A/N: So, this was gonna be a one-shot, but people wanted me to fix it…
Yeah, this chapter fixes sweet fuck-all, I'm afraid!
When Gold awoke, the bed beside him was empty, the sheets cold. He stretched, rubbing his right eye with the heel of his hand, and sat up, the silk throw falling around his waist. She was gone, then. He sighed to himself, fingers spreading in a fan across the bedclothes. Sometimes she stayed. Belle had always stayed, ever since the first night, even though he had given her a room of her own and shown her into it. She had knocked on his door as he was lying with his hands behind his head, his mind brimming with thoughts of her, and had sidled into the room in a set of his pyjamas, which was all he had for her to wear. He had watched, wide-eyed and heart thumping, as she climbed into bed with him, and he had held her close as she slept, barely able to believe that she was alive, and there, and in his arms. From that day until the day she left, Belle had never slept apart from him. But Lacey was not Belle.
He craned his head, looking at the clock on the nightstand. Nearing eleven-thirty. They hadn't eaten dinner, and he was a little hungry, not to mention that he needed the bathroom. Throwing back the covers, he got out of bed and groped on the floor for the cane. He limped naked to the bathroom to relieve himself, washing his hands and the cane in the sink and drying them off before grabbing the silk robe from the back of the door and slipping it on. The house was silent, the only sound the quiet ticking of clocks and the creak of old wooden floorboards as he walked. Her bedroom door was open, the bed empty and a shaft of moonlight falling across it from the open curtains.
He made his way downstairs, thinking she had gone to get herself a snack or a glass of something, but there was no sign of her in the kitchen. For a moment he wondered if perhaps she had gone out without him, back to that dreadful bar where they had first met, and he was about to go back upstairs to get dressed when he happened to look in the lounge. She was on the couch, legs curled under her, wearing his discarded shirt. A book lay open on her lap, her head lolling against the cushions of the couch and her eyes closed, and he smiled to himself. Her hair fell down over her shoulders in a tousled mess, her skin as pale as milk. She looked so young, so incredibly fragile, and he wanted so much to wrap his arms around her and keep her safe. His jaw tightened, and he shifted his feet, his body stiffening. He had attempted to do that, to be gentle, to be himself with her, to be the man that no one in this town but Belle had ever seen. It had backfired spectacularly, and he had resorted to being distant, to being the dealmaker. To keeping her at arm's length, no matter how much it hurt him. At least that way she found him interesting enough to stay with. At least that kept her safe.
He debated whether to leave her there, but she would get cold, and so he put a hand on her shoulder, making her start awake, eyes wide. They narrowed as she focused on him, and he stepped back as she straightened up and yawned.
"Hey," he said quietly. "It would be more comfortable upstairs, you know."
"Yeah." She ran a hand through her hair, not looking at him. "Guess I was more tired than I thought."
He gestured at the book that was tented on the arm of the chair: Ishiguro's The Remains of the Day.
"That's one of my favourites," he said. "Are you enjoying it?"
"What? Oh…" She looked at the book, curling her lip. "Yeah, I was - bored, I guess, and you don't have cable. Why the hell don't you have cable?"
She picked up the book, closing it and tossing it aside before glancing up at him, and he eyed her sadly.
"Lacey," he said gently. "I know you like to read. I know how clever you are, you don't need to hide it from me."
She was silent, still not looking at him, and he didn't push it. He heaved a sigh, dropping his eyes and concentrating on the patterned rug, at the stylised vines and roses in the thick pile, intertwining swirls of crimson and olive green amongst the gold.
"We didn't eat," he said then. "Are you hungry? I could make us something."
"No." She rubbed her eyes, sitting up, and pushed herself to her feet. "I think I'll just have a drink."
"Alright," he said calmly. "Let me get you one."
She threw up her arms, her expression one of frustration.
"I can do it myself, Gold, I don't need you to - to - I don't need you, okay?"
She pushed past him, and he let her go, his jaw tightening as he wondered what he'd done. The last thing he remembered they had been on good terms. More than good. She had lain in his arms and let him hold her. It had almost felt like old times. Perhaps he had gotten too close again, and unnerved her. Perhaps it was time to take a step back. God, how he hated this!
