Author's Note: Thank you so much for your reviews. This was, by far, my most favourite chapter to write (despite the fact that it's miserable). Please, please stick with it. We will eventually get back to Clarisse and Joe - because that's the thing I love writing most (along with plenty of angst).
Thank you to the guests who don't sign in but review, I can't say thank you personally so thanks. If you read but haven't reviewed please, please, please let me know what you think. This is my first really A.U. story and I'd love to know what you think.
The habit of curiosity never left her but, as she grew older, she learned how to tame it. It was night time though and she couldn't sleep, fears of the first year of high school, in the elite Pyrus Academy, stealing most of her summer. She used to escape to the library on these nights, her pyjama legs pulled up because she was still small for her age. It was a huge room, with books from floor to ceiling. She spent a lot of time looking for information she couldn't find. Pulling the fur throw that lived on the chair by the fire, she trundled to the middle of the room and dumped it. Then she scrambled to the shelf beside the painting of her great grandmother, the shelf on which the history of the Renaldi family lived.
Her research, so far, had not been fruitful. Maybe it was because she had no direction or understanding of what she was going in search of.
And that frightened her even more. The older she had become, the wiser she had gotten to her own misgivings.
And they were terrible misgivings.
She had been half way through this book the night before, and was nearly finished her search for ebony hair and striking eyes, when the door to the library squeaked behind her. There was no point in trying to hide and whoever it was had already seen her so she pretended not to hear, pretended not to be breaking the rules.
"Anna."
Father's voice was never particularly warm but tonight it was boozy-laced, which made it sound warm at first. She didn't know where he had been, though she had her suspicions, but he always wandered around after bed and when he scooped her up he smelled not of mama's perfume, but of someone else's.
"Hello father," she attempted her best contrition.
"Anna," he shook his head and straightened up, though he was lopsided and had to lean against the bureau, "Anna you should be in bed."
"I can't sleep."
"You take that after your mother," he laughed, though it was dark and echoic.
She nodded, "Come and read with me?"
He moved slowly, like a man on a tight rope, and settled down on the blanket beside her. She tried hard not to breathe in the cocktail of cigars and brandy and that cloying perfume.
"What are you reading?"
"Renaldi history," she answered, holding up the book.
He seemed suddenly annoyed, "Why does it fascinate you so?"
She shrugged, "I want to know where I come from."
He nodded silently and watched as she read. The silence grew too much then and, even at eleven years old, she felt the need to fill it. She nudged closer to him but he seemed very far away.
"What do I take after you papa?"
His silence continued, "Nothing Anna, and you know why."
She felt sick in her stomach, then in her throat. Her eyes were woozy, her skin sticky and hot with a loss of innocence she had somehow always been on the edge of. The truth was all very sudden and so was her reaction to it.
"I'm sorry Anna," he stood up and she saw he was very sad, "I don't wish you any ill, but I don't wish you to search for something you'll never find. It's funny, you see, I love you more than I thought I ever would."
Then he stumbled out. She hated him after that, she hated him for telling her what she already knew. She ran to the nearest toilet and vomited, then cried, then went back to her bed and sobbed until she fell asleep.
The next morning she was awake at dawn. She watched from the balcony of her chambers as the Head of Security went for a run, as he always did. She often stood there watching him run. He always looked so entirely sure of himself, in command even of the gravel under his feet. When he was surely away she flittered through the halls like a little ghost – her hands grasping a pyjama leg each so she wouldn't trip. She didn't know what she was looking for but her curiosity, her need to know, overrode any plan she might have had. She pressed against the handle of Joseph's apartment door, well aware he never locked it.
It was neat and tidy and she went straight to the photograph, her photograph. She had mama's nose and her aristocratic mouth but nothing of father's. Nothing of Rupert. Renaldis had brown hair and green eyes and pale skin. She had skin made of caramel and ebony curls and strikingly blue, icy eyes which people always commented on. They said Anna had her mother's eyes but they either weren't looking close enough, or they were simply failing to see.
She had known, from when she was very little, how precisely she didn't look like a Renaldi.
And how much she looked like Magda, Joseph's sister, the lady in the frame.
And how, when she looked into Joe's eyes, she could only see her own.
She placed it down now perfectly, though there was no dust to disturb or give her away, and stood aimlessly as tears threatened her eyes.
She'd always wanted this to be true but now that it was there was a really terrible emptiness in her stomach. The other clues were falling into a terrible puzzle too; her brother's being too loving, her father not loving her enough, her mother fawning over her, Joseph worshipping her.
Too much love had pointed her in the direction of honesty.
She sat down on the floor for a moment, because the air had left her lungs and she couldn't force it back in, then crawled towards the bed. There was nothing under it; Joseph, Joe, Joey, the man who was her father, was too clever to keep something under the bed. There had to be some incriminating evidence somewhere; she had to be more than just a secret, a mistake, a princess who wasn't really a princess at all.
She rustled in the drawers, careful not to disturb the tidy and neat world of the Head of Security. There was nothing. There was nothing in the kitchen units or in his wardrobe or in his desk. Then she was rummaging in his bedside cabinet and there was only one thing there.
It was a plain oak box, with nothing but a brass latch holding the lid to the body of it so it was unlikely it was anything important. Fingers trembling, she flicked it open. It's going to be nothing, she told herself, but she knew right away it was something. The box was packed end to end with papers, neatly folded in half. There were pinks and blues, bar-mats and headed-slips. Hotel paper from as far away as London and as near as Pyrus. Consulate paper form San Fransisco and France.
And they were all addressed to her.
Her stomach churned with excitement and terror, tears and laughter.
'Dear Anna' written in neat cursive, black and solid on the page.
'Dear Anna,
You can't know how much I love your mother…'
And she supposed she never could.
She had no time to read then, she realised, as she began unfolding a pastel-pink one snuggled at the side.
'Dear Anna,
On the occasion of your seventh birthday, it hurts to realise that I cannot tell you that your father wishes you a happy birthday…'
She folded it quickly again, realising almost an hour had passed since she'd first entered his room. Fumbling she stowed the box away in the bedside table and knew she wouldn't have time to escape. So she dashed towards the couch and sat there, settling just in time for the door to fall open.
"Anna!"
He was clearly shocked.
She couldn't hate him, even though the revelation had bombarded her from all angles.
"What's wrong?"
His concern took on a different light now and she was angry at him for pretending he'd only been a caring staff member when it seemed out of balance with how much he cared. She understood now and felt smothered.
"Nothing," she lied, "I just wanted milk."
He smiled, "You can get that in the kitchen."
She shrugged, "I prefer it when you pour it for me."
"Alright," he smiled, "Alright. Anna, is everything okay?"
"Yes," she tried to swipe away tears that had suddenly surprised her, "I just wanted to see you."
And it was true. She was seeing him properly for the first time in her life.
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