Sorry that it's been twelve years since i have written... i always meant to finish this story but i got distracted... or something... this is lovesick Fee... i dunno if it's characteristic at all (and i hope the french is right). please review... it will give me the will to actually finish this (now totally irrelevant) story...
I didn't expect the letter to be from him. I've been forgetting him lately. I'd nearly reconciled myself to his and Gemma's marriage until this came. Fifteen words in his hand and my resolve is gone completely. I wonder what this says about me.
He wants to talk to me. How ridiculous is that? Talk! Simon Middleton and I do not talk! Boys like Gemma's idiot brother talk. Simon Middleton does not talk. We can't even have a short conversation without arguing. And we can't argue without kissing each other.
And what's he sorry for anyway? Simon is never sorry. Simon doesn't know how to be sorry. I'm fairly certain of this. And if he feels the need to apologize, shouldn't it be to Gemma? She's the one he's engaged to. He doesn't owe me anything.
I've read the letter so many times. I've had it memorized since the third reading, but my eyes still long to caress his sweeping calligraphy, so much nicer than mine. I always linger over the word "yours" as if that formality meant something more. I know I'm going crazy as I unfold it yet again, this time in the middle of French class, hiding it inside my reader. "Dear Miss Worthington," I murmur to myself.
Gemma and Ann both glance at me, looking curious. Ann's forehead is wrinkled unattractively. I haven't told them of the letter, for obvious reasons. Gemma still has that ring on her finger, and though she tries to hide it in the folds of her skirt, it's always the first thing I see when I look at her. I haven't read any more of the letter allowed, but somehow Mademoiselle LeFarge appears above me without warning.
"C'est une lettre intéressante, Mademoiselle Worthington?"
"Non, Mademoiselle," I lie quickly, and shove the letter into another page of my book. LeFarge is kind enough not to press me further, but I am not expecting the same courtesy from my friends. Both of them keep sneaking glances at me; Gemma's are significantly more surreptitious than Ann's. I only hope that I will have the time to make up a new, fake letter before they have a chance to question me about it.
I don't chance a look at Simon's letter for the rest of the class; for now, I must be content to recite it in my head: "Dear Miss Worthington, I am sorry. For everything. We need to talk. Yours, Simon Middleton." I can almost hear his voice.
Reviewez, s'il vous plait!