Sighing to himself, he made his way through to the kitchen, his shoulders a little slumped. She was stretching up to get a glass from the cupboard, the shirt riding up her thighs and exposing the pale length of her legs. She seemed to sense his approach, and glanced over her shoulder as she set the glass on the counter with a dull clunk.
"You want one?" she asked.
"Why not?"
He watched as she grasped another whisky glass, and she shut the cupboard door and swept past him, glasses in hand. A rush of air and the warm, flowery scent of her brushed his face as she passed, and he stood still for a moment, not wanting to crowd her. After a moment he heard the clink of a bottle against wood, and made his way to the lounge, where she was pouring two large measures of single malt. She handed him one without looking at him, and he took it, sipping at the whisky as he watched her take a swallow. She coughed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The atmosphere between them was heavy, a strange, electric tension almost whining in the air around them and setting his teeth on edge.
"I think I'll go to bed," she said, and he nodded.
"Very well," he said, feeling out of his depth. "Are you - um - did you want to sleep in my room?"
"No."
She didn't elaborate, and his fingers drummed on the side of the glass as he wondered what to say to bring her back to him. Letting her have some time to herself usually worked. So did beating up the odd creep that looked at her the wrong way, but he wasn't aware that any of his tenants were behind with their rent, and frankly he didn't have the energy. He decided on giving her space.
"I'll be in the shop tomorrow," he said, his voice cool. "I have quite a lot of paperwork to get through. If you want to meet for lunch you could come over around one."
She shrugged, which he took for agreement.
"Guess I'll see you," she said, and walked out of the lounge without a backward glance, leaving him clutching a glass of whisky that he didn't especially want, his anxiety mounting as he felt her pull away from him.
Lacey made her way up the stairs on shaking legs, feeling indescribably weary. She readied herself for bed once she had finished the whisky, but kept Gold's shirt on. The smell of him was both pleasant and painful, a comforting familiarity and a reminder of the fact that she would never be his. She would never be loved.
She lay in the dark with her arms behind her head, thinking over what she should do. Perhaps it was just a crush, her subconscious feeling grateful for him taking her in and giving her a safe place to stay, along with a bunch of orgasms that she certainly hadn't expected but wasn't complaining about. Perhaps she'd go back to her usual mode of indifference in a week or so. The lie tasted bitter in her mind as she tried to give it life. In her heart, she knew that this was more than affection born of gratitude.
Eventually she heard his tread as he mounted the stairs, and the strip of warm light beneath the bedroom door was broken by the twin shadows of his feet and the narrow line of his cane. Heart thumping, she waited for him to knock, but he never disturbed her when she slept in her own room, and she was too stubborn and heartsick to go to him herself, so she lay in tense, miserable silence until he went away. The hollow sound of his bedroom door closing, shutting her out, made tears start in her eyes again, and she wiped them away, furious with herself. It didn't even matter. She'd gotten over guys before, and she was damn sure she could get over this one.
The next day, Gold waited in vain for Lacey to arrive at the shop for lunch, one ear listening at every moment for the click of her heels or the sound of her voice. The clock hands crept towards three, and he told himself that it was unlikely that she'd show now. When he called the house and got no response, his anxiety grew. He wasn't sure what he had done to make her pull away, but backing off didn't seem to have helped, and now she was gone. He closed up early, driving back to the house to double-check that she wasn't there. Her things were still in her room, so she clearly planned on returning, but he couldn't shake that quiet, nagging voice in the back of his mind that was telling him to go and look for her. Nonetheless he waited, seated at the kitchen table and drumming his fingers in a steady rhythm until the clock ticked past five. She should be home by now, and he was beyond worried. It was time to look for her. Sighing to himself, he realised that he had a good idea of where to start.
Lacey stared at the ring of moisture left by her glass of beer, sitting up to drain the dregs of her drink before smacking the glass down on the bar.
"You want another?" asked the barman, and she nodded.
She was starting to feel pleasantly drunk, and it was helping to numb the sharp pain in her chest, the sense of hurt and loss that she had been nursing since the previous evening.
"What's the matter, Gold throw you out or something?"
A familiar, unwelcome voice made her lip curl, and she glanced to the side to see Keith staring at her. She had heard that he had needed hospital treatment after Gold almost beat him to death, and she wasn't in the least bit sorry. Apparently he was back on his feet again, and blaming her for his misfortune. Great.
"Go fuck yourself," she said absently, nodding her thanks as the barman placed another beer in front of her.
