After clearing the kitchen of their dinner, both Belle and Mr. Gold retreated to their respective sides of the house; Gold to the study next to his bedroom, while Belle slipped upstairs. It wasn't too late, but they were both done in for the night.
As they'd put away the leftover food and loaded the dishwasher, their movements in an easy sync, Belle had told him all about her day at the library and he had returned with his experiences at the shop; between the two of them, Belle's place of business was livelier, but she was still interested in anything having to do with his work. News of an incoming restoration piece - a vase from the reign of King Louis V - was met with her rapt attention.
The man was pleased that they were regaining each other so easily after the changes that had occurred between them; where he'd feared Belle's hatred, she was accepting this arrangement very well.
All the same, he was treading near the woman with extreme care lest he upset her again.
After saying good night, Gold watched her disappear up the stairs and then moved into his study.
It had been by lucky chance that Moe had not ventured into this room.
As Gold didn't spend much time upstairs, the lower floor of the house was his domain. The study held the things most important to him, items the man truly held dear.
Gold looked to the bookshelves on the left wall, to a space that now stood empty.
What Moe had taken from him had been moved from his study - Gold had moved it into the living room to see how it might look centered on the mantle.
Strange luck all around. He thought.
Had he kept said item secured in the study, where it had been held for years, then so much of this - his attack on Moe, bringing Belle to his house, posing his deal - would never have happened.
He wasn't sure what to make of their situation, now.
On the one hand, Gold would take it all back. He'd never wanted to expose his darker side to Belle, upend things between them in such a way.
However his friendship with the woman was mending, changing. Already he was comfortable with her in his home, and Belle claimed to favor his house in return. In the past two evenings, they'd become positively domestic, making dinner for each other and taking up their game of questions.
In the study, Gold could not hear her footsteps above him as he could in his bedroom, but the man was not worried over her now. He didn't fear that she would run away back to her father. She had already left his home several times between the weekend and today, returning each time.
Gold could trust that Belle would stay.
Their talk the night before had greatly eased the tension between them, and their light game had brought back some of that warmth he'd found such a comfort since engaging with her as a friend.
So Belle refused to wear his gifts, that was fine. The money spent and the time sacrificed in selecting each item for the woman was negligible if it meant she could forgive his beastly temper and the irrational demand that had brought her to stay in his house.
The man sighed lightly as he moved to sit behind the desk.
With small steps and careful words, they were finding their way back to each other. Belle had even suggested that this whole ordeal might bring them closer.
Closer to what?
The man had known that they would eventually address the night that had changed everything. What he had not expected was for Belle to take control of things and open to him with such a pure sentiment of loss.
"I miss you, Mr. Gold."
Where he'd braced himself for a tearful plea toward her release, a plea he would have flatly refused, she'd instead confessed to missing him. Him. Mr. Gold, who only a handful in all of Storybrooke - all the world - would miss if he were to vanish overnight.
Gold stroked the handle of his cane, recalling their words in the kitchen. He had missed her too, and he'd brought down his walls long enough to confess his weaknesses to her.
Her invitation to dinner had been enough to bait him home from the shop rather than retreat to Regina for another restless night. Speaking so openly had been difficult, but he was glad of it now. It had been such a relief to talk, to touch her so freely.
Gold shivered, remembering her hand stroking his hair.
Thank the gods above I've grown it long.
This night, he'd left work early to return her favor. Partan Bree was one of his favorite dishes, and he'd been beyond pleased that Belle had accepted his offer of the meal and engaged with him in some light banter before refusing, in no uncertain terms, his gifts of clothing and shoes.
That had been unexpected.
Any other woman would have been pleased with his offerings, but Belle was sharp. She could see his attempt to prove his claim over her. It was just short of barbaric, really, to dress her up so she'd better look the part of his woman, clothing her in his wealth to broadcast her status to the town.
Belle had seen the intent behind his gifts.
Yes.
The woman had seen what he was doing and put him in his place.
Her rapier wit was only one of the things he adored about her, even when it was aimed at him like a weapon. Perhaps he liked it aimed toward him most of all, as he liked being the center of her attention.
On reflection he was glad for her honesty in refusing the clothes.
Better that she was honest with him now than wear the clothing to play her part and let her resentment grow against him for it with each passing day.
But enough of that.
Belle was content to stay, and she'd forgiven him, which was more than he'd hoped for so soon after things between them had unravelled over the past weekend. It was only days later and it felt as if...
Gold didn't let his hopes stretch too far.
He had work to attend to, and a home project to begin.
