"Have a nice day, boys. Don't miss us too much." Sophie tells Lucas and Ash, both still half asleep, looking gorgeous in their underwear.
I walk to Ashley before leaving with Soph to get to Wright Books to say my proper goodbye. I put both of my hands on his chest, still warm from the sheets of the bed, and slide them up around his neck. I lift my body on the tip of my toes to kiss him. I can't believe how hard it is to leave him. I hug him tight and bring my lips to his ear.
"I still can't believe this isn't a dream," I admit, caught up in my intense infatuation for him.
"You are so cute." He laughs at my cheesiness, and it gets me smiling at him widely.
"Grace, we need to go. You might not be late, but I will." She whines, and I kiss Ash one last time, looking up into his gorgeous hazel eyes.
"OK, OK..." I roll my eyes and smile at the man, making me feel all giddy and happy.
He kisses his hand and blows his kiss to me. I respond with a wink just in time, Sophie tugs on my hand, climbing down the stairs.
"Quickly, we are going to miss our bus." She tells me as she opens the outside door.
We run to our stop when we see that it has already arrived. We make it in just in time, tap our Oyster card and head on the top floor to sit at the back, where we can talk freely without having to worry about being heard.
We chat the whole fifteen-minute ride to Heathrow about the entire Ashley thing and how we decided to be 'friends', which gets her rolling her eyes but listens to everything I say anyway.
Once at the airport, we transfer to the tubes for another almost-hour of travelling to work. Sophie is someone that is a hard shell to crack. I have to question her a lot to get answers on her life and the boys. It's nothing compared to Marcel. He wears an armour that no emotions can get through or come out.
Thinking about him, I decide to text to inform him of the time I would be there. I told him I would be here today, but never the precise time. I just joined Sophie's routine and didn't think the details through for once.
Wow, I really didn't!
It surprises me a lot. I am always the first to plan everything and review to ensure everything's in order, and I won't impose myself or do something wrong. I think I am turning over a new leaf. It might be for the better. I'll see and decide if I stick to my habits later.
"Mind the gap." A voice warns us as we leave the tube and get outside to walk to the office.
As soon as we get inside, Sophie gets her stuff behind her desk and turns on her computer. I stand awkwardly by her counter and look around. The entrance is very vast and bright. Many chairs are sitting empty, waiting to be filled like most of them were the last time I was here. I see the silver doors of the lift that brought me to the last floor.
It reminds me of Marcel and I's previous meeting. It was awful, and I left crying outside of these big, heavy doors made of glass that represented both the weight of the pressure I felt coming into this first meeting and the importance of the anger consuming me when I got out.
My attention gets back on my friend as soon as she answers the phone ringing at her desk.
"Mr Wright? Good, I was just making sure you were in your office so I could send up Grace to see you. Of course. Have a nice day, Mr Wright." She says professionally and hangs up.
"So formal." I tease her and grin widely. "You are the first to call him by his first name when we are home."
"I am used to hearing about him as Marcel. I guess I better change my bad habits."
I immediately frown at her comment and take a second to question her on it. My curiosity deeply peaked.
"How so?"
"That's something we can discuss some other time. He is waiting for you." She says to dismiss me, looks down at her planner, and opens it to today's schedule and appointments.
"Alright then. Text me the update on your day so we can get home together." I say to her that it feels stimulating to share this experience with someone I trust, yet she has raised some doubts in my mind. What kind of history does she have with Marcel?
She nods, and I smile shyly, turning around to walk to the lift like I did the first time she sent me to his office. This time, it's a lot less stressful because I know I don't have to make an impression. On the other hand, Marcel is very intimidating, and I never know how to approach him. I can't deny how nervous it makes me feel at times. I think I just don't know him that well yet. I just need to figure him out.
I breathe in slowly and sigh deeply once the elevator doors open on the last floor. It's so early in the morning that his secretary is not even there yet, but his office door is wide open. I make my way silently in and peek at him. His back is facing me. He's moving in front of a giant corkboard. I can't help but stare. I'm curious, but I'm overwhelmed with a soft warmth that makes me feel charmed somehow by his devotion. I will give him that. He's a passionate and dedicated man.
He is wearing another polo. This time, it's black, under a beige cardigan with tight dark blue jeans. It's somewhat the more relaxed I have seen him, but it's still very conservative to his polo, uptight look. His hair is still styled the same.
He moves quickly, pinning Post-Its to the board, and it amuses me. He is very putting a lot of effort into my story. There is nothing that can make me happier than to see someone so invested in something I created. It's very pleasing and fulfilling.
"It's about time. I almost thought you got lost or something." He lets out as he turns around, searching for probably another freaking Post-It.
There goes my good mood!
"Good morning to you too, by the way." I sigh and let my bag fall on the chair in front of his desk as I let my body collapse on the other one right next to it.
