Chapter 10
Oliver
"True beauty is revealed in moments of vulnerability."
My Heart stops the moment she does. She stands there perched at the top of the stairs, and instantaneously, I forget how to breathe.
The green from her gown is radiant against her ivory skin as she walks down the stairs with such elegance and grace, presenting a bout of confidence I've only seen in her once—when their dad left, that moment made the rest of her life such a challenge.
She had to step in, step up and be the strength.
She had to pick her mother up off the floor and keep her sister from slitting her wrists.
The thought of rejection was too much for Evelyn to bear.
That spoiled brat—Evelyn had always been envious of the connection Emory had with their father.
She would always act out in hopes of attention.
It didn’t matter what kind. Evelyn often exhibited attention-seeking behavior, which was observed in various aspects of her interactions with others.
She tended to dominate conversations, frequently interrupting others to ensure that the focus remained on her.
Evelyn often shared exaggerated stories or personal achievements, seeking validation and admiration from those around her.
One would assume her behavior called for constant reassurance and approval, which stemmed from her underlying insecurities.
While her actions would be engaging and entertaining, they can also overshadow the contributions of others.
This led to potential frustration boiling down to numerous arguments with Emory and their mother.
Evelyn was selfish, always trying to outshine Emory but not this time.
Evelyn’s antics would never be enough to divert the attention from the beauty Emory has stepped into, especially in this moment.
She waltzes down the steps like a queen entertaining her people.
The intensity of her presence is like a temptress, drawing me closer with every step she takes.
Her every movement resonating with an elegance that discredits the history her chaotic bloodline carries in the secrets of past lives.
She stops between us with a short, sweet greeting.
I can barely hear it over the thumping in my chest. For years, I have walked this earth, but this feeling is new to me.
We stand there, our eyes locked, and an unspoken bond forming a silent agreement that transcends words.
The air around us seems to hum with a shared anticipation—the promise of a destiny intertwined.
I bow to kiss her hand, and the world narrows to just the two of us.
Emotions swirl inside me as they connect with her energy—an intimate dance of souls lost then found again.
Her skin is soft, and the air around is staticky as I catch a slight breeze of honeysuckle and vanilla—intoxicating.
I never want to be free of this scent.
I extend my elbow in hopes she will take it, and with the utmost heart-melting smile, she does.
I look back at Niven and smile at her, accompanied by a gentle nod.
“You two enjoy and behave yourselves.” With a twinkle of her fingers, she waves goodbye, like she is Angela Lansbury herself, then she prances away as though the bed is about to leave without her.
Emory's pulse is subtle on my arm, a steady bump-ba-bump.
Then, as Niven fades further away, disappearing in the distance, it finally hits her—the realization that we are alone, and I can sense her heart rate quicken.
“Shall we?” I question, and she answers with a grin.
Her desire for a deeper understanding boiled deep within her, seeping from her eyes, while the energetic atmosphere radiating from her was almost seamless in hiding her false aura of bashfulness.
I gesture towards the exit, and once I receive her consent in the form of a shallow dip from her chin, I lead her out the door.
I start by showing off all the glorious shops her family has built throughout the decades.
At the far left of the gates, there is a barber shop with a worn sign that reads ‘Selby Barber Shop’.
It is the second building added to the manor after the Selby family bought it.
“This shop was built for your grandfather.”
I swing my arms from back to front, clapping my hands together as they meet before me. “After escaping to America, your great-grandmother wanted to make a name here.” We stop at the store front as I continue, “She wanted to leave something behind that would last through the ages.”
She peers in the window, then asks, “Why isn’t it in use now?
” The look in her eyes is the same look I’d expect if she were to see me and my truths.
.. pity. The state of these shops isn’t too far from the condition of my soul—aged and hollow, and having no words worthy of using to answer her—I shrug.
I lead her inside the old barber shop. My sight converges with my mind, bringing pictures frozen in time back to the moments in the past when it was once bustling with activity.
Where lively banter would fill the air, now it stands in silence—echoing back the void within my own heart.
I, too, was once lively, but now I roam alone—a guardian of this ghost town.
The scent of aged leather and aftershave lingers, a wraithlike reminder of days when the chairs spun with stories and laughter.
Moving along, her curiosity piques around every corner we turn, as she investigates every piece as if peeling back layers of history intricately woven into the fabric of existence.
It was only recently that the shops shut down for business, but longer than that, they have sat empty.
Much like me, the stores were abandoned, languishing for any nod at life.
