Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Belle flexed her fingers for the millionth time sitting behind the register at the bookshop. Who was she without her wedding ring? Every time she noticed her bare finger, felt the air where the bands usually rested, she searched all over the register for it until she remembered that no, it was held safely in her desk at the club.

The bell on the door rang, and she looked up like she always did even though the register was tucked too far into the cramped store to see the entrance. They got steady business and had regulars, but their location near several pubs and the Parrot Club meant they were not a particularly trafficked store on weekdays. Belle often just sat behind the register and read, which was a relief.

She thought she recognized the bootsteps as one of her regulars, so she marked her spot in her fantasy novel and set it down. Sure enough, a man with a full mustache and neatly combed hair that rested on his shoulders walked in, wearing his usual historically-accurate World War II officer’s uniform.

“Afternoon, Mr. Ives,” she said. 

“Colonel Ives,” he said, as he always did, and she smiled at their little routine. “Good afternoon, Belle.”

He meandered toward the register, pausing to study a display of postcards she’d updated that morning. He was always so handsome in his uniform, and it comforted Belle to know that she could still find someone handsome. It comforted her even more to know that he was just a handsome man she interacted with at work, no chance of anything going wrong because their interactions were so surface-level. She could just find him handsome and be done with it.

“How were your tours today?” she asked. Ives worked in the history museum about five blocks away.

“Oh, the usual. Man insists he knows more than me, must show off. Man insists he knows less than me, also, for some reason, must show off.” He shrugged as he reached the counter. “Can I speak freely to you, Belle, or will you judge me?”

He had such an easy charm, a way of smiling at anyone like they were already friends. Belle couldn’t imagine anyone being rude on a tour led by him.

“Of course,” she said. “I’m trapped by the laws of decorum to listen to you anyway.”

He laughed, and it was such a relief to have a rapport with someone, even if it was just a man who came in once or twice a week to buy a book.

“I particularly loathe children.” 

Belle feigned a gasp. “In a history museum? I can’t imagine why.”

He raised a hand between them and wiggled it. “Sticky fingers.”

“Literally or metaphorically?”

“Unfortunately, both.” 

She laughed and slid off her chair to join him on the other side of the counter. Sometimes, he browsed before coming over to her, but he hadn’t today, which usually meant she’d walk him around the shelves. A safe routine with her handsome gentleman customer; one bright spot in her insane work week.

“How was Tarpon’s Heap?” she asked as they fell into step with one another, headed first for the sci-fi section.

“You were right, as usual,” he said, hands clasped behind his back like he was ready to stand to attention. “You said I wouldn’t appreciate the moralizing, and I did not.”

“Well, when it comes to books, I usually know what I’m talking about.” 

“I’ll never disregard your opinion again.” He smiled at her like they shared something deeper than just a sometimes-biweekly sales conversation. “So, I’ll give you free reign today. What do you recommend?”

“Do you want a sci-fi I think you’ll like better, or something different?” she asked.

He considered it, twisting the corner of his mustache in thought. “Why don’t you walk me around, give me some options?”

So she did a circuit of the store, picking out a small stack of books, walking as slowly as she could while Ives told her about a group of thirteen-year-old boys whose teacher had been so busy making eyes at him that she hadn’t noticed one of her charges stealing a hat from the gift shop.

“Did you tell her?” Belle asked, plucking a King Arthur retelling off a shelf.

“Of course not,” he said. “Who am I to stop such an enterprising young man?”

“You mean, who are you to stop a young woman flirting with you?” 

She set her final recommendation on top of his stack, and he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Perhaps you were under the impression that people come to museums to flirt often,” he said. “Let me assure you, it’s rare enough.”

She didn’t doubt, though, that if anyone would be flirted with at a museum, it was Ives. 

They walked back to the register where Belle took her seat and Ives separated her five recommendations on the counter. 

“You know,” he said, studying them. “A man can live a dozen lifetimes and never run out of books to read.”

She smiled at the thought. She often comforted herself with the idea that, no matter what she couldn’t do in life, there was always a book somewhere in the store that she’d never even opened.

“Do you know which one you want yet?” she asked. The way he went through books, he would have been far better served at the library, but Belle was glad he came here instead.

“Well, I could just get all of them,” he said. “You’ve never steered me wrong. But then I wouldn’t be back for a few weeks, and that would be a tragedy, wouldn’t it? So with that in mind, I’ll go with the shortest.”

He slid her one literary recommendation toward her with a smile, and she smiled back, looking away first when he didn’t break eye contact. Then, as she took the book from him, his gaze strayed to her naked hand.

“No wedding ring today?” he asked. “I hope everything’s all right.”

“Oh.” She had forgotten that someone other than her might notice the ring’s absence. “Oh, yes. Everything’s fine.” 

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

She could have ended it there or lied and said that it was being cleaned or resized, but Ives was the first familiar person she’d spoken to since taking it off.

“My husband and I have been separated for years,” she said, knowing this broke an unspoken barrier between them. “And I moved out six months ago. So I decided it was time.”

She dropped his book into its paper bag while he handed over his credit card, watching her.

“I always found it brave for a woman to leave her husband,” he said, and then held a hand up. “I hope you don’t take that the wrong way.”

Belle had bristled a little bit, but kept her tone neutral. “How should I take it?”

“I just mean with the stigma. I’m sure he can go out and do anything free of judgment even with a wedding ring on his finger, but you’ll have to deal with any bad press, as it were.” He took his credit card back, fingers brushing hers. “It’s a lot to put on anyone’s shoulders. I don’t know if I could do it.”

Now, she did blush. “Well, thank you. I don’t have any living family or enough friends for anyone to judge me more harshly than I judge myself.”

He arched one shapely eyebrow. “No friends? I find that hard to believe.”

“I work so much,” she said, instead of saying that Gaston was the only person who had ever tried to be friends with her and then shackled her to him for ten years. “I have nowhere to meet anyone.”

He shook his head, mustache covering the moue he made with his mouth. “Well, I hope you don’t judge yourself too harshly, Belle,” he said. “I hope you know that, whatever happened, he’s the fool to lose you. Not vice versa.”

God, was she going to cry again? Hadn’t she cried enough over Danny’s birthday cake last night? She looked down at the bag to swallow a few times, composed again by the time she handed it to him.

“Thank you for saying that,” she said. “Colonel.”

He chuckled like this was a private joke between them, hand closing around the top of the bag next to hers. “It’s the truth.” 

It meant nothing that his hand brushed hers again when he took the bag. In fact, they probably touched hands all the time and Belle was just on high alert today because of the ring.

“I’ll see you next week?” she said.

He tucked the bag under his arm. “What if I finish tonight and need a new book tomorrow?” 

“Well, then you’ll have to ask Gillian to walk you around the store, because I’m off tomorrow.” She clasped her hands on the counter, covering her ring finger with her other hand so she wouldn’t stare at it.

“I thought you worked Saturdays?”

She usually did since she had nothing better to do on the weekends and it made her popular with her coworkers, especially the ones who got to work their preferred shifts while she wasted her saturday away. “There’s a new girl who needs weekend shifts, and I’m the most flexible person they’ve got.”

“Well, I hope you have a relaxing weekend,” he said. “And I will see you on Monday, most likely.”

“See you Monday,” she said. 

He left, and even though he was only an educator at a museum, he walked like a soldier, straight-backed and confident, boots thumping with each step.

Belle all but collapsed onto her chair as if she’d run a marathon instead of walked the store a few times. Was this how everyone felt when they took off their wedding ring for the first time? 

After a long night at the club where she’d ended up putting her ring back on to avoid being hit on, Belle slumped against her door, and home at last. It was a good thing that she lived and worked so close together, because if she had to commute home at midnight and then climb three flights of stairs instead of just walking a couple blocks, she might need to be hospitalized for exhaustion.

She locked and bolted the door, then hung her keys on the hook. When she was leaving Gaston for good, she told herself that she’d be able to decorate however she wanted, have as many books wherever she wanted them, but all she’d managed to do in the last six months was open all her book boxes and strew some around the floor. The whole flat was only about five hundred square feet, so many of the boxes were stacked into a tower, hiding books from her that she was too tired to even remember.

On her way to the shower, she filled her kettle and put it on the stove. Perhaps the smart thing to do would be to change into pajamas and collapse in bed the second she got home, but she’d never been good at that, so she always showered off the smoke and sweat and grit from the club, made a cup of tea, and either read or watched a movie.

Today, if she could find it, she was considering reading her copy of the book she’d recommended to Ives, but once she was clean and comfortable, she might be too exhausted to go digging for it.

She showered and put on thick fleece pants and a t-shirt, throwing a fleece robe over it all. Her flat had heat because it was a legal requirement, but the windows weren’t airtight and neither was the door, and the heat couldn’t compete with the December chill. 

The kettle whistled as she dressed, so she padded out in her slippers to start her tea steeping, and while it did, gave the boxes a quick look.

Wherever the book was, she wasn’t going to find it tonight. That was fine. She was rereading a contemporary fantasy and had at least two thirds left. 

Along with her tea, she brought a leftover piece of birthday cake over to her nightstand. She could have read at the kitchen table, but it was much cozier to read in bed. Since she had no hope of visitors, her bed was the main centerpiece of her tiny studio, and she spent most of her time in it recovering from working so much.

Her one luxury purchase, other than the mattress itself, was a pillow that rested against the wall and hugged her like a chair. She cozied up to this now and picked up her cake while the tea cooled. 

Even just looking at it, the tears wanted to start again. Everyone was wrong about Danny. How could a man be as repulsive as everyone thought and do something so sweet and personal? He couldn’t.

She ate her cake, savoring every bite, and then glanced at the window. She never closed the curtains all the way because the sunshine helped wake her in the morning and because she loved to see the city lights. No one was alone in London. Lonely, maybe, but the city was so full of life. It had given her hope when she first moved here, and she wouldn’t say it gave her hope anymore, but it at least eased her mind. 

As she finished the last of her tea and read, her eyes drooped. Part of her had hoped she’d be able to stay up a little later since tomorrow, she didn’t work until Danny’s at five, but it was becoming apparent that she needed to sleep.

She marked her place and shut her book, then turned off her lamp, plunging the room into darkness save for the winking lights of London.

Snuggling down in her three blankets to fend off the chill, her eyes drifted toward the window for one last look. She had figured out early on exactly where the curtains needed to go to block the brightest lights, and now she had it down to a science.

She pulled the comforter up to her chin as her eyes drifted shut, and then she saw a shape in the window. It must have been her half-asleep eyelids turning the light emissions into figures. She opened her eyes to check and then screamed, yanking her comforter up as though it would protect her.

There was a face in the window—a face she recognized. Ives’ face, ragged, with blood on his forehead, and she screamed again and it vanished.

Adrenaline pumped in her veins, heart pounding louder than she’d ever heard it. For what felt like hours, she stared at the gap between her curtains, willing the face to reappear. 

But of course, it didn’t. Why would it? It couldn’t have been real. She was three floors up, and even if he had somehow scaled the building to peep into her window, he couldn’t have just disappeared at will. He wasn’t magic.

Whole body shaking, she climbed out of bed and drew the curtains tight, then checked the door’s lock and deadbolt, then, in an abundance of caution, wedged a chair under the knob.

No one was getting in now. She climbed back into bed, determined to fall asleep, but all she did was lie there until dawn, eyes wide open.

Chapter Text

It suited Danny Devine just fine that people assumed him an idiot. Did it rub him the wrong way when they treated him like it? Sure. It would rub anyone the wrong way. But it also meant that people underestimated him, and when one engaged in questionably legal activities, it was always better to be underestimated, as far as Danny was concerned. He hadn’t built a club like this from the ground up by being stupid, though, that was for sure. 

And he was smart enough to know the second Belle had walked into his office that he had no hope of not being in love with her.

Of course, at the time, he’d just assumed she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and then he’d never see her again and all would be well. Then he’d given her a job as his assistant because she had begged and listed all the things she did to manage house for her fucking useless waster of a husband—and he was already in love with her, so how could he say no—and he’d told himself that weeping, spineless women were not his cup of tea even though he knew that was a rude thing to think about a woman whose husband had so betrayed her.

Then, she’d sobbed out the whole credit-history story and how her husband had opened more cards in their name to look legitimate, and he’d hired movers that day to clean out his own flat so he could rent it out to her while pretending the landlord was his mate. He told himself he’d been meaning to get a bigger, nicer place anyway since he could afford it, he just hadn’t had any reason to before then since he spent most of his time at the club and the only people he saw socially were his ma and his younger half-brother. 

Then it turned out that yeah, she did cry more than he’d have preferred, but even weeping, she was brave and funny and too smart to be some fucking wanker like him’s assistant in his burlesque strip club. So he told himself that everyone hated him except maybe Frank, and the jury was still out on that one, and that all he had to do was be himself and Belle would hate him too, but then god fucking damn it, Belle thought he was funny.

Which, he fucking was. But no one had ever appreciated it before.

So, he loved Belle. It was just a fact about him now, like the fact that he bought suits too small because he got confused shopping once and refused to admit any weakness, or the fact that the reason he owned such an over-the-top club was because he got too bored just watching women take their clothes off. 

All he wanted was for her to divorce Gaston Legume, get out of his clutches, and get to a point in her life where she’d let him ridicule the name Belle Legume. 

But subtlety was not a Devine family trait. So he said nothing unless he couldn’t stand it anymore.

When Belle walked in Saturday afternoon with eyes bloodshot like she’d spent all of yesterday snorting lines of cocaine, he wasn’t sure he could stand it anymore, but he didn’t want to push. He’d already made her take off her ring.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked when she slumped into her chair, staring like a shell-shocked veteran.

She shook her head. “I think I’m having a nervous breakdown, but I don’t feel nervous, so I’m not sure.”

“You look fucking nervous.” 

She laughed, and it also sounded fucking nervous. For the first few weeks she’d worked for him, the only desk in the office was his, so she would sit on the end and work, but he could not exist both being in love with her and looking at her legs every day, so he’d bought the second desk.

Now, he wished he hadn’t, because it was easier to be casually concerned if she was already in his space and he could pretend he was just making conversation.

“Didn’t you fucking have the morning off?” he asked. “Weren’t you supposed to fucking sleep today?”

She rubbed her forehead. For all that she was always exhausted, she’d never looked quite so rough as she did today, save for when she’d just finished crying.

“Jesus, fine, how d’you take your fucking coffee, hey?” He stomped over to his phone and picked it up.

“Oh, no it’s fine, it’s too expensive,” she said, eyes drifting toward her purse. “I had some at home.”

“Shut the fuck up, Belle.” Sometimes, he could not believe her. Danny Devine had never in his life not told someone immediately if he expected them to pay for something, so why would she think he wanted money? “How many creams?”

Of course her eyes were wet when she looked back at him. “Four. And two sugars.”

He screamed his order into the phone, figuring Frank could send someone for it, and then curled himself into his parrot chair so he could stare at Belle while they waited.

She opened the ledger, which used to be written in his chicken scratch and now featured neat, even rows of names and numbers, and stared at it while he stared at her from inside his parrot. He hadn’t even known how pretty she was when he first met her. He’d never seen her squawk with laughter or throw her head back or press her lips together to keep the amusement in. He’d never seen a rogue curl fall into her eyes as she concentrated. 

He’d never seen her without her wedding ring.

Someone knocked, and then one of the bartenders was bringing in two paper cups of coffee. The club did have a small kitchen with a coffee maker for when they served breakfast, but Danny had learned early on from one of his ma’s boyfriends that only women drank sweet, milky coffee, so he ordered it out and pretended it was for someone else and only ever drank tea or whiskey in the club.

“Make it Irish?” He waved a bottle of Bushmills before popping the lid off his cup and tipping in more than he probably should at work. When he looked up, assuming Belle would say no, she was holding her cup out to him, so he scrambled over to, again, pour in too much.

“Do you just not want me to work anymore?” she asked, putting the lid back on, but she was smiling again.

“Come on, I spent fucking years drinking alone in here. What’s a fucking assistant good for if not to fucking drink with?”

She smiled at him, and he noticed for the first time all evening that she wasn’t wearing lipstick. Something really was wrong. Belle, no matter what, was always put together.

Throwing caution to the wind, he perched on the edge of her desk. “So what the fuck happened to you? You go to some wild fucking rave?”

She took a slow sip of her coffee and grimaced. Danny tasted his, but he loved the taste of whiskey, so he didn’t mind how strong it was.

“I had a strange—nightmare, I guess.”

“You fucking guess?” He slid forward without meaning to, and his too-tight pants squeezed him. He hoped Belle wasn’t looking. “You don’t fucking know if it was a nightmare?”

She chewed her lip. “Well, I was awake.”

That would explain how disheveled she looked. There was a big difference between a nightmare and a hallucination. Danny could remember from his psychedelic days how alarming it could be to swear there was a hand just out of your field of vision or that the walls were breathing, but at least he had drugs to blame it on.

“What’d you see?”

She tightened her hands around the cup. “I saw a person I know?” 

“Who?” Suddenly, his collar was too tight. What if it was him? Why did he buy such tight suits knowing that he was in love with his assistant? 

She shook her head. “This man who comes into the store sometimes. I saw him out the window.”

Danny would pat himself on the back later for how quickly he talked himself down from screaming his bollocks off about one of her book customers stalking her window. He knew better than anyone that her window would only be accessible by Spiderman.

“Was it—I mean, like—what was he doing?” What did one ask their assistant when they confessed to hallucinating a random man?

“Nothing. It was just a flash.” She sipped her coffee, no more grimace. Good. “But he was bloody all over and he had something drawn in blood on his forehead, or maybe an injury? I didn’t have time to examine it. My brain must have caught up with my eyes too quickly.”

He didn’t know what that meant. It sounded smart. “Jesus, Belle, how fucking tired are you if you’re fucking hallucinating some random fucking bloke bleeding in your fucking window?”

“I don’t know. I’m pretty depressed, so that doesn’t help either.”

Depressed. Exhausted. Working in a fucking strip club for the angriest, sweatiest man in London. Would Belle ever catch a break?

“Okay, come on, we’re fucking leaving. Get all your stuff.”

Belle’s eyebrows flew up, but she had never questioned any of his requests, so she set her coffee down and he hopped up to get her coat off the hook, and soon they were outside in the dark, wet night. Their breath puffed out over their coffees, and it was nice to be out and about with Belle instead of trapped in his windowless office. Belle deserved fresh air.

“Where are we going?” she asked. 

“Fucking nosy tonight, aren’t we?” 

Her eyes crinkled. Good. They were still red but at least she didn’t look as haggard as she had when she walked in.

“This is the first time I’ve ever hallucinated,” she said. 

He glanced at her, and she was staring forward, eyes unfocused. It was a good thing he was there or she’d get mugged. 

“Aye?”

“I mean, I’ve had nightmares before, especially when I’m really stressed, but usually when I’m asleep.”

“What kind of nightmares?” 

She stumbled, either because of the uneven sidewalk or the whiskey, and Danny held out his arm to steady her, and then her hand was looped through his elbow. If he didn’t mention or notice it at all, maybe she’d keep it there.

“I always dream that someone’s driving me off a cliff and I keep screaming that it’s about to happen and they insist it’ll be fine.”

“Hey, fucking fancy that.” He took a sip of his coffee, praying to any god listening that she had no idea her hand was on him. “I’ve had that one too.”

“Wow, maybe we do have something in common.” She nudged him with her elbow, and he was about to protest this when he saw she was grinning. 

“Oi, who’d’ve thought? Me having something in fucking common with a posh country girl.” 

Belle laughed, and if they’d been alone, he thought she might have thrown her head back. “I’ve lived in the city for five years now, and I think I’ve taken to it.”

“Oi, you’re not a city girl until someone’s sat on you on the tube,” he said. 

“No one ever sits on me on the tube, Danny.” Her eyes sparkled, thank god not with tears. “I take up plenty of space.”

“Then I guess you’re a fucking country girl forever.”

She shook her head. “There’s got to be another way.”

He had intended to just walk her home and send her up, but no one could blame him for wanting to keep walking. With her hand on his elbow and her laughter in his ears, it was the nicest break from work he’d ever had.

But after they looped and passed her flat the second time, Belle frowned.

“Danny, we’re going in circles. What did you need to get?”

“I’m taking you home, you nutter,” he said. Maybe she’d invite him up because they were having such a nice time? Except that would be crazy—he was her boss, and she’d only just decided to not look married to the world. Besides, he knew what a shithole that flat was.

“What?” She frowned. “But—I don’t get days off. That’s the deal.”

Well, when he’d made that deal, he hadn’t realized that she would keep it so religiously. Though he had a general idea of when Belle would show up, he had never set a work schedule for her, and he’d kind of figured she would use that to her advantage. 

“You fucking worked today, yeah?” He stopped walking in front of her door. “How else did I fucking see you?”

Belle’s eyes filled with tears, of course, and he couldn’t take this anymore. He was going to have to stop doing nice things for her.

“And you walked me home,” she said. “I really appreciate it.”

So quick he almost missed it, she stood on her toes and pecked him on the cheek. It was all he could do not to flail backwards. 

“Don’t fucking mention it, hey?” He tried to sip his coffee, but it was empty. Fuck. “I’m fucking serious, this never fucking happened.”

Belle mimed zipping her lips shut, locking them, and flicking away the key. God, what was he going to do now that he knew what they felt like on his cheek?

“Goodnight Danny,” she said through closed lips. 

He grinned. “Get upstairs so I can get back to work. My fucking assistant called off and I’m fucking swamped.”

She squeezed his arm, and then headed inside. He watched the closed door until he figured she’d had plenty of time to get upstairs, and then, instead of going straight to the club, walked around to the side of the building until he could see Belle’s window.

The curtains were drawn tight now, so he couldn’t have seen in even if he’d wanted to, but that wasn’t why he was looking. He checked all around, walking the block back and forth a couple times, but there was no handhold along the wall, no fire escape stairs, not even a window ledge.

Satisfied that she really had hallucinated, Danny bounced back to the club, a new spring in his step.

Chapter Text

Belle knew it was a bad idea, knew that lack of sleep had impaired her judgment, but even though today was her one and only day off this week, she had to know if Ives had an injury on his forehead, and she could not wait until Monday. It could heal by Monday.

She considered asking Danny to accompany her to the museum so it would look like a coincidence, but as much as she didn’t hate Danny’s company, she didn’t think he would be welcome in a museum. She could have asked Frank, but she still didn’t know if he liked her or not and she didn’t want him to tell anyone, so instead, she went alone.

Though she had tried to formulate some sort of plan, all she’d really done was decide to put on a beanie she rarely wore due to the shiny purple puff on top, and that was mostly because it was cold out.

What she really should have thought through was the price of museum admission. She did technically have the money because Danny’s landlord friend was very generous with the rent for his hole-in-the-wall rubbish flat, but she made little money at the bookstore, and she didn’t have a lot to spare.

Oh well. She had always liked museums, and she wasn’t shy about that, so it’s not like it would be unheard of for her to be here. At least he didn’t work in a gym or a bank or something. Besides, she didn’t even know if he was working today. 

She stopped in front of the building. What if she forked over twenty quid and he wasn’t even working today?

She’d just have to ask and accept whatever embarrassment it came with.

Chin held high, she walked up to the ticket window, trying to peer through the doors but seeing only blurry people shapes in the distorted glass.

“Hi,” she said, clasping her hands on the ledge. It was an older man behind the counter, somewhere near the age her father would have been.

“Afternoon, miss,” he said. “How many tickets?”

She licked her lips, and then she was struck with a brilliant idea—she hoped. “I was wondering if there was an easy way to choose your tour guide?”

“You can always wait until you like the look of one, but unless you book in advance and request someone, not much we can do.”

Shoot. “Well, do you know which ones are working today?” 

“Someone in particular? I don’t know off the top of my head, but maybe I’ve said good morning already.”

What if he told him a woman was asking for him? Maybe he’d be thrown by the puffy hat, but she doubted he knew that many blue-eyed Australian women. Why hadn’t she thought to disguise her accent? 

“I’ve heard such good things about a Mr. Ives,” she said. “So I was hoping to be in his group.”

There. Maybe he wouldn’t have anything to say to Ives because she’d couched enough. 

“Oh, yep, I remember, he brought in biscuits this morning.” 

If she asked him about his forehead and he said he thought there was no injury, would that be enough to satisfy her? But then, her continued sanity was worth the twenty pound admission, wasn’t it? And then, if he did have an injury, she’d call the police. Or Danny. She wasn’t sure which would be more helpful yet.

“Great, thanks.” She slid her twenty under his window, telling herself over and over that her peace of mind was worth it, and then she took her ticket and marched inside.

Once in the museum, the wind left her sails. She didn’t want him to see her. 

Still winging it, she slid over behind a trashcan nowhere near big enough to cover her and pulled her hair into a knot at the base of her neck. 

There. Maybe, at least, he wouldn’t notice her immediately.

She made it through security but had to take off all her winter gear, and then, fearful of being caught, she yanked it back on as quickly as possible.

There was a gift shop to her left with a bench outside, so she sat to take a moment and gather her thoughts. It looked like the tours met somewhere nearby, so if she could just post up in viewing range and out of sight, maybe she could get a glimpse of him.

After watching for about half an hour, she determined that a new tour started roughly every fifteen minutes, but she had no idea how long they were. If Ives had left for one right before she arrived, it could be hours before he was back.

Should she go enjoy the museum? What if she was enjoying the museum and he saw her? This was a terrible plan. She should have begged Frank to go for her, although that probably would have cost her more than the price of admission.

Then, a tour came back, and she would have recognized his measured gait anywhere even if she hadn’t heard his strong, clear voice announcing the end. His back was to her now as he gave his wrap-up speech, but soon he would likely turn around, and she did not want to be in his line of sight.

With few options other than just hiding where she wouldn’t be able to see him anymore, Belle inserted herself behind an incoming group of people, hoping that if she was obscured enough, she would be just another person in the crowd to him.

His tour ended and a few people stayed behind to ask questions, and he surveyed the room as she imagined he must do all the time. She held her breath and then his eyes slid right past her in his circuit. 

And at this angle, with this vantage point, she could clearly see his unblemished forehead. Thank god he wore his hair brushed back so there was nothing in her way, no visual obstructions in seeing that there wasn’t even a scar there. It had just been a hallucination. 

Which was, of course, it’s own problem, but one Belle felt much more comfortable dealing with.

Tasked now with escaping unnoticed, Belle drifted away from the group she’d infiltrated, fitting herself into another. Now that it felt so much lower stakes, escaping Ives without notice was easy, and she soon found herself surging out the exit with the crowd and back safely onto the street.

 She breathed, peeling off her sparkly purple hat and stuffing it in her coat before shaking her hair out. Thank God Ives was just a man, not a vampire or something that could fly or scale walls. 

At that point, she should have just gone home to lay in bed and recover from the week, but being alone in her flat still made her a little antsy, and the whole situation didn’t feel sorted yet anyway. She started walking.

It didn’t surprise her that she took herself to the Parrot Club. She loved the bookstore, of course, because she loved books, but it had never been kind to her. Just this week, she’d lost a shift to someone else even though she’d worked there for almost five years.

She ducked inside and it was much quieter on Sunday afternoons than it was even on the weekday evenings that she was there. There was a boozy brunch on weekend mornings, but that was over by now, and only one bartender was working. Belle waved on her way back, then knocked a couple times on Danny’s door before pushing it open.

“Oi!” Danny flailed at his desk and a pen flew across the room. “What the fuck—oh, it’s just you.”

“What are you doing?” She shut the door and walked over, perching on his desk to face him while he scrambled to stuff a magazine into the drawer.

“What am I fucking doing? This is my fucking office and your fucking day off. What the fuck are you doing?”

She chewed her lip. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping in?”

“Only if you’re gonna fucking give me the third degree, hey?” He leaned back in his parrot, arms folded. “Something wrong?”

“What were you reading?” She unbuttoned her coat. Danny’s office was so well-insulated, he didn’t even need to turn the heat on except on the coldest days.

“Someone left a fucking Cosmo, and I got bored, okay?”

“Ooh, once I took a quiz to find out what the ideal masculine energy for my future husband to give off was,” she said. “It said ‘warrior poet.’”

“Aye?” He snorted. “No wonder it didn’t work out with your wanking fuckwit. This one was, eh—oh, ‘best cut of knickers for your career choice.’”

Belle grinned. “And your results?”

“A cheeky cut.” 

“Oh, that makes sense, cheeky cuts are very confident.”

“Gotta be fucking confident to own a fucking strip club.” He lifted his knees so that his feet curled around the edge of his chair. “So, what, you just come to chat about knickers, then?”

She shook her head. “I did something crazy. Maybe. I don’t know if it was crazy.”

“You seem real fucking sane right now,” he said. “If someone’s in the fucking deep end, you’re standing on the edge of the pool kicking your fucking heels in, happy as you fucking please.”

Her shoulders relaxed for the first time since leaving the house to go stalk Ives. “So, you know the man I hallucinated?” 

“Well, you haven’t fucking introduced us, have you?”

She shook her head, pursing her lips, and Danny grinned from his parrot cocoon. “Well, I had to know if it was real or not, so I went to—where he works.” Something told her that giving Danny less details would be better in the long run. 

“Aye, see?” He dropped his feet down. “Sane as a fucking canary in a coal mine.”

“I don’t think that’s an expression.”

“Well, did you fucking ask him where he was Friday night, then?”

“No!” She flushed at the horror of this thought. “I just went to see if he had an injury on his forehead.”

Danny’s eyebrows flew up like this impressed him, and he spread his legs to lean forward, ankles of his too-small pants rising halfway up his calves.

“Did he?”

She shook her head. “Totally smooth. Just, you know, regular forehead wrinkles.”

“What kind of fucked up shite are you into that you imagined him with a fucking hole in his head?”

“I didn’t imagine him, I hallucinated him.”

“Fucking tomato, potato.” He waved a hand.

“It’s different because one is probably my subconscious trying to—tell me something.” She chewed her lip, frowning hard at her knees. What could it be?

“You want some bloke you barely know to climb into your fucking window?”

“No.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Maybe that I’m afraid of someone interrupting me there. It was probably just safer for my brain to be afraid of a random man than Gaston, that’s all.”

Danny wrinkled his nose. “Fucking Gaston.”

“Fucking Gaston.” She glanced down at her hands, flipping them over, and a tiny smile spread over her face.

“What are you grinning about?” he asked.

“I was just thinking that I’ve been too scared to even think about my wedding ring.”

“Jesus,” Danny said. “You really do fucking win some, don’t you?”

Belle was helping another customer when Ives came in on Monday and she didn’t want to rush, half because she enjoyed this part of her job and didn’t want to be rude, and half because she was afraid that the first thing he was going to say was I saw you at the museum yesterday, you sick freak.

He wandered over to the nearby memoir section while she rang the woman up, chatting about the titles she’d picked out as a gift for her niece turning ten and then throwing in a free bookmark as a birthday present before sending her on her way.

Then, as though he had always meant to circle the room, he meandered back to her, forehead still completely injury-free.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Ives,” she said.

“Colonel Ives.” He clasped his hands behind his back, and he always walked around like he knew an amusing secret, but she could have sworn he looked even more amused by it today. “How was your weekend off?”

I spent it half convinced you were stalking me and then, once I stalked you, proved that I was just hallucinating your face. 

“It wasn’t quite as restful as I’d have hoped.” She forced a smile, glancing down at her ring finger for the first time all day. “What did you think of Flightless?”

“I enjoyed it, but I don’t think it was to my tastes as much as yours.” 

“I guess I better find you something good to make up for it today, then.” She stepped out from behind the register and fell into step with him. “What didn’t you like?”

He shrugged, and his elbow bumped hers. She hadn’t realized how closely they walked. 

“It was a little neat for me.” He pinched the edge of his mustache, twisting it as he contemplated. “Especially since there was no real driving plot, I think I’d have liked it to be a lot messier. Perhaps even raunchier?” He twisted his mustache harder, then shook his head. “No. Just messier.”

Instead of leading him around the store, she followed him to the mainstream fiction section, considering the titles she might recommend. He stepped back so she could stalk up and down, like a cat on a hunt.

“Would it be too bold of me to recommend a book to you?” he asked as she plucked titles down.

She turned in surprise, a flush creeping up her neck and heading straight for her eyes. Why was this going to make her cry? “No, of course not. I would love that.” 

Maybe because no one ever wanted to share books with her. Perhaps if she spent any time with her coworkers, but Belle’s flexibility meant she was often shoved into the solo shifts, so she barely knew them. 

“Do you read horror?” he asked. “You’ve never recommended me any.”

“Oh.” She chewed her lip in thought. “Well, I’ve read some excellent horror if that’s what you’re looking for, but it’s not my favorite. And—” Well, she’d already told him about her estranged husband, what was one more too-personal detail? “I don’t think I should read horror right now because I’ve been having nightmares.”

“Nightmares?” He let go of his mustache and it sprang back out. “I’m so sorry to hear that.” 

She shook her head. “Thank you. There’s nothing I can do, I guess, but hope they go away.” She held up her stack. “Literary again, or do you want horror?”

“Let’s see what you’ve got for me first.”

She lined them up on the counter, and he leaned forward to study them.

“Now, this one, I haven’t read.” She pushed a book with a neon orange cover toward him. “But it’s on my list, I just haven’t gotten around to it. The others, I think you’ll find suitably messy. This one, if I recall, has at least one mental breakdown.”

“Compelling,” he said, then tapped one elegant finger on the orange cover. “What if I get this one, and you read it now as well?” 

“I guess I could check the library for it,” she said, though when she’d have time to get to a library, she didn’t know.

“The library?” He shook his head. “I’ll donate a copy to you.”

Donate. It was clever how he said that. Belle’s neck shivered again. “I couldn’t accept, Colonel.” 

He pursed his lips at her, then disappeared from the register. A tiny butterfly fluttered in her stomach. Did anyone else have a handsome customer who visited them specifically and bought books they wanted to read? Maybe they did, or maybe Belle should have thought it stranger, but it was just so nice to have someone be interested in her interests.

Of course, he returned with a second copy and dropped it on top of the first. 

“Mr. Ives—”

“Are you going to tell me I can’t buy what I want?” He pushed the other books to the side. “That’s not very good customer service, is it?”

“No, I suppose it isn’t.” She couldn’t help smiling at his triumphant smirk. “Is this what you want then?”

“Both copies, yes.”

She rang them up and then, because he was being so nice, opened up her mini drawer to grab a free bookmark for him, and then slashed her finger on the corner of one for her troubles.

“Shit.” She yanked her finger out, shaking her hand as though that would do something, and sure enough, pinpricks of blood beaded along the papercut.

“Just what I needed.” She stuck her finger in her mouth, then saw that Ives had gone rigid, staring at her hand. “Ives?”

His chest rose and fell quickly, but that was the only indication he was even alive, until he shook his head and forced a smile.

“God, sorry. How embarrassing. I’m so squeamish about papercuts.”

She smiled back, lowering her finger. “I don’t think that’s embarrassing.” No more blood had come out, but Ives followed the motion like a cat watching a laser. 

He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t?”

She shook her head. “And I won’t bleed on your book, I promise.”

“You can bleed on yours if you want.” 

“I would prefer to stop bleeding, actually. I don’t want to have to hunt down a bandaid.” 

“May I see it?” He held his hand out and, even though she could not fathom why he would want this, she laid her finger in it. The cut had turned pink again with collected blood, and Ives stared at it until another drop pooled out, then swiped his finger across it.

“Not so bad at all,” he said. “Now I’ve faced my squeamishness.”

“Well, that was very brave of you.” She wanted to pull her hand back, but this was the most tenderly anyone had held her hand—possibly ever.

Of course, he set it down on the desk. “Thank you. Are you in your usual days this week and next?”

She nodded. “And I’m in on Saturday again.”

“How long do you think the book will take you?”

She picked it up and flipped through. If it was a slow afternoon, she could be done by the time she headed to the Parrot Club. “Couple days at most, unless it’s really boring.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He nodded at her like he would tip a hat if he had one. “Good day, Belle.”

“Good day, Colonel.” 

He frowned. “Actually, perhaps you should just call me Francis?” 

Francis. Belle swallowed, then forced a nonchalant, “Oh?” She smiled. Another boundary, bulldozed. “Is that your name or are you just trying something out.”

His lip twitched. “There are three tour guides named Francis, though one is with an e, and we all have been going by our last name for years. But they’re not here, and you allow me to call you Belle.”

At that, Belle snorted. “Well, there’s nothing else you could call me. My last name is horrific.”

“Horrific?” He stepped back toward the counter, and she had the sudden feeling that she was stopping him from leaving, that she had been a little too much of a flirt. “Horrifically embarrassing, or something like Dahmer?”

But then, he’d been the one to tell her to call him Francis.

“Embarrassing. I’d rather it be Dahmer.”

“Belle Dahmer does have a nice ring to it.” He stroked his goatee, and Belle shook her head, grinning more than she should have.

“Good bye, Francis.”

He straightened up, back to being a soldier, and tipped his imaginary hat again. “Good bye, Belle.”

Chapter Text

If Danny had been smart, he would have known that walking Belle into the BDSM area of his club would give him sudden onset anaphylaxis, but instead, he’d been thinking with his business brain that it would be a good idea for her to know all about the basement in case she ever had to deal with insurance or a blown fuse or something.

“All right, so I’ve got a man who comes in once a week to make sure everything’s stable and working right,” he said over the sounds of whips and screams, determined to be deaf. At least all the cells were behind curtains.

“That’s very above-board of you,” Belle said. 

“Aye, well being above-board and paying my taxes fair and square keep the fucking police out of my arse.” He beckoned her past a cubicle where they could hear, over the music, the steady whap, whap, whap of a paddle. Belle glanced toward the sound, and he forced himself not to wonder what she thought of being in such a scenario. 

Of course, he wouldn’t want to hit Belle with anything, which would have to mean he was the one getting whacked and—

“So the breaker is behind this little curtain,” he said, wishing he could turn into a bug and skitter away. He yanked open the velvet rope and gestured to the circuit breaker panel. “I don’t fuck with it, but if a repairman ever needs it, it’s here.”

Belle nodded, studying the panel like she meant to memorize it. He probably should have just sent her down here with instructions. It’s not like “find the weirdly sized purple velvet curtain” was a difficult task.

“Come on, HVAC’s this way.”

He showed her all the systems, wishing he’d thought to ask her to come in one morning instead of on Thursday night, the start of his busiest time of the week, or that he’d given instructions to her and Frank and sent them together. Without him.

But then, what if they both got down there, decided they liked the sound of leather arse-slapping, hired a joint dominatrix, and then fell in love?

He could deal with Belle dating someone, but he could not deal with that someone being Frank.

“So, do your employees also offer sex services, or just scenes and lap dances?” Belle asked as they climbed back up the stairs.

“They offer whatever the fuck they want, I have a set list of prices, and the bouncer takes the money.” Thank god she was behind him and he couldn’t see her.

“So they can turn down a client?”

“Of fucking course they can, I don’t need some fucking loser with his paws all over one of my fucking employees if she doesn’t fucking want that.” He glanced behind him, and she was smiling like this information pleased her. “You and your fucking mysterious smile. You want to get fucking handcuffed to a wall and whipped, then?”

She blushed as she laughed, and Danny could have skipped the rest of the way to their office, but they’d reached the top of the stairs and she’d fallen in step with him.

“I just think it’s nice, that’s all. You know a lot of strip clubs don’t let their workers have any agency.”

“And how many strip clubs have you fucking worked in, eh?” He elbowed her in the ribs and she laughed again, almost knocking into a waitress in a slinky dress held up by her perky tits. 

“I just think that maybe you are one of a kind, Danny Devine,” she said. 

“Maybe?” He feigned outrage, mostly so that no one would see him looking soft for his assistant as they wound their way back to his office. “I’m a fucking diamond in the fucking rough.”

“I can’t believe Gaston never told me,” she said. “All he ever said was that you were a cruel little man who had him by the testes and refused to let up.”

“Oi.” He pushed his door open, strode to the middle of his office, then whirled to face her. “That fucking cocksucking loser should count a fucking rosary of blessings that I was never in any fucking position to crush his testes, because I fucking would in a fucking heartbeat.”

Normally, Belle didn’t walk hunched, but she walked like she didn’t want to take up any space or attract any notice. Now, she all but floated to her desk, laughing at this. Maybe the missing weight of one wedding ring made all the difference.

“You know what?” She sat in her chair and grinned up at him. “Me too.”

Unfortunately, as Danny walked around the club Friday afternoon in search of a different man who owed him money, he spotted Gaston’s rakish ponytail and unbearably broad shoulders at one of his poker tables for the first time in seven months. If Belle hadn’t hated her husband, Danny would have been jealous of those shoulders, but since she did, he was free to assume they overcompensated for a package much smaller than Danny’s own. Not that it mattered.

Other than glaring a hole into his broad shoulders, Danny wasn’t sure what to do now. Belle would be here in a few hours, and Gaston could be there the whole afternoon, and if Danny had to make a complete fool of himself kicking her fucking loser husband to the street, he would.

But what if he took it out on Belle?

He stomped around the club for a bit, trying not to scream at anyone that didn’t deserve being screamed at, and had worked himself into a spitting rage by the time he came upon the back of Gaston’s head again. If he didn’t have Belle to consider, he’d have just let him play. His dealers had a list of people who were only allowed to play if they had cash in hand and who were not allowed to play at all, and he’d thought nothing of putting him on the first. Being that his saintly wife had come to beg for leniency, he’d always just assumed Gaston would steer clear, so why not let him come if he had money to lose?

He rubbed his forehead. Belle worked nearby—he could just ask her what she wanted him to do.

After fortifying himself before he left by screaming at a man who’d lost a thousand pounds he didn’t have to the house just yesterday, Danny stormed out of the club and down the street, getting turned around once before remembering where Belle’s bookstore was.

He pushed the door in and almost got slapped in the face by a wreath hanging on it, then flailed around in the silence before getting his bearings. For some reason, he had just expected Belle to be right here when he walked in, but there wasn’t even a register in sight. He could have grabbed a book and run without her ever knowing.

Obviously, he was not going to do that, so he picked his way through the store on the balls of his feet until he heard her voice from the next room.

“Oi, Belle!” he called before he could consider that this was a bad idea. Whatever. The bookstore patrons would survive a little shouting.

He found her at the register, leaning forward to talk to some duffer in a Halloween costume with a full mustache. 

“Danny!” Was that good shock or bad shock? “What are you doing here? Is everything okay.”

“No, it is not fucking okay, Jesus fuck, you think I came all the fucking way down here for my fucking health?” God, it was so cramped in here, cramped and bright, and the tin soldier was staring at him like he was a bug on his shoe. “I need to fucking talk to you.”

“Okay, sure.” She walked around the register, then paused and turned back to the man in uniform. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

She led Danny toward the back and General Wank watched her like he wanted to eat her alive until she was out of sight. What if Danny ripped off one of his epaulettes and shoved it down his throat?

Behind a couple of shelves was a door marked Employees Only, and Belle led him in and then shut the door behind them.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Now that he was here, staring into her blue eyes, he wasn’t sure anymore that this had been a good idea. Did Belle really need to know what Gaston was doing? They should have had a plan for situations like this. They’d had almost seven months to think of one. 

“Danny?” She pressed a hand to his sweaty forehead and he almost collapsed. “You don’t feel feverish.”

Best to rip off the bandage. “Gaston is in the fucking club.”

Belle pulled her hand back, staring at him like he’d just spoken in gaelic. “What?”

“Gaston. Your fuckwit fucking husband? He’s in the fucking club.”

“Why?” She pressed the hand to her forehead now. Should he offer her an arm? A hand? A hug? “What’s he doing there?”

“Fuck if I know. Not fucking paying me, that’s for sure.”

“Isn’t he on some sort of—” She waved a hand. “Some sort of list?”

Danny was going to kick his own arse after this. “Aye, he’s on the cash-in-hand list.”

Belle slumped against the wall. “So he had cash, then? In hand?”

“He must’ve, either that or he convinced some fucking sap to buy him chips.”

She shook her head and Danny, unsure what to do, touched a finger to her elbow as an attempt at comfort, but then bounced backward like he’d shocked himself. 

“Was anyone with him?” she asked.

“No one I recognized.” Not that he made a habit of knowing who everyone’s friends were, but when people owed him money like Gaston did, he knew a few others to call. 

“Well.” She rubbed the skin of her ring finger. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“I’ll fucking kick him out, if you want,” Danny said. “That’s what I meant to fucking ask—if you wanted me to throw him into the fucking street.”

He mimed lifting and then kicking him, as if there was any reality where shrimpy Danny Devine could even shove behemoth Gaston, and Belle smiled, though he could see the telltale tremble in her hands. 

“You don’t have to kick him out for me, Danny.”

“Belle, he is a fucking useless piece of shite idiot fucking wanker,” he said. “I’ll fucking kick him out. Just say the fucking word. Or do you want me to throw a fucking drink in his face? Get some fucking pineapple juice right to the eye.”

“If only you could have Frank crush his testes,” she said, and he released a breath. She was making jokes.

“I’m fucking serious, though, Belle.” He hopped from foot to foot as he lowered his voice. “Whatever you think I should do, it’s your fucking call.”

She licked her lips. “Kick him out. And blacklist him. And tell a waitress to accidentally run into him with a full tray.”

“Aye, that’s the fucking spirit,” he said. “I’ll have a bartender make up a tray of well drinks.”

“Thank you.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, just like she had a week ago, and he was going to fucking expire. “I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t fucking mention it,” he said, wishing his suit wasn’t pinching him in the neck and balls and armpit. “Who’s that fucking fancy dress man outside anyway?”

Belle’s eyes widened, so his did too, and she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Danny, that’s him.”

He frowned. “Who?”

She tapped her own forehead, and he understood. 

“That guy?” He glanced at the door like he’d be able to see him. “Fucking dressed like he’s in a fucking film?”

She nodded. “His name is Ives. And see, his forehead is fine.”

“I’ll fucking take a look myself, if you don’t fucking mind.”

“Be my guest.” She stepped back and held her arm out to the door. “I need a minute in here actually, so I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

He muttered his goodbye and left, sure that the only reason she wanted to stay behind was to cry in private, but at least it gave him the opportunity to confirm no one was stalking her window at night. 

When he walked back toward the register, Ives watched him with cool disinterest—so much disinterest, in fact, that Danny was sure it was fake. People thought he couldn’t read them, but it was really just that Danny rarely expended the effort it took to keep from being himself no matter the cost.

“What the fuck are you fucking looking at?” he asked. His forehead was completely clean, just like Belle said.

“Your suit’s a little small, isn’t it?” he said. “You should look for a new tailor—that is, if you use a tailor.”

He didn’t know how that was an insult, but he was certain it was, and the rant built itself in his throat without prompting. He clenched his teeth so hard, they could have cracked, but if Belle heard him screaming, she might be upset, and he had just enough willpower to remember that. Better save it for Gaston.

Without another word, Danny turned on the balls of his feet and stormed out.

Chapter Text

Belle leaned against the door, fingertips pressed beneath her eyes. She would not cry. She would not cry. She took a deep, shuddering breath, held it in for a count of five, and then breathed it out slowly. 

She would not cry.

By the time she made it back to the register, she was composed, and she flashed Francis an apologetic smile.

“So sorry about that.” She took her place behind the counter, though that was probably silly. They hadn’t even picked out a new book yet, just discussed the one they’d both read. 

“Are you all right?” he asked, brows drawn. 

“Oh, yes, I’m fine.” She forced another smile. What was Gaston doing at the Parrot Club? If he had to gamble, surely there were other clubs she did not work at for him to patronize? 

“Who was that?” He tilted his head, the picture of concern.

“That was just Danny. He’s my boss.”

For once, Francis looked taken off-guard, eyebrows flying up to his combed-back hairline. “Here? At this bookstore?”

“Oh, god, no.” She laughed, but it sounded more like a scream to her own ears. “I, um—well, there’s a burlesque club a few blocks over and I work there in the evenings.”

“As a stripper?” 

There was no need for him to look so scandalized at that—Belle wished she had the skills and stamina to be a stripper in Danny’s club. She wouldn’t be killing herself just to barely pay her bills and feed herself, that was for sure.

“No, I’m his personal assistant. But, you know, for the record, if I was a stripper, that would be okay too.”

Francis settled down. “I don’t think of strippers as having the same reading tastes as me, usually.”

“Well, maybe that’s a you problem,” Belle said.  “Not a stripper problem.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to offend. Why do you work two jobs? Aren’t you full time here?”

Her lip trembled and the familiar heat before a cry crept up her neck. Come on, Belle. “Not full-full time, just most of the time. And I work there—” She swallowed. “It’s a long story, actually.” 

Whenever she cried at Danny’s, he always panicked, like a deer in the street, but Francis just leaned forward as she sniffled hard, trying to suck the tears back into her body before they fell.

“Does he treat you all right?” he asked. “He doesn’t—expect things of you? As his personal assistant?”

The thought was so absurd, a laugh did startle away her tears, though she supposed she’d had a similar thought before she’d met Danny.

“Danny? No. Of course not.”

“You don’t seem happy after being in there with him.” He leaned closer, glancing toward the entrance as if to confirm Danny wasn’t there anymore. “I heard some of the things he said to you. That’s not right.”

“I—oh.” What had he heard? Belle already couldn’t remember what Danny had said, just the gist of it. He was so foul-mouthed, it hardly registered anymore. “I’m not—what he said to me was fine. It’s just what he said.”

He raised an eyebrow, watching her as she shook her head, knowing she wasn’t making any sense.

“I mean, Danny is Danny, that’s just what he sounds like. It was nice of him to come tell me what he did. He just—”

And then, surprising even Belle, a sob choked out of her throat. She covered her mouth, but it was too late. The floodgates were open.

“Okay, okay, shhh.” Francis was around the register before she could stop him, arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him.

A little voice in her head told her this was inappropriate and bad, but the rest of her had not had anyone hold her while she cried since, unfortunately, Gaston at her father’s funeral. 

“It’s okay,” he said, his shirtsleeve stiff against her neck, but somehow comforting anyway.

“You shouldn’t be back here,” she said, groping blindly around the desk for a box of tissues. Francis pulled them toward her with his free hand.

“That’s too bad,” he said. 

“This is so embarrassing.” She dabbed at her eyes. Why did she even bother wearing mascara? She cried so often, it was a terrible idea.

“What did he do to make you cry so much?” Francis’ soft voice sent a shiver down her spine, in a not altogether pleasant way. She got the impression that, though he was just a museum docent, he might go down to Danny’s office and do something rash.

“It’s just—my husband.” 

She did not love the idea of spilling her whole sordid past to a man who, though she was friendly with him, was ultimately a stranger, but she was already crying into his work costume, so perhaps she owed him a story.

“Danny’s not your husband, is he?”

She laughed again, and maybe that had been his aim in asking, because he squeezed her shoulder. “No. My husband gambles, and he owes the house almost fifteen thousand pounds.” This did not include the obscene interest that accrued when one agreed to borrow money from Danny Devine, but she couldn’t say the criminal part out loud. 

“Fifteen thousand?”

She nodded, the anger bubbling up fueling even more tears. “That’s one of his smaller debts. He racked up so much credit card debt in his own name, he had to start opening joint accounts, and that’s why I work in a shitty bookstore and live in a shitty apartment, and also make phone calls for Danny Devine.”

She felt immediately bad for calling the bookstore shitty, but really, the books were the only good part. Well, and Francis Ives wasn’t so bad either.

“Because he made you look financially insolvent?” he asked. She nodded against him. “So, what, did he miss a payment?”

It was probably rude for him to ask all these questions. It was probably ruder for her to weep all over his crisp white shirt.

“I work for Danny for free in exchange for Gaston not having to make monthly payments, so that he can use that money to pay off the credit cards in my name,” she said. His chest tensed under her. “So Danny came to tell me that Gaston was in the club today, and to ask me if—if I wanted him to kick him out. And throw a drink in his face.”

“Well, his esteem has gone up in my mind,” Francis said. “What did you tell him?”

“Yes to both.” She dabbed at her eyes again. “And you know, I don’t—I don’t care what Gaston does. He used to disappear for days at a time and leave me voicemails saying he had a spontaneous work trip.”

She lifted her head off him, but he kept his arm around her. When she turned, he was frowning.

“I’m not stupid, don’t worry,” she said. “I know he was seeing other women. After awhile, he started just bringing them home and I would cross paths with them on my way in while they were leaving.”

“As long as you knew,” he said, eyebrow raised.

“Anyway, the point is, our marriage was over years ago, and I don’t care.”

“But?”

She sighed. “But this is just—a slap in the face.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “He knows I work there, you know? He knows I don’t get paid, that I’m working there for him. And to not even—not even try to hide?” 

“It’s just cruelty,” he said. “Needless, thoughtless cruelty.”

“I have to hope it was thoughtless,” she said, a fresh wave of tears bubbling over. Would she ever be done? 

“Okay, come on.” Francis tugged her away from the register and she followed, hardly realizing she was moving. “We’re taking a walk.”

“I can’t, I’m the only person here.”

“So put a sign on the door and lock it.”

She looked up at him, into his hard, commanding face. He really looked like a soldier now. “But I can only do that at lunch time.”

“And when do you take lunch?”

She pressed her lips together. “I usually don’t.”

So she did what he suggested, posting a back after lunch sign on the door on which she had written back in fifteen before Francis took it, scratched it out, and fixed it. Then, she and the man who, half an hour ago, was just a customer were walking together outside.

“I’m so sorry.” She folded her arms across her chest, and he eyed her. “I thought I was okay to come out of the back room.”

“I’m glad you came out,” he said. “What if you’d been alone?”

Then she’d be less embarrassed, that was for sure. But she smiled at him anyway. It was nice to have him there, if she was being honest. 

“So, the person Danny was calling a ‘fucking idiot’ was not you?” he asked.

“Oh god, of course not.” She laughed again. Danny would never call her an idiot, especially not after all the times she’d killed him in chess. “It was Gaston.”

“Good. I thought I was going to have to go find him,” he said, and she almost laughed again. If anyone was going to win a shouting match between Francis Ives and Danny Devine, it certainly wouldn’t be the buttoned-up museum scholar. He may have had more cutting remarks, but Danny believed in volume to get his way.

“Danny really saved me from him six months ago. I was going to have to live in our stupid flat together, but he found me an apartment that I could afford and wouldn’t run a credit check.”

“Hmm.” Francis’ eyes narrowed in thought as he stared ahead. “All right, if you like him, I trust your judgment.”

She ducked her head to watch the sidewalk, and then as she saw her own blue coat, paled. What if Francis hadn’t seen her at the museum, but he’d seen a woman who kind of looked like her in this exact coat? She had just assumed he would never see her in her winter gear so it wouldn’t be a problem. Oh god.

At least she wasn’t wearing a hat today.

“So, how long have you been at the museum?” she asked.

“Oh, let’s see.” He twisted the side of his mustache—a charming habit, as far as Belle was concerned. “It’ll be thirteen years come March.”

“Wow.” 

Francis had worked at the museum before she’d even met Gaston. He’d been working there when she was just blossoming out of being a nerdy girl from Australia into a viable sexual candidate for the boys of her quaint English village.

“You know, I used to be a bit of a film buff,” he said. “But I decided I should read again, and that’s when I found your shop.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” she said. “You’re very well-educated.”

“Well, I’ve had a lot of time to educate myself.”

They reached a corner, and Belle turned so that they would head back to the bookshop. This was nice, but it wasn’t like walking with Danny because Francis, though authoritative, was not her boss and could not actually give her permission to abandon work.

“You know,” he said. “I’m glad we did this.”

She glanced at him, but he was just staring straight ahead, smiling, as he always did, like he had a secret.

“Me too. It’s nice. Thank you for getting me out of there.”

He turned his smile to her. “Of course. There’s very little that a brisk walk and some fresh air can’t cure.” 

“I don’t think I’m cured, but I do feel better.”

They approached the store and Francis stepped aside to let Belle unlock it, following her in. She had almost thought he would leave after this, but of course he wouldn’t—they hadn’t even gotten around to picking out a book yet.

Since she’d already spent so much time with him, she wasn’t sure whether she should hurry up or take her time, but he seemed content to follow her around the store until she had set a few books in his hand.

“You know,” he said, studying the three titles before him. “As much as I love to sink my teeth into a thick book, I find that, recently, I prefer a book I can finish quickly.”

The way he looked up at her made his meaning clear—he liked coming back here. Unsure how to respond to this, Belle’s neck heated again. She hoped this was just embarrassment, not tears.

“Well,” she said. “There are some shorter fantasy novels I can recommend, but they may not be as intricate as you’d like.”

“Or,” he said. “I could get this one.” He held up the thick sci-fi she’d picked out for him. It wasn’t her favorite, but she knew that Francis liked deep worldbuilding. 

“I think you’ll enjoy that one,” she said. “It’s very scientific.”

“And then I could take you out for coffee.”

Truly, she didn’t know how long she floundered in silence because Francis’ expression didn’t falter like someone who worried they might be rejected. In fact, he seemed more certain that she would say yes than she was.

“That would be nice,” she choked out, wishing she sounded less like she’d swallowed an egg whole.

“Are you free this evening?” he asked. 

She shook her head. “I work at the club tonight.” He opened his mouth, and she shook her head again. “I’ll save you the trouble. I work at the club every night that I work at the bookstore because I’d rather have two full days off than four days where I only work full time instead of double-full time.”

“So what does that mean?” he asked. 

“I’m off Sunday,” she said, and then clenched her teeth against the flush forming. What if he put together the coat and her day off and realized that he’d seen her lurking at the museum on Sunday? 

She needed to calm down. Normal people did not see a flash of coat and build a conspiracy theory out of it. He hadn’t seen her, and that was that.

“Sunday is very far away,” he said. “But if that’s best for you.”

She chewed her lip. What if she fit him into her busy schedule? Danny probably wouldn’t mind if she was an hour later than usual. It wasn’t like she had a set time.

“Maybe—maybe tomorrow, when I get off here? I’d be fitting you in between jobs, but.” She shrugged. “It would be tomorrow instead of Sunday.”

“It’s a date,” he said. 

A date. With a person who wasn’t Gaston. She could have fainted.

Chapter Text

Things were strange in Danny’s office that night. Not that it wasn’t often strange at the Parrot Club, but Belle was sure Danny was acting weird. He was always shouty and jumpy and liked to curl into chairs like a womb, but now his movements jerked like a broken animatronic, and he kept casting furtive looks at her.

“What is going on with you?” she asked when he tripped over his own toes. 

“What?” He whipped around to look at her. “Nothing. I’m fucking fine. Do I fucking seem like something’s fucking wrong with me? Because it fucking isn’t, and if you think I’m acting like some fucking lunatic, just fucking come out and—”

“Danny,” she shouted, though she couldn’t have reached his own volume without shrieking. “You’re acting like some fucking lunatic. What’s wrong?”

He deflated off his toes and onto his flat feet, then stalked toward his desk. “Nothing’s fucking wrong.” 

“Are you sure?” She raised an eyebrow. “Because you just bit my head off for speaking, and I didn’t appreciate it.” Of course, Danny was probably the only person who could bite her head off without her caring—that was just how he communicated.

His shoulders tensed, and then he hopped over to her desk. “Did you fucking cry when I left earlier?”

Her eyebrows flew up. “Of course. You knew I was crying.”

“Are you fucking—okay?”

She stared at him, but there was no indication that he wasn’t being earnest. “Why did you scream at me if you thought I might not be okay?”

“Because that’s how I fucking express myself, Jesus.”

“Why are you so upset?” she asked. 

He clenched his fists in the air like he was trying to catch a fly. “It just fucking pisses me the fuck off, hey?” 

She had never seen him so wound up before. Sure, any time collection day rolled around, he flew off the handle at least once an hour, but he didn’t bottle stuff up. Danny probably experienced emotions in a more healthy way than she did.

Decisive, Belle walked over to him and put her arm around his taut shoulders. 

“What the fuck—”

“Come on.” She steered him toward one of his egg chairs. The first time she saw his office, the furniture seemed stupid and impractical, just part of the theme, but she’d now seen Danny fold himself into all manner of positions in his oddly-shaped chairs to calm himself down. Even she had been known to stuff herself into one of the eggs when no one was around. 

“What the fuck—” he tried again when she pushed him into the seat.

“Sit. Stay.”

“I’m not a fucking dog,” he muttered, but he obeyed as he watched her walk to his banana phone. 

She called the bar, asked for Danny’s usual whiskey and a glass of cranberry juice with ice for herself, then hung up. Danny was curled up into the chair like a fetus already, and she couldn’t stop the affectionate smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Don’t you feel better already?” she asked.

“No.” He curled up tighter.

That afternoon, Francis had taken a leap of faith in comforting her and it had worked out. Now, she wanted to be brave enough to take that same leap and comfort Danny. Before she could change her mind, she tapped him on the knee.

“Scoot over so I can sit with you.” 

“What?” He squinted at her, so she tapped his knee harder, and he somehow tilted himself so that he was upright and still curled into a ball. She settled herself in, and he straightened his legs a bit. 

“Are you upset that I cried?” she asked. 

“Yes, I’m fucking upset you fucking cried, Belle, why the fuck wouldn’t I be?” 

“But you’ve seen me cry loads of times.” She hoped this wouldn’t send him into a further tailspin.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, you’re a fucking weeper.” He sat up and stretched his legs out, watching his feet instead of her. “And I fucking know I’m not any fucking great comfort, but I just fucking left you there, and then I fucking came back here and—why the fuck did you take any fucking vows with that fucking halfwit fucking gargoyle?”

Belle opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then frowned. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

He glanced at her. “Depends. Do you wanna fucking answer it?”

A knock sounded at the door and they both jumped up. Danny wouldn’t have wanted to be seen in any sort of position that might undermine his authority, and Belle didn’t want any rumors to fly around about her duties as his assistant. Francis asking if Danny “expected anything” was the tamest way she’d ever been asked.

The bartender set both drinks on Danny’s desk and then rushed out as soon as Belle thanked him. Then, without consulting one another, they both returned to their single egg chair.

“Gaston’s dad was sick,” Belle said. “And I was really young. And my dad already had a terminal diagnosis. And Gaston convinced me that we might as well get married when both of our fathers could see it. And I was afraid of being alone without my dad.”

Danny, for once, was quiet. He sipped his whiskey. She sipped her juice. 

“When I was twenty-two, I dated this woman who broke up with me every weekend so she could go fuck her actual boyfriend when he was off school but I would still buy her stuff during the week,” Danny said. “Especially on Fridays, to keep her from fucking dumping me.”

Danny laughed at this, but it brought a sudden, painful ache to Belle’s heart. 

“That’s awful,” she said. “How long were you together?”

“A year or two,” he said. “Hard to fucking keep track like that, yeah?”

She considered this. She didn’t think he’d told her because he wanted to talk about it, but because he wanted to share something with her. She could share more with him in return.

“Once, after we’d been married a year, Gaston went on a skiing trip with his football friends and came back with what he called ‘snow rash’ all over his neck,” she said. 

Danny snorted, and his amusement was contagious. She grinned. 

“Fucking snow rash, eh? Wish I’d gotten that the one fucking time I tried to ski instead of a fucking broken toe.”

“Who did you go skiing with?” She settled back into the chair as best she could with it being shaped like an egg. 

He heaved a gusty sigh. “Won a trip, was gonna take my brother to be nice, but then he got shot in the arse, so my ma came instead.”

“He got shot?”

“Aye, he’s a fucking shady bloke, got shot right in the fucking arse.” 

She snickered, and his shoulders relaxed. 

“My engagement ring is fake,” she said.

“You think I don’t fucking know that?” He took a gulp of whiskey. “I can spot a fucking scam a mile away.”

“Well, you should know then that I knew it was fake. He told me he was getting a fake one to save money, but wanted everyone to see how much he loved me.”

“Also a fucking scam, coincidentally.”

Once upon a time, thinking that Gaston’s love was a scam would have sent her weeping to bed, but sitting here in this egg chair with Danny, not even drinking alcohol, all she could do was laugh. 

“Was it Gaston that made you so upset today?” she asked.

“Yes, it was fucking Gaston.” He glanced at her, but he was grinning a little now. “He’s such a fucking wanker. Fucking looked at me all fucking wide-eyed when I said he wasn’t fucking welcome, like he doesn’t fucking know the fucking arrangement?”

She shrugged. “Gaston is capable of forgetting a great many things when it suits him.”

“Oi, and then I fucking told him—I said, ‘your fucking beautiful wife toils her fucking life away for you and you fucking waste it playing fucking poker?’” He took another sip of his whiskey to fuel the next bit of his rant while a pink flush crept along Belle’s neck. “And he had the fucking nerve to play fucking stupid?”

Perhaps Danny didn’t realize what he’d said, or maybe he just didn’t think it was a big deal that he’d called her beautiful. If he didn’t think it was a big deal, then neither would she—until she was home and securely alone. 

“Did you throw a drink at him?” she asked.

“Holly did.” He smirked. “Smashed right into him with her tray, fucking cranberry juice all over. Cranberry juice was her fucking idea, by the way, so don’t let anyone fucking tell you that I don’t give credit where it’s fucking due.”

“Noted.” Belle could have cried again at everyone banding together to torment Gaston, but she kept it together. She would have to figure out which waitress Holly was and thank her. 

“Anyway, it just fucking pisses me off that he exists, yeah?” He drained his glass. “And there’s a-fucking-hundred more fucks like him with perfect fucking wives who just sit at home and raise their fucking kids while they sit in my fucking club and get lapdances from my fucking strippers.”

“Isn’t that kind of your business model?” Belle asked.

He glowered at her. “Just because I take their fucking money, doesn’t mean I fucking think highly of ‘em.”

Now that he’d finished his drink, she worried he’d leave their little cocoon, but he just set the empty glass on the floor and leaned back, pulling his knees up.

“I just want you to be fucking free of him,” he said. 

“You don’t like having me as an assistant?” she asked, surprising herself with the coyness of her voice.

“You’re a fucking great assistant, but you deserve to be fucking paid.”

Everyone knew Danny as stingy, but she didn’t know a single person in the club who didn’t think they made a fair wage for work done. Maybe it was out of generosity or maybe it was just a desire to avoid any and all potential lawsuits, but everyone loved working at the Parrot Club. 

“Danny?” 

“What?” 

“Remember when you told me to take off my wedding ring?”

He looked down at his glass like he wished it was still in his hand. “Aye, it wasn’t that fucking long ago, Belle, I’m not fucking stupid.”

She pursed her lips, but then chickened out and took a sip of her drink. She couldn’t chicken out though. She had to be brave and tell him about her coffee date. What was there even to be afraid of?

“Well, you also told me to date. And so, I have one. Tomorrow.”

“What?” Danny leapt out of the chair, and Belle curled into it in alarm. “A fucking date? Tomorrow?”

“Yes,” she said, suddenly anxious even though her logical mind told her she had no reason to be. “I might be a little late tomorrow.”

“Late?”

She swallowed. “Is that—is that okay?”

He stopped pacing and stared at her, and then smacked his hand on his desk. She flinched. “Of course it’s fucking okay,” he said, though it didn’t sound okay. “I’m fucking happy for you.”

“Oh. Great. Thank you.” It didn’t feel like he was happy for her, but maybe he was just still out of sorts. 

He stomped around a bit, and she considered going back to her desk, but then he plopped back into their shared egg chair.

“So who is it, then?” he asked. “Better not fucking be Frank.”

“Frank doesn’t even speak to me unless you make him,” Belle said. “No, it’s with the man who was in the shop this afternoon?”

Danny stared at her, then his jaw dropped a full fifteen seconds later. “Not the fucking toff in a costume?”

She blushed. “Yes. That one.”

“The one you fucking hallucinated?” 

“Yes.”

He shook his head, too amused and horrified for her liking. “You gonna tell him you dreamed about him at your window?”

“It was a hallucination,” she said. “I couldn’t help it!” 

“So you’re gonna tell him then, see what he does?”

“No!”

She was glad he was needling her, but that didn’t make her blush any less. Was this what it was like? Having friends and dating?

“Good, because I’m not so fucking sure it was a hallucination,” he said. “I mean, I know your window’s high and he didn’t have any blood or what the fuck ever, but I get a bad feeling, yeah?”

“From Francis?”

“Francis.” He scoffed. “Of course that’s his fucking name. Yes, fucking Francis. Who the fuck wears a fucking uniform to a fucking bookstore?”

Belle pursed her lips. “Someone who wears a uniform to work and goes to the bookstore on their way home?”

He shook his head. “Fucking weird is what it is.”

She huffed. “Well, it had to be a hallucination because he doesn’t like blood. I got a papercut and he was really freaked out by it.”

“Who the fuck is freaked out by a fucking papercut?” Danny shook his head. “You know what? I’m fucking happy you’re going out with him. You need to go on dates with fucking losers so you can see just how much you’re fucking worth.”

Which was, in fact, the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her, even if it sounded like an insult. Belle forced herself not to smile too much.

“Fine,” she said. “Then find me some losers to date.”

“Maybe I fucking will,” Danny said.

“Good.”

“Fine.”

The glowered at each other and then Danny cracked a smile first, and Belle followed after. Deciding not to think about it, Belle slipped her arm through his and leaned her head against the egg.

“Hey, Danny?” she said as he leaned in the opposite direction, hand twitching against her thigh.

“What?”

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “What do I keep telling you?”

She smiled. “Don’t mention it?”

“Don’t fucking mention it.”

Chapter Text

Near the end of Belle’s busy shift, the stress began. All day, she’d been fine because it was just coffee, but now that the date loomed closer, worries popped up like daisies.

What if her red skirt and blue blouse were too much? What if he thought she had tried too hard on her outfit? What if she hadn’t tried hard enough? What if the heels she’d changed into scared him? 

She’d considered dashing down to the Parrot Club on her break and soliciting outfit opinions from her coworkers there, but that was beyond the pale for a coffee date with a man she’d been chatting with for months. Surely, he did not care how tall her shoes were, nor how thick her tights.

At a minute after four, her replacement hurried in with an apology, but Belle didn’t mind. Francis hadn’t come in yet, and having to work meant that she couldn’t stand outside and wait for him anxiously.

“You look nice,” Gillian said with a quick smile. “Date?”

“Sort of,” she said, and then, for some reason, Gaston popped into her mind being hurt about the idea that she would date someone else. 

“Have fun!”

She nodded her thanks, heading to the back room to get her coat and purse and trying to think of anything but her estranged husband. He could feel however he wanted. Even if he was hurt, it didn’t make what she was doing wrong. Besides, he had no right to be hurt if she dated anyone.

By the time she made it outside, she was breathing so hard she was dizzy, and Francis wasn’t even there yet. A new worry formed—what if he stood her up?

She couldn’t take that.

Then, a cluster of people entered the pub across the street, and there was Francis, leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette. Instead of his uniform, he wore a navy suit under his coat with a dark red tie. He raised a hand to her, and she finally sucked in a full breath. 

Before she could rush across the street, he was hurrying over to her, blowing a thick stream of smoke out behind him and then stubbing the cigarette—cigarillo?—out on an engraved metal holder he pulled from his pocket.

“I have to apologize,” he said, as though he had sensed she’d been worrying for the last hour. “I was standing much closer, but it made your coworker uncomfortable.”

Of course Francis wasn’t even late. She doubted he could be late to something if he tried.

“No need to apologize,” she said. “We're both here now.” 

“Shall we?” He held his arm out to her and she took his elbow, remembering taking Danny’s just like this. God, could she not just think about the man she was on a date with while she was on a date with him? Honestly.

“How were your tours today?” she asked him, because that was what she always asked him and it was easy.

“I was off today,” he said.

“Oh.” She swallowed. Would he have come in his uniform if he’d worked, or would he have gone home and changed? 

“I started the book,” he said. “You were right. I’m enjoying it. I don’t think I’ll have it done by Monday, though.” 

“Well, I suppose even you are governed by the laws of time and space,” she said.

He chuckled. “Perhaps someday, I won’t be.” 

She smiled, wishing they were doing anything but walking uncomfortably arm in arm, and then they reached the coffee shop. 

“Have a seat,” he said, waving toward the tables. “What can I get you?”

She swallowed. She never bought coffee out because she couldn’t rationalize splurging on a fancy drink and she hated spending money on a basic one she could make herself. But since she had agreed to coffee, she’d figured she would just order first and buy herself a cup of tea or a drip coffee, whichever was cheapest.

“Belle,” Francis said, voice firm. 

“Sorry.” She forced a smile. How long had she just stood there, staring blankly at the menu across the room?

“I invited you,” he said. “You don’t need to worry about money.”

She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, he touched her elbow. 

“You mentioned once that you like cappuccinos?” he asked. 

She nodded. 

“Sugar?” 

She nodded again, and he released her elbow to wind his way to the front. There was an open corner table tucked away from most people, so Belle grabbed it, and then sat, staring at her empty ring finger and thinking about how furious Gaston would be that she was on a date with a man smaller, smarter, and better dressed.

Why hadn’t she planned for being a ball of nerves? She took out her phone to see if anyone had called, but Danny was the only person who ever called her, and that was usually while she was in the office and he was out. Sometimes she got calls from the bookstore, but that was unlikely since she’d just left. 

Francis set a big mug in front of her, a heart drawn into the cappuccino foam. His had a leaf.

“Thank you.” She wrapped her hands around it, staring into the foam lines. Already, they blurred from the jostling of being brought to the table.

“All right,” he said, taking his seat across from her. “What can I do or say to make you less uncomfortable?”

She laughed without humor. “Honestly?” She looked at him, and he wasn’t smiling, but he still had the same familiar look of having knowledge no one else did. She wished it comforted her. 

“Well?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think there’s anything you could say. I haven’t been on a date in ten years, much less a first date.”

“Then this isn’t a date,” he said. 

This time, her smile was a little less miserable. “It’s too late. It’s already in my head. I wore heels.”

She stuck her foot out for him to see, and his eyes traveled up her stockinged leg until they slid back to her face. She wanted to blush. Perhaps Francis had found her attractive all this time. Perhaps she should have already known that.

“They’re lovely.” He took a sip of his own cappuccino, foam catching in his mustache. “Why don’t you tell me about whatever book you’re reading?”

He sucked the ends of his mustache into his mouth, and the gesture jolted something in Belle. It was so human, so normal. She blew on her steaming mug.

“Well, it’s just a reread,” she said. 

“You’ve been rereading a lot recently,” he said.

“It’s comforting to reread,” she said. “No surprises.”

“Is it something I’ve read?” he asked.

She slurped up a sip of her coffee, thinking back to all the books she’d recommended him. “I don’t think so. At least, not that I’ve given you. It’s called The Relics.”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think I’ve heard of it.”

“It’s good,” she said. “Maybe not your cup of tea, though.”

He nodded, and then, “So you haven’t been on a date in ten years?”

“Well, getting right to the point, are you?” she asked, pleased to hear something that wasn’t nervous come out of her mouth.

“I made my smalltalk with you for months,” he said, watching her over his mug with the same intent look as when he’d asked her for coffee. “I didn’t ask you on a date so we could chat about the weather.”

Was there an amount of makeup she could wear that would hide a blush of this magnitude? Unlikely. 

“Well, I met Gaston when I was seventeen, we were married at nineteen, and now here I am.” 

He twisted his mustache, and she found herself wishing she had a mustache to twist in thought. How nice it must be. 

“So you’ve only been on one first date?”

Oh god. “That’s right.” She should never have said that. Her first date with an adult man ever and she confessed to the most uncomfortably bare love life possible? 

“Well.” He took a sip of his coffee, pursing his lips to avoid getting foam in his mustache again. “I’m honored to be your second first date.”

She put coffee in her mouth before she could say that he was the second person to ever inquire about a first date. That was information best left for spilling to Danny when drunk, not whilst on her second first date ever.

“I’m sorry, I seem to have forgotten entirely how to talk to you,” she said. “Is that normal for a first date?”

“I don’t think it’s abnormal, but I have to say, I don’t go on many first dates either.”

“Well, I have a hard time believing that,” she said, and then flushed at her own boldness. “You’re so self-possessed. People love that.”

“You’d be surprised.” He drained his cup and she didn’t know if he was drinking particularly fast or if she was slow. 

“Have you ever been married?” she asked.

“Married?” He shook his head. “But I’ve—dabbled.”

“Dabbled?” She raised an eyebrow. “In marriage?”

He shrugged. “Marriage is just a legal contract. Sometimes, there are more important bonds.”

“Like what?”

He chuckled, a far-off look in his eyes like he was replaying a memory. “Let’s just say, marriage has not always been on the table for me.”

What did that mean? She was dying to know, but she also didn’t want to give the impression that she was gunning to get engaged again. She wasn’t even divorced yet.

“So have you always wanted to work in a museum?” she asked. 

He shook his head. “I was in the army when I was younger, and then I intended to go into politics, but by the time I got back, I thought—something simple. Something I enjoy.”

Belle’s heart swelled. That’s what she wanted—something simple that she enjoyed, that gave her a life, that allowed her to take care of herself.

“That’s lovely,” she said. “That’s what the bookstore was supposed to be for me. I’ve worked there for years.” 

“It’s not?” he asked. “You seem to like it.”

“I like you,” she said, and then blushed when his lips spread into a smirk. “I mean, talking to you. I like talking about books with people. But lately it’s felt like a trap, and I think I could just—” She waved her hands, searching for the words. “—I don’t know, chew my leg off to get out.”

“Sounds like you’re desperate,” he said, but he didn’t seem to mean it in the way it had been thrown at her in the years leading up to her sham of a wedding. 

“Maybe I am,” she said. “At least I have Danny.”

Why had she said that? Why would she talk about Danny, of all people, while on a date with Francis? 

“Who doesn’t pay you,” Francis said.

“No, but at least I have someone to talk to for more than just a few minutes at a time.”

She finished her own coffee and then stared into their empty mugs. Was this the end of the date? 

“Look,” Francis said. “I know you’re wearing heels, but would you like to take a walk?” 

“Yes,” she said. A walk was just what they needed—something more familiar. If only they could have had this date at the register of the bookshop.

He brought their dishes back to the counter, then waited for her at the door while she switched out her heels for the flats in her purse, and then she took his arm and he led her outside. It was dark by now, and the night air had a chill that her thick tights didn’t quite protect her from, so she held him a little tighter than she otherwise might have.

“You know,” he said, free hand in his coat pocket. “I know we haven’t had the most successful first date, but I think if we work through the kinks, we could get better at it.”

She smiled. “I don’t think you have anything to work on.”

He shrugged. “A gentleman never blames a woman.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to hold me to a higher standard.”

“Well, I’ve had a lot more experience than you,” he said. “At the very least, I am much older.”

She glanced sideways at him. It felt rude to ask exactly how much older, so she didn’t. She would have been surprised if he was over forty, though.

“Does that bother you?” He glanced down at her.

“Not at all.” She pulled her arm more tightly through his. “I’m much more concerned with how you treat me than how old you are.”

He looked down at her again, this time with an eyebrow raised, and she chewed her lip.

“I’m sorry, was that selfish of me?” she said.

He shook his head. “Not at all. You should be concerned with how people treat you. No one in this world can look out for you as well as you can.”

“Very wise of you, Francis,” she said, his name foreign in her mouth. Her instinct was still to call him Ives. 

“Other than the spontaneous work trips, how did Gaston treat you?” he asked. 

Belle considered this. Part of her hated to just blanket badmouth him. After all, she was the one who had stayed with him so long, wasn’t she? He must have had some good qualities.

“He was a very good son-in-law while my dad was alive,” she said. God, that was nine years ago.

“A good son-in-law can be a double-edged sword,” Francis said. “If your father doesn’t believe he can do any wrong.”

“Well, he must have had some good qualities,” she said out loud this time. “Otherwise I stayed with him—what, because I was lazy? Stupid?” 

He watched her, seeming to sense that she was talking more to herself than to him. 

“Did I really let someone make all of my own decisions for me out of something like loyalty?” 

He laid a gloved hand over hers. “Whatever your reasons were, whether you agree with them now or not, you can’t blame yourself for being under his thumb.” 

“I was going to leave him once.” She flexed her hand under his, then linked their pinkies together. “But then he got the big job in London, and promised things would be better with a change of scenery. And then I guess after, it just didn’t seem worth it.”

“Until you discovered the gambling?” he asked.

She nodded. “I could take the cheating. It meant he left me alone to do whatever I wanted. But to ruin my life like that? To tangle us so close together when he knew we were happiest apart?” Her fingers dug into his arm. “I finally decided that it couldn’t be up to him. No one decides my fate but me.”

Francis didn’t speak as they walked, nearing the club. Belle wasn’t sure if this would be the end or not. It certainly didn’t have to be.

“Well,” he said. “I once thought you a meek shop girl who loves books.”

