So far, their date had been a bit of a disaster. Belle looked beautiful in a sweet, pale-blue dress. Her eyes were illuminated and she lit up the room. Gold, on the other hand, looked like a fool in a suit and it didn't matter how many times he'd fixed his tie, it still felt off-centre. He'd fumbled the conversation a few times in the car, and it had only become worse once they'd reached the restaurant.

First, he'd been too nervous to hold his menu properly. Then he'd said something cringe-worthy about condiments and now, he'd knocked over his own glass of Ice Tea, drenching the table cloth and almost ruining Belle's outfit.

'Do I make you nervous, Mr Gold?' she smiled, warmly taking his hand as he desperately tried to mop up the mess he'd made with serviettes.

'What? Of course not,' he whispered, but he had a horrible suspicion that she would have seen right through his lies. 'I just … look at this mess I….'

'It's okay,' she laughed, pulling a few serviettes from the dispenser on the table and dabbing at the excess water. 'The table cloths absorbed most of it. My dress survived.'

'I'm so sorry,' he shook his head. He knew he was ruining this chance with her, but something about her disabled all his composure. He felt horribly exposed and weak.

'Don't be,' she reached for his hand and held it tight across the table. 'I'm having a good time.'

'You are?' he smiled back.

'Of course,' she squeezed his fingers. Gold smiled back at her and raised his hand to catch the eye of a particularly miserable looking waitress.

'Could we have another Iced Tea?'

The waitress scowled and eyed the dark mark on the table cloth with disdain. It was as though his clumsiness was a direct insult to her. He almost made a comment and said something about her sulky expression or her terrible hostess skills, but Belle was still holding his hand and it distracted him.

When he looked at her, she was beaming. She genuinely did seem to be having a good time, as unfathomable as that was.

'So tell me,' Belle hummed, when the waitress had stomped away, 'the rumours, how many are true?'

'Rumours, by definition, are generally untrue,' he answered wistfully, leaning back in his chair. His name was infamous enough to have made a villain of him all over the town. People would know who he was and they would see him sat with a woman who just radiated kindness and trusting. He could only imagine the rumours that were being conjured up right at this moment. They would certainly create some farfetched theory that they could wrap up in a fact and gift to everyone they knew.

'So your wife?' she asked slowly. She seemed anxious, and rightly so. She was basically asking him if the last person he'd promenaded around the city was now swimming with the fishes. He sighed, perhaps it was time to tell the truth … to Belle, at least.

'She's in Costa Rica.' And bitterly: 'living off my money.'

'But she's not….'

'Dead? No.' He grimaced. 'Though sometimes I wish she was, it would certainly save me lot of money.'

Belle chuckled gently, and shook her head.

'I'm not joking,' he warned.

'I know,' she smiled fondly. 'And your fortune? No European drug barons?'

'I inherited my fortune from my father,' he answered.

'So none of the stories are true?'

'Well, my father was Scottish, so he is European, and he was an oil baron, which is lexically 50% the same as drugs baron.'

'A simple "no" would have done,' she replied. She had a look in his eyes that took him – once again – to that time in the coffee shop when she'd threatened him with those three words: "I see you". At the time, he'd thought very little of it, but the longer this strange thing between them continued to unravel itself, he realised that it might just be the most important, and most truthful, sentence anyone had ever said to him.

'No,' he confirmed. 'None of the stories are true.'

'And yet you let people believe them?'

'I don't really care what they believe,' he shrugged. 'And a little fear never hurts in business. I've struck several very lucrative deals, due to my deep criminal connections.'

She quirked her head to the side, eyes gleaming in the orangey glow of candle lamp. She was breath-taking and, although Gold would never understand why she chose to look at him like that, he vowed – in that moment – that one day he would be worthy of her gaze.

'Do you like that people are scared of you, Mr Gold?'

'I don't dislike it,' he answered honestly, nose crinkling at the admission.

'You're not nearly as beastly as people think.'

'Well, don't tell anyone … I'd hate to ruin their fun.'

