2
Downstairs in the bookshop that afternoon, Aurelia sat at her desk listlessly flipping through the pages of a notebook.
It was too hot to think, let alone write, but she was working to a deadline for the first time in a long time.
Last year she’d started a book about a sprawling conspiracy involving art forgeries.
She’d done lots of research, reading dozens of books about forgers, the people who help them, and the people who catch them.
And her friend Kali—who had a background in art history and had sparked the idea for the book—had helped connect her with a few art historians, appraisers, and even a reformed forger.
But after a year of writing and editing, it still wasn’t finished, and she was trying the patience of her lovely editor, Louisa.
Her first book, written with the help of the fictional characters that appeared in her unique shop at midnight each night, had flowed much more easily, making Aurelia wonder if the speed at which she’d written it—six months—was just a fluke.
Then again, it’d been easier to write quickly when she knew how much the new story meant to Count Vronsky, the character that she was writing about.
When she’d first gotten the idea for her art book, she’d been invigorated by the idea, so much so that when she’d put it aside to help a different character, Harriet from Little Dorrit, it had been almost painful.
She’d longed to get back to her own book and had been thrilled (after being a little cowed) when she’d been able to do just that.
Now, though, she knew she was wasting all her writing energy focusing on the looming deadline instead of just working through Louisa’s final edits.
Add to that, her brain was busy thinking over a new idea, a fictional account of her great-great aunt Cristobel’s life.
It didn’t help having the distraction—pleasant as it was—of preparing for a wedding.
It would be a small gathering, but both the wedding and honeymoon took some effort to plan.
Still, she was due to meet Louisa that afternoon to give her an update on her progress, and with Julia arriving in less than a week, Aurelia knew she’d better keep at it.
As luck would have it, the shop had been busy that morning, which was good for business but bad for Aurelia’s goal of having at least one newly revised chapter to share with Louisa. Aurelia arrived at the café first, and—as was their custom—had cake and tea waiting when Louisa sat down.
“If you haven’t got an updated draft for me, dessert isn’t going to help you,” Louisa said firmly, though a smile tugged at her mouth.
Aurelia dropped her head dramatically, her show of shame closer to reality than she was pretending.
“I’m sorry, Louisa. I know I keep saying that, but I am. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“You’ve been preoccupied with the wedding. Should I go back to the office and scold Oliver?” Louisa quipped as she took a bite of cake.
“He’s just as determined as you are to have me finish. The two of you would wind up scolding me together.”
“So it’s not just the wedding?”
“Not really… I just can’t seem to get out of my own way.
I know how to make the edits we discussed—I have it all worked out.
But when I sit down with my laptop, I just keep thinking about the deadline, how I need to work faster, and then I can’t seem to write anything at all.
And when I do manage to get something written down, it feels off, like I’m trying to make the wrong ends of a magnet snap together. ”
“Turn them the right way round, then,” Louisa offered facetiously.
“I’ll try that when I get home,” Aurelia said with a teasing roll of her eyes. “My niece is coming to stay with us soon, so I’m hoping I can have her help out in the shop while I write. That should definitely free up some of my time.”
“How old is she?”
“Fourteen.”
Louisa let out a laugh. “I think she’ll be more work than you think.”
“What do you mean? She’s sweet—she’ll be happy to help.”
“When was the last time you spent more than a few hours with a teenager?”
“I don’t know… Probably when I was one myself.”
“Well, you’re in for a treat. My stepsister is fifteen and she’s an absolute menace. But who knows, maybe your niece is an exception.”
Aurelia frowned, suddenly worried at what she might be taking on. Antonia hadn’t said anything about Julia being wild or unruly. Surely Julia was as well-behaved as she’d been the last time she’d seen her, at Christmas?
“Oh no! I can see you panicking. Don’t—I’m sure she’ll be fine. And I’m sure she’ll give you lots of time to finish these last revisions. You’ll make that three-week deadline, no problem. Right?”
“Three weeks—that’s a hard deadline, then?” Aurelia asked.
“Consider it a hard deadline, Aurelia,” Louisa said sternly, though Aurelia knew she was putting it on for her benefit.
“Our print date is practically set in stone. And don’t forget there’s going to be a lot to do before it’s printed, like sending it out for copyediting and reviewing the design and proofs.
” Seeing Aurelia’s resigned expression, Louisa added, “There might be a few days’ wiggle room, but don’t focus on that. Let’s stick to three weeks to finish.”
Aurelia nodded, trying to adopt Louisa’s resolve.
“That’s plenty of time. You’re practically finished as it is. Just keep at it and you’ll be fine.”
Aurelia nodded again, this time a bit more confidently.
“If you’re feeling stuck, what about checking in with your writing group? They’ve helped you before, right?”
Aurelia’s ‘writing group’ was, in fact, made up of the characters she met each night in her shop.
“They have, but this book… It’s a little different than their usual genre.”
Their usual genre was their own—mostly nineteenth-century literature—but Aurelia had the good sense to keep that detail to herself.
It was easier to talk about the characters as if they were a group of fellow writers, making her nightly routine something she could share—even if in a code only she understood—with her friends and family.
She’d figured out how to keep her life with the characters a secret without completely eliminating their existence, but it didn’t make hiding the truth from the people she loved most any easier.
Last year, after she and Oliver had gotten engaged, she’d realized that she shouldn’t—couldn’t—marry him without telling him the truth.
But how, and when? She’d asked Esther from Dickens’ Bleak House for advice, and Esther had suggested that she wait for the ‘right moment’ to tell him.
So Aurelia had held back from blurting it out, not wanting to pick the wrong moment while waiting patiently for the right one to show itself.
With their wedding weeks away though, the right time was running very late.
Aurelia had decided that, if the right time still hadn’t arrived by the week before their wedding, she would sit Oliver down and make it right.
It was scary to think of how he’d react, how he might be hurt by her secrecy, how he might not believe her.
But she had to trust that he’d find a way to forgive—and believe—her.
So: her deadline to finish the book and her deadline to tell Oliver were now closing in, leaving no more room for putting either one off.
“If your writing group can’t help you, then you’ll just have to really buckle down and push yourself to get those last edits out of your head and onto paper,” Louisa said, bringing Aurelia back to the moment.
“Alright,” she said with a firm nod. “Three weeks. I can do it.”