“I still am,” she said.

He shook his head, and then threaded the rest of their fingers together. “You are brave. You seize what you want.” 

“I don’t know that I do,” she said. “It took me six months to take off my wedding ring.”

“You just need a little practice.” He stopped walking, sliding his hand out of hers. “I’d be happy to show you the ropes.”

She looked up at him as he straightened his elbow, and then, somehow, he used this to maneuver her against the wall. Her heart sped up, but she couldn’t tell if it was with excitement or anxiety. Those two emotions were too close anyway.

“You will?” she said, biting her lip up at him. He really was handsome.

“It’s the most important lesson a person can learn,” he said, voice a gentle shiver down her neck. He stepped closer to her, pulling off his gloves.

“So what do you want to seize?” she asked, heart racing. 

He slid a bare hand around her neck, letting his fingers trail along the skin before doing the same with his other hand.

“I think you know the answer.”

Her face warmed, starting where his fingers rested beneath her jawline. “I thought our date wasn’t going very well?” 

“That doesn’t change my opinion of you.” 

He stepped closer so their knees touched, and Belle’s heart had never raced like this before, never raced in such anticipation. She could usually recall her first kiss with Gaston in perfect detail—sitting next to him at the cinema, horror film playing, her eyes closed until she felt his face in front of her—but now she could barely remember what his face looked like.

Was he waiting on her? His thumb brushed against her pulse, and her heart responded as though that was an instruction.

“Well?” he said. 

“Kiss me,” she said, and then his warm lips were on hers. All thoughts flew from her head as Francis slid one hand into her hair, using it to tilt her face. She didn’t even have time to worry over her skills. Her hands moved to his waist, and he pressed her to the wall, and why had no one ever told her that kissing could feel this way? How could she have ever known that quiet, buttoned-up Francis Ives could touch his lips to hers and make her feel so wanted? 

He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and bit it, hard, and she let out an involuntary whimper. Then he was pulling away, pulling back, and the only thing keeping her upright was the wall.

“Apologies,” he said, chest heaving. “I got carried away.”

“That’s okay,” she said, wondering if her legs would continue to support her or if they would be jelly the rest of the night. “No need to apologize.”

“So,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

They hadn’t discussed it, but standing there pressed against the wall, Francis’ hands around her throat, body against hers, it seemed inevitable.

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll give you my number. I might not be able to answer a call, but you can text me.”

He frowned down at her as though she’d spoken a language he didn’t know, and the fact that they were outside, pressed against a wall, making out like teenagers struck her, and she wanted to wilt.

“Sorry, I don’t—I mean—” What was she apologizing for?

“No, no.” He shook his head, then pressed a quick kiss to her. She calmed, but barely. “I’m sorry, I don’t use my phone much. Your lips enchanted me, and I wasn’t thinking straight.” 

“Well,” she said. “You certainly do know how to charm.” 

“What’s your number?”

“Are you just going to remember it?”

He shook his head, then kissed her again. “I’m just not ready to let go of you.”

Francis Ives had more romance in the thumb gently caressing her neck than Gaston had in his entire enormous body. 

“Well,” she said. “I don’t have to be at work yet.” 

“Good.” He kissed her again, and suddenly, she no longer cared where she was or what they were doing, just that Francis’s mouth was warm, his tongue gentle, and his hands touched her like he couldn’t let go.

Chapter Text

She didn’t mean to moon her way into work like this, especially not after being over an hour late. Once Francis left, she couldn’t just go in, so she’d jogged home to make sure there were no visible signs of making out against a wall and ended up having to brush her hair and put it up as well as redo the foundation around her mouth.

Now, it was like a different person walked in her shoes. Maybe she could have happiness without being alone. Maybe there was hope for her. 

“Oi, there you fucking are,” Danny said when she pushed the door open. 

“You said it was okay,” she said, but she couldn’t find it in her to be defensive. Even if Danny was mad, how could she be upset? Romance was real and she finally knew it.

“Yeah, yeah, but how was I to fucking know that every single fucking stripper on the floor was gonna come to my fucking office one by fucking one and ask for you?”

She froze, coat halfway off. “What?” 

He bounded out of his chair and across the room, and she thought he meant to take her coat but then he just pivoted to pace.

“For fucking years, the strippers never fucking talk to me, and then I fucking hire you and suddenly it’s open fucking season on my fucking office.”

She hung her coat, then just stood to watch Danny hurl himself back and forth on the balls of his feet. “What do they want me for?”

“Fuck if I know.” He whirled to face her. “Your date was good?”

She meant to give a noncommittal answer because she had the feeling that Danny didn’t want to hear about her newfound zeal for life, but that went out the window when she blushed from forehead to neck. 

“That fucking good, eh?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“No, I just—” She pressed her lips together. “I just believe love is real now, that’s all.”

“What, you in love with your fucking hallucination?” he asked. 

“Not in love ,” she said. “Just, you know, open to the possibility that I can have happiness with another person instead of by myself.”

He stalked back over to his desk. “Fucking good, because I found you a load of dates.”

That’s right. She’d told Danny he could set her up. Why had she done that? “You did?”

“Aye, it’s a fucking carousel of wankers.”

She laughed. “No one good at all?”

“Dunno, you’ve got shite taste, maybe you’ll love ‘em.”

Was that allowed? Gaston would never have been okay with her seeing other people when they started dating, but they were seventeen then. Adults dated differently, according to pop culture.

Also, she could just ask Francis tomorrow when they went out for drinks. 

“Okay.” She forced a smile. “Set me up.”

“One of ‘em’s fucking disgustingly rich, but cheap as fuck, so tell him you only fucking drink champagne when he takes you out, hey? I wanna know how much cash he’ll fucking drop on the chance of getting laid.”

Belle’s eyes widened. “I’m not sleeping with any of them.”

“Of course you fucking aren’t, I know that, and they fucking know it too.” He curled up. “Doesn’t fucking mean they won’t try their fucking best.”

To be honest, Belle wasn’t even sure she wanted to sleep with Francis. It would take a lot more than one thorough kiss to purge all the bad feelings she associated with Gaston.

She took out Danny’s ledger to see which payments were coming up and make sure he knew about them, and then someone knocked, pushing the door open before Danny could even finish muttering to himself about it. The woman standing there wore a floor-length sequined skirt with slits up to both hips and nipple tassels.

“Mr. Devine—” 

“Oi, she’s fucking here now, just fucking take her.”

The woman smiled at Belle and beckoned her, so Belle, wondering what on earth anyone other than Frank might want with her at the Parrot Club, followed her out.

Behind all of the lap dance boxes was a little room with a table, a handful of chairs, a sink, and a microwave where everyone took their breaks. There were five women there, including one that might have been the Holly who threw drinks at Gaston.

“Hi,” Belle said, not wanting anyone to know that she didn’t know their names. Why didn’t she know their names? Had she just been in a six-month fog?

“We met your husband,” maybe-Holly said in a thick London accent. “And we all decided that you deserve better. So we got you this.”

Someone pulled a sparkly green gift bag out, and a lump caught in Belle’s throat. 

“Oh my god,” she said, accepting the bag. “Oh my god, this is so sweet and I don’t even know your names.”

“There’s a lot of us, only one of you,” the woman who collected her said. “I’m Tatiana.”

They introduced themselves around the table, and Belle had been right about Holly. Her lip trembled, her eyes watered, and she clutched the handles of her gift so tightly, her fingers ached.

“Go on,” Holly said. “Open it.”

Unable to speak, Belle dug through the tissue paper and pulled out something bright wrapped in a blister pack. For a second, she couldn’t figure out what it was. Then she saw the batteries and the small bottle of lube at the bottom of the bag.

“Oh my god,” she said before she could stop herself. 

“It’s the newest model,” Holly said.

“We didn’t know what color you liked, but pink is always safe,” another woman, Crystal, said. 

“And I like glitter,” Tatiana said.

It sure was pink, and it sure did have glitter. Belle twisted the package around to see that it came with a remote, and another small, silver object shaped like an egg. 

“Thank you,” she said weakly. “It’s beautiful.”

They all snickered, and she probably would have too if she hadn’t been so busy trying to wrap her mind around the sparkling pink phallus in her hands. At least it wasn’t huge. In fact, for having been purchased for her by a group of women who didn’t know her at all, it seemed like an incredibly useable model.

Not that she would use it. She wouldn’t even know where to begin.

“We thought you might need some faith in life,” Holly said. “That man is not well-equipped.”

She didn’t want to know if that was speculation or if someone in this room had been alone with Gaston before. 

“And we figured you might never have been into the sex shop before,” Tatiana said.  “Some people are embarrassed, but now you’ll have a better idea of what you want if you go in yourself.”

“That was very thoughtful,” she said. Then, one by one, they all stood and gave her a hug, filing out of the room and leaving her alone with her new sex toy. 

She stuffed it back in the bag, covering it with tissue paper. What could she do with it? Her only two options were go back into Danny’s office, hope he wasn’t there, and stuff it into her purse, or to run home and then back and find some excuse for why.

In the end, she didn’t feel like running home and back. She had limited energy on workdays and she couldn’t waste it over being embarrassed about something Danny couldn’t even see. 

“What’d they want?” Danny asked when Belle tried to sneak in. 

“Um.” If she behaved suspiciously, he would be suspicious. “They got me a gift because Gaston sucks.”

“Why do you look so fucking stressed?” He narrowed his eyes. “What, is it a fucking taser or summat?”

She swallowed, skirting her way to the desk like she could avoid this conversation by keeping eyes on Danny at all times.

“Something like that.”

Danny sat up straighter. “What is it? You look like it’s a fucking dirty secret.”

“It’s not,” she said too quickly. She crushed the bag as much as possible and stuffed it into her purse.

“Well, well, well.” Danny stood and stretched. “It’s a fucking toy, isn’t it?” 

She could lie, but what was the point? “Yes. They all pitched in.”

He whistled, strutting over while she tried to hide in her chair. “Good for them, you’ll probably fucking need it when you’re done on all your new dates.”

“Why are you only setting me up with people you know I won’t like?” 

He hopped onto the edge of her desk, then spun around so he could sit cross-legged. This vibrator had put him in a good mood, apparently.

“Because you fucking need to learn to fucking stand up for yourself.” He jabbed a finger at her. “You let fucking Gaston push you around, and you’re fucking better than that. What if a fucking customer groped you? What would you fucking do?”

“I’d hit them with my purse,” she said. “Obviously.”

“And if you’re not fucking carrying it?”

He was probably looking for an answer like “I’d slap him” or “I’d kick him in the balls,” but Belle could not honestly say she’d do either of those things.

“Probably flail my arms as a reflex and then run off,” she said. “Maybe yell a little bit.”

“Jesus Christ, Belle, you break his fucking fingers,” he said. “You’re too fucking nice, how will anyone ever learn?”

“Well, you should walk me around the club then, like a tutorial, so I can practice.”

“Maybe later, it’s too fucking crowded out there, might lose you.” He leaned forward, suit stretching against the movement. Did Danny even like wearing suits so tight? “When’s your next date with Captain Wank?”

Belle pressed her lips together. “It’s colonel,” she said, and Danny scoffed.

“Fucking colonel. Colonel of fucking what? He works in a fucking museum.”

“He was in the army!”

Danny snorted. “What, the fucking British army? Doing what? Fighting in World War fucking II?” 

“We’re going out for drinks tomorrow,” she said loudly.

“Drinks? Didn’t you get a drink today?” 

She shook her head. “We got coffee.”

“That’s a fucking drink,” he said. “Who goes for drinks on a second fucking date? And tomorrow’s your day off, don’t you fucking have time for dinner?”

“We’re taking things slow,” she said, which was the reason she hadn’t suggested anything like going to a different museum or a hike when he’d told her that he had too many food sensitivities to eat at most restaurants.

“It’s a fucking weird second date,” Danny said. “Haven’t you already gotten through the fucking first, second, and third date chats?” 

“It doesn’t matter where we go,” she said. “We just need to get used to talking somewhere other than the bookshop. That’s all.”

“It does fucking matter, that’s why fucking Richie Richardson is taking you to fucking Antoine’s on Monday.”

“Monday?” She frowned. “That’s not a very romantic date night, is it?”

“Didn’t want to take one of your days off,” he said. 

“But I work both jobs on Monday.”

“Aye, so you’ll have a fucking excuse to leave, won’t you?” 

She rolled her eyes. “Very thoughtful of you to give me an escape plan for the bad date you’re making me go on.” 

“Look, I don’t know anyone who doesn’t fucking suck except you and Frank,” he said. “And I’ll be fucking fucked if the two of you fucking date each other.”

“Frank’s pretty cute, though,” she said, grinning at Danny’s angry spluttering. 

“Oi, one fucking rule I’ve got and it’s don’t fucking date Frank.”

“What about one of your dominatrixes?” 

“Jesus, one fucking sex toy and suddenly you want to be hit with a fucking riding crop?” 

She pressed her lips together to keep from grinning and widened her eyes. “Would that bother you?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed and he shifted around on her desk, suit digging into his legs. “No, it wouldn’t fucking bother me, okay? Don’t date Frank.”

Since Danny didn’t seem in any hurry to find something for her to do, she rolled her chair closer to the desk and leaned toward him.

“Danny?”

“What?”

“Do you want to play chess?”

He glowered down at her, but she knew that meant yes, and she grinned. “Fucking fine, but I’m getting you drunk first.”

“Do you think that’s going to help you win?” she asked, pulling out the travel set she kept in her desk drawer.

“Well it won’t fucking hurt, will it?”

Chapter Text

Date number two was going swimmingly. Belle wore a green boatneck dress and a thick black belt along with her leggings and boots, and even though it was basic enough she might have worn it to work, she felt cute in it, and Francis’ roaming eyes only served to fuel that feeling.

They sat tucked into the corner of a wine bar, picking at a bowl of fancy almonds and sharing a bottle of red. It turned out that Francis did change into a suit after work, which was kind of a relief, although Belle liked him in uniform.

“So you’ve never been out of England?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

She shook her head. “Not since I arrived from Australia. My dad was too poor, and Gaston just wanted to go to Brighton for our honeymoon. I used to have a map of places I wanted to go, but it was too difficult to take down and put back up.”

“What kind of map?” he asked, popping an almond into his mouth. So, almonds were not on his list of food sensitivities. 

“Just a paper one. I stuck a bunch of pushpins in it, so it had holes all over and it would be impossible to put them all back in the right spot. It ripped in a few places too.” She shrugged. “I have it folded up in one of my book boxes somewhere.”

“Well,” he said. “I love to travel.”

“Do you?” She set down her empty glass. “Is it difficult to travel with all your allergies?”

He refilled her glass, then topped off his own. “It certainly doesn’t make things easier, but I manage.”

“So, it wouldn’t be forever that we couldn’t eat together?” she asked. 

“Oh, no.” He watched her over his glass with the same secret-hiding smile. “Someday, I’d like to cook for you, but that’s a little intimate for a second date, I think.”

Her cheeks pinked. “I’d like that.” She took a sip of her wine. She hadn’t yet asked him about seeing other people, and this was as good a segue as anything. “So, does that mean—are we exclusive?”

“Why do you ask?” 

Part of her was eager to explain, to make sure they were on exactly the same page, but another part of her feared retribution. Francis had never been unreasonable, though. If he had a problem with it, she was sure he would say it calmly.

“Danny set me up on a blind date tomorrow,” she said. “He thinks I need to get back out there since I’ve been with Gaston for so long.” She would not mention the fact that tomorrow’s date was supposedly rich, cheap, and unpleasant.

“Not a bad idea,” he said. “I don’t mind at all if you date other people.” 

She paused, glass halfway to her mouth. “You don’t?”

He shook his head. “It’s a good idea for you to see your other options.” 

“Oh.” Was this something she should panic over? It only relieved her. Gaston was so possessive. “For the record, I don’t mind you dating either.”

He shook his head again. “I have no need to date around,” he said. “And in the end, when you choose me—and you will choose me—I want it to be because this is what you wanted, not because it was the only option.” 

What if she kissed him across the table? That was crazy. 

“Very confident,” she said, knees already jelly though he hadn’t even touched her. He had a beautiful voice. 

“You will be too,” he said. “Just give it time.”

They stayed at the bar for almost two hours, going through the bowl of almonds and then a bowl of pimentos stuffed with cheese that Belle ate most of while Francis nibbled on one. They only drank the one bottle of wine, but Belle was happy to be there even if they were just drinking water. When they left, Francis offered to walk her home.

“Do you live far?” she asked when they set out.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I’d hate to send you home alone in the dark when I could just as easily have escorted you.”

They walked arm-in-arm, and Belle pointed out the places she liked to go sometimes, fearing she was boring him, but he always smiled at her like she’d said something delicious. 

Belle glanced up at him, glad to find him watching straight ahead so that she could study his profile. She would never have said she liked mustaches or goatees, but she couldn’t imagine Francis without them. They suited his elegant face.

“So,” she said, in a sudden surge of bravery. 

He looked down at her, an eyebrow raised. “So?”

“Are you going to kiss me tonight?” 

He smirked, pulling her arm tighter against him. “I thought I made my intentions clear.” 

“Did you?”

“Well.” He rested his hand over hers. “If I want to make my case for you to choose me, I figure I should present my best arguments.”

She smiled down at the ground. 

“We’re almost to my flat,” she said. She wanted to invite him up, but the words stuck. In her tiny studio, there was not much for them to do other than use the bed, and she wasn’t ready for that.

“I thought so,” he said. “That alley looks familiar.”

“Does it?” she asked.

“Mm,” he said, and that was all the warning he gave before he dragged her into it and pressed her against the wall. 

“Do your educator colleagues know that you kiss women against walls in dark alleys?” Belle asked as his hands curled around her waist and hers crept up his chest.

“I am a man of many secrets.” He kissed her neck, mustache tickling her, and she shivered, biting her lip to hold off laughter. He kissed her again. “Is my mustache bothering you?”

“Not at all,” she said. With the way she was feeling, the scratchiness along her sensitive neck only made her want to kiss him more.

“Good.” He kissed up her neck. “Because I intend to use it to your advantage at some point.”

“What do you mean?” She gripped his lapels, eyes fluttering shut.

“If you don’t know—” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “—I’m not going to tell you.”

Before she could respond, his mouth was on hers. It didn’t matter. She trusted him to use his mustache and mouth however he saw fit.

With her hands already on his chest, it was easy to slide them up and around his neck this time, burying her fingers in his silky hair. He groaned when she inadvertently tugged on a fistful, crushing her against the wall, and of its own volition, one of her legs wrapped around his, pulling his thigh closer between hers.

Feeling brave, daring, more brave and daring than she ever had with Gaston, she drew his bottom lip into her mouth as he had done with hers, sucking gently on it, until he growled and slid his hand down her back, cupping her backside and pulling her harder against his thigh.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked into her mouth, fingers digging into her. 

She felt like she was gasping for air though she could breathe just fine. “I don’t know,” she said, because how could she be anything other than honest when every place he touched her was on fire?

He dragged his mouth off hers to kiss and lick his way down her neck, and when she let out a soft sigh, he bit down hard. She cried out, squeezing his thigh between hers, and he pulled away to stare at where he’d bitten.

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all, which was fine with Belle. “I got carried away again.” 

“I don’t mind,” she said, rubbing against him with every breath. 

“I should let you go in,” he said. “Before I devour you whole.”

Why did that set her blood aflame? But he was right. She wasn’t ready for more than this, whatever it was, against the wall. She had no idea what she liked or didn’t like, and Francis wanted her to ask for it, to know herself—at least, more than she did.

“Okay,” she said, but she didn’t let go of his hair and he didn’t let go of her ass.

“You have a date tomorrow?” he said. 

Even this statement could not counteract the feel of his muscular thigh between her legs. “Unfortunately.”

He bent his head, nuzzling his mustache over his still-stinging bite, and then licked it.

“Don’t think of me too much,” he said. 

“Do you really mean that?” she asked with a tiny grin.

“Not even a little bit.” He kissed her neck again. “Think of me every second.” 

They did pry themselves apart, and Francis walked her up to her door and then kissed her goodnight so chastely, no one would have known that, minutes ago, she’d been riding his thigh, and then she staggered up to her flat disheveled and debauched. 

She walked inside, glad that she had frozen dinners and wouldn’t have to think too hard about feeding herself, and then her eyes fell upon the giftbag on her table. She’d brought it home last night with no idea where to put it or what to do with it, but now, maybe she had some idea.

It took too long to get it out of the packaging, and then she had to wash and dry it, and then figure out the batteries, and then she figured she might as well take a shower and get cozy, and then she and her new pink vibrator were settled in bed. She had kept the curtains drawn since the night of her hallucination, but she checked that they were pulled tight just in case.

Then she stared at her new device, unsure. She couldn’t have been meant to just stick it inside her willy-nilly, could she?

When in doubt, Belle always researched, so she brought her laptop over and searched how to masturbate , then immediately regretted it and changed to how to use vibrator.

After a lot of scrolling, Belle found a video of a woman with a similar contraption—though much larger—on what appeared to be a reputable site that wouldn’t infect her computer. Of course, she was much more expressive for the camera, but Belle got the idea. 

She switched the vibrator on to its lowest setting and rubbed it between her legs. It wasn’t the same as having a hard thigh to rub against, but the vibrations felt good, and a shiver went through her body. She had the lube on her nightstand just in case, but it didn’t seem like she needed it at the moment. The woman on screen used her free hand to play with her nipples, so Belle reached up her shirt to flick her own, surprised at how nice that felt. 

Sex with Gaston had been painful the first few times, perfunctory the rest, and they eventually stopped having it when he sought it elsewhere, which had always been fine with Belle. Since sex had never thrilled her, masturbating had never been in the forefront of her mind, even as she read romance novels that made it sound fun. If the strippers had never gotten this for her, would she ever have known?

She rode the vibrator lengthwise for several minutes, pinching and rubbing her nipples as she did. Then the woman on screen used the tip to tease her vulva and Belle, as though this were an instructional manual, did the same. 

Part of her thought she would fantasize about Francis, but she was enthralled by the woman on screen. She had seen porn before, but it was always a male fantasy, and maybe this was too, but this woman didn’t need anyone else, and neither did Belle. The woman slid her enormous dildo inside of her and cried out for the camera, thrusting her pert breasts forward, and Belle mirrored her but slowly, slowly, sliding the vibrator inside herself with a little gasp.

The woman rode hers up and down, but Belle didn’t need to. She held it in place while her hips rocked gently and her hands teased her nipples, and the toy vibrated inside her, and then she turned it up one more notch and couldn’t help the moan. 

Every noise she’d ever made for Gaston had been for show, so the sounds coming from her mouth without prompting surprised her, and she closed her eyes to savor it, listening to the woman’s screams and commentary now without watching.

She knew enough to know that it was unlikely she’d come just from penetration, so soon, her free hand drifted down to rub her clit, and she bucked against herself.

She thought about Francis’ biting her lip, and then, without her asking it to happen, Danny’s smirk filled her mind, the shit-eating grin on his face when he found out his strippers had bought this for her, and then she was coming with a combination of screams and moans and cries that she hoped her neighbors couldn’t hear. 

When her body stilled, she turned the vibrations off and laid there, dildo inside her. Whatever she fantasized about unwillingly in the privacy of her own bed didn’t mean anything, and she refused to be bothered by it. If she had learned anything from romance novels, it was that fantasizing about one’s boss was totally normal, especially when they had been so kind.

She laid in bed, unmoving, for what could have been hours. All this time, she had never known she could love herself so well. She was going to have to find a way to thank her coworkers.

Chapter Text

Belle had never wanted to go on this date with this Richie Richardson, and, as soon as they sat down, she knew she was right. The first thing he did when she met him outside the restaurant was joke about how much her turtleneck covered, and that was even before she’d said hello. 

Of course, she’d had to wear the turtleneck, because otherwise Francis’ bite would have been visible, and seeing another man’s teeth marks on her neck would probably have been more upsetting than the sweater itself.

When they sat, the waiter had barely set their menus down before he was ordering a bottle of Cristal—which might have been Danny’s fault—and assuring her that she could order whatever she wanted. 

“If you’ll excuse me for just a minute,” she said, setting her menu down. “I need—powder my nose.”

Before he could respond, she’d fled to the bathroom to call Danny.

“Are you lying dead in a fucking ditch?” he asked. 

“No, I’m sitting in the crosshairs of a man who thinks a sex joke is an acceptable greeting for a stranger.” She stared at herself in the mirror, wishing she looked less pale and sick. 

“Did he get you the champagne?”

“Oh, yes.” She shuddered. “He’s very generous tonight.”

“So fucking let him be. You’re fucking skint. Get the fucking lobster.” 

She didn’t really want lobster, but she wouldn’t say no to a nice steak. “You don’t think he’ll grope me?”

“What’d we fucking talk about groping, Belle?”

“I can’t hit him with my purse, we’re in a nice restaurant.”

“Who the fuck cares? He shouldn’t fucking grope you in a fucking nice restaurant, then. If he fucking behaves badly, he’s the fucking wanker who has to fucking deal with the fucking consequences, Belle, not you.”

Well. She couldn’t really argue with that. She pulled her collar down to stare at the mark on her neck. It might have looked like a generic bruise if not for the distinct tooth lines. She flushed. 

“If I take a taxi back to work, will you pay for it?” she asked, less shocked than she might have been yesterday at her own bravery. She could love herself now. What did she need to fear Danny for?

“I’ll fucking do you one better,” he said, and then, without explaining, hung up. What the fuck did that mean?

Without Danny, she had no reason to be hiding in the bathroom, so she took a deep breath, covered her bite up, and went back out.

Richie Richardson was at least twenty years older than her, which didn’t bother her on principle, except all he did was complain about how successful his long career was, complain about his kids, and complain about a woman that he either used to be or was currently married to—Belle couldn’t tell.

When she did order her expensive filet, he raised his eyebrows, but said nothing until the oysters they would be sharing as an appetizer came, and then he made one off-color remark about it being an aphrodisiac, and Belle forced a smile.

“So,” he said as they waited for their entrees, sipping champagne. “What do you do?”

This was the first question he’d asked her all night. “I work in a bookstore,” she said.

He frowned. “Thought you were one of Danny’s strippers?” 

Had Danny told him that, or had he just assumed? Based on how much he’d talked today, she was confident he’d just assumed.

“Why did you ask if you thought you knew already?” she asked.

He shifted in his chair. “Just making conversation. You make a lot? In the bookstore?”

The only thing she wanted to do less than discuss her wages at the bookstore with this man was have any follow up to this date. 

“You were telling me about the time you wanted to sell your car,” she said instead. “That was so interesting, did you finish?”

It turned out he had finished, but this was enough to spur him on, and at least if he was talking about himself and not asking her anything, Belle could just ignore him. 

Their meals came, he made a comment about Belle’s eating that might have infuriated her if she’d been listening at all, and then he wanted to share the house specialty dessert, something with expensive cognac that was ignited tableside. Belle knew Danny would say to get the dessert, to stay, but she absolutely could not. She did not want to sit here any longer on this date.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m stuffed. That was lovely.”

He flagged the waiter down for the check, and after paying it, drained his champagne.

“Well, should we take a little stroll and then go up for a nightcap?” he asked.

Belle was so shocked to be asked this, she just stared at him, brow furrowed. 

“A nightcap?” she asked. “It’s barely past six.” And this date had not gone well at all.

“Well, maybe an after-dinner drink, then a nightcap.”

She opened her mouth but before she could speak, a voice she half-recognized cried, “Belle! There you are!” 

Instantly, everything was sweaty—her turtleneck collar, her bra, her sleeves, the bends of her knees—but then she turned to find Frank the bartender striding toward her. All she could do was mouth silently. Was something wrong with Danny? 

“Frank?” she asked. 

He reached her and dropped to one knee, and everyone in the restaurant gasped. Belle could not gasp because she was too confused. 

“Belle, baby, I’m so sorry,” he said, reaching for her hands. She let him take them, glancing around to see if there were hidden cameras or something. Or maybe Danny standing in a corner, laughing?

“I forgive you,” she said. 

“Please take me back, baby,” he said. “I promise, I’ll never take you for granted again.” 

“Okay,” she said to a slightly disappointed murmur from the crowd. Then, they all gasped again as Frank pulled a ring box out of his pocket, which he opened to reveal her own fake engagement ring.

“Will you marry me?”

She didn’t know Frank very well, but she could see him clenching his teeth against laughter. She pressed a hand to her heart.

“That would make me the happiest woman in London.”

Frank slid the ring onto her finger and then stood, pumping his arms. “She said yes, everyone!” 

The whole restaurant applauded, and Belle stood, hefting her purse over her shoulder. Richie Richardson stared at all this like he wasn’t sure what was going on. You and me both, Belle thought. 

“I’m so sorry,” was what she said. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

And then Frank had his arm around her, towing her out of the restaurant. As soon as the doors closed behind them, they were both laughing.

“What was that?” she asked, but then Danny’s ancient, beat-up Volkswagen van lumbered around the corner.

“Hurry, before he sees,” Frank said, then shoved her toward the van as Danny opened the passenger door for her.

She climbed in and Frank got in the back, and then they trundled off and all of the oysters and beef Belle had eaten had an opinion on this.

“Can you drive like a human being?” she asked. “I just ate.”

“How was it?” Danny asked. “Did he fucking scream when Frank came in?”

“He was confused,” Frank said. “Didn’t know what to make of me, I don’t think.”

Belle studied the ring on her hand. It didn’t feel wrong to have a ring there, but she no longer wanted to see this one. Maybe it was time to get a new one.

“Is this what ‘one better’ than paying for a taxi meant?” Belle asked.

“Thought you deserved to have two men fight over you,” Danny said.

“He didn’t fight Frank.” She pulled the ring off and held it clutched in her fist. What if she threw it out the window, let the streets of London take it? 

“I didn’t want to make a bad scene in the restaurant,” Frank said. “I had to adjust the plan when I saw how quiet it was.”

“I hope he’s fucking pissed,” Danny said, grinning as he gunned it over a pothole. 

“Was this date actually because you hate him or because you like me?” she asked.

“I can have two fucking reasons for doing something, Belle.”

“It was revenge,” Frank said. “Richardson’s been spreading a rumor that Danny’s club has herpes.”

“That was hardly revenge,” Belle said. “I mean, it was barely even embarrassing for him.”

“Well,” Danny said. “Frank was supposed to fucking clock him.”

“I didn’t think Belle would appreciate that,” Frank said. “Would you Belle?”

She considered this. “Not in the restaurant, no. It was very good, I’d like to be allowed to go back someday if I ever have more than ten quid to spare.”

Danny glanced at her, then back at the road, then back at her.

“You had a nice time?” he asked, then he was back at the road. 

“I didn’t say that.” She wrinkled her nose. “I just said the restaurant was nice. He was horrible. Is he married?” 

“Fuck if I know.”

She couldn’t just throw the ring out the window. Instead, she held it out to Frank, who stuck it back in his ring box. Maybe he could just keep it in case he ever needed to rescue her again. She couldn’t believe Frank had allowed himself to be involved in this—maybe he really did like her. 

Danny pulled in behind the club and they all trooped in, Frank setting the ring on her desk before heading back to the bar. 

“Now, to fucking business.” Danny bounded over to his desk, and Belle’s heart sank. She had hoped that this mood they were both in would mean it would be an easy night.

“Of course.” She sat in her desk, pulling on her turtleneck collar. It was warm in his office.

Danny rummaged around in his drawer while Belle took the ledger out, preparing to file receipts or whatever, but then Danny’s sounds stopped.

“Belle, what the fuck?” he asked.

“What?” How could she have already messed up? 

“Get over here, Jesus fucking Christ.”

She looked up, and Danny was not holding a stack of papers or a wad of cash, but Risk , the boardgame. Belle could have fainted with shock. 

“What?” she asked.

“I got fucking tired of losing at fucking chess, and we’ve never played this.” He slapped it on the table. “At least, I fucking haven’t.”

“I haven’t played either,” she said. “Though I am familiar with the concept.”

She rolled her chair over and sat opposite Danny while he unpacked the board, handing Belle the rules. While she read out how to set it up and he followed, a bartender entered with a tray of drinks.

“What’s this?” Belle asked when he handed her something in short glass with ice, a lemon wedge, and a cherry.

“Amaretto sour,” he said. “Frank said you’d like it.”

Frank knew she liked the pineapple drink, so she trusted him on this as well. Danny had a Manhattan with three cherries at the bottom, which made Belle smile. Danny would never have admitted to loving maraschino cherries, but Frank knew and put them in.

The bartender left and Belle sipped her drink—tasty—and she and Danny chose colors and counted out troops.

“You wearing a fucking sweatsuit on your date because I said he was a creep?” Danny asked, fishing one of the cherries out with his fingers. 

“Not exactly,” Belle said, cheeks turning pink. 

Danny popped the cherry in his mouth and sucked the bourbon off his fingers, then pointed at her and smirked. “It’s a fucking hickey, ennit?”

Belle was going to answer, but at the sight of him licking his fingers, her mind had filled with thoughts of her new pink vibrator. Oh no.

“No, it’s not a hickey,” she said, glad to be talking about this because it meant he would never know why her cheeks darkened further. “It’s, um—well.”

She pulled the collar down and over, and Danny squinted, then reared back.

“Jesus fucking fuck, are those fucking teeth marks?” he asked. “Is he a fucking vampire?”

“Well, he didn’t break the skin,” she said. “And people bite each other on the neck all the time, if romance novels are anything to go by.”

Danny shook his head. “If you fucking say so.”

Chapter Text

Belle was reading at the register when the door tinkled around the usual time she could expect Francis, so she marked her place and set it down, but then Frank the bartender walked in. 

“Hey,” he said.

For a second, she was too shocked to respond, but then she gathered herself and smiled. “Hi! How can I help you?”

“I need a Christmas gift for my fiancee,” he said. “I’ve got a list of her favorite books, so I was hoping you could recommend something.”

Belle reeled for a moment at all of this new information—Frank was engaged? Frank knew where the bookstore she worked in was? Frank trusted her to recommend something?

“Of course,” she said. “Can I see the list?”

He pulled a crumpled note out of his pocket and handed it over. After scanning it, she had some ideas, so she beckoned him around the shop.

It was nice chatting with Frank. He didn’t talk much, but he answered when she asked questions about his fiancee, Mary, and did tell her a story about one of the bartenders. 

They got back to the register with two books and a reading light, and as Belle rang him up, the door opened again. 

“Do you want a gift receipt?” she asked. 

“Sure.”

She printed it out, wrapping each book in tissue before sliding it into the bag just in case Frank was bad at wrapping, and then Francis meandered in in his work uniform. Belle smiled at him over Frank’s shoulder, but he didn’t look over, just wandered toward the shelves and out of sight. 

“Here you go.” Belle handed him the bag, watching the shadow of Francis’ movement out of the corner of her eye. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

“You’re here for a couple more hours, right?” he asked.

“Until four,” she said. 

He nodded. “See you.” He turned to leave, then stopped. “Oh, shit I almost forgot—the neck biting thing?” He shook his head. “Not weird. Danny doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

He left then, and Belle stood there wondering what the odds were of the earth opening up and swallowing her whole. Perhaps Francis hadn’t heard?

When Francis didn’t head over after about half a minute, Belle went to him, finding him studying the mystery section.

“Can I help you, Mr. Ives?” she asked. 

“Colonel,” he said. He looked down at her, and she swallowed. Was he mad about the neck thing? 

“Did you finish the book?” she asked. 

“Last night,” he said. “It was very good, you were right. I’m looking for something lighter, more predictable.” 

She studied the shelf, chewing her lip in thought, and then plucked out a mystery she’d read while she was still with Gaston that had been exactly what she needed to turn her brain off. 

“This one was quick.” 

He accepted it from her. “Is anyone else in the store?” 

“Nope,” she said. “Just us.”

“Good.” He set the book on top of the shelved ones and then slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her to him. She was wearing a regular top today because the mark had faded enough that she could cover it with makeup.

“Hi.” She slid her hands up his chest as he wrapped his other arm around her.

“Hello.” He kissed her, nowhere near as intensely as she expected from the look in his eyes. “Who was that just now?”

“That was Frank,” she said, gripping his lapels. Would making out ruin his work uniform? She hoped not, because she very much wanted to make out while he wore it.

“You’ll see him tonight?” he asked. “Was he your date last night too?”

Belle’s eyes widened. “Frank? Oh, no, he was just in here buying a gift for his fiancee. We work together at the club.” 

“Ah.” 

She couldn’t read his face, because he looked the same as he always did and he still had his arms around her, so instead of trying to defend herself further, she stood on her toes, pulled him forward, and kissed him

When they pulled apart, his eyes burned into hers, and she felt the desire to rub up against him again. That had to mean he wasn’t mad.

“So,” he said. “How was your date last night?”

“Awful,” she said. “Truly horrible.” She told him all about Richie Richardson, and then Frank and Danny’s scheme to embarrass him, and then, for good measure, she added the herpes rumor. 

Francis’ lip curled. “Disgusting,” he said. “Some men have less basic human decency than swine.”

She shrugged. “Some people make a little money and think it it makes them god.”

He chuckled, always like he had a secret. Maybe someday, Belle would know the secret. “Most men are fools with no idea of what truly brings them closer to god.”

Belle wasn’t sure what to say to that—was Francis religious? Maybe he was just tired from work. 

“Apologies,” he said. “I fear sometimes, I wax philosophical.” 

“One of your many good qualities,” she said. “Do you want to have coffee when I get off work?” 

“Yes, but I haven’t seen you in two days and I’m not ready to leave.” He kissed her again and then, when she wound her arms around his neck, hoisted her up.

“Francis!” She wrapped her legs around his waist on instinct, and he carried her over to the register as though she weighed nothing at all, setting her down on the edge with a smirk.

“Sorry.” He ran his hands up her thighs to rest on her hips. “More convenient this way.”

Belle peered around him, convinced now that someone had come in without her hearing. 

“Francis, I can’t just sit on the register and kiss you. I’m at work.”

“Can’t you?” He leaned into her, pressing his lips to the side of her neck without any makeup. “No one ever comes in.” 

“Frank came in earlier,” she said, closing her eyes when he kissed up to her jaw. “That was unusual.”

“Did you take a lunch break?” he asked.

“No.” 

He kissed down her jaw, then the corner of her mouth, and then her lips, and she was helpless not to follow along. How had she gone a whole day without seeing him? 

“So.” He pulled his head back just enough to talk, but his lips still moved against hers. “Put your break sign on the door and lock it.”

Was it a bad idea to be so smitten with a man she’d been on two dates with? Or maybe that happened to lots of people, and her original dating experience was the odd one.

“Okay,” she said. “Let me find the sign. But we really can’t make out on the register.”

“If you insist.”

She closed the shop and locked up and then, out of an abundance of caution, led him all the way to the back, near the science fiction-fantasy shelf, and then they were kissing again. 

Now that she knew how to love herself, she understood why she wanted his thigh between her legs when he pressed her to the wall, why, if not for the inappropriate nature of it, she would have loved to wrap her legs around his waist.

“Francis?” she said against his lips after they’d kissed long enough with her hands in his hair and his around her waist.

“Belle?”

She didn’t know what to ask for. She had never asked for anything for her own pleasure in her life, and while discovering it on her own was beautiful, the fact was that being alone meant she could experiment without having to articulate. 

But did Francis really need her to use words? He’d have to take his tongue out of her mouth if he really wanted her to speak, and he didn’t seem keen on doing that.

Choosing bravery, she let her hand drift down to Francis’ and then, before she could lose her nerve, brought it up to cup her breast over her blouse.

He squeezed it, then pressed his mouth and thigh closer to her, and she let out a tiny, involuntary moan when his palm rubbed over her nipple.

“Is this all you want?” he asked, rubbing his hard thigh between her legs. “One hand, over your shirt?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I work here.”

He pulled his mouth off of hers, but it was only to kiss down her neck again, toward the unbuttoned collar of her blouse. “You think too much about work,” he said. “Can I tell you what I want?” 

That scared her and thrilled her at the same time. 

“Yes,” she said. She wished they were somewhere more private, but then, the door was locked.

He kissed back up until his lips rested against her ear. “I want to eat you,” he hissed, and she almost collapsed. “I want you to come all over my tongue, and then I want to make you do it again and again, until you can’t walk anymore.” 

Was she meant to say something in response to that, or was her whimpered intake of breath enough? 

“What do you say?” He licked the shell of her ear and she jerked against his thigh. Clearly, she was meant to speak.

Obviously, the thought of Francis wanting her was enticing. But the thought of having any man’s face between her legs sent a small shiver of terror through her. Gaston had made it clear that he and most men found the act repulsive, which was fine with her because she hadn’t wanted him that intimately anyway. She didn’t think Francis was lying—what would he gain from that?—but she also couldn’t quite get over it.

“Belle?” 

“I don’t—” She didn’t want to tell him she didn’t want that. That wasn’t true. “I’m not ready,” she said instead. 

“Okay.” He kissed her jaw, licked down her neck, avoiding the makeup. “What are you ready for?”

How could she possibly know the answer to that? This scenario had not been covered in the instructional vibrator video. 

“I’m not very practiced,” she said. “I don’t know.”

“What about this?” He gently untucked her blouse just enough to slide his hand up it. She nodded, so he slid it further until his thumb reached her bra, rubbing over her nipple, and suddenly she wasn’t sure she’d made the right call not being ready for his tongue inside her.

“I think I’d be okay if you used your hands,” she said, glad for the wall supporting her. 

“You’d be okay?” He pulled back enough to stare at her, and his cheeks were flushed, pupils huge. “Don’t say that on my behalf.”

She bit her lip, staring up at him for a few seconds. His hand had stilled over her bra, but his whole body heaved with ragged breaths. She cupped his cheek, brushing a finger along the bottom of his mustache.

“I want you to,” she said, and then with her hand on his cheek, pulled his mouth back to hers. 

He started with the hand under her blouse, letting it rove around over her bra. A reminder of her own exploration filled her head, and she almost stopped kissing him, stunned by the knowledge that she really did know how ask for what she wanted—but she didn’t want to take her bra off in the middle of her store, so she kept quiet. Maybe next time, they’d be somewhere nicer.

Francis’ hand drifted from her bra down to her waistband, and then under her skirt. “Fucking—” Francis muttered as his fingers met the top of her thick leggings. “Winter clothing.”

“It’s cold out,” she said. “You wouldn’t want me to freeze?”

“I would like to rip everything off you,” he said. “And feed a warming fire with it.”

He pulled the waistband down enough to slip his hand in, and then he rubbed her with his finger outside her knickers and every part of her flushed.

“What now?” he asked, ducking his head to kiss her on the neck. 

She hated that he was making her tell him. She loved that he was making her tell him. She wished there was a field guide of instructions she could have read before any of this.

“Under the knickers,” she said.

He slipped his finger in and ran the tip along her labia, and her legs tingled. Who would have thought that her stoic, elegant museum educator customer would ever be fingering her against a bookstore wall in his historically accurate army uniform?

“Kiss me,” she said, so he did, and she wrapped her arms around his neck so she’d have something to hold on to as his finger dipped in deeper, and then slid fully inside of her. She gasped into his mouth, and his finger stilled until her hips rocked on their own, and then he was moving.

“Belle,” he said when she had to stop kissing him to just hang on him and gasp. 

“Yes?”

“Kiss my neck.” He stretched his head up and she followed instructions, trying to mimic how he kissed hers, but it was so hard to think, especially when a second finger was teasing at her. 

“You can bite me, if you need,” he said. “It’s not weird. One finger or two?”

She would probably be embarrassed about that later, but now, all she could do was gently touch her teeth to him, and then gasp out, “Two,” and then his second finger was in her.

“Hang on,” he said. “Lean against the wall.”

She did, and he used his free hand to hoist her leg around his waist, and his fingers slid deeper into her. 

“There.” His free fingers dug into her thigh, and she rode his other hand as hard as she could standing on one foot, and then he flattened his palm so that the heel pressed against against her clit, rubbing with every thrust until she came with a cry. 

Once the fog cleared and Francis removed his hand and straightened her knickers, Belle flushed. She worked here.

Francis studied his hand, and a rush of shame filled Belle, though she wasn’t sure where it came from. She reminded herself that he’d wanted this, had egged her on—but then she didn’t need to anymore. Chest heaving, he brought his hand up to his face, then sucked his fingers into his mouth, pulling them out with a slow pop. She bit her lip.

“I hope that doesn’t bother you.” He dropped his hand, letting his other one trail up her leg to her hip. “I must admit, I have a bit of an oral fixation.” 

“It doesn’t bother me,” she said. All that bothered her now was the fact that he was going to leave and she would just be expected to get back to work and behave for the rest of the day as though she had not just been brought off against this wall in between the science fiction and fantasy sections of the store.

He grabbed her waist and kissed her again, and maybe it was okay to play a little hooky and make out with her beau at work.

“I have to go,” she said after they had kissed long enough that she was beginning to yearn for his fingers again. 

“Coffee after work?” he said. 

“Yes but I can’t be late to the club again,” she said. “Danny’s been so understanding, but I promised him at the beginning I wouldn’t take any days off.”

Francis kissed down her neck again. “I think I hate him.” He licked the dip in her collar, and then kissed lower. “A vile stringbean of a man.”

She couldn’t help snickering. What would Danny think of being called a vile stringbean? Maybe she’d ask him.

“He’s not so bad if you get to know him,” she said.

“I can’t imagine why anyone would want to.” He unbuttoned the next button on her blouse, lips following the now-exposed skin. 

“If you want to hate anyone, hate Gaston,” she said, forgetting why she needed to kick Francis out the longer his mouth moved along her skin.

“Trust me, I do.”

“Okay, you have to go.” She plucked his face off her chest and brought it to her lips instead, which was no better for him leaving, but she had to kiss him goodbye. 

“If you insist,” he said. “I’ll see you soon?”

“Very soon,” she said.

Once they made it to the door and Francis kissed her goodbye for the tenth or so time and left, and Belle removed the sign and straightened herself out and sat back at the register, she let out one long sigh.

How could she go on like this?

Chapter Text

Something about the whole situation rubbed Danny the wrong way. This series of events that led to Colonel Wank biting Belle on the neck like some sort of bloodsucking monster could not truly have been coincidences. 

“You’re sure she’s still at work?” Danny asked Frank once more as they hustled down the street.

“She said she was there until four,” he said. “Why would she lie?”

He didn’t know, but if she had lied, he was sure Colonel Fuckass Mustache had something to do with it.

They arrived in front of her building. Danny didn’t know what he was looking for, didn’t know what sort of investigation he would be doing, but he knew he needed someone athletic and competent along with him. 

“Okay, we’re here,” Frank said. “Now what?”

“Come on.” He led him around to the side where Belle’s bedroom window would be. Still no staircase, still no rubbish bins. “How the fuck did he get up there?” Danny asked.

“It was a hallucination,” Frank said. “Why do you think he got up there?”

Would Belle be mad if she found out that Danny had told Frank about the hallucination? Didn’t matter, she would never find out. Frank barely spoke.

“Because how did she fucking go from hallucinating him to dating him in less than a week, hey?” 

Frank shrugged. “Maybe she was thinking about him more.”

“I’m sure she fucking was once he snuck up her fucking window.” He stepped back to study the wall, like having a bigger view of it would help. “See if you can fucking climb it.”

Frank rolled his eyes, but the two main reasons he was Danny’s right hand were that he was competent and he didn’t complain about being asked to do ludicrous things in no bartender’s job description, so he stepped up to study the wall.

“I guess there are a few places someone might hold on.” He reached up and hooked his fingers into a dip in the mortar. “But you’d have to be a spider monkey to make it all the way up. Or have a ladder.”

Danny slapped himself on the forehead. “A fucking ladder! Why didn’t I fucking think of that?” 

“Because this whole exercise is nuts?” Frank said, but Danny waved him off. He’d just assumed that a man bringing a ladder to look into a third floor window would attract too much attention, but this was a rough area. Perhaps no one even noticed.

“How do we get a look at that CCTV footage?” Danny asked.

Frank, much taller than Danny, looked around the area. “I don’t think any of them are pointing at this wall.”

Danny groaned and stalked down to the corner of the building and then back because if he didn’t move his body, he was going to explode.

“I’m going back,” Frank said. “You coming?”

Danny wanted him to stay and pace around with him, but what was the point? There was no way for him to prove that Colonel Smarmy Dresser had used a ladder to scale this wall, at least not without threatening the truth out of the toff himself, so he might as well go back to the club and lessen the chances of Belle finding out that he’d become obsessed with proving her new boyfriend was a creep.

“Let’s fucking go.”

He followed Frank back, kicking every single rock, pebble, penny, and piece of debris they passed. Something was weird about fucking Francis and Danny Devine was going to find out what it was. 

“You need to calm down before Belle gets to work,” Frank said.

“I’m fucking calm,” Danny said. “As fucking calm as I ever fucking am.”

Frank shook his head and pushed the door open, at which point he was no longer Danny’s friend, he was just head bartender. Danny made his way back to his office through the meager Tuesday afternoon crowd. 

What if Belle was late again because of a date? He couldn’t just keep playing games with her instead of working to try and lure her back. For one thing, he was becoming a sore loser, and for another, he did have work that needed to get done, and fuck if it wasn’t nice having an assistant helping him for a change.

He had hoped that Mustache Fucker would be jealous of all her blind dates, but Belle was still dating him and planning to go on them, as far as he knew. Which, good for her, she deserved to move on fantastically.

But, if he was being honest—which he would never be—he wanted her all to himself. Not in the creepy way he imagined Colonel Dracula wanted her, of course. He didn’t even need to date her. He just wanted to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that she would be around to kick his ass at games he didn’t even like and laugh at his jokes. If she started dating someone seriously, what incentive would she have to even work for him? Unless he offered her a good salary, good enough to get her out of the bookstore, but then she’d know. 

At five on the dot, Belle burst into the office, and he recognized the way she trudged to her desk, the way she watched the floor, the way her shoulders drooped. She was in a bad mood.

“Hi, Danny,” she said cheerfully enough. He wasn’t fooled.

“The fuck’s wrong with you?” he asked.

She shook her head, taking her coat off and hanging it over her chair. “Nothing, sorry, I just had coffee with Francis, and I’m sad that I could only spend an hour with him, and sad that I didn’t get to go home for an hour, and—” She licked her lips, then pressed them together and didn’t continue.

“And what?” he asked. 

“Nothing.” She shook her head, then opened her desk drawer and took out a packet of peanuts. 

Danny grit his teeth. “Hungry?” he half shouted. “Are you sad because you’re fucking hungry?”

Belle paused in the middle of ripping the foil, but she didn’t meet his eyes. “I had a couple biscotti with my coffee,” she said.

“But you usually go home and eat between jobs, aye?” He could not believe this. Did the fucking vampire colonel not realize that his girlfriend was supposed to feed herself? Why couldn’t he take her out for fucking food?

“It’s fine,” Belle said. “I wanted to see him.”

He couldn’t deal with this. He was going to scream at her because he couldn’t scream at anyone else, and if there was one fucking person on this planet that Danny needed to have self control around, it was Belle, so with a garbled scream of rage, he barreled out of his office and into the club.

Unfortunately, due to the nature of the Parrot Club’s clientele, being out and about in the dark, pulsating club did not lessen his rage at all. He needed someone he could scream at to get it out, but he also needed to get out of here, and he also needed to get food to Belle without making it seem like he was trying to take care of her. He didn’t have much of a reputation, but what little menace he was to society, he couldn’t squander. 

He stormed back into his office to find Belle munching on a chocolate bar now. He was going to pop a blood vessel.

“Lock your purse up and come with me,” he snapped, then left before Belle could finish reacting.

Soon, she was following him out of the club in her coat. She had even grabbed his, which would be a relief when he no longer had rage warming him from the inside. 

“Where are we going?” she asked once they were outside and could hear one another again.

“Collecting,” he said. “Come on.”

Belle’s eyebrows flew up. “Collecting? I thought you said I was bad for business.”

“Tits look nice enough today,” he said, and then considered throwing himself into traffic. 

But Belle really must have liked his sense of humor because all she did was laugh, thank god. And at least he knew there was one thing that could reliably de-escalate his foul mood, although it sucked that it was the laughter of a woman who would someday no longer be in his life.

“Danny, wait!” she called. He stopped, not realizing he’d left her behind, and then she looped her hand through his elbow again. “What are you, flying?”

He was now. “Used to going alone, hey? We’ll take the van later, but Billy fucking Beaumont lives two blocks away.”

Belle wrinkled her nose. “Every time he pays you, the money is wet.”

“Aye, but the bank doesn’t fucking care about that, and neither does Danny fucking Devine.” He wiggled his eyebrows. 

“Belle L—” She stopped, licked her lips. Danny was about to panic, but she’d laughed at his tits comment, hadn’t she?

“What, Belle Legume does mind?” he said. “Belle Legume has fucking principles when it comes to the fucking water content of cash?”

She didn’t laugh this time, but he had been staring at her long enough to know that the way she scrunched her mouth together meant that she was holding it in. 

“No,” she said. “Belle French minds.”

He whistled loud enough that people on the sidewalk glared at him, and Belle ducked her head in embarrassment. 

“Belle fucking French, eh?” He whistled again, just to be annoying. “I like the fucking sound of that.”

Belle French was not wrong about the wet money, but at least Billy Beaumont had it in total, and soon they were heading back to get the van so he could pay Abe Klein his weekly visit.

“I’m fucking starving,” Danny said before they’d even made it back to the club. “Pub over there does a nice steak and kidney pie. Come on.”

In a fit of bravery, he touched his fingers to the center of her back to direct her down the right block, and in doing so, he got a flash of the look on her face. It might have been tender, might have been the face she made before she burst into tears, but Danny refused to think too hard about it.

He was just going to feed her, and then he would prove he wasn’t in love with her by driving her around creation and letting clients yell at her. 

They arrived back at the club a few hours later, fed and laughing. Danny had made about as much money as he usually did, though Belle’s presence did convince some of his married clients to pay up quickly in fear that she would pretend to be someone they’d cheated with—or, for some of them, a fear that she was someone they’d already cheated with and forgotten.

Still, Danny didn’t feel right. He hadn’t done enough. Of course, in actuality, Danny Devine had done more for Belle Legume/French than he’d ever done for a person outside of his immediate family, but then Belle Legume/French was worth more than his bare minimum. At the very least, she was worth more than just spending all of her time at work and then having coffee with some mustachioed Don Juan motherfucker.

“Log some of this, will you?” Danny said when they got back, feeling guilty for asking as he tossed wads of cash onto her desk, but Belle smiled at him.

“Of course. Where are you going?”

“Got one fucker you don’t want to meet,” he said, which was technically not a lie—there were many fuckers he did not want her to meet. He just wasn’t going to see any of them right now.

“Be safe!” Belle called after him as he left.

This time, he did exit the club proper to clear his head. He considered having a chat with Frank, but the bar was busy and Frank had not signed up to be his personal therapist. Also, Frank was quiet, but that did not mean that it was a good idea for Danny to go spilling all his thoughts and feelings to him. There were a million ways it could get back to Belle.

Without meaning to, he found himself in front of her flat again. Did she know it had been his? He’d done everything he could to pretend it wasn’t, including hiring two different cleaning services one day apart. The people he’d paid to pack all his things up were from a business on the other side of town, and he’d told them his name was Stuart. Sure, his fake mate was named Felix DeSouza, which was his actual half-brother’s name, but she had no reason to ever know that. It’s not like Felix came into the club or regularly sent him mail. 

Maybe a part of him thought that, if he showed up here enough, he’d run into fucking Francis being a creep, and then he could prove that it hadn’t been a hallucination.

That would definitely make him a creep, though, so he forced himself to keep walking. It was late, but there were still shops open in this area, and Danny wandered past a men’s suit shop—too expensive for a suit too small to enjoy wearing—Belle’s bookstore, and then, inexplicably, into a store with perfume in the window.

Expecting to be ignored as he was ignored any time he walked into a store, he was surprised when a young woman who looked freshly old enough to have a job descended on him like a jackal.

“Can I help you, sir?” she asked. “Looking for a gift?”

He snorted. What would Belle think if he bought her perfume? She’d either think he thought she smelled bad or that he was in love with her, neither of which was an attractive option.

“Something for you?” she tried, and he jumped in surprise.

“No, I am not fucking shopping for me in a fucking ladies’ perfume store,” he said, hardly caring when she backed away at his tone.

“We sell more than perfume,” she said meekly.

“Aye?” 

She took another tentative step toward him and nodded. 

Well. He had nothing better to do. “Fine. Show me.”

She walked him all over the store, showing him small bottles with unknown contents and price tags that made his arse clench. When she thrust something covered in glass flowers under his nose to smell, he shook his head.

“Look, okay, you’re fucking great at your fucking job or whatever,” he said. “But I need something to help my fucking assistant relax, hey? And I can’t fucking buy her perfume because I’m her fucking boss, yeah?”

“Oh.” Far from the disappointment he expected, his new teenage guru tapped her chin seriously. “Well, we have a day spa in Chelsea. If you book and say my name, I’ll make commission.”

That sounded a lot more doable. “All right, fucking sell it to me, then,” he said, and she grinned.

Danny swept back into the club half an hour later, trying not to look smug. Maybe people were on to something about therapists. He’d talked to one person and she’d solved all of his problems. Imagine what a professional could do.

“Oi, Belle,” he said, snapping his fingers in her face to break her concentration even though she was concentrating on his own ledger. 

She swiped at his hand and he yanked it out of the way, grinning. “Yes, Danny?”

“I need you to work tomorrow,” he said, trying to school his face into a more serious expression. 

Belle narrowed her eyes. “You do?”

“Aye, I know it’s your fucking day off, but you’re the only one who can fucking do this.”

She swallowed hard, and he kind of felt bad, but she’d be singing a different tune in a minute. “What is it?”

“You see, Belle, I’m looking for a new investment.” He hopped into her desk, and her eyes narrowed further. “I’ve been scoping out, scoping out, and I’m fucking tired of men coming in here to get their fucking rocks off.” 

“Are you?” She folded her arms.

He ignored her. “I want a place where the fucking wives of these sad sacks can go. I want a fucking place where women can get their rocks off.”

“I don’t want to get my rocks off in a public place,” Belle said. “Where are you sending me?”

The girl in the shop had not only sold him hard on the spa, she’d even managed to book an entire day for Belle. Then she’d written it on a little card in curly, loopy girl-handwriting with hearts over the “I”s and spritzed it with perfume.

Danny whipped it out of his pocket and slammed it onto the ledger. When Belle just looked at it, he scooted it closer to her.

“Danny?” She stared at it like it might bite her. This was not how he envisioned this going.

“Fucking take it, hey?”

Ever the obedient assistant, Belle plucked up the card and scanned it. As she did, her lip trembled, and this time, Danny was happy to see her cry. Her birthday had stressed him out, but this, he was ready for.

“Is this for a spa?” she asked.

“Aye, and I expect a full fucking report, hey? No fucking stone unturned.”

She pressed her hand to her mouth and nodded. “I will, I promise.”

“Oh, fuck.” He slid off her desk to reach his back pocket and took out his wallet. “Almost forgot. Cab fare.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” she said. “I’ll just take the tube.”

He counted out a hundred pounds and shoved them into her hands. “It’s a tax write-off, Belle, just take it.”

Her cheeks turned pink, and he might be seeing her pink cheeks in his dreams for the rest of his life. “Are you going to write it off as transportation or pasties?”

He rapped his fingers along the desk. “Dunno. Guess we’ll see when it’s tax time.”

Belle tucked everything into her purse, eyes still dry, and then walked around to his side of the desk. He worried she might kiss him on the cheek again—okay, maybe worried was not the right word—but then she wrapped both her arms around his neck and squeezed.

His arms flailed, but he managed to get them around her just as she was pulling away. She was smiling now. 

“I’ll make a full report,” she said. “I promise.”

“See that you fucking do,” he said, and then fled to his parrot chair.

Chapter Text

Belle could not remember the last time she’d been so relaxed. Whatever Danny’s motive was, he’d certainly planned her a thorough spa day. She’d started in a private bubble bath, then been rinsed off and exfoliated, then wrapped in mud and plastic wrap while a woman with strong hands massaged her face, neck, and scalp.

After that was lunch, which Belle was no longer surprised to find that Danny had also already paid for, and she treated herself to one glass of champagne. When she tried to pay for that herself, she had her cash shoved back at her.

Then it was time for her seventy-five minute massage. She was so relaxed, Francis wasn’t going to recognize her when she met him at the bar later. 

A woman she hadn’t met yet came to retrieve her from the waiting room, and Belle followed her back into another dim room with gentle harp music playing.

“Which aroma would you like for your massage?” she asked, holding out a selection of scent cards. Peppermint had been serving her well all morning, so she went with that, and the woman gave her instructions for undressing and getting on the table while she retrieved whatever would have the aroma.

Even without the massage, the day had been perfect. She had never been to a spa before, and though she suspected that Danny’s plans to invest in one were a lie, she hoped that they weren’t. 

The woman returned and Belle closed her eyes while she set up, rubbing the oil between her hands to warm it.

“How’s the pressure?” she asked, pressing into her shoulders.

“Great,” Belle said. Would it be bad if she fell asleep?

“Your neck is so tense,” the woman said. “What do you do for a living?”

“I have two jobs,” Belle said. “I work in a bookstore, and then I’m an assistant in a nightclub.”

“I can tell you have two jobs.” She dug her heel into Belle’s shoulderblade and Belle felt it to the tips of her fingers. “Let’s see if we can’t relax you today.”

The masseuse’s strong thumbs worked around Belle’s neck, and she felt like sugar was melting down her body, weighing her down like a blanket, and then all at once, her eyes heated like they did before tears.

“Do people ever cry on the table?” she asked, too relaxed to even panic about this.

“Happens all the time,” the woman said. “People are surprised by how much a muscle release can release emotions too.”

That made sense, but Belle still wasn’t sure that it was enough explanation for the amount of crying she did over the next hour. The tears came in waves, but by the time the massage was done, her sinuses were full and the woman told her not to move while she got her water.

She sat up slowly, covering herself with the sheet, and then sipped her water when it came, weeping all along. She’d cried so much over Gaston, but had she ever just relaxed and allowed herself to? She always worked hard to cheer herself up or distract herself, but she’d had nothing but her emotions and the masseuse for company now.

Still crying, she put her robe back on and headed into the hallway, where she was met with another glass of water, then taken to the quiet waiting area and given a steaming cup of tea.

She was willing to bet that, when people cried on the table, they didn’t cry as much as she did. She sat in the waiting room for fifteen minutes while people came and surreptitiously checked on her. Once her tea was done and she was dressed and ready to go, she was still sniffling.

“Are you here alone?” the woman at the front desk asked her. Belle sniffled and nodded. “Do you need me to call you a cab?” 

So she did and Belle waited inside the door, and another woman rushed out and shoved a handful of peppermints and a travel-sized bottle of lavender oil into her purse, and then several people came to wave as she got into her cab.

“Where to, miss?” the driver asked.

Belle opened her mouth to give her address, and then instead what came out was, “The Parrot Club.” 

He peered at her in the mirror as he pulled back into traffic. “You work there?”

“No,” she said, not wanting to be trapped in a cab with a man who, if she said she worked there, would hear nothing other than that she was a dancer or a domme. At least this meant he knew where the club was.

He watched her walk out of the car when she got there, and she hurried inside. It was pretty empty, as it must have been every Wednesday afternoon, but Danny was, of course, in his office when she burst in.

“The fuck are you doing here?” he asked, eyeing her up and down. “And why have you been crying?”

She shook her head and swept in. She wanted to go home, brush the massage oil out of her hair, maybe rinse off so that she could get dressed to meet Francis, but she couldn’t yet. 

“Did you, eh, enjoy it?” Danny eyed her as she curled herself into one of his egg chairs.

“I can’t do this anymore, Danny,” she said. 

He leapt up from his desk like something had bit him. “What do you fucking mean? What can’t you do?” 

She shook her head. “I can’t work a thousand hours a week. I can’t live my life married to Gaston. I just—I don’t know what to do, Danny, I need something better. Something more.”

Danny paced, rubbing his chin in thought. “Fine. Okay. So I’ll strike his fucking debt from the record, yeah?”

“No!” She shook her head. “No, he owes you, and you deserve it.” Besides, she liked working for Danny. The Parrot Club, though it had no books, was livelier and more loving than her bookstore. 

“Well, what the fuck do you want then?” He paced over, then pivoted, but Belle scooted over so he would fit, and he joined her in the chair.

“I don’t know. I want to escape, but I can’t do anything.” She shook her head. “I took one semester of uni before Gaston decided we should have jobs and save money.”

“So go back to uni,” Danny said. “Study fucking—books. Writing. Finance.” 

“When?” she asked. “When will I go back to uni? I’ll go to class on Wednesdays and do homework on Sundays and sleep in the hospital when I drop into a coma?”

Danny’s leg shook, and when she laid a hand on him to still it, he sprung from the chair to pace again. “All right, okay, what if I, eh—pay off his credit cards?” 

“Pay off his credit cards?” Even saying the words out loud, Belle couldn’t make sense of them. “Why would you do that?”

He watched her like she’d just attacked him. “It—you know—consolidate his fucking debt, as it were. Just the ones in your name, mind you, not what the fuck ever else he fucking wastes his credit on.”

She shook her head. “No, no, he should pay that back.”

“Belle.” Danny ran a hand through his hair. “Belle, he’s never gonna fucking pay it back.” 

She took a deep breath that pained her as if someone had driven a pin through her lungs. “Then he doesn’t deserve to have you to pay it for him.” 

“No he fucking does not.” Danny rubbed his hand down his face, then sat back down next to her. “But you fucking do.”

She did. She had been nothing but loyal and helpful to her husband during their decade of marriage, and she didn’t deserve to be in ruins from it. But she couldn’t just let Danny do that. No reprieves was what he always said to his clients. He’d said it to Gaston. What did it mean if he gave her a twenty-thousand-pound reprieve?

She slipped her arm through his and laid her head on his shoulder. “I can’t let you do that, Danny.”

“I fucking know.” He rubbed his forehead, but then shot upright, snapping his fingers. “What about a solicitor?”

Belle lifted her head from him before he could accidentally slam her into the chair. “Gaston won’t divorce me. He never wants to talk about it.”

“So you fucking serve him papers.” He snapped again. “I’ll fucking bet a good solicitor can get your name off those accounts.”

“I don’t think I can afford a solicitor that good,” Belle said. “Considering my budget is zero.”

“You fucking forget, Belle, I run a fucking high-end strip club.” Danny swept his hand out to his empty office. “I’ve got solicitors dropping ten grand a fucking week. We’ll get you a fucking pro-bono divorce.”

Belle tried not to smile at this. It sounded too good to be true, and she didn’t want to get her hopes up—but then, Danny was the one person who’d never disappointed her.

“You think?” she asked.

“Oi, by the time I’m done, they’ll be fucking lining up at your feet, begging to free you from that fucking wanker.”

She couldn’t help it. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, then kissed him on the cheek, hard enough she couldn’t just pretend she hadn’t. Danny froze beneath her.

“So, I guess the spa was fucking great, then?” he asked. “Since you had all these revelations? You look like you’re on fucking fire, by the way.”

She laughed and squeezed him again. “It was amazing. She massaged all of the tension out of me and I cried through the entire thing.”

“Jesus fuck, thank god I wasn’t fucking there.” He glanced over at the clock on his desk. “It’s early. What you doing now? Catching a wee burlesque show?” 

“Oh, shit.” She stood, accidentally knocking Danny into the side of the chair. “I have to go, I have to get ready.”

“Ready?” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you have a date with Colonel fucking Mustache?”

“Yes, I have a date with Francis,” she said. “Thank you, Danny, thank you.” She bent down and kissed him one last time on the cheek, then ran out while he was muttering goodbye.

She rushed up to the wine bar five minutes late for her date, and when she saw Francis leaning against the wall blowing out a thick plume of smoke, she sped up in her heels.

“There you are,” he said. “Is everything—”

She grabbed him by the lapels and yanked his mouth to hers. His eyes widened, and he flailed around to stub his cigarillo out on the wall.

“Hi,” she said, eyes watering at the smoke she’d inadvertently inhaled.

“What’s come over you?” He held her, one hand on the back of her neck, and searched her face. “You look—radiant.”

She knew he would notice. She smiled and kissed him again, only pulling away when he started to clutch at her hair like he intended to take this further than would be appropriate for the busy street.

“I had a spa day today,” she said. “And I’m getting divorced.”

His eyebrows flew up. “Divorced? Well, that is cause for celebration.” He kissed her again, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth before letting her go. “Champagne?”

They headed inside, claiming their quiet corner table, and ordered a bottle of prosecco and another bowl of fancy almonds.

“So,” he said. “I see my patience has finally paid off.”

She was too happy not to grin at that. “What patience?”

“Well, when I began flirting with you, you were married, and now you’re on a date with me and divorcing your husband.”

Belle’s eyebrows flew up. “When did you begin flirting with me?” 

He twisted his mustache. “The second I met you.” 

Belle feigned a gasp. “No you didn’t. You were a perfect gentleman.”

“I don’t see how trying to win your favor and being a perfect gentleman are mutually exclusive.” He sipped his prosecco, eyebrows raised.

“But I was married,” she said. “So how could you have been a perfect gentleman?”

Francis set his glass down, twisting his mustache still, and then leaned toward her. “I hesitate to tell you this, but in the interest of honesty—you were a tornado of misery until recently. About when you took off your wedding ring, actually.”

Belle licked her lips. She knew she hadn’t exactly been a ray of sunshine these last few years, but she hadn’t realized just how bad it was. How many other strangers had been put off by the dark cloud following her around? How many people could she have been talking about books with?

“Well,” she said. “I’m very glad you were so persistent. I really looked forward to you coming in every week. It was a big bright spot in my day.”

“As it was in mine,” he said, watching her intently. Belle wanted to meet his eyes bravely, but she looked away first under the pretense of sipping her drink.

“So,” she said, clearing her throat. “What would you have done if I hadn’t told you I was separated?”

He took a thoughtful breath, furrowing his brow. “Well.” He pulled at the corner of his mustache. “Probably made your husband disappear without a trace.”

She snorted, and he grinned at that. 

“So, you went to the spa and you’re getting divorced?” 

She nodded, a dreamy smile at the memory of her day floating onto her face. “Yes. Danny sent me to a spa he’s thinking of investing in.” 

Francis froze, drink halfway to his mouth. “Danny sent you to a spa?” 

“For work,” she said. Should she not have told him? Oh god. “He wants to diversify his business interests.”

“I’m sure he does.” Francis shook his head, all but rolling his eyes. “And the divorce?”

With his reaction to the spa, she was hesitant to tell him that Danny was involved in this too. She didn’t want to lie, but then, perhaps there were some things Francis did not need to know all at once. “I’m looking for a solicitor who will help me pro bono. I need to get my name off of Gaston’s credit card debt.”

“Ah.” He frowned in thought now. “If something happened to him now, would you be on the hook for all his debt?”

“I honestly don’t know,” she said.  “Definitely the debt with my name on it. Not with Danny, at least, but that doesn’t affect my credit score.”

He shook his head. “I can’t believe what he did to you,” he said. “If I ever meet him, I hope you know that I won’t keep my mouth shut.”

She couldn’t help it—she laughed. 

“What?”

She shook her head. “You’re too smart and quiet for him. He won’t even hear you.”

“You’re smart and quiet,” Francis said.

“So you see the problem.”

“Ah.”

They sipped their prosecco in silence, and then Francis plunked his on the table and stood, scooting his chair around the table until their knees touched when he sat.

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re divorcing him.” He slid forward, notching their knees together, and put his hand on hers. “And I’m glad to reap the benefits.”

Even though they were in a public bar, she leaned forward and kissed him. He fisted the bottom of her skirt, leaning into her, and she had to pull back before they got carried away.

“You’re becoming so bold,” Francis said, still so close, she could feel the ends of his mustache. “I’m proud of you.”

She was proud of her too.

Chapter Text

Somehow, Belle went to work on Thursday. She went on Friday and Saturday too, and she saw Francis between jobs, and she ate frozen dinners and pineapple skewers, and then on Sunday, she and Francis went to the same stupid wine bar, and then she woke Monday paralyzed with the inability to go to work. How could she? She’d had a revelation last week, an emotional catharsis, a plan, and then she’d worked herself to the bone for one more measly day off.

Now, she was just supposed to work fourteen hours and be fine with it?

She couldn’t do it. She called in sick to the bookstore and went back to bed, but now she was paralyzed with guilt. 

Still, she’d already called out. Someone else had already been called in. 

She lay in bed, watching the minutes change on her alarm clock. If only it were analogue, then she could really stare at something.

After an hour of just laying there, she sat up. Her new vibrator sat in its easily accessed place on her nightstand, but she’d already used it last night and she didn’t know if that would fix her this morning.

She could just go to the club. Maybe that would be the best idea—she’d missed a work day for pay, but she’d go to the club and get her hours in early instead of late. Besides, it was nice working with Danny. 

Francis was off work today. Could she spend the day with him? Were they ready for that? Of course, Belle wanted to spend a whole day with him, but they didn’t eat together and she still wasn’t ready to invite him up to her flat.

This was such a rare opportunity, though. When would she and Francis ever get a day off together like this? She couldn’t just ignore him.

Still unmoving from bed, Belle texted him that she’d called in sick today and left it at that. She knew she should have said more, but if he had plans, she didn’t want to ruin them.

Her phone rang five minutes later just as she was debating coffee. 

“Sorry,” Francis said when she picked up. “I don’t text. You’re sick?”

“Not really,” she said. “I just—couldn’t do it. I needed a break. Are you busy today?”

“I don’t have to be.”

She swallowed. This was why she’d texted—now she’d have to come up with some idea on the spot. “I want to see you,” she said, because Francis appreciated directness. “But I don’t want to sit in a bar and drink wine all day.”

Francis was quiet, and then, “How would you like a personal, private museum tour with an expert?”

Which, actually, was all Belle could ask for in a day. She finally climbed out of bed and ate breakfast—ever since Danny’s meltdown over her being hungry, she was trying to take better care of herself—then put on her cutest dress in the hopes that Francis would like the blue lace top, hunted around for any winter gear that would obscure her blue coat just in case, and then headed out.

They met outside, and as Francis took out his employee ID to get them both in, Belle stopped him. She could not go into the box office and risk the same man working. What if he recognized her and then remembered that she’d asked after Francis and then told him and he got the wrong impression?

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“I have to tell you something.” She let go of his arm, and he frowned. “And I just want to remind you that I work all the time and never sleep and until recently, didn’t make eating a priority either.”

His frown deepened. “Okay. What is it?”

She took a deep breath. What’s the worst that could happen? Francis might leave her? She would survive. Danny might ridicule her mercilessly, but she didn’t mind that so much. 

“Not that long ago, I hallucinated you outside my window, and you were injured, so I came to the museum and asked around to find you and confirm that you didn’t have any injuries and weren’t really there.”

Francis’ frown deepened, and she braced for impact, but all he did was step closer and cup her cheek. “Belle, were you afraid I’d be angry that you came here?”

She swallowed. “Yes. It was a crazy thing to do.”

He shook his head, stepping close enough now that he could wrap his arm around her waist. “I can’t imagine how frightening it is to hallucinate. I don’t blame you.” He kissed her on the forehead, and she closed her eyes, savoring being held like something fragile, delicate, worth protecting instead of a toy to be tossed around. 

“Are you sure?” she asked. 

“I’m worried for you,” he said. “I wish you’d told me sooner.” 

It was nice to be worried over, but at the same time, she just wanted to not be in a worrying situation. What if she got it together and could handle being a person? 

“I was embarrassed,” she said. “I mean, I hallucinated a man I barely knew.”

“You can’t help that.” He kissed her on the nose, and she smiled. “Has it happened since?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’ve been focusing more on eating and sleeping regularly.”

“Good.” He kissed her on the lips, then dropped his hand from her cheek to hold hers instead. “Now, I will have to introduce you to anyone I have to interact with, so tell me now if there’s anyone you’d like me to avoid.”

She pressed her lips together, embarrassed even more for Francis’ kindness. “Just the man who was working the box office that day.”

“You better walk on my left, then.”

He tucked her against him when they entered, but it turned out to be unnecessary because it was a woman selling tickets, so they breezed in and through security with no problems. 

Belle was not surprised to find that every employee they passed greeted Francis. Some of them eyed Belle like they knew a secret, some of them pretended she didn’t exist, and she didn’t say anything to anyone unless he stopped walking to introduce her. She met one of the other tour guides named Francis, this one Francis Dougherty, and he kissed her hand instead of shaking it, and then she met another guide named Kelly in passing as she ran off to another tour.

They walked the museum slowly, and any question Belle had about a piece or a story, Francis could answer. She’d known, of course, that he had a wealth of knowledge, but she hadn’t realized just how vast a wealth. 

And to think, she might have gone to work today and missed spending a day with her maybe-boyfriend, doing something she loved. 

“I know you do this every day, but it’s so impressive,” Belle said. “I’m in awe of you a little bit.”

“You’re in awe of me?” he asked. “That’s absurd. What you do is impressive. I learn one set of information and it carries me through. You have to know all the books and who might like them, and new books come out all the time.”

She bit her lip. “You have to learn new things too.”

“The Battle of Hastings already happened, Belle, and it’s not changing.” He tugged on her hand. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

She followed him through a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY, then down a hallway, down a staircase, and into a huge basement room full of shelves stuffed with artifacts.

“This is the archive,” Francis said, and all Belle could do was stare, wide-eyed, breathing shallow. The archive. How many people got to see this? Even if she’d gone to university, she probably wouldn’t be allowed in the archives unless she studied something specific.

“Would you like to look around?” he asked, and she nodded mutely. He dragged her along, pointing out things he liked and answering questions whenever Belle managed to ask one around the lump in her throat.

“This one is particularly interesting to me,” he said, stopping at a shadowbox with a letter and several coins in it.

“What is it?” Even though the box protected the contents, she still peered around Francis’ arm instead of getting any closer. 

“It’s a letter bestowing a medal on an American soldier during the Mexican-American war.” 

The top read Captain John Boyd for Exceptional Courage. The rest of the ink was so slanted, small, and faded, she couldn’t make it out much.

“What did he do?” 

Francis was quiet for a second. “He made it behind enemy lines by playing dead, then took out an entire enemy fort by himself.”

Belle’s eyebrows flew up. “Wow. I wonder what really happened.”

He glanced down at her, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“Well.” She shrugged. “I mean, there’s not a lot of detail, is there? So how many people were at the fort? Two? Or was he not actually alone? Was he the only one who played dead or was he the only one who got credit for it because he was the highest rank?”

For a second, all he did was stare blankly at her, and then his mouth twitched into his usual mysterious smile. She almost didn’t want to know why he always smiled like he knew something—it was so familiar to feel like he was operating outside of her frame of reference.

“We actually do have an account of what happened, based on the notes some of his colleagues took. It’s not in this room, so I can’t show you, unfortunately.”

“What happened?” she asked.

He looked off into the distance, stroking his beard. “Well, he claims that while he was playing dead, some blood from his dead comrades fell into his mouth, and soon he felt stronger, more capable.” He paused, glancing down at her. “He took them all out after that, claiming the fort for America.”

Belle’s eyes widened. “So the story his colleagues went with was that he was a vampire?” 

He chuckled. “You know, plenty of cultures have believed that consuming the flesh of another allows you to absorb their spirit, their strength.”

“Was that a common claim in old records?” Belle asked. “Do you have any more?”

“Unfortunately, no.” He tugged her away from the letter and she followed along. “I didn’t mean to get your hopes up only to dash them.”

“You’ve never dashed my hopes.” She stood on her toes to peck him on the cheek, flushing when he smiled in response.

“You know,” he said, tugging her along again. “I had hopes for today as well.”

“Oh?” she asked, heart rate speeding up. “What kind of hopes?”

“Well.” He turned to face her, taking her other hand as well and walking backwards. “First, I hoped you would relax and enjoy yourself.”

“Well, I did,” she said, following him as he backed his way toward a wall. “Second?”

“Second.” He glanced behind him, then veered left, stopping when his back hit the doorframe of a staircase. “I had hoped to get you alone.”

He pulled her up against him, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. 

“Are we alone down here?” she asked, standing on her toes so her lips were level with his. 

“Very alone.”

She kissed him, and his hands came to cup her backside, pulling her hips against his. Her throat let out a noise of surprise at the hard feel of him already, and he pulled her closer. She had, of course, felt him hard beneath her before, but never quite like this, and never so quickly.

Was she ready for that? She didn’t think so. Though she had slept with Gaston, she wasn’t ready to just jump in—although, Francis catered so well to her needs, if she was going to jump in with any partner, he would be a good choice.

