"Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again."
― C.S. Lewis

"You're moving in with your father, Vi."

It was the phrase that brought Vivianne to a standstill. Her father, Laurent had divorced her mother when Vivianne was simply a baby. She hardly remembered him, except for one or two photos her mother kept before she passed. Her mother always said he was an asshole.

So she raised an eyebrow at her brother's words even though he couldn't see it over the phone. "Are you kidding me?" she replied incredulously. "Please tell me you're joking."

"I'm not." And over the earpiece, Vivianne could make out the authority in his voice and picture the way his brows crinkled together when he frowned. "Come on, Vi. What good have you got left in that house anyways? Mom's dead. She isn't coming back."

"That's hard for you to say,' Vivianne turned to the wall, a familiar prickling at the corner of her eyes. "You got married, it's easier for you to cope with it. You have someone to count on."

"Vivianne… don't." His voice grew four shades weary. "You know I had to stay for Teresa and the baby. You know that if I could, I would've gotten the custody for you. But I didn't."

But I'm you're baby sister, you're supposed to look out for me. Vivianne wanted to say. She wanted to fight back. She wanted to let him have it.

"Listen, he's our biological father. I know… mom and him used to argue all the time, but they did love each other. He's a good guy. He agreed to the custody and I think a visit to him would help you both cover loose ends of the relationship."

"He lives in France," she reminded. Vivianne didn't want to leave her childhood apartment. Even though she was twenty-four, she wasn't ready to leave the home. It didn't feel right. If she left, who would look after the house? Her job? And just then it was like her brother read her mind.

"You haven't gone to work in weeks. Your manager's are ready to fire you. I'm worried, Teresa is worried. The neighbors are worried. And you know I don't need her worried right now. She's got too much on her plate. We all do. I don't want Mrs. Nancy calling our home phone again complaining that there is a bad smell coming from your apartment. She's your neighbor. Not mine."

"So you're shipping me off to France," Vivianne grumbled darkly. She ran her hand distressfully through her dark hair, frazzled and unwashed for the past two weeks. It had come to a point after the funeral that Vivianne had stopped grooming herself all together where she even stopped looking at her reflections. She was sure that if her brother came around to see her and the house unkempt he would completely flip. "That's almost criminal, Aaron."

"I'm not the one locking myself up in my house like it's a prison. I know mom's death hit us hard, especially you-"

"Could you just stop bringing it up," Vivianne asked, closing her eyes and leaning her head against the wall. Her mother was her closest friend and companion and it hurt to keep thinking about her when she's never coming back. Her voice grew small and she slid down the wall and curled into a ball. "..Please."

There was a small sigh at the end, yet Aaron talked softer. "Please, Vi. Just hear me out. You need this. You need, dad. As much as he is a stranger to you right now, you need him. He needs you. Please, for me. She… she wouldn't want to see you this way."

With great defeat, Vivianne hid her head in her hands and cried. "I know."

It was an eleven hour flight from Brooklyn to Paris and by the time the plane had arrived on the strip, the captain had announced it was seven past nine in the morning with clear sunny skies and a slight cool breeze. Despite Vivianne's dark disposition it seemed like the perfect day to arrive.

Her mood had began to sour when her brother had driven seven hours to come pick her up and started lecturing her at how bad the house looked. He completely looked over the fact she had scrubbed herself clean and looked publically acceptable, only to complain that her self-induced hair cut was awful and she should've picked a better shirt to wear.

What was so bad about her "Pug Off" shirt?

The plane trip itself wasn't so bad.. if you liked sitting next to a man with poor digestive issues and a nervous woman that thought the plane was going to explode with every bump of turbulence. Vivianne had opted to stare blankly at the movie selection on the tiny TV in front of her with the volume up high and her hand over her nose. She had tried to ask a flight attendant if she could move at one stage, but the snobby woman wanted to smoke and gossip in the back instead with a repulsive curl on her French 'Oh La La' lips.

Like penguins, they shuffled out of the aisles with their carry on and up the halls to customs. It was only until Vivianne entered the bustling coliseum of Paris' Charles de Gaulle's Terminal did trepidation flip in her stomach. Luggage bag trailing behind her and used ticket and a photo of her father in hand, she looked more frazzled than organized as she searched for her father.

The panic didn't last long, when through the prongs of people a middle-aged man holding a sign shone like a beacon at her.

"VIVIANNE BEAUMOND"

Instead the panic was filled with trepidation.

She observed the man holding the sign. Dressed in a crisp grey suit and bow. He looked far too old to be her father.

She waved when she approached and smiled with tight lips. "I'm Vivianne." She greeted, unsure.

He placed the sign under his arm. "Ah, excellent." He replied, which caught her off guard. "My name is Alfred," he said. "Your father couldn't make it today."

"Something happened?" she asked, feeling the question was an expected reply. She felt the ease of relief that she hadn't met him just yet.

Alfred took her luggage bag from her hand and began leading her out of the terminal to the awaiting taxi. "He is fine. Busy, that is all," Alfred managed to say. Oh. So too busy to meet his daughter for the first time, huh?

"So.. er, you're his butler or something?" She chewed her lip, wondering if she had hit the mark or not. She kept to the curb, following close to Alfred.

He chuckled as the driver opened the boot and Alfred placed her luggage bag inside it. "Not quite. I am his assistant to his company."

His company? Vivianne noted. She also presumed he was a workaholic considering the job had him chained at the desk while she was here. Yeah, mum's death must be affecting him so much. It would be a while before the "asshole" mark would come off from him.

Alfred sat in the seat beside her, giving his coat a pat down as the driver closed the door behind him. "Now, I gather you're hungry from the trip.."

AN: It's been a very long time since I've written anything REMOTELY AC-ish. Intro may not be a sparkly eye-catcher, but I will get to the story very quickly!

I must address, if you are NOT a fan of Time-Warp scenario's where the main character is tossed dramatically into the past by some mysterious force, then you won't like this story at all. However, if you DO enjoy smoochy romance and tear-jerking, fist-slamming, screen-shrieking drama, please by all means continue and show me love in the reviews. xoxo