"Yeah, well, I'm guessing he got tired of trash, huh?" said Keith nastily. "Probably couldn't stand you giving it up so easily. Guys like a challenge."
"Is that what you tell yourself whenever a girl turns you down?" she said innocently, and the barman let out a chuckle and turned it into a cough. Keith scowled.
"Fuck you, Lacey," he growled, and stomped off.
"In your dreams, dickhead!" she shouted after him.
He waved a hand at her, and she glared at his back, but her attention was caught by the door opening and Gold stepping into the club. She turned back to her drink. What the hell was he doing here? Taking a gulp of cold beer, she listened to the tap of his cane as he approached, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She could feel his presence as he stepped up next to her, and she glanced across at him. His face was calm, but there was a tic below his left eye as he glanced over at Keith.
"Was he bothering you?" he asked, and for a moment she considered saying yes. Watching him beat the crap out of Keith again would be a pleasant distraction, but she wasn't really in the mood. She shook her head, and he nodded.
"I missed you at lunch," he said quietly, and she shrugged.
"Yeah, I didn't feel like it."
"Okay." He watched as she took another slurp of her beer. "Are you coming home? I could cook dinner."
"Not really hungry." She took another drink, the beer cool in her throat.
"Did you eat at all today?" he asked, and she shrugged again. Gold sighed.
"Lacey, I realise that I must have done something to piss you off, but I can't for the life of me think what it was, so would you please tell me?"
You showed me that I have a heart. And that it's a delicate, fragile thing. You showed me you could break it.
"You haven't done anything," she said in a monotone, and slid off her seat. "You're right, I should probably eat something. Let's go."
She pulled on her coat and marched towards the door without looking back, but she could tell he was following. Her emotions were in turmoil; part of her wanted to leave: just pack the few things she had at his place and get out, but she had nowhere to go except her dad's place, and it wasn't as though they were on good terms. She had nothing. No exit strategy. Gold would give her money if she asked for it, but she hated the idea of taking more from him only to leave him. It wasn't his fault that she'd fallen in love with him. It wasn't his fault that he still loved this Belle person, either. Maybe she could work past it. Maybe she could settle for only being - whatever she was to him. She clenched her jaw as she turned into the alleyway that ran beside the club. Maybe they could be okay.
"The car's this way," he said, from behind her, and she spun on her toes to face him.
"In a minute," she said briskly, and winked at him. "Kiss me."
His eyebrows shot up, his mouth falling open, and her smile widened. She loved that she could render him speechless, that she could surprise him so much. He stepped forwards and she grabbed the lapels of his suit, pushing him back against the alley wall and kissing him, her tongue sliding between his lips to taste him, a contented sound rumbling deep in her throat. He let the cane fall, his arms going around her, and she rubbed herself against him, feeling him grow hard, feeling his breath quicken as his tongue stroked hers. It felt good to kiss him, to press her mouth to his and taste him, a familiar, sweet warmth that made her feel safe. That made her feel that he wanted her. She slipped a hand in between them, gripping him through his pants, and he gasped into her mouth, the kiss growing messy and frantic. She pulled her mouth away, kissing down his neck as she palmed him.
"I want you," she whispered, and he chuckled, a low buzz in his chest that made her shiver.
"I want you too," he said breathlessly. "Let's - let's go home."
"I want you now," she said firmly, and bit down on him, tasting salt on his skin.
He groaned, and she squeezed him in her hand, running her tongue over the place she had bitten him to soothe the skin before sucking his earlobe in between her lips. He gasped, pushing against her hand, and she quickly unbuckled his belt to open up his pants before sinking to her knees in front of him.
"No, sweetheart," he breathed, shaking his head firmly. "Not - not here, please. Not like this."
"Exactly like this," she whispered, and reached for his underwear, licking her lips at the thought of having him in her mouth.
"Lacey, no!" His hands gripped her shoulders, pulling her up, and she wrenched free, glaring at him.
"Why not?" she asked sulkily, as he bent to pick up his cane. His mouth was set in a thin line, his jaw tight.
"Because I'm not going to fuck you in some back alley like a bloody tramp, that's why!" he snapped, flicking his hair back as he turned to her.