"Do I need to say emojis out loud if I'm saying a joke to you face to face?" He says, looking up at me, pushing his glasses on his nose as he straightens his posture. He rests both of his hands on his hips, seriously waiting for an answer.
I am both amused by his remark and annoyed. I decide to keep playing his game and keep a stern face, joking back at him.
"Maybe you should try a smile."
I need to bite my lower lip to keep myself from smiling at him as he tries and looks horrible doing it. Maybe willingly. The muscles of his cheeks lift the corner of his smile, but he frowns his brows, unsure of himself. I have to give him points for trying. It's at least that.
As I hear the horribly loud sound of my laugh, it only makes him smile genuinely. For the first time, I actually see why Ronnie thought he was so good looking. I guess he is when he is not all grumpy and pessimistic.
"That's better." I smile brightly at him and straighten myself on the seat.
He keeps his smile on his lips a second and grins weirdly, looking down at his desk. He drops it instantly and rushes himself to the cup in front of him.
"I brought you tea, by the way. English Breakfast, right?" He takes it and gives it to me over his desk.
"You remember?" I frown in surprise that he would remember that about me.
"I only drink that. I thought I would get two instead of just my usual." He brushes it off and turns back around to his board.
"Right, of course." I roll my eyes to myself.
I can't help but frown at why he is so focused on this board. I get up and join his side, my arms crossed on my chest, furrowing my brows, focusing too on every note pinned. I can't believe my eyes.
"Did you really link every character together, with their motives and quests, of my story on that board?" I ask, almost in awe, or embarrassed, that it has been studied that thoroughly.
"And more... I couldn't help but psychoanalyse it too." He mentions, and I can't help but look at him like, 'Is he serious?'.
"Oh my God. I am officially scared of you. Why would you do something like that?" I let out, very scared of the conclusions he might have drawn from the little he knows from me.
"I think it can really help the story. I think there's more of you in your female protagonist than you might want to admit." He looks at me, clearly doubting me. I shake my head in response.
"We are polar opposite. I started creating a character from how I always wanted to be, but that still doesn't change the fact that we are two different people that are fundamentally different."
"We can start by referring to your characters by their names. It would be easier. So... Darcy might be acting different, but I think you made her to your core." He says and, even though I can't entirely agree, I am semi-focused on his gesticulating. He speaks a lot through his hands, something that never got my attention before. It makes me smile.
"I think we are crossing a line here. You don't know me yet." I try not to get angry at him because I don't want to complicate more our relationship than it already is. But I don't know why he takes the liberty to make assumptions like that.
"As I said, I psychoanalysed your work." He frowns at me, clearly being stubborn. His look on me is insistent, and I surrender to him, to his argument. I don't want to make it more difficult than it needs to be.
I decide to walk away and go back to my seat. I don't want to have this argument, but Marcel persists and comes to my side of his desk. He sits on the edge, looking at me, both of his palms pressed on his thighs. It makes our further exchange warmer to have this proximity. I weirdly feel more at ease.
"How can that even help us edit my story?" I let out, taking the first sip of my tea. He ignores what I just said. He seems lost in his mind for a second but then looks at me directly with confidence.
"Are you aware that your story translates some major daddy issues?"
I spit out my drink, faster than it got in, all over his cardigan, and a bit gets on his face and his glasses. He looks sternly at me, pursing his lips. I rush myself up in the horror of what I had just done, putting down my cup, and looking for a tissue so I can clean up the mess I have made. He stops me midway and takes off his cardigan over his head. His polo lifts a bit, and I get a glimpse of his golden-brown hair under his belly button. I quickly look away, blushing and embarrassed, but that can't distract me from what he asked me.
"Why would you think something like that?" I ask, standing right in front of him, arms crossed on my chest, waiting for an answer.
"Strong and dominant male figures surround Darcy. Her father is one of them. She spends the whole story trying to have his approval of her relationship with Harry, the punk she fell in love with." He stands still, still seated on the edge of his desk, not moving in front of me, looking right into my eyes.
His eyes are green.
"He is misunderstood, that's all." I defend my character, a bit destabilised by the depth of his weirdly beautiful gaze hidden behind his large squared glasses.
"I know that. He is acting very emotionally, based often on impressions and not facts. He is very hot-headed, a bully that happened to have fallen for his victim."
The way he speaks of it hits me by how it relates a lot to me.
"It's crazy how you make it sound like Harry seems like my boyfriend." I think out loud and step back to take a seat and think this thoroughly. I sigh deeply. These men are not the same. Harry is fundamentally good, and Steeve isn't. Harry is my fantasy, and Steeve is a manipulator and a hot-headed mess.
"It might have been unconsciously. Do you know Freud? He had this theory-"
"I'm not dumb, Marcel. I know his work. I wasn't born yesterday."
"Tell me what the characters are about so we can be on the same page. We need to construct them back up on the same essence because I think that is why we are stuck at the beginning, with their meeting, we see them differently from our baggage and experiences." He explains and puts my bag down to take a seat next to me.