'You're secret's safe with me,' she promised. He was so amazed by her in this moment that he was sure he was wearing a goofy kind of expression. His stomach and heart were fluttering and he felt horribly like a cliché.

He knew that if his employees saw him like this, his reputation would be in tatters. Mr Gold was not a man to regularly wine and dine a beautiful woman. He was not one for giggled conversations or uncomfortable flirting. There was something simply perfect about the whole evening; Gold thought that might even feel happy.

He realised later that he shouldn't have allowed his guard to slip. He'd been drunk on her warmth and the smell of her perfume, mixed with shades of her shampoo. He'd forgotten that he was cursed to live out his days in his own dark castle alone.

'So, tell me how you managed to convince Jenni Jottings to come to your office.'

'I told you, she was writing a passage for a Valentines Card.'

'But you can't tell me which card, or what passage?'

He smiled weakly. She wasn't buying it, but he wasn't about to tell her the truth. It was too embarrassing.

'How did you get in contact with her?'

'An old acquaintance of mine is a publisher,' he hummed, taking a sip of his brand new Iced Tea. 'I'll give you his number if you'd like. Give yourself a chance to live that dream of yours.'

'Oh, I have news,' she was reminded, grabbing at his hands again. Being across the table from one another limited any real opportunities for contact, so this weird handholding was all they had. 'I took your advice. I've been entering all these short story competitions. All different kinds and, guess what?'

'What?'

'I won! This publishing company really liked my story.'

'Well, that's amazing.'

'I know,' she grinned. 'I've been so excited, I just wanted to tell everyone but,' she gazed down at their joined hands, 'I thought you should know first. It's thanks to you that I even entered in the first place.'

'But, you,' he insisted, 'are the one who wowed them.' She smiled, but her expression was a little strange, a sort of non-committal smile like she couldn't quite understand him. It was the expression he saw on the faces of international businessmen whilst they were waiting for their translator to translate. She struggled to comprehend that anyone could believe in her and it made Gold angry at Belle's father, and Gaston and even that fool Charlie for allowing her to lose her faith like this.

'What's the prize?' he moved the conversation on before he allowed himself to become too angry. The grumpy waitress had slammed two plates of food onto the table, and it was taking all of Gold's composure not to yell at her, if he coupled that with thoughts of Belle's past, he might just use his cane to smash a glass or two.

'Oh, the prize isn't important,' she dismissed quickly, changing the subject with a nod to the waitress. 'She's not very happy, is she?'

'A subscription to Writers World?' Gold guessed the prize.

'Perhaps she believes the rumours about you?'

'A free notepad and pen?'

'Or maybe her boss is a tyrant?'

'A chance to enter the next competition for free?'

'Or, perhaps she's a werewolf. It will be a full moon tonight.'

'Or is the story going to be published in a magazine?'

'Are you listening to me?'

'You mean your conversation about the werewolf waitress with the tyrant boss.'

Belle just pulled a face similar to a petulant child, but that wasn't important, what was important was finding out:

'Why won't you tell me what the prize is?'

'The prize was just silly,' she said firmly, picking up her fork and stabbing it into a chip.

'Tell me,' Gold pressed. If nothing else, he was curious now.

She chewed the chip for a while, blue eyes fixed right on him. She seemed to be weighing up some options but eventually, she swallowed and said:

'It was a scholarship to a writing course, in Stratford-Upon-Avon. Apparently being in the home of The Bard, will help us channel our inspiration.'

'That's amazing,' Gold gasped. She couldn't have just won a crappy magazine writing competition. That was the prize of a world-wide publishing company competition. How could she think that it wasn't important? 'When do you leave?'

'I'm not going,' she laughed off the suggestion like it was utterly ludicrous. 'It's a yearlong course. I can't just pick up and move halfway across the world for a year.'

Gold processed the information slowly. The course was a year. She'd be gone for a year. She would change in that time, she'd grow and change and he would stay the same. She wouldn't be the same person, when she returned. There wouldn't be this connection anymore.

He sounded choked and hoarse when he asked: 'Why not?'

