Chapter 5

-A soft pair of lips gently brushed London's cheek, waking her from her sleep. "Bonjour, ma fille doux," a warm voice muttered softly, "did you sleep well?" London blinked her eyes open, anxious to see the man beside her she instantly recognized to be Francis Bonnefoy. The back of his gingers gently stroked her face as he spoke again. "I brought you some breakfast because it doesn't look like you ate dinner last night. " London felt instantly embarrassed as she remembered she had left her dishes about the place last night. "Alfred said you were irritable, Are you alright, ma petite Chou?" His voice was sweet and comforting and had the same tone he used with her when she was upset as a child. His voice seemed honestly innocent and questioning. Did he not know what her brother had done?

-"Je suis d'accord. I'm alright," she sighed, her yes still adjusting to the bright light let in from the open drapes. She leaned to sit upright and realized she still had the rice bowl in her lap, but it was empty and the chopsticks had fallen somewhere in her sleep. Her back was stiff from sitting in a still position.

-"Eat, s'il te plaît,' He insisted, "You look pale."

-This was his favourite joke to pull on her-she was pale since birth thanks to the grey British skies.

-She smiled and puller herself to a full sitting position. Francis took the small bowl from her lap and placed a large, warm bowl of wheat porridge in her hands. She looked at the bowl for a moment. It was beautifully presented, topped with butter and sugar, but it was still a very plain and British breakfast. "It's a bit plain, Francis, I'm surprised,' she commented as she took a bite. A rush of rich sweetness danced on her taste buds. It tasted much better than when her brother made it for her.

-"Oh, chère, I only make that to get you back to health. I made the best to lift your sad attitude- French food!" he beamed at her with his brilliant white smile and sparkling blue eyes. He placed a beautiful platter of crepes, berries and cheeses on the table beside her. London chuckled weakly, "That's much better."

-She would have liked to smile fully or laugh whole-heartedly with him, but the numb pain from the previous night and a new pain from seeing Francis weighed on her. She looked down at her bowl silently.

-London had known Francis as long as she could remember. She could still recall when he would swing her onto his shoulders and carry her high above the ground. He had taught her most of her favourite things: art, literature—food. French was her second language, but she had come to use it so often that it came as naturally as English. He had always been a strange sort of comfort and protection when her brother's attempts at comforting her could do no good. She loved him almost as much as her brother, she realized. All he had ever done wrong was instantly forgiven the moment he looked at her with is bright blue eyes, before he could even utter "Je suis desolè". She looked in his eyes now and realized that this was where those memories would stop.

-She practically threw the bowl in her hands onto the table and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. He was already on his knees form kneeling to talk to her, but that wasn't enough. She pulled him as close to her as she could, nearly tumbling him to the ground with her weight. Tears streamed from her eyes again- how she hated these tears and the weakness they showed, but for Francis, she could spare both them and her strong reputation.

-"Francis, my heart will surely break without you," she sobbed. Gripping the back of his head, which was nestled over her shoulder, gently in her hand. She felt the smooth and wavy hair under her fingertips, trying to remember each strange. His strong face was painful against her. His whiskers scratched at her cheek as she laid her face against his and put a soft kiss on his cheek. He smelled flowery and musky at the same time, a scent she hoped she'd remember for as long as she could.

-"ooh, what is this mademoiselle?" he laughed suggestively, " I knew you'd want me." He laughed playfully, indicating his jesting. He tried to pull her face into his hands to smile into it with bright eyes and let her know he was only joking with a glittering grin. London pulled her head from his hand and wrapped herself tightly around him.

-She felt him struggle in surprise for a moment before sitting, resigned. "Well, if you're not going to eat any of this I will,: he said persuasively , taking a strawberry off the plate over her shoulder, " and as you're not going to tell me what's wrong, I assume you won't eat. Or mind if I finish your meal."

-Just as he had when she threw a tantrum as a child, he attempted to taunt her into talking out her problem. She realized as she sat there, wrapped entirely around him, that Francis never changed and never would. She supposed, likewise, she would have to use her old childhood tactics as well.