I look up at him, a bit intimidated by his presence so close to me and the intimacy of my thoughts and experiences I'm about to share with him. My heart feels heavy, but there's something in his eyes that makes me feel welcome to share anything at this moment.
"I don't have daddy issues. I grew up with two older brothers, twins. The relationships in the story are all things I witnessed with their girlfriends. They were not really the serious type of guys relationship-wise. I don't know what tree I came from, but clearly not the same as theirs. Being the only girl and the youngest, I always felt like I had something to prove. I had to be this perfect daughter. Maybe that's where it comes from, the 'issues', as you call them. My brothers constantly picked on me, but even so, I know that it's because they love me dearly. They are the most protective people I know." I confess, not even realising how personal this story gets, because I get so caught up in my memories, smiling at the scenes playing back in my head. "I'm boring you to death, aren't I?"
"No, not at all. Go on. Why were they so protective?" He says, keeping his same cold face, but this is the most open he has ever seemed, so I get right back in the moment.
"I used to get very bullied when I was young. There was this one guy. I hated him so much. He used to make my life a living hell. I spent most of my life hating myself because of everything he kept telling me."
"What did he use to tell you?" He cuts me, and it surprises me that he cares enough to want details.
"Believe it or not, but I am ginger. Blond is not my real colour of hair. So I was known as Fat Carrot around school because I was also bullied about that. Weight has always been a huge concern for me. I used to starve myself only to please people I hated, to fit in a preconception of beauty standardised by society. When my brothers found that out, they did everything to help me. They are the ones that brought me to the hair salon and paid for my first hair dye. I admire my brothers for their constant support. They made me love myself and-"
"Do you? Love yourself, I mean. " He cuts me and frowns. My heart seems to be racing faster inside of my chest.
I am taken aback by his question. I am a bit upset that he would ask such a personal question, but I was the first to get deep into my family story.
"I do."
"Why are you still blond then?" He frowns and leans his head to the side, still gazing straight into my eyes.
He takes me entirely off guard. I don't know what to respond, whether it is for me or to please somebody... He scrutinises me so hard, both with his eyes and his questions, that I feel naked in front of him. I feel so vulnerable it hurts, but I strangely accept it.
"Did I mention that the guy that ruined my childhood is, in fact, my current boyfriend?" I sigh and look away. I don't want to read the judgment on his face as I had read on the faces of my brothers when they learned. "I fell in love with him. You know how it is... I think you have read enough books in your life to know a bit about female psychology when it comes to men. We think we can save them all. At least, that's what I thought about Steeve. I thought I had changed him into a better man. It genuinely seemed that way... The instant I became blond, he became my protector and not my bully. Maybe it was only because he had his sexual awakening at the same time. I don't know... Like you told me last week, I am naive. I know it now... almost five years later. So I guess that I am still blond to keep him happy, to keep the peace."
"You shouldn't live like that. He seems to bring you down. And I am sure you look great with your natural hair." He compliments me and weirdly looks away, scratching the back of his neck and getting quickly upon his feet.
"Thanks..." I reply to this awkward reaction from him, but, despite it, I really feel good to talk about my life with somebody so rational without any conflict of interest. "I don't love him anymore..." I whisper silently and spontaneously. I don't know why I felt the need to add that fact, but I seem to be holding my breath as I wait for any reaction from him.
He stops walking and turns around quickly to look at me with a new interest in his eyes, sitting right back on the edge of the desk, like he was minutes ago. I don't know if it answers one of his theories about me, but it piques his interest.
"Why are you still with him?" He states as if it was that easy to leave a man like that.
"He has... a temper. I guess I knew what I was getting myself into when I fell in love with him. He bullied me for most of my life, even when we were together. You know how it works... He apologises, saying all the right things, and when you least expect it, he brings you down again."
"Don't tell me he was ever violent with you..." He says, and I notice the knuckles of his fists getting white. "I mean, other than verbally..."
"I can't answer that..." I murmur and look down, shaking my head from left to right.
What am I doing? Marcel got me to say things I had never told anyone before. Why am I even saying those things? This wasn't even on topic. We were talking about my story.
"OK, this is weird." He says in a stuck up tone and not a sympathetic one.
I look back at him furtively. I step back on my seat, guarding myself again with the wall I always have with him. I am disgusted by his way to act. He could have just changed the subject instead of making me think he cares. I can't believe how vulnerable he got me to be if it's to spit in my face with his arrogant indifference. I feel betrayed...
"I don't mean you." He says, trying quickly to win me back somehow, his features getting worried and gesticulating once again. "I don't mean you. I mean this situation... Again, not you opening up, but me. I feel like I should either share something personal as well, to make you feel at ease..."
I don't know if I frown because I am more surprised by what he just said or that he wasn't trying to be mean. I am destabilised and a bit gobsmacked.