His hands crept downward, and then up her dress to rest on the skin of her back. She might have minded, but Francis had assured her before that no one came down here. 

Francis kissed like a professional, and it was time for Belle to return the favor. Standing on her toes, she threaded one hand through his hair, then pulled her mouth away to kiss down his neck. He groaned, and then when she bit him gently, he thrust his hips at her. 

“Belle,” he said, hands clutching at her.

“Your collar goes halfway up your neck,” she said, kissing the edge of it. 

“If you bite me again, I’m going to throw you against this wall,” he said. 

She pulled her face away to look at him, and he watched her with eyes nearly black. 

“Oh?” She bent to his neck again and closed her teeth around his pulse. 

“That’s it.” He cupped her ass again and lifted her, then spun around to trap her against the wall. “I warned you.”

“You are strong.” She wrapped her legs around his waist. 

“I’m stronger than you might realize.” He crushed her mouth with his and crushed her against the wall, holding her up with his hands locked beneath her.

He kissed her hungrily, like they’d been apart for years, and Belle tightened her arms around his neck. It wasn’t long before he was thrusting her into the wall, and she could do nothing but whimper into his mouth. 

“Belle,” he said, his voice a low, animal growl. “Belle, let me eat you.”

“Here?” she asked. It was one thing to dry-hump against a wall, but it felt totally wanton to consider letting him undress her enough to use his mouth. 

“God, yes,” he said. “No one will find us, I promise.”

“Okay,” she said, wondering if she’d come to regret this later. “Okay, I want you to.”

He hoisted her up, lifting his mouth from hers long enough to kick open the door to the stairwell and slip inside. Before the door shut, he somehow managed to wedge a stopper in, still carrying her.

“Would it be easier if I walked?” she asked when he started to climb.

“Certainly, but I’m not letting you.” 

He dropped to one knee, still somehow holding her, and then set her a few steps above him. Her eyes widened.

“Here? On the stairs?” 

“It’s the perfect leverage,” he said, already positioning her legs on the steps. “No one uses this staircase, I promise.”

“If someone finds us,” she said, though she didn’t know what she could even threaten him with. If they were caught, the consequences would all be for him at this point. 

“They won’t. Lift up for a second.”

She lifted her hips and then his hand slipped under her to hold her up while he pulled her stockings down with the other.

“I wish I could spend more time undressing you,” he said. “But unfortunately, I fear I’ll go mad if I don’t taste you soon.”

“How did you get this strong?” she asked when, still holding her up in one hand, he pulled her knickers down. “Are you a bodybuilder?”

“I have my ways.” He set her down, and she rested back on her elbows while he used both hands to pull her stockings and her knickers down to her feet, and then he ducked under them so her legs looped around his shoulders.

“Now, you know I will not be offended if you instruct me,” he said.

“Do you want me to instruct you?” She wasn’t sure she could. The vibrator video certainly had not covered tongues. 

“No.” He slid his hands up to grip her thighs, then pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee. “I want to explore.”

“Will you kiss me again?” she asked, suddenly nervous.

He kissed her other knee, then let go of her legs, stretching up to reach her mouth from his spot a few stairs below her. 

“Just relax,” he whispered, trailing a hand down her neck, over her breasts. “I’ll take care of you like I always do.” 

“I know,” she said. 

His hand drifted under her skirt to rub his fingertips along her inner thigh, and she did relax. He kissed her for a bit longer, then kissed down her neck, and then sat back on his knees and flipped her skirt up over her stomach. 

She flushed, resisting the urge to shut her legs. She’d thought she wouldn’t be able to see, wouldn’t have to know what she looked like, but Francis was trailing open-mouthed kisses down her thigh, fingers digging in to the opposite one as he held her legs open.

“Fuck,” he said when he reached her cunt. He took a deep breath, and she must have turned scarlet to the tips of her toes. 

“Fuck,” he said again. He nuzzled her with his nose, and then the tip of his tongue, and then there was no more teasing. He licked all the way up to her clit, then licked deeper, and then he buried his tongue inside her. She clenched her lips together, not wanting to be too loud in this echoing museum stairwell, but she couldn’t stop the muffled cries as he licked her like he aimed to devour her. 

All too quickly, he was rubbing her clit with his finger, and she was coming on his tongue with a strangled moan. 

“See?” he said, licking her gently. “I told you I would take care of you.” 

“Do you want—” She panted, catching her breath. “—reciprocate?”

“No.” He turned his head and bit her thigh, and she couldn’t help the moan that escaped. “I’m not done yet.”

The orgasm had barely finished moving through her before he was nosing at her again, and she had never tried to come twice, but why shouldn’t she? She wiggled her hips against his mouth and he rewarded her by licking up her clit, but he didn’t let her come this time. Instead, he licked her until she writhed, and then licked back down, thrusting his tongue back inside her. 

She thought he might use his fingers, but he just buried his tongue deep in her, his mustache stimulating her where his mouth couldn’t reach, and perhaps that was what he’d meant the other day? God, it felt good though, and Belle was glad she’d taken the leap of faith and let him do this.

When she came the second time, he didn’t pull away, just continued to lick her through it, and then he spread her thighs wider and his teeth bumped her, and his mustache teased her until he started up again. 

“Oh god, Francis, again?” she asked, slumping against the stair.

The only answer he gave was a sound somewhere between a growl and a snarl. Spent enough that she was having trouble concentrating on keeping quiet, she bit down on her hand to muffle herself.

At this point, she could no longer tell what he was doing or where he was, just that pleasure surged through her whole body and he was so deep between her legs, she wasn’t sure he could breathe. 

When she came the third time, he pulled his tongue out, but licked her through it again, and then he was kissing and sucking and biting his way back down her thigh, and then he bit down hard, harder than he’d ever bit her.

“Francis!” 

His body went rigid, just as it had the day she got a papercut. Slowly, he moved his head away from her, but he was staring wild-eyed at her thigh. 

She propped herself up and saw the blood beading along the tooth mark. 

“Francis?” she said. She didn’t want him to be squeamish, especially not after he seemed to be enjoying himself.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I got carried away.”

He stared at the blood as though hypnotized. She used her elbows to prop herself up, intending to wipe it away, but then he lowered his head to her thigh and closed his eyes, sucking in air. Then, as if compelled, he closed his lips around the mark and licked it. 

“You, Belle, are delicious.”

She didn’t know if he meant her blood or her orgasms, and she didn’t want to ask. He pulled back to stare again. Belle couldn’t take it.

“Okay,” she said, firm. “I’m taking control of this situation.”

She pressed a palm over the injury, though it was little more than a prick, and held it there until Francis’ shoulders relaxed. His head turned as if his neck was too rusty, and slowly, slowly, he settled back onto his knees. Though her legs had fallen off his shoulders, he still sat trapped between them and her stockings.

“Forgive me, Belle.” 

“Are you all right?” she asked. 

“Me?” He frowned, searching her face. “Are you?”

She nodded. She might have to think harder on this later, but for now, she was just glad he’d calmed down. He slid an arm around her waist, pulling her toward him, then touched his forehead to hers.

“I’d kiss you, but I fear my mustache is like a sponge.” As if to illustrate the point, he sucked it into his mouth. Belle bit her lip, her face heating in spite of the fact that she’d just come three times. Why was his devotion to the taste of her such a turn-on? 

“Can I return the favor?” she asked. 

He shook his head. “As much as I want that, I can be—intimidating.” His lips fluttered along her jaw. What did that mean, intimidating ? 

“If you say so,” she said and then kissed him. He groaned into her mouth, and she did not really enjoy the taste of herself on him, but she loved that he enjoyed it.

They kissed for a few minutes longer, and then Francis disentangled himself from her legs and stockings and knickers so he could help her up, and soon they were stumbling back into the archive like two misbehaving teenagers. 

“I’m starving,” Belle said. 

“I could eat a whole person,” Francis said. 

Belle laughed, and then she couldn’t stop laughing, and then they were laughing together against the wall they’d begun against. Francis leaned over her, stroking his fingers down her cheek.

“So,” Belle said before he could speak. “You have a weird thing with blood.”

“Yes.” He brushed his thumb over her lip and she was relieved not to taste herself on it. “It’s one of the reasons I’m a vegetarian. Does it bother you?”

“Should it?” she asked. Had he really licked the blood off her leg if he was squeamish enough to not even eat meat? 

“It’s bothered women before,” he said. “I had hoped you would be different, but I understand if you’re not.”

She hadn’t been able to see well. Added to that, he’d brought her off three times in a row, with the most intense pleasure she’d ever felt, so she couldn’t really trust her perception. He had probably licked it unintentionally.

“Of course it doesn’t bother me.”

She smiled and he smiled back, eyes straying toward her lips. “I’m glad to hear that, Belle.” 

He kissed her, hand cupping her cheek, other hand holding her hip. Francis cherished her, and besides, it wasn’t like she had so much experience in the realm of cunnilingus. Maybe the men who liked it got carried away, especially if they had an oral fixation like Francis claimed to have.

She brought a hand up to his cheek, and felt him smile against her lips.

Chapter Text

Danny was not trying to take care of Belle. When he ordered takeout, he’d only ordered one burger and chips, but the restaurant had sent double, that was all.

At least, that was the official story, and once he shredded the receipt they’d stapled to the bag, it would be the truth as far as Belle would be concerned. 

He picked at his own dinner while he waited for her, checking the clock every few minutes. She wasn’t too late yet, but she was getting close, and Danny’s heart was going to palpitate out of his chest. Yes, he knew she was probably with her fucking boyfriend, but what if he’d murdered her? What if he’d dragged her behind an alley to perform some satanic sex ritual and now she was lying there with a pentagram carved into her chest? What if he’d thrown her out of the same window Danny was convinced he’d spied through?

Just as he was working himself into an impressive anxiety even for him, Belle pushed the doors open. Her hair was wet, and Danny almost screamed. Had she showered before coming here because she’d had dirty sex?

“Hi Danny,” she said. 

“Oi, restaurant fucked up my order,” he said. “Left you the extras.” 

She raised her eyebrows at the paper bag on her desk, and then smiled with more affection than Danny could cope with. God, he wasn’t going to be able to interact with Belle at all soon if he couldn’t handle her either liking him or anyone else. It wasn’t fair to ask her to hate everyone.

“Thanks, I’m starving,” she said. “I called out of work today and ended up spending the day at the museum with Francis.”

The museum. Danny let out a breath. “Who fucking calls out of work to go to a museum? Fucking nerd.”

Belle laughed and took her seat, pulling the burger over and closing her eyes to savor the smell like she hadn’t eaten in days.

“So you’re fucking starving because you were with your fucking boyfriend again, eh?” 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said, popping a chip in her mouth while she unwrapped her burger. “And no, there’s a cafe attached to the museum, so I had a salad.”

Danny scoffed. “Oi, he’s not one of those fucking blokes who makes women afraid to eat, is he?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s just he doesn’t really eat much during the day because it’s easier, I guess, so I wanted something that wouldn’t be weird to eat while he stared at me.”

Danny wrinkled his nose. “Well, that’s fucking weird.”

“He can’t help having food issues, Danny, just like you can’t help the angry pacing.”

“I do not fucking angry pace, I fucking pace like everyone else does.” 

“Whatever you say, Danny.”

Now that she’d mentioned it, he could not pace around his office. Fucking hell. He rapped his fingers all along his desk, then, remembering he actually had something for her to do, yanked the drawer open to find a sticky note. He ignored her watching him over her burger and scribbled a phone number onto the note, then tried to walk as normally as possible over to her desk so he could not be accused of “angry pacing.”

“Who’s this for?” she asked, licking pickle juice off her finger before wiping it on a napkin so she could take the note.

“Richie Richardson,” he said. 

Belle wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to call him. He was cheating on his wife with me. Or maybe not. I couldn’t tell.”

“Aye, he’s been calling and asking about you for a fucking week, but now I fucking need him and he won’t fucking pick up.” Richie Richardson was a prick, but he was usually, at least, an easy to reach prick. 

Belle’s nose wrinkled further, and Danny hated himself for how cute he found his assistant. He needed to get a grip. Maybe one of his dominatrixes could paddle him on the skull.

“Fine,” she said. “But as soon as he picks up, I’m handing you the phone.”

Danny nodded his acquiescence and went back to his parrot chair to hide from her and so he couldn’t watch her demolish the rest of her burger like Francis would have. Of course, he’d have been eating with her if she’d been on time. Fucking Francis.

“Okay, I’m trying him,” Belle said, and Danny grunted. Once he heard her dialing, he peeked around the parrot at her. She waited for about thirty seconds, then hung the phone up. Five minutes later, she did the same, and he really ought to find something to do while she did this or else he might as well have done it himself.

“Gotta run out,” he said once she’d hung up a second time. “If you get him, ask him why the fuck he won’t answer my fucking calls.”

“Do I have to say fuck?” Belle asked. 

“Yes, you fucking do.”

She saluted, and he absolutely had to get out of his office, so he ran out to the bar. Frank ignored him, as he should have because he had a crowd to serve, but Danny couldn’t take this. Belle had been dating this man for one single week and Danny couldn’t handle how much happier it made her.

He climbed up on a barstool even though he would usually never take a seat a customer could fill and waited for Frank to notice him. 

“What do you want, Mr. Devine?” Frank asked as though he didn’t yell at him by name at least once a week. Danny appreciated his commitment to professionalism in front of his underlings.

“Whiskey,” he said. “Neat.”

“Anything else?” 

Danny clenched his teeth. If he just kept bringing Belle drinks, it would be like he was paying her to hang out with him instead of paying her to be his assistant, which was almost as sad as the reason she worked for him.

“Just a cranberry juice,” he said. Belle liked that, right? “With ice.”

Frank disappeared for a minute while Danny surveyed his club. The dim lighting and loud music made it hard to tell how crowded it really was, which was by design, but it wasn’t a bad Monday night. People were getting their Christmas bonuses and spending them here while they could. 

“Here.” Frank set both drinks down. “You need anything else?”

Danny slugged back the whiskey even though he should have sipped it and tapped the glass down. “Can you bring me another in ten minutes?”

He should have had him bring the cranberry juice as well, but it was too late for that. He made his way back to his office, no calmer than he’d been when he left.

When he set down her juice, Belle was glaring at her phone.

“Did he fucking say shite to you?” he asked. 

She shook her head. “No, I couldn’t get him, but I found his assistant’s information and he said something to me. But he hasn’t seen him in a few hours and he said he’d tell him to call as soon as he comes around.”

“What the fuck did he fucking say to you?” 

Belle puckered her lips to sip through the straw, and Danny couldn’t shake the image of Colonel Mustache kissing her. If he was here, he’d probably be all fucking smarmy and smirky, and he would have every right to be. He was better than Danny in every way.

“Nothing I haven’t heard before,” she said. 

Danny shook his head, bounding over to his desk. Maybe while Belle was at the bookstore tomorrow, he’d move her desk closer to his so that it wasn’t such a hassle to get back and forth between them.

“That was fucking resourceful of you,” he said. “Thanks.”

She blushed like he’d just told her again that her tits were nice. “Of course. It’s the least I can do for being late so often.”

He could have screamed. Colonel Mustache got to fucking kiss her, and he’d somehow gotten away with climbing up her window to spy, and Danny couldn’t even yell at him for Belle being late? 

“Oi, I need some receipts organized, quarterly taxes come up after Christmas before you fucking know it,” he said. This was the thing Belle did for him most often, and it was a real lifesaver. As much as he relished counting his money, the tedium of having to account for every penny spent when it came time to pay up was miserable. Belle could focus and organize his receipts far faster than he’d ever been able to.

“Are you doing anything for Christmas, Danny?” Belle asked once she was settled with his box of receipts and her juice.

“Aye, me ma and brother are in Liverpool, so I’ll be out there,” he said. The Parrot Club closed from 2 a.m. Christmas Eve morning until 11 a.m December 26th because they didn’t do enough business to justify being open, and besides, he didn’t like to make his employees work on days he himself wouldn’t. “What about you?”

He realized almost instantly that this was a terrible question to ask her. Belle had no family, no friends, and now not even a good-for-nothing husband.

But she didn’t cry. She didn’t even look like she was going to. She just shrugged.

“I’ll probably just rest,” she said. “I’ve offered to work the whole day on Christmas Eve so everyone else can have it off.”

“Not gonna spend it with your fucking Halloween monster boyfriend?”

Belle’s eyes widened. “You don’t think it’s too soon to be spending Christmas together?” 

He thought it was too soon to do a lot of things—for example, bite each other on the neck—but no one actually cared what he thought about the matter.

“Does he have any family here?”

Belle looked up from the receipts and frowned. “I don’t know. He hasn’t really opened up much about himself.”

Danny scoffed. “You’ve seen him every fucking day this week, haven’t you? What the fuck do you talk about?”

Belle’s cheeks reddened more than he’d ever seen, and he wished he was drunk, or that he’d reached Richie Richardson and gone to see him instead of staying here to obsess over his perfect assistant. He tried to summon the same attitude as he had about the vibrator the ladies had gotten her, but all he felt was sick.

“Right.” He ran a hand through his sweaty hair. Why did he always sweat so much around her?

“Sorry, I mean, we—”

And then, like a blessing from above, Frank opened the door with his whiskey. Thank god he’d asked him to do that.

“Can I get you guys anything else?” Frank asked.

Belle shook her head, still as red as her cranberry juice, and Danny snatched his drink out of Frank’s hand with a mumbled thanks.

“Actually, um, before you go, can I—I need your opinion,” Belle said.

“His opinion?” Danny asked, just as Frank said, “Go for it.”

“Well, both of you.” Belle looked between them, then bit her lip. Danny was going to squeeze the glass so hard, it shattered.

“Fucking out with it, then,” he said.

“Well.” Belle picked up her juice and took a sip, studying the straw like a chess board. “Okay, so, imagine you’re a woman, and the man you’ve been seeing is—”

She looked between the two of them, waving a hand as though she’d said something one of them could make sense of.

“Is what?” Danny asked.

“Rich?” Frank asked.

Belle shook her head. “I mean, the two of you are together, and you’ve been alone for awhile, and he’s—”

Danny stared, eyes narrowed, unsure if he was stupid or Belle really wasn’t making her point. A glance at Frank told him that he was lost too.

“Using his mouth,” she said. 

Danny stared blankly. Perhaps he’d just lost the ability to think to save himself the stress of understanding her meaning.

“Oh, I see,” Frank said. “Not on your mouth.”

It was definitely better if Danny did not understand, because if he fully comprehended her meaning, he would be imagining fucking Francis with his mouth between Belle’s gorgeous legs every night until the day he died.

“Right,” Belle said. “So I just was wondering—you know, I don’t have much experience with that sort of thing and I assume both of you have more.”

Frank nodded along and Danny could have laughed. Sure, he had some experience, but none of it recent and none of it that skillful. 

“Is it normal to, um—bite?” 

“No, it fucking is not!” Danny shouted.

“Depends,” Frank said, still nodding. “Where?”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘where?’” Danny slugged back his second whiskey. Maybe he would collapse in a drunken heap and escape this conversation.

“I just mean, you know, it might be weird in some places,” he said.

“It was on the thigh,” Belle said.

Frank shook his head. “Not weird.”

Danny disagreed, but then he would probably bite Belle’s thigh if given half a chance, so who was he to say anything at all?

“What if it drew blood?” Belle chewed her lip, and Danny could no longer contain an impotent screech of rage.

“What the fuck is your fucking boyfriend’s fucking obsession with fucking eating you?” 

Thank god Frank was frowning now, because Danny couldn’t fight Francis, but he could certainly have punched Frank a little bit if necessary. Not that it would have done anything, but it would make him feel better.

“I mean, it’s weird if you guys didn’t talk about that being okay beforehand,” Frank said. “That’s definitely some shit you need to talk about if you’re getting into kink.”

Belle shook her head. “It was accidental,” she said. “He was really freaked out by it.”

Frank frowned deeper and Danny, despite his commitment to not angry pacing, paced angrily to his parrot chair and then back.

“I mean, I don’t know the situation, but I’ve never accidentally bit Mary so hard she bleeds. Did you clean it after?”

“Who the fuck is Mary?” Danny asked.

“His fiancee,” Belle said. “And yes, he found some antiseptic in a first aid kit.”

He didn’t have time to be angry about Belle knowing things about his head bartender and de facto best friend that he didn’t even know. That was for later, when he had recovered from learning that Belle’s fucking vampire boyfriend bit her on the fucking thigh so hard, she had to fucking disinfect it.

“I guess maybe one time, not weird. If it happens again though?” Frank shrugged. “I’d be concerned.”

Belle nodded, then looked toward him as though she wanted the opinion of the man who was about to rage out of his skin as he angry paced across the room.

“What the fuck do you fucking want me to say?” Danny asked. “Frank’s fucking—” He waved a hand. “—On it.”

Belle eyed him, and then Frank escaped this horror of a conversation, leaving him pacing around thinking alternately about Francis between Belle’s legs and Francis ripping Belle’s throat out with his teeth. He was going to be sick. Why did he keep drinking?

“Do you fucking need something?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I just wondered where you got the burgers,” she said, twisting her hands in front of her. He needed to calm down. If he scared Belle now, she might go to her boyfriend and cry about him, and he could not handle that.

“Place down the block.” He stalked over to her desk and her pile of receipts, then over to his egg chairs. Why didn’t he have any windows in his office? When he pulsated with anger, all his walls did was pulsate back at him. He needed to see something normal.

“It was good,” she said. “I feel like—never mind.”

He stalked back over to her. “What do you fucking feel like? It’s nice to fucking eat summat what isn’t a fucking salad or a fucking freezer meal?” Like he was one to talk—his freezer didn’t know there was any other type of meal.

“I was just going to say I feel like I haven’t enjoyed food in so long.” She twisted her hands again, but she was staring at the empty burger bag in the bin instead of him.

“Aye?”

“Aye,” she said, and he grinned a little. He liked when she was in a good enough mood to mimic his accent. “I guess I didn’t even realize it. I thought it was just because I was too tired to cook, but I’ve had burgers and takeout and—I don’t know. It was good.” 

“Good.” He needed another shot so he could pretend he hadn’t heard that. He couldn’t keep feeding her. She was his assistant.

“Actually, when I’m here, I enjoy food a lot,” she said, and his neck almost snapped. 

“Because the strippers make you fucking horny?” he said, glad that the quip readied itself without him having to think. Belle laughed.

“Maybe that’s it.”

She settled back in her chair and, because he couldn’t leave well enough alone, he hopped up onto her desk like this was her office.

“So if Colonel fucking Mustache doesn’t talk about himself, what the fuck do you talk about?” If she said they mostly fucked, he could handle it. He was calm now. She enjoyed food when she was at the club.

“Mostly we just talk about me and books,” she said. 

He wrinkled his nose. “Well that’s fucking suspicious.”

“Is it?” she asked, and she looked at him with worry like he had some sort of relationship wisdom to dispense. “What do you mean?”

“Well, what the fuck does he need to know all about you for if he won’t tell you about him?”

She chewed her lip, then pulled over her cranberry juice and chewed on the straw. “I mean, I can’t say I haven’t thought the same. But I thought maybe I was being rude? Like Gaston always was?”

He snorted. “You couldn’t be fucking rude if you tried,” he said. “Bet you didn’t even say shite to Richie Richardson’s man.”

“What about accidentally rude?” she said. “Sometimes I think I miss social cues.”

“Look,” Danny said. “I’ve told you about myself, yeah?” She nodded. “And I’m as fucking tight-lipped as they fucking come. So you’re fucking fine.”

Belle snickered, and Danny frowned. “What the fuck’s so fucking funny?”

“Tight-lipped?” She covered her mouth. “You?” 

“Oi, I’ve got secrets you wouldn’t fucking believe,” he said, wind leaving his sails. If anyone else had laughed at him, he’d have screamed until he was blue in the face, but Belle didn’t have a mean bone in her body. If she was laughing at him, it was only the same way he laughed at her. 

“Try me,” she said. 

He scoffed. “Finish those fucking receipts and then I’ll think about it.”

Chapter Text

Belle went to work the next day, though she wished she could have called out and just given herself a four-day break. Francis was working, so she would have been able to just spend the day in bed, maybe reading a book. Instead, she had her book with her up at the register.

She and Francis didn’t really discuss having coffee anymore, he just appeared at the end of her shift without fail, and she liked that. It was dependable, reliable. Exactly what she needed.

The bell rang half an hour before her shift ended and Belle closed her book, sticking it on a shelf under the register and plastering on a smile that melted off as she heard familiar footsteps. It couldn’t be. Why would he be in a bookstore? This bookstore? There was only one reason.

Gaston rounded the corner and Belle stood from her chair, though it made little difference. He was so tall.

“Gaston,” she said, clutching the edge of the desk. Be brave, Belle. 

“Belle, what the hell?” 

Gaston was, by all accounts, objectively handsome, which Belle had always known and assumed she was supposed to feel things about, but never had. To her, he’d always just been big and mean. 

“Why are you here?” she said. He couldn’t hurt her now, though. Not that he’d ever physically harmed her, but the fear had always lurked in the back of her mind.

“Danny won’t let me into the club,” he said. “And I know this is your fault.”

Belle started, taken aback. He was coming to her about Danny’s club ban? Perhaps he was more thoughtless than she’d thought.

“No,” she said. “It’s your fault for borrowing fifteen thousand pounds you don’t have. It’s the same reason credit card companies stopped letting you in.”

“I’m supposed to be allowed in if I have cash.” He drew a wad of bills from his pocket. “Then I don’t owe him anything.”

She quelled the urge to snatch the money out of his hand. Whether or not she deserved to have his debts repaid, she couldn’t just steal from him.

“If you have cash to burn, why don’t you make a card payment?” 

“I already made the payments this month.” 

She didn’t believe him, but then, she never checked. To assume he was paying them gave her more hope than to watch the interest add up. 

“Then this will help pay down the principal, won’t it?” 

“Belle, just call Danny and tell him to let me—where’s your ring?”

Belle looked down at her hand. She’d already forgotten that Gaston didn’t know she was planning to divorce him.

“Gone,” she said. 

He frowned, folding his burly arms. “What’s it gone for?”

“Because I’m not married,” she said. 

“We are married,” he said. “We’re in this together.”

Belle wished Danny was there to just scream with rage. A lifetime of adhering to the rules of polite society meant that she squashed her own screams, and it would have been nice to have someone emoting. 

“No we’re not,” she said. “If we were, you wouldn’t let me shoulder all this burden.”

He leaned forward, too tall to rest comfortably against the counter. “Come on. Just tell Danny to let me in, and whatever money I win, I’ll put on the credit cards.”

Belle understood that gambling was an addiction, she really did, but she could not allow his addiction to compel her into sympathy.

“No,” she said. “You’re not going to win any money. You’re not good at poker, and it’s all luck anyway.”

“Belle, this is ridiculous, you know I love the Parrot Club, how can you—”

“You haven’t been there in months!” she all but shouted. Danny would be so proud. “Why do you suddenly need to go so badly?”

“Excuse me,” came a voice so icy, even Belle shivered. “Is there a problem?”

Francis, in a suit instead of his uniform, stepped around Gaston, and Belle relaxed until she saw the look in his eyes, and her brain told her to flee like a hunted deer. Gaston dwarfed him, as he did everyone, but Francis stood before him as though Gaston was just a cockroach—annoying to crush, but not unmanageable.

“Yeah, there’s a problem,” Gaston said, while Belle thanked anything and everything that could listen that Francis wasn’t looking at her like that. “It’s you. This is a private conversation.”

“You’re having it quite loudly in a public place,” Francis said. 

“Yeah, well, this is my wife, and I’ll talk to her wherever I want,” Gaston said. Belle opened her mouth to retort, ready to fight now instead of fleeing.

“Well, this is my girlfriend,” Francis said before she could. “And she doesn’t seem happy to see you.”

Gaston had never hit Belle, but she’d certainly seen him hit other people, and she recognized the way his shoulders bunched, his foot slid to stabilize himself.

“I don’t think you heard me.” Gaston leaned into Francis’ space, and Belle slipped away from the register, giving up the three feet of wood protecting her from Gaston. “I said, this is my wife.”

“I heard you,” Francis said, unmoving. “And in case you didn’t hear me, I said she doesn’t want to see you. Oh.” He smiled, reaching up to twist his mustache. “And I said she was my girlfriend.”

“Gaston, don’t!” She threw herself onto the elbow he reared back, forcing it down with all the weight in her body. 

“Get off me, Belle, this isn’t—”

“It’s time for you to leave,” Francis said. Belle didn’t see how he did it, but somehow Francis—smaller than Gaston by at least half—had both his arms behind his back and away from Belle in seconds, holding his wrists together like handcuffs.

“Geroff me!” Gaston struggled, but Francis just pushed him toward the door.

“Forgive me, Belle,” he called. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

All she could do was watch as Francis, not a hair out of place, shoved Gaston out of the bookstore. She was halfway to calling Danny before she realized that Francis wouldn’t appreciate that when he came back, so she stuck her phone in her pocket. She could tell Danny about it later.

He returned after a couple minutes having not even broken a sweat, then swept over to her in a few long strides. 

“Are you all right?” He traced his fingertips down her cheek, searching her face like he might find an injury.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Are you?”

“Me?” He laughed in disbelief. “He can’t hurt me.”

“How are you so confident?” She reached up to cover his hand with hers, trying to feel something about what she’d just witnessed. Should she be angry? Grateful? Scared?

“I’m a soldier, Belle.” He slipped his free arm around her waist. “The real question is why did you jump on his arm? He could have seriously hurt you.”

She blinked in surprise at him. “So that he wouldn’t punch you.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Well, I wasn’t just going to stand there and let him hurt you either,” she said. “This was, of course, before I knew you were a soldier.”

“You were protecting me?” he asked. “From your ex-husband?”

What other reason did he imagine she’d leapt on Gaston? “Of course. I don’t want you to get—”

He cut her off with a kiss, sliding his hand into her hair. 

“—hurt,” she finished when he pulled back. “Especially not if I’m there to stop it.”

“There’s no one else like you, Belle.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. She relaxed, letting her hands grip his waist. Though she had no doubt she would have gotten Gaston out of there eventually, it was nice to have someone care enough to do it for her. Francis hadn’t even hesitated.

“Please, though, let me protect you from now on,” he said, thumb resting against the corner of her mouth. “I’ll provide for you, you don’t have to worry.”

Belle bristled. “I don’t want to be provided for, I want to be cared about and appreciated. And—”

“And you weren’t ready for me to call you ‘girlfriend’?” He slid his hand down to rest on her neck, and his wry expression calmed her. How could he have just started on about providing and a relationship? 

“Yes. We haven’t talked about it.”

“I only said it to get under his skin,” he said. “Don’t worry. I know you’re still making up your mind.”

Was the flutter in her belly nervous or happy? She eyed him. “What about your mind?”

He smiled his mysterious smile. “My mind’s been made up.”

“But we’ve only been dating a week and a half.”

He shrugged. “I’ve been around long enough to know what I want.”

Belle studied his face; his mysterious smile, his bright eyes, his well-combed mustache. Who was he? What did she even really know about him? Francis held her close, but he always kept her at arm’s length.

“I know what I want,” she said.

He lifted an eyebrow. “You do?”

She nodded. “I want to know you, Francis.”

“What do you mean?” He frowned again. “You do know me. You know all my tastes, my interests. You know me so well, you’re able to recommend books I love without ever having seen my bookshelf.”

She smiled sadly at him. “I can do that for anyone. Just give me a few minutes with them. It’s my job.”

He licked his lips. “So what are you saying?”

She almost laughed. She was being so clear, wasn’t she? “I’m saying, I want to know who you are. I don’t know about—about your family or your childhood or even your neighbors or your coworkers. Do you have a lot of friends? Am I going to meet them? What scares you? What’s happened to you?” She cupped his cheek, brushing her thumb across his stubble. “I like you a lot, but I won’t be with someone who shuts me out again, even if they treat me better.”

They watched each other, Francis expressionless and Belle slowly drawing her lip into her mouth to chew it nervously. 

“I’m a very private person,” he said. “And I am unused to opening up. But if you’ll give me a chance, you are the person I’d like to open up to.”

Thank god. She kissed him. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. Now, you’re early, so I have to get back to work before we can go.”

Arm still around her waist, he pulled her to him, pressing their hips together, and then planted a smoldering kiss on her mouth. When he pulled back, he was the only thing holding her up.

“I look forward to doing more of that as soon as possible,” he said. 

Belle agreed, of course, but she wanted more than anything just to sit and talk. The ball was in Francis’ court now though.

She arrived at the club on time and Danny was nowhere to be found, which wasn’t unusual. Sometimes he got a bug up his ass to chase down a payment and nothing could stop him. 

They hadn’t had enough time to really get into it over coffee, but Francis had told her about one of his neighbors, a nosy old woman who liked to give him advice on how to use his allotment garden. It wasn’t much, but at least it brought her into his world a little more.

Danny returned an hour and a half later while Belle was comforting a dancer whose boyfriend had shown up to fling money at her. By the time she left, Belle had convinced her that the boyfriend wasn’t worth keeping, and at least she got money out of it.

“The fuck happens when I’m gone?” Danny asked, hurling himself across the room into his parrot. 

“I don’t know, the dancers like me now.” She shrugged. “It’s nice. How was collecting?”

Danny shook his head. “Wasn’t collecting.” He ran a hand through his hair, then picked his feet up and curled into the parrot belly. Belle frowned.

“What’s wrong?” She stood, but then Danny waved at her to sit down. “Did something happen?”

“Something did fucking happen,” he said. “Can you fucking leave me alone to listen to me own fucking thoughts for a minute?”

Belle’s mouth fell open, but she sat down and said nothing more. Danny never snapped at her like that. She didn’t like it, or the creeping feeling along her spine. You didn’t do anything, she reminded herself. He’s just mad about whatever he’s mad about.

Danny stood and paced across the room, away from Belle’s desk, and then paced back to his chair, and then, as though he wasn’t sure he wanted to, stalked over to her. 

“Are you okay?” she asked. 

Without a word—which was scary enough—Danny pulled a thick roll of cash from his jacket pocket and slapped it on her desk. Belle frowned.

“What’s this?” 

“This,” he said, “Is your fucking money.”

She eyed him and then the cash. “I don’t understand.” If Danny had been trying to be nice, he wouldn’t have been so angry or sweaty. Well, he might have been sweaty.

“Let me paint you a fucking picture, hey?” He spread his legs, then waved his hand across an imaginary canvas. “I’m sitting in my fucking office, having a fucking laugh of a time with Joe fucking Kearns and his full, on-time fucking payment, when in walks your fucking fuck-wit husband.”

Belle paled. Was Danny mad at her that Gaston had tried to get into the club? He should be mad at the bouncers.

“So, okay, so I fucking ask—‘how the fuck did you get in here, you fucking cocksucking fucking wank?’” Danny glanced down at her as if to ensure she was following along. “Right? And he says, ‘I have your money, Danny,’ which already fucking sounds like a fucking lie, doesn’t it?”

It was like watching a train crash into someone on the tracks, except she couldn’t turn away because she was the someone.

“But it wasn’t?” she asked.

“So you know what I fucking said? I said, ‘Don’t fucking play around, how the fuck did you get in my fucking club when I know for a fucking fact you were fucking turned away this very fucking afternoon, fucking shite-for-brains fucking waster?’” 

So this was after he’d come to her. “He told them he had your money at the door?”

“Aye, he fucking told them he had my fucking money, and then he fucking takes a load of fucking pounds out.” He grabbed the roll off her desk and waggled it. “This fucking load. But I fucking said, ‘Does your fucking saintly wife fucking know you’ve decided to slag off paying her fucking cards to get in my fucking good graces?’

“And then I fucking noticed.” Here, Danny hunched over, clearly in character now. “He was fucking holding himself weird, fucking protecting one fucking side of his body, like he had a fucking gun.”

Belle’s eyes widened. “He didn’t, did he?”

“No, he fucking did not. Do you know what he did fucking have?”

This had gotten so far away from her, she shook her head.

“He had a fucking hand just fucking flopping around like a limp fucking dick, that’s what he fucking had.”

Belle didn’t react because there was no way she heard that correctly. “What?”

“Hanging like this.” He let his forearm dangle from his elbow. “And d’you know how he fucking got that way, Belle?”

Belle’s mouth was dry. “No.”

“It was your fucking boyfriend, snapped his fucking wrist clean in half,” Danny said. “Had to call a fucking ambulance for him.” 

Belle shook her head. “No, he had to have been exaggerating. Francis just walked him out of the store because he wouldn’t leave me alone.” 

“Aye, he fucking walked him out, and almost took a fucking souvenir.” He waggled his arm again. “Now, on one fucking hand, did your fucking troll fucker husband deserve it? Aye, he fucking did.”

Belle swallowed.

“And did he fucking have it coming from one of the other fucking fucks in town he fucking owes money to? Fucking probably.”

“So why are you mad at me?” Belle asked. She could stand up to Danny. He was all bark and no bite.

“Mad at you?” He reared back. “I’m not fucking mad. I’m fucking scared for you, Belle, because your fucking boyfriend’s a fucking psychopath who fucking climbs up to your fucking window and fucking breaks bones in half, and I can fucking protect you from a half-brained fucking ogre like Gaston, but I’m no fucking fighter.”

Belle licked her lips. She wasn’t even going to touch the window thing since there was clearly no convincing Danny that Francis was not capable of scaling a three-story wall, and she also wasn’t going to say she didn’t need protecting. Clearly, Danny was going through something.

“I’m sure there’s a simple explanation,” Belle said. “Gaston probably attacked him. He was about to in the store before I stopped him.”

“He came to the store?”

Belle nodded, and Danny let out a sound that was half growl, half yell. 

“Okay, so let me fucking get this straight. First, Gaston comes here to fucking play, gets kicked out, then goes to your fucking store? Why?”

“He wanted me to call you and tell you to let him play.”

Danny barked out a laugh. “Jesus fuck. Okay, guess I better fucking hear your side of the story, then.”

Glad to finally be able to set the record straight, Belle relayed the events of the afternoon to Danny. By the time she finished, he was pacing up and down the office.

“Well, fuck me,” he said. 

“What’s wrong?”

He adjusted himself, then ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I came in here fucking pissed and now fuck if I’m not on his fucking side. If I could snap a bone, I’d fucking snap Gaston’s.”

Belle didn’t like the idea of hurting someone just for the sake of hurting them, but she could not deny that her sympathy for Gaston had run out years ago. He would never empathize with her. Maybe a broken wrist would knock some sense into him. 

“I don’t know, maybe you were right,” Belle said. “Maybe I should be worried.” 

“Well, you know I fucking think he climbed up your fucking window,” Danny said. 

She shook her head. “Maybe he can snap a wrist, but he can’t fly, Danny. I just need to talk to him.”

“You need to go on another fucking date,” he said. “With someone else, I mean. Not your fucking soldier.”

Belle wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to date anyone you know anymore.”

Danny snapped his fingers, then pointed at her. “Call the bar. Tell ‘em to fucking send Holly in.”

Chapter Text

So, Belle lied to Francis on Wednesday. She wanted to see him at their usual bar, to make out against the wall, to do maybe more depending on how private a place they could find, but instead, she’d told him she had a stomach bug from something she’d eaten at the bar and just stayed home. Perhaps she was being a coward, but she needed more time to think about the wrist thing before she asked him about it.

It was nice to rest either way. She read a whole book, made herself an actual meal, and painted her toenails. 

On Thursday, she told him not to come for coffee because she was still sick, and though guilt ate at her, it was a relief not to have to confront her own feelings. She also took Gaston’s money to the bank so she could make a credit card payment, though it felt a little bit like throwing money into a volcano.

Holly’s involvement in Belle’s dating life meant that now, on Friday, Danny had given her the evening off so that she could go on a double date with Holly, her husband, and her husband’s friend. He’d told her that she did not have to make the worknight up by coming in on Sunday, but she’d insisted. 

Truth be told, she was avoiding Francis. She didn’t want to—she wanted to get to know him—but a part of her was afraid that he would never open up, would never prove to be a real partner for her, so she had to get used to not seeing him every day.

She did not tell him about her date, she just told him she had to run quickly to work. Last week, she thought he might have come to see her for a few minutes anyway, but now he must have known she was avoiding him. It made her guilty, but not guilty enough to stop.

So, on Friday, she put on fresh makeup and a little black sweater dress and boots, and took the Tube down to meet Holly and her husband at a pub.

“You look so nice!” Holly hugged her. They had dressed similarly, which surprised Belle, because Holly had always struck her as a colorful woman, but she wore a grey sweaterdress and green scarf. 

“You too!”

“Sorry, Mark’s late,” the man who must have been Holly’s husband said. “Work was crazy today. I’ll wait for him, you girls get us a table?” 

Belle and Holly headed inside, and Belle tried not to feel too awkward. She had just assumed that Holly would have some sort of beefy, sketchy husband and not a man in a polo shirt and khakis who looked like he’d love to play bar trivia, but that was sexist or something—she didn’t know exactly which -ism, but it certainly wasn’t flattering to strippers.

“He’s a software engineer,” Holly said when she asked. “He’d have been at work late tonight, but he makes sure to leave on time on nights I don’t work.”

Holly and Belle sat across from one another in a booth and each ordered a pint. They sat for a few minutes while Belle tried to make awkward smalltalk, and then her husband Jesse was back in with a taller, scruffier man following him. 

“Sorry I’m so late.” He held a hand out to Belle and she shook it. “Mark. Can I get—oh, you already have a drink. Next round, then.”

“Belle,” she said, smiling in spite of her nerves. Why was she so dead set on ignoring Francis? He didn’t make her nervous anymore. She shouldn’t ignore that. “So, you’re a software engineer?”

“Right, yeah, I’m actually a game developer now,” he said. “In a different department from Jesse these days, but it’s more fulfilling. What I went to school for, really.”

Belle did not expect the surge of envy that filled her throat. What must it be like to have gone to school to study the thing you love most and then go on to create it? 

“That sounds amazing,” she choked out. “Have you worked on any games I would know?”

He listed a few of them, and Belle shook her head to each one. From that point, she couldn’t catch up again. Holly and her husband were lovely, but it was clear they wanted Belle and Mark to get to know one another, and Belle tried her best, but Mark didn’t want to explain any of his references or talk about anything she knew as well. Even when Lord of the Rings came up, a book and movie series she’d loved, he spoke like she needed to prove herself, like he was cross-examining a suspect.

So Francis had broken Gaston’s wrist, so what? He listened to her. He would listen to her if she told him it upset her.

They’d finished eating and were ordering another round of drinks, so Belle slipped her phone out under the table, trying to text by feel.

I know you hate texting, but can you rescue me from a pub? I’m on a blind date. I’ll explain later, I promise. I have the rest of the night off.

She wished she’d told him about the date before, but she’d have to settle for telling him now. He would either understand or he wouldn’t, and there was nothing she could do.

“So, you don’t play any video games?” Mark asked. 

“No, I’m sorry,” Belle said. “Well, my husband had a PlayStation, so we played a little, but he was a bad teacher.”

She didn’t realize she’d said anything strange until Holly kicked her under the table. 

“Her ex-husband,” Holly said when Belle just stared blankly, and then Belle blushed.

“Right, yes, I’m sorry.” 

Name? Address

Belle fired off the information to Francis, relieved that he hadn’t called, and when he texted back 10, she could have wept. She just had to finish her beer and find an excuse to leave that didn’t involve saying that Mark, despite being so much more normal than the men she knew, was a miserable pustule of a conversationalist.

“So you’re divorced?” Mark asked.

“Yes,” Belle said. She didn’t intend to date Mark, so there was no point in telling him about her struggles ending her marriage. 

“Aren’t you a little young to be divorced?” 

She gulped her beer, watching Holly elbow her husband and gesture toward Mark under the table. 

“Probably,” she said. “But it happens.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he said, and she relaxed. “Must be hard.”

Belle glanced at Holly over her beer, and she was smiling encouragingly now. Maybe Belle had judged Mark too soon. 

“It is what it is,” she said. “At least we’re finally separated.” 

Mark nodded, and then said nothing. This was the real problem—she’d asked him several questions, given him prompts, and he could only think of one question to ask her that wasn’t a backdoor into talking about himself.

“So, what kind of games do you develop?” she asked. “Do you work for a particular system?”

“Mostly computer,” he said. “You know, I’ve noticed a lot of women these days playing computer games.”

“Do you work with a lot of women?” Belle asked. She hoped not, for their sake, but she also hoped so. 

Mark laughed. “God, no. I don’t know any women who really like games, they’re usually just trying to impress me. Or, I mean, other guys.”

Belle almost choked on her beer, and maybe she didn’t blame Francis for getting rough with Gaston. Maybe if she broke Mark’s wrist, he would shut up.

“Why would anyone pretend to like a game to impress you?” she asked. Holly’s eyes widened.

Mark frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re incredibly self-centered and rude, and any time I talked about anything you were interested in, you treated me like a child.” She set her beer down. Maybe better not to drink. “So first, why would I have any interest in impressing you, and second, if I did want to impress you, why do you think I would pretend to like video games to do it?”

Mark looked over at Jesse, who was on his way out of his chair and to the bar. Belle would be too if she’d been the one to suggest a person like Mark for a date.

“I mean,” she said, since he clearly wasn’t going to respond, “If, for some reason, I did want to impress you, the best thing to do would be to get you talking about yourself, since you’re most impressed with you.”

Holly laughed now, a high-pitched, nervous laugh that must have been meant to smooth things over, but Belle didn’t have it in her to smile or play along.

“I’ve spent all night trying to have a conversation with you, and all you’ve done is act like I can’t even read.”

Holly’s eyes widened at something behind Belle, and then a hand was on her shoulder. She turned and there was Francis, and she could have kissed him right then and there.

“Sorry, Holly,” she said, draining her beer before extricating herself from her chair. “It was lovely to see you. Tell Jesse I appreciate this.” 

Through all this, Mark just watched her like he wasn’t quite sure she had spoken to him at all. Belle smiled at him, pulling her coat on as Francis’ arm slid around her waist.

“Mark, I’m sorry this didn’t go better and that I’m leaving with another man. I know that’s very rude of me, but you have been truly awful to spend time with.” She smiled up at Francis, who looked closer to bursting into laughter than she’d ever seen him. “No one’s trying to impress you. Let women like things. I’ll see you tomorrow, Holly.”

With that, she let Francis steer her out, tucking herself against him when the cold air blasted them. 

“Thanks for rescuing me,” she said when they turned a corner and could no longer see the pub. “You didn’t have to do that, and I really appreciate it.”

“I’m not sure you needed a rescue,” he said. “But I’m happy to see you’re done avoiding me.”

She bit her lip, but Francis didn’t loosen his grip or look annoyed even briefly. She slipped out of his arm so she could link hers through it instead, and he laid his hand on top of hers.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have talked to you instead of avoiding you.”

He squeezed her hand, pressing her closer to him. “Were you avoiding me because of the ‘girlfriend’ comment?”

“The girlfriend comment?” She’d completely forgotten about that. “No. I was avoiding you because of Gaston’s arm.”

He frowned. “Gaston’s arm? What are you talking about?”

Was he playing dumb or did he truly not know? Had Gaston lied? “Gaston went to the club with a broken arm after you threw him out and told Danny you were the one who broke it.”

“Ah.” He looked straight ahead, a tiny smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t realize it was broken.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You look a little too gleeful for me to believe you.”

He glanced down at her, schooling his smirk into a more somber expression. “I really didn’t, Belle, I promise. He tried to hit me and I threw him off, but I didn’t think I did anything more than bruise him.”

She studied his face so closely, they had to stop walking. He seemed to be telling the truth, but how? “How does one not notice breaking someone’s wrist?”

“It probably broke when he hit the pavement,” he said. 

Belle frowned, continuing their walk. They were headed toward her flat, though it would be at least another half hour. 

“Belle.” He stopped, shifting them out of the way of another group, then turned to face her, cupping her cheek with his free hand. Faced with meeting his earnest gaze, Belle found herself softening. “Belle, I swear I didn’t know. Why would I lie to you?”

“I don’t know.” Her anxiety could supply her with a thousand reasons. “Why would you?”

“I have no reason to,” he said. “I’m trying to win your favor, aren’t I?” 

“That’s a pretty good reason to lie,” she said. It was getting hard to think with his hand on her cheek and his gaze drifting toward her mouth. Harder even to remember that they were on a well-trafficked public sidewalk.

He shook his head. “Maybe a craftier lie, but this one would be so easy to catch me out on. I promise you, I had no idea. I would never betray your trust like that.”

It didn’t seem like he was lying, and he made a good point. She still couldn’t wrap her head around the whole situation, but then, she hadn’t actually seen Gaston’s wrist. Maybe Danny was exaggerating. 

“Okay,” she said, and his eyebrows flew up. “I believe you. But you should know that I don’t want anyone to break Gaston’s bones or punish him for what he did to me, okay?”

“You are too kind to him.” He kissed her, and she had somehow forgotten how nice it was to feel his mouth on hers, even just for a second. She had avoided him too long.

“It won’t fix anything,” Belle said. “If it would, maybe I’d feel differently, but it’s just revenge at that point.”

He kissed her again, this time for longer. Had she really gone on a date with another man? That was crazy. She just wanted to date Francis.

“I’m all for revenge sometimes,” he said. “But if that’s how you feel, I respect your wishes.”

“Thank you.” She kissed him this time, but pulled away when two people skirted around them, muttering. Francis glared after them while Belle blushed. 

“We were hardly being obscene,” Francis said, but he let his hand drop from her face. 

“Were you walking me home?” she asked. 

“I was.” He tucked her hand into his elbow again, and she snuggled up to him as they started to move. “But I don’t have to.”

It was Friday night. She was never off on Fridays or Saturdays, and this was such a rare opportunity to spend a romantic evening in the nightlife of London with her beau. 

“I already had dinner, so we don’t have to worry about finding a place we can both eat,” she said. “So I think maybe that means the night is ours?” 

“And here I was thinking I’d spend the evening alone, pining for you and hoping you’d allow me an hour in a coffee shop tomorrow,” he said, but he was grinning. 

“We could get dessert,” she said. 

He thought for a minute. “I know a place,” he said before tugging her across the middle of the street. 

She smiled as she jogged after him, hand in his. Maybe Francis was not officially her boyfriend yet, but that didn’t mean she had to date other people. It just meant she was reserving judgment, reserving the commitment for knowing that he would open up to her.

He took her to a little late-night cafe where they got cappuccinos and a tiramisu to share, though Francis only had two bites.

“Too rich for me,” he said, so Belle finished it off. She hadn’t had tiramisu in years, and she loved it. How could she have forgotten how much she loved it? 

Even away from most of the hustle and bustle, London was beautiful at Christmastime. What did Francis do for Christmas? Part of her was afraid to ask him. What if the answer was nothing, and then suddenly, less than a month into their relationship, they were stuck spending a major holiday together? Sure, she had been thinking of what to get him, but exchanging gifts was not the same.

“So,” Francis said. “To be clear, you would not want anyone to break the bones of your date tonight?”

“That is correct, I do not want his bones broken.”

“He should thank you for your mercy.”

Belle grinned, tipping back the rest of her cappuccino. Danny was wrong about her. She wasn’t nineteen anymore, and even though she’d stayed married to him, she’d been telling Gaston no for years. When it mattered, she could stand up for herself.

They left the cafe and meandered in the direction of Belle’s flat while Belle tried to come up with something for them to do. She didn’t want to just go back to their usual wine bar, but taking Francis to a pub felt somehow wrong. Even though he had eaten her out in a museum stairwell, he was still so fancy and buttoned up in public. 

“Do you hear that?” he asked, stopping. Belle strained her ears.

“I’m not sure. I don’t think I hear anything.”

At the end of the street, he pulled her east, and as they wandered, she started to hear it. There was a band somewhere playing Christmas music. Belle could pick out the sound of a violin.

“I think there’s a park up ahead,” Francis said. “Perhaps that’s where it’s coming from.”

It was coming from the park up ahead, and it was a live band set up on a tiny stage. Families wandered around drinking paper cups of cocoa and mulled wine, and all the trees had been strung with lights. Even further on, it looked like there might have been a few vendor tents.

“That looks like fun,” Belle said. “Should we walk around?”

There weren’t too many vendors, but Belle did find a Christmas-themed bowtie that she had to have for Danny, though as she was handing over the cash for it, she told Francis it was for Holly. If he thought it strange that she was buying a stripper a bowtie, he said nothing, and they carried on. 

Once they left the main crowd, it was quiet save for the band music, and the only light was one string of fairy lights in a bush. If the air hadn’t been crisp and chilly, if London hadn’t been winking all around them, if there wasn’t a group of people laughing and dancing a stone’s throw away, it might have been spooky, but as Francis came to wrap an arm around her waist and take her hand in the other, it was just beautiful.

“There used to be places we could have gone to dance all night,” he murmured, setting her free hand onto his shoulder. “How fortuitous that we found this instead.”

“This is much more romantic,” Belle said, gripping his shoulder. She rested her head on his chest, and he leaned toward her. Even through his coat, she could feel the steady beat of his heart.

They danced through two songs, including an upbeat rendition of Jingle Bells. The music didn’t matter as much as Francis’ hand on her waist and his cheek against her hair. She couldn’t believe she’d started the evening on a date with another man.

“I don’t want to walk you home,” Francis murmured. 

She didn’t want him to either. She would have been happy to do this all night. “You could invite me over instead.”

It was the boldest thing she’d ever suggested, and though Francis was quiet, he didn’t recoil or flinch as she’d feared he might.

“I would love to, but I’m afraid it’s not fit for guests right now,” he said. “You could invite me up to your place.”

Belle flushed, though Francis couldn’t have known that all she had in her apartment was a bed. She wanted to stay with him all night, but it still felt like too much, too big a step to have sex. The last time she’d slept with someone for the first time, she’d been in school, and then she’d married him.

“I live in a tiny studio,” she said. “There’s nowhere for us to sit.”

“Perhaps, on Sunday, I could cook for you?” he said, and she curled her hand tighter around his shoulder. She was about to agree when she remembered her deal with Danny. He probably wouldn’t mind if she bailed.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” she said. “Danny needs me to go with him on a few errands on Sunday. That’s why he gave me tonight off instead.”

It wasn’t exactly the truth, and Danny had no errands for her, but it sounded better than I switched my night off so I could date another man while avoiding you. 

“I loathe Danny,” he said. “What errands could he possibly need you for? Pole dancing lessons?”

She should probably defend Danny, but it would be easier to do that if she made him seem less offensive first. Of course, this was a terrible opportunity for that because the only errand she could think of was collecting, and she did not want to tell Francis that Danny was a loan shark.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I think he just wants company for a longer drive than usual.”

Francis pulled her closer, and she was happy to oblige. “I suppose I can’t begrudge anyone wanting your company. Are you working a full shift?”

“The usual time,” she said. 

The hand on her back slid around to her hip, holding her as tightly against him as she’d fit. 

“Then I guess we’ll just have to do this all night,” he said. She couldn’t reach much of him, but she could tilt her head just enough to kiss him on the neck. He kissed the top of her head in return, and then she tucked her head back under his chin so they could dance until the music stopped.

Chapter Text

Danny hopped onto her desk. “I’ve been thinking.” He spun around until he faced her, cross-legged. “You’re too fucking tired all the time to be any fucking use to me.”

Seven months ago, this might have sent Belle into a tailspin, but now she knew that Danny preferred to preface his good deeds with sounding like an asshole. She leaned back in her chair.

“Sorry that my life is in the toilet and I’m hanging on by a thread,” she said, though she was actually rested today. Sunday was her day off at the store. “I’ll try to do better.”

He smirked, and she tried to keep a straight face. One of them needed to be the straight man for his bit.

“I want to train you to take on more responsibility.”

Belle narrowed her eyes, trying to puzzle out how this was Danny being nice. “How will that help?”

“Look, you’re my most competent employee what isn’t also a bartender, and it’s a fucking shame that the most you can help me with is organizing.” 

She narrowed her eyes further. “Okay. So—you want to train me?”

“Aye.” He fiddled with the edge of his jacket, burnt orange today. “I want to train you to be assistant manager. So I can hire you full time.”

It was like hearing a delayed audio track on a movie. Belle saw his mouth move, but the words processed seconds later while Danny cast her furtive looks.

“Well?” he asked.

“You want to hire me?” she asked. Her brain told her to feel awful about this—assistant manager in a strip club? She wanted to do something with books. 

“Aye, full time. Fucking salaried and everything.”

But her heart soared, and her shoulders relaxed. This was it. This was the simple job that would make her happy and allow her to pursue the things she loved. Besides, she loved the Parrot Club and its dancers and its floor shows. She was already happy here.

“Really?” She swallowed and bit her cheek, knowing the tears were coming. “You trust me to be your right hand?”

“Well, not right fucking now, hey?” He rapped his fingers on the desk, watching his knee instead of her. “But I trust you’ve got a good fucking head on your shoulders.”

A salary. If it was good enough, she could quit at the bookstore, be a person with just one job. Maybe she could go back to university and study something. 

“Will it be enough to live on?” she asked.

“Aye, it’ll be enough to fucking live on, what the fuck do you take me for?” 

Instead of selling books, she could buy books. She could enjoy them again. She could sleep in and make dinner and curl up on a rainy afternoon instead of finding her heaviest duty raincoat to brave the elements so she could work fifteen hours.

“What about Gaston’s debt?” she asked.

He waved a hand. “Same arrangement, interest still accrues.” 

Anyone else would have been suspicious, but Belle knew Danny now. However he treated his clientele, he treated his employees much better, and he treated Belle best of all. That probably meant something, but he was her boss, so she chose to believe it didn’t.

“Okay,” she said, and then because that didn’t sound enthusiastic at all, smiled. “Yes, I accept.”

“Yeah?” He grinned, a real grin and not the one that meant he was about to needle her, but they were saved a tender moment by his banana phone ringing. With a gusty sigh, he hopped off the desk.

“Do you want me to get it instead?” Belle asked.

Danny waved her off. “What are the fucking odds it’s Abe fucking Klein?” Before picking up, he wiggled his trousers back into position, then snatched the phone up. “What?”

That’s where he’d been when she arrived at five, chasing down Abe Klein. He’d been giving him the runaround for weeks, and Danny was on his way to losing it. Maybe in her first act as assistant manager, she could wheedle the money out of Mr. Klein.

“So what?” Danny said, leaning against the desk. “That’s what the fucking bouncers are—oh. Jesus fuck, all right, we’re coming.”

He hung the phone up while Belle stood, since she was the only “we” available. 

“What’s going on?” 

He ran a hand through his hair, then shook his head so it would fall back into place. “Some wife’s come in to pick a fucking fight with the strippers. They got it contained, but she fucking threatened a lawsuit if a bouncer fucking touches her, so we have to go fucking deal with it.”

Danny, as far as she knew, had never de-escalated a situation in his life. 

“Maybe let me take this one,” Belle said, following him out.

It was a mark of just how dark and smoky the Parrot Club was that most of the crowd didn’t even seem to realize a fight had broken out. They found the fight in question, though the dancer it had been with was long gone, and all that remained was an older woman in a circle of bouncers and bartenders. Someone had managed to handcuff her with a set of the leather cuffs that the dominatrixes used.

The woman yelled indiscriminately, hurling insults and threats at bouncers and bartenders trained to keep straight faces. When she’d arrived, she must have had the tight, neat appearance of the type of person who wore a suit to work, but now she had hair flying everywhere and she stood hunched in her circle of bouncers, looking for an opening. 

Danny shouldered his way between two bouncers and, while the woman was distracted by that, Belle slipped between two bartenders.

“All right, I’m the owner, what’s the fucking problem, hey?”

“You!” The woman lunged at Danny, but he side-stepped out of the way and she bounced harmlessly off a muscled chest. “My husband’s in here every night, sleeping with god knows who, and I will sue you for all you’re worth if anyone touches me, and don’t think I won’t!”

“If you don’t want anyone to touch you, then you can leave of your own accord,” Belle said. 

“Who the fuck are you?” She strained against her cuffs, but even though they were leather, they were still locked and strong. “Are you one of his whores? Has my husband been tipping you with our vacation money?”

Belle glanced at Danny, who was just watching near the edge. Frank’s face peeked between two other heads from the outside of the circle.

“Look, I understand how frustrating that can be. My husband—”

“You’re married? A married stripper?” She shook her head. “You’d never understand.”

“I do understand,” Belle said. “And I think, if you just sat, took a deep breath, maybe had a cup of tea, you’d realize it’s your husband you should be screaming at.”

“I don’t want a fucking cup of tea,” she said, and then, hands still tied, she lunged at Belle and slammed her forehead into her cheek.

Belle stumbled back, and some man caught her while Danny screamed with rage about calling the police and pressing charges and how dare she come into his fucking club. When the stars cleared from Belle’s vision, the woman was between two bouncers frog-marching her outside. 

“You okay?” Danny asked, peering at her. She blinked away the tears that had sprung to her eyes. 

“Am I bleeding?” Belle asked.

“Aye, a bit. You need a lift?” He gestured to one of the bouncers who raised his arms like he meant to carry her to the back, and Belle skirted away.

“No, my legs work just fine.”

“All right, everyone, back to fucking work, there’s nothing to fucking see here.” Danny shooed everyone away, then let his hand hover over her back as they walked to his office. She made it all the way to her desk before Danny was snickering. She shook her head, but she couldn’t help smiling either.

“Jesus Christ, Belle,” he said, following her to her desk. “And you fucking thought I’d make it worse?”

“I didn’t make it worse,” Belle said, tilting her cheek toward him when he gestured. “She calmed down after she hit me, didn’t she?”

“Aye, she fucking did.” He gripped her chin, squinting at her cheek. If she watched carefully, she could see his Adam’s apple bob. “You’ll have a real fucking shiner tomorrow, but shouldn’t blind you.” 

“Am I a city girl now officially?” she asked. “That has to be worth at least as much as being sat on.”

He snickered again and dropped her chin. “Aye, getting a head to the face from a fucking psychopath counts. Welcome to fucking London.” 

Belle smiled, then winced when her cheek moved. “I should ice it.” 

“I’ll call the bar.” 

He was almost to his desk when someone knocked, and he groaned. 

“Maybe it’s Abe Klein?” Belle offered.

Danny waved a hand, changing course for the door. “No, it’s Ken fucking Green, and he better fucking have cash.” 

“I’ll get the ice,” Belle said. “And let you deal with him?”

“Aye, good, get a bottle of something too. We fucking deserve it, fucking psychopaths and Abe Klein tonight.” 

He yanked the door open for a bald man in a suit, who swept in followed by the tallest woman Belle had ever seen. Danny did not look amused, but she left him to it, slipping out the door to a raised eyebrow from the man. 

Frank met her at the bar with a whistle that the soundtrack swallowed up. 

“Look at you,” he said. “She did a real number on you.”

“Is it that bad?” Belle touched her cheek and it stung. “I haven’t seen it yet.” 

Frank held up an empty glass, but it was too dark to see much other than distorted colors. She’d have to look later. 

“Can I have some ice? And Danny said to get a bottle of something.”

“A bottle?” Frank rubbed his forehead. “There’s nothing you want that Danny wants a bottle of, and there’s nothing Danny wants a bottle of that you want to drink.”

Belle shrugged. “That’s what he said. I’m sure you’ll find something.” 

Frank disappeared, returning a couple minutes later with a bag full of ice wrapped in a paper towel before disappearing again. She pressed it to her cheek. When he came back again, he had a bottle of Disaronno.

“He doesn’t usually drink this, but I think he’ll like it.” 

She smiled, wincing again. Why couldn’t she have gotten hit in the face when she was sad all the time? 

“Thanks, Frank.”

He pushed two glasses toward her as well, and she plucked those up in one hand and the bottle in the other, tucking the ice under her arm. 

She threaded her way back to the office, debating whether she should go get some sort of doctor’s confirmation that she didn’t have a concussion—she didn’t feel woozy or disoriented, so she didn’t think she did—when she walked past the tall woman that had been in Danny’s office.

With her hands so full, it was hard to open the door. She had to tuck the bottle under her other elbow, then inch toward the door until her shortened arms could reach the knob. She yanked it open, then stuck her foot in to stop it so she could grab the bottle again.

But something was wrong. She could tell even before she got in the door by the way Danny was babbling from the belly of his parrot. A man stood in front of her, but it wasn’t the bald man from before. He wore all black, and once he glanced back at the sound of the door opening, he cocked a gun toward Danny.

“No witnesses,” the man said, and Danny’s gaze hovered between the gun and Belle. “Say goodbye, Danny Devine.”

For once, Belle had no explicit thoughts. She heard the safety click, saw his arm move, and then she was smashing the bottle of Disaronno on the back of his skull. He dropped the floor, head smacking against the ground with a crack, and her ice pack slid down with him. 

Danny stared at her. She stared at the man, blood and amaretto pooling around his head, and then at the broken bottle neck in her hand.

“Danny?” she said, clinging to the two glasses so hard, they would probably shatter next.

He was out of his chair and at her side within seconds, taking the glasses out of her hand and then, carefully, the bottleneck. Once her hands were free, she dropped to her knees, staining her yellow skirt, and groped around his neck for a pulse.

“You have to call the police,” Belle said. “And tell them to bring an ambulance.”

“I’m not calling the fucking police,” Danny said. “What the fuck are you doing?”

She could see how that would be an important question. She was having so much trouble finding his pulse, she looked like she was strangling him.

“He doesn’t have a pulse,” she said.

“That’s because he’s fucking dead, Belle.”

Belle’s vision blurred, but no tears came. Had she just killed a man with a bottle of liquor?

Danny knelt next to her, sliding one arm around her shoulders and the other under her hand. “Belle, come on, I’m not calling the fucking police, you have to stand up. The fucking ambulance won’t do shite, he’s fucking toast.”

She didn’t know what she was saying that he was responding to, but she let him lead her over to an egg chair and tuck her in. Somehow, her hands had no blood on them, but she needed to wash them, unless the police would need to swab her?

“The fucking police don’t need shite,” Danny said. “We’re not fucking calling them. You know who I am fucking calling though is Abe fucking Klein.”

“Why?” she asked. “I have hand sanitizer.” 

Danny eyed her like she might do something crazy if he left, but apparently determined she was safe while he bounded over to her desk to get her purse. She must have been in a bad state for Danny to be this quiet after having almost been shot.

“Abe fucking Klein fucking sent him here to fucking kill me.”

Belle looked up at him, blinking. “What? He wouldn’t do that.”

“Aye, he fucking would, and he fucking did. You saved my fucking life, and we’re not fucking calling the cops and you are not going on a fucking guilt spiral, hey?” 

He was probably incorrect about that. “Why don’t you want to call the cops?”

“He’s a fucking hitman, Belle, and I run a fucking strip club with dominatrixes and gambling. You fucking think the fucking pigs’ll let me fucking be if they find out some fuck with a gun tried to shoot up the fucking place?”

If only she could have a minute to think. She closed her eyes, but Danny was shaking them open within seconds.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she said when he stared nervously at her. “I was just thinking. We have to call the police or else there’s—there’s just a body here. And it was self-defense, so it’ll be fine, right?”

“Okay, fine, I didn’t want to fucking tell you this, but we can’t call the fucking police because there’s fucking cocaine all over the carpet.”

That cleared some of Belle’s cobwebs. She frowned up at him. “Why is there cocaine in your carpet? You don’t sell drugs.”

“Fucking wanker tried to pay me off in it, and then the bag fucking ripped, powder fucking everywhere.” He threw his hands up as if to mimic a cloud of exploding cocaine. “Got up what I could.”

She stared at the man on the floor. He had tried to kill Danny. She’d saved Danny’s life. She fumbled in her purse for her hand sanitizer.

“What if I hadn’t walked in when I did?”

“Was about to hit the panic switch.” He waved toward the odd levers on his desk that she’d always assumed were decoration. “Lock this fucking place down like a fucking nun’s knickers.”

A laugh bubbled up in her throat but it came out like a scream. “Okay, so—okay. What do we do?”

Danny paced toward the dead hitman, then back to Belle, then back and forth one more time before snapping his fingers. “I know a fucker who makes crime scenes disappear. Richardson, fucking useless prick, gave me his fucking number before he disappeared.”

“Crime scenes?” Belle swallowed. Danny, phone already out, eyed her, then inched toward her and laid a hand stiffly on her shoulder.

“Aye—bodies, cocaine, broken glass. You fucking name it, this fucking guy can get rid of it.”

She could not think of this as a crime scene. It was self-defense—well, Danny-defense, but still. If it was a crime scene, that meant she’d done something criminal. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Belle said. “What if he has a family?”

Danny sighed, then climbed into the chair next to her. He didn’t put his arm around her or lean away, so their elbows pressed uncomfortably against each other.

“Look, that fucking wanker was gonna put a fucking bullet in my fucking skull.” He pointed to the gun. “That’s some big fucking artillery there, hey? He’s a fucking professional. So he fucking made a living taking other people’s fucking lives, and he probably had fucking no one.”

“How horrible,” Belle said. “That can’t be true for all hitmen.”

“Eh, well, my sister-in-law fucking shoots people for a living, I guess,” he said. “But she’s fucking stealthy about it, none of this fucking point-blank bullshite.” 

God. What should she do? If she ignored Danny and called the police anyway, his whole life could be destroyed. She hadn’t saved him just to do that, and besides, he’d saved her over and over.

“Okay,” she said. “Fine. Call the guy who makes crime scenes disappear.”

Danny clapped her on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit.”

Chapter Text

Belle would have stared at the body until the cleaner arrived if Danny had not found some newspapers in his desk and covered him up. 

“Belle, go home,” Danny said for the fifth time. 

“No.” Whoever Danny had gotten on the phone said he’d send the cleaner in half an hour. “It’s me they’ll be cleaning up after, and I’m going to make sure it’s done right.”

“Oi, fucking expert on body-cleanup, are we?” Danny asked. “You fucking read all about it in your fucking mystery novels?”

Belle pursed her lips because it was true. “I’m just saying, I don’t know if I trust Richie Richardson’s recommendations just on the merit of his word.”

“What about me, eh? Don’t fucking trust me to supervise?”

Intellectually, she did trust Danny, but such a situation pushed the bounds of normal anxiety. “Would you trust me if the positions were reversed?”

He groaned. “Yes, I fucking would, but I see your fucking point.”

After pacing for seven straight minutes, he glanced over at her, sitting ramrod straight in the egg chair and staring into space, and stalked over to sit next to her.

“Don’t fucking worry, okay?” His arm twitched and then, like he was being puppeted, he slapped it around her shoulders. “I won’t let fucking Scotland Yard take you away.”

“Would you pay my bail if they did?” she asked.

“Aye, I’d pay your fucking bail, fucking lunatic.”

She glanced over at him, tucking herself into his side without thinking. “What about for my solicitor?”

“Don’t fucking push it, hey?” 

Someone knocked four times on the street-side door to Danny’s office, and they both turned to stare. Exactly thirty seconds later, there were two more knocks.

“That’s him,” Danny said. “Last chance to leave.”

“No.” Belle shook her head. “No, I’m staying.”

Danny’s fingers tapped against her shoulder once before he sprung from the chair, as cocksure and aloof as he was around every stranger, and stalked toward the door. Belle stood as well, though she didn’t know what to do. Was it rude to be sitting down when the cleaner arrived? 

Maybe she should do something about the glass. That wasn’t part of a cleaner’s job, was it? Cleaning up dangerous shards? 

Danny opened the door while Belle scanned the office for more newspapers she could use as a dustpan, and then he cursed.

Face drawn—should she acquire a first aid kit in case the cleaner cut himself?—she looked up. Danny and Francis both stared at her from the doorway. Her frown deepened.

“Francis? What are you doing here?” She couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing, like trying to read a word she knew in a doctor’s handwriting.

“He’s the fucking cleaner, Belle.” Danny slammed the door shut, and Francis didn’t react at all, staring at Belle with narrowed eyes.

She shook her head. “No, he can’t be.”

“What happened to your face?” Francis asked. 

Belle didn’t know the answer to that question anymore. She needed to sit down again. Before she could move, Danny was at her side, hand on her back and guiding her to the chair. 

“I’m fine,” she said when he tried to shove her back in. Francis was still just watching from the corner. “Francis, did you—are you really—?” What could she even ask?

“Fuck,” Danny said. “Fucking Richardson did call him ‘the Colonel.’”

“Colonel Ives, at your service,” Francis said. He took a step forward, then glanced down at the newspaper-covered corpse. His outfit was pristine as always, and he was here to clean up this wet, bloody mess? 

“What happened here?” He looked up at Belle, standing there with her hands together and stains on her knees that she was pretty sure weren’t bloody. “Did he attack you?”

She shook her head. “He didn’t know I was here.”

Francis’ eyebrows flew up, and he knelt to lift the paper off the man’s face. He tilted the head until the wound where she’d struck him was visible, then laid him and the paper back down.

“Belle, did you kill him?” 

“No, she fucking did not,” Danny said. “It was fucking me, hey?”

“Danny, no,” Belle said. “Don’t try to cover for me. It was me, he was going to shoot Danny.”

Francis stood, walking toward her like she was some prey animal about to turn tail and flee. He didn’t fit in Danny’s bulbous, psychedelic club. His perfectly tailored black suit didn’t make sense here in this green and orange and yellow office, where Danny wore a brick-colored jacket that didn’t fit over a beige polo, and Belle had amaretto on her skirt.

When he reached for her, she flinched toward Danny.

“Belle,” he said, and then they were all interrupted by a cell phone ringing from the dead man’s pocket. Danny leapt for the body while Francis watched on, lip curled. “I wouldn’t answer that if I were you, considering you just killed him.”

But Danny was on a mission, and soon he had the cell phone in his hand. “If this is Abe fucking—Oi, happy to fucking hear from me, are you?”

Danny stalked around the room, screaming at Abe Fucking Klein, and leaving Belle virtually alone with Francis, who apparently was known in the criminal underworld for making crime scenes disappear.

He took another step toward her, and she licked her lips.

“Belle,” he said. “Tell me what happened.”

“My boyfriend gets rid of dead bodies in his spare time,” she said before she could stop herself. Perhaps shock had removed her filter. 

“Well, I couldn’t exactly open with that, could I?” He slid a hand up her arm, and she wanted to find it comforting, but all she could think of was the fact that he was about to be elbows-deep in getting rid of this man. “What would you have thought?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But I would have liked the opportunity to find out.” 

“I’m still me,” he said. “The same man you just called your boyfriend. The same man who would very much like to know who did this to you.” He brushed the tip of his finger across the cut on her cheek so gently, she barely felt it. “Was it him?”

She shook her head. Danny was still screaming at Abe Klein in the background. What if she just forgot this whole night, decided that it didn’t matter, and let Francis comfort her? 

“Some woman headbutted me because she thought I was a stripper her husband liked.”

He shook his head. “Why didn’t you tell me things were so bad here, Belle?” 

Something about the question rubbed her the wrong way, but she couldn’t put her finger on what. She leaned away from Francis.

“You told me you were squeamish about blood. You’re a vegetarian, you said.” She tried to fold her arms across her chest to look stern, but she just hugged herself.

He winced at the accusation, licking his lips. “I don’t like when you bleed.” 

She shook her head. “I can’t do this right now,” she said. “It’s too much. Tell me how you’re going to dispose of him.”

Francis watched her, then pressed his lips together. “It’s a bit of a trade secret, I’m sorry.”

Danny’s yelling suddenly stopped, and Belle’s ears rung in the silence. 

“Well, I’m going to find out, aren’t I?” she asked.

Francis’ face was the picture of apologetic, but she didn’t believe him this time. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I ask my clients to leave the room. I only work alone.”

Danny appeared at her elbow, hand on her back again, and her shoulders relaxed. Francis glanced at him, but kept his focus on her.

“So—so I’m just supposed to trust my innocence to another person?” Belle asked. “I don’t get to know anything?”

“Belle.” Francis stepped toward her, close enough that he could have put his arm around her, but he just curled his hand around her upper arm, firm and stabilizing. 

“That’s how this shite always goes, hey?” Danny said. “It’s bog-fucking-standard.”

Between Francis’ hand on her arm and Danny’s on her back, she felt trapped in the middle of some slapstick routine. Would she wake up tomorrow to find that she was on film for millions of people to laugh at?

“He’s right, Belle.” Francis squeezed her arm. Maybe the wall would fall on them like a Buster Keaton movie. “And I know this is upsetting, but you trust me to take care of you, right?”

She blinked a few times, finally turning to look at Francis. If she ignored everything else, let the rest of the room fall away, he was the same as he’d always been—steadfast, mysterious, devoted. 

“Yes,” she said. She might not have trusted anything else he said right now, but Francis had, if nothing else, always gone above and beyond to prove himself to her.

“Fucking hell, you fucking trust him but not me? It’s just because he’s your fucking boyfriend, ennit?” Danny scoffed. “Double fucking standard.”

Francis’ lip curled. “I am a professional.”

“He’s a professional,” Belle said to Danny, and he scoffed again, tossing his head back. She cracked the tiniest of grins. 

“I’m going to have to ask you both to leave now.” Francis squeezed Belle’s arm again, but he was watching Danny now, lip still curled. 

“For how long?” Belle asked, and Danny groaned dramatically next to her.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Belle, I thought he was a fucking professional. Do you fucking micromanage everyone?” He waved a hand toward the door. “You gonna fucking tell Holly how to perk up her fucking tits too?”

Francis’ hand tightened on her arm, and his whole jaw clenched, and Danny might have been in some real danger had a laugh not broken through Belle’s fog.

“I just think a professional would be able to give a timeframe,” she said. 

“An hour should be enough,” Francis said, still staring at Danny with the same level of focus a lion might use to study a gazelle. “This is a fairly straightforward one.”

“There, see? Just one fucking hour. Keep your fucking shirt on, and we’ll go have a fucking drink, eh?” Danny moved his hand to her elbow where he could tug on her, but Francis still had a grip on her other arm. What if she fainted instead of any of this?

“I don’t want a drink,” Belle said. 

“Oi, you kill one fucking man and suddenly you’re too fucking good for my fucking drinks?” Danny pressed his free hand to his chest, and she could feel him vibrating with the need to fidget, but he kept his other hand firm around her elbow. 

Francis snarled, but Belle laughed again, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. 

“I don’t think—”

“Jesus, what, now you micromanaging my fucking bar too?” His hand tightened on her. “You gonna fucking tell Frank how to make the fucking drink with the pineapple?”

Both of them had such tight grips on her now, they could have ripped her in half. 

“You’ll have to be more specific,” she said. “We go through truckloads of pineapple.”

Danny smirked. “Aye, you’re fucking fine now. Come on. Leave your professional fucking boyfriend to his fucking dirty work.” 

Every muscle in Francis’ body had tensed. She wanted to comfort him, but even if both of her arms hadn’t been tethered to the two men, she wasn’t sure she could. Who was he? How much could one really know a person having only an hour a day to date them? 

“We’ll be back in an hour,” Belle said to him instead. She tried to meet his eyes, but they were too busy boring into Danny. 

“If I’m not finished by then, I’ll give you a call,” Francis said. “By the way, your skirt is stained.”

She glanced down. It looked like she’d knelt in wet grass. “It’s just Disaronno.” She gestured toward the body.

“Ah,” Francis said. “The murder weapon.”

Belle swayed, and both men scrambled to catch her.

“Jesus, what the fuck, been trying real fucking hard not to use the fucking ‘m’ word, hey?” Danny said.

Francis’ expression finally moved away from snake about to strike to something more human, and he touched his free hand to Belle’s.

“My mistake. It was not meant with any judgment. I’ll see you in an hour?” 

She didn’t know that she could face him after knowing what he was doing during that hour. Would he have to hack the body up? Make it more portable? Or would he just wrap it up in a trash bag and move it? He was certainly strong enough for either, she now knew. Maybe that was his claim to fame—the strength to lift all manner of bodies without needing any help.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

He let go of her after one more squeeze, and then Danny was tugging her out by the elbow, and Francis watched them with narrowed eyes until they exited into the club.

Chapter Text

Danny had tried to order her one of his rum-filled tropical drinks, but Belle was sure that she’d throw up if she put any alcohol in her stomach, so while he drank a beer, she drank a cranberry juice. Frank had brought her a new ice pack as well, and bartenders and strippers alike came up to congratulate her on winning her fight with the woman.

If only they’d known.

Frank kept eyeing them whenever he refilled a drink, but if anyone thought it odd that the boss and his assistant had ventured from their office to drink amongst the masses, no one said a word.

“Has it been an hour yet?” Belle asked as she finished up her second cranberry juice. 

Danny checked his phone. “Fifteen more minutes.”

