A/N: Thanks for the reception to this story, guys! I know I just posted the first four parts yesterday, but I finished the fifth today, and to keep it up to date with tumblr, I just wanted to update it now. I hope you all are enjoying reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it!
In the morning, she had to deliver the performance of a lifetime, still exhausted from the night before, making breakfast and her mind lingering on the conversation with Mr. Gold. He said he was going to take care of everything, and Belle didn't want someone else taking care of her, she didn't need that, but she worried for her father. He was a simple man, nothing like quick, bright person her mother had been. If something happened to him because of her, she'd never forgive herself. And that was where she had to trust Mr. Gold. Who trusted attorneys anyway?
"Dad," she began, pushing scrambled eggs around in the pan, her father who was sitting at the table reading the paper lowered it to look at her, grunting for her to go on. If she didn't dote on him so much she might have complained about his attitude this morning. "When I got in last night, there were roaches all over the kitchen," she grimaced, the mental image enough to have her squirming, despite its falsehood.
He shrugged, seemingly unperturbed and Belle couldn't help but feel like that was the inappropriate reaction to someone declaring your home was full of vermin, even if it wasn't true. She spoke before he had a chance to pick up the paper again, "Dad," she breathed exasperatedly, "they were everywhere, I just – we need to get it taken care of."
"Don't have the money," he said firmly, lifting his paper, creating a barrier between them. Finances were a tough subject, and he hated discussing it. Belle just had to press.
"I'm picking up some extra shifts this week," she smiled, trying to be convincing, but also proud of her own conceived lie. "I'll take care of it – I won't have the kitchen full of vermin." She half-convinced herself it was the best course of action.
He mulled his mouth, "Let me call myself. I'll take care of it." The pig-headed part of her father was a side of him she hated dealing with. She just wanted to help, she wanted to make everything okay – and she wanted to do it without having to tell her father most of the truth.
"Dad, you're busy – I don't have to be in work until noon today, I'll call." Belle sighed as she started pushing eggs into the plate and taking sausages out of the second pan. "I can do it. Just get your things together, throw them in the car. You can stay at Stonebrook this week," she smiled, so sweetly it might discourage him from arguing. "I've been saving, and it's closer to work for you anyway."
He didn't argue at first, but that didn't mean Belle had fortune to make this conversation an easy one. "And what about you?" he asked with a critical eye. Belle did not want her story to fall apart under scrutiny, and she went back to Mr. Gold's words on the phone.
"I'll stay with my friend Ruby," she smiled, answering his next question before he had a chance to ask it, "she works with me." That seemed to please him, marginally at least, and Belle shrugged at him, attempting to play it off. "I'd rather pay a little extra and have a nice kitchen," she laughed easily, and the tension, though not entirely gone, did seem to calm a little bit.
Her father ate in silence, pushing the food down without stopping so much as to breathe before he pushed himself up from the table and marched back toward his room. Belle heard the rustling of things and she really hated to see him look so dejected about this, but she reminded herself upsetting his pride was better than burying him because she had bad timing.
Thankfully, neither of them had very much, because he was packed into two suitcases within twenty minutes. Belle smiled as he walked out, washing the plates in the sink and he walked up to her, putting the suitcases down to give her a hug and a kiss on the temple. "Call the hotel tonight."
"I will, Daddy," she threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek in return, squeezing on. She felt bad, but it was best for both of them. She glanced at the clock and sighed. It was eight thirty, she needed to pack, take a shower, and get ready to meet Hugh Hefner before ten o'clock in the morning.
Abandoning the kitchen, she left the washed dishes in the sink: they wouldn't need them later anyway, and Belle rushed through her routine, abandoning any sense of care as she did. She couldn't waste the time in being careful, particularly when Mr. Gold's car would be there in an hour and a half.
Now, this of course did give her some misgivings. A black Cadillac was never a good sign, and he did represent the outfit in court – he could very easily be working with them. It wouldn't be beyond the realm of possibility, after all, being thrown into the river and never heard from again. Their lawyer would know how to cover it up – how to make sure no one ever knew, and then blame it on her job or something like that… It would break her father's heart, and their family would be disgraced or maybe even completely unknown – she didn't know which would be worse.