"No, it's OK. I don't know why I told you about that..." I respond, and I get myself mentally ready to change the conversation so that it doesn't get any weirder and we can be on a good term to keep working.
"Do you... eh... want a hug?" He whispers with discomfort. It reads on every one of his traits.
His efforts for trying to be a decent friend are making me smile and happy. He tries! This is very funny. He has no idea how to act normally. It makes him all the more intriguing. My heart starts acting out again.
"What is happening with you? First, you smiled at me, and now you offer me a hug? Are you warming up to me? Am I melting the ice inside of your soul?" I joke with a grin widening on my lips, but it drops as soon as I see him looking at me coldly. I can feel the temperature dropping to a freezing degree between us.
Shit! I've definitely fucked things up!
"Why don't we get back to work? Shall we?" He says sternly, coldly, frightening me, making the hair lift on my body.
He gets up from the desk in front of me and walks to stand behind his desk chair. My eyes can't stop looking at him. The mood is completely ruined. I did that. I don't know what I did precisely, but I should have known not the joke.
I instantly get up and walk to him at a fast pace. I don't want him to be mad at me.
"Marcel? I'm sorry. It was a joke."
"Don't sweat it. And as far as I am concerned, I am Mr Wright to you. We are not friends."
"Wow... Just like that, I am not sorry anymore."
"You don't even realise how hypocritical you are, crying about being bullied, but you are doing it too?" He spits at my face before he turns his back to me, but I take his arm to keep his sight in mine.
"What the fuck is that about!?"
"Well, now you know how it feels to be called a bully when you know you are not."
"What kind of a sick twisted game are you playing?!"
"I am not playing any game, I am working, but if caring about you is a crime, I'm very sorry to be guilty. I won't do it anymore."
Ouch!
Did he really care? I don't want our relationship to be that way, to be all thorns and no roses. I am outraged that he keeps on closing himself like that and doesn't open to me. Yet... he did.
He seemed open when he offered me a hug. He offered me a hug, for crying out loud! I should step on my own pride, like I always do with Steeve, though I know both men are not alike. Steeve gets mad at anything, primarily because of his lack of knowledge. Marcel, I mean, Mr Wright, is so fucking uptight, never showing an ounce of feelings whatsoever. He did, though, smile earlier...
Come on, Grace, you can fix this.
"Please do. Do care... I never meant to be hurtful. I'm sorry it came out that way because I didn't mean the words I said..."
"Of course you meant them... At least, own it."
"I didn't."
"I don't care, OK!"
"Well, I do, and I would like that hug."
"Not a chance."
"I'm going to get that hug even if I have to force it out of you," I smirk slightly, threatening him. I get a bit theatrical to try to make him laugh, or at least smile again. "Don't move! I promise you, it won't hurt..."
I step closer to him carefully, never stopping to look at his face in case of a sudden major objection. Something he doesn't show if he still objects to this hug. This hug is becoming a much bigger deal than it should be.
I don't waste a second and sneak my arms around his waist. He stiffs at my touch but doesn't move away. I come closer and press my chest to his, slowly followed by my cheek. Our height is perfect for making this enjoyable. I feel his torso letting go, relaxing his tensed muscles to let his body freely mould mine. I smile onto his chest. He is letting his guard down!!!
"You are not freezing too much from 'the ice inside of my soul'?" He lets out, his chest vibrating against my ear.
"I'm actually quite warm, thank you. So now, stop making it more awkward than it needs to be and hug me back so we can start working."
He slowly but firmly wraps his arms around my shoulders. It's weird how natural it feels, like two puzzle pieces fitting together. From our proximity, I get a draft of his perfume. Its smell is strong and spicy, somehow a bit floral to sweeten the mix, but it's overall very wooden. I really like it.
"OK, I think that's enough." He steps away, and something gets my eye before I realise that I enjoyed the way he held me.
I was tempted to joke back, but not having his cardigan on, I see a tattoo on the inside of his arm.
I can
I look at him, and he immediately looks down at the other arm. I follow his eyes to his arm as he crosses them both on his chest. I caught a glimpse just in time to see another tattoo on his other arm as well, right inside, at the edge of the elbow, at the same place as the other one. Do I question him? Do I not? He saw me looking at them. He hid them from my sight.
He walks to his desk, his back facing me. I get the message, but it still haunts me. My parents have always been so against them that the rebel inside of me has always been tempted. I find them so intriguing.
"That wasn't that bad, wasn't it?" I try to bring a smile to his lips.
"We work together, Grace... I don't even know why-"
"Hey..." I look at him from his side and bring a comforting hand to his arm. "We are humans, you know? We have feelings. You were nice enough to care to offer me a hug for comfort. That's completely normal. You don't need to be weirded out... We can be friends."
"I don't have many friends."
"Then I would feel even luckier to be one."