He had spent most of those forty-five minutes needling her, and all she wanted to do was curl up into his chest and listen to him scream at people on the phone. It was a strange impulse, but Danny raging on about Abe Klein and how, just before the hitman arrived, a man had tried to pay him off with a sex worker gave her more comfort than anything else had. No matter what, Danny was Danny.

Francis, on the other hand—who knew who Francis was?

“Belle, you’ve got to stop fucking looking like you just fucking killed a man,” he said, lowering his voice enough not to be overheard.

“But I did,” she said.

“Aye, and we’re trying to fucking keep it under wraps, hey? Be fucking cool.”

“Would you be cool?” Belle asked, folding her arms. “If it had been you?”

“If it was a fucking matter of saving me own fucking life—or yours—then yes, I fucking would be.”

Belle really felt that, even in such circumstances, she needed at least twenty-four hours to process without having pounding music and dim lights and smoke getting in the way of it.

“Can I put my two weeks in tomorrow?” she asked. “At the bookstore?”

Danny’s eyebrows flew up. “Aye, if you’re not too fucking spooked now.”

She wished she could just quit on the spot, but she’d worked there for too long, and besides, she didn’t know when Danny planned to start paying her, and she didn’t want to be presumptuous. No one got reprieves from Danny Devine except, apparently, for Belle, and she didn’t want to push her luck.

“No. This just shows me that you need me,” she said.

She expected him to laugh or retort, not to chug the rest of his beer in one go. 

“Aye,” he said when he came up for air. “You’re a real fucking help to me, even without hitmen wandering in.”

They waited out the remaining twelve minutes with no drinks, and at the fifty-nine-and-a-half minute mark, Belle stood. 

“He hasn’t called,” she said. “So it must be ready.”

“What is going on with you two?” Frank asked, folding his arms.

Danny waved him away, hopping off his own stool and resting his hand on Belle’s back. “Ask me tomorrow.”

“What are you going to tell him tomorrow?” Belle asked as they fought their way back to the office.

“The fucking truth?” 

Belle’s eyes widened. “You can’t tell him the truth!” 

“Oi, fine, I won’t.”

She didn’t believe him, but what did it matter? Frank could keep a secret. They reached his office and both of them stood in front of it without touching the door.

“What if he’s not done?” Belle asked.

“Did he call?” 

She shook her head.

“You said you fucking trusted him, yeah?”

“Right.” Before she could second-guess herself, she yanked the door open. Francis sat in her desk chair, reading the most recent book she’d sold him. The office was cleaner than it had been before a man had died in it.

Danny circled the area, hopping on the balls of his feet, and whistled. “For fucking once, Richie Richardson was not a fucking useless cocksucking fuck.”

Francis closed his book, for all the world like they had just walked in on him in his own office. “Does it meet your standards?” he asked Belle, standing up.

She couldn’t see any traces of blood, glass, or liquor. No fibers, no fluids, no bone shards. She looked at Francis, so pristine still, and nodded.

“Thank you,” she said. 

“How much do I owe you?” Danny yanked open his desk drawer, where Belle knew he’d stuffed Ken Green’s stack of cash.

Francis walked over to Belle who, though she had almost relaxed in the last hour, stood rooted to the spot once more. He slid his hand up her back.

“This one’s on the house,” he said. His hand slid further up until it rested between her shoulderblades, and his fingers pressed all along her tense muscles like he was trying to find the worst of them until his thumb stopped to rub the base of her neck, which did feel nice.

“No, no, Danny fucking Devine does not fucking give or receive fucking favors.” Danny glowered at Francis. “How fucking much?”

“It’s not a favor to Danny fucking Devine,” Francis said. “It’s a favor to his assistant.”

His fingers working the muscles in her neck felt good enough that she almost relaxed again. 

“Thank you,” she said. “That’s very kind.”

“You know I would do anything for you, Belle.” 

She peeked at Danny to see how he was reacting to this exchange, and he was just storming around his desk. He slammed the drawer shut.

“Fucking—fine. Thanks. But I don’t fucking owe you, hey?” 

“Of course not,” Francis said. “Clean slate. Belle, can I walk you home?” 

Where had he put the body? Did he have a car? Was he going to leave it here while he walked her home?

“I have to work,” she said. “It’s only nine.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Belle,” Danny said while Francis’ hand stilled on her neck. If Danny’s neck had been close by, she might have feared he’d snap it. “Go home, you fucking deserve it. Take tomorrow too, hey?” 

Francis’ hand relaxed back into massaging her. 

“I don’t get days off,” Belle said. More and more, she wondered why she relied on that so much as an excuse. She didn’t get paid to work at the Parrot Club. She should have just accepted when Danny told her not to come in. 

“I swear to fucking god, Belle, if you don’t fucking go home and fucking stay home, I will call every fucking prick I know on fucking speaker and ask them what the fuck they think of you.”

Belle pursed her lips. “That’s a little bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Go home.”

“There, see?” Francis asked, voice too light. “Let’s go.” 

Belle nodded, watching Danny as he continued to storm around the desk with nothing to do. Would he be all right without her? 

“I’ll meet you outside, okay?” she said. 

Francis looked between the two of them. “Of course.” His hand slid away, and then he was by the street-side door and putting on his coat and gloves while Belle did the same by the club door. 

Danny headed over to her, running a hand through his sweaty hair.

“You gonna be all right?” he asked, quieter than she’d ever heard him.

She shrugged. “How can I know?”

He glanced over at Francis, who was watching them as he fitted his gloves on finger by finger. “Call me when you get inside, hey? Not fucking text, call me. I want to hear your fucking voice.”

Danny had been weird about Francis ever since the beginning, but for the first time, she wondered if his suspicion might have been not-misplaced. She nodded.

“I’ll call you.”

She and Francis left out the back door, and with her coat on, no one could see her stained skirt. It wasn’t a bad stain, and she could probably still get it out, but it was likely this entire outfit was going into the rubbish.

Francis offered his arm, and, hesitant, she took it. They walked in silence around the club until they were back on familiar sidewalk.

“Are you going to look at me at all?” Francis asked. “Or speak to me?”

She did look then, at his elegant profile and perfectly combed hair. How did he manage to look so good after all that? She still hadn’t seen herself in a mirror, but she at least knew there was blood on her cheek and liquor on her clothes and probably all manner of other things.

“I don’t know what to say,” she said. “You lied to me.”

“I never lied to you,” he said. “You must have things you haven’t told me, no?”

She wanted to yank her arm out of his, but she kept it there for now, glad to be held steady if nothing else. “You made yourself out to be this—this pacifist of a person, afraid of blood, accidentally violent, but that was crap. And you even knew Richardson?” She rubbed her forehead. “You just let me go on about him, but you knew him, you’d worked for him!”

“No, no.” He shook his head, pulling her closer. “No, I didn’t know him. I don’t get the names of my clients. There’s a man who calls me, tells me where I’m needed. I’ve never even met Richardson, as far as I know.”

She calmed a fraction. At least that was one lie he hadn’t told.

“Okay. And the blood?”

He walked in silence. They were already so close to her apartment, and she just wanted to go upstairs and take a hundred scalding showers. 

“I’m sensitive to the smell of blood,” he said finally. “That’s why it bothers me when you bleed, and why I’m a vegetarian.”

“Just the smell of blood?” she asked. “Not alcohol or petrol or—or cigar smoke?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Well, I enjoy the smell of alcohol and cigar smoke, so it doesn’t bother me. But I suppose, yes, I am sensitive to other smells.” He looked down at her. “For example, your hair always smells like rosemary, and I don’t even have to bury my nose in it to know that.”

If he was trying to be romantic, it was not working, but at least he wasn’t making her angrier.

“Are you a vampire?” she demanded before she could stop herself. 

Francis laughed, as he should have, and pulled her closer to him. “Belle, I think you know the answer to that is no. I can’t help how I am anymore than you can.”

Her building came into view. She was eager to get away from this whole situation, but she didn’t want to go inside without being on more even footing with Francis, but how could she know if she’d ever be on even footing again?

“If blood bothers you so much, how have you cleaned so many crime scenes that you have a reputation for being the best?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes we find ourselves with unique skillsets we didn’t know we had.” 

She had nothing to say to that. She didn’t even know how to take it. 

They paused in front of her building, and she let Francis take both her hands and pull her off to the side. At least he had the sense to pin himself to the building instead of trapping her against it this time.

“Belle,” he said, and she couldn’t help it. His steady gaze, so full of something, comforted her. “I know this was a shock, and I’m sorry, but I’m still me. You know me.”

She shook her head, but squeezed his hands. “I don’t know you. I don’t know you at all.”

For the first time, she thought Francis looked almost helpless, lost, but then he was back. “You do know me, Belle, you’ve known me for months. You know me better than anyone ever has.”

“I want to know you,” she said. “But this just shows me that I don’t know anything about you.”

“Belle.” He cupped her face, his glove cold. “Belle, look at me.” 

“What are you most afraid of?” she asked. 

Francis always felt so alive, so in control, until something flustered him and he stilled like this, like he had when Danny ribbed her earlier. With a blink, he was back again.

“Right now?” he asked. “Losing you.”

“No.” She scowled. “No, you know what I mean, Francis. Tell me something real about you.”

His jaw clenched and he glanced away from her, but kept his hand on her cheek. Then he licked his lips and, voice curt, said, “Dying.”

He had never sounded that way with her. It was a relief. She touched his elbow. “Thank you for answering.” 

“And you?” he asked, voice rougher than she’d ever heard it. “Your biggest fear?”

“Being controlled,” she said. “Having my decisions made for me again. Giving my life over to someone else.”

“I would never control you, Belle.” He brought his other hand up, cradling her face in both palms. “I want you to be wild and free, and to take what you want. To take what’s yours.”

“I’m trying,” she said. “But I’m also protecting myself.”

“Not from me?”

“I don’t know, Francis.” She gripped both his elbows now. “Look, I guess—I guess this isn’t a dealbreaker necessarily. But I don’t know how I’m feeling right now, and I need some time to think it over. And I want to know more about you. We talk about me, and then we fool around, and then we leave.”

“Well,” he said. “I know you’ve had an interminably long day, so why don’t you bring me upstairs, and you can tell me everything while I take care of you, and then we can talk?” 

It sounded nice. Any other night, she would have relished the idea of taking a scalding shower, maybe even with Francis, and then having him tuck her into bed against his chest with tea. 

“I think I want to be alone tonight,” she said. 

“Please, Belle.” He kissed her, and though she kissed him back, though she enjoyed it, she didn’t feel any urge to wrap her legs around him. 

“I just want to take a shower and throw these clothes in an incinerator,” she said. “I want to relax.”

“I’ll relax you.” He kissed her again, then slid his hands to her neck so he could kiss along her jaw. 

“I can do that myself,” she said, and then, because she really did want to forgive him, added, “You can call me and comfort me over the phone, though, if you want.”

He kissed her. “Okay.” His hands were everywhere, like he worried she was disintegrating. “I’ll call you in one hour. Is that enough time to shower?”

“Yes.” Tentative, she kissed him, and his hands relaxed. “Goodnight, Francis.” 

“Goodnight, Belle.” 

He held her hand until she was too far for him to touch her, and then, even without turning around, she could feel him watching until she entered her building.

Chapter Text

When she called Danny, she didn’t expect the naked relief in his voice. It was obvious that Danny cared about her, maybe more than he cared about most people, but she hadn’t realized how worried he was.

“Make sure he’s not outside your fucking window,” Danny said. 

Belle rolled her eyes. “He’s strong, but he can’t stick to walls.”

“Just fucking check.”

To appease him, Belle clambered around her bed and opened the curtains, looking down to the sidewalk to confirm he wasn’t there either. No sign of Francis.

“Good,” Danny said. “Don’t fucking come in tomorrow, hey?”

“Okay,” she said. “I won’t. And I’m giving my two weeks at the bookstore.”

“Aye. You start Friday so there’s no paycheck gap, yeah?”

Friday. That meant, for a week, she’d be making two paychecks. She could take everything she made at the bookstore that week and put it toward Gaston’s credit card debt. 

“Danny, are you—”

“Yes, I’m fucking sure. Go the fuck to sleep.” 

He hung up, and Belle was suddenly laughing so hard, she could barely breathe. She was still laughing as she peeled off her clothes and stuffed them into a plastic bag, and then as she stumbled into the bathroom and turned the shower on, and all the way until she ran out of hot water six minutes later and had to finish her shower freezing.

She blew her hair dry to warm herself up, then stared at her reflection in the mirror once the bathroom unfogged. Despite the fact that she’d killed a man earlier that evening, she looked the same as she had that morning. How did one deal with such a fact? She couldn’t go to therapy for it or she’d probably get arrested.

If only Danny had let her call the police, then she would never have had to find out about Francis. Of course, then she would have gone on in the dark, and maybe she’d have gotten even more attached to him.

After putting the kettle on to boil, she considered that she hadn’t eaten since before going to work. She didn’t know what she could stomach, but she didn’t want to be ill, so she stuck two slices of bread in the toaster and scrambled two eggs, eating while her tea steeped.

Her phone rang as she was finishing up. 

“One sec,” she said, mouth full. 

“You’re eating?” Francis asked. 

“Mmhmm.” She swallowed her last bite while she stuck the plate in the sink, then squeezed out her teabag before bringing her mug and phone to the bed. 

“Good, I’m glad to hear it.” 

She tucked herself in, and the sound of his voice in her ear made her wish she’d let him up, let him take care of her and hold her and comfort her, but that would only have made keeping a level head harder. 

“Listen, Belle, I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you,” he said. She sighed with relief, snuggling back into her pillows.

“Are you?” she asked, but she had hoped for this apology. Gaston never apologized for anything. 

“I am. I don’t know that I would have told you under any circumstances, but I know that I did muddy the trail more than necessary.”

“Thank you for apologizing.” She pulled her blanket up to her chin. “It means a lot to me.” Now, if only she could get him to open up. 

“I’m glad,” he said. “I want you to want me.”

That was something that worried her. If she didn’t know who Francis really was, he could be anything, and if he was just putting on faces and personality traits, he could take them off just as easily.

“Then I need more honesty,” she said. “Radical, unflinching honesty.”

“I enjoy the smell of blood,” he said. 

Her eyebrows flew up. How could she respond to that? More and more, she felt like the protagonist in a novel discovering that vampires were real.

“What I mean by that is, the reason I’m so squeamish about it is that I like it, and that makes me feel too dangerous. I don’t want to be dangerous, and I especially never want you to feel unsafe around me.”

She swallowed. “I’ve never felt unsafe around you until you lied to me.”

“I won’t lie to you anymore, Belle.” 

Or he’d become sneakier, craftier. But if she went down that path, she’d never be happy—she’d have to at least meet Francis halfway with trust. 

“Okay,” she said. “Good. If you do, I’ll leave you.”

He was quiet. She pressed her mouth together so that she wouldn’t couch this in anything, wouldn’t soften the blow. She meant it.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened tonight? Spare some details, though—this isn’t a secure line.”

She hadn’t even considered that. “Well, Danny is promoting me to assistant manager, so he wanted to train me, and that’s when the woman came in.”

“Assistant manager? At the strip club?”

The familiar annoyance at anyone disparaging her club reared up. “Yes, assistant manager at the burlesque club. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Not if he plans to pay you, I don’t.” 

She settled, flushing. Just because he’d lied to her about one thing, it didn’t mean she had to think unkind thoughts about everything he said. He wasn’t always lying.

“He does. So anyway, this woman came in…”

She relayed the story as best she remembered, and Francis did chuckle once or twice, and then she told him about Ken Green and his human payment, and how Abe Klein had been giving Danny the runaround for weeks, and then she glossed over the hitman as best she could while still giving him details.

“All that in just a few hours?” Francis asked when she finished. “God, what a night.”

She bit her lip. “I have one more question for you,” she said. 

“Anything.”

“Well, I know you weren’t the one who picked up when Danny called.” She chewed her lip, debating abandoning this question. Was it important?

“Correct.”

“But you had to recognize the address. You knew it was the club. Why did you come if you were hiding from me?”

He was quiet, and she tried not to hold her breath while she waited for his answer. 

“Several reasons, I suppose,” he said. “I guess the first is that I didn’t know whether you and Danny would be there. I wasn’t sure who the call was from.”

Belle pressed her lips together. That’s right. She’d lied to him about working today. Maybe she needed to be more honest as well.

“Second, if you were in trouble, there was nothing that was going to stop me from coming to you.”

Even in all of the turmoil, Belle could not deny how romantic that was. She needed to bring this back before she made some sort of commitment she might regret tomorrow.

“Well,” she said too heartily, “I think I’ve had my fill of excitement for this year and the next, at least.” 

“Sounds like you need to relax,” he said. “You mentioned that you could do that yourself, without me?” 

She could almost hear the dramatic frown in his voice, and she bit her lip. 

“I can,” she said. “Though of course, I find your touch the most therapeutic.”

“What do you use to relax with when you’re alone?” he asked. 

“Well,” she said, unsure yet how dumb she should play. “I had a cup of tea, but I finished it already.”

“I like when your mouth tastes like tea,” he said. “Do you like when my mouth tastes like you?”

Her heartbeat quickened. She didn’t like it as much as she liked the fact that Francis liked it. “Yes.”

“What will you use to get off without me there to do it for you?” 

“The dancers got me a vibrator after they met my ex-husband.” 

He hummed, a growling sound, and she wondered where he was right then. She could imagine him sitting in a plush armchair, drinking a glass of wine and smoking a cigarillo.

“Do you use it often?” he asked. 

“Fairly often.”

“Do you have it with you now?” 

She lived alone in a shoebox apartment. It was always at her bedside. “Yes. I’m in bed. Where are you?”

“In bed. You know, you could have come here, and I could have eaten you to sleep.” 

She gripped the phone in one hand and her duvet in the other. She had never had phone sex before, so she wasn’t quite sure if she was supposed to touch herself on her own or they would agree to touch themselves together, but she wanted to.

“Does that mean, even if I was in your bed, you wouldn’t let me reciprocate?” 

Silence on the other end of the phone, and then, “I have very high stamina. It can be intimidating if you’re not prepared.”

If she hadn’t loved the sound of Francis’ voice and wanted to think about him eating her out, she might have rolled her eyes.

“Oh, I see, you’re just too good at sex to have it?”

He chuckled. “Perhaps I can get you to come three or four times on your vibrator, and then you’ll start to be ready.” 

“If I’m doing that,” she began, summoning her courage, “What will you be doing?”

“Imagining you,” he said. “With my hand around my cock.”

She bit her lip, but didn’t reach for her vibrator yet. “Do you imagine me while your hand’s around your cock often?”

“Every time.” 

“What do you imagine?” she asked. 

“I think about how you taste,” he said. “And I imagine how you’d look if I laid you on my dining table and fucked you.”

She had never wanted Gaston enough to want him anywhere other than a bed, and she wasn’t even sure he had ever wanted her that desperately, except maybe in the back of a car.

“Is it a sturdy table?” She pressed her lips together. Why, why would she ask that? But Francis just laughed.

“Incredibly. I built it myself. Tell me about your vibrator.”

She had more questions about the table now, but those would be for later. Francis was a woodworker too? 

“It’s a modest, user-friendly size,” she said. “Perfect for me.”

“Color?”

“Pink.” She blushed. “With gold glitter.”

He laughed again. “What a charming gift. How many vibration settings does it have?”

“Three. I usually use the lowest vibrations.” 

“We’ll start with the lowest, then,” he said. “Do you romance yourself first or go straight for the gold usually?”

“What do you mean?” She should read more erotica. Her romance novels tended to breeze over the specifics, and she’d learned so much about her own body watching the woman masturbate, but that didn’t help her in social sexual situations.

“Well, if I was there, I’d finally have a chance to suck on your breasts, since you don’t like to take your shirt off in public for some reason.”

It could have made her feel bad, but she could hear his grin. She didn’t often think of Francis as playful, but it was nice when he was.

“Oh, yes, I romance myself.”

“Will you do it now?”

“Yes.” She reached up her shirt, brushing her nipple with the pad of her thumb. Was she supposed to wait for further instruction? It was so much easier to know what to do when she could take the cues in front of her. 

“Mm,” he said. “Tell me how you use your vibrator.”

“Well.” Should she take her knickers off now? “I watched an instructional video the first time.” God, why had she said that? She could imagine Danny barking with laughter, telling her what a nerd she was to research how to masturbate, but she told herself that the flush of desire came from the noise Francis made.

“And what did you learn?”

“Well, I think it’s important not to go straight in,” she said. “I like to just—let it vibrate against me for a bit.”

“Can you do that with one hand and play with your breasts with the other?” 

“Yes,” she said, though she had to wiggle around until she could support the phone with her pillow and still have it next to her ear. Somehow, it felt wrong to put this conversation on speaker. “Are you imagining me?”

“Oh, yes, Belle. I’m imagining you rubbing me against you instead.”

She slid her knickers down, then positioned her vibrator lengthways between her legs and turned it on, relaxing against the vibrations. As usual, she thought of Danny’s grin when he’d learned about it, and as usual, she ignored that thought until it passed. 

“God, Belle,” he said as she sighed into the phone, closing her eyes to focus on pinching her nipples and rolling her hips against the toy. “Would you be on top so I could watch?”

“I thought you wanted me on your dining room table,” she said, angling so that the vibrator rubbed her clit. She bit her lip.

“I do. I want you on the table, against the wall, bent over the couch. I would fuck you on every single surface in my flat, from every single angle.”

He had never been so explicit, and Belle found she didn’t need to play with her nipples because Francis’ voice sent the same jolt between her legs.

“Do you have the stamina for all that?” she asked, meaning for it to come out as a tease, but it just came out breathless as she rocked against the vibrator.

“I have the stamina to do it all twice. But we could take our time. A week, maybe?” 

Staying with Francis for a week was a huge step, even in sexual-fantasy-land. Belle swallowed. 

“I’d have to work up to it.”

He must have sensed her hesitation. “What are you doing now?”

“I’m just—” She wanted to sound sexy, but she had never tried to sound sexy before, and she feared that overthinking about how she sounded probably wasn’t sexy. “Riding the vibrator, I guess? But more like a—like a mechanical bull than a—” she swallowed, “—cock.”

“Lubricating it?” 

Her face heated, though she wasn’t sure how since she was hot all over. “Yes. I have a bottle of lube just in case, but I’ve never needed it.”

He groaned, and she bucked into the vibrator. 

“Are you touching yourself?” she asked.

“Yes. Unless you don’t want me to be.”

“No, no, I do.” She let out a sigh of pleasure. “You never let me reciprocate.”

“Wasn’t your husband selfish in bed?” 

She didn’t want to think about Gaston while she was riding a vibrator. “I guess so. It’s not like he ever demanded anything, but I guess he was never worried about anyone but himself.”

“And I want you to worry about you. You can worry about me later.”

“Are you using lube?” she asked. 

“Of course, I’m not an animal.”

“Are you imagining it’s my hand?” 

“Your hand?” He huffed out a little laugh. “Are you imagining my hand?”

Truth be told, she wasn’t imagining anything. She was just enjoying the sound of his voice and the feel of her vibrator. 

“No,” she said. “Although, I could, and it would still be a good fantasy.” 

“Mm.” He groaned again. “I preferred eating you. I wish I was right now.”

She bit her lip. “Me too.” 

“God, Belle. I want to eat you and then fuck you over and over. Are you ready to fuck the vibrator yet?”

“Yes,” she said, voice cracking.

“I want to hear you,” he growled. “I want to know what you sound like with a thick cock sliding into you.”

Belle suddenly felt like she couldn’t do it, like she needed her instructional video again to show her how, but then she heard Francis’ ragged breathing and soft grunts, and she calmed again.

She rubbed the vibrator over her clit for a few more seconds, sighing into the phone, and then slid it inside herself with a moan. 

“Fuck,” Francis said. “Is it a good vibration level for you?” She could hear his body moving now, the steady quick rhythm of his fist on his cock. 

“I could go up one more level,” she said, and when she did, she cried out. 

“Better?” he asked.

“Better.” She rocked her hips, whimpering and sighing as pleasure vibrated through her. On the other end, Francis grunted and moaned, and she relished hearing him like this. She knew he liked pleasuring her, but she was glad to have this evidence here.

“Francis,” she said. “I’m getting close.”

“Can you fuck yourself harder?”

She considered this, probably more thoroughly than she needed to. “I’m not sure. I don’t think I have the right angle.”

“If I was there now, what would you ask me to do?”

She blushed again. “I guess—lick my clitoris.”

“I wish I could right now,” he said. “I crave the taste of you every minute. Lick your finger and rub it for me instead?”

She shifted the phone so the pillow had it again and, in between her moaning and writhing against the vibrator, licked her middle finger and then reached between her legs.

“Oh, Francis,” she sighed. “I’m about to come, are you?”

“I’d come faster inside you.” 

“What if I sucked you off?” she asked, bolder the closer she got to orgasm. “Would you come faster then?”

“Oh, fuck,” he said. “Fuck, you’d have to be sitting on my face so I’d have something to do with my mouth. Fuck, Belle, would you do that?”

She didn’t see why not. “Yes. Nothing’s ever felt as good as—oh!” 

The orgasm took her by surprise, and then all she could do was cry and moan her way through it while Francis muttered about fucking her and eating her and making her come. 

“I’m so close,” Francis said as she calmed down. “Do you think you could fuck yourself for me again?”

She turned the vibrations on the lowest setting again, keeping the vibrator buried inside her.

“Only if you tell me more about what you’d be doing if you were here,” she said.

“Gladly,” he said. 

He told her how he’d have helped her shower and knelt beneath her to eat her out, and she didn’t tell him about her six minutes of hot water. She came again while he was asking her if he could fuck her with the vibrator, and then when she came the third time, he cried out.

“Fuck,” he panted. “Fuck, Belle, that was so much better than being alone.”

She liked to wash her vibrator after, but that would have to wait for the morning. She was exhausted after all that. 

“You’re very talented with your tongue,” she said, and Francis laughed harshly.

“I’ll show you how talented tomorrow,” he said. “It sounds like you’re falling asleep.”

“I am.” She set the vibrator on her nightstand and didn’t bother with her knickers. Who cared? “Thanks for relaxing me.”

“Goodnight, Belle,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow after work.”

“Goodnight, Francis,” she said.

It was only after they had hung up and she was drifting off to sleep that she thought about all of the questions she should have asked him instead.

Chapter Text

Belle slept more than she usually did before work, but still woke feeling like she was in a coma. How could she just go and sit behind the register in a bookstore as though nothing had happened?

She had to though. If she called out and then gave her two weeks’ notice, they could realize they didn’t need her and fire her on the spot. 

The streets hadn’t changed, the walk to work no different, and it was like entering some sort of parallel universe. A man had died at Belle’s hand last night—how could the sidewalk look the same? How could cars just zoom by, honking and squealing and swerving as though the world had not been irrevocably altered?

The bookstore, too, was the same. She sat on her stool at the register, staring into space with a closed book in front of her while no one came in because it was Monday morning. Francis would be there when her shift ended, and she didn’t know what to think, but every time she tried to think about it, her mind would find some new distraction. At least she wasn’t picturing the dead man lying on the floor covered in newspaper.

What was she going to do about Francis? She didn’t want to leave him, but she couldn’t go on like this. Something had changed, and maybe things had seemed normal on the phone last night, but all she could think about now was how, as soon as she’d asked him a personal question, he’d diverted her to sex, just like he always did. 

She didn’t want to fool around anymore. If all Francis wanted to offer her was sex, she didn’t want it. She could have plenty of excellent sex all by herself, thanks to the vibrator. Maybe she’d ask Holly to take her to the toy shop so she could pick out more things.

The end of her shift neared and she still didn’t know what to do. She hoped she’d have an idea once she saw him. At the very least, she didn’t want to string him along. She felt too guilty for how she’d avoided him after Gaston’s wrist situation, and she at least owed him honesty.

Her phone buzzed, but it was just Danny reminding her not to come in. Depending on how things went with Francis, she might ignore that directive. 

At 3:45, it was time to put in her two weeks. She called her manager and gave her the news. Even though she could hear the desperation in her voice, Belle couldn’t find it in her to react. She was desperate too, and it was time to think about how to fix her own life. The store would survive.

Then, Francis appeared, and Belle’s jaw clenched. Was she happy to see him? Part of her was, and his affectionate smile comforted her as she traded places at the register with Gillian, and then they were outside. She stuck her hands in her pockets.

“How was work?” he asked, sliding his arm around her waist.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Fine, I guess. I gave my notice.”

“Are you all right?” 

He led her over to a wall, leaning against it himself before turning her to face him. She kissed him back when he kissed her, but her heart wasn’t in it. All she could think was that he was manipulating her into wanting him by being charming. 

“Belle?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think we should do this anymore.”

His mouth opened but, for once, Francis had nothing to say. She swallowed.

“I don’t mean that I don’t want to see you anymore,” she said. At least, she didn’t think she did. She still liked Francis a whole lot. 

“What do you mean, then?” He still had his arms around her waist, still frozen in place like they were about to make out against the wall.

“I keep telling you that I want to get to know you, Francis, and I don’t think you’re hearing me.” 

“I hear you.” He scanned her face like he could read some secret code there. “I do. We talked last night.”

His confession about liking the smell of blood wasn’t enough for Belle. It just meant that there were probably other lies, other misconstrued facts he’d need to correct. She shook her head. “We talked a little, and then you did what you always do.”

His jaw clenched. “What do I always do?”

“It just turned into sex.” She swallowed, and then took a step back. His arms stayed around her, but his eyes roved faster over her face. “I want to take sex off the table.”

His mouth opened again, and then he closed it. “Okay. What does that mean?”

“It means—” What did it mean? She couldn’t think straight with him holding her like this, especially not after yesterday. She reached behind her to lift his hands off her waist, then set them gently at his side. He stared at his arms like she’d just cut them off.

“It means that I want to get to know you, and you won’t let me if you think you can charm me some other way.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “I like you a lot, Francis, and maybe we moved too fast, but now I need to slow down. I don’t want to orgasm more than I want to hear about your thoughts and your dreams and your past.”

“You’re my thoughts and my dreams, Belle,” he said. His hands lifted, but he dropped them again. “What does the past matter? You’re my future. All I think about is you.”

Belle’s heart sped up, and not happily. “I don’t want that either, Francis. I can’t be anyone’s whole world like that.”

“Well, of course you’re not my whole world,” he said. “I’ll think of something other than you eventually. I know you’ve never been in a new and exciting relationship, but this is normal—people can’t keep their hands off each other at the beginning.” 

She shook her head. “Nothing feels normal to me, and I just—I have to follow my heart.” 

“Your heart doesn’t want me anymore?” he asked softly.

She swallowed again. “That’s not what I said. I said I want you, not sex.”

He brushed his fingertips across her cheek, and she refused to close her eyes and savor the gentle touch she loved. This was what she wanted.

“Why don’t you come back to my place?” he said. “I’ll make dinner, and we can talk. That’s what we were going to do yesterday, wasn’t it?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I think we should just get coffee like we planned.”

Even though he looked like a man slowly scrambling to keep from falling off a cliff, Belle wanted to savor this expression because it was so real. Sad, maybe heartbroken, Francis was finally losing composure.

“Belle, I don’t—” He shook his head. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Or maybe that was an act too. How could she know?

“I told you what I want,” she said. “I’ve told you countless times. It’s up to you now.”

He licked his lips. “You want me to open up.”

“Yes,” she said. “More than anything.”

He clasped his hands in front of him. “I don’t find it easy to talk about myself.”

Belle’s eyes warmed, but she bit her cheek against the tears. If she cried, he would have an opening to comfort her, and then she’d have to do this all over again.

“I understand,” she said. “But I can’t be with someone who can’t be open and honest. And if that doesn’t work for you, then this won’t work.” She took another deep breath while Francis watched her. “I think actually we shouldn’t go for coffee today. I think you should take tonight to figure things out, and meet me tomorrow if you still want to.”

“Of course I want to,” he said. “I told you.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, but she wiped it away. “Okay. Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He watched her wipe a second tear away. “May I walk you home at least?”

She shook her head. “I’m not going home. I’m going to the club.”

“I thought Danny gave you the day off?” He frowned.

“I’m not working.” If she wanted honesty from him, she had to be honest in return. “The club is more comforting than my flat.”

His face tightened, jaw clenched. “Even after yesterday?”

She hadn’t even considered that. She just wanted her office and the dancing and her boss who was always himself. 

“Yes,” she said. “Yesterday only happened because of how much I love the club.”

He jerked his head in acknowledgement. “Then I’ll walk you there.”

She pressed her lips together, but nodded. Walking wasn’t a problem, and if they were by the club, there would be too many people she knew around for him to try to seduce her. 

They started forward, stiff and uncomfortable, the air between them thick like foam. Belle wanted to keep this boundary, but she didn’t want Francis to think she didn’t like him, so after half a block of silence, she slid her hand around his elbow. His arm relaxed.

“I’m not sure I know how to open up,” he said.

“Well, I don’t want you to feel like the odds are stacked against you,” she said. “I’m happy to help. We can start with something easy like—like what are some things you can actually eat?”

He was quiet for a second, and she might have screamed if she hadn’t glanced over to see him twisting his mustache in thought.

“I can eat most vegetables. Fruits. Clear liquids.” 

“So what do you eat at home?” she asked. “Do you get enough protein from that?”

He glanced down at her. “I have a particular health regimen,” he said. “I get plenty of protein from that.”

Did blood have protein? Was that what he meant, because he was a vampire? Belle stuffed those thoughts away. She was turning into paranoid Danny.

“So are you a secret bodybuilder or something?” 

His mouth twitched. “Depends on what you think that means.”

“Protein powder. Lots of exercise.”

He licked his lips. “Protein supplements, I suppose. I do get exercise.”

They reached the club, and Belle breathed in relief. She would not have to continue to poke and prod now. She would tomorrow, but that was a problem for then. 

“Okay.” She pulled her hand out of his arm. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, unless you decide you don’t want to be honest. And then I won’t.”

She turned to face him, and he was looking as anguished as she’d ever seen him. What could she even trust about him though? Was this real?

“You’ll see me tomorrow,” he said. “And every day after that.”

Her eyes heated again, and this time, she didn’t stop the tear from spilling over. Francis reached up to wipe it away. 

“Goodbye, Francis.”

“Until tomorrow, Belle,” he said.

She forced a smile and then, because she felt too bad, stood on her toes to kiss him goodbye. When she pulled away, she thought his eyes might have been wet, but it could have just been her own tears making everything watery.

Before she could change her mind, she slipped around him and to the club door, almost running smack into Danny as he was leaving. His arms flailed back, and then they both had to sidestep to let a man out.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked. “Why the fuck are you crying?” 

“Can we go inside?” she asked. 

Danny looked at something over her shoulder, probably Francis, then nodded. “Aye, come on, was just getting a bite.”

Once the door shut behind them, Belle sagged, free from Francis’ watch. She followed Danny closely so that no one would notice how miserable she looked, and when they made it back to his office, plopped into an egg chair and curled up with her knees to her chest. 

“What the fuck’s up with you?” Danny asked. “Something happen with fucking Francis?”

She sniffled. “I think I broke up with him?” It didn’t sound right, but what else could she say happened?

“What?” Danny stared at her. “Shite.” He loped over, wedging himself into the chair next to her. Then, after several seconds, his arm flopped around her as if of its own accord. “Because of the fucking cleaning thing?”

Belle curled into his side. “No. Well, kind of. I don’t know.”

His hand flexed in the air then curled around her shoulder. Hugging her knees to her chest, she tilted so her head rested on him. When her eyes filled, she tried not to shake so that Danny wouldn’t notice she was crying.

“What happened?”

Should she tell him everything? Why not. For better or worse, Danny was her best friend.

“I told him we couldn’t touch anymore,” she said. That felt safer than the explicit truth, even though Danny stiffened. “I want to get to know him, and we always just ended up—you know—whenever we were alone. I already felt like I didn’t know anything about him, and then all this? It’s like he’s leading a double life. What else is he hiding?”

Danny’s hand on her shoulder flopped like it was having some sort of seizure. 

“He’s fucking hiding something,” Danny said. “That’s for fucking sure.”

“Maybe you’ve been right all along.” She leaned into him, savoring the feel of his stiff suit jacket, his bony arm around her. He was always so Danny . “Maybe I was too trusting.”

Danny’s fingers curled around her shoulder. “You’re probably right that he didn’t fucking climb up your window.”

She smiled. “Probably.”

With Danny’s hand on her arm and her head on his shoulder, it would have been easy to tilt her head up, see if he was clenching his jaw or watching the room for danger. It would have been easy to kiss him.

She swallowed that thought. Danny was her boss, and perhaps the lines were blurred by their friendship, but there was no reason to erase them completely. Besides, she hadn’t fully dumped Francis.

“So, eh—was he pissed?” Danny asked. “When you said no more sex?”

Was he? Maybe. “I don’t know,” she said. “He was sad, I think. I think he really does like me, but I can’t—I can’t be with someone who isn’t honest. Not again.” 

Danny curled a lock of her hair around his index finger. Did he even realize he’d done that? She wouldn’t mention it.

“I told him we could still see each other, but no sex and no kissing,” she said. “We’ll just get to know one another.” 

“So you’re not fucking broken up then, are you?” Danny asked. “Still gonna spend all your fucking time with him.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. He might get frustrated. He says he won’t, but he’s so—” She pressed her lips together. She couldn’t just tell her boss that her not-boyfriend was horny all the time, obsessed with licking her all over. They may have been friends, but there were some things one did not say out loud.

“Yeah, I get the fucking picture,” Danny said. “I got it when he took a fucking chunk out of your thigh.”

“Well,” Belle said, ignoring the way she flushed scarlet all the way to her knees. “He won’t be doing that anymore.”

Without her permission, a tear slipped out of her eye, and then another and another. She tried to discreetly wipe them away, but Danny tensed beneath her and she knew he saw them. Still, he didn’t move, just kept his arm around her and sat stiff as a board. 

“You’ve had too fucking much going on,” he said, voice rough, legs starting to vibrate. “I’m taking you home.”

“No!” She looked up at him, and he was staring across the room with his brow drawn. 

“No?” He glanced down at her, then snapped away so fast, he winced. “Well, I gave you the fucking day off, so I had shite to do without you.”

“Can I just stay here?” she asked. Danny had never made her leave. “You don’t have to sit with me. I have a book.”

He frowned down at her. “You want to fucking read in a strip club instead of your own fucking bed?”

“I like it here,” she said. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Fucking nutter,” he muttered, but it sounded halfhearted. His leg jiggled, his hand tapped on her shoulder, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. Did Belle make Danny nervous? 

“Do you mind?” she asked softly, watching his throat carefully. It bobbed.

“No, I don’t fucking mind.” He shifted in the chair so he could slide his arm off her and then slid out, leaving her to curl up in the warm space he’d vacated. “Burgers or curry?”

An hour later, they’d eaten curry that Danny had screamed away Belle’s attempts to pay for, and Belle was curled up in her chair reading a fantasy novel she’d loved as a child while Danny made phone calls. The sound of him cursing in the background eased something in her that had been taut since yesterday. This was what she wanted, this screaming familiarity while she read something else familiar, even if it distracted her sometimes.

“Oi,” Danny called, startling her out of her book. “You still alone for Christmas?”

She could have jumped again from surprise at his question. Christmas was in eight days. She’d just all but dumped her not-boyfriend. Of course she was alone.

“Yes. Do you need me to work so you can open the club?”

“How fucking awful do you think I am to open the fucking club on Christmas with a week’s notice?” 

She couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, I’ll be alone. Why?”

He glowered at her. “Well, I was gonna fucking invite you to me Ma’s in Liverpool, but if this is what you fucking think of me, I don’t know if I fucking want you there anymore.”

Belle’s eyes widened. “You want me to spend Christmas with your family?”

He shrugged, now looking anywhere but at her. “Why not? It’s a big fucking party. You can come up yourself Christmas day or eh—” He swallowed. “Well, drive up with me and stay Christmas Eve.”

Belle had been spending Christmas with Gaston’s family for years, but he wasn’t close to any of them except his cousins, and so she usually spent the day in the kitchen with his mother promising she’d get him to call more often. She didn’t want to be alone, but she was relieved to be free of that particular tradition.

“Will you drive nicely?” she asked, and then her heart sank. “Oh, I have to work that day. Until four.”

“Fuck, just bugger off an hour early,” he said. “I can make it in three hours.”

“I can’t do that,” she said. “I told them I’d work.”

He scoffed. “What the fuck are they gonna do, fucking fire you?”

A great point. Belle smiled, light enough that she might have floated away if she wasn’t contained in her egg chair. “Okay. You’re right. I would love to spend Christmas with you.”

Before he ducked his head to not meet her eyes, Belle was sure she saw a real, earnest smile on Danny’s face.

Chapter Text

The grip Danny had on his sanity as it related to his feelings for Belle had always been tenuous at best, but now he’d lost it completely. What the fuck was he doing inviting her to Christmas? Did he really think that, just because she had half-dumped Colonel Mustache, he had a shot? That just because she’d come to him for comfort, she might want him?

He was, quite literally, the only person in her life. She had no one else to go to for comfort. It didn’t mean anything.

But inviting her to his ma’s for Christmas sure did. It meant that he had to call his sister-in-law, the only sensible person in the Devine-DeSouza household, and beg her to back him up when he told his mother that he was bringing his assistant but there was nothing romantic or weird about it. His brother would do whatever he thought would piss Danny off, but if he thought it would piss his fiancee off, he might think twice. 

Of course, his sister-in-law didn’t like him much, so her acquiescence only had about a fifty-fifty shot of being truthful, but it was better than a zero percent chance.

He’d already held Belle in his arms and played with her hair and gazed adoringly at her while she cried on him. He did not need his family making kissy faces at her. 

That problem sorted, Danny sank into his parrot chair. Last night, he’d walked Belle home in some gently falling snow. He couldn’t remember what he’d said that made her laugh, but he remembered the red tip of her nose, the way the snowflakes fell on her shoulders, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners, and he remembered the insane thought he’d had of kissing her goodnight like they were on some date.

He didn’t know what had happened. He’d been in love with her for months without any issues. Why was everything suddenly spilling out of him? 

This was terrible timing, especially since he had just promoted her. Now that he was going to be paying her in actual money, he couldn’t be fantasizing about brushing fucking snowflakes out of her hair. 

There were seven days until Christmas, which meant there were six days until he took a road trip with his assistant to introduce her to his entire family and spend a major holiday with her, which meant he had about five and a half days to get a fucking grip.

He stood and ran a hand through his hair. She was at work now, but she’d be at the club in four or five hours, and he needed to spend those hours thinking about anything else. 

Not much was happening in the afternoon on a Tuesday, but Danny walked the floor anyway, screaming here and there at some men who owed him money, but having no other real purpose. Frank didn’t come in until later, and Holly hadn’t spoken to him since telling him how sexy Belle’s boyfriend was after he broke up their date, which had made him too furious to see straight.

Without anything else to do or anyone else to talk to, he stalked back to his office and slammed his way inside, then froze halfway to his chair.

Something was wrong. He didn’t know what it was, didn’t know how he knew, but Danny hadn’t survived this long by not trusting his instincts.

He looked all over, and as he did, heard the chink of the door locking behind him. That wasn’t good. It didn’t lock from the outside without the key in his pocket.

Slowly, he spun around. Another chink, and a lighter flame appeared, illuminating Francis Ives. He stared at Danny, eyes bright in the darkness, as he lit a cigarillo and brought it to his mouth.

“What the fuck are you fucking doing here?” Danny asked, hoping Colonel Fuck couldn’t sense the tremor in his yell.

He sucked on his cigarillo, still watching Danny, and then blew the smoke out in a thick, white stream. 

“Oi, this is a fucking private office,” he said, torn between backing into the safety of his parrot and standing his ground so Belle’s not-boyfriend didn’t think him weak. “And non-fucking-smoking.”

Ives blew out another stream of smoke, then pushed himself off the wall. Danny stumbled back a half-step. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked again. What would Belle do if her boyfriend fucking killed him? She wouldn’t keep dating him, would she?

“You know, it’s funny,” Ives said in the same calm voice he always used. “I didn’t realize that you were my biggest problem until it was far too late.” 

He stepped forward, and Danny stepped back, heart pounding like a rabbit’s. 

“The fuck are you yammering on about?”

Ives cracked a half-grin, taking another long drag on his cigar. “You’re lucky it took me so long. Now, if I eliminated you from the equation, it would be too obvious.”

Eliminated him from the equation. Oh god. He needed to get to his parrot chair as soon as possible. 

“What fucking equation?” As long as Ives was talking, he wasn’t eliminating him. 

“Belle, of course.” He strode forward, and Danny stumbled back, arms flailing. “I thought she was just traumatized from her marriage, but now I see that you’re the reason she won’t just choose me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Belle had chosen Ives over and over. “You’re the fucking man whose fucking dating her, hey?”

Ives advanced and Danny retreated, glancing behind him. Almost to the chair, just had to get around the desk. 

“My mistake,” he went on as though Danny hadn’t spoken at all, “was in thinking you were just Belle’s boss, that she thought nothing of you.” 

“Belle doesn’t think shite about me,” he said. What would Belle think of him when he locked his office down like Alcatraz with her boyfriend inside it? 

“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” He strode forward and stubbed his cigar out on Danny’s desk. “If you hadn’t been here, confusing her, she’d have committed to me long ago.”

Were they in the fucking twilight zone? “You’ve only been with her two fucking weeks, and she’s been married ten fucking years,” Danny said. “What the fuck do you expect?”

He hated retreating, hated that it was only when Ives advanced that he could stumble backwards toward his goal, but at least now he was closer. He just needed to access the part of him that could scream in faces like Gaston’s. Why did Francis Ives make him feel like a hunted deer?

“Two weeks?” Ives raised an eyebrow. “I’ve known her for months. The two weeks should have been plenty to cement her choice.”

Did Belle know how fucking insane her boyfriend was? 

“So what the fuck do you want from me?” He plopped into his chair, and his heart calmed. He was safe now. Whatever Ives did, Danny could be out of his office in seconds, and then the SWAT team on call would be Ives’ problem. All he had to do was kick the lever on his desk.

Ives laughed, a genial enough sound that had Danny shrinking into the belly of his parrot. If he slipped the safety restraints on, Ives would see, so he just stretched his legs out toward the levers.

“Why, I’ve come to eliminate this problem. I thought that was obvious.”

“I’m not—there’s nothing to fucking eliminate,” he said. Fuck. “I’m not a fucking problem for you, Belle’s just my fucking assistant, hey?”

Ives rubbed his temples. “God, you really are stupid, aren’t you?” 

Normally, Danny would rage at being called stupid, but for once in his life, self-preservation was warring with his pride. 

“What the fuck are you on about?” Kind of.

“Time is somewhat meaningless to me.” Ives waved a hand as if to gesture to time itself. “I want Belle, and I’m willing to wait for her, but I see no reason I shouldn’t stack the deck in my own favor.”

Why didn’t Danny carry a gun? Why did he only wear a bulletproof vest? Ives was right, he was fucking stupid. The second he survived this, he was going to change that.

“What fucking odds?” 

Ives shook his head. “Belle is so smart, I don’t understand what compels her to you.” 

She thought he was funny. But he didn’t think Ives was looking for an answer.

“Nothing. She’s not fucking compelled—she just doesn’t have any fucking friends.”

Ives reached for his belt, and instead of a gun, he unsheathed a nasty hunting knife, studying the blade as if all he meant to do was clean it. Danny wanted to trigger the escape hatch, but it was a huge decision that would destroy his entire office, possibly his entire business. 

“I thought she didn’t have any friends.” Ives tilted the blade again, and even from across the desk, Danny could see how sharp it was. “I thought she was perfect. But when I was here the other night, I realized how blind I’d been.”

Danny’s mouth was too dry, his throat too tight. “Perfect for what?”

Ives met his eyes, hefting the knife like he meant to strike, and Danny suddenly did not need the answer to that question. He kicked the lever, bracing himself for liftoff.

Nothing happened. 

“Ah, yes,” Ives said. “I thought it would be a good idea to disable whatever that was before we had this little chat.”

The blood drained from Danny’s face to fuel his pounding heart. Without his escape, he’d trapped himself in the perfect corner for Ives to kill him at his leisure. 

“How did you—” He kicked the useless lever again.

“I looked around the other day, and I’m glad I did.” He made no move to come around the desk, but Danny already knew a little bit of what he was capable. He was in optimal range to cut Danny off at any exit.

“If you’re here to fucking kill me, fucking get on with it,” Danny said. Maybe he could leave Belle some sort of message, a sign so that she’d know what happened.

Except, he was about to be murdered by the man famous for making crime scenes disappear. He wouldn’t leave a fucking trace.

Ives laughed. “I’m not going to kill you, Danny. What’s the point? Belle’s smart, she would put two and two together.”

Somehow, this did not relieve him. Ives was here to do something with his mean-looking knife. 

“So what the fuck do you want?”

“I’d like to propose a truce.” Ives tapped his knife on the desk. “An alliance, if you will.”

Danny wanted nothing to do with an alliance with Colonel Fuck, but he did want to walk out of this office alive today, so he was amenable to listening.

“I’m all fucking ears.”

Ives laid his knife on the desk and took a step back. He was still close enough to grab it, but Danny recognized it as a gesture of goodwill.

“How familiar are you with different mythologies?”

If the knife didn’t kill him, the whiplash would. “Fucking—different fucking mythologies?” He leapt from his chair. He needed to pace. “Not fucking familiar at all, thanks very fucking much.”

“There are myths that posit a theory.” He stepped to the side as if giving Danny room to escape, and Danny took it, fleeing to the center of his office again. “Consume a man’s flesh, and you consume his spirit. Steal his strength.”

“Okay, well, that’s fucking bollocks,” Danny said. Why didn’t he have any windows? He was going to be trapped in his coffin-office forever.

“Is it?” Ives watched him, making no moves to block any exits. Was that out of confidence, or did he really not care if Danny left now?

“Aye, fucking old wives’ tale,” Danny said. “Everyone fucking knows the only thing you need to fucking listen to is not to touch the fucking fairy rings.”

Ives chuckled again. How did Belle date this man? 

“Let me tell you a story, if you would stand still for one fucking minute.” 

Danny could not stand still for one fucking minute, but he would try his best so as not to be murdered and possibly eaten, apparently.

Instead of speaking, Ives took his cigarillo back out and re-lit it, bringing it to his mouth to take a deep drag. 

“Back in 1848, a man is diagnosed with tuberculosis.” He blew the smoke out again. Maybe the cigar smell would clue Belle in to his presence. “So he decides to go west in a wagon with a small group of travelers and a scout to convalesce in a sanatorium.”

Danny did not want to listen to this story, but Ives was captivating. He didn’t know if it was his mannerisms or the fact that he still had the means to carve his entrails out.

“The scout tells him the myth about consuming the flesh of another man, and as soon as the man with tuberculosis tries it, he realizes it’s true.” Here, he sucked on his cigar again. “Over the course of one winter, he’s killed and eaten his entire traveling party, and come out that spring more alive and powerful than he’s ever been.”

Was Danny really stupid, or was this story nonsensical? He couldn’t wrap his head around what he was meant to glean from this.

“Oi, great fucking story, you’re a real fucking Shakespeare,” Danny said. “What the fuck does this have to do with anything?”

Ives blew smoke out, eyes flashing. “Don’t you ever just feel stupid, Danny?” he asked. “Weak? Useless?”

Danny opened his mouth, but no sound came out. 

“Don’t you just hate when a man like me comes in and threatens you?” He picked up his knife and advanced, but stopped short enough that he wouldn’t be able to reach Danny in one move. “No one takes you seriously. How could they?”

“Shut up,” Danny said. “Shut the fuck up, you fucking psychopath fucking twat.”

He shook his head. “You’re small, weak. Pathetic. Don’t you ever wish there something you could do, a magic pill to turn you into someone worthy of Belle?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Why couldn’t he have some sort of intelligent retort? “No, I fucking do not.”

Except, he did. He did wish he was more like Francis, more like the man Belle wanted biting her thighs, more articulate and composed and confident.

Ives growled, advancing toward him. “It is exhausting putting on a face for someone like you, you fucking imbecile.” 

“Oi, you fucking come into my fucking office, smoke your fucking disgusting fucking cigar, and then fucking insult me?” Danny slashed his hand across the air, like he had any physical threat he could make. “Fuck you, fucking colonel of the fucking wank army.”

At that, Ives laughed again, a full-throated laugh that made Danny consider hiding back in his parrot for comfort. 

“That man with tuberculosis?” He sucked on his cigar, and Danny rubbed his own throat in sympathy. “That was me.”

“Shut the fuck up.” A part of Danny had seen that coming, but there was no way he believed it. “In eighteen-fucking-forty-eight? How fucking stupid do you actually think I am?”

Ives sucked on his cigar, then glared at him. “Very fucking stupid, actually. Let me continue the story then.” He stubbed his cigar out again, and he was going to leave burn marks on Danny’s translucent desk. “Having the life, the vitality of other men coursing through him meant that the man who healed from tuberculosis never became sick, never became frail. Never aged.”

“Are you trying to fucking tell me you’re a fucking vampire?” Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe Belle had hit him on the head with the booze bottle and he’d hallucinated the whole thing, including inviting her to Christmas.

“Unfortunately, a vampire can leave his food alive.” Ives advanced toward him again. “I can only absorb a spirit once it’s no longer needed in the body. Haven’t you ever known you’re better than the man in front of you and wished you could take the things he has that you want?”

“No!” Danny’s voice came out too high-pitched. “No, I have fucking not.”

But of course, this was a lie too. Danny knew he was smart and capable, and people were always underestimating him.

Ives must have known, because his lip curled in a smirk. “What about Gaston?”

Danny swallowed. What could he say to that? He’d fantasized about getting back at Gaston more times than he could count, fantasies where Gaston cowered before him and begged forgiveness.

“Imagine, for just a moment, all the strength of Gaston coursing through your veins.” Ives picked his knife back up to examine it again, and Danny couldn’t help thinking what it would be like to confront Gaston as the stronger, more capable man. “I snapped his wrist, remember?” 

“That was an accident,” Danny said, because that’s what Belle had said.

Ives chuckled. “Of course it was.” He sheathed his knife, then gestured to himself. “Look at me. I’m not much bigger than you. I have no bulging muscles, no particularly Amazonian disposition. I snapped his wrist without one ounce of effort.”

“Did you fucking climb up to her fucking window?” Danny asked before he could stop himself.

Ives had that way that smart, smarmy people did of looking like they were amused at something the people around them could never hope to comprehend. “Of course. She had just told me that afternoon that there was no one who would miss her if she disappeared.” He shrugged. “I was hungry.”

Fucking Belle. Of course she’d told some fucking serial killer that she was the perfect victim without a second thought.

“So why didn’t you?” I was hungry was going to haunt Danny’s nightmares, provided he did escape this afternoon alive.

“I decided I’d rather know her than eat her,” he said, and then smirked. “Well, kill her and eat her, I suppose.”

Danny’s stomach churned. “How did you get up there?”

Ives frowned. “Would that be difficult for you? Scaling that wall?” He laughed. “I forget what it’s like sometimes.”

If he insulted him one more fucking time, Danny’s pride was likely to win out. “So what the fuck is it that you actually fucking want?”

Ives strode forward, and, again, Danny stumbled back, but this time he hit the wall. He gripped the plush protrusions, wishing he had a weapon or something hidden somewhere. He was so fucking paranoid, why didn’t he?

“I want to give you everything you want, Danny Devine.”

Danny swallowed. Ives watched him hungrily, and if this didn’t resolve soon, Danny had no illusions that he wasn’t about to be lunch. 

“I’ve got everything I fucking want, thanks very fucking much.”

“I don’t think you do.” He slid the knife out of its sheath again and rested it against his palm. “People are always in here, trying to take advantage of you, trying to pull one over on you. No one respects you here. Richie Richardson certainly didn’t.”

Danny couldn’t feel his hands anymore. 

“Aye, well, he doesn’t want to take my fucking calls after fucking avoiding me.”

“After spreading rumors that your club has herpes,” he said, and Danny couldn’t feel his elbows anymore either. “Aren’t you glad he’s not dragging your name through the mud anymore?”

His mouth was so dry. He licked his lips. “Aye, it’s fucking great. And I promise not to tell a fucking soul he’s missing. Live and fucking let live, that’s my fucking motto.” 

“Of course it is.” He brought the knife up to Danny’s eye-level, tilting it like he wanted to read something on it. “Wouldn’t it be nice if men just paid you on time? If people respected you?” He lowered the knife. “If you had Belle?”

Danny’s dry mouth filled with saliva, and he gulped it down. He didn’t believe for a second that Belle had seen this side of Ives, but for better or worse, he was the one she wanted. He had captivated her.

“Belle’s a fucking person,” Danny said, voice hoarser than he’d ever heard it. “Not something to fucking ‘have.’”

Ives groaned as though Danny had disappointed him, and suddenly, the tip of the knife was against Danny’s jaw. He shook like a leaf. Danny Devine did not get himself into inescapable situations.

“It’s lonely being a cannibal,” Ives said, keeping the knife still. “I want a companion. I want that companion to be Belle, but I’m not a cruel man, nor a possessive one.” 

Danny snorted, and the movement pricked his jaw on the knife. Ives stiffened and took one long sniff. He closed his eyes, almost shaking with the effort of doing something Danny didn’t understand. After half a minute, he opened them and relaxed with his holier-than-thou smile.

“Belle deserves everything she wants, and for some reason, I think that includes you.” 

Ives was just saying anything now. Belle didn’t want him, and even if she did, whatever Ives’ methods were, Danny didn’t want them.

“So what?” Danny asked. “Belle can do whatever the fuck she wants.”

“I agree.” He twisted the tip of his knife, and Danny winced. “If you and I work together, Belle can have everything she wants, you can have Belle and the respect you’re due, and I get my partner.” 

“If you fucking think there’s any fucking way Belle is gonna be fucking okay with fucking killing a bloke and eating him, you’re fucking stupider than I am.”

Ives blinked, and Danny thought he might finally have surprised him. “Of course Belle would never have to kill anyone. I’m not an animal. I would ensure she never went hungry. Besides, I’ve found that people who enjoy killing right off the bat don’t enjoy much else. I get bored.”

What if Danny sunk to the ground and wept? Would Ives put him out of his fucking misery?

“Okay, fucking—fucking hear me out, hey?” Danny raised both hands. Ives pulled the knife back a hair and gestured for him to continue. “You go on fucking—fucking eating people, fucking curing tuberculosis and shite. Belle does whatever the fuck she wants. And I keep me fucking mouth shut, hey? Your secret’s fucking safe with me.”

Ives laughed, and Danny’s gut clenched. He was never speaking to a stranger again.

“It’s not so hard to just give in, Danny,” he said. “You might like me if you give me time. But I can assure you, you’ll love nothing more than the power coursing through you.” He took another deep sniff, eyes focusing on Danny’s pricked jaw. “There’s nothing like it.”

“No,” Danny said. “No, I’m not fucking helping you fucking turn Belle into a fucking cannibal. She’s had a rough fucking lot in life, she deserves some fucking normalcy.”

Ives frowned. “Doesn’t she deserve to take back what she’s lost? To never, ever feel sad and powerless again?”

Danny licked his lips. “Aye, but she can—”

“Don’t you want to see her come into her own? To see her revel in her own power?”

He wanted Belle to be happy. It was all he’d ever wanted. 

“Why don’t we fucking ask Belle what she fucking wants, hey?”

Ives dropped his knife hand, but didn’t step back. “You’re not telling Belle about any of this.”

“Or what? You’ll fucking eat me?”

Ives shook his head, sheathing his knife. “Of course not. If I threatened you, you’d be out of London in a heartbeat, spreading the word all over the countryside.”

“I fucking swear, mum’s the fucking—”

“No, if you tell Belle, I’ll kill her.”

Danny choked like Ives had punched him in the throat. He’d been worrying over this happening ever since he’d met Francis Ives, but to hear him say it so plainly was a thousand times worse than any of his anxious thoughts.

“You’d kill Belle?” Why couldn’t he sound angry? Why couldn’t he defend Belle like she deserved? “Wouldn’t you—wouldn’t you fucking—be upset?”

“Of course.” Ives brows furrowed, and for once, Danny didn’t think he was putting on an act. “I’d be devastated. I love her.”

Ives loved her. Danny swallowed. He wanted to protest, to say he couldn’t possibly love a woman he’d only just started dating, but Danny had been in love with her from the minute she’d opened her mouth, and it had only gotten stronger. Who was he to tell Ives—two-hundred-year-old Ives—that he couldn’t love Belle?

“You’d fucking kill the woman you love just to fucking get back at me?” Danny asked. 

“She would be with me always if I did.” He pressed a hand to his heart. “As is everyone I have ever loved.”

Danny was going to vomit.

“Don’t pretend you’re not enticed, Danny,” Ives said. “I’ve seen you with her. I’ve seen Gaston. You want to be more, and all of that is within your grasp.” 

He wasn’t wrong. It was a heady thought, the idea of being as powerful and self-possessed as Francis. And with no effort? No one to fucking criticize him for doing it wrong or tell him he was too short, too loud, too fucking stupid? All he had to do was kill anyone he didn’t like and—well, and fucking eat them. 

“Do you have to eat them fucking raw or—or fucking what?” Danny asked.

Ives smirked. “Of course not. You wouldn’t even notice if you didn’t want to. In fact, I could have just turned you and you’d be none the wiser.” 

He licked his lips. He could fucking kill and eat Gaston. The thought made his stomach curl, but he couldn’t deny that Gaston getting what was fucking coming to him had appeal. 

Then, the rest of what he’d said hit, and he frowned. “You wouldn’t—you wouldn’t fucking just—turn Belle, hey? Without her knowing?”

Ives shrugged, running his thumb along the flat of his knife. “It wouldn’t be ideal.”

“Okay,” Danny said. “Okay, I’m not fucking helping you—”

Ives’ lip curled, and he gripped his knife again until Danny yelled, “But—”

“But?” He raised an eyebrow.

“But if—if this is what Belle fucking wants, then—then fine.” He couldn’t imagine a world where Belle wanted to be a cannibal, but he also did not want to die. 

Both Ives’ eyebrows flew up. “I’m giving you the opportunity to get in now. If I convince Belle without you—” He shrugged.

“No.” Danny poked him in the chest before he could stop himself. “No, this is the fucking deal. Belle fucking decides her own fucking fate, hey? And if she fucking wants both of us, then it’s fucking sold.”

Ives considered this for longer than Danny was comfortable with, then offered a hand.

“Remember, if you tell Belle any of this, I’m killing her, and you’ll never find me again.”

Danny shook his hand. “Aye, I’ll fucking remember.” 

Ives grinned. If Danny became a cannibal, would he have the same insufferable look in his eye, or was that just part of Colonel fucking Wank’s shite personality?

“You have a deal, Mr. Devine.”

“Oi,” Danny said. “Fucking great. Fucking piss off now, eh? I’ve got fucking work to do.”

Ives ducked his head, and then faster than Danny was comfortable with, he’d exited out the street-side door. After checking every nook and cranny in his office, locking and re-locking all the doors, and figuring out what the fuck Ives had done to his emergency lever, Danny stuffed himself into his parrot chair and allowed himself to panic.

Chapter Text

Luckily for Belle, her manager was perfectly fine with closing at two on Christmas Eve, which was even earlier than Belle asked for. Apparently, she’d only been keeping the store open since Belle agreed to work. At least that was one worry off her plate.

She didn’t read during her shift, and by the time it was over, she couldn’t remember if she’d helped any customers at all. She thought it had been a little busier for being closer to Christmas, but what with killing a man and half-dumping her boyfriend, she was having trouble remembering unimportant details like how her workday was going.

Francis didn’t show up at the end of her shift, and she told herself that this was fine. If he didn’t want to open up, then he wasn’t right for her. 

It still sucked though. 

She pressed her lips together as she left the bookstore, determined not to cry until she made it back to her flat. She had an hour to wallow, and she intended to make good use of it. 

She really must not have been paying attention, though, because she hadn’t even realized a man was in her path until Francis’ hands were on her shoulders and he was all but shaking her.

“Belle!”

She blinked up at him, some of her fog lifting, and smiled. “Francis! You’re here.”

He frowned at her, then touched her forehead with the back of his hand as if to check for a fever. “Are you all right?”

“I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I told you I’d be here.” He dropped his hands from her, taking a step back. “And I meant it.” 

“I’m glad.” She reached for his arm but then stopped herself. No touching. “When I didn’t see you, I thought you were gone.”

He shook his head. “I usually come in and kiss you hello, and you tell me I’m early, and then I wait outside, so I thought better to skip the first step. Unless you’ve changed your mind about kissing me?”

Belle bit her lip and shook her head. “Coffee?”

So they went to their usual spot, and Francis bought their usual drinks, and they sat in their usual corner table in uncomfortable silence, just like they had on their first date.

“So,” she said, wanting to trace the leaf drawn in her foam with the tip of her finger. “Where in Scotland are you from?”

This was basic dating 101, and Belle couldn’t believe that she didn’t know. The conversation with Francis had always flowed so naturally, she’d never realized they weren’t talking about anything.

He licked his lips. “A small village outside of Glasgow.” 

He already knew she was from outside Melbourne. He knew that she and her dad had moved to England when her mother died. He knew how she’d met Gaston and married him. The only thing he didn’t know was her last name, but he knew why he didn’t know her last name.

“And your parents?” she asked. “Are they still there?”

“No.” He shook his head, then took a jerking sip of his cappuccino. “They’re dead.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” She blew on her leaf art, watching the vein squiggle. “How long ago?”

“Ah—well, I must have been twenty or so.” 

Belle frowned. “You don’t remember when your parents died?” 

“Memory is a tricky thing,” Francis said. “The things we remember, the things we forget—” He shrugged. “It’s not always a conscious choice.”

“I guess that’s true,” she said. “I do sometimes find it hard to recall details from my dad’s death. And sometimes I can’t even remember what my wedding dress looked like.”

“Did you like your wedding dress?” he asked.

Over the years, she had gone through periods of obsessing over this question and periods of refusing to think about it. Now, she shrugged. 

“I didn’t hate it,” she said. “Gaston’s family was paying for the whole wedding, so I went shopping with his mum, aunt, and cousin and figured I’d just—get what his mum wanted.” 

He frowned at this. “Did she pick out something horrible?”

Belle shook her head, cheeks turning pink. She didn’t like speaking ill of Gaston’s family, even though they were as much a part of Gaston as he was of them. “No, no, it wasn’t terrible. It looked fine. It just wasn’t me, you know?” She took a gulp of her coffee then set it down so she could gesture. “It had these full, puffy sleeves down to my elbows and a high neck, and the skirt was floor-length but it was just a simple pleated a-line. Very basic. But the bodice and sleeves were covered in lace, and lace was the one thing I said I wanted, so it was nice of her to keep that in mind.”

“I can’t imagine you not looking lovely in any dress, even one with puffy sleeves and a high neck.” His toe bumped against hers and she swallowed. “What would you have picked out for yourself?”

She considered this, rubbing her finger along the rim of her mug. “Well, I loved the lace, but I would want something off-the-shoulder, I think. And—I don’t know.” She flushed. No one had ever asked her, and she didn’t want to talk about a wedding dress she’d likely never get to wear. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not silly.” He gazed at her with the same intensity as always, and she flushed for a different reason. “What else?”

She sighed. “Well, I always thought that a wedding is a person’s one opportunity to look like a princess if they want to, so I wanted a full skirt. Lace detailing. Maybe something with flowers.”

“You’d look beautiful,” he said. He was always so earnest. She wanted to fall into him, to walk around the table and have him wrap his arms around her. 

“Of course, I haven’t even found a solicitor to get divorced yet, so it doesn’t really matter,” she said.

“It does matter.” Francis reached across the table and, without thinking, she linked the tips of her fingers with his. “What you want matters, Belle.” 

She smiled at him, and he smiled back.

How was it that she could go on a coffee date with the explicit intention of getting to know someone and come out of it having spent almost an hour talking about herself? She rushed to the Parrot Club feeling like such an idiot, but at least she’d be with Danny now. Maybe she could learn a thing or two from him about how to be single-minded.

When she burst into his office, he sprang from where he’d been sitting on the edge of his desk and strode over to her.

“There you fucking are!” He clapped her on the shoulder like they were old golf buddies, then squeezed it and dropped his hand.

“I’m not late, am I?” She glanced at the clock. “Well, two minutes.”

He shook his head. “No, no, just fucking—you know, you seem on the fucking edge of a nervous breakdown, so eh—was just fucking worried, hey?”

She eyed him. “Do I? More than usual?”

“Oi, what’s with the twenty fucking questions?” He paced around behind her, then started on a circuit of the room. 

Belle shook her head, making her way to her desk while he paced whatever it was out of his system.

“Did something happen?” she asked.

Danny shook his head, checking the lock on the street side door. “Were you with fucking Francis?”

She sighed, dropping her forehead into her palm. “Yes. Do I talk about myself too much, Danny? Am I rude?”

He frowned, stalking toward her by way of his office door, which he locked on the way as well. For him being so strange about locking the doors today, the room seemed a lot brighter. 

“No,” he said. “You talk a fucking normal amount. Why?”

She glanced around, frowning. “Did you get more lamps?”

“Aye, it’s fucking dark in here, we were gonna go fucking blind one day. What fucking happened with Francis?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “We didn’t kiss or anything, and I still barely learned anything about him. I don’t know how it happened, but one second, he was telling me his parents were dead, and the next, I was telling him all about how Gaston’s mother picked out my wedding dress.”

Danny didn’t even laugh, and Belle frowned. Something was clearly wrong. 

“What’s going on?”

He shook his head. “I need to—” He licked his lips, then smacked his hand on his desk. “I need you to come with me collecting today.”

“Me?” Her eyebrows flew up. “Why?”

“Oi, you’re not assistant manager yet, you’re still my fucking assistant. Don’t question my fucking orders.”

It sounded like a joke, but Danny was still pacing and hopping and looking out of sorts. Belle laughed anyway, and this was the right call. Danny’s pacing slowed. 

“I need to get Christmas gifts,” Belle said. “Can we stop while we’re out?”

Danny frowned. “For who? I’m not fucking shopping for your fucking boyfriend on the fucking clock.”

Belle pursed her lips. “For your family, who are kindly allowing me to spend Christmas with them?” She already had gifts for Francis and Danny, though she hadn’t yet decided whether she was going to be giving Danny his gift around his family or in private. She had the Christmas bowtie for him to open in front of people.

“Is that fucking—necessary?” Danny asked, finally stilling. Thank god.

“Yes, it’s necessary, I don’t want to be rude.” 

“All right, fine, come on.”

They exited the office from the street-side, but not until Danny had circled the entire room twice, checking all the locks, and then he locked that door and made Belle test the knob.

“Did something happen?” she asked as they started for his van. “Did another hitman come?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, I know I’m—I’m just fucking off today, hey?”

She slipped her hand into his arm, and he glanced down at it like he’d just swallowed a frog, but then pulled her in tighter with his elbow.

“Okay, so what do I need to know about Devine family Christmas?” 

“Fuck if I know,” Danny said. “I guess first and fucking foremost, I’ve never had a Christmastime guest.”

“Did you tell them who I was?” she asked. 

Danny wrinkled his nose like this was a particularly distasteful question, and Belle grinned. “Aye, I said you were my assistant, but we’ll fucking see how it goes. My brother, Felix? He’s a fucking twat.” 

Belle frowned. “Felix?” She recognized that name. Her landlord was named Felix. How likely was it that Danny knew two Felixes? “My landlord?”

Danny blanched. “Fuck. Right, yeah, he is your landlord. I know I said it was my mate, but—I mean, fuck, I didn’t know you then, and we don’t have the same last name.”

Belle frowned, considering. She hadn’t expected to ever meet her landlord in person, much less spend Christmas with him. Was it going to be weird?

“Hey,” Danny said. “Don’t, eh—don’t fucking mention it, okay? Ma doesn’t know he owns property.”

“Should I thank him?” she asked.  “For giving me such a good deal on rent?”

Danny scoffed. “A good deal? On that fucking shitehole?” 

He had a point there. Belle smiled. “Okay. I won’t mention it.” 

For the next hour, they drove all around London in his stupid VW bus, Belle’s stomach churning and roiling with each bumping turn. She didn’t know who to blame, Danny or the bus, but the idea of sitting in this car all the way to Liverpool was becoming less and less attractive.

“Danny,” Belle said when they pulled up in front of a liquor shop. “You have to drive nicely on Christmas Eve or I’ll be dead before we ever get there.”

“Don’t fucking worry.” Danny hopped out. “Hurry up, shop’s gonna get fucking emptied if we don’t get summat soon.” 

Belle clambered down, legs like jelly. Between her determination and Danny’s knowledge of his family, they picked out a nice bottle of strawberry gin, and then they went two doors down and Belle added a box of chocolates. For his brother and sister-in-law, she got a hot sauce sampler set, per Danny's recommendation. She wanted to pick up more gifts just in case there were more people, but Danny had already elbowed her out of the way at all the registers, and she didn’t want to make him pay for more gifts he didn’t see a point in getting.

Danny stopped at her flat to drop the gifts off, and then they were heading back to the club. She suspected that, if she hadn’t been over-the-top enthusiastic about returning when she was done, he would have just told her to stay home, but she’d made her feelings on the club clear. This was where she wanted to spend her evening. 

On the way back in, Belle spotted a familiar face at the bar. She nudged Danny.

“That’s Holly’s husband,” she said. “Jesse.”

Danny’s eyebrows flew up, and as he was eyeing Jesse up and down, the man himself turned around. Flushing, Belle waved, and she would have fled but he grabbed his beer and shouldered his way over.

“Belle, hi!” he said, cheeks a little red. Belle smiled.

“Hi, Jesse. Here to see Holly’s show?”

He nodded. “She’s been practicing this new dance move in our living room, so I told her I’d come hype her up.”

A lump formed in Belle’s throat. “That’s so sweet of you.”

“Thanks—hey, I wanted to apologize.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Mark’s a huge dick and I never even realized. We were uni friends.”

Belle had to get out of there before she cried on Holly’s husband because she was happy that he was nice. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry I abandoned you.”

Jesse waved his hand, but then the announcer’s voice came on, announcing Holly’s act. He bid them a quick goodbye, then hurled himself into the crowd screaming about how excited he was to watch this exciting new dance.

Belle swallowed several times while Danny watched her warily. It was good to know that Holly had found someone who loved and cherished her. It meant it wasn’t a futile search.

Then, Danny’s head snapped up.

“Stay here for a sec,” he said, shoving her at a barstool. Frank wasn’t in tonight, and Belle didn’t want to sit at the bar talking to someone she didn’t know over the loud music from the floor show, but Danny suddenly looked spooked.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Just don’t move, hey?” he said, and then made a beeline for the exit.

Was this how he was going to behave after the hitman? Why had it taken him a full day to become paranoid? Maybe yesterday, he’d still been in shock. 

A bartender came by and offered a drink, so she got a cranberry juice with ice. Danny came back a few minutes later with a bouncer and beckoned her off the stool. The bouncer entered the office first, did a sweep, and then Danny locked them both in once he left.

“Is there anything you’d like to talk about?” Belle asked, taking a seat in one of the egg chairs instead of her desk. “How are you feeling?”

“Don’t fucking psychoanalyze me.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just—weird fucking day, okay? I don’t like when Frank’s off.”

“Okay,” Belle said. Whatever was bothering Danny, he would talk about it when he was ready. “Do you want to sit with me and have a drink?” 

He stared at her in the egg chair with her cranberry juice, then went to his desk and took out the emergency bottle of Bushmills. 

“Aye,” he said. “But then I have to fucking scream at Smith.”

“Of course.” Belle watched him pour into a smudged glass. She’d go wash that for him while he screamed at Mr. Smith, maybe see if there were more in his desk that needed refreshing. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

He plopped into the chair with her, and she shifted to give him more room. Was it a bad idea to sit so close with her boss more often than just dire circumstances? 

“Danny?” 

“I’m fucking fine,” he said, even though she imagined she could feel his heart pounding just sitting next to him.

“Okay,” she said. “But you know, if you’re not fine, you can talk to me.”

He glanced over at her, eyes traveling from hers down to her lips down to her cranberry juice, and then he nodded.

“Aye.” His mouth twitched, and maybe if he’d been in a less foul mood, it would have been a smile. “I know.”

Chapter Text

No one could say over the next five days that Belle didn’t try with Francis. She even sometimes felt like they were making progress, like one of these dates, he’d do more than give a few answers before turning the conversation around on her. And he was somehow getting craftier, because every day she went in with a plan to ignore his previous tactics, and every day, she left bamboozled.

And even though he had been a perfect gentleman, he still watched her like she was some rare delicacy to savor. Had he always looked at her that way? She couldn’t remember, but then she might not have ever noticed before.

On the twenty-third, after Francis told her the bullet points about an old girlfriend that he’d dated for a few months a decade ago and she’d told him all about the time her father had tried to date and ended up weeping in a pizzeria and calling her to retrieve him, she took him outside and faced him.

“Francis,” she said. She hadn’t yet determined what to follow up with.

“Belle.” He clasped his hands in front of him, watching her expectantly.

“I’m not spending Christmas in London,” she said finally. “So I won’t be able to meet tomorrow. I just thought you should know.”

“Oh?” His brow furrowed. “Where will you be?” 

She didn’t want to tell him where. A part of her feared he’d show up, though that was Danny levels of paranoid. “Danny invited me to his family’s for the holiday,” she said. “I’m not sure where.”

Francis stilled so thoroughly, she worried he’d stopped breathing.

“You’re spending Christmas with Danny and his family?” he said, soft voice sharp.

“Yes.” She was not afraid of Francis. “I’ll see you on the twenty-sixth. And you should consider whether you really want to see me.”

“Because of Danny?” he asked, still in that same soft voice. 

“No.” She clutched the edge of her coat sleeve. She would not be afraid of Francis. “Because you still haven’t opened up. And I’m running out of patience.”

Francis’ mouth opened, but no sound came out. Unusual. 

“I think you like me a lot,” Belle said. “But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you only want me for sex and books.”

“I do like you a lot,” he said. “I’ve made that clear.”

She shook her head. “You’ve told me. That’s all. But it doesn’t matter.” She licked her lips. “I’ll see you when I get back, and if we can’t make it work, then we can’t make it work.”

“What if you don’t come back from Danny’s?” he asked. “What if you decide to stay forever.”

“I won’t.” She wanted to kiss him or something, squeeze his hand, but if she did, she might be even more sad. “I have a gift for you, but I haven’t had time to finish it.” This wasn’t strictly true. The gift was a book she loved that she’d bought a paperback copy of and annotated for him, and she’d finished it that morning before rushing out for coffee, but she hadn’t had a chance to sit with it.

Francis’s eyebrow flew up. “Finished it? Did you make it?” 

“I guess you’ll have to see, won’t you?” She smiled, somewhat wetly, and then almost cowered at the look Francis turned on her. Was it tender? Horrified? Did he want to kiss her or kill her? 

“You made me something?” he asked. “You work a hundred hours a week, but you made me something?”

It definitely seemed more like he wanted to kiss her. 

“I guess the cat’s out of the bag,” she said. “I’ll see you on the twenty-sixth.” 

He nodded, and she got the distinct impression that she had surprised him, overwhelmed him again. Why couldn’t he show his emotions like this all the time? 

“Merry Christmas, Belle,” he said. “I hope you have a wonderful time.”

She could kiss him goodbye. The impulse was right there, waiting for her like an old friend, and Francis would welcome it. Instead, she picked up his hand and squeezed it.

“Merry Christmas, Francis.” 

She started for her door, but he gripped her hand.

“Wait, Belle.”

Tugging so gently, she could have ignored it, Francis pulled her toward him. She followed, letting him settle her against his chest, and then he wrapped both his arms around her. Since he didn’t seem intent on going farther than that, Belle allowed her head to nestle against him, allowed her arms to wrap around his waist while his hand moved up to her hair. His lips rested atop her head like they had when they were dancing.

“I really do hope you have a good time,” he said softly. “You deserve it.”

She swallowed several times to keep from crying. “What will you do?”

“Don’t worry about me, darling,” he said. He’d never called her ‘darling’ before. “I’ve got a few Christmas traditions I’ve been keeping for awhile.”

“Good.” She squeezed him once, and then he loosened his grip on her so she could pull back. “I’ll see you soon.” 

“I’ll see you soon.”

As usual, he stood watching her, and she had the impression he continued watching even once she was in her building, out of sight.

Closing the bookshop at two meant that Danny didn’t have to pick her up from work, so she headed back to her flat to shower quickly and change into her Christmas Eve outfit. Danny had been unsurprisingly useless in giving her any sort of expected dress code, only saying that some of his relatives would be there for dinner, so she went with a green knit jumper that had some gold sparkle and a black skirt. 