Would Mr. Gold play that game though? When she remembered the way he warned her, and the willingness to give her his personal number, then there was the kiss –the kiss that weaseled its way into her dreams and she caught herself thinking about even when she didn't intend to, she just couldn't imagine it – and Belle's imagination was quite vivid.
She cursed as the thought of his lips against hers made her hand shake and the lipstick draw a thick line very decidedly away from the plump protrusion of her own lip. She blushed, brighter than she thought possible, embarrassed at her own lack of focus. Belle had to put her mind to the task or she would never be ready to go.
The rush of it all did nothing for her hair, curls loosening with every frenzied step and she felt like she was sweating down her back. The woman just started shoving things into her suitcases – everything she could out of the little she did possess - and tugged on her pale blue dress. It was modest, but pretty and edged with white piping. The hem hit just below her knee and the white belt accented her waist, which she had always been complimented on. Hopefully it would be enough to impress Heffner and whoever else was deciding, if she even got there. The morbid realization that going downstairs could very well mean she'd never be seen again; at least, if she was going do die, she would look sweet and pretty first.
Slipping her feet into her low heels, she looked at the clock. It was 9:59 and she still had to run down the stairs. Cursing, she grabbed her coat – checking the pocket for the number, just in case, and the handle of her suitcases before dashing out the door, locking it in a frenzied rush of jingling keys and bumping suitcase. She cursed under her breath, anxious at the whole thing. It was ten and she was expected downstairs.
A flurry of rustling skirts, scuffling feet, and a suitcase that bumped against the wall was the soundtrack of descent and Belle wanted to move, faster and faster. She propelled downward and it seemed even quicker than normal, her breathing heavy as she finally closed in on the final landing. She must have looked frightful – maybe she did need Ruby's help. But it was too late now. She just had to hope that it'd be okay.
It seemed like so many things in her life were being tossed up to the all powerful force of fate, no matter what she did. She was going to do as much as she could to at least put it in her own hands – and if that meant putting trust in others, she was going to have to do it.
Pushing the doors open, Belle stepped into the sunlight – surprised at the warmth of the sun in late fall, and blinked into the blinding light. It was only a couple of minutes after ten, and she licked her lips. Maybe he wasn't coming. Maybe she was going to be left here with her suitcases at her feet, looking for a place to hide and running away with another set of lies. Her fingers itched around the handles of the suitcase and she looked up and down the street, waiting for a sign, anything.
She glanced at the thin silver band on her wrist, the face of her watch indicating five minutes had past and the Cadillac was late. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably – maybe it wasn't going to be so easy. She'd have to figure something out, especially if she was going to keep her father safe and still support them… She dropped her suitcases onto the pavement and raised her hands to her forehead. She rubbed her temples, anxious and thoughtful.
The choices were laid bare: she could stay, hoping that having her father away would be good enough, she could go with him, but that would risk being followed there, or she could get her own room somewhere else. She wasn't sure where she could get the money for it. She could go to Ruby's – though she didn't know how her grandmother would feel about it… or maybe Mary Margaret's? Were those even options? She supposed she could find out at work. She'd just take her suitcases with her…
Belle bent down to grab the handles, she'd catch a cab with the little bit of cash she had in her purse that wasn't designated for rent and get to the Club early, then maybe she could borrow something someone left behind - or maybe even see Ruby… yes, this would work. She was about to walk over a few blocks, to a street more heavily populated with cabs when a car turned the corner onto the empty street, and she recognized its color and make: Black Cadillac.
Holding her breath, Belle stood stark still in the middle of the sidewalk, her bags clutched to her sides as her knees quaked. This was going to either be very good – or very bad. She stared as the car drove up, slowly approaching the sidewalk and Belle moistened her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue. Her heart was racing – it felt so much like the previous evening.
She was just a young woman, standing on the side of the road and this big, ominous vehicle was coming up next to her. The windows were tinted – the driver was non-descript, someone who would blend in with any other guy on a line-up, not that there was anyone to point him out even if he gunned her down in the middle of the street like a dog. But she stood tall, watched it come, and prayed her knees wouldn't give out as it pulled to a slow stop, the brakes squeaking just slightly.