"I just don't have the time."
"From all the things I said and the thing you've read, you know somewhat a lot about me. Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?"
"As I said to you, I am a hard shell to crack. I never talk about my feelings."
"I've never asked you to talk about your feelings. I want you to talk about yourself. How was your childhood? Do you have siblings? Have you always loved literature? Come. Take a seat, and let's talk." I smile at him excitedly and pull on his arm to bring him back to the comfy leather chairs in front of his desk.
"Grace, we have to work." He complains but still lets me guide him without any resistance.
"I just think we will be more efficient if we know each other better... All we do is disagree and fight over some misunderstandings. I want to know who hides behind these big squared glasses."
"I don't think I could ever forget how inquisitive you are. You are reminding me every two seconds." He says with a shadow of a smirk hanging on the corner of his surprisingly dark and pulpy lips. Beautiful lips...
"I guess you'll have to deal with it. We'll be working a lot together."
"I guess you are right."
He gazes at me intently, and I feel my heart having a break finally. I feel like we can be friends, at last. I smile brightly at him.
"Yay! You are conceding easily. Now, tell me more about yourself, Mr Wright."
"You can call me Marcel, you know... I didn't mean it when I told you not to."
"Thank God, because I think I would have called you Marcel anyway."
"I can understand that you are not only curious but stubborn too. I question myself now if I made a good decision to accept to publish your story..." He says, and I keep myself from getting mad because of the look on his face.
Is he grinning?
I smile widely, very proud to see any kind of emotion on his face. Something that I rarely get to see. My heart starts racing again with pure happiness.
"You did. Somebody needs to remove that stick up your arse." I let out before I could even think, quickly realising that it was a risky joke to do.
"And you think you are going to change that?" He looks at me with fun defiance in his eyes and a mischievous grin.
"Why not? You are pretty hard to figure out."
"Nobody ever really cared to do so."
"Well, I care. Plus, you intrigue me." I smile softly at him, leaning in closer on my chair. I absentmindedly give him all my attention.
"How so?" He mirrors me and crosses his leg, showing me his genuine interest in my opinion of him.
"You are smart. You are successful. From your car, your watch and your clothes, I bet you are making good money too. You smell great. Hidden behind these weird but kind of cute glasses are the most beautiful and soulful green eyes I have ever seen. Plus, your tattoos on our arms just really caught my attention. I have trouble thinking that people don't notice you and try to learn more about you. With everything you have learned in College and your experience here, in your family's business, I can't think about no one not wanting to listen to the things you have to say, you know?" I enumerate to him with passion as it's another of the many features that compose me.
"Well, nobody seems to think like you. I am glad, though. I know I am not easy to work with, I am trying to work on that with Eddy, but-"
"Eddy? Who is he?"
"My best friend."
"Nice. Where did you two meet? Is he at College too?"
"He is my next-door neighbour and, no, he doesn't go to College. He dropped out of school when he was fifteen to pursue his love for music. He is kind of a big deal now. He is touring the country soon."
"That's crazy! My friends are too."
Who knew we would get along on music more than anything else in the world. Music!
I see this as a perfect opportunity to get to know him more, and music is such a big part of my life. I have to ask him about his taste.
"What kind of music do you listen to?"
He takes a second to frown and to think about it, but he ultimately sighs and relaxes before responding to me.
"I am very old fashioned... I love Elvis and Sinatra particularly. Anything to set up a good mood."
I smile slowly at his answer. I didn't expect that. I don't know what I was expecting, but I'm delighted by his classic choice.
"Wow..." I simply respond, trying to keep myself from smiling too much and revealing to him that his music taste charms me a lot. It makes me think about my grandfather, who used to listen to crooners at home anytime we visited.
Before this silence between us gets too awkward, I decide to lighten the mood and joke to continue the conversation.
"And, since you ask, I'm into old stuff too, like the Rolling Stones." I let out and stopped myself from going further, seeing the corners of his lips slightly lift to reveal the shadow of a smile. It contents me.
And just like that, we spend the whole morning talking about ourselves. I'm having fun with him, to a point where I'm bummed when noon comes. He offers me to go out for lunch, and since he now knows my love for Nando's and burgers, he takes me to this restaurant that, supposedly, has the best burgers in the world. Byron. But I know in my heart, it will never beat the burger I had in Glasgow a few years ago. It was the best.
I wave my hand quickly at the sight of Sophie at the front desk as I leave the building with Marcel. He opens the door for me, and I get pleased again by his good manners. Yet again, I'm charmed.
"Who taught you to be like that?" I ask as he hides both of his hands in his pockets, leading the way to the restaurant.
"Like what?" He frowns slightly.
"All gentlemanly..."
"My mum, I guess."
"Are you close to your Mum?" I look at him as he looks far ahead at all the buses and the taxis driving slowly down the brick road.
"I used to be... When my dad died, she became kind of my best friend. She was the only person who knew what I was going through."