Without knowing what to expect, she’d packed a wheeled suitcase with every possible clothing option, including two different bathrobes depending on the temperature in the house. To fill the rest of the suitcase, she’d stuffed in a blanket and three books. She also had a shopping bag full of gifts, including her two for Danny. 

She stood outside, leaning against the building and reading, until a car honked three times. Danny’s van was nowhere to be seen, but a silver Peugeot had pulled up. She frowned, but then the passenger window rolled down and Danny waved. Two stuffed parrots hung over the rearview mirror.

“Oi, what the fuck, you going on a fucking Parisian vacation?” 

“Backseat or boot?” she asked as Danny shoved his door open and ran out. Instead of a suit, he was wearing a red polo that actually fit, black trousers, and brown loafers. 

“Fucking shite it’s cold.” He grabbed her suitcase. “What the fuck did you pack? We’re gonna be gone twenty-four fucking hours.” 

“It’ll be more like thirty-six,” she said, setting her gifts in the backseat while he stuffed her suitcase in the boot. 

He ran back around to the driver’s seat, shaking off like a wet dog as he sat back down, and Belle took off her coat before getting into the passenger side.

“This isn’t your car,” she said, unwinding her scarf. The leather seats were warm too while the heat blasted. No wonder Danny didn’t have a jacket on.

“You were so fucking worried about getting carsick,” he said. “Now you’ll be fine, hey?” He was already weaving back into traffic like there were no cars on the road, and Belle hadn’t even buckled.

“If you drive like a maniac, I can still get carsick in a sedan.” 

He scoffed, but she could tell that he saw her affectionate smile when he glanced over because his cheeks turned pink. 

“What if we’re late for dinner because you fucking insisted on obeying traffic laws?” 

“Then you should have communicated our schedule to your family in advance,” Belle said primly. 

Danny scoffed again. “Oi, they’re gonna fucking love you, you fucking tight-arse.”

“I was always in charge of keeping Gaston on time for family events,” she said. “So I got very good at estimating time correctly for his mother.”

He shook his head. “Well, don’t fucking worry, me Ma would never blame you. She knows who her fucking sons are.”

“Were you close with your brother? When you were kids?” she asked, shifting to face him. Danny looked nice in his polo, and because he wasn’t at the club, he hadn’t doused himself in whatever cologne he usually did. 

He shrugged. “I’m eight years older, so as close as we could be, I guess. Closer now.”

He didn’t talk much about his brother, but then, he didn’t talk much about himself unless prompted. She got the impression that Danny, unlike Francis, held some deep insecurities about his life. She had, of course, over the past week, learned as much as she could about the logistics of his family—who was likely to be at Christmas Eve dinner, who was likely to be at tomorrow afternoon’s party, the matching Christmas pajamas his mum always got for the boys—but she hadn’t known exactly what personal questions to ask him.

“Was your mum married to either of your dads?” 

“Aye,” he said. “Lived in Belfast with mine, got married when I was three or so.” He tapped his fingers on the wheel, brow drawn in concentration. They’d almost made it out of the city and onto the highway, and Belle wasn’t feeling as ill as she usually did in his car.

“Right, yeah, so he left right after, came back a year later, then they got divorced. Ma moved back in with Gran a couple years after Felix was born.” He frowned again, tapping the wheel. “Huh. Actually, she might be fucking married still. I don’t know if she ever got divorced.” He shrugged. “Her business, I guess.”

Belle already knew about his gran. They’d lived with her in her three-bedroom house in Liverpool through Danny’s teen years, and he’d shared a room with his baby brother until the second he was old enough to move out, and then it was back to Belfast for a decade before London. Now that his gran had passed, he stayed in her old room when he visited. Felix still lived there, currently with his fiancee. 

“I guess if you’re not worried about getting married again and he’s leaving you alone, there’s no need for a divorce,” Belle said. Danny didn’t talk much about his dad, except to say that he was a deadbeat, good-for-nothing waster.

“You worried about getting married again?” He glanced at her. “Not fucking soon, obviously.”

Belle shrugged. “I can’t worry about anything like that before I’m divorced. I just want to be free.”

“You’ll be free soon enough,” he said. “And then when you go on dates, you can tell people you’re a fucking high-ranking member of strip club management.”

She snorted. “Maybe I won’t be going on dates.”

“Aye?” This time, he kept his eyes on the road. “You make up with Colonel Fuck then?” 

“Not really, no.” Make up didn’t sound right. They weren’t fighting. They were just—nothing. “I just don’t think I have it in me to meet new people for awhile. At least not with any expectations. I just want to live for a bit. Maybe make a friend. I don’t want to have to think about how to behave on a date or whether I’m making a good impression.”

Danny grunted, then had to focus on merging, and then they were on the highway. Belle settled in, watching all the other cars out the window, cars full of families and gifts and pets. 

“Oi, you’re, eh, smart, yeah?” Danny said. 

Belle turned to face him instead of the family next to them, raising an eyebrow. “I like to think so. Why?”

“D’you know a lot about—eh—folklore? Myths?” 

It was certainly not what she expected from Danny, but she shrugged. “A bit.”

“What about cannibalism in myths?”

Her eyebrows flew up, but she gave the question thought. “I can’t think of anything much. There are some Greek stories about people serving their relatives to each other out of revenge, but that’s all I’ve got. Why? Hungry?”

His eyes widened, and he didn’t laugh. “No! Fucking—no!” He ran a hand through his hair, other one resting at the bottom of the wheel. “What about fucking eating people to get stronger?”

Belle raised the other eyebrow. Why was Danny so stressed? “No, I don’t know anything about that. I know lots of cultures have vampire myths.”

“Aye.” He swallowed, throat bobbing while he stared straight ahead. “Right. Just figured I’d make fucking conversation.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you all right?”

“Fucking fine.” He squeezed the wheel. “Change the fucking subject, hey?”

It was probably best not to mention that she hadn’t chosen this subject in the first place, especially since Danny was driving and she didn’t want him any more anxious than usual.

“Okay, tell me if there’s anything I should know about who will be at dinner tonight.”

If anyone from the club saw Danny quietly considering a question, they might die of shock. Belle tried to hide her smile, watching him think. 

“Well, me uncle’s usually there, and he’ll talk your fucking ear off if he gets pissed, which he fucking will,” Danny said. “So don’t let him corner you.”

“What do I do if he does corner me?”

For the next hour, Danny drove fast but didn’t weave as much as she expected, and told her all about the strange things she might witness at the Devine house over the next day and a half. Belle would have liked to take notes, but listening to Danny tell her about his family and all the people he clearly loved even if he wouldn’t admit it in his usual animated, profane style filled her with bubbles of happiness.

They stopped once for petrol and coffee as traffic picked up, and Danny cursed a blue streak as they had to slow for this final stretch. 

“Fucking hate driving all the way to fucking Liverpool,” he said.

“At least you’re not alone this time.” Belle pressed her lips together, suddenly guilty. Why would she say that? It’s not like she was going to be in the car with him all the time. She was his assistant. In an ideal world, this would be the one and only Christmas she spent with her boss’ family.

“Aye,” Danny said. “Nice to have company.”

Three-and-a-half hours after leaving the city—half an hour longer than Danny claimed it should have taken—he turned up a street on a hill lined with red brick terraced houses and wedged his Peugeot into a parallel spot just big enough for him. 

“See, if you’d brought the van, you wouldn’t have been able to fit,” Belle said, accepting her coat when he tossed it to her from the backseat.

“I’d’ve just shoved the other fucking cars out the way,” he said. “Don’t you fucking know me at all?”

“But they’re your relatives’ cars.” She found his scarf and handed it to him. “Surely you’d make an exception for them.”

“No fucking reprieves,” he said. “Leave me enough fucking room or pay the fucking price.”

Danny had brought one small leather duffel and one big, professionally-wrapped gift labeled Ma. After taking one look at her with her suitcase big enough for a week and her tote full of gifts, he handed the box to her and took her bags. It was surprisingly heavy. 

“Wait,” Belle said. “The flower pot on top in my bag is a hostess gift.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Fucking hostess gift, Jesus. How’d you sneak that one in there?” He struggled, but after a few seconds, plopped her gift on top of his and then hefted the bag higher on his shoulder.

“What’d you get her?” Belle asked as he lurched his way down the steps to the doorway, weighed down now by three bags. The closer they got, the louder she could hear the sounds of Elvis’ Blue Christmas and laughter.

“A nice fucking dutch oven she’ll never fucking use.” 

“Why won’t she use it?” She hefted it more securely into her arms. No wonder it was so heavy. 

“Oi, she complains and she fucking complains about this is old, that’s fucked, but as soon as I fucking replace it, it’s ‘Oh, Danny, couldn’t fucking figure it out,’ or ‘me old one worked just fucking fine, Danny, why’d you waste your fucking money?’” He rolled his eyes. 

“So why did you waste your money?” she asked, biting her cheek to keep from beaming at him.

“Because if I don’t, I have to fucking think about what to get her, hey? And she’s fucking impossible. You ready?”

She nodded, clutching the box tight, and Danny rang the doorbell.

Chapter Text

No one heard the first ring, so Danny jammed the button three more times while Belle’s heart pounded increasingly fast. She had been manageably nervous until now, standing outside the door, wondering if they were about to be refused entry because Danny’s family was so offended that he’d brought a stranger.

But then the door swung open and a blonde woman in a sequined Christmas jumper stood there, cigarette in one hand and a glass of something bright red in the other.

“Hey, Ma,” Danny said.

“Hello, darling!” She stepped forward and stood on her toes so Danny could bend down and kiss her on the cheek, then turned and shouted, “Danny’s here, everyone! With the woman that’s his assistant but not his girlfriend!”

Danny clenched his entire body while Belle bit her cheek to keep from laughing.

“Come in, love, come in.” She stubbed her cigarette out on the doorframe and then wrapped an arm around Belle, tugging her inside and leaving Danny to struggle in with his three bags. “My son’s too rude to introduce us, but I’m Shirley.”

“You haven’t fucking given me a chance, have you?” Danny snapped, slamming the door shut with his foot. The room, unsurprising to Belle, was smoky. “Jesus Christ, haven’t even made it inside, already the fucking criticism.”

“Shut up,” Shirley said. “Go put your bags upstairs. Come on, love, we can put that under the tree.”

Danny grumbled, but hauled his bags toward the staircase while Belle, arms aching, followed Shirley to a Christmas tree so tall, the tip bent at the ceiling. Belle had to squat to shove the gift under the tree and was glad that Danny had just brought her bag upstairs so that she wouldn’t have to decide what did and did not need to go under as well on the fly with Shirley Devine-or-DeSouza staring at her. 

After straightening up, she offered a hand and the flowerpot to Danny’s mum. “I’m Belle. Thank you so much for having me. And this is for you.” 

“Aren’t you a fucking sweetheart?” Shirley took the flower pot, studied it, and then set it under the tree. “We’re happy you’re here, love. Couldn’t just have you spending Christmas alone, could we?” She pumped her hand up and down. “Let’s get you a—Felix! Felix, get over here!”

A man that could have been Danny’s twin brother if not for the soul patch diverted on his way to the kitchen, cigarette in one hand. He wore a Liverpool jersey and scarf, and as he headed over, he grabbed a tall, thin woman in a turtleneck by the arm.

“You must be Belle.” Felix offered his hand, then turned to his mother. “She’s way too fucking pretty for him.”

“Don’t be a cunt,” Shirley said while Belle shook Felix’s hand, dazed. 

“Dakota,” the tall woman said, offering her hand next. “Nice to meet you.”

“Oi.” Danny appeared behind her, and she could feel him vibrating. “What the fuck’s with all the fucking mistletoe, hey?”

“What fucking mistletoe?” Felix asked. 

“Nice to see you, Danny,” Dakota said, sipping a glass of wine. 

“Ma’s put fucking mistletoe in all the fucking doorways,” Danny said. “What fucking gives?”

“It’s fucking Christmas,” Shirley said. 

Belle pressed her lips together, wishing she had any drink to hide behind. She had never stopped to wonder if Danny was the odd one in his family, but it was nice to know he wasn’t.

“Aye, it’s fucking Christmas, and you’ve never fucking decorated with mistletoe before,” Danny said. 

“The tree is beautiful,” Belle said. Everyone stopped talking to look at her, except for Danny, who stewed behind her.

“Thank you, love.” Shirley reached around her sons to squeeze Belle’s shoulder. “Can I get you something to drink? There’s punch.”

Behind Felix, Dakota shook her head at Belle. “I’ll get you a glass of wine,” she said. “Red okay?”

“What’s in the fucking punch?” Danny asked. “You know what? I don’t fucking care. Felix, outside?”

Felix frowned. “What? What for?” 

“Don’t you need a fucking smoke?” Danny asked. Belle glanced behind her and he was jerking his head toward the door. “Outside?”

“I’m having a smoke inside, are you fucking blind?” Felix waved his cigarette around, then took a drag.

“Fucking fresh air, then,” Danny said. 

Felix either finally understood or finally decided to cut Danny some slack, because he nodded, and then they both headed out. Seconds later though, Danny popped back up behind her.

“Give me your coat,” he said. “I’ll put it in the bedroom.”

Relieved to not have to decide herself what to do with it, she unbuttoned it, draping it and then her scarf over Danny’s arm. He leaned in close to take it, then said, “You okay for a few more minutes?” 

“I’ll be fine.” She smiled. She really would be now that she wasn’t boiling in a loud, smoky room. 

He nodded, then bounded upstairs. Dakota returned with a glass of wine, and Belle thanked her, eyeing a table of food in the corner. 

“You must be starving,” Shirley said. “How was the drive?”

Shirley and Dakota herded her toward the food table while she babbled on about traffic being good. The room wasn’t packed to bursting, but there were at least a dozen people she hadn’t met yet. Wasn’t tonight supposed to be the smaller dinner with family before the big party tomorrow? 

“Have to go check the roast,” Shirley said once she’d supervised Belle loading up a plate with sausage rolls, cheese, and crackers. “Dakota, introduce her around.”

“‘Course,” Dakota said, and then Shirley, lighting up her cigarette again, disappeared into the kitchen. “D’you want to go hide in a corner?” 

“Yes, I think so,” Belle said. Dakota smiled, leading her away to the least smoke-filled area and tucking them into it. Belle set her wine on a window ledge so she could eat.

“So,” Dakota said, watching the room. She had to have been the hitwoman Danny was talking about. Did she always scan rooms? “Spending Christmas with your boss?” 

“Well, I’m separated from my husband and had nowhere else to go,” Belle said. Was it more or less sad to say that Danny was her only and best friend? 

“You’re married?” Dakota glanced at her. “Does Danny know?”

“Of course.” Belle might have looked more surprised, except that was hard with a mouth full of sausage roll. She swallowed. “My husband gambles, and he took out a bunch of credit cards in my name without me knowing and racked up a lot of debt, so Danny hired me on as his assistant in exchange for Gaston not having to make payments to him until he pays off my cards.”

Dakota’s eyebrows flew up. Was that oversharing? 

“I used to be in gambling debt,” Dakota said. 

Maybe it wasn’t. “How long did it take you to get out?”

She sipped her wine, then shrugged. “About two years, but I did kill him.” She laughed, like this was just a thing people did, kill the people they were in debt to. 

Belle, appetite suddenly gone, forced a smile and laugh in return. “Good for you.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Dakota took another large sip of wine. “He was a piece of shite. No one would kill Danny.”

There were plenty of people who thought Danny was a piece of shit. But then, Belle had dispatched the one hitman who’d tried, and it turned out to be an accident anyway, though Belle wasn’t quite sure she’d understood the situation as Danny had explained it. 

Danny returned then, shaking off the cold and running upstairs again, Felix at his heels. From his elbow poked the parrots that had hung over the mirror.

“Do you know what they’re up to?” Belle asked.

Dakota shrugged. “Better if we don’t.” 

Belle left her wine with Dakota and refilled her plate while Danny and Felix returned, sans coats, and headed for the kitchen, then finally rejoined them, each with a glass of the punch.

“I thought the punch was no good?” Belle asked, offering Danny her plate. He swiped a sausage roll.

“I can hold my liquor better than you,” he said. “Besides, if I’m not fucking blootered soon, I’ll go fucking mad.”

Belle narrowed her eyes. “You haven’t even spoken to anyone yet.”

“Oh, shite, did Mum tell you about the beds?” Felix asked. 

Danny groaned. “What beds? What’s wrong with the fucking beds?”

“Uncle Charlie needed one,” Dakota said. “So she gave him the couch tonight.”

Danny spluttered. “I’m on the fucking couch tonight, what the fuck?” 

Belle’s cheeks heated, but she hoped no one could see, or if they could, they’d just assume it was the wine. Danny had already told her she’d get the bedroom while he took the couch, so it’s not like she expected to share, but what now?

“Sorry, mate.” Felix clapped him on the shoulder with his cigarette hand. “Mum figured you’d just sleep on the floor. Got a nice blanket to put down.” 

“Plush,” Dakota agreed. 

Danny spluttered again, the same wordless rage he directed at anyone who annoyed him at work. “The fucking floor? Like a fucking dog?” 

“I can’t let you sleep on the floor at your own mum’s house at Christmas,” Belle said, hoping her makeup covered the blush that was now surely visible. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Danny said, plucking another sausage roll off her plate. “I’ll fucking sleep on the stupid plush floor blanket. When’s dinner?”

“What you got your gun for?” Dakota asked suddenly, frowning at Felix. 

He pursed his lips, shifting his hips away from her hand. “What d’you mean? I’ve always got it.” 

“No you haven’t,” Dakota said. “You didn’t earlier.”

“‘Course he fucking did,” Danny said loudly, and Belle frowned now. “He’s always fucking strapped, fucking two-bit gangster.”

Felix glowered at him. “You’re one to fucking talk, eh? Fucking strutting about like—”

“You know,” Belle said. “I still haven’t seen anywhere other than this corner. Danny, could you show me around?”

Danny and Felix glared at one another, but Belle tapped his elbow and he turned to her. “Aye, come on.” 

They extricated themselves from Felix and Dakota, passing by the kitchen where Shirley was setting dishes on the dwindling counter space. Danny rested a hand on the small of her back, and she flushed again. 

“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to leave you alone so long.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “What would have happened if I hadn’t been there with the hitman?” 

He frowned. “What?”

She gripped her wine. “I mean, if you’d been alone. Would he have killed you?”

Danny snorted. “He would fucking have not. Got a panic button.”

Right. The levers. “What does the panic button do?”

He was in the middle of an explanation about how, if she was ever alone in his office and in danger, she should sit in the parrot chair and put on the safety belt, when a bald man in an antler headband clapped him on the back and shouted, “Danny!”

Danny winced. “Uncle Charlie. You met Belle yet?” 

Belle smiled and shifted her glass around to offer her hand. This was not the uncle Danny said would trap her in conversation, at least. 

“No! Haven’t the pleasure.” Uncle Charlie pumped her hand up and down. “It’s your assistant, not your girlfriend, right?” 

Danny took a gulp from his own drink and smacked his lips while Belle, again, hid her snicker. “Aye. That’s right.” 

Dinner was lovely. There were sixteen people in total, stuffed around the fully expanded dining table and an additional card table, Belle wedged so tightly between Danny and Dakota she could barely use her knife. Tomorrow, they both assured her, it was buffet-style, so people would be eating everywhere. 

It was as natural as breathing, slipping from being coworkers into spending the holiday together. It was like they’d been friends their whole life. Danny would have stuck by her side all night, and had tried to, but Belle couldn’t let him do that. She was invading his Christmas, encroaching on his family time, so she’d shooed him off when it became clear he wanted to chat with one of his uncles about sports and wandered around until Felix and Dakota found her. 

Eventually, everyone but Uncle Charlie left, and Shirley bustled to the stove to make hot buttered rum. Charlie had already passed out on the couch, Danny had only had two glasses of punch to Felix’s five, and Dakota and Belle had refilled their wine glasses once each. Belle had been resisting the impulse to lean into Danny’s side since dessert. Maybe if they were alone at the club, it would have felt less strange to curl against him when they were both happy and full, but when everyone all night had stressed that she was his assistant and not his girlfriend, it was better not to blur the lines. 

Shirley set a mug with a lump of butter in it in front of everyone, then a bottle of dark rum in front of Dakota, who glugged some into her mug before passing the bottle to Felix.

“My dad used to make hot buttered rum,” Belle said. 

“Aye?” Danny reached around her to take the bottle. 

“I read in a magazine that it’s better to cream the butter and sugar,” Shirley said. “Boys seem to like it this way.” 

“Dad would never have let me pour in my own rum,” Belle said, watching Danny slosh in at least two ounces. “He always made my mum’s recipe.” 

She poured a modest splash into her own mug, and then Shirley appeared with the kettle and added boiling water. “This is my mum’s recipe,” she said. “Everyone loved it. All right, who’s ready for Monopoly?”

Felix and Dakota both sat up straighter, but Danny groaned. 

“No, no, fucking no,” he said. Belle raised an eyebrow. She’d have thought Danny would love Monopoly.

“And why the fuck not?” Shirley asked, slamming her own mug down so hard, water splashed over the rim. “Too good for Monopoly now you own a few flats and a fucking sex club?”

“It’s a burlesque club,” Belle said before she could stop herself. 

“Oi, see? It’s a fucking burlesque club,” Danny said. “And no, it’s because you lot fucking cheat, and Belle likes to play a fair fucking game.”

Belle’s cheeks pinked again, and she wanted to say that of course she didn’t believe that any of them cheated before this could turn on her, but Felix was spluttering in outrage.

“I do not fucking cheat,” he said, stuffing a cigarette into his mouth. “How dare you fucking accuse me.”

“Oh, shut it, everyone knows you fucking cheat.” Shirley smacked him on the back of the head. 

“Don’t act like you’re Mother fucking Teresa here,” Danny said. “You fucking cheat too.”

Belle wrapped her hands around her mug. “I’m sure Monopoly would be fun.” 

“Oh shite, fuck, bugger!” Shirley set her mug down, then ran out of the kitchen while everyone’s eyes widened.

“She’s just trying to distract you so you don’t believe she’d fucking cheat,” Danny said. “But as soon as they see your fucking ruthless stare, they’ll fucking panic.”

“My ruthless stare?” Belle asked, stirring her rum with her finger to disperse the butter. “Is that what you think of me?”

“Aye, fucking diabolical.” He stretched his arm out to rest a hand on the back of her chair, and when Belle looked up, Felix and Dakota were both watching them. 

“So you’re good at Monopoly, then?” Dakota asked.

“Well, Danny’s never played against me,” she said. “But I beat him at everything else.”

Danny was scoffing when Shirley reappeared with four identical giftboxes wrapped in red paper and dropped them onto the table. 

“Everyone, go change.”

Belle stared while everyone else reached for a box, and Danny tossed one to her with her name scrawled on top. Felix and Dakota were gone and upstairs by the time Belle looked up and realized that Danny was waiting on her. 

“Jesus, you’re slow tonight,” he said. “Hurry up, rum’s getting cold.”

Still not exactly sure what was going on, she followed Danny upstairs. He opened the second door at the top of the landing, standing far back as he jerked his box in a gesture for her to go inside.

“What’s happening?” she asked, wandering in. The room was beautiful, with a double bed covered in a quilt and framed photos of what must have been Danny’s whole family over the years.

“Matching pajamas,” he said. “And she fucking hung mistletoe on the door.”

That explained why he stood well out of the way until she was inside, but it did not explain why he was coming into the room with her at all.

“I thought that was just for you and Felix?”

“Nah.” He stood in the doorway now, mistletoe hanging above his head. What would he do if she kissed him on the cheek? “Only said that ‘cause she didn’t know if she could find another pair for you on such short notice.”

Belle swallowed the lump in her throat. Gaston’s mother had never included her in anything but worrying about her son, and she wasn’t even dating Danny, much less married to him for a decade.

Then, her phone rang from her coat pocket, and they both stared at it. Who was calling her on Christmas Eve?

“If that’s Colonel Fuck, I swear to fucking—” Danny caught himself. “You should answer. If it is.”

Belle frowned. “What do you mean I should answer? How drunk are you?” 

“Pretty fucking toasted, if I’m being honest.” He hung in the doorway while Belle shook her head, making her way over to the coat hanging on the bed. She got her phone just in time for the call to end, but it wasn’t Francis, which was only a small relief. It was Gaston.

Upon opening her phone, she had seven missed calls.

“Who was it?” Danny asked.

“Gaston,” she said. The calls had been staggered almost every half hour since they’d arrived. “And his mother.”

“What the fuck do they want?” Danny tripped into the room. “It’s Christmas fucking Eve.”

“I should call his mum back.” Belle frowned at her phone. “What if something’s wrong?”

“What the fuck are you gonna do if something’s fucking wrong?” He folded his arms, slapping himself in the side with his box. “Don’t call.”

“Someone might be hurt,” she said. She knew he was right, but she couldn’t help the guilt gnawing at her. Did Gaston’s mother know anything that had happened? The last time they’d spoken, everything had been fine.

“You are in Liverpool.” Danny stalked over and grabbed the phone. “There’s nothing you can fucking do. Now, change into your fucking Christmas pajamas so you can fucking beat the piss out of my brother at whatever game I have to keep him from fucking cheating at.”

Belle smiled up at him. “You’re right. I know you’re right. Can you just turn my phone off?”

Danny flipped it open, fiddled with it for a minute, and then it made the powering down sound. He tossed it onto the bed.

“Be quick, Ma's gonna make us take a fucking million photos before we can get back to the drinking.”

He headed for the door with his box, ducking under the mistletoe like it might attack him before shutting the door. 

Belle watched after him, holding the box to her chest for a few seconds before ripping into it. It contained a pair of red plaid pants with a drawstring and a button-down red plaid shirt with snowflakes embroidered on the pocket. It was probably the most thoughtful Christmas present she had received since her mother died when she was a child, and as she slipped out of her skirt and jumper and stockings as quickly as possible, she vowed not to cry on Danny’s mum.

Chapter Text

Danny did not know how to feel wearing pajamas that matched his assistant’s, with whom he had been in love for close to seven months. It did not help that he was warm-and-fuzzy drunk, happy-fucking-Christmas drunk, and Belle’s sleeves were too long so he’d helped her cuff them after the photos in front of the tree, his thumbs brushing all over her soft hands. 

It definitely didn’t help that now there would be pictures of her forever in the family album, long after she left him for Colonel Cannibal or some other bloke who didn’t scream every other sentence. 

Everyone agreed to Pictionary because anyone who cheated would be easy to spot, and it was going to be men versus women, but his ma rightly pointed out that he and Felix were likely to kill each other, so he ended up on Belle’s team instead. He couldn’t draw on a normal day, but maybe being drunk unlocked something within him, because he and Belle—usually on opposite ends of the battlefield in gaming scenarios—wiped the floor with the rest of his family. 

Meanwhile, Uncle Charlie snored from the couch, not rousing even when the game devolved into shouting. 

“All right,” Shirley said, finishing off her second mug of rum. “Off to bed for me.” 

She kissed everyone goodnight, including Belle on the cheek, and Danny’s heart panged. He’d had girlfriends before, gone on dates, but he’d never expected one would like him enough to meet his family, and here was his fucking assistant, having fun with them and getting kissed goodnight. Even drunk, he knew Belle well enough to know that she was barely holding it together, but he thought it was happiness threatening to spill out of her eyes this time. 

He didn’t know how Felix had done it. Even though he was a loser like Danny, he’d found a woman he genuinely loved who genuinely loved him back. Not that Danny wanted anything to do with Dakota specifically, but he’d always been jealous.

Inviting Belle had been a mistake. Every future Christmas without her was going to be miserable.

“So, what now?” she asked quietly enough that Felix and Dakota, pondering the amount of leftover butter, wouldn’t hear. “Time to wait for Santa?”

“You tired?” he asked hand drifting toward the back of her chair where it had rested on and off all night. “I usually stay up with Felix a bit.”

She smiled at this, and he saw the telltale wobble in her lip again. God, why did the thought of him spending time with his brother make her cry? How did he stand any chance of not being hopelessly in love with her?

“Walk you upstairs?” he offered. “Show you around?” 

“Okay.” She leaned closer to him, and he tried not to smell her hair. It smelled like cigarettes anyway, as did they all. “I was hoping we could exchange gifts tonight instead of tomorrow? In private?”

He hadn’t considered that, but now that she brought it up, it was a great idea. He did not need the “that’s your assistant, not your girlfriend” crowd seeing what he’d gotten her for Christmas. No one in the Devine-DeSouza family would ever shut up about it.

“Aye, yeah, let’s go.” 

He told Felix he’d be back in a bit, then followed Belle upstairs. In general, Belle dressed much sexier than these shapeless unisex Christmas pajamas, but he couldn’t stop watching the way the hem brushed the back of her thighs. When she opened the bedroom door, he shoved her in more aggressively than necessary, ensuring that no parts of his body were under the mistletoe at the same time as any parts of hers.

Unsurprisingly, she eyed him from the middle of the room as he shut the door, skirting the mistletoe again.

“Do you think it’s going to poison you?” she asked. “Do you think Father Christmas is going to appear from above and hit you on the head if we are found for even half a second to have been under mistletoe together without kissing?”

“No.” He stalked to the other side of the room where his duffel was, so small compared to everything Belle brought. “Just don’t want you to feel pressured by my fucking mother and her fucking—” He waved his hand around the room. “—Christmas.”

“Don’t worry, everyone has made it incredibly clear that I’m your assistant, not your girlfriend.”

He stopped stomping around the room to stare at her, but she was grinning. Tentative, he grinned back.

“Oi, sorry, Dakota was supposed to do fucking damage control before we got here, but she hates me.” 

“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you,” Belle said, bending over to rummage in her absurdly large bag of gifts. He swiveled on his heel, nearly falling down, but it was better than accidentally staring at his assistant while she bent over in her pajamas in the room that his mother was clearly hoping they would share.

“You’re the only fucking nutter who doesn’t.” He wobbled to his bag. He shouldn’t be this drunk. Sure, he’d had a few drinks, but over the course of an entire evening during which he’d also stuffed his face with bread, potatoes, and beef. 

Maybe he wasn’t drunk. Maybe he had just finally gone off the rails. All night, he’d been trying to rationalize bringing his assistant to Christmas, and all night, all he’d done was drink about it.

“That’s not true.” She stood from her tote with a box the size of a ham. “Frank likes you.”

“Eh, Frank would sell me across the river first fucking opportunity.” He rooted around in his bag before coming up with his meager offering, a box small enough to close his fist around. He should have gotten her something bigger, but then the fact that he’d gotten her anything at all felt dangerous enough.

Belle sat on the edge of the bed near the pillow and patted the spot next to her. His Gran had made both the blue and green quilt she sat on and the matching pillow covers. They suited Belle, and he could imagine them in her flat.

Of course, when he imagined things in her flat, he tried not to imagine the shitehole she rented from him, but if anyone could make a place like that homey, it was Belle.

“Have you had enough water?” she asked. “I forgot to keep an eye on you while you were drinking.”

He threw himself into the spot next to her, bed bouncing when he did. “It’s not your fucking job to take care of me.”

“I know,” she said, eyeing him now. Why had he thought alcohol was a good idea? “But we take care of each other, don’t we?”

He looked at her, in her pajamas that matched his, and he had never wanted to kiss her so badly. 

“What’d you get me that’s so fucking huge?” he asked.

“Well.” She reached behind her and lifted it off the bed, plopping it into his lap. “You’ll have to open it and find out, won’t you?”

He couldn’t help grinning even as he handed over his pitiful box. Belle accepted it, fumbled it when their fingers touched, and caught it before it fell into her lap.

“Do you want to go first?” she asked, running her fingers along the professionally crisped edges of his gift. 

On one hand, he wanted to get her opening it over with, but on the other, the longer he could avoid the fact that he’d bought his assistant a not inexpensive gift in a small box that he was now giving to her on his grandmother’s bed on Christmas Eve while wearing matching pajamas, the better.

“Aye.” 

“Are you sleeping on the floor downstairs?” Belle asked while he was ripping into the paper. 

“Seems that way,” he said. “Not fucking sleeping in the same room as the fucking rabbits, that’s for sure.” 

“The rabbits?” 

“Aye, surprised they’re not fucking shagging right now.” The paper revealed a plain white box, which Belle had taped down on two sides. 

“They could be.” She flipped the little box around in her hands, rubbing a thumb along the edge.

“Nah.” He finally got the lid open only to reveal several smaller wrapped items nestled in shredded paper. “You’d fucking know if they were. How much did you fucking get me?”

“I spent a very reasonable amount,” she said, almost defensive, and he bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t need to yell at her for being generous on Christmas, especially since he had no leg to stand on. 

“Well, I feel like a fucking twat, I only got you one thing and you’ve got me, what, six?” 

“It’s only five in that box,” she said. 

Danny almost choked. “In—in this box?” 

“Well.” She bit her lip, cheeks turning pink. He wanted to bite her lip. “I had something else, but I wanted you to have something to open in front of your family so they didn’t think I was rude.”

“I don’t fucking have anything for you,” he said. 

“You already gave me the best gift,” she said. “Being here with all of you.”

He was too drunk for this conversation. He ripped into the first gift in the box and found a small jar he didn’t understand. 

“What’s this?”

Belle was biting her lip, and it wouldn’t matter what was in the jar after he flung himself out the window. 

“Open the rest, and then I’ll explain.”

He opened a pair of memory foam slippers, a stress ball, and then a card in an envelope that she’d also wrapped in paper. On the card was a printed promise to extract payment from his most frustrating client in January, signed Belle French in big, looping letters. His mouth twitched.

“Belle French, eh?” 

“I’m changing my name as soon as I can in January,” she said. “There’s no reason to keep Legume even if we’re not legally divorced.”

“Think you can get Abe Klein to pay me?” he asked, running his thumb over her name. “Instead of trying to fucking murder me?”

“Anyone you want.” 

There was no fucking way he was sending the love of his life after anyone he himself had trouble with, but it was a nice thought either way. 

“You missed the last thing, keep digging.”

He glared at her, but he didn’t mean it, and he dug through the rest of the shavings until he hit the final small box. Unwrapping it revealed another plain box, and then another pile of paper shavings.

“Jesus Christ.” He dug through until his fingers hit glass, and then he was pulling out a whiskey tumbler. It was a nice enough glass, though he didn’t see why she’d spent her hard-earned money on something he could get easily at the bar.

Then, he turned it, and saw the etching in decorative script— No reprieves. He rubbed it with the pad of his thumb, a slow, sappy grin spreading across his face. As soon as he realized it, he cleared his throat and scowled.

“Oi, just what I always fucking wanted. A glass I can’t fucking drink from.”

Belle clearly was not fooled by his fake scowl. “Of course you can drink from it. It’s even easy to wash since it’s not painted.”

He was already envisioning it sitting on his desk, reminding fuckwits who owed him money of his motto.

“What’s the rest of this bollocks?” he asked, and she laughed. 

“You never relax,” she said. “So—comfortable slippers, a face mask, and something to squeeze when you’re angry.”

So that’s what was in the jar. He studied it, lips pursed.

“You want me to use a fucking lavender aloe face mask? I’m a fucking man, Belle, Jesus.”

“We can use it together.” She slipped a hand through his arm. “Also, you should just sleep on this floor. It’s silly for you to sleep downstairs.”

He couldn’t look at her, or his face might do something. “I was always gonna be downstairs. So what?”

“Yeah, on a couch.” She curled her hand tighter around his elbow, and he was going to evaporate. “But Charlie has been sleeping for hours, and I know he’s going to get up and walk on you at least once.”

She wasn’t wrong. Danny had considered that fact any time they walked by his snoring uncle. 

“So, what, you think I should bring the stupid plush floor blanket up so I can sleep at your feet?” he asked, afraid it came out more as an accusation than the joke he intended. 

“Yes, exactly,” Belle said, and when he jerked up to look at her, she was grinning. “Or, in the middle of the floor? There’s a rug.” 

Their feet were on the rug in question already. Danny wasn’t sure he could handle sleeping in the same room as Belle, but also, he was unlikely to ever get the opportunity again. By next Christmas, she’d have some new boyfriend or be a cannibal. 

“Aye, fine, thanks.” He stuffed his gifts back in the box, savoring her name on the card one last time before tucking it in with the rest. “You want to wear a face mask with me?”

“Well.” She bit her lip. “I wanted to get us pedicures, but I thought you might protest, so I figured I’d float the face mask first.”

“Fucking pedicures?” he scoffed, knowing that if anyone could convince him to let some strange woman paint his toenails, it would be Belle.

“You don’t have to get polish or anything,” she said. “At the spa you’re thinking of buying, they do a long foot massage.”

The spa he was thinking of buying. Right. “You think it could give me a fucking revelation like it gave you?”

She shrugged. “Anything’s possible. I think it would be fun though. Together.”

This was why he needed to stop thinking about kissing her and sleeping in the same room. Ignoring the fact that he was her boss and her husband owed him nearly twenty-thousand pounds at this point, she wanted to do friend things with him. Friend things she should have been doing with someone like Holly.

“Fucking weird group activity, but fine.” He jabbed a finger toward her. “As long as no one fucking sees me go in. Especially not Frank.”

“Frank and Mary get pedicures together all the time,” Belle said. 

“Frank and—” He spluttered, throwing the mask back into the box as gently as he could. “How do you fucking know?”

She shrugged. “We talked about it after I went to the spa.”

He shook his head. “You and fucking Frank. Open your fucking gift, hey?”

She smiled, lifting his box to study it again, and he suddenly didn’t want her to open it. Why hadn’t he just left it on her desk the last day she worked and then fled? Why had he thought it would be better here, now, sitting next to her on a bed? He clutched his box to him so he’d have a chance of not vibrating.

“Is this a ring box?” she asked, peeling the corners of the paper up with care.

“Oi, Belle, let me fucking explain to you how gifts work, eh?” he said. “First you don’t know what’s inside, then you fucking open it, and you fucking find out.”

Lips pursed, she cut him a glare, and he grinned, but she said nothing more as she ripped the rest of the paper off to reveal, yes, a ring box. She glanced at him again, and this time he chose not to interpret it. So what, he’d gotten his assistant jewelry? It was cute. He thought she’d like it. It’s not like it was a fucking engagement ring.

She lifted the lid and sucked in air sharply. 

“Danny,” she sighed, and the sound of her voice slid down his spine like hot rum. “It’s beautiful.”

He chanced a look over at the ring and his assistant, but then returned to staring at his own box. He knew the box contained a ring with a little blue parrot on it. At the store, he hadn’t stopped to look at what kind of stones they were or the price, because knowing those things could have meant something, but he knew it would fit on her finger because, like a sap destined to unrequited love, he’d brought her engagement ring with him to shop.

“You’re always fucking—touching your ring finger,” he said, hoping he could bluster his way through some explanation that would make the gesture aromantic. “Annoying. Makes me fucking nervous.”

“Well.” She slipped the ring on, and even with him just watching her hands instead of her face, he could sense that she was about to do something emotional. “Now I won’t have to.” 

Since he was both drunk and not looking at her, he didn’t notice her swooping in to kiss him on the cheek until her lips had touched him. When she leaned away, he turned his head to follow her, and she was just watching him. They watched each other, Belle’s lips still slightly parted, and he had the insane thought that if he’d kissed her on the mouth just then, she wouldn’t have minded. 

But he could not kiss her on the mouth. He was her boss. He’d just gotten her an inappropriate gift. His mother was across the hall. 

“Gotta go meet Felix,” he said. “Before he passes out.” 

She smiled at him, and he was glad he hadn’t kissed her, because if she’d actually wanted him to, she’d have looked disappointed, right? He was sure he did, at least.

“But then you’ll come back up here, right?” she asked. “I’ll see you again before morning?”

Should he really sleep on the floor here? If he was going to be sleeping on the floor anyway, shouldn’t it be in a safe place where he could not just stare at his assistant while she slept?

“Aye, if you’re awake still.” 

She kissed him on the cheek again, and he all but fled the room, snatching his coat on the way. Felix and Dakota were still in the kitchen, finishing off the rum, but Felix must have seen the desperation in Danny’s face because he was up and grabbing his own coat in seconds.

They sat on the sidewalk, leaning against the side of the house and watching the street. Danny had quit smoking when he was broke in Belfast, but when Felix offered him his pack, he took one and lit up.

“So,” Felix said. “Should be able to have your pistol before you leave tomorrow.”

Danny nodded. He could have gotten one in London, but after his visit from Ives, he was hesitant to do anything that could be spied on.

“Thanks.” He sucked on the cigarette and grimaced. Why had he thought smoking would make him feel better? “Got another set of plates for when we leave tomorrow too.”

Even though he’d rented a car just in case Francis Ives had it in his head to follow him down the highway, he wasn’t satisfied. The car’s original plates were under the driver’s seat, and he and Felix had removed the ostentatious parrots and put on decoy plates earlier. Now, if Ives had somehow made it to Liverpool and found their neighborhood, he would hopefully not be able to pick out Danny’s rented Peugeot from the other ones on the block, except that it looked much newer. 

“He really fucking said he’d kill her?” Felix asked, brow furrowed. “His own fucking girlfriend?”

“Aye, he’s a fucking psychopath.” He’d told his brother the general gist of what had happened, leaving out the cannibal bit. He still wasn’t actually sure if he believed Colonel Wank on the whole immortality thing or not, and he didn’t need Felix not believing anything because he assumed Danny’d gone off the deep end.

“She doesn’t know?”

Danny shook his head, and after one more disgusting drag of the cigarette, stubbed it out on the sidewalk.

“Oi, oi, you’re fucking wasting smokes!” Felix snatched the half-burned stub out of his hand, peering at it with narrowed eyes before stuffing it back into the pack.

“Jesus fuck, I’ll buy you a pack tomorrow, hey?” Danny ran a hand through his hair. “You are such a fucking stingy twat.”

“You’re one to fucking talk. Surprised you rented a fucking new car instead of finding one in a fucking junkyard.”

Danny shook his head again and ran both hands through his hair. “Can’t blend in with a fucking junkyard car, can I?”

“Do you really think some fucking bloke is gonna follow you all the way to fucking Liverpool to kill your assistant?” 

Danny glowered. “No, he won’t fucking kill her here, he’s too fucking smart for that.” God, what if Ives was somewhere outside now, eavesdropping on their conversation with his probably superhuman hearing? He had managed not to think about him all evening, but now all he could think about was him breaking into his ma’s house and fucking Belle on his grandmother’s quilt while he slept on the floor. 

Felix smoked for a minute, then ran a hand through his own hair. “You know, I don’t do that shite anymore. You’re lucky I found someone for a gun on such short notice.”

“Yeah, what the fuck is it you do now again?” Danny asked. “You still fucking live with Ma, still dress like a fucking twat, and still haven’t married your fucking girlfriend.” He still didn’t have a job either, but that was an implied insult as far as Danny was concerned.

Felix mumbled something. Danny frowned. He hadn’t actually offended his brother, had he?

“What was that?”

“Did me final job last year,” he said louder. “Got a million pounds.”

Danny’s jaw dropped. “A fucking—one—one fucking million pounds?” He was going to strangle him. “I’ve been paying Ma’s electric bill for seven fucking years and you’ve got one million fucking pounds and live here rent-fucking-free?”

To his credit, Felix had the decency to look sheepish. “Dakota got two million.”

“Two—so you’ve both got three million pounds and you can’t even do your own fucking laundry?” God, Danny didn’t even make that much. Of course, he had a steady high income, unlike Felix, but still.

“I didn’t know you were paying her bills!” Felix ducked away when Danny tried to slap him on the head. “I’ll take over, I swear!”

“I’m not buying you any fucking smokes either. Fucking cunt. What’d you get Ma for Christmas?”

“Cashmere sweater,” he said. “She picked it out and I just wrapped it.”

That made him feel a little bit better. At least he hadn’t gotten her his tried and true gift of a pack of cigarettes and a cheap lighter now that he was a fucking millionaire.

“Got her a dutch oven,” Danny said. “One of the fancy fucking French ones.”

“Oi, she’ll fucking love not using that,” Felix said. “Telling me how fucking nice it is you got it.” 

Danny snickered. “That’s what I told Belle.” 

They sat in silence while Felix finished his cigarette, then took Danny’s half-smoked one out and lit it. 

“You know,” he said, “Dakota didn’t get rid of any of her stuff. She’s still the best shot in the UK.”

Danny wished he’d kept the cigarette so he’d have something to do with his hands. He’d been studiously not thinking about Dakota, her profession, or Belle’s murderer-cannibal boyfriend.

“That’s her fucking business,” Danny said. 

“Just saying.” Felix shrugged. “Belle seems nice. She makes you happy.” 

Danny could have denied this, but there was no point. Even though they spent a lot of time apart, Felix knew Danny better than anyone. 

“Aye, well, if she wants to be with him.” He shrugged as well. “Not much I can fucking do.”

Felix mimed lining up a shot and firing a rifle. “Always an option.” 

It couldn’t be an option, because Danny was just selfish enough to take the easy route, and he couldn’t do that to Belle. What if she really fucking loved Francis? Who was he to have him whacked? And she’d know it was his sister-in-law. Who else would hire someone?

“Did Ma tell you she was hanging fucking mistletoe?” he asked. 

“Don’t think so, but I don’t listen to her Christmas plans,” he said. “She doesn’t want my opinion.”

“Ah, you’re right.” Danny glanced behind him, up at the house. He couldn’t see the guest room window from out here, which was good because it meant he couldn’t stare in the hopes of seeing Belle. 

Not that he needed to stare through a window at her, since apparently he was sleeping on her floor.

“You ever gonna fucking get married?” he asked. 

“You ever gonna tell your fucking assistant you love her?” 

“Oi.” Danny reared up as best he could sitting on the sidewalk in the cold. “You’re engaged to Dakota. I’m the one who makes sure Belle can pay her fucking rent. It’s different.”

“And whose fucking fault is that?” Felix asked. “You didn’t have to fucking hire her.” 

“At least I know she’s got a roof over her head and doesn’t have to grovel to her fucking husband for money and food,” he said. “And at least I can keep her fucking safe. Why fucking blow what I can do thinking about what I can’t fucking do?”

Felix shook his head. “You’re a fucking idiot.” 

They sat outside for two more cigarettes, Danny stewing and Felix smoking, and then both of them were too cold to stay out anymore. Any other Christmas, they might have sat at the kitchen table, but there was Uncle Charlie to contend with this year, and Danny didn’t want Belle to hear them talking. 

“If you guys have to fucking shag,” Danny said as he followed Felix up the stairs, “Can you at least be fucking quiet about it?”

“Do my best,” he said, and Danny grimaced as he disappeared into his bedroom with an eyebrow wiggle.

Then, Danny stood in front of his own room. The light was still on. Was Belle awake? Maybe she’d fallen asleep reading, and some of her hair was covering her eyes, and he could gently stroke it back without waking her so that it wasn’t weird.

If she insisted that he share a room with her, she had to be okay with him moving her hair in her sleep, right? Otherwise, what was the alternative? She would choke on it and wake them both up.

Steeling himself, he opened the door as quietly as possible, but it didn’t matter because Belle was sitting up in bed reading. 

“Hey,” he said. 

She shut her book and smiled at him, sliding her legs out of the covers and onto the floor. “Hi.”

What was she doing? Why was she getting out of bed? For that matter, what was he doing? He should have slept in the living room.

“Still up?” he asked as though he could not see that she was both awake and now padding toward him, barefoot. She had braided her hair and changed out of the matching plaid top into a t-shirt, but she still wore the same pants as him. 

“Danny.” She stopped in the middle of the room, on the rug where he was going to lay down the plush floor blanket where he would probably do no sleeping at all and instead would be considering kidnapping her and running off to Belfast or somewhere that her psychopath boyfriend couldn’t find her and eat her.

“What? It’s fucking late, eh?”

“Why are you so weird about the mistletoe?” 

He really should have stayed downstairs. “The fuck are you on about?”

“I mean, it wasn’t a big deal,” she said. “Lots of people decorate with mistletoe. I stood under it with at least four of your relatives and none of them even said a word.”

What was the right answer here? He wished he wasn’t still drunk. “Well, I don’t want you—I mean—Ma shouldn’t have fucking put it up over the bedrooms, hey?”

“So you don’t want to kiss me?” Belle said, and he almost swallowed his tongue. “You’re upset about all the mistletoe because you do not want to kiss me?”

If he was smart, which he was, he would just lie and say yes, he did not want to kiss her, she was correct. Unfortunately, he also only had one or two methods for hiding his emotions, and Belle knew both of them, and then she’d be mad that he lied. 

Or she’d be glad that he hadn’t put her in a weird position where she had to turn her boss’ advances down. 

While he waffled, unsure of how much time was passing because, though he was sobering up, he was still too drunk, Belle took a step toward him.

“Danny?”

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he said. “I just—I invited you so you’d have fun, yeah? Not to fucking intimidate you into touching me because of some fucking weed.”

She licked her lips. He diverted his gaze to the braid hanging over her shoulder. “So you’re not saying that you don’t want to kiss me?” 

He swallowed. “No.”

“Are you saying that you do want to kiss me?” she asked. 

Maybe the alcohol would give him a stroke and he’d drop dead, and then Felix and Dakota could murder Ives and he wouldn’t be involved. He licked his lips.

“Danny?”

“I’m not—” He reached up to loosen his collar, but he wasn’t wearing a tight collar, he was in flannel pajamas. “I’m not saying that.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep from fidgeting, and then, because Belle was watching him with her big, sparkly, wet eyes, muttered, “Out loud.”

“You left your pillows downstairs, I think,” Belle said. Jesus, everyone thought he was so stupid, but no one could stay on one thought for longer than a second and a half. How was he supposed to fucking keep up? “You should go get them.”

After all that. “Yeah, okay, fine.” Maybe he should just stay down there.

“See you in a minute,” Belle said.

He shut the door and stomped back down the stairs, only realizing that maybe he should be quiet once he was halfway down. She’d probably sent him down for the pillows so she could forget that he’d just confessed to wanting to kiss her. Maybe it was good he was drunk, then he could take it back tomorrow.

The pillows and all his blankets were stacked in a neat pile next to the tree, and Uncle Charlie roused briefly while he was grabbing them, then turned and went back to snoring. 

Ready to just pass out and leave this night behind him, Danny shifted the bedding to one arm so he could jimmy the door open, and then there was Belle, standing in the doorway. She took the bundle from his arms and set it down behind her, but didn’t get out of the way.

“What are you—”

“Merry Christmas.” She stood on her toes, and he had just enough time to realize that he had not done his usual gymnastics to get around the mistletoe before she had pressed her lips to his.

Chapter Text

It took Danny’s brain a few seconds to catch up, but it didn’t take his body anywhere near so long. Even though he’d been in love with her for months, he’d tried desperately not to fantasize about kissing her, but here he was, mouth on hers, his hands flying to her waist of their own accord, and it was everything he’d ever wanted.

Then, she pulled back too quickly, and he responded by flailing backwards in a panic. Why had he grabbed her waist? He should have just stood there—

“Danny!” Belle grabbed his flailing arm, and he stilled. “I just thought you might want to close the door?”

Oh. He glanced behind him into the hallway, where anyone could have appeared and seen him kissing his assistant. The door had barely shut when Belle’s hands were on his shoulders again and his were sliding around her waist. 

“Wait,” he said, hands tightening on her hips. “Are you drunk?”

“No.” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you?”

“Fucking sloshed,” he said, in the spirit of honesty. “But, you know, of sound fucking mind. More sober than earlier.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. 

“Belle, if you’re asking me if I fucking know whether or not I really want to kiss you, the answer is fucking yes, I fucking do.”

She grinned, and he grinned, and then they were kissing again, moving away from the door and toward the center of the room. Belle tripped over his pile of blankets and stumbled backward, and he laughed as he caught her, kissing her again when she laughed because he loved the way she laughed.

A thump sounded against the wall they shared with Felix and Dakota and they froze, turning toward it. Instinctively, he pulled her closer.

“Do you think they’re okay?” Belle asked. He wished he could innocently ask that question.

“I think he just threw her onto the—” Dakota shrieked with laughter. “—bed.”

“Oh.” Belle bit her lip. “Well, I’m glad they’re having fun.”

Danny grimaced dramatically. “They’re always fucking having fun. Should’ve brought earplugs.”

“You didn’t warn me about this in all the debriefing,” Belle said. 

“Forgot, was too relieved I wouldn’t hear ‘em from the couch.” 

She shook her head. “Leaving me to suffer.”

“Aye.” He bent to kiss her again, and maybe if he’d been sober, he’d have thought twice about it, but he had never been so fucking happy in his life as he was right then, lips on Belle’s on Christmas Eve in his gran’s room wearing matching pajamas. She slid her hands into his hair, and he wished he could do the same, but she had a stupid braid now.

They were both moving as they kissed, stopping only when the backs of Belle’s knees hit the bed. She pulled away from him and sat, patting the spot next to her. He almost fell over in his haste to join her. 

“Danny?” She slipped her arm through his like she always did, then linked their fingers together. He was going to explode.

“Yeah?”

“You’ll stay—” 

They both turned as Dakota let out a loud moan. Danny grimaced again.

“—in the bed, right?” Belle asked, voice high-pitched.

“With you?” Danny asked, still not quite sure that he hadn’t already passed out drunk on the floor and hallucinated all this. 

“Of course with me,” she said. “I’m rescinding my earlier offer of sleeping on the floor.”

“Wouldn’t fucking let you anyway.” He cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb along her bottom lip as she smiled. He hoped she’d let him do this again tomorrow when he was actually sober enough to enjoy it. 

They kissed a bit longer, but the angle sitting next to each other wasn’t ideal, so Belle crawled in and Danny followed, and then they were in bed kissing, and the only way he could have been happier is if he was sober and could not hear his brother shagging his fiancee through the wall. Belle’s hands were on his neck, in his hair, and his were up her back, holding her against him like she might float away. 

The steady, rhythmic thumping from their shared wall eventually became too much to ignore, and they both pulled away to laugh. Danny reached up to touch her face again, to run his finger along the corner of her mouth while she smiled at him.

“Danny?” she said, and he was already getting too used to hearing her say his name like that.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to do anything tonight,” she said. He frowned in confusion.

“What?”

“I mean.” She swallowed, waving a hand around the minimal space between them, and then jerking her head toward the pornography coming from the next room. “I don’t want to fool around.”

“What?” he said again. His brain finally caught up when he heard an unfortunately loud sex noise from his own brother. “Oh, yeah, fine.”

“Is that okay?” she asked, biting her lip.

Danny, finally firing on all cylinders now, scoffed. “Och, is that okay, Jesus Christ Belle, the fuck do you mean? Of fucking course it is.” 

Her big blue eyes sparkled again. He didn’t care if eyes didn’t really sparkle, Belle’s did.

“Okay, good. Thanks.”

“What the fuck kind of question is that?” he asked. “‘Is that okay,’ if I said no, what the fuck would you have done?”

Instead of immediately saying she’d kick him in the balls—the objectively correct answer—she considered this question while he rolled his eyes again. 

“Well, I guess I would probably try to plead my case—”

“Oi, you’re crazy, you should fucking slap someone if they fucking say that.” He brushed a rogue tendril of hair out of her face, glad one had slipped from her braid. “I’m just happy to kiss you, Belle. Wasn’t even thinking any further.”

She bit her lip. Had she ever looked at fucking Francis like that? At Gaston? He hoped not.

“Not even with a constant reminder?” She wiggled her eyebrows toward the wall, and he feigned a gag.

“Belle, this may or may not come as a fucking shock to you, but hearing my brother plowing his fucking fields does not put me in the fucking mood.”

She laughed again, and he did not want to talk about this anymore, so he kissed her. They were still kissing when the noise from the other room quieted, and they kissed for awhile after Danny reached to turn the light out, but soon the day caught up with both of them and Belle slid down to rest her head on his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her. Her new parrot ring sparkled on the hand that lay against him.

He was definitely drunk enough to close his eyes and pass out, but he wanted to savor having Belle tucked up against him. Maybe it was best that he was drunk—he didn’t have enough cognitive thought process to worry about Ives or what this meant. He could just enjoy his favorite holiday knowing that she was safe, happy, and in his arms.

“Danny?” she said again after he thought she’d fallen asleep. He jumped.

“Aye?”

“What if someone tried to shoot you but you weren’t in your office?” she asked.

For a second, he thought he’d misheard her, or that she was talking in her sleep, but then she looked up at him, chewing her lip.

“What are you on about?”

“I mean, what if the hitman had got you outside?” she asked. “And you didn’t have your panic button?”

“I wear a bulletproof vest.”

Belle frowned. “You do? Always?”

“Usually.”

“Oh.” She snuggled back into him, and he wrapped his arm more tightly around her. “Good. I’m glad.”

“Why?” he asked. “You gonna fucking shoot me?”

“What if someone thought it was easier to kill you than pay you?” she asked. 

He rubbed his forehead. Was this what she thought about? “Aye, that’s what the fucking vest is for. Why are you panicking?”

“It’s nothing.” 

Half to comfort her and half because he could now, he slipped his fingers through hers. “Do you worry about me?” 

“Just a normal amount until the hitman came and I realized I should be worrying a lot more.” She squeezed his hand. “And—Dakota said something tonight. I don’t know.”

“What the fuck did she say?” If she had responded to his plea to help smooth things over by saying some bullshite to Belle, he was going to have words for his brother. 

Belle turned to face him, chewing her lip. “She said she killed the man she was in gambling debt to.”

Well, okay. He couldn’t really blame Dakota for that. 

“Well, she’s not in fucking debt to me, and she’s the only person with a chance of hitting me, yeah?”

“You’re very confident,” Belle said. 

Confidence, usually unwarranted, was the only way Danny had ever gotten anything. “I’ve been doing this long enough and no one’s fucking hit me yet.”

Belle tensed, and he didn’t know what to say to fix it, but he could rub circles on her back and brush her thumb with his now, so he did.

“It’s fucking Christmas, hey?” he said softly. “No one’s after either of us here.” Not if he could help it, at least.

“Only with mistletoe.” She curled more against him, and he tightened his arms around her, ignoring the sober little voice in his head wondering what this meant. 

“Guess I shouldn’t yell at Ma about hanging it,” he said. “I’m not mad about it anymore.”

Belle kissed him on the chest, and he wished he wasn’t wearing a shirt. “I like it,” she said. “As decoration.”

He would have tilted her head up and kissed her on the mouth again, but they might never sleep if they got stuck in a cycle of kissing and panicking, so he just kissed her hair, which was nice too.

“Go to sleep.” He wanted to wrap himself around her like an octopus, but he settled for curling his fingers around her hip. “It’s fucking late.”

She kissed his chest again. “You too. You need to sleep off the booze.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, but he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping, even drunk, until he’d gotten over the fact that he was holding Belle in his arms, which might never happen.

He must have fallen asleep eventually because he woke up to an empty bed. His first panicked thought was that he’d been drunker than he realized and passed out so hard, Colonel Cannibal had climbed through the window and kidnapped Belle without him even stirring.

Then, he noticed the door was cracked, and about a minute later, Belle tiptoed back through it with her toothbrush. She set it into her open suitcase, which was full of way more clothes than anyone needed for one night away, then crept back to the bed, jumping when she met his eyes. Her face blossomed into a smile.

“You’re awake,” she said. 

“Does that mean I’m getting out of bed now?” he asked. “Or are you coming back?”

In response, she climbed in, and he pulled her into his arms. If he focused on the feeling of holding her, on the way she fit against him like a puzzle piece, he wouldn’t think about the fact that this could all be over tomorrow.

“Your mum’s awake,” Belle said. “But no one else is.” 

“Maybe I don’t want to be awake yet either,” he said. “Maybe Christmas would be less fucking stressful if I stayed in bed with you all day.”

“You didn’t drive all this way to stay in bed all day.”

He looked down at the top of her head. He would drive any distance if he knew that, at the end of it, he’d be holding her. It was insane to him that someone as smart as Belle hadn’t figured him out yet. He wasn’t that crafty.

“Aye, you’re fucking right.” He slid his hand up to her neck since she still had the god damn braid. “I drove all this way to have every fucking person I’ve ever fucking known comment on bringing my fucking assistant to Christmas like I’m some fucking creep.”

“I did sleep with you last night,” Belle pointed out. “Maybe you are a creep.”

He spluttered, and Belle laughed against his chest, and he was just going to explode. If Ives was, by any chance, spying on their trip, Danny would probably be dead by tomorrow, but it was worth it.

Belle eventually coerced him into getting out of bed, even though she kept kissing him and he didn’t want to leave, and when he returned from shaving and brushing his teeth, she had changed back into her matching pajama top so they could go downstairs, as well as, apparently, transferred about half of the gifts she’d brought into a smaller bag to carry down.

“I wrapped you something to give me, by the way,” she said when he dug out his gifts for Felix and Dakota to add to her tote. 

“Fucking great,” he said. How had she brought so many gifts that they weren’t even all going to be in use? “What is it so I don’t look surprised?”

“A new book you knew I’ve been wanting.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic.” He slid the bag onto his shoulder, then grabbed her by the waist, noticing just before he planted his lips on hers that she’d put lipstick on. Oh well. 

When they pulled apart, Belle reached up to wipe his mouth off.

“Your family will have a field day if you go down wearing my lipstick,” she said, and he grinned. They were going to have a field day anyway when Danny refused to be more than arm’s length away from Belle, but at least they wouldn’t know for sure.

“You know,” he said as they tiptoed past Felix’s closed door to the stairs. “I’d buy you whatever books you want.” 

Belle flushed redder than he’d ever seen, and he grinned. 

“I know you would,” she said. “But you shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” He slipped a hand around her waist when they hit the first floor, and she flushed darker. 

“Because you already do too much for me.” She laid her hand over his, and luckily, his ma was too busy in the kitchen to see and Uncle Charlie was nowhere to be found.

“I don’t do fucking shite for you.” He kissed her on the cheek, then let go of her since they hadn’t really discussed whether or not they were touching in public. 

“I know that’s a lie that you tell everyone, but you can’t tell me you actually believe it.” 

Danny licked his lips. Of course, he’d seen Belle’s reaction every time he’d tried to hide doing something nice for her, but he had still been hoping she hadn’t noticed too much.

“No one likes a fucking know-it-all,” he said.

“Danny?” Shirley called from the kitchen. “That you? Coffee’s on!”

“Aye, thanks!”

Belle grabbed his arm and pulled him in close to her. “I’ll get your coffee while you put the gifts under the tree?”

“Thanks.” With no one looking, there was no harm in kissing her again, and her cheeks were still pink so he couldn’t resist. 

Before he could pull away and head for the tree, she tightened her grip on his arm. “And you know, Danny, I think you like a know-it-all.” 

And then, while he was spluttering for a retort, she kissed him on the cheek and hurried off to the kitchen, leaving him to scrub at his face with his hand to make sure he didn’t have her lipstick on him and try to tone down his grin in case anyone else came into the room.

Belle brought his coffee, exactly as he liked it of course, and they sat chastely next to each other on the couch. Uncle Charlie had, apparently, left already to spend Christmas morning with a nearby relative who, apparently, had no sleeping surfaces to spare, which led Danny to believe that his mother had orchestrated the whole thing in conjunction with the mistletoe to convince something to happen between him and his assistant.

Which, of course, he couldn’t be mad at anymore, because the longer they sat on the couch, even as Felix and Dakota stumbled blearily down the stairs, the closer they sat, and by the time everyone was around the tree, Belle had curled up with her knees against him and his arm around her back.

“Morning,” Felix said, wiggling his eyebrows. “Good night, I see?”

“Don’t have to fucking guess about your night, you fucking miserable loud prick,” Danny said. 

“Good morning,” Belle said, and Danny squeezed her closer. 

Shirley bustled out of the kitchen, pleased as anything, but said nothing. In fact, no one said anything more as they opened gifts, and everyone oohed and ahhed and thanked one another, which was fucking suspicious as far as Danny was concerned, but they’d be leaving in less than twelve hours, so he could handle whatever they threw at them.

Everyone thanked Belle profusely for their gifts—even Felix when Dakota opened their hot sauce with a delighted cry, though he shot Danny a glare—and Danny got a screech and a, “Oh, you shouldn’t have!” from his ma about the Dutch oven, a sheepish thanks from Felix about the football tickets he’d splurged on for him before he knew he was a millionaire, and a delighted thanks from Belle for the book that she had brought and wrapped herself.

They crowded around the kitchen table for breakfast, which was Shirley’s full English specialty but with the Christmas addition of Chelsea buns. Danny tried not to stare at Belle eating, but he couldn’t help it. He’d spent so long worrying about her more than he’d ever worried about anyone in his fucking life, and here she was, digging into breakfast with gusto. She had said she enjoyed food more around him, but he didn’t think he had ever seen her this happy, not even after her first date with Colonel Fuck. 

But he couldn’t think about that. If he thought about fucking Francis, he would remember that whatever happened, this was still likely to be Belle’s only Christmas here, and if that was going to be the case, he didn’t want to taint it with nerves.

Of course, he couldn’t stop the nerves about the party. His mother was a social butterfly and always invited the maximum number of people as could stuff themselves into her tiny house like sardines. 

Belle, after hounding him about outfits, had chosen a red, off-the-shoulder dress, which he didn’t think was fair now that he had expressed actual desire to kiss her, because he couldn’t just walk around his ma’s house kissing her bare shoulders. He was wearing the bowtie she’d gotten him, of course, along with a green polo today, which made him look inadequate next to Belle, the most beautiful woman in the UK, but as long as she liked it, he didn’t care.

“You can’t just hang on me all afternoon,” Belle said as more people trickled in. “You should spend time with your family!”

“Eh, fuck ‘em,” he said. He didn’t want to tell her that he knew this would be his one and only shot to spend Christmas at her side, hand curled as casually around her hip as he could. 

“Danny!” his Uncle Sid said loudly, clapping him on the back. “Charlie said you’d brought someone this year. And this is—?”

“Belle,” Belle said, offering her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, Belle, I’m Sid.” He pumped her hand up and down in both of his, then turned to Danny. “Your assistant, not your girlfriend, right?” 

Danny was going to kill Dakota and possibly his mother as well. “That’s right.” 

Even though Belle feigned a cough, Danny could tell she was laughing at this again, as she had all day yesterday. She laughed every time someone said this to them, and he couldn’t believe how many people had managed to hear this news. People he hadn’t seen in years came up to greet him and ask if this was his assistant, not his girlfriend.

Then, Felix appeared, beer in hand, and grabbed him by the arm.

“Smoke outside?” he asked, widening his eyes meaningfully.

Danny glanced at Belle, his hand still on her hip, and she smiled at him because she had no idea why Felix wanted to see him outside. She just thought they wanted to spend time together.

“Yeah, be right there,” he said, and then, without thinking, bent to kiss Belle goodbye. 

If it hadn’t been so packed in the living room, people might have had more to say about this. As it was, the one whoop from one of Ma’s canasta friends got swallowed up in the noise, leaving Belle’s pink cheeks the only reaction Danny cared about.

“Have fun,” she said, and then kissed him back. 

He swallowed. “Don’t get lost in here, hey?” 

Once he’d detached himself from her, he was glad to see Dakota making her way over. She was tall and thin like a praying mantis—as long as she stayed with Belle, he’d be able to spot her in the crowd and return to her quickly.

“Stop mooning, he’s fucking waiting,” Felix said, cigarette already lit and in his mouth. Danny followed him outside, and then they started down the hill.

“How far are we going?” Danny asked, glancing anxiously behind him. If Belle was safe with anyone though, it was Dakota.

“Couple streets over,” Felix said. “Ma doesn’t like him.”

Luckily, Danny knew Belle would love to hear that he just didn’t want to stop spending time with his brother, so however long they were gone wouldn’t be a problem unless Dakota noticed a new firearm. 

Four streets over, they finally met up with Felix’s friend, and Danny didn’t like him either but he tried not to shout, half because it was Christmas and half because the gun wasn’t yet in his possession and he wasn’t wearing his vest. Once he had it and Felix’s guy had driven off, he stuck it in his coat pocket. 

“Smoke?” Felix offered the pack, and Danny shook his head. 

“Belle would fucking notice if I taste like cigarettes now,” he said, and couldn’t help grinning a little.

Felix elbowed him in the ribs. “Congratulations, you actually fucking did it. What was it, Mum’s meddling? Gran’s quilt? My fucking phenomenal advice?”

Danny licked his lips. “Ma’s mistletoe.”

Felix crowed, elbowing him again. “She’ll be pleased as fucking punch when I tell her.”

“Don’t tell her.” Danny stuffed his hands in his pockets, half-comforted and half-nauseated by the weight of the gun in his pocket. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen when we leave here, and I don’t want—” 

He was quiet for so long that Felix whapped him in the shoulder. “Don’t want what?”

“I don’t want to get anyone’s fucking hopes up, hey?” He hunched over against the cold, speeding his steps. He needed to get back to Belle.

“What the fuck are you talking about? You like her, she likes you, what’s the fucking problem?” Felix jogged to keep up.

“You know what the fucking problem is,” Danny said. “She might want to go back to her fucking boyfriend or he might fucking kill her.” And eat her.

“So stay here,” Felix said. “Not in Mum’s house, I mean, just in Liverpool. It’s nice here. She’d like it.”

“Aye,” Danny said, and he couldn’t say he hadn’t thought about it. If he’d successfully evaded Francis Ives with all of the trail-blurring he’d done with the car and on the highway, now was the safest Belle could hope to be. He could tell her everything, and they could get someone else to return the rental car and just get on a bus or a plane or train somewhere Ives would never find them.

But that was a lot to ask of her. And it was a lot to ask of him. His whole business and livelihood was in London. He’d run out of money eventually without the upkeep.

“You could stay in Mum’s house for a bit,” Felix said, as though this was the main problem. “We wouldn’t mind having you.”

“Oi, I’ve been paying your fucking bills for years, you’d fucking love having me or you’d shut it.”

“With a fucking mouth like that, how could she ever want to be with someone else?” Felix snapped. 

He shook his head. “You don’t even fucking know, Felix. He’s such a posh fucking cunt.” What the fuck was Danny thinking? He couldn’t even think hypothetically about whisking Belle away. She was only with him now because she and Francis were in some weird limbo.

“She seems like a bird with a posh cunt boyfriend,” Felix said. “We were all pretty fucking shocked when we met her.”

“What, you all have a fucking family meeting?” 

“‘Course, you think Mum could keep her opinions to herself for twenty-four whole hours?”

Danny laughed, but his heart wasn’t in it anymore. He needed to get back to Belle, back to the happy Christmas party, and not squander his last remaining time with her.

They stopped to drop the gun off at the car and change out the plates again, and then as soon as they opened the door, Danny zeroed in on Dakota. 

“You’re back—oh!” 

He grabbed Belle by the waist, crushing his mouth to hers, and her hands wound around his neck, only pulling away when Felix cleared his throat loudly.

“Did you miss me?” she asked, sliding her hands down to his chest. 

“Always,” he said, even though he shouldn’t have. He swallowed, then took a step back, hands still on her hips. “You thirsty? Drink?”

She narrowed her eyes, staring at his face like she was searching for something, and she must have known that Danny was out of sorts, but maybe she’d chalk it all up to him missing his family or something.

“Yeah, thanks.” She straightened his bowtie, then stood on her toes and pecked him on the lips. “I’ll get it, you stay with Felix.”

Danny shook his head, fingers flexing against the curve of her hips, her soft dress. He wanted to tangle his hands in her hair and kiss her cheeks, her neck, the ticklish part of her ear. She was so pretty, and all he wanted was to hear her laugh every day for the rest of his life, which didn’t seem like too big an ask when compared to all the things he could have wanted.

“I’ll get it.” He kissed her again. Everyone here was going to think he’d coerced her, but he didn’t care anymore. “Stay here.”

“Okay.”

“I’m fucking serious,” he said, gripping her tightly to show he meant business. “Don’t fucking move.”

As he’d hoped, she snorted. “I promise, I’ll be right here.”

“Good.”

He went to the kitchen to find them something non-alcoholic to drink, since he couldn’t be falling asleep at the wheel, and every time he glanced back at her, she was stood exactly where he’d left her, lips pressed together and eyes wide in the way he knew meant she was playing along, holding in laughter. 

He was not going to waste another second of time his time with her today thinking about Francis fucking Ives.

Chapter Text

Belle hadn’t had such a good Christmas since she was a kid. Gaston had a huge family, but she’d always felt like she was wandering around on the outskirts at holidays. With Danny’s, anyone she moved in range of was happy to talk to her, even if they were just confirming that she was Danny’s assistant and not his girlfriend.

Which she hoped wouldn’t be true anymore as soon as they talked about it, but there was no point in denying it now. Besides, if they were going to be together, they would need to figure out the work situation, which was not something to be done on Christmas.

Shirley put out the dinner buffet around four, and people started leaving by six. Around eight, only about half the guests remained, and Danny and Felix went to load the car, leaving Belle with Dakota and Shirley. 

“It’s been great having you, love,” Shirley said, drink in one hand and cigarette in the other, as it had been all day. “I hope we’ll see you again soon.”

“Maybe at the wedding?” Dakota said. “We’re thinking maybe spring.”

“Oh, shut it, you and Felix haven’t thought shite about a wedding,” Shirley said. “Just go down to the courthouse.”

“A courthouse wedding would be lovely,” Belle said. “It would free up time for a nice honeymoon.”

“We’ll see.” Dakota sipped her wine. She had drifted on the edges of social interaction all day, and Belle could tell that she was putting forth a real effort every time she interacted with her instead of just hiding on the walls. 

“All right.” Danny came up behind her, hand on her back, and she leaned into him. Thank god she could now. “Everything’s loaded up.”

“Well shite, love, guess it’s time to say goodbye.” Shirley took a puff on her cigarette before handing it to Felix, who stuck it into his own mouth. 

Belle stepped back while Danny bent to hug his mother, watching her hold him in place and whisper something in his ear. Danny scowled, and Shirley’s grip on his shoulder tightened, and then he winced before finally grinning. Belle bit her lip. 

“Aye, aye, okay, I fucking hear you, Ma.” He kissed her on the cheek, then straightened up. 

Shirley squeezed Belle to her while Danny and Dakota shared an awkward embrace wherein neither of their fronts touched one another, and then Belle hugged Dakota and Felix, and then she and Danny were leaving. 

Danny turned the car on, cranking up the heat and activating the seat heaters. “I’ll be right back,” he said, then shut Belle in. He hadn’t hung the parrots back on the mirror. 

She watched him stand with Felix, and both of them glanced at her a few times while they talked. Then, Felix clapped Danny on the shoulder, and then they hugged. Belle couldn’t help her smile. Seeing Danny around his family instead of around all the people at the club was just a whole new side of him she loved. It fit perfectly with the Danny she already knew.

He got back in the car and shivered, reaching for the gearshift, and as he started to unwedge the car from between the two parked around it, Belle’s eyes filled with tears. She tried to wipe them away before Danny noticed them, but of course he did as soon as he got the car into the street.

“You gonna cry the whole ride?” he asked, shifting the car into drive and rocketing forward.

“Maybe.” She gripped the doorhandle, hoping his driving would calm once he was in gear.

He reached over and took her free hand, and with only one hand on the wheel, he did drive more calmly. Tears coming even faster with this new development, she wiggled her hand around until she could lace their fingers together. 

“I had the nicest time,” she said after the third time he glanced nervously at her. “That’s all.”

“No one fucking said something to make you cry?” he asked.

“Only nice things.” 

He rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. “I guess I’d rather you cry for good reasons than because of fucking Gaston.” 

Gaston. Fuck. Her phone had sat powered off in her purse since last night, so she had no idea whether Gaston had called her again or not. For all she knew, he and his entire family could be dead by now. But if they were, they’d have had no reason to call her. 

“I still don’t know why he called,” she said. 

He glanced at her again. “Did he leave you a message?”

“I don’t know.” She swallowed. What if he’d left her a message saying he’d only divorce her if she picked up the phone right then? 

“Just fucking delete them if he did, hey?” Danny squeezed her hand. “You don’t need that fucking grief.”

“What if it was important?” she asked. “What if—what if something happened with the cards?”

Danny breathed through his nose with a growl. “Okay, you want me to listen so you don’t have to?”

Belle wiped her eyes, wishing she could lean over and kiss him. Maybe if they stopped at a red light. “You’d do that?”

He scoffed. “Of fucking course I would. What am I, a fucking arsehole? It’s no fucking stress to me to listen to him whinge on in your fucking voicemails and it’s every fucking stress for you.”

“You sound very unstressed about it,” Belle said, and Danny glared sideways at her. She grinned.

“I’ll fucking listen. Just remind me before I drop you off, hey?”

Belle’s eyebrows flew up. Before he dropped her off? Had he not considered spending the night together at one of their flats, or did he think she wouldn’t want to? Maybe he was just trying to be polite. 

Or maybe he was embarrassed about his own flat. He lived alone and spent little time there, so she could imagine that, if he wasn’t prepared for guests, it was rough. Maybe he was just afraid she’d judge him if she saw it.

“You’re dropping me off?” she said. Better to feel out the situation before making any suggestions.

“No, thought you could fucking walk home,” he said. “Yeah, I’m fucking dropping you off.”

That didn’t give her anything to work with. She licked her lips. Do the brave thing.

“I could stay with you,” she said. “If you want.”

He swallowed, staring straight ahead, and even though he was driving and ahead is exactly where he should have been staring, she knew that he was avoiding her now. 

“Tomorrow’s your day off,” he said. “Don’t want you to have to get up early to leave with me, hey?”

If he hadn’t been holding her hand right then, she’d have gotten the signals loud and clear, but what was she supposed to think about all this? Danny was anxious, had spent Christmas Eve terrified of coercing her into kissing him. Maybe he was terrified of coercing her into sleeping with him?

“Well, if you want to stay at my place, you can,” she said. “I know it’s not much, but—” She licked her lips, then shrugged. “I’m there.”

Danny’s cheek pulsed, his fingers flexed, and then he pulled his hand out of hers and set it on the wheel. 

Oh. Belle pressed her lips together. She wouldn’t cry over this. She should have known something like this would happen. 

“I can’t,” he said, voice quieter than she’d ever heard it. “I’ve got—I just can’t.”

She nodded, drawing her hand into her lap and curling up as much as she could in the passenger seat of a little car. “I understand,” she said. “It’s not a problem.”

She couldn’t be mad at him. After all, she’d all but bullied him into kissing her, hadn’t she? Of course, she’d thought it was what he wanted, that they were on the same page, but things were different. That had been holiday Belle and Danny, and now they were heading back into the real world. 

To keep from crying where Danny could see, Belle faced the window, watching the streetlights as they merged onto the highway. There was no traffic now since it was Christmas, and Danny didn’t have to weave to make good progress.

“Belle,” he said, after they’d sat in silence for almost twenty minutes.

“Yes?”

“It’s not—it’s not that I don’t want to.” His fingers tapped the wheel. “I do fucking want to. I’d stay at your flat in a fucking heartbeat.”

She’d thrown herself at him last night, and she felt like she was throwing herself at him now, so she wasn’t sure she actually believed him, but she shifted enough to see him in profile anyway.

“You would?” 

He nodded. “Aye. And if you—if you said you didn’t—didn’t feel fucking safe or summat.”  He waved the hand that had held hers earlier. “Well, I’d have to fucking stay, wouldn’t I?” 

What did that mean? How was she supposed to take that? 

“That would be nice of you, if I didn’t feel safe,” she said. 

“I just think this shite with Francis is too—” He rubbed his forehead. “It’s too fucking much right now, okay? And how do I fucking know whether you like me or just miss your fucking boyfriend?”

Belle hadn’t forgotten about Francis, of course, but he’d seemed such an insignificant factor all day. She liked him, but at the end of the day, she hadn’t been with him long. Every time she saw Danny, it was like coming home.

“Well, I can tell you,” she said. “I like you.”

And how could it be too much for Danny? He wasn’t the one who’d discovered his beau made bodies disappear. 

“Look,” Danny said. “I just fucking think we need to get out the fucking magic of Christmas or whatever. You can see how you feel on Thursday.”

“Thursday?” she asked. “You don’t want to see me tomorrow?” Of course, she didn’t always see Danny on her day off, but she had really assumed he would want to.

“Come on, Belle, don’t fucking do this.” 

He might as well have slapped her. She clenched her skirt in her fists.

“Do what?” she asked. “Want to spend time with you? Assume you might want to spend time with me? Sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“That’s not what I fucking said.” He sped up, and Belle said nothing. The faster he drove, the faster she could get out of this car. 