The back window started to roll down – her heat thrummed in her chest uncomfortably, so much so that she closed her eyes tight – she didn't want to see if a gun was being drawn and she was going to be shot at. The sound she heard was not a gun shot, however. "Belle?"
She opened her eyes and finally started to breathe. "Mr. Gold?" she felt like she was in a state of complete disbelief. It was hard to believe he was sitting there – well, not so much sitting, as he moved to open the door and the tip of his cane came out first, followed by his legs.
"Expecting someone else?" he quipped dryly, raising his eyebrows before knocking the handle of the cane on the front door. Belle shook her head, almost dumbly, unsure of what to say. Was she expecting someone else? Maybe, but the realization that he was here, at least for now, was enough: even if he still very likely could throw her in the river.
The front window rolled down just enough that when the car shut off, the driver's gloved hand slid the key out and Mr. Gold grabbed them, enclosing them in his own gloved hands. Didn't gloves mean they didn't want to leave fingerprints? Belle swallowed her own saliva hard. "I'm sorry," she spoke delicately, trying to laugh, "I should have thanked you again, rather than staring like an idiot. I guess I just didn't expect you to come."
He shook his head, putting his key in the trunk and turned it with one hand, waving the other. If he asked her to climb into the trunk, she knew she'd be dreaming. Maybe it was a cruel dream. When he looked at her, though and her breath hitched in her throat, she knew it was real. "I offered if you recall, dearie," he pointed out a shadowed look on his face, "and I do not go back on my offers. I'll put your things in the trunk."
"I can do it," she scurried forward, the baggage hitting against her legs. She hoped they wouldn't bruise… Whatever the case, she had to move quickly – avoid upsetting him. He shook his head and took the bags from her, gloves brushing against the tips of her fingers, causing Belle to blush. He was singularly focused though, securing the back of the car, and Belle fiddled with the strap of her purse, fingers still burning from the brief touch. She looked at him and he motioned to the car.
Belle climbed in, trying to be as graceful as she could while she slid across the seat. The driver's eyes were sharp and he adjusted the mirror. Belle felt immediately uncomfortable, watching the way his dark eyes shifted to slant over her, even through the mirror. Mr. Gold climbed in after her, and she looked at him, lips quirked into a half smile. "You can take me to Ruby's, if that's not too much trouble."
Mr. Gold's eyebrows raised and he shook his head, extending his arm to hand the keys over the front seat. The driver took them without a word. The car started and Mr. Gold pointedly ignored her in favor of asking his own question, "Your father is out of the apartment, I trust? And you told him where to go?" Belle nodded in response, feeling rather like a child answering to the principal, and he made a gruff sound of approval. "And you have everything? No need to go back?"
"No, none," Belle affirmed as the car started to move. Belle realized she hadn't given the address and she looked from the back of the driver's head to Mr. Gold. "I should probably give him the address, shouldn't I?" she asked, uneasy in her questioning, unlike Mr. Gold who was entirely straightforward. Must have been the lawyer in him.
He leaned back into the seat and shook his head. "You won't be staying with your friend, dearie." It was a cryptic little phrase, enough to make Belle's stomach flip in her very core and she nervously clasped her hands in her lap, her fingers fiddling.
"Where will I be staying then?" she finally asked, quiet, but resolute. It was something she needed to know – needed to be aware of.
But, Mr. Gold was not the type to answer questions, and he looked at her out of the corner of her eyes. "Somewhere safe." The answer was just as cryptic as his last, and Belle sighed. She wasn't getting anything else out of him that was for certain. So, she looked out the window, committing the city to memory or at least the route from her street to wherever they were going. If she was alive by the end of the ride, she wanted to be able to run if she needed to.
The ride was uncomfortably long. Though, by her watch, it only lasted eight minutes. It was a wonder, in a city, how one car ride that only lasted eight minutes could put them in completely different worlds. Belle and her father were not well off. They lived in an okay neighborhood, but it was run down – safe, but old. Here, as they drove in his expensive car, Belle looked at the buildings – clearly old, but taken care of – with the trees in fences and bushes around the stoops. It wasn't all grey and lifeless, and the brown bricks were beautiful against some of the greenery and the fresh, blue sky. She pressed her face as close to the window as she could without smudging and breathed, her breath clouding the pane. "Where are we?" she breathed, having never been in a place like this before. Even George's family hadn't lived like this.