"Isn't that what I am?" she flung at him. "Isn't that what everyone in this town is with you? You call the shots, you hold all the power, and they have to get on their metaphorical knees and suck you off if they want to keep a roof over their heads. They all think I'm your live-in whore, you know that, right?"
He clenched his jaw a little, his back rigid, hands clasped tight over the cane handle.
"And you?" he asked quietly. "What do you think?"
"Well, what the hell can I think?" she demanded. "I live there rent free and I bang you senseless most nights, so maybe they've got a point."
"You do realise that's what a lot of couples do," he said calmly, and she snorted in derision.
"Oh, don't make me laugh, Gold, we're not a couple, we were never a couple!"
He closed his eyes then, as though she had said something painful, and when he opened them he had that sad look she hated.
"I know we've never actually discussed our relationship," he said. "But…"
"We don't have a relationship!" she snapped, raising her arms and letting them fall. "You felt sorry for me and you took me in, and don't think I'm not grateful, because I am, but it's not a relationship, and I know that for you it never will be!"
"I don't understand where this is coming from," he said evenly. "What makes you think that?"
"Because I'm not her!" she shouted, feeling the sting of tears prick the back of her eyes. "I'm not Belle! Yeah, I know all about the love of your life! You said her name in your fucking sleep! You said you loved her!"
He looked stricken, and she paced back and forth, blinking rapidly to stop herself from crying.
"Was she like me?" she asked. "Another lost girl you took in? Did you think you could fix her, too?"
"Lacey…" he said gently, reaching for her, and she shook him off.
"Did you take her off the streets and - and fuck her, and make her into something else? Something you thought was better? Is that what you want to do to me?"
"Please." His voice was soft, almost a caress. "Please, sweetheart, don't do this."
"I'm such an idiot!" she fumed. "I thought maybe you were lonely, that you had no one. That you were alone, like me. I thought maybe we could help each other."
"I think we do," he said, and she shook her head.
"You loved her," she said, pointing an accusing finger. "You still love her, right?"
"Yes."
His voice was calm, his hands tight on the handle of his cane, and she stopped pacing, the pain of his admission piercing her. She had expected it, of course, but it still hurt like hell to hear him say it aloud. She swallowed, unsure if she wanted to ask the next question.
"Did she die?" she whispered, and his mouth twitched, the briefest of smiles.
"No."
That was something. She wasn't sure if it made things better or worse. If he'd been grieving, she could have helped him get over it. Pining was a different story.
"But she left you," she said quietly, and his jaw clenched a little.
"Yes."
She felt her lip tremble, and bit it hard enough to hurt.
"Will she ever come back?"
He was silent for a moment, then he flicked his hair back out of his eyes.
"I don't know," he admitted, and she licked her lips, her chest feeling heavy, as though it were filled with tears.
"If she does come back," she said then. "What - what happens to me?"
His mouth flattened, his eyes dark with sadness, with compassion. She didn't want to see it.
"I don't know," he said again, his voice soft.
Liar. She nodded, as though she believed him, and turned away.
"I think I'll walk home," she said, and he was silent.
"Very well," he said eventually. "But I think we need to talk about this, Lacey."
She shook her head, and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other until she was out of the alleyway. She could feel his eyes on her back, and as she turned the corner she glanced around to see him watching her, a lone figure with his hair ruffled by the light breeze, his cane grounded in front of him. It made her heart ache, and she pulled her eyes away and moved out of sight.
It took her longer than usual to walk home, her body weary from lack of sleep and feeling the effects of the beer. She made it eventually, and saw that his Cadillac was already parked up, ticking slightly as the engine cooled. The lights were on in the house, and she wondered if he was cooking something. Not that she felt like eating, particularly, but she knew she ought to. Sure enough, when she opened the door and stepped into the hallway, the scent of garlic and onions swept out and surrounded her, and her stomach gave a traitorous rumble. She hung up her coat, making her way through to the kitchen, and saw Gold stirring a pan of something. He glanced across at her.
"I thought we'd just have pasta," he said. "Do you want wine?"
She nodded, and he set down the spoon, leaving a deep red smear on the counter as he reached for the wine bottle and poured them each a glass. The walk home had helped her head to clear, and she felt a little more lucid, so the wine would probably get her drunk again. She looked forward to it.