-She sat up and wiped her eyes with her sleeves so he wouldn't see her eyes all wet and puffy. She decided that it would be best to try a more dignified version of their game. "No, we can share, I don't mind. Thank you for breakfast," she offered kindly, hoping he would give in to her polite manners.

-"No. Ugly sobbing British girls don't get French food, " he said tauntingly, nose up at her.

-Shock and anger flashed through her like fire. "Please?" she said as sweetly as possible.

-"No," he replied thoughtfully. He was forcing her to beg and she hated it. She had not officially been forgiven for her behavior until he allowed her to eat his cooking, and she knew it. As much as she wanted to be forgiven, she abhorred the thought of begging: Englishwomen did not beg.

-"Please," she pleaded kindly.

-Francis took another berry off the plate and held it high above them both as if thinking about it. London's childhood seemed to be playing before her own eyes.

-"No," he responded teasingly.

-London knew she could not both please Francis and keep her dignity. He made as if to bite the fruit, but dragged it on slowly and dramatically watching her irritatingly the entire time. She swallowed her own bitter pride and sighed. "ahh," she moaned irately, holding her mouth open like a baby bird an closing her eyes as to not see his delight at her horridly humble apology. Francis gently laid it between her teeth.

-She instantly took the strawberry between her fingers and held it in her hand rather than her mouth. -"You can't do that to me Francis, it's not nice." She grumbled.
-"Can't I, alouette?" he laughed, "How else can I assure that you really really mean it?"

-The answer was obvious; he apparently could do that.

-"My word. You know I don't just apologize to say it. "

-"But it has much more meaning like this. Plus, it's a family tradition now," he smiled.

-London shook her head and lifted the berry to her mouth to take the first bite and realized there was already a large chunk missing out of it. London sighed, "You tricked me. I demand a full berry," she muttered, but took a bite nonetheless.

-"Now, what's wrong, ma chère?" he asked brushing her hair behind her hear and stroking her cheekbone gently. London silently continued munching. She didn't want to talk about anything. Least of all did she want to tell Francis that this could be their goodbye. She looked him in the eyes again. They shined so dearly back it almost drove her to tears again.

-She searched her past, but she couldn't find a single memory when she didn't know Francis. As far as she remembered, he had always just been there. His very pervasive presence often drove her brother to frustration and even anger, but it had always been soothing, a comfort to her and it made her memories worth keeping. She loved him enough that her brother even named him her godfather, even though they nearly hated each other. He mind hated her brother terribly at the moment and she was even more glad that Francis was there.

-"I'm just fighting with my brother," she sighed. She tried hard to play it off.

She watched him through the hollows in the wall. His long black hair fluttered around his face gracefully. He blinked his long eyelashes and turned slightly, just far enough to give London an impactful view of his undeniably lovely face. A tremulous emotion filled London as she looked in aw at the man who was her husband. His eyes neared her window. She quickly ducked behind the wall and pressed her back to the wall. He was beautiful, but he still terrified her in some way. She could not have his es meet hers. He was still a stranger. A stranger in her new home. A stranger in her hall, a stranger at the table, and a stranger in her bed, a stranger who she was forced to love. She closed her eyes and pushed back the terror in her heart and peeked through the gate again. He was several feet away, all that was visible was his long black hair trickling down the back of his silk suit.

He smiled at her as he always did. His face looked bright and cute as usual. But there was something missing from his eyes, a glow a light. He smile blaknely and yet in his eyes sparkled misery and tears. His mask seemed less believable today also. His lips fell without hesitation into a solemn fromn. He looked deeply disaapointed, disaapointed in everything. He turned away from London and stared in the distance. A horrible pain hovered all around him. He was empty.

He no longer looked at her when she passed, but would turn his head in her direction,refusing to look over his shoulder completely. He was unable to not ackwowldege her, buthe pain grew in his eyes everythime her heard her, until it pained London to allow herself to be close to him.