Mr. Gold didn't answer right away, but Belle looked over her shoulder and caught him smirking, just a little bit. Their eyes met and his smirk disappeared. Belle's cheeks flushed just a bit. She let out a deep breath and he shifted, just slightly in his seat. "Are you unfamiliar with this part of Chicago?"
Belle shook her head, embarrassed. Was that what he intended? Did he have no design on her knowing this part of the city so that he could murder her – or worse? What was worse than murder? She shook her head and bit the inside of her cheek. "I'm not," she admitted as the car pulled to a stop in front of a building with glass doors and an older man in a uniform.
The driver got out and walked around the front of the car, opening the door for Belle. She slid out, blinking again: the tint on the glass was truly impressive, and she looked up, the building gleamed and she looked back, over her shoulder as Mr. Gold got out and moved with the same surprising grace of the other evening around the back of the vehicle. "Come, dearie," he motioned his head and moved toward the door, leaving Belle to clamor behind him.
The doorman, grizzled with age, nodded to Mr. Gold as he approached – apparently he knew him, and then looked Belle over from the highest hair on her head to the tips of her softly painted toes peeking out of her shoes. She dropped her eyes with a shy, embarrassed smile. The doorman gave Mr. Gold a serious, considering look and he nodded back – some kind of unspoken understanding between them. The man's white gloved hand wrapped around the handle of the door and they were allowed entry.
Mr. Gold went first, and Belle followed dutifully, "M-my bags?" she questioned softly, and he looked over her shoulder at her. Belle's expression was totally innocent, at least she thought it was mouth slightly open and eyes wide – his eyes flicked from her eyes, down and then up again.
"Hongrois will bring them up," he informed her and brought her to a set of elevator doors that must have been made of brass. He reached and pushed the button indicating up, and Belle stood next to him, messing with her hands in front of her. He looked over at her, "You needn't fret, Miss…" the realization she had never given him her last name must have fit because his tongue tripped and waited on the back of his teeth.
"French," she supplied, "Belle French."
He nodded, resuming what he had to say, "You'll be safe here." The doors to the elevator opened, revealing the interior with a rich carpet and mirrors with wood panels – it was the most stunning thing she had ever seen.
Belle walked in, her heels clicking and she was surrounded by her reflection, and that of Mr. Gold. He pressed the button for the top floor and the elevator started upward. Belle's stomach jumped in her core and her ankles quivered with the swift movement. She looked at Mr. Gold and he looked unfazed. "We don't have elevators like this in my building," she laughed awkwardly, wanting to at least attempt a conversation if she was being dragged to a roof to be murdered or something.
Mr. Gold was not the talkative type, it seemed though, and he just nodded, watching the doors. He confused her. He had cornered her in the alleyway, caressed her cheek with the very gloves he wore now, and had no qualms with making advances. Maybe it had been a ploy. She appreciated his intelligence, but she would have appreciated it a bit more if he wasn't so convincing that he made her stomach twist uncomfortably whenever he was near her.
When the door opened, it was a small hallway, leading to a single door. He strode forward; unlocking it and pushing it open, holding it for her. Belle looked at his face, searching for permission, and he granted it. "Welcome to my home, Miss French."
Belle was in awe as she entered what she could only describe as a penthouse. It was the type of place one only saw in magazines, with a mix beautiful old fashioned furniture and modern touches and things everywhere. The impeccably dressed and put together man was, at first glance, a complete pack rat – or at the least, incredibly messy. Papers sat all over his table – she assumed this meant he did not eat there much, and there were books all over. Those types of things she expected, but other things were more surprising – like the baubles and miscellany that were either draped haphazardly or displayed in cabinets that looked desperately in need of dusting.
Mr. Gold, again, did not see fazed by the state of his home and strode past her with the now all too familiar click of his cane against the expensive, wooden floors. She moved further in, surprised he actually had a new model television, and could only dream of what his kitchen might look like.
That wasn't what caught her eye though. The heavy, dark drapery on the walls behind the couch were certainly an odd decorative touch. She walked forward, ready to reach out and touch them – run the fabric through her fingers and see what was hidden behind when Mr. Gold cleared his throat. She turned, her skirt flaring out around her knees. Mr. Gold was watching her. "Would you care to see your room?"
