Scene 3: Elsa, then
He wanted to know more about her.
Hello, Elsa.
A chill ran down her spine when she heard his voice—but it wasn't grating and horrible like she hoped it would be, and so she frowned at him, carefully placing the book she'd been perusing back on the shelf.
She asked him if he followed her there; the possibility set her on edge, since that library was far from the city, far from the people they knew or any others who wanted to document her every move and plaster it all over the internet, and she was wary that even that one, safe place outside of her room at home was being invaded.
Don't flatter yourself. I was just meeting a client who lives nearby—
And then he just happened to find himself in that particular library, afterwards?
She snorted at the idea, crossing her arms, her eyes darting back and forth to make sure no one was passing by, or listening—because these days, it seemed like someone always was.
Awfully suspicious, aren't we?
She pointed out that he didn't seem like the academic type, and he smirked—that awful, infuriating little thing.
Don't judge a book by its cover, he replied, and she scowled, asking him for what seemed the millionth time (even though it was only the first) what he was doing there, in that place.
I could ask you the same thing, he retorted, and that made her bite her tongue for at least a second, even if she didn't want to.
In her silence, he relented. All right, you want the truth? I was seeing a client in the area, and then when the meeting finished and I was driving back to the city, I saw you go in here.
He ran a hand through his hair, and she found herself mildly distracted by how smooth it looked, even under the fluorescent lights.
So yes—I did follow you here. Sort of.
She was irritated with the fact that anything about him could distract her, so she snapped at him—snapped that she wasn't going to drop everything she was doing just because he'd decided to grace her with his presence.
What are you doing, anyway?
He looked pointedly at her, and her face reddened—and she wished that she weren't so twisted up over the intensity of his eyes when she scathingly replied that she was obviously reading.
Yes, I can see that—I meant what are you reading? He took the books from her arms, and she tried to protest, but he just went on. "Form, Space and Order"; "Fundamentals of Building Construction"; "The Dynamics of Architectural Form"—you interested in this stuff?
She finally managed to tear her gaze away from his, directing it at the ground, at her shuffling feet, as she told him she was just studying it for fun, that's all.
Seems like a pretty advanced book for someone who's just studying it for "fun." He paused, and his eyebrow quirked up, contemptuous knowing stitched into it.
This wouldn't have anything to do with your plans to travel … south, would it?
She glared at him for that, because it wasn't his business—but he only drew closer, and retorted then maybe you shouldn't have told me—and she cut him off before he could continue, practically spitting at him that he should just forget about what she said already, because it wasn't as if she were actually planning on going anywhere anymore, so he couldn't use that information to blackmail her, or whatever else he had planned.
Blackmail you? Honestly, Elsa—what kind of person do you think I am?
If it had come out of anyone else's mouth, she might have believed the wounded tone. From him, though, it just sounded like disingenuous bullshit, and she made that much clear—made it clear that she thought he was a gold digger from the very start, and the fact that he'd lied to her when they first met, that he pretended as if he didn't know who she was, only reinforced that impression.
Was I under some kind of obligation to tell you that I knew you? He scoffed, raising an eyebrow. And if you think I'm a "gold digger," then you obviously don't know me at all.
And she didn't have any intention of getting to know him, either.
Well, that's a shame. After all—I want to know more about you.
She blinked at that, and asked him why before she'd even processed what he said—before she understood what he meant.
Well, for one thing, we're going to be family soon—
She huffed at the suggestion, glowered at him—
—and besides, I like you. No, let me amend that—I'm intrigued by you.
She felt the heat rise to her face before she had the sense to stop it, and she barely managed to ask him what he was talking about—
Elsa, the "Ice Queen" no one ever sees, the introverted heiress to one of the biggest firms in the country—but who secretly wants to run off to some island and build houses for poor villagers, pursuing her dreams of becoming an architect—
She felt sick listening to him—listening to his words, when he didn't know anything about her, no, nothing at all.
I know enough to make some educated guesses, he said with a slow grin, and based on those—how could I not take an interest in you?
She reminded him, once her skin was done boiling and she felt the blood start to leave her face, that he was engaged to her sister; but he'd been just as dismissive of that as everything else (Your point being?), so she took the blunter route, and told him more harshly that he shouldn't have been there, talking to her like that.
Like what, Elsa?
She swallowed, and said he should leave, because she couldn't think of anything else to say—of anything else to make him stop.
As you wish.
He bowed, and the bow was strangely formal, and gentlemanly; then, unexpectedly, he brushed a hand over her bare shoulder—over her freckles—and he left, just as she asked him to, not another word spoken between them.
But when she was alone again, she shuddered, and she didn't understand why her stomach felt hot and tight.
