Hello everyone!

It feels a bit weird to share Étienne & Eliane's story here. It started a couple of years ago as something I needed- needed! - to write in-between another story and it was completed as if it was written on its own. The inspiration IS Beauty and the Beast (not the movie but I didn't find any other Beauty and the Beast category-what about the book, the fairy tale?) but it feels kind of original. You'll tell me I guess.

So I uploaded the first chapter under the Beauty and Beast category even though I have to warn you that there's no magic, no curses, "no miraculous metamorphosis" as Étienne would say. It's Beauty and the Beast broken to pieces, taken some, leaving some aside and then making something new. (And Eliane is beautiful while Étienne is ugly- does that work for you?)

You wouldn't be reading this (literally speaking!) without the help of TOWDNWTBN (if you don't know her by now, it's The-One-Who-Does-Not-Wish-To-Be-Named), Vale and Sandra. We are a multinational group over here.

Time Not Wasted will be available on Amazon Kindle shortly so I have to warn you about this: the story -the whole story- will be posted here but when it's completed, I'll withdraw it. I'll leave it for a couple weeks of course in case someone missed an update but I don't want anyone to feel tricked.

I'll better wrap this- the rambling was longer than the first chapter itself...

1.

All the rumors were true.

Every last whisper she had heard about Étienne Bertillon, every unconscious grimace, every frown at the mere sound of the Bertillon name, even the almost invisible shake of the heads in contempt or driven by that other emotion no one wanted to admit out loud but they all shared: fear.

There was no other way to describe the lowered voices, the words turning into mumbles and the eyes drifting around as if to check... for what? He'd rarely been down to the village. Fewer times than the fingers on one hand, and if his conduct had ever been disorderly that had been before her time. Four years was a long time, wasn't it? A whole life.

And even now, she was the one standing inside the Chateau Bertillon on the other side of the hill. Everything had been taken care for him by his man. He'd never had to set foot in the village. He didn't need to. And everyone was much happier thanks to the arrangement.

When the large, cold room had emptied of other people, she stood at a distance before him for quite a while. He sat in a chair at the only desk in the room; there was no fire in the fireplace. She waited silently, her palms damp with anxiety, until he finally lifted his eerie, heavy-lidded eyes from the papers before him with the air of having forgotten her existence altogether. He took a good look at her.

His upper lip lifted into a weird grimace. She couldn't tell if something disgusted him or he was ready to bare his teeth. Or was it a smile? His eyes narrowed as his gaze moved slowly from head to toe, and she rushed to hide her battered shoes under her dress, the best she had.

His clothes were expensive but not new, nor festive either. They suited him well and he felt comfortable wearing them. It was obvious in the way he got up from his chair and stood before his desk, tall and bored.

For a moment, she frowned, almost angry at the offense. No matter how expensive and beautiful they were, he was wearing his everyday clothes, while she was wearing her best dress regardless of how plain and dull it looked. The feeling lasted less than a breath. Despite the heavy fabric of his brocade waistcoat, the cloud-white of his shirt, the buttons, the cufflinks and the tall leather boots, Étienne Bertillon was an ugly man.

He had a hook nose that gave his face the semblance of a bird, two deep lines between his brows, that constant grimace of disgust that contorted his lips, and as if these were not enough, his eyes had a pale blue color that contrasted with his pupils, giving him an otherworldly aura.

Still, that was hardly a surprise. She had heard all the names they called him, some more fitting than others and had prepared herself for the ugliness. She knew he was much older than she, and deep down she counted on that but from that distance she saw no white in his thick dark hair and unconsciously her shoulders hunched in disappointment.

"Time is the only real luxury." His voice was deep, bored, and had a disturbing quality. It reminded her of something she couldn't recall and didn't allow herself to think as she concentrated on his words.
"Estates, money, jewels, connections…they're of value only when they can buy time. When they are time-consuming, they do more harm than good."
Her eyes widened as her mind tried to grasp what he was saying.
"My morals are simple and clear: I care to do you neither harm nor good. Do not waste my time. Find something to occupy yourself with. In this house everyone works for the food he eats."
She nodded her agreement. He took one step towards her but then stood still and leaned back on his desk instead.
"I know what you've heard of me. Most of it is true." His grimace of disgust became deeper, revealing a flash of white teeth. That must have been a smile.
"That was in the past. I have my books to read, my designs. I'm too old for anything else." His eyes narrowed even more as they locked on her, full of meaning.
"No good or evil deeds for me anymore. They're both a waste of time."

Turning her face from his persistent stare, she focused on the wooden planks under her shoes, which were visible once more. Pretending she understood him was disheartening.

"Clotilde will show you your rooms. We'll talk again tomorrow at noon," he ordered, and like an obedient maid, she rushed to turn on her heel and leave.

Her rooms were more than she expected. More than she deserved. Clotilde believed that, too. She could read it in the older woman's face, in the way she dragged the tour out by explaining things that didn't need explanation. Clotilde didn't think she was worthy of all this, but she didn't dwell on the woman's disapproval.

As soon as Clotilde left, she locked the door, and searching around the room, she located a heavy armchair. If she understood Étienne Bertillon right, she had nothing to worry about that night. All the same, she pushed the chair with all her might until it was set against the door. Panting, she sat on it and took in the canopy bed. It looked soft and inviting.

This is where she would spend her first night as Madame Bertillon.

Okay, that was the first chapter and I feel obligated to declare that no evil spirit has possessed me (in case you're wondering about my usually long, endless chapters.) I feel guilty though so I could post the second chapter earlier... I plan on posting a chapter per week. (Fridays are okay?)

Before I forget: reviews, people! What did you think of the chapter? Don't you know that reviews are the fuel in this site? Get yourself a nice hot chocolate (or tea, or coffee) and tell me all about it! I welcome even flames! (It's getting colder outside...)