They ate the pasta in near silence, and by the time they were done she could barely remember eating a bite. She downed two glasses of wine, though, and Gold looked sad all over again, which just made her want to drink more. He washed and dried the dishes, which she usually did, but she felt as though she was rooted to her chair, turning the wineglass around and around in her fingers as though it was some sort of magical artefact that would summon a genie to cure all her woes. Gold finished stacking the clean plates and wiped his hands on a towel before throwing it aside.
"So," he said, turning to her. "I think we ought to discuss this, don't you?"
Lacey shrugged, throwing back the last of her wine and reaching to pour herself another.
"It would probably be best if you weren't drunk for the conversation," he said carefully, and she scowled at him. He sighed again.
"Lacey, I don't understand why this is upsetting you," he said patiently. "Whatever my - past - was, it doesn't change the here and now. I invited you to come and live with me, and you accepted. We've grown close, I'd like to think."
'Close', she thought. God, that's almost as fucking bad as 'friends'.
She worked her jaw a little, looking up at him.
"I just - I didn't know you loved someone, that's all," she said. "I just feel - I just feel as though I'm trespassing here. I feel like I'll never be enough for you, do you get that?"
His eyes closed for a moment, and when he looked at her again there was a deep despair in them, a sad sense of regret and bitter self-loathing.
"I understand that," he said quietly. "More than you know. But please believe me when I say that I don't want anyone else. I'm happy to have you here. I want you here."
"What about your Belle?" she asked pointedly, and he almost winced.
"Belle - is not here." he said, and his face was tight, as though it caused him pain to speak the words.
"But if she comes back?" she persisted, and he pushed himself to his feet with a sigh.
"Look, I don't even know if that's possible," he said, a little sharply. "And even if it were, you would still have a place here."
Lacey slammed her glass down.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" she snapped. "A place? As what, your fucking maid?"
"Lacey…"
He let his head roll back with a groan, and she shoved back her chair, pushing herself upwards with the help of the table top, a little unsteady on her feet.
"Forget it," she muttered. "I'm going to bed. See you tomorrow."
"Lacey, please!"
He put his hand on her arm as she turned away, the pressure gentle, but insistent, and she sighed, turning back to face him. His eyes were wide, pleading, his expression one of genuine concern, and it made her want to cry all over again.
"Please," he whispered. "Please don't go. I don't want you to be upset. Please, talk to me, sweetheart, I want to understand this."
"I'm not your sweetheart," she said immediately, and he dropped her arm, shrinking back a little, as though she had hurt him. She sighed, rubbing her hands over her face. This wasn't helping.
"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" she said. "Bad day, bad night. I guess I'm being a bitch, right? Your past is your own business, not mine."
He gave her that sad look again, so she reached out to him, running her hand over his chest, and he dropped his eyes to her fingers, shivering a little at her touch. She grinned to herself. Lost love or not, she could always reach him like this, could always make him shudder and groan at her touch and lose his mind when she went to his bed. she stepped forward and gently kissed his cheek, trailing her lips along his jawline and breathing in the scent of his cologne, and was gratified by the way his breath hardened. Perhaps she could be his. Perhaps she could push the thoughts of this other woman from his mind and make him hers, fully and completely hers. What else did she have, after all? She stepped closer, pressing herself up against him, and he gasped as she began kissing his neck, running her tongue over his warm skin.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't want to fight, Gold."
He began kissing her neck in turn, his tongue flickering over her pulse point and making her shiver with pleasure.
"I don't want to fight either," he said softly, and she grinned against his ear, slipping her hand between them to rub at him.
"Good." She nipped at his earlobe with her teeth. "Let's not fight. Let's fuck, instead."
He groaned against her, his hands sliding down her back to squeeze her rear, and she felt her belly clench with desire for him, for his touch, for the fingers that could work pure magic on her. He pulled her tight against him, and she ground her hips in a circle, making him swear under his breath.
"Bed?" he growled, and she shook her head.
"Here," she said breathlessly. "Right here, right now. Shove me against the wall and take me!"
