Page 9 of Eternal Love


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He cleared his throat. “I’ve lost my family,” he said. “It’s just me.”

A sinking feeling appeared in the pit of her stomach. That’s what he meant by them moving on. She just thought he meant they lived somewhere else. Dead parents, they had that in common. She reached for his arm and gave it a light squeeze. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”

“Thank you. I’ve always had a small family, and over the years I lost my parents and three siblings to illness and accidents.”

She was quiet for a moment, struggling to find the words. He seemed to sense it. “It’s all right,” he assured her. “It was a while ago now.” He placed his hand over hers, the one she still rested on his arm.

She swallowed and tried to smile brightly. “Well, you still need a reward!”

“Spending time with you is reward enough,” he said, reaching out to tuck a strand of unruly hair behind her ear. Her cheeks burned and her heart soared at the gesture.

“Okay, well then, how about we go out into the village, and I’ll buy you some new clothes. You can’t keep wearing suits, you know, they’ll get ruined. Besides, you’re showing me up dressing so fancy all the time.”

She made her way to the door, expecting to see him following, when she threw a look back over her shoulder. But he was standing with his arms tight at his sides, his fists clenching and unclenching.

“No.”

“N-No?” she stammered at his tone.

When his eyes met hers, they sparkled with annoyance. “No, I’m not going into the village, and you shouldn’t either.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You shouldn’t go into the village. Things aren’t what they seem. Everyone is so old-fashioned here and you should be careful. I don’t set foot in the village anymore.”

“Who are you to tell me what to do?”

“I’m not telling you what to do, but you should listen to me.”

“Suit yourself, but I’m going out, and I might even have a drink while I’m there.”

Julia hated being ordered around, and that’s what this felt close to. No, she wouldn’t have it. Besides, her pride was stung. Since when did he have the right to be so rude to her, to turn down her offer? He said he wanted to spend time with her, didn’t he? Then why didn’t he want to go out with her? To be seen in public? These questions swarmed in her mind like bees, buzzing and relentless.

Fuck it, she would go out. She’d go shopping, spend her hard-earned money on herself, and then maybe go to the pub for a drink. She needed alcohol right about now. Her mind set, she went to her room, had a quick shower and changed into a long-sleeved winter mauve dress and knee-high boots. She made sure to wiggle just a little too much on her way past Theodore, who she noticed, smugly, seemed to be fighting the losing battle of ignoring her.

She smirked, then promptly tripped on the threadbare rug in the hall, because of course she did. At least he wasn’t around to see that one. She was mad at him, and seeing his smile, hearing his laugh, was sure to put a smile on her face that she didn’t want there just yet. The front door clicked and heaved open. The sunlight warmed her face, and she was almost tricked into thinking she was back home. Almost. Then a cold burst of wind sliced through the air. She took a deep inhale, and began her walk into the village.

****

Okay, so maybe clothesshopping was a bit too ambitious. The most this village had to offer were a few hats and a raincoat. She scrunched her nose, thumbing the thin, cheap material. She could almost hear Camilla’s voice sing through her mind, “Ew, I wouldn’t even deign to blow my nose on it.” Camilla could be such a snob.

Julia sighed and glanced down at her phone. Five o’clock. Well, she could head to the pub, get a drink and then go home. If she were honest with herself, she was only getting this drink as a middle finger to Theodore. She was sick of all the looks she was getting. She may as well have had a sign hung around her neck that readOutsider: Proceed with Caution. She left the shop, stepping out into the chill. The pub was about a minute’s walk. It was like whomever had designed this place had decided to smush everything together, like a model village.

The pub, King’s Head, was quaint, exactly what New Yorkers seek when they come to England in search of tradition. It was stone, with a thatched roof and a swinging sign with—no surprises—a king’s head on, looking down in judgment at all who passed. The door creaked open, and she headed straight for a table in the corner, rubbing her hands together for warmth while she scanned the menu.

It’s all in your head, Julia, the room didn’t get quieter just because you walked in.

The pub was tiny, with a bar area guarded by an extremely frustrated-looking woman with graying brown hair piled atop her head. Men and women of various ages were dotted around in their preferred drinking spots. She would order a drink and leave. She swallowed, heading for the bar. Suddenly she didn’t feel all that much like drinking.

“Just a ginger beer, please,” she told the woman.

The sound of her voice was like a beacon, calling all eyes to her.

“Not from around here, are you?”

She chuckled lightly. “What gave me away?”

The woman didn’t take it as intended. “Your accent,” she said, deadpan, placing the drink in front of her.