Gold set his cane to lean against the edge of his desk and flipped open his iPad, idly browsing for furniture to fill the empty front of the house. After coming home early, he'd stood in both rooms, remembering the items that had so perfectly filled the spaces on the walls, the shelves, the floors. It was all gone now, leaving him with the task to restore.
His chest tightened.
This wasn't his area.
Gold curled his lip, sneering at the overwhelming number of pictures showing the potential for his home; color schemes and accent pieces and room themes and lighting options and comparisons of vintage styles against their more modern counterparts and...it was all too much.
This is for women, he thought in irritation.
Dressing well was one thing, but the man was ill-equipped to decorate the rooms by himself. As he'd told Belle, he hadn't been the one to decorate this house, he'd only maintained it over the years...
All at once, he missed Milah.
She would know what to do. She knew all about this, how to make a house into a home. He remembered how she'd flitted through the house after they'd moved in, adding color and light to everything she'd touched - not to mention all the money she'd spent, he remembered the fights they'd had over that as well.
But money aside, his wife had been the invisible hand behind the splendor of his house; all he'd done was give her this blank canvas and she'd worked her magic.
Well.
That had been years ago. It was up to him, now.
Gold sighed.
He skimmed the screen and groaned, feeling a headache coming on.
Furniture and rugs and curtains and paint...
The story he'd spun to Jacob had painted Belle as his new live-in housekeeper for the time being. He had no intention of ordering her to clean or cook for him, but a woman's touch about the front rooms would be quite valuable because he sure as hell had no interest in going it alone.
Definitely not.
Gold set the tablet aside to charge. It wasn't late but he was ready to turn in; it had been a trying few days. Physical exhaustion he knew all too well. The injuries to his body were decades old but limping still took its toll, his leg ached whenever the weather changed.
Emotional exhaustion was a different matter.
It had been years since he had surrendered to his feelings in such a way, giving in to a panicked mess of violent rage and despair, and then in opening himself to Belle...he felt pleasantly drained, and Belle had only ever been a calming influence over him.
He was now content to move on from it all, find a way to rebuild the warmth he'd shared with the woman, establish a new normal between them here in his home.
Limping on to his room, Gold paused at that.
New routines, new games, more opportunities for him to show off to her...more time for them to talk, perhaps to touch...
Yes.
A new, better normal.
What a lovely thought.
Upstairs, after having chosen her outfit for work in the morning, Belle's thoughts were in line with Mr. Gold's. Now that things were on the road to recovery, she was feeling less and less inclined to leave him.
It had little to do with her short list of options on other places to stay, namely being to either return to her father, which wasn't going to happen, or find a room somewhere. Granny's Inn was fully booked, and would be until the construction on her building was finished. Her friends all loved her but she couldn't expect to crash on their couches for the next month.
Staying with Mr. Gold for the time being was no hardship, and whatever rumors would rise from her staying here, Belle realized days ago that she didn't much care. She didn't want to leave him, not now when they were just starting to reconnect.
Belle was ever curious about Mr. Gold, and she knew that seeing him in the shop or library was nothing compared to living with him. Here she was surrounded by the man, pieces of his past were in every corner of the house.
There were still questions between them that needed answering; Belle wouldn't leave him to this empty house, alone, until she understood more of who he truly was.
Belle set out her clothes for the next day, one of her simple tops and a pair of slacks with her flat shoes. She eyed the clothing Mr. Gold had given her again, heavily tempted, but she'd explained her refusal of the gifts. It was an effort to remember her reasons now as she held the wrap dress against herself before the large mirror in the bathroom.
The man does have wonderful taste.
But she'd made her choice where the clothes were concerned, so Belle bit her lip and hung the dress back up in the closet. She wanted to wear the Louboutin heels again, but if she did that she might never take them off.
Taking her mind off the clothes, Belle returned to the bathroom to ready herself for a shower. She'd set out her hair things and body products the night before. Belle didn't have much. As with the majority of her clothes, most of her things were still in her apartment.
The woman missed having her own space, but she was content enough in staying here for the time being.
Belle stripped down and got under the hot spray of water, making quick work of washing her hair and soaping up her body. A quick rinse and she stepped out, wrapped in a towel as she applied lotion and combed out her hair. She was working another full day at the library but she didn't expect it would be very busy.
Stepping out of the bathroom, Belle buttoned Mr. Gold's pajama shirt over herself and checked her cell before settling into bed. Her eyes widened at the texts she'd received during the twenty minutes she'd spent in the shower.