"My room?" she hadn't even thought of that, draping suddenly holding far less appeal.
His lips formed into a thin line. "You didn't expect I'd have a dungeon, did you?" he asked dryly, though Belle had an inclination it was a joke – so much that she was able to laugh. For the first time, Mr. Gold looked surprised, and Belle's face softened – feeling, at least for the time being, she didn't have to worry about ending up in the river.
"No, no I didn't," she finally beamed and moved from the living area to his side. "Though, rumors might say otherwise."
He snorted, a sound she didn't expect, and started to lead the way down a hallway. She peered through an open door, catching site of a bathroom bigger than her own room at home. She gasped, imagining how much better her morning routine might be in such a place. He kept walking though, and Belle only lingered for a moment before she followed him to the next door, and he pushed it open. "I trust this will be more comfortable than a hay slat on the floor?"
Belle looked at his face, all hard lines and piecing gaze, before turning her eyes to the room with a small squeak of surprise. It was like nothing she had ever seen before. The bed was gigantic, and covered in a plush midnight blue blanket. There was a veritable sea of pillows and dressers made of wood so dark, in the right light they may appeared black. She rushed into the, gasping. Giant windows, revealing the whole of Chicago beneath her lined one wall, drapes sectioned at every corner, to be drawn, but now letting the full light of the sun in. With a quick twirl, Belle felt light and overwhelmed at the same time. "Mr. Gold," she breathed, "I can't accept this."
That also seemed to be surprising enough, as Mr. Gold smiled. "I believe, Belle, you already have." She liked when he called her Belle, rather than Miss French. It wasn't familiar. Having something familiar in this place just put her so much more at ease.
It was probably true enough, having gotten into his car with her bags and she didn't fight being brought here. She twisted her hands in her skirt and slowly walked forward, toward the door. "Thank you," she said softly, "for all of this, and my father…" she looked up, searching his face, "you didn't have to."
"The truth of the matter, Belle," his jaw was set and she wondered if she had done something wrong, "is that no one needs to do anything. But rather than wax philosophical on the finer points of necessity and desire," the way he spoke made her feel like she could listen to him speak of such things for hours, "you should acquaint yourself with the flat before your day begins."
Her day? A realization dawned on her and Belle gasped, looking at her watch. It was nearly eleven. "I – I have to be at the club by noon," she announced to the retreating lawyer, who stopped on a dime to look at her with raised eyebrows. His eyes questioned without having to say anything. "I'm being considered," she dropped her eyes, suddenly embarrassed, "for the cover."
Mr. Gold's whole face tensed at her admission and his grip tightened around his cane. She could see, even with the gloves, the way his fingers tensed and flexed. "Hongrois will drive you wherever you need to go," he was clipped, to the point. Perhaps she had said something wrong? "Whenever you need to go," he added, sounding extremely firm.
Belle twisted her hands in front of her and nodded. She had to trust him, if he was being so accommodating to her, what else could she do? "Alright," she looked up at him, "is there anything I can do to help out? Make sure I'm not just… in the way? With everything you're doing for me and my father…"
He lifted his hand, an immediate silencing and Belle followed the direction, eyes wide. "You needn't do anything," his brogue rolled and Belle watched the curve of his lips as he spoke and the way his hands moved as he brought his other hand down.
"I thought we weren't going to 'wax philosophical' about necessity and desire?" she quipped in return, surprised at her own quickness, and pleased, as her own smile widened, giggling despite herself.
A moment of pure ease, without tension, as he smiled too, and shook his head, "I suppose that's true, yes," he mused, a contemplative look on his face as he did. Belle smiled and reached up to push some of her hair behind her ear. Her eyes glanced upward, and there was an instant connection between them. It was almost comfortable, at least until the sound of the front door disturbed them and he turned. "Must be Hongrois," he murmured, "I'll direct him with your bags," he glanced at her, "You're free to do as you like until you need to go."
And with that, he limped away, as quick as he had come, and Belle felt an instant awkwardness at being left alone in this grand room with a view that never cease to amaze her. Even with the sun pouring through the penthouse and the warmth that radiated from it, the sound of his tapping cane moving further away somehow made cold shivers run down her spine and the huge flat seem that much bigger.