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Chapter Eighteen
“Do I have something on my face?” Ariadne asked, sounding vexed.
Edward blinked at her. They were sitting side by side at the work table. The rectangular table was long enough to fit them both without disturbing their sense of propriety, but Edward wished it wasn’t so because he wanted to reach out and touch her. “What do you mean?”
Ariadne glared at him. “You keep staring at my face.”
“Oh,” Edward said. He hadn’t meant to stare of course. And he had definitely not wanted her to notice. “You do have a speck of grease on your nose.” He was telling the truth but it was barely even visible.
Ariadne rubbed where he pointed but only managed to smudge it further. “Not like that,” Edward said, his hand instinctively shooting out to rub the speck away. Ariadne stared at him and Edward realized what he had done. His finger remained on her cheek as they were locked in each other’s gazes.
Finally, Edward cleared his throat and let her go. Ariadne turned away from him but he could see the blush creeping up her neck. He felt a rush of warmth inside himself, slow and molten like lava. It was threatening to eat him alive and yet he couldn’t make himself look away, almost as if she had cast a spell on him.
Edward was past denying that he was attracted to her, but deep down he suspected it didn’t just end there. He wondered what Ariadne thought of him. She had kissed him back but now seemed to maintain distance. The not knowing was driving him almost mad.
He wanted to kiss her again—
She looked up at him and then touched her face. “There’s that look on your face again. What is it now?”
Edward was embarrassed that she kept catching him in the act. Ariadne was driving him mad and she hardly seemed aware.
To clear the air between them, Edward reached for a black notebook that Ariadne had left on the table. That was probably the only object on the table that he could understand. “Can I see that?” he asked.
Ariadne looked at him skeptically. “Those are mostly blueprints of designs that my father made over his lifetime. Nothing that will spark your interest.”
“I excelled in science subjects when I was in college. I think I’d like to be my own judge if I understand it or not.”
Ariadne shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She was working on one of the inventions that Edward had seen covered up with a sheet just days ago. It was a long and stout rectangular object that didn’t look much bigger than a wooden scale but she seemed engrossed in it and he didn’t want to disturb her. She had asked for a few minutes before they would begin their discussion as promised. So, he took the notebook and flipped through the pages.
The book was poorly maintained and the leaves had yellowed over time, with crusts of grime sticking to the corner of the pages. Some of them were even difficult to turn. Like Ariadne had said, the notebook was filled with designs of all kinds—modified lamps, motors, small optical devices. Ariadne wasn’t wrong when she had said her father was a genius. Edward could never think of these in his wildest dreams, let alone implementing and bringing it to fruition. And yet that was exactly what her father had done and now Ariadne was doing the same. He was in awe of her.
He turned to the next page when something odd occurred to him. Frowning, he ran his finger down the spine of the notebook. “That’s rather odd.”
Ariadne looked up at him. “What is?”
Edward held up the book to her. “There seems to be a page or two missing here.”
“That’s impossible,” Ariadne said. “He considered this notebook as his holy book, making designs on it since he was a little boy. He would never tear a leaf off it. He kept all his designs in it, even the ones that he knew wouldn’t work.”
Edward nudged the book toward Ariadne. “See for yourself.”
With her lips pursed, Ariadne reached for the notebook as if she was trying to calm an insolent child. But her face changed as soon as she noticed what Edward had. He could see the exact moment she realized she was wrong. “That’s not possible,” she said under her voice. She looked up at Edward and her eyes were wide with confusion. “I’ve never noticed this before.”
“So if your father didn’t take a page out of this then who did?” Edward asked. The logical explanation was the old man had done it sometime before his death and had forgotten to let his daughter know about it.
“He left it to my custody and it has been with me ever since,” Ariadne said. “No one else has touched it, not since he died. The book is always with me here at the studio, and when I’m not here the doors are locked.”
“Where did your father keep it?” Edward asked.
“All over the place, really. He took it with him wherever he went. And he was absent minded, oftentimes he lost the notebook but it would always turn up in one place or the other afterward.”
“Do you think someone stole it?” Edward asked. It seemed to be the most logical thought.
Ariadne frowned. “Impossible. If someone were to steal it, why would they bother returning it in the first place? Besides—” she began but then fell silent.
“Besides what?” Edward asked, frowning. He wouldn’t allow her to close up to him again.
Ariadne sighed. “My father was called many things when he was alive. He was mocked and ridiculed, but for the most part people thought that he would never succeed. They thought he was mad to even try.”