Ariel: 911 ASAP
Jasmine: Who was the friend you stayed with the other night?
Shane: Belle call me
Ashley: What's going on with you?
Marcus: Hey B call me back
And Ruby's text, subtle as ever...
Ruby: WTF Belle is it true?!
Belle groaned softly and flopped back onto the bed, pulling a pillow over her face and screaming into it.
She didn't care what the general public thought of her arrangement with Mr. Gold - they'd assume the worst even if they'd gotten married with the blessings of the President, the Pope and God Himself - but her circle of friends would forever be asking questions over how this had all started, why Gold had demanded she stay, how he was treating her, what they did at the house, why her father had broken in, who was sleeping where, and on and on for days.
A curious bunch, her circle of friends.
Belle pulled the pillow from her face and continued scrolling through the texts, painfully accepting that her father hadn't made even one attempt to get in touch with her since this whole mess began.
Didn't he want to know where she was, or did he know and just care so little as to not try speaking with her?
He doesn't care for you as a father should.
Mr. Gold hadn't known how right he was when he'd said that to her.
Not that it matters now, Belle thought. As bitter as the truth was, her father had proven himself to her time and again - the past week had been the final straw.
It was her friends who had become her family and it was to them that she had to come with the truth. The woman was here with Mr. Gold, she'd been here for days, and it was up to her to take control of how their new arrangement was to be viewed and understood by those closest to her.
No pressure, Belle thought as she brought the pillow over her face once more.
In the morning, Gold stepped out of his bedroom, dressed and ready to take on the day. He felt rested, refreshed. His mood was lighter than it'd been in the past several days, he was almost happy. He was pleased to have Belle so near to him, but that she only shared his roof due to the deal prevented him from fully enjoying her in his home.
All the same, he came out of his room and was greeted with the scent of cinnamon and toast. He came into the kitchen to find Belle at the stove, pouring herself a cup of fragrant tea.
She turned around to face him and smiled. So lovely. Such a thing to see, a woman in the house again.
"Good morning, Mr. Gold."
His grip tightened on the cane. "Good morning, Miss French."
"Do you have time for a little breakfast?"
"I always have time for your teas." He said, moving to the table as she poured a cup for him.
"I know you'll like this one, it's that apple cinnamon. The packet says it's more of an autumn flavor, but I love it all year round." She said as she set a plate of honeyed toast before him along with the steaming mug of tea.
"It's one of my favorites, thank you." He said, and together they began to eat in soft silence.
It wasn't the first breakfast they'd shared, but it was the first that struck Gold as being so blissfully domestic. Bittersweet memories rose to the forefront of his mind, those of he and Milah in the early days of their marriage, sitting down together for breakfast and tea in just this same way, spending time together in the mornings before starting their day.
Gold let himself imagine Belle in place of Milah as she kissed him at the door before he left for work, and kissed him again on his return home.
Such dreams he had.
"Are you working the library?" He asked, shrugging off the memories of years best left in the past.
Belle blew on her steaming tea, nodded. "Yes, it's the only place I'll be working today."
"Ah." Gold dipped his toast in the tea. "No flower shop, then? Or any of your other odd jobs?"
"No. No odd jobs and no way am I going near the flower shop any time soon." Belle said, trying to keep her voice light.
Resuming her slave labor, or, "volunteering" as she'd been calling it for the past year, at Game of Thorns was no longer a priority to Belle. The shop could burn for all she cared, her mind was more preoccupied with what she would tell her friends about her situation.
Belle didn't tell the man that her circle of friends had learned of their arrangement; Mr. Gold had made his indifference to what the town thought of him quite clear, people would be coming to her for answers.
Gold took a deep breath. He didn't want to bring this up, but he was too curious to leave it alone for long. "Miss French, have you spoken with your father?"
"No."
He sensed the shift in her mood at the mention of the man and immediately changed the subject. "You shouldn't walk today. I'll drop you at the library...if you want."
Belle followed his eyes to the window that faced the backyard, to the overcast sky. It was dreary and gray. Belle might have asked to borrow an umbrella, but a ride was the better bet on staying out of the rain if the storm came down today. Thunder rumbled quietly overhead, she could see the trees swaying hard in the wind.
It was her wardrobe that decided her. She was wearing a white blouse, the worst possible thing to wear when under the threat of rain without an umbrella at hand.
Belle smiled at him, "I don't want to get caught in a downpour halfway between here and there, so, yes, please!"
Gold smiled back in return, but he felt the need to remind her, "If you ride with me, we will be seen."