I feel instantly bad for him to have lost his father already at such a young age.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry. How old were you?" I react very tenderly to this sorrowful confession.
I look up at him, but his eyes keep looking forward coldly as if it has never affected him.
"Fifteen."
"Jesus... That must have been hard for you..."
"I don't want to talk about it." He says quickly, and I feel instantly regretful to have made him think about that. Maybe it did affect him, and harder than he makes it seem, and still to this day...
"We were talking about your Mum... Are you still close with her?" I try to change the subject to what it was initially about.
"It's weird. Since she is the one managing this whole company, she has been distant."
"Why?"
"You are very curious. It's crazy." He rolls his eyes with a hollow laugh.
"Better get used to it," I smirk to him, looking up to his face, to be surprised by his amused grin. "So? Keep going!"
"She works all the time and, since I want to be an editor, she seems to make everything in her power to stop me from being one."
"Why would she do that?" I frown, not understanding at all her logic. It's her son.
"Conflict of interest. She has received a lot of complaints that she favours me."
"Does she?"
"No. I have been working my arse up for years at this company. All my life. It's more than I can say about anyone there. I am doing a fucking PhD, but it never seems like it's enough. I'm just the son of the man with the name on the building."
I listen to him with great attention. He has never opened up like that. I am happy that he does. I figure him out bits by bits, and this is a big piece of information. It proves how passionate and hardworking he is. It's something I already kind of knew, with the work and efforts he puts in my story. It hints me maybe why he invests so much of himself into my fiction.
"Is that why you took on my book?" I stop walking to ask and look at him. It takes a second for him to stop as well and answer me.
"Yeah... I want to prove my worth." He looks into my eyes for a second, and we go on walking by the Somerset House on Strand to get to Covent Garden.
"But why my story? You could have taken on a writer already known to assure you some success." I let out as I thought it would have been easier for him.
"The thing is, Grace, that I have no idea what I'm doing. I prefer getting lost with someone new to all of this, like me, than somebody who judges me from experience. I love the way you see things and write about them. I just wanted to give your story a chance, like you are doing with me."
He had stopped walking and took my hand to stop me as well. He turned to face me, and I dived right into his eyes again, but they held so much. For the first time, I see vulnerability and truth. I have a glimpse of his heart.
"Well, thank you. It's an honour that you see me worthy of you. I trust you. I know you will do something great with it." I look at the road then back at him. He smiles softly and puts his hand briefly on the small of my back to get us back on our way. He looks both ways to get on the other side of the road.
He doesn't say anything until we get to the restaurant. He opens the door for me, and I feel his hand on my back again as we get inside. His touch is warm, and I am a bit weirded out initially, but I guess it's just his good manners. He keeps it there until a lady brings us to a table. It's charming, and I soon relax to his touch, starting to like it.
I am becoming more and more open to him as we get to know one another through the day. Our relationship is a different dynamic than Sophie's or even Ashley's. I am becoming friends with Marcel because I vaguely begin to know who he is through his behaviour and back story. I like my other friends here in London because they were welcoming and amusing to be with. It's easy with them when it's not with Marcel, but it seems like we've managed.
Sophie texts me that her shift is done when we are in the middle of discussing the main character, Darcy. For once, we are agreeing. So I decide to stay and work some more. I'll manage to get to her flat alone. It's weird, but I don't want this day with Marcel to end. I enjoy his company. He is challenging, yes, but he challenges me, and I love that. He makes me think further.
Sophie: Remember, there's the gig tonight.
Me: Right...
Me: If I can't make it in time, I'll join you there. I have no idea how long Marcel wants to work, but it's going good. I don't want to stop his good mood. :P
Sophie: Marcel? In a good mood. I'd like to see that.
Me: Hahaha. See you later.
"The more I think about it, the more I want the beginning to stay the same. After you've explained yourself, their first meeting is perfect, but we need to make her more oblivious to what is happening. She needs to be more naive."
"Thank God! An agreement! But don't you think she is naive enough?" I celebrate without holding back, which gets me another smile from him.
"I like her naivety. It's cute and, throughout the story, Darcy shows a different side of the world that Harry has never seen."
"I don't want her to come across as dumb, though..."
"She doesn't. She is perfect."
"Yeah. I think we have finally figured out who she really is. It's nice to have a man's input to something so personal." I smile to myself as I gather fallen Post-Its and pin them back on the corkboard.
"It isn't girlish if that was what you were worried about. It's like a modern Shakespeare. In French, it's called une tragi-comédie. It's very baroque. It isn't just a love story. That's what I'm trying to say..." He helps me pin the little notes on the board and sits back on the edge of his desk. "Sorry..."
"Why are you apologising?" I turn around to look at him with a frown.
"Eddy hates when I start saying French expressions. It frustrates him."
"What does?"
"Ignorance. He hates that he didn't graduate school, but he is a music genius."