“You didn’t have to,” she said. “Don’t worry, Danny, I won’t let this affect my new job. I’ll be over it by Thursday.”

“I don’t—” He smacked his hand against the wheel, and Belle didn’t even jump. She was too busy trying to convince her eyes to hold off on crying. “You’re making a big fucking deal but I don’t fucking mean it like that, hey?”

Was she making a big deal? It was hard to tell. Maybe, after all this time and heartache, she was ill-equipped to deal with normal human interaction. At least Francis didn’t hold that against her, but then he also wasn’t honest with her.

“How did you mean it?” she asked.

“I just mean you should fucking consider Francis, okay?” He ran a hand through his hair. “No fucking point in us figuring out what anything fucking means if you decide to go back to him, is there?”

That made sense. She didn’t like it, but it made sense. She nodded.

“Okay. You’re right.” 

She didn’t think there was any world where she would go back to Francis after this. On paper, he seemed like a perfect fit for her—well-read, intelligent, compassionate—but with romance off the table, they had little to do together. She and Danny never sat around bored, had stopped being uncomfortable around one another within a week or so of meeting. There was no contest.

They still had at least two hours in the car, probably more no matter what Danny said, and Belle didn’t want to spend it miserable and awkward.

“I could play Gaston’s messages on speaker,” she said. 

He glanced at her, and his eyes might have been red, but then he nodded vigorously. “Aye, yeah, sure, play ‘em.”

She dug her phone out and turned it on. Since it was off, she couldn’t know how many times he’d called, but she had four voicemails and three texts. All the texts and two of the voicemails were from Gaston, one voicemail was from his mother, but the fourth was from Francis. Thank god at least one of them wasn’t from a Legume.

“He sent me three texts telling me to pick up the phone and asking where I was,” she said, and Danny scoffed. “Should we listen to his messages first or his mother’s?”

“Why is his fucking mother leaving you fucking messages?” Danny asked. “What the fuck is wrong with them?”

“Well, she is my mother-in-law still,” Belle said. “Maybe she wanted to wish me a Merry Christmas.”

Danny, brow furrowed, glanced at her. “Does she know you’re fucking separated?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I left it up to Gaston to tell her, but she must know now.”

“Start with Gaston’s,” he said. “Fucking get it over with.”

It was as good a plan as any, so she hit play and turned the volume up.

“Belle, where the hell are you? I can’t find the gifts for my mom, and we needed to leave an hour ago. Pick up, god damn it.”

Belle’s mouth hung open. What was she supposed to say to that? 

“Jesus fucking Christ, what a fucking fuckwit.” Danny thumped the wheel, and Belle nodded her agreement. As long as Danny was ranting about Gaston, she didn’t have to think about him not wanting to stay the night with her. “What’s he fucking think, you bought fucking gifts in July and left them for him? People think I’m fucking stupid, they haven’t met your fucking husband.”

“He’s useless,” Belle said. “Next one?”

Danny jerked his hand in agreement, so Belle played it. It was much the same. After Danny shouted about it a bit and Belle smiled for the first time in an hour, she played the one from his mother. It was just a quick note worrying about where they were, which sent Belle a pang of guilt.

“Don’t fucking beat yourself up,” Danny said while she deleted the message.

“I could have answered last night.” She deleted the other two messages as well, leaving only Francis’. 

“Aye, and done what? Taken the fucking brunt of what’s Gaston’s to fucking take? No fucking way.” 

He made a good point, but Belle couldn’t stop the gnawing guilt. Should she have called her mother-in-law weeks ago and said something? 

“Belle, I can fucking see you overthinking,” Danny said. “Fucking stop.”

She almost reached for his hand, but stopped herself just in time. She couldn’t do that anymore, and besides, it was on the wheel. 

“Fine,” she said, though she didn’t know if that was truthful. She could either overthink about Gaston or overthink about Danny, and they’d probably both prefer the former.

“You didn’t fucking do anything wrong,” he said. “You fucking know that, right? It’s fucking Gaston’s fault.”

She nodded, and she didn’t need to worry that he couldn’t see her while he was driving because he continued to put their safety at risk by looking at her instead of the mirrors.

“He had the fucking perfect wife, and he fucking threw it away.” Danny drummed his fingers on the wheel again. Did he want to hold her hand? She wished he would. “He had happiness in his fucking grasp, but he’s a fucking idiot, hey? The biggest fucking idiot on the fucking planet.”

Belle forced a smile. “Thanks, Danny.”

The rest of the drive wasn’t as awkward as it had been before they’d listened to the messages, but it wasn’t exactly as natural as the drive up. Belle forced herself not to bring up anything that had happened between them, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t thinking about it. 

When he pulled up in front of her flat, she wanted to weep. How could she go from a warm, loving house with Danny into her cramped, empty flat, where her bed was in her kitchen?

“So.” Belle swallowed. “I’ll see you on Thursday at five.”

“Aye. Thursday.” Danny’s voice cracked, but she wasn’t watching him, so she didn’t know what that meant.

“Bye, Danny.”

She grabbed her coat from the backseat, then got out to put it on. Danny watched her, but she’d already told him she didn’t need help upstairs. If he brought her bags up, if he was in her flat and then left, she didn’t think she would survive.

Suitcase and tote bag in hand, she shut the back door, and then the passenger window rolled down before she could leave.

“Merry Christmas,” Danny called. “I’ll see you.”

She nodded. “Merry Christmas.”

Then she turned and walked inside without looking back. Maybe Danny was right, and she needed to give Francis a chance. Francis, at least, had never made her doubt his feelings for her. Maybe there was no perfect person who ticked every box. 

Her flat was just as she’d left it—dishes done, clothes put away, Francis’ annotated book on her night table. Empty and featureless. No traces of anyone there, barely even Belle. 

Without bothering to change, she pulled off her coat, left her bags by the door, and flopped face first onto her bed so she could cry into her pillow.

Chapter Text

Francis’ message had just been to wish her a merry Christmas and ask when he’d be seeing her again, so since Wednesday was her day off, she figured she might as well go on a real date with him. Danny was right—she couldn’t just carry on not eating because Francis didn’t need to, so she asked if he wanted to go to an early dinner when he got off work, and he agreed.

Normally, Belle would relish having a day off after a whole holiday off, but she couldn’t do anything that morning but think of Danny. Had he spent all night thinking about her too? Was he already over their Christmas romance? 

Was a Christmas romance all it would ever be? 

Since she’d promised him she’d give it real thought and make sure that she didn’t want to leave him for Francis, she tried her best not to worry about that. Instead, she thought about what he was probably doing at the club. The morning after Christmas surely wasn’t that busy, so maybe he was just making sure that everything was in working order after having been closed for two days.

With all this free time and too much energy, Belle decided to tackle the one task she’d been putting off since she’d moved in to this flat: unpacking and organizing all her books.

For hours, she sat in her flat, staring at her phone on her bedside table and playing music from her laptop, dumping books out of boxes and into piles, breaking down the boxes, and then sorting the piles into genre.

That took far longer than she expected, and still, Danny hadn’t called. Was he really not going to see her until tomorrow? Were they not going to talk? 

She missed him so much, her chest ached.

After microwaving herself lunch, she went back to it, sorting the haphazard piles into less-haphazard stacks of books by genre. Her arms were getting tired, but at least it felt good to make progress on her space if she couldn’t be with Danny right then. 

Two hours of sorting later, she had a workable system. Sure, no one coming into the room could have worked it, but who was coming in? No one, it would seem. 

Not wanting to live in a flat that was a tripping hazard, she started the somehow less laborious process of stacking all the piles into towers of six to ten books each, and as she was finishing the seventh of who knew how many romance towers, someone banged on the door.

She frowned, glancing at the clock on her laptop. Francis wasn’t supposed to be here for another hour, and he was meeting her downstairs. Danny, perhaps?

“Coming!” she called, setting down her last book. She hoped it wasn’t Francis because she was still wearing leggings and a sweatshirt while she sorted, and she hadn’t even put on makeup yet.

God, she had really pushed herself without realizing it. Her legs and arms were jelly. Good. That probably meant she wouldn’t spend all night pining after Danny, she’d just pass out as soon as her head hit the pillow. 

She paused at the door. What if it wasn’t Danny? But then, who else would be knocking on her door? It could have been one of her neighbors. 

Whoever it was pounded again, and Belle, annoyed, yanked it open. She froze.

Gaston filled the whole doorway for just a moment before he shoved past her, slamming the door behind him. Belle took a second to gather her wits while Gaston stomped around her flat in his hiking boots, left arm bent in a cast, kicking over a stack of fantasy novels as he turned to pace back to the kitchen.

“Gaston, what are you doing here?” she asked, rushing over to right the stack of books. 

“I’m saving our marriage, Belle.”

Her mouth hung open, and he finally stopped pacing to stare at her from the table. She closed her mouth, books forgotten.

“What are you talking about?” 

“Look.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Yesterday was the first Christmas we spent apart in ten years, and it sucked. My mom spent the whole thing crying and my cousins were assholes and I didn’t have anyone there to give me their pickles.”

Belle pressed her lips together. She had never given him her pickles, she had just never said she wanted them when he took them.

“Well, maybe you should have told your mother we were separated before Christmas.”

“You were supposed to come with me.” He stalked toward her, and though he had never raised a hand to her, she was suddenly too aware of the fact that he was between her and the door. “That was the deal.” 

She shook her head, looking around to see if there was anything she could grab to defend herself. The only things around were her paperbacks, her laptop, and the vibrator on her nightstand that Gaston had not yet noticed. Her best bet, then, would be to get to the door.

“We never talked about Christmas,” she said. If she tried to skirt around him now, he’d notice and block her. She had to move slowly enough to be out before he realized she’d moved at all. If she timed it well enough, maybe Francis would be outside.

“We’re married, Belle. And what the hell is this?” He waved his hand around the flat. “Why are you living here? Come home.”

That’s right, Gaston had never been here. Gaston shouldn’t have even known where she lived. She frowned.

“How did you find my flat?”

Gaston rolled his eyes. “This is where Danny used to live, it wasn’t that hard.” 

She couldn’t have heard him correctly. Why would Danny have rented this tiny, bedroomless flat from his brother when he was a successful business owner?

“Gaston, you have to go,” she said. “We’re not fixing our marriage, we’re separated and going to get divorced.”

He shook his head. “No, no, I don’t want to be divorced. I want my life back, and I’m here to take it.”

Maybe she should just open the window and take a blind leap. She probably a better chance of surviving that than whatever Gaston intended to do to take his life back. 

“What do you mean?” she asked.

He reached into his coat pocket, and Belle was naive to think that he would pull out anything other than the gun. She could have fainted. Gaston wasn’t here to fix things, he was here to kill her. She was about to become a statistic.

“Gaston, please, let’s just sit and talk, okay? I’ll make us some tea and we can talk about saving our marriage.”

“Don’t worry, Belle.” He walked toward her, stopping when she stumbled back. “I’m not here to kill you.”

What if he shot himself? A small part of her was relieved at the thought. “Why don’t you put the gun down then?” 

He shook his head, clicking off the safety, and pointed it at the door. “I’m here to kill Danny.”

Her jaw fell again. Did he know about the two of them? How could he have known that she’d spent Christmas with the Devines? 

“Danny doesn’t live here,” she said, voice weaker than she’d have hoped.

“No, he gave it to you. I’m not fucking stupid, Belle.” He raised the gun, aiming it toward the door at what would likely have been chest-level for Danny. “I told one of the bouncers I was coming here to talk to you. Waved the gun a little bit. He’ll be here any second.”

She hoped he was wrong. She hoped that whatever bouncer it was knew better than to bother Danny with some crazy man outside.

But then, the bouncers knew her too. They knew Gaston. 

She had to get him to drop the gun.

“Gaston.” She swallowed, gathering her courage, and closed the distance between them. “This is crazy. If you kill Danny, it won’t fix anything. You’ll go to prison.”

She laid a hand on his cast, and his jaw pulsed. He was so huge, she just had to hope he really did mean her no harm. 

“Danny’s a fucking asshole,” Gaston said. “I’ll tell the police he was here to attack you and I saved your life.”

“That won’t work.” She tightened her grip on him, debating whether it was safe enough to grab his trigger arm. As long as Danny wasn’t in the flat, he wasn’t in danger, but Gaston was clearly not in his right mind. His violent urges could shift to her at any provocation.

“He’s a fucking strip club owner, a criminal, and you are my wife. They’ll believe me.”

“They won’t believe you, because I’ll tell them the truth, and it’ll be my word against yours,” Belle said. “And considering my name is on the lease in this flat, and I’ve got plenty of witnesses saying I left you months ago, I think I’m the one the jury will believe.” 

Gaston threw her off with a roar and she screamed, catching herself on a chair before she could topple over it.

“Shut up, Belle, shut up, you’re not even trying, you—”

The door slammed open and shut so fast, Belle didn’t even register that someone had entered until there was a low, animal snarl from Francis as he leaped for Gaston at the same time Gaston pulled the trigger. 

Belle screamed. Francis flew back, hitting the door and sliding down with a groan. Blood blossomed on his chest above the pocket of his waistcoat.

“What have you done?” Belle rushed to Francis, whose eyes fluttered as he slumped to the floor. Gaston stood, staring at his gun like he wasn’t quite sure what had happened. “Francis?”

She pressed a hand to his cheek, unsure what it should feel like, unsure if she could feel anything at all. “Francis, Francis can you hear me?” She kissed him on the mouth, like this was some fairy tale and she could just cure him with a kiss, but nothing happened. 

Then, one smart thought broke through her fog, and she stuck her fingers under his nose to check for breath. It was faint, but it was there, growing weaker by the second.

“Call the police!” She stood, stomping over to Gaston, swiping tears out of her eyes before they could blur her vision. “And give me that.”

“Belle, is this even—I mean, who is this guy?” Gaston dropped the gun on the floor. “I mean, he was violent. He did this.” He waved at his cast. “A criminal. I’ll just—”

“Shut up, Gaston, if an ambulance gets here fast enough, maybe you won’t get a murder charge, hurry up!” She didn’t know where her own phone was, so she ran her hands all over Gaston, searching for his. She had to get help for Francis.

Then, both Belle and Gaston froze at the sound of a wheezing chuckle from the doorway. Slowly, she turned to find Francis sitting up, cracking his neck like he’d just woken from a nap.

“Oh, let him have his gun, Belle.” He flashed her a bloody grin. “It’s a fairer fight that way.”

Belle could only stare as Francis, blood trickling down his vest, stood with all the grace of a ballerina, then unsheathed a knife the size of his forearm. 

Without thinking, Belle slid in front of Gaston. Francis, knife still raised, licked blood off the corner of his mouth.

“Step aside, Belle,” he said. “I should have done this long before he had the chance to harm you.”

“No,” she said, voice wavering. God, what if Danny walked in now? She’d forgotten that’s who Gaston was waiting for. “No, he didn’t hurt me. Just let him go.”

“Let him go?” Francis bared his teeth, eyes never leaving Gaston. “Now, why would I do a foolish thing like that?”

Francis was blocking the door, and though he stood with as much nonchalance as a man chatting about the weather, Belle knew that one wrong move would have that knife buried in one of them. 

“Because he doesn’t have any more power here,” Belle said. “And he is going to divorce me, right?” 

“Right,” Gaston said. “Just—just fax the papers to my office.”

“He shot me,” Francis said. “How do I know he won’t come back to shoot you?”

“I won’t!” Gaston moved behind her, but she was watching Francis, so she couldn’t see what he did, just that Francis’ eyes narrowed.

“Ah, ah.” Francis advanced forward. “This conversation is a courtesy to Belle, but if you lay a finger on her, I’ll kill you.” 

“Let him go, Francis,” Belle said. 

Then, perhaps because he did not grasp the gravity of the situation or the veracity of the threat, Gaston grabbed her and yanked her in front of him like a human shield. Francis snarled, but Gaston was dragging her toward the door, covering her chest with his cast.

“Don’t think you can hide from me, you—”

But Gaston, though not booksmart, was not just a big, lumbering idiot. He’d played every sport, trained in plenty of fighting and dance styles to improve his football and rugby technique, and as Francis snarled and raised his knife, Gaston threw Belle at him. 

She screamed again, having barely enough thought to wish people would stop using her as a ragdoll, and Francis caught her, knife slicing through her sweatshirt sleeve to graze her shoulder. 

Gaston was already out the door and thundering down the stairs, door slammed behind him and gun abandoned, but Francis looked ready to pursue him down the street. That is, until he went rigid.

“Let him go,” Belle said. Her arm stung, and she wanted to collapse on the floor for the rest of the day. “He’s already gone, and there’s no use you getting arrested.”

Francis breathed deep like he was taking a drag on a cigar. He closed his eyes.

“Oh, Belle,” he said, voice a low growl. “Unfortunately, he’s not the one in danger anymore.” 

Chapter Text

Belle could hear her heart pounding. She could hear everything happening in the little bubble her brain had drawn around her and Francis. 

“Francis,” she said, and she couldn’t hear her own voice as well as she thought she’d be able to. “Are you okay?”

“I’m going to drop this knife,” he said as if he was talking as much to himself as her. “Then, I’m going to let go of you. And you are going to lock yourself in your bathroom and count to sixty before coming out.”

If this was Francis’ way of scaring her into giving Gaston a headstart, it was working. Gaston was on his own. 

“Okay,” she said. 

He stared at her, mouth bloody, chest heaving, and dropped the knife with a clatter. He did not let her go.

“Francis?” she tried again. Some prey instinct within her kept her from wrenching out of his grip. Any sudden movements, and he could be ripping her throat out with his teeth.

“Belle.” He bent his head to her neck, sniffing deeply again, and then licked her pulse. She almost collapsed. She hoped Danny was not on his way. “There’s blood on your arm.”

“If you let me go, I can wipe it off,” she said. 

“No.” He licked her neck again, and a hysterical laugh tried to bubble up out of her. Was this how she was going to die? Murdered by her not-boyfriend in a fit of bloodlust while he tried to save her from her husband? “Let me taste it. You’re safe now. I promise.”

She couldn’t help the laugh this time, but it didn’t seem to bother Francis, whose hand had shifted to her wrist, holding it place. His grip was gentle but firm enough that she knew he wasn’t just going to let her go if she tried.

“Belle, please.”

How was she supposed to respond to that question? There seemed to be only one answer that got her out of this situation.

“Let me hold your knife,” she said. 

He chuckled. “Smart girl. Take his gun too.”

Belle kicked the gun away, wanting nothing to do with it, and then Francis was handing her his knife without her even realizing he’d retrieved it. She gripped it hard, and it was only watching the hilt that she realized her hands were shaking.

“Don’t hesitate to stab me if you need.” He grazed his teeth along her neck, then kissed her shoulder. “It won’t bother me any.”

She didn’t know what to say to that either, so she just clutched his knife as he lowered his mouth to the rip in her sweatshirt, and then his tongue darted through it to lap up the blood dripping down her arm. The noise Francis made wasn’t exactly a moan, but it was definitely adjacent to the sounds he’d made masturbating on the phone. Physically, it felt fine, but mentally, this is how she imagined a bad acid trip was. 

Then, he hissed, pulling away from her with a wince.

“Francis?” She reached for him when he buckled, groaning. “Oh god, are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, clutching the side he’d been shot on. “I just need to get back to my flat. Will you come with me?”

How could she say no? “Of course, let me—” What did she need to do? Too many things, the least of which was put socks on.

“Wait, wait.” He stroked her arm again, gazing tenderly at the rip in her sweatshirt. “Let me clean your wound and dress it. It’s shallow, but you can’t be too careful. Where’s your first aid kit?”

“Under the sink,” she said, and then Francis, who had just been shot in the chest and then licked blood off her arm, stood up mostly straight and walked to retrieve it. Belle plopped onto the floor.

When he came back, she tried to take off her sweatshirt, but her arm stung too much, so Francis had to help her. He stroked his hands up her sides, careful not to brush her wound as he pulled the sleeves off, and then pulled it over her head.

“Fuck.” He tossed her sweatshirt aside, eyes roving between her injury and her navy blue bra, his breath ragged again. “I don’t have my usual stamina right now, but perhaps once we get back to my flat.” 

“I’ll put a shirt on as soon as you bandage me up,” she said. There was no way she could just have sex with him after all this. 

He nodded, and then, despite his obsession with the blood on her arm, made quick work of cleaning and bandaging it. Once it was all taped up, something in him relaxed. He helped her stand, leaning on her more than usual.

“Let me go get dressed,” Belle said, as though this wasn’t the only room in her home. 

“If you insist.”

She pulled the first dress she could grab out of her closet, almost failing to take it off the hanger before yanking it on, and then added a cardigan. When she turned, Francis was wandering amongst her piles of books. As though he knew what fate it had met, he bent to finish re-stacking the pile that Gaston had knocked over. 

Then, his eyes fell upon her vibrator. Belle pressed her lips together, flushing. 

“I think we’re of a comparable size,” he said, studying it with a little smirk. “You should have no problem taking me.”

She couldn’t respond to that. It didn’t seem wise to say that, as of right now, she did not think it mattered what size his cock was. 

“You have blood in your mouth,” she said instead. 

“Ah.” He licked some off his teeth. “Wouldn’t want to frighten a cab driver.”

While he rinsed his mouth in her dinky bathroom sink, she studied her room. There was no blood on the floor, nothing to indicate what had just taken place aside from the gun near the stack of her books. Her eyes wobbled.

“Francis?”

He was at her side in seconds, faster than should have been possible, arm around her back. “Yes, love?” 

Swallowing, she pointed to the gun. “I don’t know—the safety. I don’t think it’s on.”

“Ah.” He kept his hand on her until the last second he could, then picked the gun up and clicked the safety on. “Here, does this help?” He moved the pieces around faster than Belle could follow, and then he had five bullets in his hand. 

As he dropped them into his pocket and put the gun in her nightstand drawer, the book she’d annotated for him caught his attention.

“What were you reading?” He didn’t reach for it. 

“Actually, that’s for you.” She swallowed. “I didn’t get the chance to wrap it yet. Merry Christmas.”

Gentle, tender, as though he was reaching for a baby animal and not a novel, Francis ran his fingers along the book, then slid it off the table. He brushed his thumb over the tabs sticking out, then opened it, flipping through her careful, handwritten notes.

“Oh, Belle.” He was next to her in two long strides, stroking his thumb down her jaw. His hands were flecked in blood, either hers or his own. “This is—”

She watched his face as he trailed a finger along the path his thumb had taken. How could she not? He had almost killed her husband today, and now he was speechless over a book she’d written in.

“I have questions,” she said. “A lot of questions.”

He nodded. “I think it’s time I answered them. But please, I need to get home.”

She helped him arrange his coat so that no one could see his bloody wound, and then she managed to remember to put on her own coat and socks and shoes, and then she locked up behind them even though it hardly seemed to matter. Too many things had happened in her apartment today. Who cared if someone robbed her?

Francis didn’t exactly limp out, but he struggled to walk more than she’d ever have imagined. Of course, he had a hole in his chest, so he should actually just be dead, but that was a question for when they got to his flat. 

Belle hailed them a cab, sliding in first when it arrived. Francis gripped her hand tight. 

They passed the club on their way to wherever they were going, and Belle’s chest panged. She ignored the cruel voice that told her Danny hadn’t come to her rescue, because she knew that Danny would have been there in a heartbeat, which meant that the bouncer must not have told him. 

It was better that way. She didn’t want to know what would have happened if he and Francis had been there at the same time.

They held hands the entire ride while London streamed by out the window, and Belle wasn’t sure where she expected Francis to live, but it certainly wasn’t as far as they were going. She glanced at his profile and licked her dry lips. What if he wasn’t taking her to his flat?

But then, the taxi pulled up in front of a normal, nondescript row of shops with flats above them. Francis handed over a wad of cash and then, looking a little pale, took Belle’s hand to help her out.

“You live far from work,” she said instead of saying that he lived far from her.

“I like my job and I like my home,” he said. That must have been nice. 

He opened a side door that led to a staircase up to flats above a hair salon, then led her up a flight of stairs, and then they were in Francis Ives’ own flat.

Belle swallowed, taking it all in. From the entry, she could see a living and dining room, a modest kitchen that was still bigger than hers with basic appliances, and a hallway that must have led to a bedroom.

“Welcome.” He shrugged out of his coat, wincing, and then held his hand out for hers. Still taking in the pile of books on his coffee table and wondering where the rest of his books were, Belle failed twice to unbutton her coat, and then Francis was in front of her, confident fingers taking over for hers.

“Would you care for a drink?” he asked. “I have a red I was saving for a special occasion.”

She didn’t think alcohol was a good idea, but then, wine put them on even footing. 

“Okay,” she said, shaking off her coat so he could hang it and her purse. The dining table behind his couch must have been the one he’d made, and she could see some intricately carved details, but she wanted a better look. Without thinking, she headed for it. 

She had imagined a sturdy, well-constructed table, one big enough for his fantasy of laying her across it, but ultimately plain and utilitarian. This was a work of art. Francis had carved vines around all the legs, with a hanging ledge full of vines. Belle traced the edge of a leaf, pressing the pad of her finger over the lacquered curve.

On paper, Francis was everything she wanted. 

“What do you think?” he asked, voice by her ear. 

She didn’t jump. Perhaps, after today, she couldn’t be startled. “It’s beautiful.” 

Standing half behind her, he brushed her hair away from her ear and combed it over one shoulder, exposing her neck. 

“Thank you.” He trailed his thumb down it, and her heart rate sped up. Could he hear it? Could he smell it? “It was a labor of love.”

“How long did it take?” 

“A year or so.” 

He was so close to her, but he made no moves to do anything other than touch her with the tips of his fingers, for which she was grateful. If she was going to be brave and solve this mystery, she didn’t want his teeth near her jugular.

“And how old are you?” She studied the vines, but her hands had stilled. Perhaps her breathing had as well.

For almost a minute, she thought he wouldn’t answer, but he must have realized she needed some explanation for how he’d been fatally shot and then risen as though he’d only tripped.

“A hundred and eighty-seven.”

Okay. Belle could handle this information. She’d been toying with the idea of him as a vampire for awhile now, and having this confirmation that he was definitely something was almost a relief. 

He rested his finger on her pulse and hovered closer to her, chest almost against her back. She breathed, but though she was nervous, she wasn’t afraid Francis would hurt her. Consumed with bloodlust earlier, all he’d done was lick her arm. She was as safe from him here as anywhere else.

“Belle?”

“You have a gaping bullet wound.” 

“Right.” He slid his fingers to cup her neck as gently as if they were holding hands. Maybe the thing he had back at his flat that was going to heal him was actually her blood. 

“Francis,” she said, firm. 

Hand on her throat, he bent to her pulse again, closing his lips around it. 

“Francis,” she tried again, determined not to notice his other hand creeping around her waist to hold her steady while he sucked gently on her neck. 

“I am starved for you, Belle.” He scraped his teeth along her neck, then nipped the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

“Do you want me for food or sex?” she asked.

“Yes.” He tightened his arm on her waist, cock pressed to her back. “Both. It’s all the same drive to me.”

“You’re going to get blood on my dress.”

Francis stilled, then chuckled against her. Was he just going to use that as an excuse to rip the dress off of her? 

“My apologies.” His hand slid off her neck, and his arm unwound from her waist, and then she could breathe again. “I said I would get wine, didn’t I?”

“You did.” Now that he was gone, she felt dizzy, ready to fall over. Had he done something when he licked her, or was it just some combination of fear, nerves, and desire? 

He moved away from her and to the kitchen, and Belle’s shoulders slumped. Thank god. She didn’t want to desire him, but it was a lot easier not to when he was across the room than when he was sucking on her neck, reminding her of all the ways he’d used his mouth.

“Make yourself comfortable.” Francis opened a cabinet with an array of shockingly normal dishes for someone she suspected drank blood, and removed two wine glasses. From another cabinet, he took out a glass canister filled with what looked like beef jerky. 

Belle pulled out a dining chair carved with the same vines as the table and sat. He had a luxurious, plush couch and oversized armchair that she would have loved curling up in, but the hard wooden seat was safer.

“So, how is it that you can heal from a fatal shot?” 

He popped open the canister, studied its contents, and selected a small, meaty strip to pop in his mouth. A chill crept down Belle’s neck. Francis was a vegetarian. 

Once he’d chewed and swallowed, he selected another, bigger piece, shutting the canister and returning it to its cabinet while he ate that one as well. He rinsed his hands before finding his bottle of red wine and uncorking it.

“Francis, I think I deserve answers.”

He poured two glasses, then carried them over and set one in front of Belle, the other in front of the nearest empty seat. Then, he started unbuttoning his waistcoat.

“I have a particular regimen,” he said. “It’s kept me alive all these years. Strong. Hale.” He flicked a glance at her. “Virile.” Waistcoat unbuttoned, he moved to the top button of his shirt. 

She reached for the wine, needing something to focus on other than Francis undressing as slowly as if he were being filmed. 

“Are you going to drink my blood?” she asked.

He smirked. “It wouldn’t do me any good unless I killed you first, and that would do me even less good, wouldn’t it?”

He unbuttoned the last button, but Belle was now too busy staring at the cabinet with his beef jerky canister to notice. Slowly, he shrugged out of the sleeves, then neatly folded his shirt and vest over a chair. As much as she needed to know what was in the canister, her attention was arrested by the bloody hole in his chest. 

“How’s it looking?” he asked.

Not that Belle had much of an idea what a bullet hole looked like, but this couldn’t be it. Gaston had shot him point-blank from less than three meters away. 

“How?” Belle asked. “You’re covered in blood but it looks like you just had a bad fall.”

“A benefit of being like me,” he said. “It aches, but even if I did nothing, it would heal up in a few days.”

All the pieces were before her, she knew. If she thought long enough, she would solve the mystery of Francis. But did she want to solve it? What if instead, she just accepted what he told her, decided it was none of her business, and let him convince her into his plush armchair?

But Belle was no more capable of leaving it alone than she was of healing from a shot to the heart. 

“So.” She took a sip of her wine, gathering her thoughts, but even though she knew it was wine, had seen him uncork the bottle, she gagged. “So when you—licked—my blood earlier. That didn’t heal you?”

 He reached slowly for his wine, and maybe he thought she would focus on his toned chest, the trail of hair leading beyond his belt, but all she could see was dried blood. 

“No.” He took a sip. “I just like the taste.”

Lots of people liked the taste of blood, probably. She stared into her wine instead of drinking it, and after a bit, Francis sat down. More time passed, and he leaned closer to rest a hand on her knee.

“Belle?”

She did not like the hunch she came up with. She didn’t like any of this. Yesterday, magic wasn’t real, and today, her ex-boyfriend ate a suspicious meat, healed from death, and licked blood off her arm. 

“Who’s in the canister?” she asked. 

He watched her the same way he did when they had a particularly rigorous discussion about a book, but the look in his eyes that she’d always taken for pleasure at her company, at the conversation, now seemed distinctly hungry. 

“Your hitman,” he said.

Yes. That fit with the evidence she’d gathered. She didn’t know what it meant yet because how could she, but she had expected such an answer.

“Will you put a shirt on?” She couldn’t just watch him flex at her anymore. He seemed to be under the impression that something was going to happen between them; perhaps that, by saving her from Gaston, he had cemented their relationship.

“Of course,” he said, ever the gentleman. 

When he left the room, Belle finally looked up. Everything was the same and yet, more than it had been after she’d killed a man, it was different. Francis, her sweet, unassuming, buttoned-up museum educator beau, had not only lived several lifetimes, but it seemed the reason he had was because he ate people. 

He ate people to get stronger. 

Francis emerged from the dark hallway, buttoning up a clean black shirt. Belle stood and thrust her wine hand toward him.

“Danny knew,” she said.

He paused on the last button, then looked up at her slowly, brows drawn. “What are you talking about?”

“About you.” She waved her wine. “About this. Danny knew, didn’t he?”

His frown deepened. “What makes you say that, Belle?”

She could have screamed, but instead she just huffed like an annoyed horse. “He was weird about you all week. He kept telling me to answer if you called even though you usually infuriate him.” She shouldn’t go on, but she was on a roll now, wine sloshing in her glass as she gestured with it. “He was asking me in the car what I knew about mythology.” 

Francis raised an eyebrow. “I usually infuriate him? Interesting, since he’s the most infuriating person I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.”

She could have smashed her wine glass against his chest and he’d have been more annoyed about the broken glass, wasted wine, and ruined shirt than any injuries. Instead, she slammed it on the table and stormed over to him, jabbing him in the chest with her finger. 

“Stop hedging. Answer me.”

His gaze flicked between her face and her finger. If he unbuttoned his shirt again, would his injury have disappeared? How quickly did it work?

“Yes,” he said. “Danny knew.”

She lowered her hand, but he caught it to hold against his chest, right next to his heartbeat. Why hadn’t Danny said anything? There was obviously a reason. 

“Did you threaten him?” she asked. “Is that why he didn’t tell me?”

“Belle, please. Let’s sit down.” Still holding her hand, he gestured toward the couch, but Belle bared her teeth.

“Tell me. Did you threaten Danny’s life?”

She glared up at him and he met her eyes, face blank. She preferred whatever non-expression this was to his smug look, the look she imagined he wore to threaten Danny. 

He sighed. “Yes. I did.” 

How could you, she wanted to say. Instead, she said, “Why?”

He frowned again, and this time, it seemed more honest. Maybe this time, she had actually surprised him. “Why what?”

“Why did you threaten him?” 

“Because I didn’t want you to find out before I was ready to tell you.”

She needed to sit down. This was all too much, too confusing. Yesterday, Francis was maybe a vampire, but today, he was definitely an almost-two-hundred-year-old cannibal. 

“Here, Belle, come on.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and guided her over to the couch without her having to say anything. Maybe she looked faint. 

The couch was as comfortable as suspected, and Francis sat next to her. What she wouldn’t have given a couple weeks ago to sit on a couch with Francis, tucked together while they read or watched a movie or fooled around. Now, she registered his arm across her shoulders, the feel of his side against hers, but it meant nothing.

“How did he know?” she asked.

He licked his lips. “I told him. I went to see him because I wondered about his intentions with you. It didn’t sit right with me how familiar he was with his employee.”

God. God. That’s right. After all this, Danny was still her boss. Her only boss, in fact. She pinched her forehead, ignoring the way Francis rubbed her back. 

“Let me tell you how I came to be this way,” Francis said. “I think maybe that’ll help.”

Belle finally looked at him. Maybe it would help. 

“Okay. Tell me.”

He tucked his arm around her, and she couldn’t help leaning into him just a little bit. She told herself she was just throwing him a bone, not allowing him to comfort her when she still didn’t know what she felt. All she wanted, really, was Danny’s arm around her, but she was afraid Francis would know, somehow, if she was thinking too much about Danny. 

“Back in 1847, when I lived in America, I contracted tuberculosis,” he said. “Some days, it seemed like I coughed up more blood than I kept in my veins.

Belle’s eyes widened. “That must have been horrible.”

“Yes.” He slid his hand down her arm and, in sympathy, she laced her fingers with his. “Almost worse, though, was the depression. Now, they call it ‘suicidal ideation,’ but back then, it was just black thoughts.” 

She couldn’t imagine Francis with black thoughts, but that wasn’t fair. There was no way to know a person’s thoughts. 

“So I joined a small wagon group going west with the goal of reaching a sanatorium, where I would convalesce, most likely die.” 

She tightened her grip on his hand, and he reached with his free one to stroke her hair. 

“Are you sure you want to hear this story?” he asked. “It’s a difficult one. It doesn’t have the happiest ending.”

“Yes. I want to hear it.” As long as it didn’t end in him shackling himself to a man who racked up tens of thousands in gambling debt—or eating Danny—she could handle it.

“Good.” He turned her face toward him, and she worried he would kiss her, but all he did was brush her hair behind her ear. “I want you to hear it. It’ll be a relief to stop hiding.”

If only she felt capable of smiling, she’d have smiled at that, but all she could do was stare. 

“We had a guide who was—aggressive, if you will.” He shuddered. “Horrible man, it’s no wonder he charged such a pittance. After a few weeks of traveling, we found ourselves lost in the mountains in the dead of winter.”

Belle sucked in a breath. 

“Our food didn’t last long. We ate all the animals. We ate our belts.” 

Francis stared off into the distance at something Belle couldn’t see. She laid her free hand over his, which broke him out of it. He smiled. 

“One of the men with us died of exposure. We had no choice but to eat him as well, and then—” He licked his lips. “Well, then we noticed our hunger was different. More carnal. Animal. Nothing would satisfy, until another man died, and we all knew it was human flesh we craved.”

Belle had known the only place this story could be headed, and yet hearing it out loud had her sucking in air again. 

“Eventually,” he said, “it came down to myself and the guide, a vile man who relished all the killing and eating. It’s likely that, had I not been crafty, he’d have killed me, but I managed to kill him first.” 

“How did you escape the mountains?” Belle asked. 

“I had a sturdier constitution by then,” he said. “I was able to take as much meat with me as I could and brave the elements until I found a military outpost.”

He combed his fingers through her hair. How many other women had laid against him like this, hearing this story? How many times had he been in this same scenario, and how many of those women were still alive?

“And ever since then?” Belle turned to him, and he stroked his fingers down her cheek. Whatever he’d done or said with other women, he looked at her now with such adoration, even she couldn’t find it in herself to distrust it.

“To stay alive, I’ve had to adapt,” he said. “Once you’ve consumed a spirit, there’s no going back. Once you’ve become a lion, there’s no returning to a gazelle.”

A chill slid down Belle’s spine. Francis trailed his thumb across her bottom lip.

“So you’re a lion now,” she said, voice somehow remaining steady. “And I’m a gazelle.”

“No.” His hand slid up her cheek, and she was more trapped like this than she’d ever been with Gaston. “You’re a lion, Belle.”

Belle’s mouth dropped open, and he took the opportunity to kiss her beneath each eye. Somehow, in all of this, she had never considered that his goal was anything more than her affection. 

“What are you saying?” she asked, voice wavering as he trailed kisses down her cheek, her jaw. 

“I’m saying, I’ve lived for a hundred and fifty-seven years like this, and I’ve never been sick again, not had a single dark thought.” He licked her neck, moving back toward her pulse. “I’m in control of my own destiny. No one can touch me.”

He pulled his hand out of hers to slide it up her thigh to her hip, nipping her neck, and if she didn’t stop this soon, he was going to have her in his lap and trapped.

“Francis, I have to go,” she said. 

“After.” He scraped his teeth along her skin, gentler now than he had been when he was hiding himself. “Stay with me now, let me show you some of the benefits.” 

It would have been easy to give in, to let Francis have his way with her. There was no doubt in her mind that he wanted her to enjoy it, that he would do whatever he could to ensure she had a good time. 

“No.” She pushed at his chest, more as a gesture than anything because she was too afraid of startling him into biting her neck if she put any force behind it. “Francis, stop.”

He lifted his mouth from her, frowning like he could not fathom why she might want to stop. That, too, seemed truly honest.

“What’s wrong?” 

“We’re not together,” she said. “I don’t want to have sex with you.”

“Fine.” He grinned, and she imagined blood on his teeth again. “We won’t have sex. Just lay back and let me eat you.” 

Oh god. Oh god. All this time, she’d thought it strange he said eat instead of eat out and now it would be this single statement that broke her. 

“Oh my god,” she said, which she hadn’t meant to say out loud. She struggled out of his grasp, glad that he let her, since she really knew now that, if he hadn’t wanted her to go, she’d be stuck. “Oh my god, I can’t do this right now. I need—”

“You need a little persuasion,” he said, studying her idly. “Time to process and relax. You know how to relax, right?” 

Her purse and coat were by the door. All she had to do was walk in a straight line from here to there, and she could be out. With Gaston, she had tried to move too slowly for him to notice, but Francis appreciated decisive action. She needed to be decisive.

She strode to the door and grabbed her coat, turning to face him. He’d risen from the couch now, bemused.

“Belle, this is the first chance we’ve gotten to spend a whole evening together in private, and you’re leaving?” 

“I need to go see Danny.” She shrugged into her coat, and then, without warning, Francis was in front of her. 

She’d seen this look before, directed at Gaston and even Danny, but never directed toward her. Her fingers slipped around the buttons of her coat, and then Francis’ hands appeared again to help her, so gentle in spite of the way his lip curled to bear his teeth.

“You’re leaving?” He fisted the lapel of her coat and tugged, pulling her close enough to smell the wine on his breath. Or was that blood? “For Danny?”

“You didn’t have to threaten him,” she said, voice as firm and strong as she could make it. “You could have left him alone.”

He let go enough for her to stumble back, which was a mistake on her part because it gave him the opportunity to pin her to the wall. 

“Let me go.” She met his eyes even though she wanted to cower. She refused. “Let me go, Francis.”

“Or what?” His voice was so soft, she could barely hear it, but she felt it in her bones. “What will you do to stop me, Belle?”

There was nothing. She didn’t have a weapon and he’d blocked her from reaching the door. If he’d had his knife on him, she might have been able to grab it, but there was no way she could outdraw him. 

She met his eyes and a smirk played at the corner of his mouth. 

“You want me to choose you,” she said. “But if you keep me here, if you trap me, that’s not me choosing you.” 

“You would eventually.” 

She shook her head, so close to him that their noses touched. “No. I’d resent you. And you’d never be able to turn me like you, because as soon as I was strong enough, I’d escape.” 

She set her jaw while he searched her face, and then, as though he couldn’t help himself, he pressed his mouth to her pulse again and licked.

“You’re a smart woman.” He lifted his head, and she imagined her own blood in his mouth. “You see things for what they are. You’ll come around.”

“Maybe,” she said, because she wanted him to let her go. “But that’s my choice.” 

Still watching her, he took a step back. If he wanted to stop her, he still could, but hopefully this meant he wasn’t going to. 

While she had room, she lifted her purse off the hook. They never took their eyes off one another.

“Go,” he said. “Before I change my mind.”

She inched in front of the door so he couldn’t block it again, resting her hand on the knob. “Goodbye, Francis.” 

“Goodbye, Belle,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.”

She could have asked him if he meant something by that or if it was just a pleasantry, but she could see the violence he held back with every move, could see his muscles bunching like they were just waiting for the order to strike, so she took the opportunity she was given and fled.

Chapter Text

Danny had never been in a mood quite this foul. Of course, he had also never spent one glorious day with the love of his life only to be forced to break her heart so that her ex-boyfriend didn’t eat her, so he had to cut himself some slack.

He got back to his new flat, a one-bedroom with clean walls and new paint and new appliances that Belle would probably never see, stripped off all his clothes, poured himself a drink, and stood in the shower until he’d finished it. Then, he poured himself another and sat in bed watching old football games until his eyes glazed over and he slid onto his back to alternately doze off and stare at the ceiling until his alarm rang.

Today of all days, he could not wear a too-small suit, so he put on slacks and a polo. He did not care how well his outfit fit in at the club. He wanted to lay across train tracks. 

All this time, he’d loved Belle quietly, by himself, without any issues, so he thought he’d cope just fine after dropping her off. But pining for her before she’d kissed him was nothing to pining for her after. 

Whatever showed on his face after all this had every employee in his building avoiding him like the plague, which suited him just fine. He didn’t have the energy to be pleasant. But after an unfortunate incident wherein he screamed at a customer who had plenty of cash and planned to spend it, Frank stormed into his office and stood in the door with his arms folded. 

“What?” Danny asked, out of vitriol. He wanted Belle, but he would never be with her again, so what was the point of caring about anything?

“What the hell is wrong with you?” 

He looked up at Frank and for one horrible, agonizing second, thought he might cry. He swallowed that impulse down. 

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you being such a prick?”

Danny curled into his parrot, wishing he could pull the stupid lever and just escape his life. Frank scowled and kicked the door shut, stomping to the middle of the room.

“This is gonna be the last straw,” Frank said. “Everyone’s gonna quit. You need to get it together.”

“Don’t let anyone fucking quit.” He curled his knees up. He wished he could just sit like a normal fucking man instead of hunching into the belly of a giant bird, but he wasn’t suave or cool or collected like Francis fucking Ives. He was Danny fucking Devine and everything was fucking awful.

Frank took a step forward. “Did something happen over Christmas?” 

Reluctantly, Danny nodded. 

“With Belle?”

Danny didn’t confirm it this time, but he didn’t deny it either. 

“What, did you guys fight or something?” Frank folded his arms. “What did you do?”

What had he done? He’d spent two days doing everything in his power to ensure they couldn’t be found, and for what? So that he could come right back to London and mope in his office? So she would just go right back to fucking Francis? 

“We had a nice fucking time,” Danny said, barely recognizing his own monotone. “And then I told her to go back to her fucking boyfriend instead of staying with me.”

Frank narrowed his eyes. “What kind of nice time?”

“It doesn’t fucking matter.” Danny hugged his knees to his chest. “I gave her back to fucking Ives and that’s fucking that.” He clenched his jaw. Danny never cried, and he’d thought himself capable of handling anything to do with Belle as long as she was alive and safe, but he could feel moisture beading up. 

“All right, come on.” Frank beckoned. Danny curled up tighter.

“Come on where?”

“You need a walk. Some fresh air. Come on.”

Danny didn’t have it in him to fight Frank, so he stumbled out of his chair and followed him out to the front. He wasn’t paying close attention, so it came as a surprise to find one of Frank’s meaty arms blocking him at the door.

“I thought you fucking said I needed fresh air?” 

One of the bouncers, a young new guy who hadn’t had enough seniority to get off the week of Christmas, was trying to get his attention. 

“What do you want?” Danny asked. “I’m not a fucking risk to anyone, hey? Leave me the fuck alone.”

“A bloke came in earlier, ranting and raving,” he said. 

Danny opened his mouth to scream about how he paid the bouncers to deal with blokes like that so he didn’t fucking have to, but Frank elbowed him, so instead he just let out a noise and gestured for the bouncer to continue. 

“He said something about going to Belle’s?”

That got his attention. Danny snapped up, leaping for the bouncer until Frank’s arm blocked him again. Fucking Frank. 

“What the fuck did you wait until fucking now to fucking tell me for?” 

“Hey, calm down,” Frank said. “Maybe it just happened.”

The bouncer, though twice Danny’s size, swallowed nervously. “It was probably an hour or two ago.”

Danny shrieked so loudly, a few patrons glanced over at him. He didn’t care. He had an idea who might come to the club to rant and rave about Belle, and it wasn’t Colonel Cannibal, the fucking posh gentleman.

“What did he look like?” Frank asked before Danny could think to do anything so sensible.

“Tall. Big fellow. Had a gun.”

Danny was out the door before he had time to fire the bouncer, hurling himself into the freezing afternoon in slacks and a blazer. It didn’t matter. He didn’t feel the cold. 

It took a full minute for Frank to catch up to him because he was grabbing his coat, but Danny was glad to have him there. What would he find when he made it to Belle’s flat? If it was her corpse, he was going to hunt down Gaston and make sure that motherfucker never saw the sunshine again. Maybe he’d enlist Ives’ help.

Then, a horrible thought struck him. What if Ives had gotten there but not in enough time to save Belle? What if he found a partially-consumed Belle? 

The thought was too horrible. He ignored it. 

“So, what, are we just going in?” Frank asked. 

“You got a better fucking suggestion?” Danny felt around in his pocket where he always kept his ring of keys—one to his office, one to the safe, three to the club, one to his flat, and one to Belle’s since he was her landlord—glad to feel the weight of it. 

“Nope, just wondering what kind of felony I’m looking at.”

Belle wasn’t going to press charges on them. Besides, Danny was her landlord, and that did give him some protections for going into her flat.

They reached her door and Danny had the presence of mind to stop and listen first, but when he heard nothing, he banged his fist on it.

“Belle!” He pounded on the door so hard, a stronger man might have splintered it. “Belle, if you’re fucking in there, open up!” 

After a full minute of banging and screaming and nothing happening, Danny took out his keys and flipped through until he found hers.

“At least you have a key,” Frank muttered. Ignoring him, Danny unlocked the door and then flung it open.

He hadn’t been in the flat since he’d moved out so he didn’t know what it looked like on a normal day, but a cursory glance didn’t raise any alarms. No blood, bed and floor covered in books, mug on the nightstand next to—

He almost broke his neck trying to look away. Was it next to her bed because she’d used it last night? Had she thought about him?

This thought train could only lead to pain, and besides, he had more important things to worry about. 

“Maybe she wasn’t home,” he said. “Maybe she was with Colonel Fuck.”

“I don’t see any signs of a struggle.”

Danny took one more look around, wishing there was some clue, any clue—and then he spotted her cell phone on the bed, mostly hidden by rumpled blanket. Torn between wanting to respect her privacy and wanting to know what happened, he stared at it for almost a full minute.

“Do you want me to get it?” Frank asked.

“No.” He swallowed. If anyone was going to invade Belle’s privacy, it should be him. “We don’t need to look at it. Her phone’s here, she’s not, either she’s fucking dead or she’s fucking alive.”

What he needed to do now was figure out how he could find her, but he couldn’t do that from here, so with one last look around, he stormed out and headed for the club.

Everything was worse now that he’d been to her flat. Now, not only was he upset at how they’d left things, but he was also miserably anxious about whether or not she was even alive. What if Ives had already fucking eaten her? What if Gaston had kidnapped her?

He stalked back to his office, grabbing a beer on his way. He’d have just slugged back whiskey but now he didn’t want to black out drunk, he just wanted to numb the pain.

What was he going to do? He couldn’t just stand in the middle of his office and pound a beer, but that seemed to be what was happening. After chugging down half of it, he stomped to his desk and set it down surprisingly gently. What could he do that was actually productive? 

He ran a hand through his hair, and then nearly jumped out of his skin when the door opened.

“Frank, for the fucking love of god, can you—” 

He almost choked on his own tongue in his haste to shut up. Belle stood there, door shut behind her, hands clasped around her bag, as disheveled as he’d ever seen her. 

“Belle.” He couldn’t be certain exactly how he sounded or looked to her, but he knew that seeing her face had sent his heart zooming around. Thank fuck she was alive. He had missed her so much. 

“Hi, Danny.” She walked over to her desk, keeping her eyes on him, and set her purse down. Upon cursory inspection, she didn’t look like she’d been shot, eaten, or turned into a cannibal. At least, she didn’t have Ives’ smarmy aura.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. 

She took off her coat, buttons done haphazardly as if a toddler had been set to the task. 

“Well,” she said. “I came to give you a piece of my mind.” 

“Aye?” 

Coat discarded, she stepped up to him, stopping within arm’s reach. Was that a hickey on her neck? He definitely hadn’t given her one. 

“Well, that was my intention, but,” she shook her head, “I’m just so happy to see you.”

Since he didn’t know the situation, it couldn’t hurt to be honest, right? He didn’t want to hurt her anymore.

“God, me too,” he said. “I missed you.”

She took another step closer, then gripped his lapels and dragged his mouth to hers. He wrapped his arms around her waist, squeezing her maybe a little bit tighter than he should have, but he was just so glad that Gaston hadn’t murdered her and she’d come here to him anyway even though maybe someone had given her a lovebite? 

What if Gaston had given it to her? Against her will?

Danny yanked his mouth off of hers, holding her by the waist in one hand and grabbing her face with the other. 

“Danny?”

“There’s something on your neck,” he said, trying to be gentle as he tilted her chin all around to get a better look in his office, which was still pretty dim despite the additional lamps. “Did someone fucking do this to you?”

“Oh god, Danny.” She all but fell onto him, arms around his neck, and he stumbled back to catch her. “Lock the door, we need to talk.”

We need to talk was a terrifying phrase, but the arms around him and her desire for a locked door made it a little bit better. He kissed her again, then she let go to meander to an egg chair while he checked all the doors were locked. Then, for the first time since being allowed to hold her, he sat with her in his strange, cozy chair. She stretched her legs over his lap and he wrapped his arm around her. His half-chugged beer sloshed around in his stomach, but he could barely remember how horrible he’d felt just five minutes ago. Belle was here, safe, and with him.

“Did Gaston come to your flat?” he asked.

Belle snapped up at him to frown. “You knew?” 

He stared blankly, no clue why she was mad at him for this, until he realized it wasn’t anger on her face, but the same hurt he’d put there yesterday. 

“Aye, but just now, hey? Fucking bouncer told me he came by a fucking ‘hour or two’ ago. I just got back from fucking looking for you.”

“Oh.” She snuggled back into him, and he breathed, glad both that she’d accepted his answer and had no further questions. He’d tell her eventually that he’d gone into her flat, but that was for later. “Well, yes, he did come. I don’t even know how long ago it was.”

“One to two hours, according to the fucking bouncer about to be out a fucking job.”

On a normal day, Belle would purse her lips at him and chide him about threatening to fire anyone who annoyed him, would fight him if he insisted, and would ultimately not drop it until he, enchanted with arguing with her, agreed to her terms. The fact that she said nothing had him pulling her closer.

“I know about Francis, Danny.”

He frowned, opening his mouth to ask what she knew—had she decided to be with him instead?—but then it hit him like a bucket of ice. He cleared his throat. 

“Know what?”

She turned to glare at him. “I know about his—what he is. He told me you knew.” She reached up to cup his cheek, and he closed his eyes, savoring the softness of her palm on his skin. How could he have missed her this much?

“Aye, well, I couldn’t—” He licked his lips, accidentally brushing her hand with the tip of his tongue. She didn’t flinch away in disgust, which was a good sign. “I couldn’t fucking tell you, could I?”

“I know.” She kissed him. “I understand why you didn’t. I know he threatened to kill you, but I promise I won’t let him touch you.”

Danny’s skin heated, and he had the sudden urge to throw Belle off of him so he could gulp down air, but he wanted to keep holding her. “Did he tell you he threatened to kill me?” 

“Yes. He was pretty honest today, I think.”

He snorted. “He’s a fucking liar is what he fucking is. He didn’t fucking threaten to kill me.”

Belle frowned. “Why would he lie to make himself sound worse?”

“Fucking think about it, Belle. Maybe it didn’t make him sound worse than the fucking truth.” He didn’t want to tell her what the truth was because it was still too awful to think about, but maybe she could come to it on her own.

“What?” She searched his face like the clue was there. “What, did he threaten to turn you against your will?”

“No, he fucking threatened to kill you.” 

He expected weeping, tears, maybe even a bit of a fight—after all, Belle had never appreciated his suspicions about Colonel Fuck—but all Belle did was stare at him and blink a few times.

“Anybody fucking in there?” He gripped her chin, wagging her face around, and she cracked the tiniest hint of a smile. “I know that was a fucking shock, but don’t fucking worry, hey? I’m here. I’ll fucking protect you.”

She shook her head. “No, no, I’m not worried. I just don’t believe him. I don’t think it was a serious threat.”

Danny frowned. Obviously, Belle did not understand the gravity of the situation. “The fuck do you mean? Of course he meant it. He’s a fucking psychopath.”

She shook her head. “He wouldn’t hurt me.”

Maybe his unearned confidence had rubbed off on her. “Okay, okay, maybe you’ve got a different fucking idea of him. How did you find out about him?”

“Well,” she said. “Gaston came to my flat because he wanted to shoot you.”

Several thoughts ran through Danny’s head at once. Did Gaston go because he’d thought Danny lived there? Did he go because he knew about the two of them? Was it just on the way and he thought Belle would be pleased to be out from Danny’s thumb? 

“He came to the fucking club,” Danny said. “Waved a fucking gun around.”

“Right.” Belle nodded. “His plan was to catch you somewhere that wasn’t as secure as the club and he figured you’d come rescue me if you thought I was in danger.”

Not a bad plan. Danny would have been there in seconds if he’d actually received the message. 

“If Gaston had fucking shot you, he’d be fucking eel chum before he could fucking blink.” 

Belle shook her head. “He was very adamant that he was there to fix our marriage by killing you. But then Francis came in. I think he must have been waiting outside and listening because he came in right after I fell over a chair and screamed.”

Waiting outside? For the opportune moment or to see if he’d have free lunch? 

“So what happened?” 

“Well.” Belle snuggled closer to him, kneeing him in the bollocks as she slipped around the ovular chair. He kept his mouth shut. “He had the gun pointed to the door expecting you to come through it, and I figured it was too close for your vest to stop it, so I was trying to get him to put the gun down. But then Francis came in and he fired, and I thought he’d killed him, but then after a minute or so, he just—stood up.” 

It was one thing to know that Ives claimed immortality, but must have been a uniquely horrifying experience to watch him rise from the dead.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He squeezed her tighter, not realizing how tightly until she yelped. “So, what, did he fucking eat Gaston?”

Belle shook her head. “Gaston escaped by throwing me at him and running.”

Danny was going to fucking kill Gaston. “And he didn’t fucking go after him?”

She shook her head. “I asked him not to.”

Of course she did. Danny did not have enough eyes to roll at this statement, but he wasn’t surprised. “So then he had to explain the whole thing?” 

She nodded, and it was a wonder she wasn’t sobbing into him. She sobbed for such comparatively small things. He didn’t know how to comfort her if she was just in shock. 

“He took me back to his flat, told me the whole story, and then said I was a lion not a gazelle. But he let me leave.” 

Danny didn’t realize, again, how hard his fingers dug into her at that until she yelped, again, but he couldn’t let go no matter how hard he tried, because he could not believe she had gone to his flat.  

“What the fuck, Belle?” With effort, he pulled his hands off her to clench into fists instead. “You could have been fucking dinner. He could’ve fucking fed you Richie Richardson.”

Belle frowned, and he could have kicked himself. He’d forgotten that she didn’t know about Richie.

“He doesn’t want me to be forced into it,” she said. “He wants me to choose him.”

Danny’s hands finally relaxed, and he buried them in her soft hair. This was it, wasn’t it? His fear laid out before him. It seemed so obvious, while she was tucked up in his lap, tangled so tightly in his embrace that anyone walking in would have a hard time telling where one ended and the other began, that she would choose him, but what if Francis had felt the same this afternoon? What if Belle didn’t know who she wanted?

“Would you?” he asked, even though he didn’t want to. “Choose him?”

She wrinkled her nose, and he almost kissed it. “Of course not. I don’t want to eat people.”

He knew that much—well, he’d been pretty sure of that much at least. “What if he was just some bloke?”

“That’s an irrelevant question,” she said. “He’s not just ‘some bloke.’”

But there were lots of other blokes out there. Plenty of other people who were smart and handsome and well-read and articulate who could find their way to Belle.

“I think you’re in danger,” she said. “He wasn’t happy when I mentioned you.”

“Yeah, I’ll fucking bet he wasn’t.” Danny rolled his eyes. “He did say we could fucking share you though. If that’s the kind of fucking bullshite you’re into.” 

Belle let out a tiny laugh, and then it turned into a big, heaving laugh, and then suddenly she was sobbing into his chest, finally. This time, he wasn’t panicking. Maybe Danny wasn’t a great comfort, but Belle had sought him out. Belle wanted his arms around her and to bury her face in his kevlar vest. 

After a minute or two of him petting her hair and kissing the top of her head because he could, Belle stopped crying enough to wipe her eyes. 

“So, no fucking three-ways, then?” he asked, and she laughed. 

“You have to get out of here, Danny,” she said.

He had been thinking the same thing for days, but he had Belle to contend with, and now that Ives had confessed to her, the clock had to have been ticking.

“I’ll be safe,” she went on. “But every time your name came up, he was very upset. I think—I think he might be past seeing that I could never be with him if he hurt you.”

That was nice to hear. “Could you be with him if he didn’t hurt me?”

She considered this for longer than he’d have liked her to, then slowly shook her head. “He really scared me today. Maybe—maybe he could redeem himself. But I want to be with you.”

Danny needed more than the time between her speaking and his reply to process this statement, but he couldn’t take it. He’d just have to process it later. 

“If I leave, he’s just gonna come after you until you either choose him or fucking die,” Danny said. “I’m not leaving you.”

Belle considered this as well, tucking her head under his chin. They were both too old to be sitting in any chair like this, but he wouldn’t have moved for all the money in England.

“Then we’ll have to leave together.” 

They could go back to Liverpool. As long as he didn’t stay with his family, he could take advantage of Felix and Dakota being nearby without bringing danger to his ma. Or they could go anywhere. They could go to fucking Australia.

“Are you sure?” he asked. 

She pulled herself away from him enough to glare up at him, laughing when he yanked her back into his chest. 

“Danny, I know that you’re my boss and I quit my other job and you’re about to be my sole source of income, but that honestly does not feel as important as this life or death situation.”

“Fucking fair enough.” As long as no one walked in and saw them like this, it didn’t matter whether or not he was her boss. They could get a lawyer to draw up some sort of employment contract if they really needed to, and then Belle would have legal protections.

But she was right. Their professional relationship was the least of their worries.

“We should probably go while he’s at work,” she said. “That’s the only time we can guarantee his location.”

The gears were already turning in Danny’s head. He may not have been good at much, but he’d spent at least twenty years being slippery. 

“Is he working tomorrow?” Danny asked.

Belle nodded. “So am I, though.”

Again, Danny did not have enough eyes to roll. “Belle, you’ve got three more days at the bookstore. Fucking call out sick. Tell ‘em you’ve had a fucking family emergency.”

Belle chewed her lip, and Danny could have screamed if he’d had enough room to draw in a full scream’s worth of breath. 

“Belle, Colonel fucking Cannibal is going to eat us. Call out of work.”

“No, you’re right, you’re right.” She still didn’t look convinced, but it didn’t matter how convinced she looked, it only mattered whether or not she agreed. 

“Good. Only pack essentials, hey? If he sees you with a fucking suitcase, he’ll know.”

“Okay, I understand. But Danny?”

“Aye?” If she was about to fight him on the suitcase thing, he was going to scream. 

“Will you just hold me for a bit?” She looked up at him with her big, wet eyes. “I know we have to make a plan, but I missed you.”

He was already holding her tighter than he’d ever held anything before, but with a little shifting, she could sit almost comfortably in his lap and tilt her face up to kiss him. 

“Aye,” he said. “I missed you too.”

Maybe someday, he could hold her without threat of violence, but for now, at least he had this.

Chapter Text

Belle didn’t want to float back to her flat like a schoolgirl in love just in case Francis saw, but it was hard not to. She’d spent hours at the club exactly as she’d hoped she would before Danny broke her heart on the drive home, and even though everything was up in flames and they’d talked too much about Francis, she couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else.

Of course, they’d decided again that they would spend the night apart. Belle, likely safe for at least one night, would go back to her flat, and Danny would stay in his office where he was virtually untouchable as long as everything was locked down and bolted. One of them had to confirm Francis’ whereabouts, and as much as Danny didn’t like it, it only made sense for it to be her.

So, they had a plan. It might not have been the best plan, the cleanest plan, but it would at least buy them time. 

She ached less returning to her empty apartment, and she was so in the clouds about Danny that she almost forgot about Gaston until she saw her torn sweatshirt on the floor. 

There was no reason to think about Gaston now. He would either be okay or he wouldn’t, but Belle couldn’t imagine that, after both of his recent encounters with her ended in Francis showing up, Gaston was eager to seek her out again. 

She called Danny as she was setting the kettle on to boil water while she took a shower.

“You locked the door?” he said instead of hello. 

“I locked the door and nothing is out of place.” 

“Good. Window’s locked too?”

She had forgotten about the potential threat of the window, but it had been locked ever since her hallucination. Had Francis climbed up? Danny hadn’t mentioned it, but it suddenly seemed like a real possibility.

“It’s locked.”

“Good. I have to make sure Frank knows what he’s fucking doing. You’ll be okay?”

“Of course,” she said. “And you’ll call me if anything happens?”

“Aye. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She wanted to stay on the phone, but though it was late for her, it was early for the club, and Danny still had at least five hours of business ahead of him.

“I can’t wait,” she said, and she imagined she could hear him blushing.

“Night, Belle.”

They hung up, Belle turned the kettle on, and then she stripped quickly to shower. Not that she thought it likely that something would happen to Danny, but if Francis had followed her there and watched, he might jump on any opportunity.

She hoped that, if he did, someone would spot him before he was in Danny’s office again, and Danny or Frank would be able to call her, but it did mean she’d need to be out of the shower. 

At least she only had six minutes of hot water anyway. It would decrease her likelihood of luxuriating too long and being caught out with soapy hair in an emergency. 

No calls during her shower, and then she put on her Devine family Christmas pajama pants and a t-shirt before pouring hot water into a mug so her tea could steep while she dried her hair. At some point, she’d need to address the sweatshirt on the ground, but since she was preparing to flee London, it didn’t feel necessary. 

Then, when she came out of the bathroom with her hair half-dried to add honey to her tea, the sweatshirt was no longer on the floor.

A chill ran down her spine, and she knew that Danny would have had something to say to her for not being more aware of her surroundings, because Francis wasn’t even hiding. When she looked up, he was leaning against the front door, arms folded while he watched her.

She swallowed. “Francis.”

“Hello, Belle.” Instead of his usual full suit, he was wearing the same black shirt she’d left him in. He’d hung his coat next to hers. “I took the liberty of making myself a cup of tea as well. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No,” she said. “That, I do not mind.”

He smirked. “I’m sorry for barging in like this, but you did want honesty from me, and this is who I am.”

Danny would be furious to find out that Francis was in her flat, uninvited and unapologetic, but he would likely be even more upset if he didn’t know until tomorrow. She needed to find a way to alert him.

“I should be careful what I wish for, I guess,” Belle said. Francis’ smirk grew. 

“Are you not happy to see me?”

She swallowed. Truth be told, she wasn’t unhappy to see him. She’d never been unhappy to see him, and even though she was wary of him, she still believed he wouldn’t hurt her. But then, she wasn’t the only person in the world she didn’t want him to hurt.

“Depends,” she said. “Why are you here?”

“Worried I’ve tampered with your tea?” he asked.

She pursed her lips. “Well, I wasn’t, but now I am.”

He shook his head. “You were right earlier. I just want to talk.”

Obviously, out of self-preservation, she wasn’t going to say no, but she also had questions. Maybe he really did just want to talk. 

And then the idea came to her. If Francis was here, he wasn’t tailing Danny. 

“Okay,” she said. “I have to finish drying my hair after my tea, but maybe you could stay the night. If you want?”

She bit her lip, as though she had some illusion he had planned to leave. At least if she invited him, he’d think she wanted him there.

“You want me to stay?” He raised an eyebrow, though she didn’t believe for one second that he hadn’t been sure of her wanting him there.

She smiled. “I’ve had a long day. I could use some comfort.”

“From me?”

She held her hand out to him. “Who else?”

Still watching her, Francis closed his fingers around hers, then stepped close enough to kiss her. Thankfully, he did not.

“Sit,” he said. “You take your tea with honey?”

She nodded, allowing him to lead her to her own kitchen table and sit her down. She couldn’t help watching him move around her kitchen. Was this what it would have been like if she’d invited him up after finding out he was a cleaner? Was he showing her one of the ways he could provide for her?

She thanked him when he set her tea down, and then he took the other chair, and they sat in silence. Francis watched her and she watched her tea, hands wrapped around the mug, waiting for it to cool enough to drink.

He broke the spell first with a quiet sip. 

“Can you not eat other meat?” she asked.

His eyebrows flew up, but he recovered quickly. “No. I find it repulsive.”

Okay, so, animal meat was repulsive but human meat wasn’t.

“What about your other sensitivities?” 

She took her first sip of tea while he considered. It was just like she’d have made it herself, which could have been because it was easy enough to guess that she used just one spoonful of honey or because he had seen her do it before without her knowing. She chose to believe the first.

“I use other foods like aromatics and potatoes when I cook meat,” he said, and she wasn’t sure how to feel about his use of the word meat, “but I don’t care to eat most other things.” 

“So, you’re repulsed by all food?” she asked.

“I suppose.” 

She sipped her tea again. It wasn’t as soothing as it might have been if Francis had not broken into her apartment and made it for her, but at least it was hot. 

“Doesn’t it bother you?” she asked. “Not being able to enjoy anything?”

He shrugged. “I’ve always believed in eating to live, not living to eat.” 

“Well, sure,” she said, frowning in thought. “That seems fine for a man crossing America in a wagon in 1847, but now? Don’t you wish you could try new things?” 

He wrinkled his nose. “There are plenty of new experiences that do not involve food.”

“I know, but food—” She gulped her tea to give herself time to think, scalding her throat. “I mean, it’s the only way I can have anything close to an adventure, working two jobs and shackled to Gaston for ten years. Have you ever even had a hamburger?”

“Well,” he licked his lips, “as a matter of fact—”

“No, no, don’t.” She shook her head, wrinkling her nose, and he chuckled. 

“You’re looking at this the wrong way, Belle.” He set his mug down and grasped her free hand between both of his. “It’s not missing out on tasting new things, it’s gaining a food that makes everything else mundane. It’s knowing that just one bite will exhilarate you each and every time, no matter how often you eat or how long you live. The feeling never stops being good.”

“What if you decided you didn’t want to eat people anymore?” she asked. 

He frowned. “Why would I decide that?”

She swallowed. “I don’t know. Maybe—maybe you might start to be repulsed by the idea of eating someone you could have a conversation with.”

He stared at her like she was speaking a different language. Clearly, she needed to come at this from a different angle.

“Okay, what if you ran out of your—jerky—and there were no bodies for you to clean up. What would you eat then?”

But even before the question left her mouth, even before his lip curled into a smirk that sent chills down her neck, she knew. She swallowed, the answer hanging unsaid between them. She shouldn’t have asked. She should have assumed.

“I need to dry my hair,” she said. Her tea was only half-finished, but she couldn’t stomach the thought of putting anything else in her mouth. 

“I’ll clean up.” 

She nodded, unsure that she could get out a thanks, and then tried to walk normally to the bathroom, where her phone still lay on the counter. 

Francis was still watching her as she shut the door, and she had the horrible worry that he could see through the door, would see her texting Danny. That was crazy, though—earlier, he’d told her to hide from him in the bathroom. If he could see her, that wouldn’t be very hidden.

Satisfied, she turned on the hairdryer and cradled it in her elbow while she texted Danny. 

He’s here. I’ll keep him all night so you can take care of things.

Her phone buzzed with response before she’d even closed it.

Fuck, it said. And then, You’re ok?

She pointed the dryer at her hair so she wouldn’t be in there too long, and, one-handed, sent, I’m safe. Wait ten mins and if you don’t hear from me, all good.

This time, she got a good minute of drying in before the response. 

Do whatever you need to fucking stay alive. 

Belle swallowed. She would do whatever she needed to keep Danny alive, but she would not let Francis threaten his way between her legs. 

I’ll see you tomorrow, she said and then deleted the messages. 

She finished drying her hair as much as she could stand to, and when she emerged from the bathroom dizzy with anxiety, it was to find Francis arranging her stacks of books into even rows that would be much easier to traverse, both mugs clean and in the dish rack.

Francis had already cleared a path to the bed, and as he straightened up, he held a hand out.

“This is strange,” she said. 

“What, having a man take care of you?” 

Francis had to have known that that wasn’t what she meant, but he did have a point. Danny took care of her where he could, but he’d never been in her home. He’d never picked up her books because he saw she was tired or made her a cup of tea. 

He would, though. She was sure of it. She just had to reach the point where she would find out.

“Can I see your injury?” she asked instead. 

Without a word, he unbuttoned his shirt, as slowly as he had earlier when it was covered in blood. She wanted to roll her eyes, but she was too focused on what he might reveal. Did she want it to be healed, or would the presence of a wound reveal some hidden humanity in Francis? 

When he shrugged the shirt off, though, there was no wound. Not even a scar.

“Shall we get in bed?” he asked, folding his shirt and setting it on top of a box. 

There was nothing like a trauma to make not wanting him to see her space feel like a trivial problem. He was here now, and the only thing she could even worry about was whether he would take no for an answer.

“Let me braid my hair first.” She turned toward the bathroom, but he was next to her in a split second, grabbing her wrist. Her heart thundered in her ears.

“Wait,” he said. “Let me.”

She met his intense stare, searching for she didn’t know what. But it was the same look he’d always given her, the same look that had never scared her before. 

“Okay. Thank you.”

They sat in bed cross-legged, Francis against the pillows in just his boxers, brushing Belle’s hair with confident tenderness. She couldn’t believe that this was the first time she’d seen him in any state of undress and he was brushing her hair.

“How do you know how to braid hair?” she asked when he’d finished separating it into sections.

He worked in silence for so long, she thought he wouldn’t answer, despite his newfound commitment to honesty.

“I had a wife once.”

She licked her lips. “You said you were never married.”

“It was so long ago,” he said. “We were married less than a year before she died, and we didn’t know each other well before the wedding.”

The first question that came to mind was did you eat her, but from the sound of things, he probably hadn’t. 

“What happened?”

“We both wanted to go to America, so we got married and left a couple of months later. She got sick on the boat over and died shortly after we arrived.” He tied off her braid, then trailed a knuckle down her back. “Her hair would get tangled in bed, so another woman on the ship taught me to braid it for her.”

Belle could not deny that this story brought up an emotion in her. Francis had barely known his sick wife, and he’d been kinder to her than Gaston had ever been.

Francis would take care of her if she let him. 

“What was her name?” 

He draped her braid over one shoulder and traced a finger down the opposite side of her neck, near her pulse. “I honestly don’t remember.” 

Somehow, he unfolded his legs and stretched one out on either side of her. She swallowed, but didn’t stop him yet, even as his other hand crept across her stomach. If she laid in his lap like this, she would know without a shadow of a doubt that he had stayed. He couldn’t get to Danny even if she fell asleep.

“You don’t remember?” 

He pulled himself closer to her and then, as she knew it would, his mouth closed around her pulse to suck gently. Danny had almost screamed out of his skin when he realized she didn’t know that she had any love bites. He was going to be livid with Francis tomorrow.

“Francis,” she said firmly.

He lifted his mouth to lick the spot. “I married her because I was interested in a man that lived nearby, and I didn’t want to be. His name was Thomas.”

Belle’s breath caught, and she hoped he didn’t take it as acceptance of the way his teeth scraped along her neck. 

“Of course,” she said. “You told me that marriage wasn’t always an option for you.” 

“Mm.” 

She turned her head enough to face him, but all this did was bare the rest of her throat to his wandering mouth. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said, grabbing his hand as it crept toward the hem of her shirt. “That must have been very difficult.”

He licked and bit his way down her neck, so she grabbed his other hand before it, too, could get any ideas. Apparently sensing that she was not receptive to this, he finally lifted his head.

“I’ve been happy for a hundred and fifty years, Belle,” he said. “Laws and traditions don’t dictate my happiness, only I do. Isn’t that what you want? Freedom? Happiness?”

He wasn’t wrong. Freedom was everything she wanted, freedom to make her own choices and create her own life.

But Francis wasn’t freedom, and she didn’t know if he was happiness either.

“I don’t want to have sex tonight, Francis,” she said instead. 

He heaved a long-suffering sigh. “When you say ‘sex,’ do you mean…?”

“Everything. I don’t want to fool around.” 

She met his eyes. If he didn’t agree, how receptive would he be to being slapped? Probably not very, but she’d try it anyway.

But then, Francis smiled. “Of course. Whatever makes you happy, Belle. Do you want to lie down?”

She didn’t like the way he said it, like he was going to try something as soon as she got comfortable, but that could have just been her paranoia. 

“I guess I am tired,” she said, though she hoped she wouldn’t fall asleep yet. She wanted to give Danny as much definite time as possible. 

Francis shifted so she could lay against him, then wrapped his arms around her. She clenched her jaw, hoping he couldn’t feel the tension in her neck. This was exactly what she’d wanted from him, and now she felt nothing but guilt for letting him hold her when Danny could have held her instead. But Danny was safe, and in the grand scheme of things he could have meant by telling her to do what she had to to stay alive, letting Francis hold her was probably one of the least upsetting options.

“Francis?” 

“Yes, darling?” 

Darling. She swallowed. “How often do you—” She couldn’t say it. “—eat?”

“I eat just as often as you do.” He lowered his lips so they brushed her ear when he spoke. “Are you asking how many people I eat?”

Her spine didn’t know if it should freeze or melt. Francis wouldn’t hurt her, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want her to know that he could.

“Yes.”

He twisted his mustache in thought, which was a relief because it meant he wasn’t breathing on her skin anymore. “I would say one to two people a week.”

If Belle had been drinking anything, she would have spit it out all over him.

“A week?”

He shrugged. “Give or take.”

“That’s—” She was going to faint. “That’s fifty-two to a hundred and four people a year!”

“Clever girl,” he said, and without thinking, she elbowed him. Luckily, he just laughed, breathing into her ear again. “I could probably make it on one to two a month.”

Belle couldn’t take this anymore. She shifted around to face him, not caring that she elbowed him again. 

“You mean to tell me that you could reduce your consumption by seventy-five percent, and you just—” This time, she couldn’t speak because she was too shocked. “You just don’t?” 

She shouldn’t have been shocked. Why would Francis have needed to convince her he was so non-violent if he really wasn’t violent at all?

“Belle, think about it rationally.” He laid a hand on her cheek, fingers brushing her bottom lip. Facing him had been a bad idea. “You eat meat at almost every meal, don’t you?”

Barring the fact that she didn’t always have time to eat every meal, that was not wrong. “Yes, but if I had to eat only one cow a month, I think I could do that just fine.”

“Cows are a lot bigger than people.”

She glared at him. He smirked as though this whole conversation was just a joke, a fun jaunt through a subject he liked, and not one of the more horrifying things Belle had ever talked about.

“Belle, you have to understand.” He trailed a finger down her neck. “If I don’t eat flesh, my hunger—it’ll consume me.”

Belle licked her lips absently but stopped when Francis’ gaze drifted from her eyes to her mouth. 

“Okay,” she said. “I understand.”

“I knew you would.” He brushed her lip again, and if she didn’t turn around soon, he was definitely going to kiss her. To stop him for now, she pressed a finger over his mouth. 

“You want me to consider being with you?” She couldn’t think about whether this question was deceptive or not. This whole night was deceptive.

“God, yes,” he said. “Let me show you—”

She pressed her fingers more firmly to his mouth as his hands slid around her waist and neck. 

“I don’t want you to kill anyone,” she said. “Ever again.”

For once, he looked startled, and as she watched him, expression hard, his brows drew together in a frown.

“So you’re asking me to die?” he asked. “You want me to prove myself by sacrificing myself?”

“No.” But the fact that he thought that had her pulling away from him, and he must have been upset because he let her. “No, I didn’t say not to eat. I said not to kill anyone.”

Understanding dawned on his handsome face, and he relaxed enough to pull her back to him. “Interesting proposition.”

“People call you to clean up bodies,” she said. “I assume you eat all of them. Why not live on that?”

“Would you live on roadkill?” 

Belle scowled. “If it made sense, yes!” 

“Belle, I am an apex predator.” He flexed his shoulder, as if to showcase the rippling muscle there. “You wouldn’t ask a lion not to hunt a gazelle?”

The god damn lion and gazelle. “People aren’t lions and they aren’t gazelles,” she said. “They’re all just human. Lions don’t eat other lions.”

He shook his head. “You’re wrong. I’m not just a human, I’m more than human.” He cupped her cheek. “Better than human.” 

Belle bit her lip up at him, and his hand tightened on her cheek. 

“Better than me?” 

“No.” He touched her lip. “No, you’re with me, Belle. Don’t you get it?” His other hand, previously laying dormant on the bed, came to press against her back, holding her chest against his. “We are so much better than all those gazelles; the Gastons, the Dannies of the world. Why shouldn’t we take strength that’s rightfully ours?”

“Don’t talk about Danny—”

He cut her off with a kiss as though he hadn’t even heard her. The feel of his lips, his mustache, the way he kissed her like he might consume her, it was all so familiar, and a part of her wanted to just fall into it, let him make her forget everything that happened.

But there were too many things she didn’t want to forget, and Francis was not who she wanted to be kissing. 

He hadn’t given her much recourse for pulling away from him, and it became even more difficult when he sucked her lower lip between his teeth, but she managed to wriggle a hand between their mouths. 

“Francis, stop.” 

Without missing a beat, as though he had planned this all along, he kissed the tip of her fingers, and then her palm, and then down her wrist when he let go of her cheek to hold her arm in place.

“Francis.”

“What’s wrong, Belle?” He pushed her closer to him, mouth stilling against the pulse in her arm. “You have exactly what you asked for—the truth about me.” 

“This isn’t what I want.” 

She hadn’t forgotten the danger of him being here, not quite, but as his fingers tightened ever so slightly around her wrist, his teeth pressed against her vein, she remembered exactly why it was important to keep him here.

“Is it because of Danny?” he murmured in his soft, silky voice. 

Belle’s heart pounded enough that he must have felt it against his teeth, against his chest. What could she say? 

“No,” she said. 

“I don’t believe you.” His fingers tightened on her wrist again, and he still wasn’t hurting her, but she remembered Gaston’s wrist, snapped with no effort, possibly by accident. “I think you’re confused.” 