Belle paused at that. She knew what he meant.
It'd all been floating rumors for the past few days, but if she accepted his offer, it would be all the evidence the town would need to know that she was staying with Mr. Gold. Belle being seen in his car, leaving his house so early in the morning, was all anyone in town would be talking about.
Life as it was in a small town, but at the end of the day it was her life, her choice and her responsibility.
Belle shrugged. "So let them see. Have you got the keys?"
Gold smiled and waited at the table while she put on her simple shoes and gathered her purse. Once she was ready, he stood from the table and together, they headed on into town.
It was a short drive from the house to Main Street, neither Belle nor Mr. Gold would have minded walking if the weather had been more agreeable. Their ride was quiet, but pleasant enough, the both of them content with things as they were for the time being.
They knew that nothing would happen to them directly; it wasn't as if his car would be swarmed the instant anyone realized Belle was in the passenger seat. But they would be seen, and tongues would wag as they tend to do in small towns full of bored people.
They had discussed this.
Gold had wanted her to stay with him to send a message, and just as quickly he'd come to regret it. The weight of consequence would fall solely on her, and they both knew it.
Gold was already a bastard to half the town, but shade would fall on Belle as the woman who offered herself to escape the stresses of poverty, the whore who would warm the bed and keep house for a rich man.
No matter what rumors floated through the town, be they true or false, she would be caught in the long shadow that he cast.
Still, Belle had made her choice.
It was time to own it.
"Here we are, Miss French."
"Oh, thank you very much..."
Gold pulled up to the library steps and Belle thanked him as she exited his car, though she faltered as she did, for she'd glanced up and caught the eye of Ariel with her sister Harmony across the street as they walked, umbrellas in hand, heading up toward their salon.
"Miss French?"
Belle blinked, seeing the confused look on his face. "Oh, sorry! Thank you again for the ride, Mr. Gold."
"I'll come for you at closing time."
Belle nodded her thanks again, closed the car door, looking back to Ariel and Harmony as she did so. The striking red-head had stopped to watch the exchange between them, but thankfully neither she nor her sister approached to say anything after Mr. Gold drove on down the street to open his shop.
Once Belle had unlocked the library doors and booted up the computer system, her cell chirped with an alert. She wasn't surprised to see the barrage of text jargon from Ariel.
Ariel: OMG its tru! R u & Gold 2gether now or wut?! Call me ASAFP!
Belle rolled her eyes lightly and pocketed the cell, sure that Ariel had wasted no time in texting everyone what she'd seen. Of all her friends, Ariel gossiped the most. She would talk to the birds and the fish if she could, and when the mood struck she could curse like a sailor.
But Belle had work to do, and so got on with her day.
In the hours that followed, Belle's cell had buzzed with similar texts from Ruby, Jasmine and Shane - naturally concerned but more curious than anything, hungry for an explanation. She ignored the buzzing in her pocket as she handled reshelving the aisles, checking out a few handfuls of books for the day's patrons and updating the community boards.
Belle was careful to test the people she saw during the day, casually mentioning Mr. Gold to see if anyone would cast her a strange look or say something to show they knew where she'd been the last few days.
The woman was almost disappointed, however, as no one she spoke with did anything to suggest that they knew anything as being out of the ordinary.
Her cell went on buzzing in her pocket, yet none of her friends had stormed the doors to demand answers in person. Belle was thankful for that, even as the text alerts had been steady throughout the day.
At 12:30, Belle ate her lunch of leftover ziti and paired it with a cup of Mr. Gold's Partan Bree bisque in the small office she shared with Mrs. Mullins. It wouldn't be long before she had the office - and the library - all to herself.
Glancing up, Belle smiled to see the cartoon that Mr. Gold had drawn of her in roller skates, weeks ago.
Checking her cell again, Belle raised her brows to see that she had over fifteen texts from her friends, all of them demanding an explanation.
She sighed as she got back to work.
So, it had taken less than a week for the word to get out and spread to everyone Belle cared about.
I'm surprised it took this long, she thought in dry amusement.
Well. All eyes would be on her after work today.
Her friends were curious and concerned, she knew, but why should she rush to explain herself?
Belle wouldn't pander to them, she would tell the truth when the time was right.
It would be her words on her terms.
Not that her friends would ease off pestering her, but she would talk when she was ready.
Nearing the end of her workday, Belle sent out a mass text.
B: I'll explain things soon.
At the very most, she had bought herself a day before one of her circle grew impatient enough to approach her for answers in person.
Small blessings, she supposed.