The Rose and the Slipper

Louis entered the living room to the sight of Annabelle sitting on one of the armchairs with her knees bent, legs folded under her bum as her face was buried between the pages of a book with such a concentrated look on her face. He stood by the doorway, just staring for a few moments, seeming to be lost in the way the young heiress brushed her newly cut hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. His lips curved up into a small smile, seemingly out of his conscious control. However, as he realised that he was staring and smiling, he quickly schooled his face back into its usual hard expression that he wore in front of Annabelle and walked further into the room.

“What are you reading?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, taking his own seat on his beat up couch that had been Annabelle’s make-shift bed for the past few nights.

As if spooked, she lifted up her head quickly, looking around with a wild look in her eyes before they settled on Louis. As soon as she saw him, she let out a sigh and her shoulders visibly relaxed as she picked a loose old receipt to mark the page she was reading and closed the book. “Just a book Harry lent me,” she said, still a bit cautious.

She could never predict Louis’ mood at any given time. The man could be fine one moment and the next moment, he would just lash out and started yelling at her. His temper was more unpredictable than the weather. Today though, he seemed to be in an okay mood. Even though he hardly smiled at her at least his eyes didn’t look like he wanted to eat her up alive. His eyes narrowed slightly when she mentioned Harry’s name as he reached over to take the book from her hand and turned it this way and that to inspect its cover. His mouth twisted into a look of distaste as he read the title.

“It’s a love story,” he stated, pushing the book back to the girl as if it would burn his hand if he touched it one second longer.

The young heiress brought the book closer to her chest, frowning at the odd reaction coming from the man. “You don’t like a love story?” she questioned, there was a soft lilt to her voice, reminding Louis that she came from a very sheltered environment and how proper and prim she was. Ever since she found shelter under his roof, Louis couldn’t help to feel a strong sense of protectiveness over her so that she would always stay pure and unadulterated the way she was now. He knew it was an odd thing to feel, especially towards someone that he was forced to look after, someone he had only known for a few weeks but there was just something about Annabelle Brookefield that stumped him.

He brushed his fringe to the side of his face, shrugging at Annabelle’s question. Didn’t he like a love story? Well, it wasn’t a matter of whether he liked it or not. It was more about him not really believing in something as cheesy as love. Annabelle hugged the book against her chest, her forehead crinkling as she watched Louis as if she couldn’t decide what she should think of him. Once again, Louis shrugged, leaning back against the couch, bringing one hand up to let it hang loosely behind the couch as the other hand was used to pick up lint from the armrest of the furniture.

“It’s all pretty bollocks, don’t you think?” he asked her back, gesturing towards the general direction of the book that was still snuggly tucked against her breast.

He tried not to stare too long at it, at the way the shirt Annabelle was wearing was a bit too thin and he could see the hint of pale pink outline of her bra. He cleared his throat to dislodge the sudden lump that had formed there, averting his eyes quickly and he was thankful to whatever Gods there were up there that Annabelle was a very oblivious girl. She could have a man obviously hitting on her and she wouldn’t have picked up on it. He had seen the way Harry had looked flabbergasted when she remained blissfully unaware at the way he was blatantly flirting with her. At some point, Louis found it to be hilarious since Harry had never failed to lure girls into the grip of his charm.

Annabelle’s nose crinkled in distaste at Louis’ vocabulary choice as she shook her head. “What do you mean by that?”

“For starter, there’s no such thing as love,” Louis started and the way her eyes widened and her mouth opened wide in a gasp was so comical that Louis couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, smirking as his little laughter died down. “Secondly, it all goes the same way, innit? Boy meets girl. They fall in love. A bit of drama here and there. Happily ever after. It’s utterly rubbish and predictable. Hardly seems like it’s worth my time. Great for business though. Romance books seem to sell like hot cakes.”

“It’s not rubbish,” she countered, the frown on her face only deepened as she looked down at the book, leafing through the pages almost like she was in a reverie. Her small lips curled up into a small smile, as if she was deep in thought, the frown smoothed up a little before she raised up her face to look at the man in front of her. “It’s a beautiful thing. Love.”

Louis let out a snort at that. Ah, how naïve she sounded. She was too sheltered for her own good that she didn’t know how real life works. With a shake of his head, Louis got up, and stretched like a cat, smirking slightly when he caught Annabelle’s eyes wandered to a sliver of skin peeking out from where his shirt had ridden up a bit. She quickly turned her face away, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks and her ears were tinted pink from embarrassment.

“Get ready. We’re going to the store in ten minutes,” he said, dropping the topic even though he could tell she still had a lot to say in the matter. Annabelle’s face scrunched up as she put the book on the coffee table before standing up.

“It’s a lot more interesting talking to Harry about this. He knows a lot about love,” she mumbled, her voice was almost too soft for him to hear but he had sharp ears so he could catch every syllable that came out of her mouth.

Louis’ ears went hot from her words, as if they were burned as his heart hammered viciously against his chest. Harry. Harry. Harry. That was all that he seemed to hear coming from the girl’s mouth and he wasn’t sure why he was so irritated by it.

“Of course he does,” was all he said before storming upstairs into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him while he was at it. As he stood in front of the mirror, looking at his own mussed up hair and unshaven face, he suddenly felt silly for losing his temper without any reasons. Grunting to himself, he turned on the tap and let the water run for a couple of seconds before scooping some up with his cupped palms and washed his face a few times.

Annabelle Brookefield was slowly driving him insane.