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We perusedthe collection for nearly an hour. Well, I perused the collection. Xavier just perused me, apparently content to watch me read, listen to me yammer on about Austen trivia, and noodle on his phone while he waited.
For once, I didn’t care about any inconvenience I might have caused. After all, this was a gift, a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and I wanted to soak it up for as long as I could. I was utterly fascinated by the curves of the wordsmith’s writing, the little notes she left in the margins of the alternate chapters ofPersuasion, and the care she took with detail even when corresponding with family. For a few moments, I even sat at the portable writing desk famously gifted to her by her father when she was only twenty. Even at that age, Austen had at least had the belief of her family. He wanted her to continue her passion wherever she went.
I swallowed as I drifted gloved fingers over the fine wood edges. I’d only been four or so when my father died. The same age as Sofia. I had nothing he’d given me—none of us did. And though my mother was still alive, she’d left her children to be raised by their grandmother in what was a warm and loving household but ultimately was still missing the two people who should have been there for us no matter what.
Not like this, I thought, imagining I couldfeelGeorge Austen’s adoration of his daughter’s talents through the burnished wood—amazing now, even more so from a time when most women were expected to marry rather than work. Certainly not to become professional writers. George Austen supported his daughter in every way he could.
I snuck a glance at Xavier, who was busy answering an email.
Would he have done this for Sofia back then if she were in the same position? Would he have supported her no matter what, loved her even when she didn’t do exactly as he thought?
Would he do that now? For either of us?
When, at last, I had read through the final manuscript, I removed the white gloves and set them next to Xavier’s discarded ones, then decided to do a bit of exploring around the rest of the rare books room before the librarian returned to fetch us. Xavier immediately got up and followed.
“What’s back here, then?” he asked when he caught me examining a full printed version of theOxford English Dictionary. “Christ, twenty books just listing words? How many are there?”
“I think the last count was somewhere around six hundred thousand,” I said, then found myself humming lightly as I watched him stare at the books with a deeply furrowed brow.
“Mmm?” he wondered when he caught the song.
I chuckled. “Sorry, it’s from a movie.”
Xavier turned, looking adorably confused. “Er—do I want to know?”
“I just feel like Belle right now,” I said as I ran my fingertips over the spines of the books.
“Belle? As in beautiful? Well, you are fucking gorgeous.”
I turned with a smile, unable to contain my blush. “No, I meant the character fromBeauty and the Beast.”
Xavier frowned. “As in the fairy tale?”
“The Disney version, yeah. Sofia loves it. Especially the part where they dance in the ballroom.”
“Ah. So it’s one of those movies.”
I nodded, feeling a little sheepish. But I loved it too. After all, what woman didn’t dream of the beast in her life turning into her prince after all?
“There’s this scene,” I said. “Where she really falls in love with him. What she loves more than anything in the world is books, and then he opens these doors, and he gives her an entire library.” I waved my hand around us, as if to demonstrate. “It’s a meme. I don’t know. Maybe you need to see it.”
Xavier didn’t say anything for a few minutes, leaving me to focus on the gold lettering of the dictionary spines as I wandered further into the stacks.
He must have thought I was an idiot, quoting Disney princess movies at him. Simple and childlike.
“So, does that make me the beast?”
When I found the courage to turn back, I found Xavier watching me with a particularly feral expression. The blue of his eyes had disappeared into a deep black. His shoulders seemed even larger than normal.
“I—no—um—”
With a quickness that belied his size, he strode down the aisle until he stood directly in front of me, caging me against the shelves and forcing me to look up at him. Carefully, he took my chin in his hand and brushed his thumb over my lips, watching its progression like a panther tracking its prey.
“I am a beast,” he said without a trace of humor. It was practically a growl.
“Are—are you?”
