Part One: The Words

Chapter Nine

Since nixing my parents' idea of being a superior student, I became a more jovial version of myself. The semester passed at a manageable pace, and I maintained my relationship with Rose both professionally and behind closed doors. The balance I had achieved flew in the face of God, I remember thinking to myself as I finished off a term paper and heard a feathery knock at the door, indicative of Rose's arrival for the night. We had set up a routine that carried us through that fall and into the winter: when Rose would finish with her work for the day and I would be done with my school duties, she would sneak over to my room where we would illustrate a scene that we had read the other night together. I tried my best to teach her the ropes of how to be a self-made artist, but often we barely sketched the details out before someone started teasing and groping at the other and we'd end up in bed.

After a round of letting our passions loose, she'd often ask me to read to her, and we'd move ahead on our current story despite our illustration barely lifting off the ground. She'd curl up on my chest and we would fall asleep late into the night, usually when the fire had burned out before we were ready. Sometimes, if we still weren't tired by the time the room would turn cold, we'd stay up and talk about the most random things: what do birds think about when they wake up from their slumber every morning? Why did bread taste so good? If you could take a trip to the moon, would you?

By the time the semester ended and the holidays began, I knew I wanted to show Rose just how much I appreciated her. It was one thing to show my appreciation through words and touch, but I wanted to give her something she could physically carry around with her to remember me if she missed me during the day. So one day, when she was busy with cleaning more of the house while some of the other servants were focused on planning out the upcoming festivities we threw every year, I took a walk to a local jewelry store.

When she was untangling some garlands to hang on the bannister—and after I checked three times to make sure no one else was around—I snuck up behind her and placed my hands over her face. She nearly jumped into the air and grabbed my hands, smacking them out of her way while flinging herself around. I wished I could say she looked cute when she was angry, but I was too scared to say anything. "Jack!" she tried not to shriek. "Jesus Christ, you scared the hell out of me."

"I-I'm sorry," I stammered while she brushed her hands on her skirt, her anger dropping into embarrassment. "I didn't think I'd startle you when I…when I surprised you." I laughed then, realizing just how ridiculous I was being.

Once we both regained our bearings, I shuffled through my pocket to retrieve what I had sought out to do in the first place. "I know Christmas is a few days away, but I wanted to give you this now…" I held out the black jewelry box, which made Rose's eyes widen, and held it open, revealing a silver locket.

"Oh, Jack…" Rose's hand, which she had placed over her heart, fell to her side. "But I didn't get you anything…"

"Having you in my life is enough of a gift to me," I said, causing her to blush. "And…" I retrieved a second locket from my pocket, one I had bought for myself, and opened it to reveal a lock of red hair in it. "I always keep this around since you gave it to me."

Her blush deepened. I recalled that day, how silly we had gotten after our drowsiness made us drunk. As we were laughing about nothing at all, a lock of hair had fallen over her shoulder, and I'd asked her to stay still. She trusted me even when I had pulled out a small pair of scissors and snipped off the end of a curl. Our laughter turned into an uproar after that, as Rose could barely get a word in between to ask why I had done that, and I didn't have an answer other than "I saw the opportunity to keep a piece of you with me, and I took it."

The next morning, I had gotten a locket to keep it in, and I've carried it around with me since. It was my little charm that I traveled with, knowing fully well that if it were to fall out of my pocket or if someone were to find it I would be questioned incessantly about it. A secret admirer, perhaps. I and some mysterious woman would become the subject of gossip across the city. But I couldn't let us be caught, or God kill me, so I kept the locket in a deep pocket of my trousers and away from prying eyes.

With watery eyes, Rose accepted the necklace from the box and just examined it in the palm of her hand. Her thumb grazed the surface, which had been engraved with vines and roses. "This is beautiful." Her wide, joyous smile faltered as she rubbed the silver. "Maybe too much…"

An alarm bell went off in my head and I shoved the box in my pocket, indicating that I wasn't going to take it back. "This is a gift, Rose. I want you to have it."

My reassurance worked enough for her to bring the necklace closer to her face instead of farther, the trimmed nail of her finger working at the clasp. I couldn't help but smile as I watched her eyes cross slightly to focus on opening the locket, and when she did, she moved it farther away again to get a good look at the images I had left inside.

"Here's that photo of me when I was eight, because you couldn't stop laughing when you saw it." I was referring to a photo that had been taken at my eighth birthday party, my face smeared with icing and contorted in silliness. "And then, over here, a more pleasant one to remember me by." I had slipped in a portrait I had done before school had started last year, when my parents had required me and each of my siblings to update our photography. The photo made me more identifiable if the locket were to ever be connected to Rose, but I wanted this to be created for her, not with fear in mind.

"Jack…" Rose closed the locket and held it tightly to her chest. "I love it. I don't know how to thank you…"

"Like I said," I told her while trying to make a suave exit, "you're enough of a gif—" I stumbled across the corner of a rug, which made Rose laugh hysterically while I regained my balance. "Promise me you didn't see that…"

The new year was rung in, and soon after was Rose's birthday. Because the previous month of holidays had been so structured around societal and family gatherings to keep up appearances, I needed to make up for our time lost. I needed to do something more special than another night in my bedroom, but the weather was too frigid and snowy to do anything outside, and we couldn't leave for a night without drawing suspicion, so I had to make do with what we had. I brought some more candles up to my room to dim the electric lights, and bought a box of chocolates and some roses. (Only afterwards did I realize just how hackneyed I had gone with the evening.) I still wished I could do more for her—a nice dinner, live music, a ballroom to dance in—but we had to keep hidden.

