Caroline had always liked her morning classes best. When she could swoop down into Cafe Iris at the wee hours of dawn, drink her caffe latte and eat a pain au chocolat because it's Paris. For a small town girl who grew up in Mystic Falls, Virginia, this is a beautiful, baroque dream of cobblestone streets and tall 19th century street lamps that still light up at night. Caroline likes the pale grey dawn tinted with faint lemon yellow and pale, hopeful pink; the air holds promise—a gentle hum of possibility as the vendors unveil their produce and women with straw baskets begin to wander forth, contented and sure of chalkboard publicités written in French cursive.
It's why she loves walking to work, dressed in her white tights and powder blue capelet; golden curls in a loose bun behind her head with a few tendrils falling loose on either side of her face. It's a relaxed Parisian chic that, worn in Paris attracted to no awkward gawking—not like in Mystic Falls when football jocks said she needed tighter scrunchies.
Scrunchies. She wrinkles her nose a little and laughs, high heels clicking merrily down the sienna cobblestone as she makes her way to a matchbox ballet studio with honey wood floors and smiling, eager faces.
There's one little girl with cornsilk hair and wide, emerald green eyes that catches Caroline's attention. Her name is Mina Salvatore but she behaves with all the perfect glacial beauty one might find in Grace Kelly or a Swedish princess. She's eleven years old—precocious—and strives to become the prima ballerina Caroline once was.
While other little girls chatted and compared silk ribbons, Mina quietly read a text with a blue satin cover that Caroline eventually discerned as an old copy of Giselle. There's the doe eyed, dark haired heroine with her moon pale skin and white, white dress carefully painted, features soft and mournful. Caroline knows this because Mina had once accidentally left the book behind and returned twenty minutes later to see Caroline reading it.
"Love. There's nothing like it." Caroline smiled, returning the tomb to a carefully blank faced Mina.
"My mother doesn't like it."
"Well, it's certainly not cheerful enough to laugh over." She smiles wryly, her curls in a neat bun that fits with the ballerina aesthetic—pale pink leotard and cream-rose ballet shoes. "But the graceful fluidity of each move on stage—the outfits, the emotion! There's a beauty to all that, isn't there?"
Mina, small and silent, gives her a tentative smile—one that shows a dimple on her left cheek. "Daddy says that too." As if on cue, Caroline sees a tall, blue eyed stranger appear. He's dressed in a black button up and onyx shade long coat; everything's perfectly tailored and he's got a face like Adonis in spring.
"I'm sorry for keeping her." Caroline apologizes, causing Mina to turn around and—to her shock—beam the brightest smile Caroline's ever seen.
"Uncle Nik!" She cries and runs toward him, book tucked under one arm. She stops a foot away from her ridiculously good looking uncle to look back at Caroline again. "Miss Caroline this is my Uncle Nik." She says matter-of-factly, polite and demure and oh-so-smug. It makes Caroline want to roll her eyes and laugh.
She settles on approaching the cobalt eyed stranger whose sly smirk looks well placed and natural—as if he's used to laughing at the world's inadequacies and forcing others to dance on a string. She pushes these macabre thoughts to the back of her mind. "Good—" she pauses to look back at the painted bronze clock "—morning, monsieur." Caroline gives him a light, airy smile that's all wildflowers and golden sun.
His smirk (she is beginning to detest how good it looks on him) widens. "Madame." He reaches over to take her hand and presses a gentle kiss to it.
It's suave and debonair and it absolutely takes Caroline's breath away.
"You've no idea the wonderful things you've inspired Cosmina to say about you during our car rides home." He chuckles, earning a blush and a glare from his niece.
"Don't embarrass me, Uncle Nik." She pouts perfectly, full rosebud lips resembling her uncle's right then and there.
"I would never." He denies this with chivalrous charm but Caroline can tell that there's a layer of mischief he's not bothering to hide—and somehow, she gets the feeling this playful attitude isn't shown very often.
So she decides to prolong it—just a little while longer. "We're planning to put on a production of A Midsummer Night's Dream. Mina has the distinct honor to be a member of Queen Titania's court."
"Ah so my dear niece will be able to learn from your hand as both student and debutante."
Caroline managed to suppress her blush. "I certainly won't dominate my students production." She chided, though the rebuke was so gentle and sweet that not even the smallest child would have been affected. "I'm a point woman in this case—plan, organize, design and ensure that the whole theater doesn't shut down before our opening night." Her tone is teasing with just a touch of sarcasm.
Mina is observing their exchange with wide, curious eyes but her uncle doesn't seem the least bit bothered by it. Rather, he welcomes Caroline's rambling.
"Look at you, at the helm of your ship." His eyes drink Caroline in, studying her with all the interest and necessity of a portrait artist. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
Caroline dimples, smile widening. "How would you know that, monsieur? You've only just met me."
"As a pensive traveler, I find my lonesome path shaken and my unobserving eye enlightened."
Oh. "Is that Wordsworth?" She's taken to reading poems while on the metro and never has she been so glad to have picked up that tattered book of poetry from a vintage shop just along Rue des Tournelles.
He's pleased by her answer. "Indeed. No expression is divined so finely as from the pen of Wordsworth."
"Careful now, you're in Paris, monsieur. You may incite a riot by praising the English quill instead of the French veneer."
Mina's watching this exchange as if it were a picture show at the cinema and Caroline wonders if she'll mention this next Saturday. Instead, her mysterious uncle takes a step forward and presses one final kiss to Caroline's hand, interrupting her train of thought.
"I'll trust you to keep my secrets." He chuckles lightly before he and Mina depart.
It's only after does Caroline realize that she's still blushing.
- "As a pensive traveler..." derived the poem A Night Piece by William Wordsworth. It narrates the tale of a man walking alone at night who, suddenly, observes the presence of the moon. While a common sight, this image leaves the man strangely moved and praising the wonderment of nature and the cosmos.
A/N: Mostly written to help me get back into the Klaus/Caroline groove! They're my first OTP - and probably always will be - so they've got a special place in my heart :) (WARNING: This is a tale of pure fluff and sweetness so anyone looking for angst, er...maybe next time!)
Feedback is appreciated :)