"Well, don't worry about me. I know what you are talking about, and it's a pretty big compliment. Thank you." I smile at him, and our gazes lock as he smiles along with me. I feel good at this moment, enchanted. And I don't want this moment to end. The most random thing comes through my mind at the same time. "Do you want to come with me to the pub tonight?"
"You want to have a drink with me?" He frowns at me with an unreadable expression, the one he does best.
"Yeah. My friends are playing a gig tonight, and I'm going. I thought you could come. It could be fun." I smile widely at him, taking a step closer to his desk. I see the corner of his mouth lift in a subtle smile.
"Where is it?"
"Camden."
"No, I can't. I have other plans." His expression becomes dark, frightening me a bit to wonder what might be the matter. I get a bit upset to hear his so definitive rejection. He seemed genuinely interested... Or maybe I just imagine things. Why would he come for a drink with my new friends and me anyway?
"You didn't seem to have some a minute ago when I first asked you."
"How could you know? It's not your damn business." He replies coldly.
"OK, we are done for today." I look at him and get up. He puts his hand on my arm to stop me from leaving his side by the desk.
"Grace? What are you doing?" He says in an annoyed yet concerned tone.
"I'm leaving, Marcel. I've spent all day here with you. I want to join my friends now. They are waiting for me." I get free of his hold and walk back to my purse next to my chair.
"So you are going to Camden alone?"
"Yes, because I decided to stay here with you instead of following Sophie..."
"OK, then." He coldly responds to me and leans over his desk, immediately running his fingers through the sheets.
His indifference turns me off, and I sigh deeply. There's nothing left to do. I won't lose another second of my time with him. I was just trying to be polite. We had a good day, and he had to spoil it all.
"I'll come back tomorrow at the same time. I'll expect you to be there; I won't have much time. I'll need to go back home." I quickly gathered my belongings into my purse. I put it on my shoulder, ready to leave. I look at him one last time, sigh, disappointed, and turn my back to him.
"Don't be silly. I'll drive you." He says as I am about to walk out the door of his office.
I freeze in place. What!? I turn around and frown heavily at him.
"Why would you do that?" I let out arrogantly, not getting why he would offer such a thing after making it clear he didn't want to go in the first place. I don't ever understand that man.
"It isn't the safest place to be around on a Saturday night." He simply responds, looking for something on his desk before picking up his brown leather satchel.
"Well, I won't be alone. My friends are on their way, and they will probably be waiting for me."
"I don't feel at ease of letting you go to Camden by yourself. I'm sorry. It's getting dark out and-"
"OK, fine. Let's go then." I hurry him and roll my eyes. I can't believe this man sometimes! Argh!
I left the office quickly, and it took a moment while I was waiting for the lift to realise the receptionist was already gone. Marcel joins me, and I soon find out so is everyone once we are on the main level. I smile at the guards standing at their surveillance office near the glass doors of the building and walk out quickly, followed by Marcel with a confident and cold pace.
With the 'beep' of his horn, the doors unlock, and I get in impatiently the next second. I don't say a word for the entire trip. I really don't get him. He genuinely seemed surprised that I would want him there and, suddenly, all the somewhat Marcel-like warmth he had was gone. Of course, he wouldn't want to come to get a drink at a pub. He is too fucking uptight. I don't even get why I let him frustrate me that way. I shouldn't care. He is my 'boss', my helper, my publisher, and that's it.
The way he talked so passionately about my characters made me think he was feeling something. Well, he made me feel something. Proud is what I was. The way he told me how Darcy was perfect and that he wouldn't want her to change for one bit got me smitten at the moment. How can a man be so mean but so full of little attention? He opens the door for me. He brought me tea this morning. I mean, he has everything to be perfect, literally. He isn't that bad looking. OK, Ronnie is right, he is pretty handsome, but it doesn't matter if he's rotten inside. I was just trying to be kind. Why do I even try?
I sigh loudly, deep in my thoughts, hugging my purse close to my chest. I look blindly outside my window as we swift through the lighted streets of a busy London. Stee would hate to be driving in this traffic. I know it. I can hear him curse in my mind right now, and it amuses me for some reason. Maybe it's the contrast that Stee tells everything that comes through his mind when he is angry. He shouts, spits, throws things, and breaks them as opposed to Marcel, keeping everything for himself even when he is angry. I see his white knuckles as he holds the wheel extremely tight, but he doesn't yell, he doesn't curse, he doesn't say anything at all. I like this quiet side.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I furtively take it out. I am not surprised by the name on my screen. I smile widely with giddiness and pure excitement.
Ashley: Where are you?
Me: On my way. There's traffic.
Ashley: In the tubes?
Me: Long story. I should be there in ten minutes, but I wouldn't trust me. I have no notions of London's geography.
Ashley: You worked late.