'I don't need to be in Stratford-Upon-Avon to write,' she dismissed. 'And,' she reached for his hand, 'I've only just found you. I'm not giving up on this for half a chance at an overcrowded writing school in England. It probably won't come to anything anyway.'

'But it might,' Gold whispered. He realised in horror that she was planning to give up her lifelong dream for an old cripple with a dark heart and a cynical view of the world. He would not let her destroy herself for him.

'I'm not worth it,' he said suddenly. It was as though all his thoughts couldn't stay inside anymore.

'I think you are.'

'No, Belle. You have to follow your dream. You gave it up for your father, and then for Gaston. I won't let you give it up for me too. I'd never forgive myself and eventually, you wouldn't forgive me either.'

'What do you mean?' she frowned. 'How can you "not let me"?'

'I won't answer the phone if you call. I won't come to the door if you ring. I won't be the reason you forfeit your dreams.'

'B-but what about us?' her face was creasing like she was trying not to cry.

'After today,' he whispered, the tears were stinging at his eyes, 'this has to be over.'

Her eyes were shining with tears, one leaked free and rolled down her cheek slowly. Seeing her like this broke his heart, but he knew that this what she needed. She'd been holding back on her dreams for too long and he was not worth ruining her life over. She'd realise that eventually, and when she did she'd resent him for trapping her. He had to do this. He had to set her free.

'Okay,' she whispered eventually. 'I will go. But, I refuse to believe that this is over.'

'It has to be.'

'No.' She opened her large bag and pulled out a book. Her book; burned, singed and battered … but still standing. After everything it had been put through.

'Charlie threw that out,' he stated stupidly, pointing at it with a long finger.

'He did. But luckily, the bin men didn't come that day. I had to pick it out of the trash.' Her nose crinkled at the explanation, as though she were back there smelling the refuse. 'Don't judge me.'

'I would never judge you.'

She smiled, which reached her eyes and spilt a few more tears down her cheeks.

'Here,' she pushed the book across the table towards him.

'I can't take that,' he held up his hands to stop her. 'It's yours. I know how important it is to you.'

'Which is why you must promise to return it.'

'Belle, I-'

'Promise me,' she cut him off. She was weeping now, truly weeping, and she was probably gathering the attention of the restaurant.

'But-'

'Promise me, please.'

'I promise,' he whispered, taking the book in his hands. It felt so fragile with its blackened edges and ashen centre. It smelt faintly of burning wood and plastic, but mostly of Belle's perfume. He slid it into his deep pocket.

It was at that moment that the busy body owner of the restaurant appeared and asked if everything was okay. She was looking meaningfully at a distraught Belle, as though the owner expected Belle to jump up and scream "save me from this awful beast!"

She didn't. Instead, she wiped her tears away with an embarrassed laugh and a "what must I look like", before telling Granny:

'We're fine. He just gave me the most wonderful gift and I….' She gestured to her tear-stained face. 'I guess, I'm just over-emotional.'

Gold watched Granny eye Belle's Iced Tea and he could see the cogs of her over-active imagination kick-starting the rumour mill. Over-emotional, wonderful gift, no alcohol; yes, Belle would be the unfortunate girl Mr Gold had got pregnant by the time Granny made it back to kitchen.

'Hey,' Belle brought him away from the spiralling rumours and back to reality. 'What do you say we finish this date with a stroll? I'm not quite ready to say "goodbye" yet.'

'Well, that sound's wonderful,' he agreed. He wasn't sure he'd ever be ready to say "goodbye". He knew it was going to kill him to have been this close and to have lost her all over again, but he'd been foolish to allow himself to get lost in Belle's Mills and Boon life. He'd forgotten that reality was rarely so fated. Life often got in the way of romance, but now he had her book and he knew that he'd spend the rest of his life trying to give it back to her. After all, he'd made her a promise and Mr Gold was not a man who broke promises.


Thanks for reading. Still working out some kinks with the final chapter and it's nearly Christmas, so I'm not sure when the update will come. Certainly before the New Year.