I invited Rose the day before her birthday to visit my room that night, and I changed into one of my best dress shirts after dinner to keep adding to the atmosphere I was trying to create. When I heard her knock and open the door, that's when I regretted every single choice I had made. There was nothing that unique about tonight compared to other nights, and I could have done more, damn it! But seeing Rose's eyes shimmer under the candlelight as she ducked into my room, examining the slight changes I had made—that was enough for me.

"Jack, this is—"

"A night dedicated to you," I said while gesturing to a small box on the bed. "Chocolate?"

Rose had never had gourmet chocolate before, except for the bites she would nab in the kitchens occasionally, so she gasped while flinging herself onto my bed. "Oh my God, really?"

"Yes." I chuckled as she tugged at the lid. "You can have them all if you'd like."

As Rose snatched a caramel-filled bonbon from inside, her eagerness suddenly dimmed. "Wait—Jack, it's your birthday in a couple weeks, too. What if we celebrated both of us tonight?"

I had had no intention to make the night about myself, but if that was what Rose wanted of her night, then I was willing to share some of the spotlight. "If that's what you want," I said while reaching for a chocolate.

Rose shielded the box with her hands before I could make off with anything. A partially apologetic smile played her lips. "Maybe I can keep all of the chocolate, though?"

I put my hands up in mock defeat, falling onto the mattress and letting my back rest after the long day. "I will make it my life's duty to keep my hands off of that box." After all, I was drawn to the sweetness of her more than anything else. I was reminded of that fact that very night when, intoxicated by her, I nipped at her neck and eased her out of her clothes. Our process had become so effortless: read, draw, talk, make love. Every time my lips met hers or lingered on her skin, I shivered; I still couldn't believe this woman was real, and wanted to be with me. "Happy birthday," I had whispered to her when I noticed that we had been playing around in the sheets well past midnight. I could still remember the warmth of her palm on the back of my neck, the other resting on my lower back…

But then every morning, no matter how phenomenal the night was or how alive our time together made me feel, our moment would end. She would need to sneak back upstairs while I continued about my life as a regular seeming student, striving to be part of the family law business. No one knew that my passion for life revolved around a woman I was seeing in secret, whom society would deem unacceptable for me, and the artwork I was prohibited from making a profession.

When the spring semester started, I maintained my priority to put Rose at the top of my list. My birthday came and went, and though we had agreed to celebrate together on her birthday, we made another night of it. That night I had let her take the reins, and if I didn't have to force myself to go to class the next morning, I could have slept the rest of the day, she had worn me out that much.

My bliss still had its bumps in the road. My father had gotten upset again over my "light" coursework, but I convinced him that I was on track and doing well in my classes (both which were true statements). Despite these minor obstacles, my happiness soared. By the middle of the spring, in April, we had filled up multiple portfolios with our random book illustrations.

"Look at all of these!" Rose gasped, picking up one of the hefty folders. Her expression was of true astonishment. "My God, how did we make so many?"

"With how distracted we keep getting, I wonder the same thing," I teased her, which seemed like a mistake when she could whack me with the stack of papers.

But she merely chuckled with a blush and said, "What are we going to do with them?"

I shrugged. "Whatever you want to do with them."

Rose studied the papers intently, flipping through each one after spending a solid minute on each. I peeked over her shoulder as she did so, wishing so much I could read what was going through her mind. "What are you thinking about?" I asked, my lips so close I could almost brush her ear.

She set the papers down in a neat stack and turned her head towards me. "I was thinking…" Her eyes flitted down before coming back up to meet mine, and then I knew to take her word very seriously. "These illustrations could use some captions. Could you teach me?"

Even now, I can remember those moments we would spend together with my hand holding hers, as I spelled out sentences she would practice in her spare time. Most of them were related to our drawings, lacking any kind of personal attachment ("I attended the lady's luncheon on Sunday" or "What a lovely day it was that morning"), but when I taught her other phrases, like "how are you?" and "will you dance with me?" she started to brighten up.

After what this Cal had done to her, to scare her away from learning to read or write, I was honored to take on some of that duty in the last few weeks of my spring classes and into the summer. One day, a card was shoved under my door, and when I opened it, I saw a message, in scrawly, juvenile handwriting: I love you. I wrote one back to her and helped her read it that night, professing a love I'd never held for any woman before. I could still recall the glimmer in her eyes as my words brought her to tears, and how we held each other that night as if time had grown still.

That year we had together, filled with such euphoria, my own Eden on earth. There were days I had questioned whether I was in some kind of eternal heaven or paradise, and I was blessed for the rest of my days—for the endless horizon—to be with her. How silly I was to think it was going to last.

A/N: It's been a while since I updated this... I hope you enjoyed some of the fluff!