The antique equipment sits idle, clean, and perfect.
Straight from the 1930s, as though we have leapt back in time, and I can’t help but watch her.
Being this close to her, with her acknowledgement and acceptance, is a feeling so surreal to me.
If only I could stop the world in this moment forever, even though I know that is too much to ask for.
Soon, she will have to make a choice. She will either choose to spend a lifetime and thereafter.
.. with me, or she will disappear as swiftly as she arrived.
Never again will I be allowed to lay eyes upon her beauty, forever a memory stamped on the pages of past time.
Once she is done surveying the barber shop, we move on to the tailor, where the most lavish dresses and suits hang—A display of true talent.
As we walk through the shop, the elegance of the garments matching the grace with which she moves.
I admire her expressions as I am sure, she is envisioning herself in each beautiful piece, mostly because I am doing the same.
Her eyes sparkle with curiosity and intrigue, drawing her deeper into the stories of her family's past.
Each item we encounter is like a hidden chapter of her lineage, awakening a connection she never knew existed.
She listens intently as I recount tales of her grandmother's mastery with a needle and thread, her eyes wide with wonder and excitement.
Her enthusiasm is contagious, and I feel a swell of pride in being the one to guide her through this journey of discovery.
We travel deeper, passing fitting rooms and registers, as her questions grow more eager with each revelation. “Your grandmother was very skilled with a pair of scissors, needles, and thread.” Stopping short, she glares up at me.
Then her gaze switches back to a stunning flapper dress—navy blue with silver glitter that sparkle like stars. “I never knew her, never even knew her name.” Desire encompasses her, “Just that she was beautiful.”
“She was beautiful and still is.” Without thought, the words are out before I can stop them. “I believe she is even more admirable now than ever.”
Just like that, as if nothing else in the world mattered, she begins bombarding me with questions, “You know her?” Her eyes are like saucers as the excitement surges through her veins. “Does she live here?”
I stagger a little, trying to appear frightened, pausing to give myself a moment to recover a response. “Yes, your family has been a big part of my existence.” Don’t ramble. I tell myself in thought. “Yes, I know her. As for her being here, not currently, but she does live here.”
“Well, when will she be back? Does she know about my sister and I?” My brows furrow as I try to hide my sorrow.
There is so much I wish I could tell her, but it just isn't the right time. No, there is so much she still needs to know before questions can be answered. She must have noticed my hesitation, as she responds, “I... I’m sorry.” I use the padded side of my fingers, moving her chin to guide her gaze to mine, while stroking my thumb over her bottom lip.
“The time will come when all your questions will have an answer.” With a long face, she nods, releasing a small sigh. I press on, “For now, I will be able to sleep better just knowing you are familiar with the grounds.”
Suddenly, an idea sparks. One I know will get her mind off the subject at hand. “I have something I need to show you.” I flatten my hand in front of her as I give her a semi-bow.
This can go one of two ways: It can strike a match of anger or open the flood gates of sorrow.
“For me?” She raises an eyebrow. A small smirk, like a shy little mouse in search of some cheese, creeps across her face.
“Are you going to take my hand?” A dark tone vines its way up my throat, “Or am I going to have to make you?” Then, the moment we shared in the alley comes into focus, occupying all the space in my brain.
I struggle to fight back the intrusive thoughts, that only get stronger as she takes my hand with no further questions.
I lead her to the next shop, and warmth floods my heart as I hear her gasp. Turning to face her, I see her hands clasped over her mouth, tears welling up in her eyes. “For real... can we enter?” She focuses on my face, waiting for my response.
“Of course, dove. It’s your family's shop.” I pause before I say my next words, “Your father’s shop.”
She looks up at me as I open the door, then barrels past me. It is nice to see her childish side, even if it is only the flicker of a moment. Closing the door to the toy store, I chuckle as she runs straight for the little wooden dolls.
“Lolli, oh my Sweet Lolli.” She picks one up with blonde curly hair and a teal dress adorned with daisies and accessorized with white bloomers.
“My Father made my sister and me matching dolls like this.” She starts her story, but what she doesn't know is that I am already aware of this tale.
She continues, “It was funny. Evelyn and I fought over their names at first, wanting to name them the same thing. So, our father, being the smartest man I have ever known, split the name in two. Lolli and Poppy.”
I knew every bit of her life, and still, I drag a stool over, and rest one leg over it while the other touches the floor. With my elbow on my knee, I canted forward, illustrating my interest and eagerness for her to continue.