Lemony read through the letter for the eighth time, sighing. He had been hoping for a letter from Beatrice, but of course he was never that fortunate. Instead, Bertrand had written him to tell him about Beatrice's pregnancy. Lemony could just hear the gloating voice as he again read through the short letter.
Mr. Snicket,
I don't know if you have already heard, but Beatrice is with child. Our baby shower will be held at our home next Thursday at two o'clock, and you are invited. Beatrice has requested that you attend. We would be very pleased if you would join us in our celebration. No gifts, please.
Cordially,
Bertrand
Was is too much to ask for her to write him a letter? Could she not bear to talk to him at all? But if that were true, then why would she invite him into her home for the baby shower? It didn't make sense.
But then again, it made perfect sense. It was Bertrand who didn't like the idea of her talking to Lemony. He was trying to keep them away from eachother, and Lemony knew it.
Bertrand knew all about Beatrice's past with Lemony. He also seemed to believe that she still had some sort of feelings for him, even if they were only friendly ones. He couldn't stand the idea of her enjoying Lemony's company.
Lemony stared at the pile of crumpled papers on the floor. He had attempted to RSVP, but he seemed unable to find polite words to say to Bertrand. He would love to write to Beatrice, but he knew Bertrand would read it, so he didn't bother. He would just have to surprise them if he decided to go.
Lemony leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. If he decided to go. He had to make that decision, and soon. He only had a week to prepare if he chose to attend, and he would certainly want to buy a gift if he did, regardless of what the invitation said. It was the least he could do for the love of his life, after all.
He stared out the window at the black night sky, it's darkness reflecting his mood. He decided the only thing left for him to do at this late hour was to try to get a little sleep, so he went to bed. He lay there for several hours before finally drifting away, dreaming of Beatrice and things that could have been.