He kissed her hungrily, his mouth hot and wet and tasting of red wine and the sweet headiness of the tomato and basil sauce they had eaten. They moved slowly, Gold pushing her gently until her back hit the wall, and she twined her arms around his neck as he slid his hands over her, gently squeezing her curves through the tight dress she was wearing. Lacey undulated, pushing herself against him, feeling the hard length of him on her belly, and he slipped a hand between her legs to cup her, making her moan with anticipation. His thumb pressed against her, rubbing in a tiny circle and spreading the wetness that was already forming, and she groaned in approval. Hands sank into his hair, letting the soft strands slip through her fingers as she deepened the kiss, his lips soft and warm and slippery with their mingled saliva, and his thumb moved higher, tucking into the waistband of her panties and dragging them down. His other hand reached up and tugged, pulling the panties over her hips and dragging them down her thighs, and she wriggled until they hit the floor at her feet, stepping out of them and leaving her bare to his touch. His fingertips danced over her skin, forefinger dipping into the heat and wetness at the apex of her thighs, and she pulled her mouth from his.
"Yes!" she whispered. "Please!"
His finger entered her, pushing deep, and she wriggled again, trying to get him all the way inside her. Gold kissed down her neck, sending another finger to join the first, and Lacey clung to him, moving her hips as she rode his hand, her tongue flickering out to taste him. The pad of his thumb started to rub against her, making her gasp and moan, making the perspiration start on her forehead and upper lip and her cheeks flush with pleasure. He was pumping his hand in a steady rhythm, the thumb moving in circles, and she could feel herself approaching climax, could feel herself tensing and getting ready to fall apart in his arms.
"Come for me, sweetheart," he growled, his voice a low rumble in her ear, sending shivers through her. "Come for me, Lacey, and let me taste you."
She let go with a cry, her heart pounding, hips pumping, and her grip tightened on him as she bucked against his hand, as waves of pleasure crashed through her. He groaned into her ear and stroked her through it, his hand grown slick from her fluids, and she let her head fall back against the wall with a dull thump as she tried to get her breath. Gold pulled his fingers from her, reaching up to slip them into his mouth, and she took heavy gulps of air as she watched him.
"Your turn," she whispered, and his lips twitched in a rare smile.
He slid his hands behind her legs, sliding down the backs of her thighs and lifting her up a little so that he could bend at the knees and push upwards, and she reached between them to help him, unfastening his pants and freeing him, using her hand to guide him into her. He was hard, already weeping cum from the end of his cock, and she spread the slippery fluid over the head with her thumb before positioning him against her. He pushed upwards slowly with a deep groan of satisfaction and she sank down onto him, letting her heels drop to the floor, one leg curling around his as she peppered his neck with kisses. He felt so right there, it had always been so, and her heart ached to think that he didn't love her, that he couldn't love her, when she wanted him so much.
He began to move then, and although she knew it had to be hell on his bad leg it felt so fucking good that she didn't care. The friction was incredible, and the heat of their bodies and the scent of him and the way that he whispered her name as he kissed her neck. She slid her hands up his chest over the thin silk, rubbing her thumbs across his sensitive nipples, and he let out a strangled gasp as she squeezed them between fingers and thumbs, his teeth biting down into her. She'd have a bruise there, and she didn't give a single shit. Let them all see, this stuck-up town that looked down on her. Let them all know who she belonged to. Who her heart belonged to.
His movements were quickening, and she could feel him nearing his peak, his cock thick and hot and delicious inside her, so she thrust against him, hands reaching for his hair again. He slammed her against the wall, making her moan in pleasure, her fingernails scraping his scalp to show her approval, and his tongue swiped up her neck to her ear, the rasp of his stubble a delicious contrast to the softness of his lips.
"Yes!" she whispered, feeling him ready himself. "Yes, yes, yes! Come for me! Come inside me!"
He let go with a deep groan, and she felt him pulse, felt him shoot his hot seed into her. She clenched her muscles, pulling it from him, drawing it deep as he pumped against her.
Eventually he let her leg drop, falling against her a little, and she untangled her fingers from his hair as she panted for breath, her cheeks flushed and hot, her hair a tousled mess. His dark eyes were heavy with desire, his lips parted and swollen, his hair awry, and she felt a burst of love for him go through her, burning white hot and leaving her a hollowed-out shell. He pressed his forehead to hers, his skin damp with sweat, and for a moment she could pretend that he loved her, that she was enough. But then he pulled back with a tiny smile, uncertainty in his expression as he watched for her reaction, and she was reminded that she was not his. She remembered the way he had spoken Belle's name with a quiet reverence, with a love that seemed too pure to be real, and she was lost all over again.
A/N: I'm sorry! I will fix it! Promise! Third time's the charm, right?