“I’m not confused.” 

He met her eyes, then licked slowly up her wrist. 

“Maybe a little confused,” she said. All she could sense now was danger and she didn’t know who was in it, her or Danny. Probably both of them.

“You don’t have to decide between us, Belle,” he said. “Danny agreed to whatever you choose.”

Well, that was something she hoped she’d remember to discuss with Danny tomorrow. 

She shook her head. “I’m not confused about Danny, I’m confused about you.”

“Still?” He kissed her palm. “Why did you want me to stay tonight, Belle? You don’t want to fuck, you don’t want my honesty.”

“I do!” she said, and then, “I mean, I do want your honesty.” 

“So you have it.” Finally, he dropped her hand, but it was a short-lived victory as instead, he reached for her throat. 

“I thought maybe I could make sense of all this,” Belle said, a slight tremble in her voice now. Was she wrong about Francis? Would he hurt her? Kill her, consume her, leave nothing for Danny to find tomorrow?

“Let me make sense of it for you,” he said, thumb stroking her neck tenderly. “I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted. Honesty. Freedom. A partner who takes care of you, one you can have a real conversation with. You’ll never be sick again, never tired.”

“All I have to do is kill and eat people,” she said. “Am I getting this right?”

“No, no, Belle.” He kissed one cheek, then the other. “You wouldn’t have to worry about anything. I would never ask you to kill anyone unless you wanted to.”

She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. How romantic of him to offer to kill for her. How did she get to be so lucky? 

“You might want to someday, you never know,” he said, as if the only thing worth laughing at was the idea that she might want to kill someone herself.

“I need time, Francis,” she said. 

He frowned. “Time for what?”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand because you had to eat to survive, but this is a huge decision you’re asking me to make. If—if I become like you, I’ll lose everything.”

His frown deepened. “What do you even have to lose?”

Belle’s mouth opened, then closed. The first answer was, of course, her humanity, and the second was Danny. She didn’t know what Francis meant by not having to choose between them, if he and Danny had really already worked this out between them, but what she did know was that having Francis here was like a consolation prize.

“I need time,” she said.

“Fine.” His grip on her throat loosened, and he let his hand slip down until it rested over her pounding heart. “How much time?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “A month.”

“A month?” His lip curled. “You could do anything in a month. For all I know, you’ll send the British intelligence after me to study me.” 

“Well, I need time.” She clenched her jaw to show how serious she was. “There’s obviously a reason you want me to choose my fate, and—and I appreciate that. But if you want me to choose, then you need to give me time to decide.”

He stared at her for a long moment, going so still, he might have died. Was that a feature of his condition?

“In the past,” he said, “People who did not choose to be like me did not stay with me, and when people did choose this because they were already bloodthirsty, I got bored of them. I want you, Belle, so I will wait.”

She felt a pang. Francis, for all his bravado, for all his insistence that he was happy, was lonely. Before she could change her mind, she closed her hand around his, pressing them both over her heart.

“Will you hold me?” she asked softly. “Just hold me. No sex.”

He eyed her, and he might have been wary. “You just want to lay here?”

“No. You’re going to tell me about your past companions,” she said, looking him right in the eye. “Starting with the man whose medal you have in the museum.”

His lip twitched. “It took you long enough to figure it out.”

She couldn’t smile, but she tried. “What was his name again?”

He sighed, but this time, it was fond, wistful. “It was Captain John Boyd,” he said, lacing his fingers through hers. “And we were stationed together at Fort Spencer…”

Chapter Text

Thank god when Belle’s alarm rang, Francis’ arms were still around her, and she knew they’d remained around her all night because she’d hardly slept. 

She appreciated his honesty, but perhaps she should have wished for it in smaller doses. The stories started out okay, but some of the people he’d known throughout the years had been the stuff of nightmares.

Of course, Francis was the stuff of nightmares, so it made sense.

“Good morning, darling.” He kissed her on the neck and she jumped. Of course he was awake. 

“Morning.” She just had to make it a couple more hours, and then he would be at work and she would be far away from here with Danny.

“You tossed and turned all night, did you sleep well enough?” He kissed her again.

“Not really. I kept dreaming about serial killers.” Probably because she’d slept wrapped in one’s arms, but he didn’t want to hear that. 

He stroked her hair. “You have a little bit more time to sleep before you go to work, don’t you?”

It was surreal to have him care about how rested she was when, just last night, he’d admitted to spending years in the company of several famous murderers. How could either of them care about something as mundane as sleep after that?

“When do you go to work?” she asked instead. She couldn’t tell him that she’d called out. As far as he knew, she was still working the next three days. 

“Mm.” He kissed her neck again, and it didn’t surprise her when his tongue darted out to lap at her pulse. It was only a matter of time before he ripped a hole in her artery, but at least she didn’t think he’d do it on purpose. “I’m not working today.”

She tried not to have any physical reaction to this statement, but she could tell she wasn’t successful when his mouth froze against her neck.

“I’m jealous,” she said, hoping this would smooth things over. How was she going to escape now? She couldn’t just go to the bookstore because Francis was likely to either watch her there or go to the club.

“Call out,” he said. “Spend the day with me.”

She swallowed. She could always pretend to call out and spend the day with him and then try to lose him whenever possible, but that was a risk. Even if she climbed out a loo window, she’d have no way to lose him that he couldn’t catch her.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She disentangled herself from him, but not until he’d kissed her one last time, and then walked as normally as she could to the bathroom. Her phone was still there from last night because she’d feared bringing it to bed with her. She hoped Danny was awake. 

The door didn’t lock, so she’d have to be quick. She turned the water on and texted Danny. 

He’s not going to work today. What do we do?

She brushed her teeth, washed her face, used the toilet, and was hunting around for another task to fill the time before Danny finally texted her back.

I’ll take care of it. Don’t pack anything. Just stay there.

She read it three times. What did it mean? What was he doing? 

Okay .

Whatever he was doing, she had to trust him, because she couldn’t both trick Francis into thinking she was working and also think of how to escape him and try to figure out Danny’s plan. She deleted all the messages and set her phone back down before joining him back in bed. He’d plugged in the electric kettle already and located her canister of instant coffee and two mugs.

“I don’t go in until noon today,” she said as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into him. It would have been nice if she could enjoy this, but all she felt was exhausted. 

“Wonderful.” He rubbed up against her back, one hand sliding up her stomach and the other lingering at the waistband of her Christmas pajamas. “That gives you plenty of time to relax and unwind.”

“Francis.” She’d have pulled away from him if she thought she could, but it was easier to stop him with words. “I didn’t want to have sex last night, what makes you think I want to right now?”

“Don’t you wake up horny?” he asked, pressing his stiff cock against her thigh and his mouth to her neck. “I know I do.”

“How can you tell?” she asked. “You’re always horny.”

“Interesting question.” He sucked on her neck again. In another universe, she could have closed her eyes and let herself go, spent the day however Francis wanted to, but she was so close to getting out. 

“The kettle’s done,” she said. “Do you want some toast?”

He either finally realized she was serious about not having sex or decided to try his luck again after breakfast, because he let her go with the caveat that she sit at the table and let him make everything.

Well, she wasn’t going to be mad at that. She was tired, stressed, and overworked. If Francis wanted to spoon coffee granules into a mug and spread jam on toast for her, she’d let him.

He moved through her kitchen in his underwear like he’d lived there for years, seemingly unbothered by his bare feet, bare chest, or obvious erection. Belle couldn’t help watching him just a little bit. 

Francis surprised her by making himself a piece of toast as well, but he only spread a thin layer of blackberry jam on it while Belle added butter and jam to hers, and then he picked at it while she shoveled hers down. By the time she’d eaten two pieces, he’d eaten barely half his one.

“Would you be eating toast if you weren’t here?” she asked.

“Sometimes.” He stared at it, and she was glad the jam wasn’t red. “I like toast. I’m struggling now because I am unwilling to eat the thing I crave most in this kitchen.”

Belle flushed, taking a sip of coffee to hide it. It was good to know that she’d been right about not being in danger. 

“Would it help if I left the room?”

He shook his head, lifting the bread to his mouth to nibble at the corner. “I know you’re here.”

It took her a lot of convincing for Francis to see that she was not going to get dressed in front of him even though he had seen her bra just yesterday, and while she dressed in the bathroom, she was finally able to retrieve her phone

News? She asked Danny while she shimmied into her single skirt with a pocket.

Sit tight. Almost ready.

Again, Belle deleted all the messages, then stuck her phone in her pocket and finished dressing. Francis was wearing clothes when she emerged, thank god. Maybe now that there were more barriers between them, he’d stop trying to seduce her.

“What would you usually do with a morning off?” Francis asked. 

On a normal day, she’d be laying in bed, dreading leaving. She’d already changed into clothes, so that was out, and she was tired of laying in bed with Francis sucking on her neck. She missed Danny.

“I try to take any opportunity I can to rest.” 

Francis considered this, then pulled a chair out and gestured for her to sit. She eyed him. 

“What will you be doing while I’m sitting?” she asked, but she followed anyway. Saying no to him would be easier if she seemed agreeable beforehand.

“Nothing with my mouth yet, unless you’d like me to.” He stood behind her and then, with a few deft movements, had her braid tied up in a bun atop her head. Then, his hands were on her shoulders, thumbs pressing into her sore muscles.

“Oh god,” she said without meaning to. She couldn’t help it. Francis had found a use for his strong, capable hands that she did not want to say no to.

He worked out every knot along her shoulderblades, down her spine, and he was starting on her neck when his phone rang. He froze.

“Your phone,” she said, though she didn’t exactly want him to answer it. Her muscles were so loose, she wanted him to finish.

“I have to take this,” he said once he’d checked the caller. She thought that would mean he’d want to go somewhere private, but he flipped it open right there with a, “Yes?”

He listened for so long, Belle thought he’d hung up, and then said, “Understood,” and snapped his phone shut. His hands returned to her neck, but he let out a sigh.

“I have to go for a few hours.”

Belle couldn’t believe it. After all that, a solution had just presented itself? She could have wept. 

“Was that your handler?”

“Yes.” He rubbed her neck, but his fingers didn’t move with the same purpose as they had before. “A difficult job today. You’ll be at work before I’m done, but I’ll bring you a coffee as soon as I can.”

She shook her head, turning to face him even though this meant he’d stop massaging her.

“Francis, we have to spend time apart,” she said. “You should go home after that, take some time off. I have to go to work.”

“We’ll have coffee before you go to the club, then,” he said, and she could not believe she’d forgotten about working at the club. More time she hadn’t even realized she’d have.

“No.” She shook her head. “I need time to think when I’m not at work.” 

He pressed his lips together. This clearly didn’t please him, but she couldn’t imagine that Francis wasn’t smart enough to realize that he couldn’t just stalk her into compliance. 

“Fine,” he said. “I will see you after work.”

“Tomorrow,” she said, swallowing the twinge of guilt. She had hoped not to give him a definite time and instead just disappear. 

“Tomorrow?” He frowned. “What will you do tonight?”

“Sleep alone in my flat like I always do.” She hated lying. If she lied, he could find inconsistencies, could figure it all out.

“What for?”

“Francis, don’t you have to go?”

He glanced at the clock over her oven and sighed. “Fine.”

He did the breakfast dishes, which she had to admit was nice of him, and then stood by the door, not touching his coat.

“I’ll walk you down,” she said. 

“I could wait,” he said. “Another hour wouldn’t make much of a difference.”

Belle did not want him to wait. She wanted to get out of there. She couldn’t say that though, so instead, she stepped up to him and put a hand on his cheek.

“Why wait when you’ve wanted my blood since yesterday?” 

A little smirk played on his mouth, and he turned to kiss her palm. 

“I have lusted for your blood since the moment I met you.” 

She swallowed, afraid again, but he didn’t bite her or lick her. Thank god. 

“But you’re right.” He reached for his coat. “I am starving.” 

They stood outside together waiting for a cab, and after a minute, Francis turned to her, cupping her face in both his gloved hands.

“Belle.” He gazed intently into her eyes. “I have one last bit of honesty for you.” 

She wasn’t sure she could take more truths, but she nodded anyway. “Tell me.”

“I love you.” 

She was so stunned, she didn’t even pull away when he kissed her, and by the time he’d sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, she wasn’t sure he’d let her.

“Francis,” she said as firmly as she could with her lip between his teeth.

“I know.” He pulled off her, then kissed her three more times, chastely, lips closed. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

A taxi came around the corner then, thank god, and soon Francis was in it and pulling away from her. Once he’d turned the corner, Belle sagged with relief. She’d have to go up and pack now.

Her phone buzzed before she’d gotten back to her door, and she dreaded the thought of Francis calling, but then it was Danny.

“Hey,” she said, lighter already. “He’s gone, I don’t know for how long.”

“I know,” Danny said. “Go upstairs, don’t pack anything important—no toothbrush, hairbrush, whatever. Just grab your purse and anything you can fit in it and come down.”

“Are you here?”

“Aye, blue Focus.” 

She looked all around, but before she could find it, Danny barked, “Go!” in her ear, so she rushed upstairs to do as instructed.

If she couldn’t pack much of anything, she’d have to go for things that would make her life most convenient. She stuffed three books in her purse along with her Devine family Christmas pajamas, a bra, and an extra shirt, then she added a sweater under her coat and stuffed as many knickers as she could into her pockets. Socks were easy enough to come by, but she brought one extra pair by wedging it into her purse around her books anyway. Then, before she could forget, she grabbed her parrot ring from where she'd stuffed it in a drawer on Christmas and slipped it onto her finger.

Her phone buzzed again, reminding her to grab the charger.

“I’m in front of your building, come downstairs,” Danny said, and then hung up.

She locked the door even though it hardly mattered and raced down, and then there was the blue Focus, window cracked enough that she could see Danny’s eyes. She wanted to take a second to breathe, relax, appreciate the fact that Francis had been called off and Danny was here, but she already knew there was no time for that. She ran over and slung her purse into the backseat before getting in the front, grateful to see Danny whole and healthy.

“No time,” he said when she leaned over to kiss him, and then he was gunning it out of the parking spot, nearly sending her through the windshield.

“Well, I thought Francis was going to kill me, but I guess it’s going to be you,” she said, gripping the doorhandle since she couldn’t go for the seatbelt yet.

Danny glanced at her, brow furrowed in concentration, but did smirk a little.

“Just hang on, we’re taking the express route out of London.”

She had hoped to unwrap all her layers as soon as she got in the car, but since that might be the end of her, she just turned off the heat, ignoring Danny’s scowl, and held on for dear life.

If he was good at weaving in his van, he was a professional in this small car, and if there was some way that Francis had followed them, he certainly wasn’t by the time they hit open road. Belle might have been on the verge of losing her breakfast, might have permanently injured her fingers gripping the handle so hard, but they were definitely safe from being discovered for now.

Danny drove like a maniac until they had left London behind and then some, and then he reached across the console to touch her elbow because, the way she clung to the door, it was her closest body part to him.

“Sorry,” he said. “Don’t want to pull over, but I can slow down now.”

She spent the next few minutes unclenching her body, and then unbuttoning her coat and unwinding her scarf, and then finally buckling her seatbelt and taking deep breaths.

“Where are we going?” she asked now that she had a chance to look around.

He shook his head. “You’ll see.” 

His arm stretched over the console toward her, and she took his hand, more of her muscles relaxing. They were together now, safe in the car, holding hands. 

“I can’t believe I got so lucky,” Belle said. “I’ve never seen Francis get a call from his handler. What are the odds?”

“Lucky?” Danny whipped around to frown at her. “It wasn’t fucking luck, I fucking called for him.”

“You?” Belle’s stomach curled again, but she swallowed that down. “You didn’t kill someone, did you?”

“No, I fucking did not.” He shot her a glare. “I called him out as far as I could think and sent him on a wild fucking goose chase.”

So, very soon, Francis would likely know something was amiss. Belle squeezed Danny’s hand.

“That was really fast thinking,” Belle said.

“Aye, well, had to get you the fuck out of there, didn’t I?”

Since she couldn’t kiss him while he was driving, she kissed his knuckles, pleased by his ears reddening. 

“Look, okay, there’s a fuck ton we’ve got to talk about later, but I just have to fucking clear the air now, hey?” 

Her eyebrows flew up, but she kissed his knuckles again, and his ears reddened further. “Clear the air about what?”

“I saw him fucking kiss you goodbye, and your neck looks like a fucking cherry tree.” His hand twitched in hers, but he didn’t pull it out. “Last night, did you two—” He licked his lips. “Did you fucking have fun?” He glanced over at her, brows drawn still. “You can fucking tell me. I can take it.”

A smile spread across her face, and she shook her head. “No. I told him I didn’t want to. I missed you all night.”

His eyes darted between the road and her a dozen times before finally settling back on the road. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Because, you know, I just want you to live, hey? I won’t fucking hold it against you.”

“Danny, I’m serious.” She threaded their fingers together. “We didn’t do anything.” 

She could see him fighting the smile, and that made her smile, and soon they were both grinning. 

“Well.” He cleared his throat. “I’m glad to fucking hear it.”

He couldn’t hold her hand the whole drive since any time there was traffic, he needed both hands to weave, but after far too long and also not long enough, he turned them toward Liverpool. Belle’s neck warmed with happiness. Were they going back to his mum’s house?

After about fifteen minutes, though, he parked in front of a small hotel. The rest of Belle’s body relaxed now that they weren’t moving, and her stomach finally calmed.

“I’ll go check in, then you go upstairs while I change the plates,” Danny said, reaching around behind him for his coat. 

“Okay, but Danny?” 

“What?”

She grabbed his arm before he could reach for the door, and he stopped, looking at her with his brow furrowed.

“What’s wrong?” 

She shook her head, then pulled his mouth to hers. It took a second, but he relaxed, dropping his wallet to slide his hand through her hair. Before they could get carried away here in the car instead of somewhere it was comfortable, like their room in this inn, she pulled away, but Danny was finally smiling now and she smiled too.

There were lots of things she could have said. You saved me or thank you or you drive like shit, maybe.

“I missed you,” she said instead. 

“I missed you.” He brushed his thumb across her lower lip. “God, I was so fucking scared. I didn’t fucking know if there’d be anything left of you today.”

“You have to trust me when I say I know what I’m doing.” She kissed his thumb. “I promise I do.”

“I’ll fucking trust every word you say from now on. Scout’s fucking honor.”

He kissed her again and maybe it was okay to spend just a couple more minutes making out in the car. After all, the immediate danger was gone. They’d escaped it. They were safe.

At least, for now.

Chapter Text

Belle had unpacked her assortment of items from her purse and pockets, and once she added them to what Danny had brought in his tiny duffel, they still had a meager array of random things.

“Don’t worry,” Danny said, stalking around the room and checking all the windows and locks. “I’m taking care of it.”

He stalked by the table of luggage and froze. Frowning, he picked up the Christmas pajamas.

“What the fuck did you bring this for?”

Belle plucked them from his hands, smoothing them out again and replacing them on the table. “If something happened to these, I would be more upset than if something happened to all my books.”

Danny stared at her, then back at the pajamas, then back up to her, and then they were kissing again. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he slid his around her waist, and then maneuvered them so she was pressed to the wall.

They stood like that for who knew how long, clinging to each other and making out like they might never see each other again, and then someone knocked on the door.

Belle flinched, sliding her arms down to huddle against Danny’s chest. “Do you think it’s housekeeping?”

“Nah, something more useful.” He kissed her again, and as he let go of her, whoever it was pounded on the door again.

“Oi, housekeeping!”  

Belle recognized that voice, and she sagged against the wall in relief as Danny answered. Felix and Dakota pushed their way in, both carrying paper bags full of stuff.

“Thank fuck you made it.” Danny took the bag from Felix and then the two of them were hugging. Belle swallowed down her emotions at this. 

“Thank fuck you made it.” Felix clapped him on the back, then reached for his pocket, but Danny slapped his hand before he could.

“No fucking smoking. You want to fucking give Belle lung cancer?” 

“Hi Belle,” Dakota said while Felix muttered. “Got you some essentials.”

It turned out that one of the bags was just full of beauty products, including nicer shampoo than Belle could afford and some eye shadow, blush, and bronzer.

“I’ll get you some foundation if you tell me your shade,” Dakota said while Belle picked through all she’d brought, near tears again. “I brought mine so you could try it. Maybe cover up all the hickeys?”

“Thank you.” Belle bit her cheek, trying not to blush at that. She probably thought they were from Danny. “I brought mascara and lipstick, at least.”

“I said essentials,” Danny said, peering over their heads. “What the fuck’s all this?”

“Belle wears makeup,” Dakota said. “These are the makeup essentials.”

She had also gotten her a new, nondescript coat and some generic clothes—sweats, shirts, socks. Nothing that she would have needed to know Belle’s exact size, but enough that Belle wouldn’t have to wear the same skirt over and over again. 

“I got the more important essentials,” Felix said. From his bag, he unloaded a gun, bullets, two heavy-duty utility knives, and a bottle of whiskey.

“This is all so thoughtful.” Belle wiped at her eyes. She couldn’t help feeling like being in hiding was going to be one of the major highlights of her sad little life. “Thank you so much.”

“Couldn’t let your boyfriend kill you,” Felix said. Belle didn’t respond, unsure how much they knew about the situation. There was no kevlar vest, so perhaps Danny had mentioned that being shot was not a concern. 

They had more clothes in the car, as well as shelf-stable food and water, and soon Belle and Danny had a nice little fallout shelter going.

“I don’t think we have to stay in this room forever,” Belle said. “Francis has no way of finding us in Liverpool.”

“We could all go for a pint?” Felix said, raising his eyebrows. 

Danny glanced at Belle, leg shaking, and then at the window and the door and then Belle again.

“I have wigs,” Dakota said. “I could bring a few, Belle can see which ones she likes and borrow them.”

“That would be lovely,” Belle said before Danny could find a way to panic about this. “Thank you.”

So Dakota and Felix left, and Belle took Dakota’s foundation to the bathroom to work on covering up all the lovebites while Danny stomped around the room, checking things and then calling Frank and then checking things again, and then Felix and Dakota returned and Belle selected a blonde wig, and they didn’t have enough materials or time to make it look natural, but with a hat on, Belle was almost unrecognizable, and that’s all that mattered.

Then, Danny put on a Liverpool hoodie and zipped it up, and Belle had to contain her laughter and delight at Danny in this dressed-down state. 

“What?” he asked when she covered her mouth to hide her mirth.

“You look cute,” she said, and he scowled.

And then, in spite of it all, they went out to a pub with Felix and Dakota and had a wonderful time together. Belle laughed, Danny laughed, Dakota and Felix laughed, and she almost forgot why they were out here, why she had to keep touching her scalp, why Danny kept watching the door.

They all stuffed themselves back into Felix’s Jaguar when they were done, and he dropped Belle and Danny off at their hotel, and they returned to their room holding hands.

“That was fun,” she said while Danny helped her get the wig off. “Do you mind if I shower first? I’ve got so much makeup on my neck.”

“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll make sure everything’s secure, yeah?”

Danny had been “making sure everything was secure” all night, which was only going to drive him mad. If Francis made it to this hotel, to this room, it wouldn’t matter if the door was bolted. 

But that was something to address once they were clean and settled in bed together, so she showered quickly and changed into the Christmas pajamas and a top that Dakota brought, and then while Danny showered, she settled into her side of the bed with a book.

Her side of the bed. She smiled, glancing at the closed lavatory door. It felt so natural to have a side of the bed with Danny, almost more strange that they had only shared a bed once. Their casual intimacy at the club translated better than Belle could have predicted.

Danny emerged from the shower shirtless and in flannel trousers, then stopped in the middle of the room and looked at their pile of clothes.

“Do you usually sleep in pajamas?” she asked, marking her spot in her book with a finger.

He shook his head. “But I can put a shirt on.”

Belle couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. Francis had been loathe to dress, to do anything that would keep him more than a second from fucking her if she agreed. 

“You should sleep however you’re comfortable,” she said. “I don’t care, as long as it’s with me.”

Danny flashed her an unsure smile, then wandered the room once more before digging out a chocolate bar from Felix’s bag of “essentials” and joining her in bed.

“Split it?” he offered.

“Yes, please.”

They sat eating their chocolate, propped up on pillows, thighs touching. It was so nice to just relax, to just be with Danny. She couldn’t believe that Christmas was barely two days ago, and that she’d woken up just yesterday worried she’d never have this again.

“So, I guess we should probably talk about everything,” Belle said. She knew there were things she hadn’t asked Danny yesterday, things she’d realized today she needed to mention, but most of them had slipped her mind. Maybe she didn’t care about any of them. 

With Francis, she had to care about the things she didn’t know. With Danny? Whatever he was hiding didn’t affect her, was just something they hadn’t gotten around to talking about yet. Now, they could take their time getting to know the little details about each other.

“I have to tell you something,” he said. “Before we talk about shite else.”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “Okay. Tell me.”

He twisted the foil wrapper in his hand, not looking at her. She couldn’t imagine what he was about to say, unless it was something about wanting to have a three-way with Francis. It didn’t seem likely, but then, if any man could exude enough sexual magnetism to draw in someone like Danny, Francis would be it.

Danny threw his arms up as though he had just spent the last minute fending off questions instead of staring at his own hands. “I went to your fucking flat yesterday, okay? There.”

Belle frowned. “Okay. Why are you so upset? When did you go?” Had he overheard something with Francis and now thought she was lying? That was easy enough to clear up.

“I went after the fucking bouncer told me about Gaston, and before you showed up.”

A tiny smile twitched on Belle’s mouth. Of course Danny had gone to her flat, just as she’d always known he would. He would stop at nothing to rescue her. It was a relief that he hadn’t come when Francis and Gaston were actually there.

“Well, I’m sorry if I scared you by not being there,” she said. “But I don’t mind that you came.”

He groaned. “No, no, you don’t fucking get it. I was—I was in your fucking flat. Making sure you were fucking alive.”

Belle frowned. Hadn’t she locked the door? 

Oh god. What had Gaston said? Danny gave her the flat? Danny had lived there before her? She licked her lips, and when she turned to Danny, he was watching her like she might burst into flame.

“Did you live there before me?” she asked.

“Aye.” He swallowed. “Moved out about seven months ago.”

Belle’s frown deepened. She felt like she was trying to solve a simple math problem on no sleep, like if she’d been at full capacity, the solution would have come to her easily. 

“Did you move out for me?”

He swallowed again, then nodded. “But I wanted a bigger place anyway. Ma’s been telling me to move for years.”

Years? So he’d lived there for years, and just—what—paid rent to his own brother? For years? 

“Oh my god, you own it.” She pressed her forehead into her hands. How had it taken her this long? “Felix was never my landlord, was he?”

“Nope.”

Danny had never been so quiet, but she could still feel him fidgeting like he would explode if he didn’t. Belle didn’t look at him, afraid that if she did, she’d just forgive him without thinking about it. Of course, she was going to forgive him eventually, but this deserved her attention.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“How was I supposed to fucking know it would ever matter?” 

She set her book down to fold her arms. “Of course it matters. You were still my boss before you were anything else.”

“Aye, well, I didn’t fucking think I’d ever be anything else, did I?” 

She chanced a look at him, and he was fiddling with the remote. Unable to be mad—because, really, he’d vacated an entire apartment for a woman he didn’t even know—she shook her head and reached for his hand.

“I wish you’d said something sooner,” she said.

He stared down at their hands, and then twisted his to lock their fingers together. “Well, I fucking couldn’t, could I? It would’ve been fucking weird. If I didn’t fucking tell you when you signed the fucking lease, I couldn’t fucking tell you I’d lied, hey?”

She shook her head again. “You’re lucky that you have made up for it a hundred times over already.”

She leaned in to kiss him, but he turned his head away, and she frowned. 

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s something else.”

He pulled his hand out of hers to clasp his together, and his face reddened though neither of them said anything. She couldn’t even begin to speculate what might cause such a reaction.

“What?”

“Well, Frank was with me when I went to your flat—in case I needed back up, hey?” 

Sure. Of course. Why wouldn’t Frank, his trusted right hand, come with him to find a crazy man with a gun? Belle gestured for him to continue. 

Instead of speaking, Danny threw himself out of bed to pace. Belle should have known that he would be like this. On Christmas, he wasn’t anxious, but she’d seen him stressed a million times, and he always either moved or curled up tight. 

He stopped across the room and threw his hands up. “Your fucking vibrator was on the table, okay? There, I said it, now you fucking know.” 

“Oh.” She tried to have a reaction to this.

“I don’t know if Frank fucking saw it, we didn’t fucking talk about it, but it was there and so were we.”

Right. Frank. It seemed such a trivial thing to care about, Frank and Danny seeing her vibrator when instead they could have seen her lying dead on the floor, or worse, been shot themselves.

“Danny, come back to bed.”

He eyed her from across the room like she might attack. “Really?” 

“So you saw my vibrator,” she said. “So did everyone else in my flat, and I won’t be embarrassed by it.”

Slowly, he crept back toward the bed as though giving himself the opportunity to flee if she changed her mind and started throwing things. When he finally made it back, she opened her arms to him, and he crawled in, letting her squeeze him to her. 

“You don’t fucking—hate me or summat?” Danny asked, snuggling closer to her when she stroked his hair.  She smiled.

“No. I missed you too much.”

He sighed, reaching to caress her arm. “I was fucking terrified, Belle. I know you don’t think he’d fucking hurt you, but I don’t fucking trust him.”

“Well, he wouldn’t have hurt me before,” she said. “It’s anyone’s guess now.”

“Aye.” He looked up at her, then shifted so they were eye-level. “Look, if I—if I have to fucking run the rest of me fucking life to keep you safe, I will.” 

Staring into his unwavering gaze, Belle believed him. Danny would flush his life, his business down the drain to save her. She brushed a lock of hair out of his face. 

“I won’t let you do that,” she said. “I’ll protect you from Francis, and then we’ll find a way out of this. Together.”

Danny grabbed her hand to keep it on his hair and closed his eyes.

“God, I fucking hope so.”

Chapter Text

Belle woke up the next morning like she’d been in a coma, curled next to Danny who was spread out in bed like a starfish. She rolled over until her head was on his chest, his arm slapped around her as if by reflex, and then she went back to sleep.

The next time she woke, Danny was playing with her hair and watching a muted football game. 

“Morning.” She tilted her face toward him and he glanced down, grinning.

“Morning. You sleep okay?” 

“Never better.” 

He wrapped a curl around his finger, face softening more than she’d ever seen it. “Good. I didn’t sleep a fucking wink.” 

“Not even with me here?” She yawned and tucked her head back under his chin. Maybe she should have been as anxious as Danny, but it was so hard when she had spent the last twenty-four hours with Francis lapping at her jugular. 

“Well, it was a fucking relief to stare at you all night instead of staring into fucking space, at least.”

They hadn’t discussed how long they planned to be on the run for, but it had to be long enough to come up with some sort of plan, and long enough to make all the acrobatics worth it. Hopefully, Danny would calm down once they’d been safe for a few days.

“Do you want to go out to breakfast?” she asked. 

He stiffened, and Belle slid her hand up his chest to hold him tighter. He grabbed it with his free hand, squeezing her palm.

“We should stay here.”

“Danny, he doesn’t have a psychic way of finding me,” she said. “He doesn’t know your family’s in Liverpool. You didn’t tell anyone where we were going. I think we’re safe, at least for now while he gets his bearings.”

Danny clutched her hand and tightened his fist in her hair. “What if he’s got fucking spies or some shite?”

“He’s not a crime lord; you are,” Belle said. As she’d hoped, Danny spluttered, chest relaxing beneath her cheek.

“I’m not a fucking crime lord, I am a businessman. If people want fucking low-interest money, they can go to a fucking bank.”

Belle laughed, and then she couldn’t help kissing his chest, and then his hand, and then his mouth. His hands slid to her hips, and she didn’t know who made the first move, but one of them rolled her on top of him. Danny’s hands traveled up her back while she braced herself on the mattress.

This was the closest they had ever gotten to going further than kissing, and though Danny’s hands didn’t wander, his hips didn’t thrust into hers, it made her nervous. 

She pulled her mouth back, legs still tangled with his. 

“I’m not ready yet.”

He frowned. “Ready for what?”

She pressed her lips together, suddenly feeling like she might have floated away if he hadn’t been holding her. She kissed him once more, then rolled off of him and the bed. 

“Ready for what?” he called after her as she headed to brush her teeth.

“Let’s go out to breakfast!”

“Oi, fine, keep your fucking secrets.” 

Dakota had left her wig, but Belle didn’t want to deal with wearing it, so she put her hair into two braids and then pinned them into a chignon as best she could. It wouldn’t exactly disguise her, but it did obscure her identity, and if she wore a hat, it would be even better. 

She dug through the clothes bag and found one pair of leggings, and then a men’s button-down that was far too big which she belted at the waist. Danny helped her roll up the sleeves, and then once she put on her black coat and hat, even he had to agree she wasn’t recognizable without scrutiny.

They walked to a cafe holding hands, and Belle could have skipped there. Maybe she should have been as paranoid as Danny, but it was so hard. Being with Francis had always been exciting, liberating, empowering, but being with Danny, holding hands on their way to eat breakfast together, was like wrapping herself in her favorite blanket.

“So, if you didn’t think we would be leaving the room, what did you plan on doing the whole time?” Belle asked. Francis, she knew, would have made some sort of sex joke, but Danny just screwed his face up in confusion.

“Dunno. Watching football?”

“For a week?” 

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I had more important shite to worry about than entertainment, hey?” 

Once they were seated at the cafe and each had a cup of coffee and orange juice, and both Danny and Belle had wandered around in search of the lavatories to make sure neither of them spotted Francis anywhere, Belle reached for his hand across the table.

“Well, if you don’t think we should be out and about too often, then we’ll need things to do, so we should go shopping.”

“Shopping for what?” He wrinkled his nose.

“Books,” Belle said. “Games. You didn’t even bring cards.” He relaxed at this, and she couldn’t imagine what he’d thought she meant. “What would you do on your day off normally?”

Even though she’d asked, she expected his deepening frown. 

“I don’t take days off,” he said. “But I usually just watch telly.”

“Well, then, I expect you would find out very quickly that football is only entertaining for so long,” Belle said. “There’s got to be something you might want to do.”

“I don’t fucking know, Belle, all right?” He ran a hand through his hair, not fixing it when it stuck up. “I’ve been working me whole fucking life, and when I was a kid, I just did—I don’t fucking know, kid stuff.”

“Well, we’ll find something together, then.” She squeezed his hand, and he offered her a tentative smile.

Their fresh breakfast at the cafe was a lot better than the instant noodles Belle feared Danny had been planning on eating, and they left full and happy to wander around holding hands. Not too far was a bookstore, where Belle picked out five more books just in case, and a clerk directed them to a shop where they could find board games and another for crafts. 

Since they had to walk it all back, and Belle was already carrying five entire books, they only grabbed a deck of cards and a strategy game that looked like it would take awhile to play, and then at the craft store, Danny stared at a display of yarn and knitting needles like it might bite him.

“I don’t think I’m fucking cut out for this, Belle,” he said. 

“No one said you had to knit or crochet.” She dragged him around, bypassing embroidery equipment and woodcrafts, and finally came upon a humble sketch book.

“I don’t draw,” Danny said.

“You could draw,” Belle said. “If you wanted.”

“Not so sure about that.”

In the end, she abandoned the sketchbook idea and found two easy crafting kits, one for learning origami and one for making a mosaic lampshade. Danny rolled his eyes at both, but forked over the cash without complaint. 

They made their way back, and Belle agreed that they could stay in the room the rest of the day. Danny turned a football game on, Belle took one of her new books, and together, they sat on top of the covers in comfortable silence. 

Danny’s arm made his way around her shoulders, hand tangling in her hair, and she leaned into him. This was even nicer than reading in one of his egg chairs while she listened to him scream at clients. Though Danny screaming was as comforting to her as any other familiar sound, it was much nicer to just have him next to her, though he did scream at the game any time someone did something he didn’t care for. 

After a few hours, a knock sounded, and Danny kissed Belle on the forehead before standing to get it.

“Housekeeping!” Felix called. 

Danny rolled his eyes, but opened the door to admit his brother and sister-in-law. This time, Felix carried a small bag and Dakota carried a nondescript black duffel. 

They all greeted each other, and Belle wondered if Danny would allow them to leave for the pub again or if this was it, but then Dakota plopped into a chair at the table.

“Dakota’s gonna stay here with you,” Danny said, and Belle frowned.

“Where are you going?”

Felix patted the bag. 

“Changing the plates, but not in the parking lot, hey?” Danny said. “We’ll be back soon.” 

Belle swallowed. She did not like this. At least when they went out before, they were going out together.

“Okay,” she said. “If you’re going to be longer than an hour, will you call me?”

Danny nodded, and then he took her face in both hands to plant a kiss on her that made her even more nervous, and then she was locking the door behind him and Felix.

“Don’t worry,” Dakota said. “They’re slippery. They’ll be fine.”

Belle drifted to sit at the table with her, chewing her lip. “You’re right. What did you bring?”

Dakota chewed her lip now, but then, apparently having decided it was all right, set her bag on the table with a clatter. Opening it revealed several firearms, bullets, and other accessories Belle couldn’t identify.

“Oh,” she said, feeling faint.

“Just a precaution,” Dakota said. “But if he does walk through that door, he won’t get past me.”

Did Dakota know that Francis had already completely healed from one gunshot wound? Was Danny just letting her believe that she could be effective?

“Don’t worry,” Dakota said, watching Belle look over her equipment. “I know this one needs a headshot. I won’t miss.”

“Great,” Belle said weakly. She didn’t want Francis to be shot in the head in general, but she definitely didn’t want to see him get shot in the head. She also wasn’t convinced that he couldn’t recover from that as well.

They sat together in what might have been comfortable silence if not for Belle staring, glassy-eyed, at the door. She wanted to engage Dakota in conversation, but she found that, without Danny there to be paranoid, she was assuming the mantle. 

“So, you and Felix,” Belle said, searching for any conversation topic that might get Dakota talking. “You’ve been together how many years?”

“Well,” Dakota said, frowning in thought. “We were together five years, but then apart for two when I moved to America, and then got back together a year ago.”

“Did you like America?”

Dakota was in the middle of telling her about Vegas when Belle’s phone rang. She fished it out of her pocket, thinking it might be Danny, but then it was Francis flashing across the caller ID.

“Don’t answer it,” Dakota said. “Let it ring.”

Belle nodded, lips pressed together, and set the phone on the table. It rang for a little bit longer, and when it stopped, Belle sagged in relief. 

“No matter how many times he calls, just let it ring,” Dakota said. 

“Okay.” Why hadn’t she and Danny talked about this? They had almost certainly both expected him to call at some point, hadn’t they? “I should call Danny.”

Her phone buzzed again, but this time it was a voicemail. Belle and Dakota both stared at it.

“You don’t have to listen,” Dakota said. 

“I should, though.” 

They stared at it until the minute changed on the clock, and since it hadn’t rung again, Belle picked it up and clicked into the message. She considered listening to it privately, but what did she have to hide? She put it on speakerphone and laid it back on the table.

“Belle, darling.” Francis spoke lightly, but Belle remembered his hand around her throat, the blood in his mouth. “The strangest thing just happened. I went to meet you after work for coffee, as planned, and you weren’t there. Then, when I asked your coworker, she told me you’d quit and hadn’t been in since Christmas Eve.” 

Belle swallowed, meeting Dakota’s eyes across the table. 

“Well, I’m sure it was just a mistake that you didn’t tell me, and since you’re not in your flat, I’m going to check the club now. Call me when you get this.”

He hung up without any further goodbye, and Belle and Dakota looked back down at her phone.

“Well, he won’t find you there either,” Dakota said.

Belle let out a sound that had attempted to be a chuckle but couldn’t quite manage. She wanted to call Danny, but she was afraid Francis would call again and she’d accidentally answer while she had the phone up to her face.

“At least we know he’s in London still,” she said. 

Dakota nodded as enthusiastically as she’d ever seen her respond to anything, and it was nice that she was trying so hard to be comforting with her duffel full of firearms and assurances that she could easily shoot a man for whom Belle had complicated feelings in the head.

“Do you think Danny will be back soon?” Belle asked. She felt silly for being so worried now that they knew that Francis was in London, but then, he could have been lying. For all she knew, he’d done all this yesterday and had waited to call until today to throw them off his scent. He could have been tracking them to Liverpool right now.

“He said no more than an hour.”

Belle nodded, and Dakota didn’t try to make conversation after that. Belle was half grateful, half-guilty for this, but it didn’t matter because all she could do was stare at the door. 

Fifteen excruciating minutes later, Danny burst through it, stopping in the middle of the room and letting out more breath than one might have expected at the sight of them. Belle stood and, not caring how this looked to his brother and sister-in-law, threw herself into his arms. 

“Francis called,” Belle said as soon as Felix had shut and locked the door. 

“Aye.” Danny squeezed her, kissing her hair over and over. “Frank called me. He was at the club.”

“So he’s definitely still in London,” Dakota said. “That’s good.”

Danny vibrated under Belle’s arms, and she let him go so that he could pace, sitting down to watch him. She could find out later what Frank said, if anything. 

“I don’t like it anymore,” Danny said. “What if he starts—I don’t fucking know—calling places? What if he knows other people?”

“You know one safe place in Liverpool,” Felix said, raising his eyebrows.

“Where?” Belle asked. 

Danny pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t fucking go to Ma’s house. What if he fucking finds us there?”

“No one knows where she is,” Felix said. “It’s your best option.”

Belle pressed her lips together. She couldn’t give her opinion on this, because once he mentioned the option of going back to his family’s home, of being somewhere safe and happy and cared for, her heart filled with too much yearning. She couldn’t be logical anymore.

“I can still shoot him in the head from the house,” Dakota said. 

Danny wrung his hands, then ran them through his hair until it stuck up on its own, then finally turned to Belle.

“What do you think?” 

She swallowed. “It sounds safe to me.”

Chapter Text

Felix dropped them off so they could leave the car at the hotel as a decoy, and Shirley welcomed them with open arms and declarations of how glad she was to see them. Belle, even though she was on the run from a supernatural monster who both wanted to eat her and make her like him, had never been happier.

“Ma,” Danny said while Shirley bustled about the stove, gushing over how she hadn't expected to see them again until next Christmas. “Ma, remember, don’t tell anyone we’re here. Not any of your fucking friends, hey?”

She whirled around. “How fucking stupid d’you think I am?” She shook her head, turning back to the stove. “You think I’d rat out my own boys?” 

Belle hid her delight at Danny’s blush behind her mug of tea. 

“Sorry, Ma.” 

He joined Belle at the table, sliding an arm around her back like he was afraid she’d disappear if he wasn’t holding on to her. She scooted closer to him. The house was still decorated for Christmas, all the mistletoe still in the doorways, and she made a mental note to take advantage of it next time they walked under some.

“What about New Year’s Eve?” she asked suddenly, and Danny cursed.

“Fuck. Are you having another party?” he asked.

“No!” Shirley tapped her cigarette out on the spoon rest, then flicked the butt into the sink. “Hilda Beauregard’s hosting a do this year. You’re all invited, but Felix and Dakota didn’t want to go.”

Danny slumped. “Good. Okay. Obviously, we’re not fucking going.” 

“Suit yourselves,” Shirley said. Danny rolled his eyes.

They finished their tea and Felix and Dakota appeared just in time for Shirley to slide sausages, mash, and gravy onto the table. Everyone had a beer except for Belle, since having alcohol sounded like a great way to start crying while she was already feeling emotional about the way Danny’s family had just folded her in with them as if she’d always been there, like they’d known her her whole life and had just been waiting for Danny to make a move.

“Should we play cards?” Shirley asked once Belle had helped clear the table because she could not just sit there and let her do everything.

“Didn’t we fucking go over this on Christmas?” Danny asked. “You lot fucking cheat.”

“Oi, okay, what if we check the cards? Make it so we can’t cheat?” Felix asked.

“How the fuck are you gonna do that?” Danny asked. “You got a fucking Vegas dealer here?”

“I trust that none of you would cheat in a game against me,” Belle said in the voice she used to placate Danny at work, and Dakota snickered. 

The Devine-DeSouzas were arguing over how to stop people from cheating when Belle’s phone rang again. Everyone turned to look at her, and Danny’s grip on her waist tightened to painful.

“I should put it on silent,” she said. “Or I could just leave it upstairs.”

“Is it him?” Danny asked. 

Everyone stared at her, waiting for an answer, so Belle took her phone out of her pocket. 

“Yes.” 

They all waited in silence for it to stop ringing, and then waited another minute. No voicemail popped up. Was that good or bad?

No one moved. Belle had to do something, though, so she stood, and Danny stood with her as though his hand was sewn to her. 

“I’ll be right back.”

Danny followed behind her still, and even though she felt silly having him so worried about her putting her phone in another room, it was comforting to have him right there. As long as they had eyes on one another, they were safe.

Once she had stuffed the phone into a drawer, Danny shut the door behind him and leaned against it. She raised an eyebrow.

“Are we not going back downstairs?” she asked. 

He shrugged, but she could tell he wasn’t as nonchalant as he was trying to be because his foot tapped against the carpet. “You okay?”

She nodded, not having to force the smile. Being here made even the danger of Francis calling seem so far away. “Are you?”

He licked his lips, then shook his head. Belle took a step closer to him, then opened her arms. After a few seconds, he stalked over to her and hugged her around the waist, letting her wrap her arms around his shoulders and tuck his head against her neck.

“He’s in London,” she said. “We got away; it worked.”

“He was in London this afternoon,” he said. “He could be fucking anywhere now. He could be fucking parked outside.”

Belle’s grip on him tightened. What if he was right? Francis had gotten into her apartment no problem. He could be waiting outside until they all went to bed.

“I’m sure he’s not,” she said. “How would he have found us here?”

“I don’t know what he can and can’t fucking do.”

She stroked his hair to give herself time to think. “We could move the couch in front of the front door.”

Danny lifted his head. “Aye, right, we could. What about the windows?”

She considered this. “I suppose there isn’t time to bar them, but we could leave something heavy in front of them too. Or something loud, so that at least if he opens one, we’ll hear it.”

This plan set, they kissed once more before heading downstairs. Everyone agreed to the plan, and they set about moving furniture and barricading windows. Belle wanted to make some marker to indicate which was hers, since Francis was likely to kill whoever was in the room he entered if it wasn’t Belle, but Danny wouldn’t hear of it. 

“I’ll sleep with a gun next to me,” Dakota promised.

“So will I,” Shirley said. 

“We’re nailing wood over your window, Ma, end of story,” Danny said, and Felix agreed. The only reason Danny hadn’t insisted on shuttering every window was because, apparently, Shirley only had one piece of plywood that had sat, unused, in the closet for the last fifteen years. In capitulation to her protests about the lack of sunlight, when Danny and Felix nailed the wood over her window, they left a four-inch gap at the top. They also pulled the curtains tight so that no one looking in from the outside would see the shutter.

By the time they had dug out the plywood, nailed it up, moved the couch, and barricaded other windows with heavy objects and crinkly tin foil, no one felt like playing cards. 

“We’re going out,” Felix said, gesturing to Dakota. “You two coming?”

Though Belle suspected Danny didn’t sleep much in general, what with being at the club fifteen hours a day, he looked about ready to collapse.

“I think it’s better if we stay here,” she said. Danny slumped against her, arm around her shoulders. 

“Suit yourself.”

Felix and Dakota left, and Shirley fussed over Danny and Belle until Danny agreed to sit at the table and drink a cup of tea and Belle agreed to have a shower and get comfortable.

She didn’t wash her hair or linger under the spray, knowing that the longer she spent alone with her thoughts, the more likely she was to wonder about what Francis was doing and go check her phone. Also, she wanted there to be enough hot water for Danny, who deserved a long soak. 

As she approached the kitchen, she slowed her steps. Danny and Shirley were sat at the table with tea, heads bowed, Shirley’s hand on his cheek while they talked softly. Belle smiled. She didn’t want to interrupt this moment, whatever they were talking about. Danny deserved to sit quietly with his mum.

But she also didn’t want to stand there, lurking, so after a minute she shuffled her feet and walked loudly the rest of the way. 

They both looked up, and Danny smiled at her like he’d never been happier to see anything.

“You didn’t have to fucking rush, you know,” he said, but he was holding his hand out to her. 

“I didn’t rush.” She laced her fingers through his and sat, and he kissed her on the cheek. 

“Cuppa?” Shirley asked, already standing.

Belle thanked her, and soon she had her own steaming mug, and Shirley was rushing Danny off to shower. She didn’t know what Shirley’s plan was, or if she was just responding to how fatigued they both were by taking charge of the evening, but Danny listened without complaint. All he did was kiss Belle more thoroughly than she would have thought he would in front of his mother and then leave the two of them at the table.

Belle stared at her mug, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to cry that she’d been shoving down all day. She missed her dad. It was nice, at least, that she didn’t have to protect him from Francis.

“How are you feeling, love?” Shirley asked.

Belle swallowed a few times, then smiled up at her. “I don’t know.” 

Shirley laid a hand on Belle’s arm, and Belle laid a hand over hers. “Can I tell you about Danny’s wanker of a dad? Maybe it’ll help.”

Was that an invasion of Danny’s privacy? He couldn’t stop his mother from sharing her own story. “Of course." 

“You know, he never hit me, I’ll say that for him,” Shirley said. “But he never wanted me to have anyone else.”

“What do you mean?” Belle asked, though she had an idea. 

Shirley scoffed. “Oh, he was always leaving and coming back before I could move on. Then he married me and abandoned us in Belfast, you know. Fucker.” 

Belle’s throat tightened. “Did you ever divorce him?”

She shook her head. “Didn’t bother, which ended up saving my arse when I met Felix’s dad.”

Did Shirley dwell on being trapped in a marriage the same way Belle did, or did she really feel okay about it? Was there a world in which she didn’t divorce Gaston and also didn’t feel trapped under his thumb?

“Did Danny tell you I’m still married?” 

“I think I heard that from someone,” Shirley said, which Belle took to mean it was someone other than Danny. It didn’t matter. “That’s who keeps calling?”

She shook her head. “That’s my—ex-boyfriend, I guess. Barely.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Shirley muttered, and Belle couldn’t help but laugh. 

“I just want to be free of them.”

“I know, love.” Shirley squeezed her wrist, and Belle’s eyes filled with tears. “I know you do.”

“And Francis always said that’s what he wanted,” she said, words and tears tumbling out without her permission. “He said—he said he wanted me to be free, to make my own decisions. But he won’t leave me alone. He won’t let me just live my life on my terms.”

“He doesn’t want you to be free,” Shirley said, offering her a napkin from somewhere. “He wants you to think you’re free while he manipulates you into doing what he wants.”

Belle mopped at her face. She had no response to that. She had been giving Francis the benefit of the doubt that at least he believed that he wanted her to be free, but Shirley was right too. 

“I just want to be in a place where no one is trying to make my decisions for me,” she said. 

“You’re already halfway there, love.” Shirley handed her another napkin. “Now, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Danny’s behind you.”

She turned and there he was, standing at the bottom of the stairs like he wasn’t sure whether or not to run. Belle smiled at him before turning back to Shirley.

“I just think you should know that, if it weren’t for Danny, I’d still be living with my husband and working off his debt. Whatever his dad was like, he turned out really stand-up.”

Shirley beamed while Danny scoffed. 

“That’s my boy,” she said.

“Oi, shut it, both of you.” 

Belle laughed, leaning into him when he came to stand behind her, hands on her shoulders. 

“All right, that’s bed time for me.” Shirley stood. “More water in the kettle.”

She hugged and kissed them both goodnight, and then Danny and Belle were alone. Ideally, she would have curled up in his arms in bed, but it was nice to sit at the table together, holding hands while shefinished her tea. He smelled nice, like whatever soap he’d used, and his wet hair smelled like pine.

“Hey,” he said. “I forgot, I did bring something to do.”

Belle squashed down her gut reaction of anxiety at this. Danny was Danny, not Gaston or Francis. “You did?”

“Aye, only because I fucking like you a lot, hey?” 

She grinned. “What is it?”

From behind his back, he produced a tiny jar and slapped it onto the table. It was the face mask she’d gotten him for Christmas. Belle’s eyes filled with tears again. 

“All right, how do we fucking do this? You’re the expert.” 

After about ten minutes of getting Danny’s hair out of the way, convincing him that it was supposed to feel gloppy and cold at first, and then actually putting the mask on both of them, they sat on the couch in front of the door with their feet tucked underneath them, holding hands.

“It does fucking smell nice,” Danny grumbled, eyes closed. Belle had suggested they lay in bed, but he wanted to stay downstairs until Felix and Dakota were in for the night.

“Feels nice too,” she said. “It was a good gift.”

His lip twitched into a grin. “Aye. I’d like it a lot less if you weren’t here.” 

She snuggled closer to him, careful not to move her face too much so she didn’t get hair in her mask. Danny didn’t have as much to worry about, since his hair was easy enough to pull back with a headband. Belle’s kept trying to escape her braid.

“Danny?” she asked. 

“Mm?”

She had been planning on asking him about sex, about whether or not he was frustrated that they weren’t having it, but she lost her nerve. He hadn’t said anything, and Danny wasn’t good at keeping things bottled up—a trait she appreciated.

Danny opened an eye. “What is it?”

She squeezed his hand. “When all this is done and we’re back in the real world, will you take more time off work so we can spend it together?”

“Aye.” He closed his eye again. “Hired a new assistant manager, so she can take over some of my workload.”

Belle grinned. At least if they were both working, they’d be together. She wouldn’t have to just fit him into her schedule like a falling tetris piece.

“You can’t fall asleep with the mask on,” she said when he didn’t speak again. “At least let me take it off.”

Grumbling, he followed her up to the bathroom, letting her wipe the mask off with a warm cloth and then moisturize his face with some of the nice moisturizer Dakota had gotten. Then Belle grabbed a book from their room, going nowhere near her phone, and they went back downstairs to wait for Felix.

“Do you want to watch football?” Belle asked as Danny flopped back down, pulling her into him. They weren’t exactly facing the TV anymore, but he could at least see a game.

“Aye,” he said, arms snaking around her. “Put on whatever you want.” 

Belle smiled, snuggling into him and opening her book. “I’ll stay up until they’re home.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, and he was asleep before she’d even finished a chapter.

Chapter Text

The night passed without incident. 

Belle read on top of Danny while he snored on the couch until Felix and Dakota came home, and he roused enough for her to lead him upstairs while they shoved the couch flush against the door. Then, she slept with him in a bed she had begun to fear she might never sleep in again.

And then, amazingly, the day passed without incident too. She and Danny stayed inside while everyone else went about their business, and they broke out the origami kit, which Belle was sure Danny would have chucked into the fireplace if she hadn’t kissed him every time he got frustrated. 

By the time Shirley got home to start dinner, Belle was snuggled against Danny on the couch reading while he watched football. 

“Do you need any help?” Belle asked.

“No, no, just let me look at you two.” She paused in the kitchen doorway, shaking her head. “Never thought I’d live to see Danny have a nice girlfriend. And just a few days ago, he was making sure everyone knew you were only his assistant.”

Danny’s leg shook next to her. “It wasn’t fucking me making sure everyone fucking knew, you and fucking Dakota were the ones taking care of that. I wasn’t gonna fucking say shite.”

Belle had turned pink at the beginning of this conversation and was pleased to find that Danny, too, had pink cheeks when she turned to kiss one. They hadn’t officially talked about what they were to each other, but Danny didn’t seem bothered or anxious by his mother calling Belle his girlfriend, so that settled it as far as Belle was concerned. 

Although boyfriend felt like an inadequate term. Danny was, had been, so much more to her.

Francis didn’t call again until after dinner, when Felix and Dakota were home and they were all puzzling through the strategy game Belle and Danny bought. This time, Belle and Dakota had teamed up since no one stood a chance if Belle and Danny were on the same team. 

They all ignored it, even though it skyrocketed Belle’s heart rate, and then a minute later, a voicemail buzzed.

“Of course,” Shirley said. “They always want to make sure you know how they fucking feel, don’t they?”

Belle forced a weak smile. Francis letting her know how he felt was a lot more dangerous than Shirley’s exes, but she still didn’t know how much Danny had told his family about Francis’ particular disposition. For all she knew, they all thought he was in organized crime.

“I should listen to it,” she said.

“What for?” Shirley asked.

“We’ll go listen upstairs,” Danny said. 

Belle held his hand on the way up, not caring how ridiculous it might have looked, and then they shut the door and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Belle, darling,” Francis said. “I see that you aren’t at Danny’s either. All of your things are still at home, like you planned to come back, and I’m worried about you. If something’s happened to you, love, I would be devastated. Call me back, please.”

The message ended, and Belle clenched her teeth, her fists, her jaw. What if Francis really was worried that something had happened to her?

“Belle,” Danny said, the familiar edge in his voice calming her a fraction. “Don’t fucking listen to him, Belle.”

“You’re right.” She squeezed her phone. “I know you’re right.”

“He’s trying to make you feel bad so you tell him where you are.” Danny eased the phone out of her hands and set it on the bed. “He’s not fucking worried about your safety, he’s worried you don’t fucking want him anymore.”

She nodded. She knew this. 

“He was in your flat, hey? Mine too from the fucking sound of it.” 

“What if he thinks something happened to me?”

Danny shook his head. “He knows you’re with me. He’s not fucking stupid.”

Belle looked up at Danny. His body was clenched as tightly as hers, and his jaw pulsed like he was holding back a scream. She brushed her fingers along his cheek, and his jaw relaxed, face tilting toward her. 

“And he knows you would never hurt me.”

Danny nodded, watching her eyes now, and then his gaze fell to her lips. “Aye,” he said softly. “He knows I’d do anything for you.”

Something stuck in Belle’s throat—tears, happiness, possibly even an I love you. She swallowed, brushing her thumb across his bottom lip. 

“I’m so lucky,” she said. “I’m so lucky that Gaston owed you money.”

He snorted, but he didn’t stiffen with rage like he usually did at the mention of Gaston, perhaps because her thumb still touched the corner of his lip.

“Lucky would have been you leaving him before he got into debt.”

Belle shook her head. “How would we have met?” 

She thought he might say something romantic, like “We’d have found a way,” but she should have known that wasn’t a thought in Danny’s mind.

“You’d have met someone else to make you happy,” he said instead. “You wouldn’t have wasted ten fucking years on him.”

She studied him, trying to assess what he was really thinking, but Danny was Danny. He wore everything he thought on his sleeve, and if he was hiding something, he wore that too. He was the easiest person to read that she’d ever known.

“If ten years of Gaston is what it took to meet you, then it was worth it.” She inched closer to him as best she could. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Danny studied her now, and she tried to look as open and honest as possible so that he would know she meant it, know that the past few days with him had made her decade with Gaston seem like another lifetime ago in a way that moving out never had.

“Belle,” he said, like he had to force the word out, and it reminded her of the drive home from Christmas, when he’d broken her heart, but he wouldn’t do that again, would he?

“Danny?”

No, he wouldn’t. Instead, he kissed her, sliding one hand around her waist and the other up her arm. It would have been easy to climb into his lap, to lay down and pull him on top of her, and Danny kissed her like he couldn’t get close enough to her, but every time she wanted to follow where her body’s responses led, she snapped out of the kiss, like she was floating above watching herself sticking her tongue into Danny’s mouth.

She eased off of him after a few minutes of keeping her hands firmly on his cheek and his hip. Both of them breathed heavily, and Danny kissed the corner of her mouth and then her jaw as he pulled away from her.

“Danny, I need to ask you something,” she said so that she couldn’t chicken out. 

“What?” He trailed his fingertips down her cheek and then pressed another kiss to her lips.

“Are you upset that we haven’t had sex?” she asked.

Danny frowned. “Upset? No. Why the fuck would I be? We’ve only been together—what—three fucking days? Four if you count Christmas?”

That was a good point. She hadn’t considered that. 

“Well, it’s just—I mean, don’t you want to?” 

Danny sat back and ran a hand through his hair. Belle couldn’t decide if she was glad to have brought it up or not.

“I don’t know.”

Belle’s eyebrows flew up. “You don’t know?”

He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his skinny throat like she’d sat him down in front of a lie detector. What did he have to be so flustered about?

“I mean, of course I do,” he said. “But I’m not—it’s not fucking. It’s not a big deal, right? I’m not gonna fucking pressure you or whip my fucking prick out like some fucking tosser in the club, hey?”

The longer Belle thought about what he said, the more she thought he was just saying words and hoping they had meaning. 

“I know you wouldn’t pressure me,” she said. “Because you’ve never pressured me to do anything other than take better care of myself. Is something wrong?” She narrowed her eyes. “Did Francis say something to you?”

He leapt up to pace, and she had a sinking feeling she was right, until he turned on his heel to face her.

“No, he fucking didn’t, all right? I just know—” He ran his hand through his hair again, leaving it there with hair sticking up between his fingers.

“You just know what?”

“I just know what it was like for you with him, okay? I know all you two fucking did was fuck. And I’m not very fucking good at it, so the longer you put off learning that, the better for me, hey?” 

Belle jumped, taken aback by this declaration. Had she made Danny think that all she and Francis did was fuck? Perhaps it was the necklace of fading hickeys that cemented the idea for him.

“Danny, that’s crazy,” she said. “You can’t be bad at sex unless you’re unwilling to listen to your partner.”

Danny glanced at her around his hand. “I guess.”

“And Francis and I didn’t do that much,” she said. “There was only—well.” She flushed, but she wanted him to know he had nothing to worry about in that department. “Once in the bookstore and once in the museum, and he never even got my clothes off.”

Danny frowned. “Only twice?”

“Only twice.”

He swallowed, licked his lips, and then smoothed his hair back down. “Right. Well. Twice isn’t so fucking terrifying, I guess.”

“And we never—” She considered her words carefully. She didn’t want to say that she and Francis had never had ‘real’ sex, because everything they’d done had been real and sex, but as good as he made her feel, it had all been so impersonal. Of course, now she knew that his oral fixation was more serious than he’d let on, that she had probably been in quite a lot of danger when his tongue was inside her, and that it was likely he was using sex to slake his other hungers, and she wasn’t sure what that made her feel.

“Never what?” Danny asked. 

“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “It was never really intimate, I guess.”

Danny eyed her like she might leap for his throat. “And you—eh—want to be intimate with me?” 

“Yes.” And she did. She felt the warmth of desire whenever they kissed. “I’m just not ready yet. You know, with Gaston, it was always sort of routine and I dreaded it because it felt like a waste of time, and then with Francis, it was all he ever wanted.” 

She didn’t know what point she wanted to make or if she even had a point, but Danny crept back over to sit next to her, taking her hands in his.

“I want whatever you want,” he said.

“I want everything with you.” She kissed him. “All the bits and pieces of a relationship that I missed out on. The good things and the boring things and the intimate things.”

Danny stared at her for a long time, but for once, the lines smoothed from his forehead, and he didn’t look ready to explode.

“I want to share my life with you, Belle,” he said. “I want you in all my fucking business. Here, at the club—wherever. I want to share it with you.”

She couldn’t help the smile, and then she couldn’t help kissing him. They might have stayed on the bed making out for the rest of the night had Francis not called again. 

They stared at the phone until the next voicemail popped up, and then Danny clicked into it when Belle gestured for him to.

“Belle, darling, I’m very worried,” Francis said. “This is unlike you. If you call me back, I promise we can just talk, if that’s what you want.” 

He hung up there, and Belle swallowed. “We should go back downstairs.”

“Aye.” Danny stood, keeping hold of her hands as he did. “Colonel Fuck can’t leave you alone for one fucking night, can he?”

She laughed at that, harder than she should have, and Danny eyed her warily. She couldn’t explain it, though, at least not right then. She didn’t want to ruin the moment further by telling him all about how she’d woken up with Francis’ erection against her back after spending the night hearing about his relationships with serial killers. 

“Come on,” she said. “I need a cup of tea or something.” 

“I’ll make you one.” He squeezed her hand. “Even though once we go downstairs, you’re gonna kick my fucking arse.”

Belle grinned. “You’ve got three people on your team! You could beat me and Dakota.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve never fucking beaten you at a game in my fucking life. Come on.”

They headed downstairs holding hands again, and everyone hurriedly stubbed out their cigarettes, much to Belle’s surprise. Danny must have said something. 

“Sorry,” she said. “He called twice.”

“Wanker,” Shirley said. 

Danny led her to her chair as though he thought she might follow him around the kitchen making tea—which, she might have just because she enjoyed holding his hand—and then headed for the kettle.

“What’d he want?” Dakota asked while Felix stared wistfully into the ashtray. 

“Said he was worried something happened to me,” Belle said. “And that he would feel better if I called and told him I was alive.”

Shirley shook her head. “Wanker,” she said again.

Belle smiled. “He is a wanker.”

“Well, don’t worry.” Dakota patted her on the shoulder. “We’ll keep you safe.”

Belle’s eyes warmed, but she bit her cheek to keep the tears at bay. With Danny darting around to make tea for her, and the rest of his family banding together around her to protect her, she could not imagine anyone luckier than she was.

Chapter Text

Francis called again the next day while Belle was lending Shirley a hand dipping shortbread in chocolate for Hilda Beauregard’s New Year’s Eve party and Danny was hanging shelves in her bedroom that Felix had been putting off hanging for months.

“Belle,” he said, voice taking on a harder edge than he’d ever used with her. “This isn’t funny. If you’re safe, call me now. Otherwise, I’m coming to find you. I love you.”

She put her phone down, but she was distracted now, and messed up the next shortbread she tried to dip. She had been doing so well with getting a perfect diagonal line across them, too.

“He doesn’t love you,” Shirley said. 

The shortbread in Belle’s hand fell into the chocolate while she wasn’t paying attention, and they both stared as it sunk down. Wordlessly, Shirley handed her a fork to fish it out.

“What if he does love me?” Belle poked at the chocolate. “I don’t want him to worry.”

Shirley pursed her lips. “Okay, so he loves you. Does it change the way he’s treated you?” 

Slowly, Belle shook her head. “No. It doesn't. You’re right. I guess I’m just used to feeling responsible for him. I always was with Gaston.”

Shirley squeezed her shoulder. “Him loving you doesn’t make you responsible for the bullshite he does to show it.”

Danny said much the same when he she brought him a shortbread with chocolate that hadn’t quite dried, but he fumed about Francis threatening to find them.

“I know there’s no fucking way he can find us here,” he said, glancing at his mum’s shuttered window. “I told Frank we were in Dublin.”

“Then we’re safe.” Belle reached for his cheek, but he grabbed her wrist before she could. There was chocolate on her finger. “Oh, good catch.”

“Aye, you’re a fucking menace.” Danny turned to her hand, staring at her finger. His tongue poked out, but he didn’t quite lick his lips.

“It was your chocolate,” she said, hoping he took this as permission to do what she thought he wanted to.

Gently, as though afraid it wasn’t actually edible, his tongue darted out to touch the chocolate, and then when nothing attacked him, he closed his mouth around the tip of her finger and licked it off. Belle’s knees weakened, and then Danny, as though transfixed, kissed her palm, and then the inside of her wrist.

“Danny,” she sighed, sliding her free hand up his chest to his shoulder. When his came to rest on her hip, it was trembling.

“Fuck, Belle.” The soft voice, the tremor in his hands, the tender way he cradled her waist—had anyone else ever seen Danny like this? “I’m so fucking glad you’re safe.”

He kissed down her arm slowly, lips barely touching her skin, and her heart sped up. Even Francis had not focused on her like this, just brushing kisses along her sensitive inner wrist up to the bend in her elbow with no other objective or motive. The attention terrified her, as did the heat ballooning out from her chest, but she didn’t want him to stop. 

She sighed his name again and he lifted his lips from her arm to instead kiss her shoulder, her neck, her jaw, and finally her mouth. 

His arms wrapped around her waist and hers wound around his neck, pulling him closer, burying her hands in his hair. Francis always kissed her as if he could consume her, but Danny kissed like he couldn’t get enough of her, like she’d been lost at sea for years and finally returned.

“Danny?” she asked into his mouth.

“What?”

“How long have you wanted to be with me?” 

He leaned back enough to look at her, lips still touching hers, and tightened his arms on her waist. “Since the first time you fucking laughed at me.”

Belle flushed, and she couldn’t stop the grin, but it didn’t matter because they were kissing again. She forgot that she’d been intending to go back downstairs, intending to see if Danny wanted a cup of tea after his heavy labor, until someone banged on the open doorway.

“Oi!” Shirley said, and Belle sprang away. “You’ve got your own room! Shag in there.”

If Belle could have sunk into the earth just then, she would have, but Danny didn’t seem anywhere near as mortified as she was. He just scoffed.

“You’ve got those fucking wankers going at it every other night like porn stars and you’re worried about a little fucking kissing?” Danny kept his grip on Belle, either not noticing or not caring that she’d turned tomato red.

“Kissing for now,” Shirley said. “I saw where this was going. And I hope you’re using condoms!”

“I’m going downstairs,” Belle said, because if she didn’t escape, she was going to weep, and then she slunk out from Danny’s arms and out the door.

Danny and Shirley shouted at one another for a little bit longer, but as Belle put the kettle on, their voices quieted. When Danny came down a minute later, he slipped his arms around Belle from behind, kissing her on the cheek. 

“You’re affectionate,” she said, turning to kiss him as best she could.

“I’m happy. You’re safe.” He squeezed her. “This is the safest place in England.”

She turned in his arms, wrapping hers around his neck. “Anywhere with you is the safest place in England.” 

“I fucking hope so.” 

They kissed again until Shirley reappeared with more admonishments, and Belle again turned beet red, but Danny just ignored this and sat at the table to be given the ugly shortbreads. 

Since they were all spending New Year’s Eve apart tomorrow, Shirley wanted to make a celebratory dinner tonight. Belle corralled Danny into helping chop vegetables for a roast, and when Francis called again and didn’t leave a message, Shirley took the phone upstairs herself, and the rest of the evening was spent in peace.

Dakota returned home with a box of eclairs instead of Felix, and then Felix arrived about an hour after with two bottles of champagne. 

Belle wished she could contribute in some way, but at least she could chop carrots.

Dinner was lovely, especially without Francis calling, and they toasted the new year with their two bottles of champagne, and then because Belle and Dakota had, in fact, wiped the floor with everyone else in the strategy game, everyone decided that it would be Pictionary in their pajamas again.

By the time they made it upstairs, Belle’s heart was so full, she could have happily never gone back to London. Even when her dad was alive, she hadn’t had family like this. She wished he could be a part of it, but she would never take for granted the fact that she could be.

“Hey.” Danny shut the door behind them. “You ever gonna stop looking ready to fucking weep?” 

She sat on the edge of the bed and patted the spot next to her, unable to keep the smile from her face. “Only if I stop being this happy.”

He grinned, sitting on the bed and pulling her into his arms, and as they made out, Belle rolled over her phone. She groped around behind her for it and Danny lifted his face.

“What the fuck are you looking for?”

“Phone.” 

He shook his head, grabbing it from a few inches away from her hand. “Two missed calls, both Colonel Fuck.”

“Did he leave a message?”

“Nope. Do you still need this?”

“No, you can hide it again.” 

He tossed it gently onto the rug, and then they rolled back onto the bed together, Belle’s arms snaking around Danny’s neck while Danny held on to her waist, their legs sprawled out diagonally and sticking off the edge.

“Have you heard from Frank?” she asked against his lips.

He sighed heavily, and far from feeling judged or chastised by the sound, it sent a flutter down her spine. It was how he always sighed at her when she fought him on something, so it only made sense he’d do it when she interrupted the kissing to talk about Frank.

“Just to tell me who’s paid and who hasn’t.”

“Well, that’s a good sign.”

“Aye.” He rolled off of her, shifting around until his head was on the pillow. “You done talking about fucking Frank now?” 

She crawled up him, propping herself on one elbow and resting the other arm on his chest while he wrapped his around her waist. “You don’t want to talk about Frank?”

“Not this fucking second, believe it or not.” 

“If you say so.”

She lowered her mouth to his, then sucked his bottom lip between her teeth. He let out a sound that wasn’t exactly a whimper but wasn’t not a whimper either, and she released his lip, letting her body sink heavily into him.

In the romance novels, there was always a sense of urgency, of need, but this kiss was warm and heavy like hot caramel, and they melted into one another. Danny brushed a lock of hair out of her face, then tangled his hand in her curls while his other arm held her against him.

She shifted closer to him, and as his thigh moved between her legs, hers moved between his, and for the first time, she felt Danny hard beneath her. Her breath caught. It was probable—likely, even—that Danny had been erect plenty of times while they were kissing. If she was feeling anything between her legs, it stood to reason that he was as well. 

But this was the first time she’d ever been in a position to actually notice.

Gently, she shifted her thigh against him, and his fingers clenched in her hair. Something surged through her, either happiness or misery or a combination of the two—it touched her that Danny wouldn’t move his hands or even his body without her permission, but there was a time not too long ago where she could have happily said go ahead. 

“What’s wrong?” Danny murmured. 

“Nothing.” 

She shifted her leg again, intending to stop torturing him by rubbing her thigh against his cock, but apparently she missed the mark because Danny yelped, chest puffing forward and knocking her off-balance. He caught her, legs stretched taut, and pulled her into his chest.

“Jesus Christ, I thought you said nothing was wrong?” 

“Sorry.” She bit her lip, not sure whether she should laugh or not. “Did I hurt you?”

“Aye, you kicked me in the fucking bollocks.”

She couldn’t help a tiny laugh as she kissed Danny’s pout. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, nothing’s wrong, I promise.”

“So why’d you kick me in the fucking bollocks, then?” 

She kissed the corner of his mouth again, and the hand in her hair slid up to her scalp, pulling her mouth back toward him. She grinned. 

“I was just thinking about how sweet you are,” she said. 

“You’ve got a fucking funny way of showing it, hey?”

She laughed, and Danny smiled at her full-on, eyes crinkling in the corners. At least she hadn’t done permanent damage to his bollocks. 

“I’m sorry. How can I make it up to you?” 

“Well, I don’t fucking trust you like this anymore, do I?” 

Without any further explanation, he knocked her over, and she laughed as he slid across her, holding one of her wrists against the bed.

“How’s it feel to be fucking pinned like a wrestler, hey?” he asked. “See how I’m not fucking moving my knee all around your most vulnerable fucking areas?” 

It didn’t feel bad to have Danny pinning her, that was for sure. She especially liked how softly he looked at her, even through his smirk. She touched his lower lip with her thumb. His smirk faltered. 

“You’re not pinning me very well.” She trailed her hand down to rest on his neck. “I could flip you back no problem.”

“Aye?” He sunk down to his elbow, holding his chest to hers. “I don’t fucking think you can.” 

“Danny?” She bit her lip, widening her eyes to look innocent. 

He narrowed his. “What?”

“I’m on the pill.” She dragged her hand from his neck to his forearm, then gripped the other one as gently as she could, not wanting to arouse suspicion. “Just so you know for when we have sex.”

“When we—” His eyebrows flew up. “Right. Okay, so—”

And then, while he was floundering at this pronouncement, she flipped him over, trapping him between her knees while he spluttered in outrage and surprise. 

“Terrible form,” she said. “You left yourself wide open.”

“Get down here.” He grabbed her face in both hands, dragging her to his mouth, and then they both froze at the sound of a thump and laughter from the next room. 

“Fucking hell,” Danny said. “No fucking sense of decency.” 

Had they been on their way to a similar situation? Could Dakota and Felix hear them throwing each other around? If they did hear them having sex, Belle knew that no one in the Devine-DeSouza household would shut up about it. 

Belle rolled off Danny to tuck herself under his arm, against his chest.

“Maybe when we have more privacy,” she said.

He stiffened, hand clenching around her sleeve. If she looked down, would she see him stiffening elsewhere? 

“Aye,” he said in a strangled voice. “Aye, whenever you’re fucking ready. I’m ready.”

They looked at each other and smiled, and then the rhythmic thumping against their shared wall began. Danny sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“God, I wish there was a fucking telly in here.”

Belle wasn’t much for football, but she couldn’t agree more as she listened to Dakota ask Felix all manner of questions Belle wished she couldn’t hear the answers to. 

It was going to be a long night, but at least she was in Danny’s arms.

Chapter Text

The phone ringing from the dresser woke Belle, and Danny’s arm slapped across her when she sat up.

“Don’t answer it.”

She settled back down, and now that her eyes were opening and adjusting to the sunlight streaming in, she could tell that Danny had been up and alert for at least a little while already. He stared at the dresser like it might explode until the phone stopped ringing.

“Good morning.” Belle stretched out to kiss him on the bare shoulder, then curled into him. 

“We’ll see,” Danny said as the phone buzzed with a voicemail. When she tried to climb out, he stopped her. 

“Don’t you want to listen to it?” she asked. “Better to know what it is than not know, right?”

Danny’s fingers flexed on her hip, but then he let her go. She retrieved the phone and then, instead of getting back in bed, sat on the edge of it. Francis had no place under Danny’s grandmother’s handmade quilt. 

“Is it him?” Danny asked.

“Of course.” 

At least he hadn’t called at all throughout the night, although Belle couldn’t decide if him calling was comforting or terrifying. If he was calling, it at least meant he wasn’t doing anything else. Probably.

“Good morning, love,” Francis said. “It’s New Year’s Eve, and I had hoped you would come home by now. I’ve rung in the new year alone more times than I can count, and nothing would make me happier this year than to kiss you at midnight.”

Belle swallowed, not looking at Danny. It was all well and good to listen to his threatening messages together, but this felt like slapping Danny in the face.

“Of course, I had hoped for more than that as well. Have you forgotten how badly I want you? I hope you think about what I said to you that night, when I made you come three times over the phone.”

Belle froze. He wouldn’t continue, would he?

“You remember—about laying you out on my table so I can fuck you? Actually, I can’t decide if I’d rather fuck you with my cock or my mouth, but I suppose that’s irrelevant. We’ll have plenty of time for both. I want to fuck you on every surface in my flat until there’s nowhere I can’t picture you screaming for me. Oh, and I chilled a bottle of Moët and Chandon so we can toast the New Year together at midnight.”

At what point should she have stopped listening? 

“Anyway, this has gone on too long. I miss you, darling. All of you. Please call me.”

The message ended, and Belle sat there in silence. Even Danny didn’t make a sound. Of the things that Francis could have said to her, this felt almost tame, but Danny’s absolute silence told her that he did not feel the same.

Then, Felix and Dakota burst in wearing bathrobes, an unlit cigarette in Felix’s mouth. 

“Jesus Christ,” Felix said while Dakota shook her head.

“He’s really pulling out all the stops, isn’t he?” Dakota asked.

Oh god. “So you both heard that then?” Belle asked, considering going back to London and accepting her fate to escape this situation. 

“Oh yeah.” Felix waved his cigarette around. “Walls are thin.”

“Oh, now you know about how fucking thin the walls are?” Danny said, sitting up. 

“What’s that supposed to fucking mean?” Felix asked.

“I think you fucking know what that fucking means, you freak of fucking nature.” 

Felix and Danny shouted at each other a bit more, and it would have been way too early for that even if they hadn’t all, apparently, just listened to Francis’ message, so Belle slipped out of the room to brush her teeth before anyone could say anything.

Staring at herself in the mirror while she brushed with one hand, she considered the phone in her other. If she called Francis, told him she was safe and just needed time, would he stop calling her? Or would it be worse? Either way, she couldn’t make that choice without at least consulting Danny.

She finished her morning rituals, then paused at the door to listen for voices. All was quiet across the hall, so she made her way to the bedroom.

Danny was alone now, sat up in bed and staring at the wall, fingers tapping on his thigh.

“Hi.” She shut the door behind her and then, because it was the source of this current discomfort, set her phone back on the dresser.

“Hey.”

She could have sat on the edge of the bed, but it felt too maternal, so she climbed in next to him, sitting up so that their arms touched. “Are you okay?”

“No, I am not fucking okay.” 

At least Danny was being honest. She had the feeling he’d held some things in before Christmas when she would talk about Francis.

“It didn’t make me want to go back to him,” she said. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Why the fuck not?” Danny clenched both fists. “He presents a compelling fucking argument. I don’t have that kind of fucking stamina. I’ll never sound that fucking sexy.” 

“Danny.” She laid a hand over one of his fists. “Danny, you know that I don’t care about any of that, and that I don’t want to have sex with Francis. If he didn’t change my mind when he was in my bed, what makes you think this message will?”

Danny’s body didn’t loosen, but he did look up at her without moving his head. “What’d he try in bed?”

Belle pursed her lips. “Do you really want to know?” 

“No, guess not.” 

They were quiet again while Belle watched Danny. She could almost see him working things out in his head, figuring out what he wanted to say. 

