "This place is well-known. We tried to sneak in once with a few friends but the redhead bartender threw us out. Literally. She was damn strong."

Esmé looked at him, trying to stifle her laughter. A picture of how Charlotte grabbed him by the collar and dragged him outside visualised in her head. She sighed, "I'll ask her to let you in this one time but only if you behave."

"You know me," Wyatt nudged her arm, gleaming. "I'm such a well-behaved boy."

"Sure," Esmé rolled her eyes. "A boy that gets beaten up easily, remember? I can't save you if you get into fights."

"What? That just happened once. And I can defend myself!" Wyatt continued to argue, rambling how he had fought a boy two years older than him. But Esmé didn't listen, pulling at his arm.

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