Me: But I intend to make up for it, don't you worry. ;)
Ashley: You got me impatient. See you in a bit.
I smile at my screen, trying to keep my little school girl giggles to myself, and I put back my phone into my pocket. Nothing can change my good mood now. Ashley shined a bit of his light on me, and it's all it took to forget how mad Marcel had gotten me before.
I sigh again. I can't believe what I did. I had sex with him last night. I had sex with another man than my boyfriend, and I don't have any remorse. It was fucking great. I had never felt that way, ever. How can a man make me feel that way? I can't explain at all this attraction between us. It just is. I can't help but picture his face in my head. His smile is just the most beautiful thing... and his dimples! Oh, God! He is just adorable.
I need to calm down. I really need to. Nothing can ever happen between us. He is touring the country for I don't know how long, and he can go back to Australia anytime. He isn't from here. I shouldn't get too attached. I don't even know who he is, really...
"We are here," Marcel says, and it quickly takes me out of my reverie. "I can't park closer; there are too many people in the streets."
"It's OK. I can walk. Thank you." I tell him quickly and get out of the car, trying my best to remember the name of the pub.
I close the door behind me and look around to see the facades of my surroundings. In the dark, it's harder to find me than I would have thought. I hear another door close, making me jump in surprise, and I turn around. Marcel joins me at his cold and confident pace, always determined. I frown at him, and before I can say a word, I feel his arm around my waist.
"What the-"
"Trust me." He says, making his embrace harder for me to get out as he pulls me tightly by the waist.
"Are you crazy? What are you doing?" I murmur as loudly as I can, trying one last time to get away from his weird display of affection.
"Trust me." He demands, his eyes finding mine, piercing mine desperately, but still so cold. The pure green shade persuades me. I don't know why, but I just cease to fight.
He holds me more comfortably against him as we make our way through the dark crowd of beer drinkers, pot smokers and everyone in between. I won't admit it, but I am sort of glad I am not alone. I'm not too fond of the atmosphere around, to a point where I'm feeling somewhat scared. I feel so relieved I don't have to be alone and search my way through this crowd to the pub. I feel more relaxed next to him, and I sense he does the same as well when I gaze up at him.
"Want me to pinch your bum to make it seem genuine?" I joke to lighten the mood, not knowing the intentions behind this sudden sign of affection. Yet again, I never know the meanings behind anything he does. He is so hard to read.
"No, unless you want to." He says, looking right ahead, and I am stunned by his words. Is he trying to joke with me?
I look up at his tall figure to find his eyes, and they look right back at me. I can't help but stare down at his lips, a dark shade of pink drawing the slightest of smiles. But a smile indeed! It weirdly makes me incredibly happy, and my smile widens on my lips without any of my consent. I don't think any further and reach for his bum to pinch it a couple of times playfully.
"Mmh... Firm." I mock him and absentmindedly slide back my arm up around his waist. I find immediately comfort in our proximity, in his smile and hold he holds me to him.
"Even more than you think." He lets out, and I see it, a big fat smirk, digging a dimple on his left cheek. I can see his gorgeous set of white teeth brightly under his lips.
I am about to respond to something when my phone vibrates again in my pockets, ruining the moment.
Sophie: The gig is beginning. Where are you?
I look back at Marcel to apologise and take back my arm from his waist to answer.
Me: I'm here. Looking for the proper pub. I am next to the tube station. Do you have directions?
Sophie: Head the way to the Roundhouse. I will be outside to see you before you get there.
I thank her and put back my phone in my pocket, but by the time I look up at Marcel, his mood has dropped. He doesn't look playful or happy anymore. His face has no traces of a smile left, and I wonder why. I have a hint of sadness to see him that way, but I brush it off as I roll my eyes. I might never be able to figure him out, but somehow, the harder it seems, the more I find myself wanting to try. I was genuinely having fun...
"Sophie just told me she would meet me in front of the pub the band is playing at. Thank you for the ride. I hope I didn't delay your plans." I tell him with a soft grin and get out of his embrace to make my way alone.
"Grace, I... Never mind." His tone was so sweet it made me hope for something, but he looked over my shoulder, and it all dropped. He is cold again.
"No, tell me. You keep doing this. Talk to me." I try to push for an answer, a feeling, something, but he just stays cold and looks over my shoulder once again. I want to know what he thinks.
"Your friend is coming this way. I'll see you tomorrow. Same time." He says to me as a cold and stern goodbye before he turns his back and walks the way we came from to his car.
Argh!!!
I hate when he does this. For a publisher, he doesn't know his way with words. He should be able to communicate better, but, instead, he stays fucking coldly guarded. He didn't even say 'bye'. He just took off without even telling me why he insisted on driving me here. And what was that thing with his arm around my waist?!
I sigh deeply, letting go of what happened with Mister Angry Face, and turn around to see Sophie right where Marcel was looking. She hurries me with a hand, and I quickly follow her inside.