“What about when he—” Danny’s ears reddened. “What happened on the phone? You said you only fucked twice.”

“Oh.” It was Belle’s turn to flush, even though she had no reason to be embarrassed about this. She and Francis had been dating at the time. “It was the night the hitman came. I used my vibrator. But I don’t think that counts, because I use my vibrator all the time without him.”

Danny’s neck and cheeks reddened too, and Belle pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t grin.

“Aye?” he asked in a strangled voice. “You usually think about Colonel Fuck when you do?”

“No.” Belle looked at him, still not facing her and still red, and swallowed. “Actually, I usually think about you.”

His neck snapped toward her and he yelped in pain. Once he calmed, he eyed her with a look she’d never seen before, one she was very interested in receiving again.

“Me?” He unclenched the fist she held, poking his fingers between hers. “Even before?”

“Does it make it worse to know that it was usually accidental?” she asked.

He smirked, shaking his head. “You fucking thought of me accidentally when you fucking wanked?”

“Sometimes.”

“No, fuck that, you said usually first.” 

“Fine.” She scooted closer to him. “I usually thought about you while wanking. Happy?”

He scoffed. “How fucking inappropriate, Belle, I’m your fucking boss.” 

Belle let out a laugh that the whole house could likely hear, and Danny pulled her over onto his lap, helping her settle with her knees on either side of him. He was still grinning as he slipped his hands around her waist, and she rested hers on his shoulder.

“Does that mean you never thought about me?” she asked, biting her lip. 

“Of fucking course it does.” He pulled her closer to him. If she’d relaxed her leg muscles and settled onto him then, she’d have settled over his cock. “Fucking lawsuit waiting to happen.”

“You never thought about me?” she asked softly, touching her lips to his jaw. Without her moving, his cock prodded her. She flushed.

“I’m not even fucking thinking about you right now,” he said.

“How can I change that?” She kissed lower, near his Adam’s apple.

They were making out, still somehow not rubbing together obscenely, when they heard the shouting downstairs that indicated breakfast. 

“If we don’t go down, they’ll fucking come up and get us,” Danny said into her mouth. He was not wrong. Still, Belle didn’t move yet.

“You know, we’ll be alone tonight,” she said. “And our only obligation is to kiss at midnight.”

“Shite, I forgot.” He pulled her closer. “I did get a bottle of champagne. Not fucking Moët, but it’s nice.”

“Should I dress up?” Belle asked. “Like a proper date?”

“Can’t fucking go anywhere,” he said. “What’s the fucking point?”

“To be romantic.” 

He wrinkled his nose. “Guess I could wear something of Felix’s, but I’ll smell like a fucking ash tray.”

“I’m sure you’ll find something.” She kissed him one more time before clambering off, careful not to knee him in the bollocks again and already thinking about what she could wear.

Though he had tried to hide it from her, Belle knew that Danny had enlisted his mother’s help in setting a romantic scene. When she made her way downstairs, he was sitting at the kitchen table with four candles lit and Frank Sinatra playing on the stereo.

Everyone else was out, and Shirley left them with a few biscuits and leftovers from last night. Belle obviously did not have any of her nice clothes, but she had the skirt she’d fled her flat in and a blouse from Dakota, and she’d curled her hair and gotten it to cascade down her back like a movie star. 

“Hi,” she said.

Danny jumped, then leapt from his chair and eyed her. He had on his own black trousers and polo, but had borrowed a black jacket from Felix. It fit him well.

“You look pretty,” Danny said. 

She smiled, heart fluttering like they were not in the same place they’d been for three days, as if they had not seen each other just an hour ago before Belle shut herself in with a curling iron. 

“You too.” She took both his hands when he held them out to her. “I like this outfit.”

“Aye?” He drew her to him. “Doesn’t smell like smoke?”

To be sure she was answering honestly, she sniffed his lapel, then shook her head. “Whatever you did worked.”

“Took it outside and beat it with a broomhandle,” he said. “Then Ma sprayed it with some bollocks.” 

She laughed, and then cut herself off to kiss him because she couldn’t stand not doing it anymore. It was hard to believe that she had spent almost seven whole months with him without really seeing him. She’d considered him her closest friend almost immediately, but how could she have missed this as well? It had to have been the Gaston-goggles.

“Where’s your phone?” Danny reached for her hair, running his fingers through it so gently, she didn’t even feel it.

“Wrapped up in a shirt and stuffed in a drawer,” she said. “No one’s interrupting us tonight. Except your family if they come home.”

Danny snorted. “Aye, right. Which isn’t out of the fucking question. Wouldn’t put it past them to come home just to fuck with me. You want champagne?”

“Only if you can drink it and hold me at the same time,” she said, sliding her hands up his shoulders. 

“Too much trouble.” He wrapped his arms around her waist. “Fuck the champagne.”

With Frank Sinatra crooning from the speakers and the candles flickering on the table and the couch shoved up against the door, it was easy enough for Belle to start swaying, and then for Danny to follow along, and then to move into the now-open living room to dance without danger of running into the table.

“I hate dancing,” Danny murmured into her hair. 

“Doesn’t seem that way to me.” She laid her head on his chest, and he tightened his arms around her.

“Don’t mind so much if no one’s here to watch me make a fucking fool of myself.”

“Did an ex-girlfriend say something horrible to you about dancing once?” Belle asked, though this was so nice, she was having a hard time summoning up anger. She could be mad about his exes later.

“No, just a fucking lifetime of existing tells me I’d make a fucking fool of myself.”

“You’re not making a fool of yourself now.” She tilted her head to face him. “You can kiss me, even, and then you’d be making less of a fool of yourself.”

“Oh, I can, can I?” He grinned at her. “Fucking nice of you to let me know.”

Kissing and dancing at the same time turned out to be a little too much for their coordination, so they paused the swaying to make out in the middle of the empty room, Sinatra still serenading them.

“Belle?” Danny said against her mouth, and Belle flushed all the way to her toes even though he hadn’t said what was on his mind yet. It was just that Danny didn’t usually say her name like he intended to make a great declaration; that was usually her job.

“Yes?” 

And then, to make matters worse for herself, when Danny lifted his mouth away from her, she sucked his bottom lip between hers, and he pulled back with a groan that went straight between her legs.

“This is real for you, right?” he asked, and then she felt bad about the lip thing.

“Yes.” She searched his eyes for a clue about why he was asking. “This is everything to me.”

His lip twitched. “Good. Because—I mean, I wouldn’t regret a fucking second of this no matter what. But I don’t want this to just be some vacation from your fucking life.”

She shook her head. “The only vacations I want to take from my life are with you, and I want my life with you too.”

He grinned, cheeks pink, and then he kissed her again. Belle stood on her toes so she could hold him tighter, sliding her fingers into his hair. She wanted to go upstairs, but if they did, that was like saying out loud she wanted to have sex.

Which, if she’d been sure, she would have been fine saying out loud. And maybe she was sure. But how could she know?

Nervous, she took one of Danny’s arms from her waist and brought it down, placing his hand on her backside. Danny’s eyebrows flew up. 

“You want my hand on your arse?” 

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t not want it there.”

He squeezed it and wiggled his eyebrows. “So was that good for you or what?”

She snickered and he grinned down at her, the same grin he always wore to tease her, the surest way to cheer her up or calm her down. It was the way she always thought of Danny, the way he’d always been in her mind.

“Do you want to go upstairs?” she asked.

His eyebrows flew up again, and he squeezed her ass with both hands this time. “Really? That did it for you? Fucking lunatic.”

“Everything about you does it for me,” she said, then slid her hands down his back to grope him in response. 

He laughed as he jumped in surprise, hips banging into hers. They kissed again, and if they hadn’t been standing in the middle of a room, Belle might have wrapped her leg around him. One benefit to making out with Francis was that it didn’t matter where they were, he was strong enough to hold her in the most optimal position.

Belle did not want to stop kissing Danny long enough to find the most optimal position, but needs must. She enjoyed his tongue in her mouth very much, but maybe it was time to start considering it being other places. 

She squeezed his ass one more time, then took his hand instead. His eyes met hers, and she almost looked away at the intensity of feeling she saw there, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to beam the same intensity back to him, make him feel just how much she liked him. Loved him? It was possible. 

“Upstairs?” he asked. 

In response, she tugged on his hand, leading him up to their bedroom. They spent a minute dithering over whether or not to close the door—cozier and more private with it closed, but they were more likely to hear someone getting home if it was open—and then Belle took charge and slammed it shut. They didn’t need to spend their time together straining to hear a car pulling up.

“So.” Danny stepped closer to her, hands sliding around her hips. “When you’re thinking of me while you’re wanking, what am I doing?”

“Are you trying to tease me or get advice?” She laid her hands on his chest. If she pushed on his jacket, he would probably take it off, but then she’d have been undressing him. 

“Bit of both.” He swallowed, licked his lips, but his eyes were locked on hers. 

One of them had to be brave, decisive, and it was going to have to be Belle. She slid her hands under his lapels, and without having to move much, he shrugged out of the sleeves, tossing the jacket away. Her hands hovered near his belt, unsure if she should unbuckle that first or untuck his shirt.

“Danny,” she said, gripping his belt buckle instead of doing anything productive. 

“Yeah?” He sounded breathless—quiet, even. 

“Do you want to take my top off?”

His eyebrows flew up. “Well, yeah.” His fingers flexed on her hips. “Do you want me to?”

She nodded, and then, ignoring the belt for now, slid her hands under his shirt. He raised his arms so she could yank it off of him, and though she had seen him shirtless several times now, it wasn’t the same as seeing his bare chest because they were undressing one another.

Ignoring the fact that she had just told him to take her blouse off, she stepped closer and pressed her lips to his collar. Danny’s breath caught, so she kissed him lower, and then kissed him right next to his nipple. 

“Shite,” he said when she flicked it with her thumb. 

She didn’t really know what she was doing—she’d explored her own body enough recently, but she had never even explored the effects of kissing and licking in places other than the neck on her own husband, and Francis was always fully dressed. Danny didn’t mind, though, if his muffled gasps and curses were any indication, until she licked his other nipple and he gripped her hips like he meant to throw her.

“Danny?” she said, trying not to worry she’d done something wrong.

“I’m gonna fall over, you fucking sadist,” he said, and she snickered. “Bed.”

He pulled her backwards, sitting on the edge and drawing her between his knees, where she could no longer reach him while she stood. He could, however, unbutton her blouse now, and though he professed to not be very good at sex, he was starting out awfully strong by pressing gentle kisses to every bit of skin he bared when he undid a button. 

Soon, her shirt joined his, and he ran his hands up and down her sides before kissing her between the breasts.

“How’s it feel?” he asked. “Having to fucking hold yourself up?”

She wasn’t actually holding herself up—Danny’s legs supported her, and as his hand traveled back down over her ass, her palms on his shoulders did too. 

“It doesn’t seem a fair comparison to your achievements,” she said. “You’ve only kissed me on the stomach.”

Danny glanced at her, wary again, like he thought she was luring him into a real trap, but he lowered his mouth to her pale pink bra and kissed the edge of the lace.

“Do you not know how to take a bra off?” she asked innocently. “You, a professional strip club owner?”

He glared at her, but he was grinning again, no longer watching her with fear. “Oi, don’t be so fucking cocky. And it's a burlesque club.” 

“Me?” She fluttered her lashes, holding in a laugh. “That’s your job.”

Without further ado, his fingers found her bra clasp, and after very little fumbling, he was sliding her bra down her arms, staring at her breasts like he wasn’t sure whether or not they were going to attack him. She might have been offended, except that his hands rubbed her reverently, and then he pulled her closer to kiss the tip of her left nipple and then suck it into his mouth, and she let out a cry of pleasure. 

His knees locked around her, and his hard cock pressed against her, but nowhere near close enough. She tangled her fingers in his hair, crying out again when he switched breasts. She didn’t mean to tug on his hair as hard as she did, but when she accidentally yanked it, his teeth pressed around her nipple and she almost melted against him.

“I thought you said you were bad at this,” she said, even though she’d never believed him for a second.

“Been thinking about your fucking tits since Christmas,” he said, and while she was laughing, he pulled her down for a kiss.

They sprawled backwards, kissing messily, Belle’s sensitive breasts rolling all over his chest and making her want to rub more parts of herself against him. She reached for his belt buckle again, and this time undid it, but didn’t go any further.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Fucking break it if you need.”

“You too,” she said. “But don’t break my skirt, it has pockets.”

At that, he pulled her face off his and held her away from him, staring at her with more adoration than she’d ever received. She flushed, but met his gaze. 

“What?” 

He shook his head. “You’re so fucking—” He brushed his thumb along her lip. “I just can’t believe you’re here with a fuckwit like me.”

“I like fuckwits,” she said. 

He grinned and kissed her again.

Eventually, they both came to the conclusion that it would be a lot easier to get rid of their bottoms before they wedged themselves further into the bed, so they stood and Belle undid Danny’s trousers and he unzipped her skirt, and then they each only had one article of clothing separating them. There was no more hiding Danny’s erection with just his boxers, and she could have sworn it grew as he looked her up and down, from her bare breasts to her lacy blue knickers to her painted toes. 

They stood knee to knee, Belle’s hands on Danny’s waist and Danny’s on her hips. Slowly, she trailed her fingers up his stomach, then down until they brushed over his cock. It twitched, so she brushed her fingers down it more assertively, and Danny’s hips jerked. 

“Fuck, Belle,” he said. “I’m not a fucking woman, I've only got one load to blow.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, gently running her fingers along what length of him she could access while he still wore boxers.

“It means you’re fucking killing me.” 

“Tell me what you want, then,” she said as coyly as she could, though she was enjoying exploring him, enjoying the tremble in his legs every time she brushed the tip of his cock with her thumb. 

“Get in—wait.” He took a step back from her, so she dropped her hand, and then to her surprise, he turned the quilt down.

Belle’s eyebrows flew up, and he glowered at her.

“That’s my gran’s quilt,” he said. “I don’t want my fucking arse print on it.”

She couldn’t help the fact that this made her laugh, and it almost made her cry, but she shoved that impulse down because she knew Danny would take it the wrong way. He shook his head at her, but he was grinning too.

Since he’d prepared the bed so nicely for her, she climbed in, holding her arms out to him. He crawled in after her, and then she flung the top sheet and quilt over them. As much as she wanted to see him, was enjoying the sight of his chest and hands and legs, being in their own cave was cozy. 

They spent a lot of time curled up together, but now it felt like nothing existed outside of these blankets. Danny ran a finger down her cheek, then kissed her, rolling on top of her.

His cock bumped into her and Belle whimpered, lifting her knees to hold his hips closer to her. For a few minutes, all they did was kiss and rub against each other, Belle feeling closer and closer to coming with each second.

“Hey,” Danny said, voice hoarse even though he managed his usual tone. “Are you sure about the condom thing?”

“Yes,” she said. She’d been on the pill since she’d decided she didn’t want a child with Gaston, and had never bothered to go off. “Do you need help getting my knickers off?”

“No, I fucking do not.”

He disappeared under the comforter, and then his fingers hooked around the sides of her knickers and tugged fruitlessly on them. His head popped up again.

“Fine,” he said. “Lift your arse.”

“Oh, so now you do need help?” She grinned, wiggling deeper onto the bed, and he glowered at her. 

“I don’t fucking need help removing them, I’m not a fucking idiot, I just need to get to them first.”

“Let me take yours off.” She held her hands out and he heaved a dramatic sigh, sliding back up her so she could reach. With a combination of her hands and toes, she slid his boxers down, and then his cock was free. 

“See? Easy with no fucking bed in the way,” he said. “Now, do you want a prick inside you or waving around in the fucking air?”

Laughing again, she lifted her hips, and Danny yanked her knickers down. She kicked them off for him, not even teasing him about it, and then they were both naked, Danny’s cock resting against her cunt.

She licked her lips, and neither of them was laughing now. Danny hovered over her, braced on his elbows, watching her eyes.

“You really want this?” he asked, as though she might have been confused in all the time leading up to this.

“Stop second guessing yourself,” she said. “I’m not going to change my mind.”

He touched his lips to hers gently, softly, lovingly, and with the heavy feel of him holding her down and the tremble in his arms and the look on his face still burned into her memory, Belle’s eyes filled. 

As long as she didn’t sniffle, he would have no reason to notice, so Belle let the tears gather in the corner of her eye, cupping his cheek in her palm. His hips rocked against her, and as she reached down to position him to enter her, his eyes opened.

“Why are you crying?” he asked softly, softer than he’d ever asked. Had he made his peace with her tears? Or maybe he felt the same, just didn’t have the same weeping reflex.

“Because you make me laugh,” she said, and at his grin, she cried harder, but she grinned too.

“Good,” he said. “S’all I ever wanted.”

How did he expect her to respond to that, if not more tears? He swiped at some with his thumb, but they were falling too fast now for him to catch, so instead he kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, the tip of her nose. She spread her thighs wider, letting him settle against her. 

“You ready?” he asked, kissing her jaw.

“I am.” She wrapped her hand around him. “Are you?”

“Aye.”

She slid him into her. His eyes closed and they both lay there for a moment, panting and getting used to the feel of being together. Danny brushed his lips over her cheek again, her jaw, her lips, her chin, and she tucked his falling hair behind his ear, and then his hips started rocking.

Danny didn’t have his mouth and hands everywhere all at once, his cock didn’t vibrate like her toy, but she felt like their hearts had connected, like every time he met her eyes when he pushed into her, he threaded something new between them. It wasn’t just that his body was on hers, in hers, but that he watched her and she watched him, and she wrapped her legs around him so he could sink deeper, and he brushed his lips over her face wherever he could reach, and as his cock filled her cunt, so too did he fill her heart. 

Everyone thought that vulgar, shouting Danny in his ill-fitting suits was just a miserable excuse of a person, but if they knew even the smallest drop of the depth his feelings, they would all understand why Belle just wanted to pull him closer.

“Belle,” Danny said, thrusts quickening. “Belle, are you close?”

She cupped his cheek again, brushing his hair back because it kept falling. “I don’t think I can come like this,” she said. “I never have.”

He nodded, then pressed closer to her, thrusting hard. She cried out and clung to his shoulders.

“Any preferences on where I come?” he asked, breathless. “Fucking speak now or you don’t get a choice.”

“No preference,” she said. “Just be careful of your gran’s quilt.”

He flashed her a crooked grin, then pounded into her, then came with a groan, collapsing onto her and burying his face in her neck. Belle stroked his hair while his hips jerked, grinding against him to get more friction. 

“Just a sec,” he panted, kissing at her neck. “Don’t get comfy.”

“What?”

He pushed himself back to his elbows, kissing her neck more deliberately, then he kissed her shoulder, the top of her breast, and then he slid down her and disappeared under the sheets. Before Belle could flush with delight at Danny’s thoughtful gesture, his mouth was on her, and she was crying out again, thrusting against him, and then she came with a scream.

They laid together for who knew how long, Danny’s arms wrapped around her like he feared she might disappear, Belle’s hands over his to keep them there. 

“We should clean up,” she said. “Probably eat dinner too.”

“It’s New Year’s Eve,” he mumbled into her hair. “Gotta drink the champagne and stay up until midnight.” 

They stumbled to the shower, then put on pajamas even though they’d barely worn their date clothes for an hour, and then they stumbled downstairs to heat up leftovers and pour the champagne and watch the countdown on television.

As the were eating, holding hands like two idiot teenagers, the door unlocked, and Felix and Dakota strode in. 

“Oi,” Danny said, hand still in hers. “What the fuck are you doing home?”

“Seemed a fucking shame to ring in the new year with a bunch of twats we don’t like,” Felix said. “Rather spend it with you two.”

“We brought provisions.” Dakota held up a shopping bag and a bottle of champagne. The shopping bag had cake, a couple dozen sausage rolls, and two blocks of cheese. 

“Come on, come on, it’s getting close,” Felix said, dragging a chair into the living room. It was only just eleven, but apparently Felix wanted to watch the anchors as well.

Belle and Danny finished quickly while Dakota poured champagne for everyone, and then Danny sat on one end of the couch and Belle settled against him so he could wrap both arms around her.

At 11:45, the doorhandle jiggled again, and Shirley burst in, carrying another shopping bag. 

“Did I miss it?” she shouted, locking the door behind her. “I’m here, I’m here! Brought sweets!”

“Bring ‘em in,” Danny called, squeezing Belle to him.

As Shirley rushed around getting herself a glass of champagne and bringing out the unopened bottle for Felix to pop at midnight, Belle snuggled into Danny and tried not to cry anymore.

Perhaps they had intended to have a romantic New Year’s Eve alone, and perhaps Danny’s family was loud and kept making off-handed references about their wet hair and changed clothes, but there were not four people on this earth that she would rather start the new year with.

Chapter Text

Danny was anxious again. For the first time in his life, he had a girlfriend who didn’t actively hate him, and she was in danger of being eaten by a fucking cannibal. Also, he loved her, and had loved her even before she was his girlfriend, and he just wanted to enjoy this time with her.

But that couldn’t happen as long as she was in danger of being eaten by a fucking cannibal. Also, it was extra difficult when every person in his family wiggled their eyebrows at him like drunk little caterpillars any time Belle wasn’t looking.

At least they had this holiday season together. At least they’d kissed on Christmas and at midnight on New Year’s Eve. 

And for the next three days, things were actually quiet. Frank called and kept him up to date about the goings on at the club which meant that Colonel Fuck hadn’t eaten him, Ives called Belle and left her messages that ranged from desperate to filthy, and Danny—well, Danny got to bask in the knowledge that it was him who had made Belle weep with emotion during sex and he hadn’t even had to take a chomp out of her.

All in all, it was the fucking best of times, and it was the fucking worst of times.

At least Belle had thought to get activities. She was absolutely right to say that sitting in a house all day watching football would drive him out of his mind, although he hated that she had to sit and entertain him when she would have been perfectly happy lounging around reading.

He did like when he settled in to watch football for the night that she would tuck herself against him and read in his lap. That was a very nice development.

Now that they were back in the post-holiday swing of things, Dakota and Felix stayed up late and slept in late, Belle went to bed at a reasonable time and woke up at a reasonable time, and Danny just didn’t sleep. Sure, he dozed for a few hours a night, once he had lain there and stared at his blockaded window for a few hours, but he always woke well before Belle and then couldn’t bring himself to leave the bedroom until she was up.

Laying in bed the morning of their eighth day in confinement, Danny considered moving a telly into his Gran’s room as he played with the ends of Belle’s hair. She was curled away from him, snoring lightly, and though he liked to hold her, it was nice to have full range of motion while he stared at her.

Unfortunately, the phone woke her, and Danny groaned.

“Colonel fucking Wank is calling again,” he said when she yawned and stretched in confusion. He didn’t know how she slept so deeply knowing that this creature was after her, but then, this was probably way more restful than working two jobs.

“I should just answer,” Belle said. “Get it over with.”

“Oh, aye, right, just fucking get it over with.” He rolled his eyes. “Let’s just go back to fucking London so we can be fucking human sausage in his fucking freezer.”

Belle pursed her lips at him, but she was still rubbing sleep out of her eyes, so it was pretty cute. 

“We can’t stay here forever, Danny. We have to do something.”

Personally, Danny was no longer sure that they couldn’t stay here forever. He could sell the club and both flats, get a good chunk of money, and just buy a house in Liverpool. If he did his market research, he was sure he could start another club here. Sure, he’d have to re-theme it, since Ives would clock him from a continent away if another Parrot Club sprang up, but what was a new theme in the grand scheme of things?

“Come on,” Belle said, rolling on top of him on her way to rolling out of the bed, snickering when he wheezed from the weight of her. “Breakfast.”

“Breakfast, she fucking says.” He struggled up once he could breathe again, watching her shrug into her bathrobe. “First she kicks me in the gut, then she wants me to fucking eat.”

Belle grinned, because it wasn’t like he wasn’t going to join her. 

They made their way downstairs, and no matter how many times Belle insisted that they could feed themselves, his ma wouldn’t hear it. Danny, for one, found that he didn’t mind being taken care of by his mother again as much as he thought he would. It was a little claustrophobic constantly being in the same house as his entire family, but he was starting to see why Felix was so resistant to leaving. Besides, he liked seeing Belle flush with happiness whenever his ma set a plate in front of her and squeezed her shoulder. 

“You two gonna do something today or keep hiding out here?” Shirley asked when Danny brought their plates to the sink. He glanced behind him at Belle, almost dropping them, and she licked her lips.

“We could do something,” she said. “Maybe go for a walk at least?”

Well, he hated that idea, but they could talk about alternatives.

“We’ll see,” he said.

They headed upstairs because they still hadn’t listened to Ives’ most recent message, and as much as he hated hearing them, as anxious as they made him, it was far worse not to know.

“We could take a trip somewhere.” Belle closed the door behind him and took his hands, pulling him toward the bed.

“A trip?” He wrinkled his nose but followed. “To where? Not Belfast, he already thinks we’re in Dublin. And not Scotland, I fucking hate kilts.”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “We could go somewhere not in the UK. Like Paris. Or Lisbon!”

He wrinkled his nose more. “Lisbon? Where the fuck did that come from?”

“Come on.” She yanked him onto the bed and he followed without thought, shifting automatically to accommodate her propping herself up on his chest to look at him. “He might be expecting us to leave England, but ‘outside of England’ is a huge place. We could go anywhere.”

She made a good point, probably, but also, the thought of being stuck somewhere without his allies made him itchy.

“Probably think of Paris first, though,” he said. “Fucking romantic twat. Can’t go there.”

She pursed her lips at him. “Okay. Lisbon, then. Or if you’re worried about going to capital cities, we could go somewhere smaller, like—like Valencia.” 

“Valencia?” He rubbed his forehead, giving himself a reprieve from her big blue eyes. “Where the fuck’s that—Spain?”

Belle nodded, and he groaned. He didn’t want to say no, although he had to admit it felt a little bit like hemorrhaging money the longer he stayed out here. Frank was collecting, but Danny hadn’t instructed him to knock down doors, so who knew what he’d come back to? 

But then, he’d already committed to staying out here as long as he had to. What could it hurt to go to Spain? He didn’t fucking speak Spanish, but he knew how to wave a wad of cash around, and Belle was pretty enough, they’d probably be nice to her.

“What about somewhere with pasta?” he said, unable to stop his grin when Belle beamed.

“I’ll do some research.”

Of course she would, although that probably meant he’d have to take her to a bookstore or travel agency. Whatever. They deserved to leave the house.

“Come on, we’ve gotta listen to Colonel Cannibal’s latest fucking pornography,” he said. Part of him didn’t mind the pornographic messages. Now that he wasn’t worried about his own performance, watching Belle’s embarrassment made him laugh.

“Do we have to?” she asked, but she was already up and getting the phone. He arranged himself on the bed so she’d have an easier time of getting back in, and then she crawled up next to him and laid on his chest, setting the phone on his breastbone before playing the message.

“Good morning, darling,” Ives said, as he often did. “I’ve been very understanding thus far, but my patience is running thin. I’m absolutely insane with worry. If nothing has happened to you, please call me.”

This was normal, standard stuff for an Ives message, although he usually leaned more toward worried than impatient.  

“If I haven’t heard from you by the time your friend Holly’s shift starts tonight, I think I’ll head down to the Parrot Club and see if she’s heard from you. It would be a shame if she never made it home to her dear husband.”

After this, Ives paused. Hardly daring to move, Danny watched Belle’s face. She’d gone glassy-eyed, lower lip trembling.

“I love you,” he said. “Call me.”

The message ended, and Danny grabbed for the phone, but she snatched it up first. 

“Belle, hold on,” he said. “Just—don’t fucking do anything yet, okay?” 

She clenched her jaw, holding her phone just out of reach. “I have to call him, Danny. You heard him—he’s going to kill Holly if I don’t.”

Danny licked his lips. It would not go over well if he said he’d rather Ives kill Holly than Belle. 

“He won’t stop at Holly, you know,” Belle said as if she’d read his mind. “First it’ll be Holly, then it’ll be Frank, then anyone he’s ever seen me talk to, and then random strangers.”

“Okay, okay, I know.” He swallowed, and trapped here on this bed, he could barely hear his own thoughts. He needed to pace. “I just need to fucking think, yeah?”

“I’m calling him.”

“No!”

Faster than he thought he could react, he tackled her, pinning her wrist to the bed so she couldn’t see to dial. Belle glowered at him.

“Danny.”

“Drop the phone,” he said. When she just clenched her jaw harder, he glowered at her. “Belle, drop the fucking phone or I’ll fucking call in Felix, and he’ll fucking smash it.” 

Some of the certainty left Belle’s eyes, and she looked from her phone to Danny and back again. Then, as if it pained her, she released it. It dropped onto the bed, and Danny moved her pinned arm to his other hand before grabbing the phone and stuffing it into his pocket.

“Danny,” she said quietly.

“What?”

“If you don’t let me call and he kills someone, I won’t forgive you.”

She stared hard at him, and he licked his lips, guilt and something worse churning around with all the eggs and sausage grease in his stomach. 

“You’ll call him, all right?” he said. “But Holly doesn’t go on until six, so can we please just take a fucking minute to think this through?” 

Belle’s muscles relaxed, so he let go of her hand. If she went for his pocket, he was going to have to throw himself to the ground.

“You’re right,” she said. “You’re right. But can you at least call Frank?”

“Aye, I’ll call Frank.” He wriggled off of her and to the ground so he could finally pace out his nervous energy. “Go wash your face or something.”

Belle eyed him like she wasn’t sure she trusted him to do as he said, but she grabbed clothes anyway and left. He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as he paced the tiny room by memory. What the fuck were they going to do? From Belle calling, it was only a matter of time before the Colonel Hornier-than-Thou started threatening people until she came back. And then once she came back, what was he going to do? Let her date whoever she wanted?

No, he was going to either turn her into a cannibal like him or eat her. If Danny was lucky, Ives would let her see him. He might even let her keep her job, although Danny doubted it.

Whatever they decided, he needed to call Frank.

“What’s wrong?” Frank asked. Danny checked the clock. It wasn’t that early.

“He threatened Holly,” Danny said. Frank cursed. “When she gets to work tonight, she’s behind the bar, all right? Whatever the fuck you have to fucking tell her, tell her. And neither of you go anywhere alone, especially not with just each other.”

Frank was quiet. “How long are we doing this?”

Danny rubbed his forehead. Forever? “Until further fucking notice.”

“Danny—”

“Probably just tonight, all right?”

Frank gave him his report from last night and then they hung up. Now that he could pace, all Danny wanted to do was trap himself under Belle again, hold her in place and feel her heartbeat and her breath and her soft skin.

They reconvened a few minutes later, and Belle must have been on the same page because she dragged him into bed and wrapped herself up in his arms. 

“I don’t want to go back,” she said. 

“I don’t want to either.” He tangled a hand in her hair, burying his nose in it too. What if this was one of the last times he ever even saw her, much less got to hold her? 

He kissed the top of her head, then her forehead, and then she got the idea and tilted her face to meet him, and soon they were ripping clothes off to feel skin on skin, and then she straddled him and he held her hips while she rode him, and this could not be the last time because he hadn’t even held her close, hadn’t kissed her while he was inside her, hadn’t brushed her hair off her forehead. 

“Fuck.” He wrapped her up in his arms when they finished, kissing whatever part of her face he could reach. “I love you.”

It was unclear if Belle froze in his arms or just wasn’t moving anyway, but Danny could have kicked himself. He hadn’t meant for that to slip out—they’d only been together, what, a week? That was a fucking insane thing for him to say to her, especially since it was obvious he’d just loved her for months all on his own, even while she was with some other man.

“I mean—not—I mean, I don’t love you,” he said, which was somehow even worse to say while they were tangled naked together in post-coital discomfort. 

“Danny.”

“I just fucking said it, you know, in the heat of the fucking moment.”

“Danny,” she said, and once he’d taken an actual breath, he could hear that she was laughing. 

“Don’t fucking think—”

She cut him off with a kiss, but he felt like he was drowning in wet air, so he was sure he didn’t kiss back very well. When she pulled back, she was grinning. Tentative, his lip twitched in return.

“I love you too,” she said. “Obviously.”

“Oh.” For once, he didn’t know what to say. He had never been so lucky in his life. “Well, fuck me, then, that’s a relief.”

She laughed and tucked her head under his chin, snuggling closer. They laid there for several minutes, arms around each other, hearts pounding in tandem, and then Belle slid her hands off him, untangled their limbs, and sat up.

“I have to call Francis,” she said. 

If Danny loved Belle—and he really, really did—he had to let her do what she thought was right. Whether or not he would trade everyone in England’s life for hers was irrelevant. She wouldn’t.

“Aye.” He sat up as well, sliding his hand back into hers. “At least put some fucking knickers on though.”

Chapter Text

Showered, dressed, and bed made, Danny and Belle sat on top of his gran’s quilt, her phone between them. He did not want her to call Ives. They had not devoted any time in their exile to thinking about what to do about the situation. They’d just cuddled.

Which, at the time, had seemed nice, but of course the first time Danny cared to sit still long enough to hold a person, it bit him in the arse. They should have planned something, at least, like what they would do if he was standing outside the door.

“Okay.” Belle picked her phone up. “I’m calling.” She started dialing, but Danny grabbed her hand. “Danny.”

“If he won’t take no for an answer, tell him you’re in Leeds,” he said.

Belle nodded and he dropped his hand. He wanted to both hold every part of her and pace until his feet hurt, but instead of doing either, he just sat on the bed, leg shaking, while she dialed and then put it on speaker.

Ives picked up on the first ring. “Belle.”

Belle opened her mouth, but cast Danny a panicked look, like she expected him to do something about the fact that Ives hadn’t continued talking.

“Hi,” she said.

“So you are alive.”

Belle held the phone to her mouth, eyes wobbling. Danny laid a hand on her knee. “I am alive,” she said. “I told you I needed time and space to think.”

“Well, darling, I didn’t think you would disappear, but I’m glad you’re coming home now. Where should I pick you up?” 

Belle’s mouth opened, but Danny clenched his jaw so hard, his teeth might have cracked. If he didn’t, he was likely to start screaming, and then who knew what Colonel Fuck would do?

“Pick me up?”

“You’ve had over a week to think. I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Belle said. Danny squeezed her knee. “But Francis, I’m not ready to come home.”

“Was I not clear?” 

Belle clenched her jaw. “That’s not helping your case.” 

“Will I need to pick you up from the train station or the airport?”

Danny wanted to scream, but all he could do was watch as Belle’s eyes filled with tears. Because she would go, of course. She would go to the airport or the train station, and she would let Francis pick her up, and she would go with him forever if it meant saving even one person’s life.

“The train station,” she said. “I’ll find a schedule and let you know when.”

“Send me your whole itinerary, love. You know how the trains here can be.”

A tear plopped onto the keys, and Belle wiped it away. “Okay. I will as soon as I know it.”

“Good. I’ll see you soon, darling. I love you.”

Belle slammed her phone shut without another word, breathing hard, and after a beat of silence, threw herself into his lap. He wished he could throw himself into hers too, but at least if he was holding her while she sobbed, she was still here, in Liverpool. He wrapped his arms around her, hands tangled in her hair.

They had to do something. He would not just let Belle throw her life away, or worse, be Colonel Fuck’s cannibal wife for eternity. Belle didn’t want that. She’d already been shackled to one man for a decade, she couldn’t spend the next century shackled to another.

“Belle,” he said, voice more quiet and serious than he could ever remember sounding. “We have to kill him.”

Belle’s sobs died down to sniffles, and then she pulled back enough to rub her eyes, and then enough to look at him.

“Kill him?” She wiped at her wet eyelashes. “No, there has to be another way.”

Why was this so shocking to her? What did she think was going to happen?

“Fucking think about it, hey?” He wanted to pace, but he forced himself to sit still and hold her. “He’s not gonna fucking stop no matter what you do. He’ll just fucking keep killing and killing, and he’ll fucking turn you, and maybe he’ll fucking turn me too, but it’s just more and more fucking bodies piling up.”

Belle pulled away to think, and he took the opportunity to slide off the bed and stalk across the room. His blood moved better when he paced, brain wobbled less in his fucking skull. 

“I just think I could talk to him,” she said. “I know he’s mad now, but I really think I can change his mind. I told him that I’d only consider being with him if he didn’t kill anyone.”

Danny stopped pacing, opening his mouth to speak and then closing it. What the fuck could he say to that? It brought up loads of questions he hadn’t thought about in over a week. 

“And if he fucking agrees?” he finally asked, fists clenching for something to do. “You’d consider it?”

As if she’d only just realized what she’d said, Belle flushed, then shook her head vigorously. “No. Not anymore. I only want to be with you.”

His fists loosened, and he ran a hand through his hair, feet moving again. “Then why would he fucking consider not killing people?” 

“Well, if he thinks—”

“He gets his fucking rocks off on it, Belle. He’s gonna fucking kill me, then either kill you or turn you, and you’ll have no fucking say in the matter.”

Belle chewed her lip, and he considered dragging her along his pacing route with him, but she didn’t have the same drive to get her energy out that he did, so he just stalked back and forth and back and forth, hair sticking up. 

“It just doesn’t seem right,” she said. “He didn’t choose to be like this.”

At that, Danny stopped walking again and barked with laughter. “Didn’t fucking choose it? What the fuck are you talking about? He ate every single person what fucking trusted him, and then probably everyone else he ever fucking met.”

“What are you talking about?” Belle shook her head. “He got stranded in the mountains in winter on his way to recover from tuberculosis, and they ate someone to survive, and after that, he was never the same.”

Danny could not believe this, though he shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course, it was possible he was the one Ives had lied to, but what incentive did he have for that? He had a lot more incentive to paint himself a victim to Belle than a villain to Danny.

“No, he fucking lied to you again, Belle,” he said. “He’s just fucking lied to you one right after the fucking other.” 

Belle was frowning into her lap, the same look in her eyes as when he managed to do something smart in chess that she wasn’t expecting. 

“What do you mean?” she finally asked.

“I mean, he told me he fucking killed and ate his entire fucking traveling group to cure his tuberculosis.”

Belle’s frown deepened, and Danny stopped pacing to watch her. Was she about to cry again? It was better now that he could comfort her without having to pretend he wasn’t madly in love with her, but he still didn’t like it.

“What else did he lie to me about?” she asked, and for once, Danny’s first urge was to say nothing. “First, he tells me he threatened you, then he makes himself out to be this helpless victim—and before all that, he was adamant that he was afraid of blood!”

She leapt off the bed and strode to the door like she meant to find Francis and knock his block off right then and there, but then she stopped, probably realizing that she couldn’t just go scream at him, and turned around.

“Well, there’s one thing I know is true, and that’s that he can heal from a gunshot wound to the heart,” she said.

Danny rubbed the back of his neck, legs moving again while he considered this. “Are you sure it was his fucking heart?” 

“Pretty sure,” Belle said. “At least, it should have been fatal. I think he was dying when I checked him over before he stood up.”

“So, he can fucking die,” Danny said. “Just have to make it quicker than he can fucking heal.”

Belle leaned against the door and crossed her arms, frowning. “I don’t know. He healed within seconds. He said it hurt, but it didn’t really seem to bother him.”

Danny had a fair amount of criminal knowledge. His brother had been in petty crime for years, worked for a big name guy out here, and Danny himself had been in his share of sticky shite. If pressed, he could probably figure out how to get anyone in London whacked without it being tied back to him.

But that was only if they would die.

“There are so many different vampire and vampire-adjacent stories,” Belle said, frowning off into the distance like she was consulting a database he couldn’t see. “But he doesn’t seem to have any weaknesses we could exploit except the need to consume human flesh, and I don’t get the impression that he can be poisoned by it, because his body would just heal it. And then besides, we’d have to have a body to poison.”

Danny nodded along like he could contribute in any way to this conversation. Could Felix and Dakota hear this? He was going to have to tell them what was going on, wasn’t he?

“There’s only one thing we can do, I think.” Belle looked at him finally, chewing her lip, and he closed the gap between them, wrapping his hands around her elbows.

“Fucking run, and tell Holly and Frank to run too?” he asked.

Belle didn’t even rebuke him. “Cut his head off.”

It had a certain elegance to it, Danny had to admit. As a modern-day criminal, he had never given much thought to beheading. It was a thing of the past, something he wouldn’t have to worry about unless he stirred up enough trouble for someone to garrote him.

Of course, Francis was a thing of the past. He belonged in the past, away from fucking Belle.

“Right,” he said, as though this had been in his mind all along.

“I don’t know how we would go about doing that,” Belle said. “No offense, but I don’t think you could beat him.” 

Well, he could be mad, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think she was wrong. “No, and I’m not fucking practiced in cutting heads off.”

Belle chewed her lip. “I don’t know if I could do it. I don’t think I have the nerve.” 

“He’d fucking kill you in a second,” Danny said. “No fucking way, whoever cuts his head off’s gotta be someone who knows what he’s fucking doing.”

For some reason, Belle looked troubled by this, and he didn’t think it was just because there was a dearth of skilled knights for hire. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, maybe not as sympathetically as he could have.

“I just don’t want anyone to die fighting him,” she said. “Especially since, if they do, he’ll just eat them and heal and become even stronger.”

“And then he’ll come after us again.”

She snapped to look at him like she hadn’t even thought of this. She really trusted fucking Francis, didn’t she? Maybe she was more insane than he thought she was.

“Oi.” He snapped his fingers. “We need to talk to Dakota.”

Belle shook her head furiously. “No, I won’t put any of you in danger, it should be me or not at all.” 

Danny couldn’t help his bark of laughter, even when Belle pursed her lips at him. Like he was going to let Belle go in there and kill him, especially since everyone, including Francis, knew she wouldn’t be able to do shite.

“Okay, first of all, fuck no.” He snickered again, though it wasn’t really funny. “Second of all, Dakota’s a fucking sniper. So it won’t be a problem, hey?”

Belle frowned like she wasn’t quite sure, but when they did bring the problem up to Dakota and Felix—stuffed into his gran’s old room so that their Ma wouldn’t hear these machinations—Dakota nodded seriously.

“I can definitely blow his head off,” Dakota said. “Just need a clear shot. Well, a few clear shots.”

Danny squeezed Belle’s hand, then squeezed it again when he saw how pale she was. She was going to chew her lip clean off if she didn’t chill the fuck out.

“I’ll get you your clear shot,” Belle said, and while Dakota nodded at this, Danny spluttered.

“You?” He yanked his hand away to grip her shoulder. “Abso-fucking-lutely not. Fuck no. You’re not getting on any fucking train, and you’re not fucking going anywhere fucking near him.”

Belle drew herself up, and Danny had the sinking feeling that she was about to make him look a fool. At least it wasn’t in front of Frank.

“I am getting on that fucking train, and you are not leaving me out of this.”

Danny grit his teeth, glancing at Felix who had been chewing the end of an unlit cigarette for the entire conversation, then at Dakota, who shrugged.

“You know, Danny,” Dakota said. “I don’t work for free.”

At that, Danny exploded off the bed, pacing to the opposite end of the room, then whirled to jab a finger at her. “This is the love of my fucking life, going to fucking die if don’t do this, and you’re fucking worried about payment? You’re a fucking millionaire, you fucking twat.”

“Oi!” Felix said. “Don’t call her—”

“You can owe me a favor,” Dakota said, and Danny groaned. She must have had a favor in mind. 

He could have blustered more, but in the end, the truth was that he didn’t fucking care. She could have asked him for his club, his flat, the fucking clothes off his back, and he’d have given them to her without a fucking thought. He glanced at Belle, who was pinker than she’d been the last time he’d looked at her, and this is the love of my fucking life came floating back to him. He didn’t have time to be embarrassed. It was true, and if Belle didn’t like it—well, he would deal with that later when Colonel Cannibal was dead.

“Fine,” he said. “If you fucking do it, I’ll owe you a fucking favor. Happy?”

Dakota smiled. “Ecstatic. I’ll get my bag.”

Chapter Text

Belle had been crying on and off since they left the bedroom last night. Dakota had said everything would be better if she had more light, and so Belle called the train station in Leeds for the schedule, found an early one tomorrow morning, and then had to call Francis and pretend at excitement.

“I can’t wait to start the day with you,” she’d said when he’d started to protest her not leaving immediately. Two could play dumb. He’d had no other choice but to acquiesce, and maybe consider that Belle could be just as manipulative as he could be.

Well, probably not just as manipulative, since she hadn’t been practicing for over a century, but it worked well enough.  

Belle and Danny barely slept, spending most of the night curled so tightly around one another, it was uncomfortable. Now, as dawn broke over the horizon, they stood in the living room, fully dressed and saying goodbye with as much privacy as they could have now that they’d forced themselves down the stairs. Shirley was in the kitchen, bustling around making sandwiches, and Felix and Dakota were standing at the door, but they all politely averted their eyes.

Danny held her by the waist while she had her arms around his neck, and she didn’t want to let him go.

“I’ll see you tonight,” she said, red eyes already filling with tears. She had a bag to travel with even though she hadn’t come with one, just so that Francis wouldn’t be suspicious. In it was enough concealer to cover up tear tracks for a year. 

“Aye.” His fingers flexed behind her and he touched his forehead to hers. “I’m just a phone call away, hey?”

She nodded, though they both knew she wouldn’t call him. Once she left, she wouldn’t see Danny again until Francis was dead. If that didn’t happen, then she might never see him again.

“If it doesn’t work—”

“Shut it,” Danny said softly. “I don’t wanna fucking hear it. I’ll see you tonight.” 

She nodded, wishing she had a finite amount of tears in her so she could be done crying. Danny kissed her beneath each eye, then on the mouth, and then they were kissing until Felix cleared his throat. 

“Gonna miss the train,” he said. He and Belle were going together on the train while Danny and Dakota drove into the city.

Belle kissed Danny one more time, then he kissed her, and then she pulled away to hold his hand so he could walk her out to Felix’s Jaguar. 

“Don’t forget to wear your fucking disguise,” Danny said to Felix, gripping Belle’s hand too hard. “If he sees you, he’ll be fucking suspicious, yeah?”

“Oi, he doesn’t even fucking know me,” Felix said, accepting a bundle of sandwiches from Shirley without a word. 

“Aye, but he’ll be on the fucking lookout for me, won’t he?” Danny squeezed Belle’s hand harder and she winced, but didn’t let go. 

“So what? We look different.”

“Not that different,” Belle said, a tiny smile breaking through her tears when Felix spluttered.

“Danny is eight years—”

“Oh, shut it,” Dakota said. “The two of you look like you had the same dad and the same egg.” 

Shirley snickered at that, Dakota and Belle smiled, and Felix scoffed. 

“All right, all right, enough, I fucking get it,” Felix said. “Come on, we’ve gotta fucking go.”

Danny walked them to the door, hand still in Belle’s, and then grabbed Felix’s shoulder. He turned around, but didn’t say anything snarky.

“Keep her fucking safe,” Danny said. 

Felix nodded, the most serious Belle had ever seen him. “I will, don’t worry. Come on, love, let’s go.” 

Belle and Danny kissed goodbye one more time, and then as they were pulling apart again, Shirley appeared and stuffed a bar of chocolate into Belle’s bag.

“For your trip,” she said. “Don’t share with Felix.” She pulled Belle into a hug while Belle tried and failed not to keep crying, then kissed her on each cheek. 

“Thank you,” Belle blubbered, reaching for Danny’s hand for comfort. 

“I’ll see you soon, love, don’t worry.” Shirley patted her cheek, then stood out of the way for her and Danny to say their goodbyes yet again, but after too many and too few, Felix was ushering Belle out of the house and into his car.

They rode in silence for a little bit, Belle staring out the window as the sun rose, sniffling. Felix drove a lot more carefully than Danny, but Belle suspected it was because he loved his car, not because he was incapable.

“So,” Felix said, unlit cigarette in his mouth. Belle would never have told him not to smoke in his own car, but Danny had pointed out that Belle might smell like cigarettes when she arrived if he did, so they’d left the windows open all night and sprayed it with every odor-buster in Shirley’s cabinet. 

“Thanks for doing this,” Belle said. She had never been alone with Felix, and it might have been awkward if she hadn’t been too upset to feel anything else. 

“‘Course.” He glanced at her, his tiny lip-twitch so like Danny’s. “We’re family now, eh?” 

Belle clenched her teeth against the tears, again, and smiled, hoping it didn’t look forced from trying not to cry. “I hope so.”

Since Francis wouldn’t take kindly to seeing Danny anywhere near Belle, even though he must have known Belle was with him, they had opted to split into Belle and Felix in one car, and Danny and Dakota in another. Felix would take the train from Leeds with Belle, then try to keep as much of an eye on her as possible. She’d told Danny where Francis’ flat was, but it would be a lot easier if Felix had eyes on them than for her to have to find ways to send updates.

Danny and Dakota would then set themselves up across the street somewhere, and Belle would find a way to give Dakota her clear shot through Francis’ lovely windows. 

“So, your car,” she said, not knowing where else to go from there, but thankfully Felix was all too willing to tell her about it, and soon she relaxed to the sound of his animated voice talking about leather seats and mileage. 

Had Danny and Dakota left yet? Did Shirley even know what they were all doing? 

“What if he’s at the station in Leeds?” Belle asked suddenly, interrupting Felix.

Felix frowned. “What, you mean took a train out there already?” 

“He could have.” She swallowed. “He could be there, waiting to meet me as soon as I walk in the doors. Or he could be there trying to see if Danny’s with me so that he has more leverage.”

Felix rubbed his chin, chomping hard on his unlit cigarette.

“So, we go in separate,” he said. “Sit in the same car, but apart. He won’t know a thing.”

Felix did look a bit different from Danny now. He’d put on a blue-and-yellow Leeds beanie and let some of his stubble grow out, though it wasn’t more than a sheen around his chin, and was wearing jeans and a black sweatshirt whose hood he could throw up if necessary.

“You need glasses or something,” Belle said. “Not sunglasses, that’ll be too obvious.”

Felix chewed his cigarette, then wrinkled his nose, rolled the window down, and spat it out into the highway. Even Belle’s miserable anxiety couldn’t keep her from smiling as he tried to spit out the masticated filter pieces.

“Might be a Boots around. Could get some readers.”

They didn’t have much time, but Felix gunned it so they’d have a little extra, finding a convenience store off the highway and pulling over. They did find readers there as well as a pack of nicotine gum, and Belle tried to buy them, but Felix wouldn’t hear of it—possibly because Danny had already spoken to him about money—and then they were back in the car, speeding toward the station.

“So,” Felix said again, chewing for his life on the nicotine gum. “How’d you meet this guy? Danny’s club?”

Belle chewed her lip. Had she really not told anyone this? It was all happening so fast.

“He was a regular at the bookstore I worked at.” The memory of Francis coming around the counter for the first time filled her mind, and she clenched her teeth. That Francis didn’t exist; at least, he didn’t exist on his own. That Francis was also the same man who had all but said he would kill her friend if she didn’t come back to London. 

“Takes all sorts, eh?” Felix said, and Belle appreciated his attempts at camaraderie. 

“Did Danny tell you why we need his head off?” Belle asked. 

Felix wrinkled his nose, but he wasn’t going to be the one standing in front of him when his head came off, so she didn’t feel too much sympathy. 

“Something about healing from a fucking bullet to the chest,” Felix said. “Wearing a vest, probably.”

Belle opened her mouth to tell him the truth, but then closed it. She’d only sound insane if she tried to explain it to him, so she just let it go.

They pulled into the station and Felix dropped Belle off. If she could have been sure that Francis wouldn’t be there in Leeds waiting for her, they would have gone in and bought tickets together, but now she bought her own ticket, then stood off to the side until Felix entered wearing his new glasses and his disguise to buy his.

Francis didn’t show up anywhere, and eventually they were on the train, sitting just a row apart. Belle couldn’t see Felix unless she turned around, but it was comforting to know he was there. She tried to read, but mostly she just ate her sandwich and chocolate and sent texts to Danny every once in awhile, letting him know she was still on the train and all right. After most of the ride, Dakota texted her to say Danny was driving like a maniac.

When it was time to disembark, Belle glanced back at Felix, who did not acknowledge her. Smart, in case Francis was somehow on this train, in this car. 

But he wasn’t on the train. He was standing on the platform with a bouquet of lilies, watching her like he’d sensed her presence before she even came into view. He wore his black overcoat and a black suit with a blood red tie. 

Once she was close enough to really see him, he smiled, and she smiled back. It wasn’t a complete lie. Seeing Francis had been one of the highlights of her sad little life since she’d left Gaston, and seeing him now wasn’t wholly unwelcome. 

“Belle, darling, welcome home.” He took her bag and handed her the flowers in one quick motion, and then he was pulling her to him by the waist. She tilted her face and he kissed her on the mouth, much more chastely than she expected, and then he was pulling away to take her hand. 

They walked hand-in-hand, the crowd surging around them, and Belle could only think about how she hadn’t slept, how Francis was going to mention how she hadn’t slept, and how even though she’d dabbed concealer on, he would know something was wrong.

“Is Holly all right?” Belle asked. Danny had heard last night that she was fine when she left the club, and Frank had paid two bouncers a hundred pounds each to escort her home, but that was the last she knew. 

“Of course.” Francis squeezed her hand, but his gaze was drifting somewhere over her head. She tried not to react. “I’m a man of my word.”

“Are you?” 

He looked back at her now, more amused than anything, and Belle clenched her teeth. 

“I’ve answered every question you’ve asked, haven’t I?”

If she called him out for lying, he would know she’d been with Danny, so instead, she forced a smile and squeezed his hand in return. “I hope truthfully.”

He smiled down at her, the smile of a man confident that she had no idea he’d lied at all, and for a second, she faltered. What if he hadn’t lied to her, but to Danny? What if he’d altered the story to scare him more?

No. She already knew he’d lied to her at least once. She wouldn’t start questioning her convictions now.

“Belle, who’s the man following you?” he asked, and Belle jumped.

“What?” She turned on instinct, but couldn’t see Felix anywhere. “Who are you talking about?” 

She inched closer Francis, and if his arm wrapping around her shoulders was any indication, this pleased him. 

“A man in a beanie and glasses.”

“Oh.” Belle hoped she could think as quickly for the rest of the day as she did just then. “Is it a Leeds beanie?”

Francis peered over her head, eyes narrowed. “Blue and yellow.”

Belle wrinkled her nose, pressing closer to him and wishing she could see Felix as well. “He was on my train. Was pretending the whole trip that he wasn’t reading a porn magazine.”

“Vile.” Francis glanced behind her again, then pulled her even closer, and she vowed to apologize for painting Felix in this poor light. 

They exited the station into grey London, and Belle realized that she still did not know whether or not Francis drove. She’d seen him take taxis, but then, he must not have transported bodies via taxi?

But it was toward the taxis where he led her now, and she hoped he wouldn’t notice Felix again after this. The fact that he noticed him at all was disconcerting, but she shouldn’t have been surprised. Francis had had almost two hundred years to hone his observational skills.

“You look tired, darling.” He flagged down the first taxi in the line. “Can I take you out to breakfast?”

“You’re asking?” She raised an eyebrow. “Not telling me?”

He smirked, hand on the doorhandle. “If you’d rather eat something else, I’m all ears.”

Belle pursed her lips, unsure in which way he meant human flesh. Neither held appeal. “Breakfast sounds lovely. Thank you.”

He opened the door. “After you.”

With one last look behind her at Felix’s beanie bobbing in the distance, she slid into the taxi. Francis shut himself in with her, and a trickle of fear slid down her neck, but she forced it down. Whatever happened, whatever he’d said and done, she had to believe he wouldn’t hurt her. 

She smiled at him, and then scooted close enough for him to put his arm around her. 

“I missed you.” She laid her hand over his, threading their fingers together. 

He was quiet, and when she shifted to look at him, he was watching her like he couldn’t quite make out her face. She smiled, as earnest as she could, and Francis smiled back.

“I missed you.” He tightened his arm around her and kissed her on the head, so she snuggled into his side. 

At the very least, he wouldn’t hurt her right now.

Chapter Text

If Belle had thought it odd to be watched eat before, it was nothing compared to the feeling of eating an omelette under Francis’ careful scrutiny now she knew what he was. She had kept her phone in her skirt pocket and not touched it since getting off the train, and it had the exact effect she’d hoped, which was that Francis did not mention it when she went to the ladies’ room.

Dakota had sent update texts on their location—almost here—which she deleted as soon as she read them, and then she texted Felix that he’d been spotted and needed a new disguise or to stay away, which she deleted as well, and then she texted Danny that she loved him again and deleted that too.

After that, she checked on her tear marks, and her face was looking almost normal. Thank god. Time to try to throw him off the scent.

“You must be exhausted from your whole ordeal,” he said when she’d set her fork down. She felt like a child being watched clear their plate, but at least Francis didn’t care whether or not she finished it. 

“I am pretty tired,” she said. “I was thinking I’d go back to my flat and take a shower, maybe a nap? I’ll need to start thinking about a new job pretty immediately.”

“A new job?” He frowned around his coffee mug, taking a long sip. “What for?” 

For a moment, Belle was thrown off-guard. “Well, you won’t want me to work at the club anymore, will you?”

He took another sip of coffee, then set his mug down. “You were planning to give up the club for me?”

Planning? Belle tried not to grimace. “I just assumed you would insist.”

“Well, I’ll have to insist you work days instead of nights, of course,” he said. “When we will see each other if you don’t?”

She could not believe this. How could Francis be so reasonable when he had gotten her here by threatening people she cared about? 

“I can talk to Danny,” she said carefully. 

“Of course, I don’t see why you need to work at all.” He looked up, raising his eyebrows to get their waiter’s attention, then turned back to her. “With all the time in the world now, you could go back to school like you always wanted. You could do whatever you wanted.”

It was a tantalizing thought, punctuated by his use of now. Horror dawning, Belle slowly looked down at her empty plate. He had been awfully eager to take her to breakfast, hadn’t he?

“Now?” she asked, voice sounding like it belonged to someone else.

“Well,” Francis chuckled, an easy smile on his face, “Not now. But soon.”

She breathed, trying to slow down her heart rate, and furiously cast her gaze around to the nearest person eating a full English. When her stomach didn’t turn at the sight of sausages, she relaxed.

“Right.” She tucked her hair behind her ears for something to do. “Of course. So, you’ll take me home?”

She had the inkling, of course, that he wouldn’t agree to taking her to own flat, and this time, he did not disappoint. 

“Let’s go back to my place,” he said. “You’ve got plenty of things there, and my shower is much nicer.”

Of course she had plenty of things there. Why wouldn’t she? She’d left her flat at his mercy. She wouldn’t be surprised to see everything she owned there.

“All right,” she said. “And you can give me a better tour this time.”

“I would love to.”

He paid, then took both her bag and the flowers, and Belle thought he would hail another taxi, but he started down the block and she realized they were much closer to his flat than she’d thought. She really should have tried to get sleep.

“So,” he said casually, offering her his elbow. She slipped her hand through it, just as she always had, and for a second, she could pretend that none of the last few weeks had happened. “Did you have a nice vacation with Danny?”

Belle bit her lip, then looked up at him. He was watching her, and he didn’t look angry, but then, she’d only ever seen him looking angry when he had blood in his mouth and a bullet in his chest. 

“I told you I missed you, didn’t I?” she said softly. “What more do you want me to say?”

“Were you in Leeds the entire time?” 

“No.” She shook her head. “We went to Dublin first.”

They turned the corner and his flat came into view. Where would Danny and Dakota set up? The best window for it would have been his living room window, which she could see from the street. Were they watching now? Was Felix? She’d given them the address, but what if they got confused? 

“Did you fuck him?” 

She supposed she should have expected the question, but it still made her jump in surprise. What was the right answer? Francis knew they had been together, but did he know that she loved him? He certainly knew she cared for him, that they were friends.

“Your silence is telling.”

They reached the door to his building and he unlocked it while Belle considered what to say, not wanting to answer and have this conversation in a communal stairwell. 

“Would it upset you if I had?” she asked as they climbed up to his floor.

He paused in front of his door, then shook his head as he unlocked it. 

“No?” She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

He gestured for her to go in, and she swallowed. This was it. The beginning of the plan. She would go in there and she would be trapped with him, and she would either exit this room tonight or be the next soul in a line of thousands keeping him alive.

She stepped through, and he locked the door behind her.

“Belle, I don’t want to possess you,” he said, and she just barely kept from snorting. “I don’t want to own you. When you’ve changed, you may find that even I don’t entirely satisfy your increased appetites. Of course,” he pulled at the fingertips of his gloves, “I have almost two centuries of stamina buildup that you don’t, so it’s unlikely. But truly, if you need to take a second, or even a third lover, it’s no problem for me.”

There was a lot to unpack there, and Belle wasn’t sure she could. She stood considering it while he hung his coat, then came to remove hers since she hadn’t yet, and once he’d gotten her out of her winter clothes, he pulled her toward him by the waist, his other hand caressing her neck. 

“Belle, darling,” he said softly, hand gentle but firm cupping the back of her neck. “I’m so glad you came back to me.”

“Me too.” She watched his eyes, intense and sincere, and then he was kissing her, searing like he used to against the bookstore wall. It would have been so easy to give in, to let him have his way. 

“Wait, Francis,” she said as best she could while he was sucking on her bottom lip.

“Yes, love?”

“We need to clear some things up.”

“Later.” He kissed down her jaw, and then nipped down her neck, closing his teeth around her pulse and sucking as she had known he would. 

“Francis.”

“Tell me,” he growled against her neck. “How many times did he make you come?”

Belle flushed, both from his mouth and the question, and she didn’t know how to answer. She hadn’t actually admitted to sleeping with Danny yet, but it probably wouldn’t matter if she denied it. Francis wouldn’t believe her, and he would be correct.

“Not as many as you.”

He growled again, more animal than she’d ever heard him, and before she realized they were moving, he had her pinned to the wall.

“Francis.” She glanced around his flat over his head, trying to determine which window’s curtains she’d ask him to open. “Francis, not now.”

“Yes, now.” His hand crept up the back of her shirt, toward her bra strap. “I’ve missed you. We can talk later.”

“No,” she said, firm. “We can’t. I came home, I want to talk now.”

There was nothing she could do if Francis decided he didn’t want to listen to her except go limp and hope that turned him off, but thankfully, he pulled his mouth off of her to gaze ravenously into her eyes.

“What is it?” 

“I’m not ready to—” She swallowed, unsure of how to say it. His hand tightened on the skin of her back. “—to be like you yet.”

Francis frowned, and if he refused her that, she really didn’t know what she would do. “Why not?”

If only he had listened to all her objections before, maybe he wouldn’t look so shocked now. Still, she would explain it again. “I'm not ready to just give up eating. I want a last meal. All the foods I love. You can take me out to restaurants now that I know why you’re not eating, right?”

He licked his lips as if to remind her that his favorite food was in his arms, pinned to the wall right now. “Of course. Anything you want, my love.” 

She smiled at him. “I want to sit down. And see the light—our hotel in Leeds was so dim. Can we open the windows?”

He eyed her, and she hoped she didn’t look suspicious because she didn’t know what else to do. It was one thing to try to fool him in the train station or in the restaurant, but now they were in his flat, his lair. He had the home field advantage.

“Of course. Have a seat, I’ll get the windows.”

She headed for his beautiful table while he drew the curtains and then the blinds, bathing the room in sunlight and giving them a clear view of the opposite street. Francis spent a few seconds looking out each window before moving on, so Belle made no move to look herself. If he saw her searching for anything, he’d know there was something worth finding.

“How about a glass of wine?” 

Belle wrinkled her nose. “It’s so early.”

His lip twitched, and she smiled in return. “How about a cup of tea, then?”

She agreed, and did appreciate that he made a big show of opening the tea bag for her from an individual packet, then showing her the kettle was empty before filling it from the sink, and he didn’t open any cabinets with his canisters of human jerky in it.

Francis, for all his flaws, could be a kind and conscientious person. She only wished he cared for others’ lives as he cared for hers. 

“So,” Belle said while he set the kettle on the stove and turned it on. “You mentioned needing multiple lovers. Does that mean that you’ve been with others while we were together?”

He shook his head. “Not while we were together, no. But without you here, well.” He shrugged. “I had to make do.”

Idly, she wondered if this was another thing he really had to do, like eat human flesh. Would he literally die if he didn’t have regular sex? Would masturbating prevent it? 

“No,” he said before she could even ask. “I could survive with only one sexual partner. It’s the partner who often can’t survive with my needs.”

Belle grimaced, but this didn’t seem to bother him, and soon he was sitting at the table with her and two cups of tea. 

“I don’t have anything to put in it,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’ll get whatever you like for tomorrow.” 

She sniffed her cup—peppermint—and smiled. “It’s fine black. Thank you.”

“Did you mention wanting to shower?” he asked.

She was about to say yes, but hesitated. Francis had a nice flat, a modern flat, and his shower was probably nicer than Belle’s and even nicer than Danny’s mum’s, but if she took a shower, Danny and Dakota might take the opportunity to kill him. 

Francis had once shared with her, in that moment of what she still believed to be real honesty, that his greatest fear was dying. Whatever he had done, whatever he might be planning to do, she didn’t want him to die alone.

“Not yet,” she said. “But I do want that tour.”

He stood with his mug, so she followed suit, allowing him to take her hand and lead her back. When she’d been here before, she’d wondered about his books, and she was right—they were in his bedroom at the end of the hall. He had a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that she wouldn’t have been surprised to find he’d built himself, and after staring at it for a minute, she noticed something.

“These are all the books I sold you.”

She let go of his hand to walk over to it, running her fingers along the spines of the books in the center shelf, all of which she remembered picking out for him. 

“Of course.” He stepped up behind her and rested his fingers on a book a shelf above. “This is the first book I bought from you, and the rest go in order from here.”

“Even the ones you didn’t like,” she said as though she had ever gotten rid of a book she owned just because she didn’t enjoy it.

“Yes. And of course, the most important book.” He turned her gently to face his bed, and there was the one she’d annotated him for Christmas on his nightstand. It sat next to the book he must have been reading and a leather-bound notebook and pen.

A lump formed in her throat. When she’d written in those margins, Francis had been a different person, but that man was still in there somewhere. And she was not only going to throw those memories away, but kill him? In cold blood?

“Just so you know,” she said, voice wobbling, “All that time you spent in my shop was incredibly meaningful to me.”

His hand came to rest in her hair, and she leaned into him just a little as her eyes filled with tears. To try and keep it under control, she took a big gulp of tea.

“As it was to me. The monotony of eternity was made bearable for those brief moments we shared.”

Seized with something, she didn’t know what, Belle whirled to face him and gripped his lapel with her free hand. “Why do you want eternity if it’s so monotonous? What’s so great about it?”

He frowned down at her, petting her hair like he could soothe this sudden outburst away.

“It isn’t always monotonous. It can be very exciting. But like I said, I’m lonely. I want a companion. I want you.” 

Belle could be honest with him. She could tell him that she loved Danny, that she didn’t want to be with him, but that he didn’t have to be alone anymore.

And then he would go on, just as he had, eating four to eight people a month, and Belle would have contributed to the deaths of another forty-eight to ninety-six people a year.  

“I don’t want you to kill people,” she said softly. 

“Belle, sweetheart.” He trailed a finger down her cheek. “There’s nothing more empowering than hunting your own food. You’ll see.”

Belle swallowed, and then nodded. Danny had said Francis got his rocks off on it, and he was probably right. She would never convince him otherwise. 

“Do you remember when I told you I was getting divorced?” 

“Of course.” He tucked her hair behind her ear. “I had never seen you so confident.” 

She tried a smile, but couldn’t quite make it, so sipped her tea instead. “You told me that you would have eventually made Gaston disappear without a trace. Were you being serious?”

Francis raised an eyebrow. “Do you have to ask?”

She frowned, because she did have to ask, but maybe she wasn’t asking the right question. “Of course I know you would make Gaston disappear now, because you know all about what he did. But I mean, if I was just married, and you didn’t know my marriage was unhappy. Would you have killed my husband to be with me?”

“Oh, I see.” Francis frowned in thought, twisting the end of his mustache. “I suppose it would have depended on a number of things, namely whether or not I thought you would be a good fit for me.”

It was nice to know that he wouldn’t have just engineered a situation where she was alone.

“In all honesty,” he continued. “I would likely have killed both of you.”

Belle couldn’t help but laugh. What other response was there to that? Terror? She was already in his house. She’d already seen the contents of his cabinets. 

“Come on,” she said. “Finish the tour.”

He showed her his closet full of her clothes, the bathroom which did have a lovely shower, and then the second bedroom in his house which he called his workroom, but the door was shut, and she had the feeling she did not actually want to see inside it. 

“That’s where I do my woodworking, of course,” he said, but he was smirking a little bit.

They wandered back to the living room while Belle drained the last of her tea, heading for the couch while Francis took the mugs to the sink. She tried to peek out the windows, see if she could see Danny and Dakota, but of course, if she could see them with one quick glance, then they weren’t doing a good job.

Francis joined her shortly, and as he tucked his arm around her, she found herself happy to lean into him, to rest her head on his shoulder. She’d had such a long night, and it was slamming into her like a train.

“So.” He stroked her hair, helping her settle more against him. “You’re here. You’re relaxed. How long until you’re naked on the dining room table?”

Belle flushed, though she didn’t have too much protest in her anymore. She was so comfortable, limbs so thick with sleep. “I think you’ll have to wait at least a week for that.”

“A week?” He shook his head, tightening his grip in her hair. “Did you have somewhere else in mind then?”

“The bed?” she offered, and he laughed as though she’d told a great joke.

“A conventional woman now, I see.” 

Belle wasn’t bothered by whether or not Francis thought her sexually adventurous. In fact, she wasn’t bothered by much at all, except her arms were chilly.

“Francis.”

“Yes, love?” 

But she had hardly opened her mouth before he was running his hand along her cold arm, then tucking his other one around her. She could fall asleep like this easily. 

Was, in fact, falling asleep like this. 

“Darling?” He tilted her chin up, peering into her bleary eyes like a doctor. “You seem even more tired than before. Why don’t I put you in bed?”

“No, no,” she said, but her head was heavy and her eyelids were heavier. “I want to sit here with you, in the windows.”

He frowned down at her, and she could have kicked herself. Francis had been around long enough to know when someone was behaving suspiciously. She couldn’t remember how to behave normally, couldn’t even remember exactly what she had intended to do to keep him in window range. Had he put something in her tea?

“Why are you so concerned with the windows?” He straightened up, peering out them, and then while Belle raised her eyebrows to keep her eyelids firmly open because why the fuck was she having so much trouble, he threw himself off the couch.

“Where are you going?” she asked, tongue thick. 

“What is going on, Belle?” 

This time, his voice wasn’t the same calm, soothing voice he’d been using all morning. This time, she recognized it, remembered him asking her what she would do if he decided he wanted to keep her in his flat instead of letting her go with Danny. That woke her up.

“Francis, don’t—”

Several things happened at once. The glass shattered. Francis’ upper lip curled in a snarl. A bullet ripped through his throat, showering them both with blood. 

“Francis!” She threw herself off the couch, momentarily shocked to find him on the ground, lain flat by the force, as another bullet whizzed in through the window and buried itself in the opposite wall.

“Belle,” he choked out, though it was more air than voice. He lifted his head from the ground, face contorted in pain, and dropped it back. Belle crawled on top of him.

“Francis, I’m sorry,” she said, vision swimming from tears and the sleep she was desperately fighting off.

His mouth moved, but he couldn’t talk around the golf-ball-sized hole in his throat, and she hoped it was enough, hoped that he couldn’t swallow or couldn’t get up, but also she hoped that she could get up, because her eyes were closing, and she was having trouble remembering just exactly what she was supposed to be doing other than laying atop Francis’ chest, which was heaving with effort. 

“Francis, you told me that your biggest fear was dying.” The tears streamed down her face now, and Francis gasped for breath, but made no more effort to speak. “Not death, but dying. So I won’t let you die alone. I’ll be here until the end.”

The last thing she saw was Francis frowning at her, and then his arms wrapped around her just like they had the night he’d stayed in her flat, one hand cradling her waist and the other her neck, and then her head dropped to his chest, and she passed out. 

Chapter Text

“He’s dead?” Danny asked, pacing behind Dakota in the dark room.

“He dropped.” Dakota still watched through the scope on her rifle, and Danny wished he could yank it out of her hand and look himself, but she was the expert. If he had the rifle, everything could go tits up in a heartbeat. 

“But did his fucking head fall off?” 

“I don’t know.”

He whirled to face her. “Fucking—you don’t know? What the fuck do you fucking mean, you don’t know?” 

Dakota glared at him, teeth clenched. “I mean, I didn’t see, he dropped too quickly. He’s fast, Danny, but I did get him right in the jugular. That should do him, and Belle can finish the job.”

“Fucking Belle?” Danny was going to have an aneurism. “Belle can’t finish the fucking job, she’s too fucking soft-hearted, and also she’s not carrying a fucking guillotine.” 

“Look, I didn’t miss, all right?” Dakota was still watching through the scope, which didn’t inspire confidence in Danny. “He hasn’t stood back up, so we should get to the rendezvous before someone calls in the shot and we get arrested.”

“The fucking rendezvous?” There was no way that Danny was just going to a secondary location without Dakota having seen Ives’ fucking head detach from his body. “Fuck that.” 

Dakota had finally started to put her rifle away, but frowned up at Danny. “What you mean? We’ve got to go.”

Danny stalked over and stuck his hand into her bag amidst protests, but he ignored Dakota, coming out with a pistol. “Go wherever you fucking want, I’m not fucking leaving Belle.”

Whatever Dakota was shouting at him about trusting Belle and following the plan, he didn’t care. Felix had headed for the club already when they got into position, so Dakota wouldn’t be there alone, and Danny would meet them there eventually. With Belle. 

He stuffed his gun hand into his coat pocket, trying to cover everything up with his sleeve as he raced down the steps, faster than he’d ever raced in his life. His other hand, he had around his phone in case Belle called. He did not believe that Francis Ives was dead, would not believe it until he saw it with his own eyes. 

But Belle didn’t call, and Danny’s gut was telling him that something had gone wrong. What were they thinking, not looking for some fucking wanker with a sword? They couldn’t fight Ives with a sniper rifle. He wasn’t a fucking politician who’d pissed off the wrong person.

Ives was nowhere on the street when he exited, which didn’t surprise him. If he was alive, he’d probably already killed Belle and would have no need to leave his flat.

Assuming the front door would be locked, Danny gripped the pistol in preparation for knocking the doorknob off, but it swung open without resistance. What the fuck? He wouldn’t question it. If it was a trap, so fucking be it. 

He reached Ives’ flat and pounded the door.

“Open up!” he roared, not caring if any neighbors heard. They’d probably heard the bullet go through the window anyway, and if they were smart, they were hunkering down. 

Nothing happened. Danny banged on the door, shouting so much it would have made a less practiced man hoarse, and then after a minute, stopped. The front door was open; maybe this one was as well? If it was, it was definitely a trap, but at least he’d be with Belle.

He tried the handle and it opened too, and he was briefly annoyed that he could have kept a low profile instead of screaming his lungs out, but that was a problem for later. He shut the door and locked it.

Ives’ flat was about what Danny expected. Clean, modern, posh. Bouquet on the table. Giant bloodstain on the carpet. Bullethole with cracks splintering out around it in the window. No one to be seen.

“Belle!” he roared, stalking toward the blood. What did any of this mean? He stormed around the living room for a minute, trying to find a clue, but the only thing he made note of was two mugs in the sink. Had he turned her? Had he made some sort of human broth and fed it to her already, then escaped with her? 

Danny was sick of hunting Belle down in a known location and being unable to find her. He was not a fucking detective. After this, he was getting her a fucking GPS bracelet. 

Then, he spotted his duffel in the corner, the one he’d packed for Belle and sent her off with this morning. Had it only been this morning? Jesus Christ.

“Belle!” 

Something creaked. He whipped around, revolver out, but then he heard the best possible sound.

“Danny?” Belle called. 

Abandoning the bag, he raced down the hall, kicking open a half-shut door to find Belle sitting up in a king-sized bed and rubbing her eyes. She was fully dressed, covered in droplets of blood, hair fuzzy with sleep.

“Jesus fucking fuck.” Danny shoved the pistol into his coat pocket and leapt to her, tripping over shoes placed neatly on the floor next to her. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” She frowned, looking around the room like she couldn’t quite place it while he grabbed both her hands. “Is this Francis’ flat?”

“Aye.” She had no injuries that he could see except for the obvious hickey on her neck, so the blood must have been from Ives. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, but she didn’t look sure, and as he watched her, her eyelids drooped again. He shook her shoulder and she roused herself.

“How did you get in?” she asked, and then, “Is that blood on my hands?”

“Door was open. Must be Colonel Fuck’s blood if it’s not yours.”

At that, Belle tried to lurch out of bed, but she moved like she was suspended in jelly. “We have to wash it off, hurry. Francis told me a story about a man who turned like him because some blood trickled into his mouth from his dead commanding officer.”

“No fucking worries,” Danny said, although he did want to get Ives’ blood off them. “Because he’s not fucking dead.”

Belle stopped moving and frowned. “What?”

“Don’t know where the fuck he is, but it’s not lying dead on his fucking floor.”

Belle slumped against the pillows, brow furrowed in confusion. Then, as if suddenly remembering something important, turned to look at the empty nightstand. She stared at it.

“He’s gone.”

Danny frowned. “Aye, probably. Why else would he let me in here to wake you up? We’ve gotta get the fuck out of here.”

“No, I mean. He’s not coming back.” Belle pointed to the nightstand, like he could glean meaning from the lamp sat atop it. “He took my book.”

For some reason, this lit Danny’s hair on fire more than the threats. “He fucking took your fucking—”

“No, no.” She shook her head, squeezing his hand. “No, the book I gave him for Christmas. He said it was the most important one he owned, so he wouldn’t have left it here if he was going somewhere.”

Oh. Well. That was kind of a nice sentiment from a fucking sociopath. 

“Still, we should get the fuck out of here before the police come.”

Belle nodded, wobbling her way out of bed, and he caught her before she could fall over. Then, before he let go, he kissed her on the bloody lips, hoping to fucking god that Francis was not dead and he was not about to turn into a starving cannibal because he’d wanted to kiss his still-alive girlfriend.

“Jesus fucking Christ, I’m glad you’re alive,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist while she struggled to stand. “Did you take a fucking percocet?”

Belle shook her head. “Don’t know. He made me tea, put something in it, I guess.”

Of fucking course he did. Had he planned to kill and eat Belle all along, or was that just to make her more complacent in bed? At least she was fully dressed, so whatever might have been his plan, he hadn’t succeeded. 

“Wait,” Belle said, grabbing the bedroom doorframe. “My duffel. Can you get it?”

He eyed her. “Aye.” 

Leaving her propped against the wall, he loped to the living room, skirting the dried blood and looking around for anything he’d missed. If not for the stained carpet and the shower of glass on the couch, it was pristine. Not even a throw rug on the floor.

When he got to the bedroom, Belle was in front of the closet, pulling out her own clothes.

“When the fuck did you have time to move in?” he asked, coming to help when it was clear the clothes were stronger than she was. 

“He raided my flat, of course,” she said. “I don’t even know what else he brought over. I’ll check the shower if you get the rest of these.”

Without care for wrinkles, Danny stuffed every dress, skirt, and woman’s top he found into the duffel, rolling things when they wouldn’t fit. Belle returned empty-handed, but headed for the drawers, where she pulled out underwear, socks, bras, and hosiery. 

“Fucking thorough, wasn’t he?” 

Belle shook her head. “He didn’t want me to leave.”

What they couldn’t stuff into the duffel, they stuffed into Belle’s purse and then Danny’s coat pockets and then, finally, Belle’s coat pockets. Belle found a paper towel and wiped the blood off her face and hands, but all they could do about her clothes was cover the stains up with more clothes. 

As they were leaving, Belle paused in front of the bloody carpet and stared. Was she thinking about how awful it was about to be for them? How fucking Francis had clearly escaped death, and now knew their best plan? 

He was probably at the club lying in wait, but all Danny could think to do at the moment was hope was that Felix and Dakota continued to keep a low profile and that Holly and Frank were being extra careful.

“Danny,” Belle said suddenly, voice still thick with sleep. “What’s that?”

She pointed to an envelope near the doorway. That had not been here before. Danny would have fucking seen it.

“Dunno,” he said, not moving. What if it was a trap? A bomb? Anthrax?

Belle had no such anxieties apparently, because she strode over to the letter and snatched it up without a second’s thought. Danny, from his safe distance, could see Belle written on the front in what had to be Colonel Wank’s old-fashioned posh calligraphy. She ripped open the envelope, much to his consternation, and pulled out a thick folded letter with jagged page edges, suggesting it had been ripped from a book.

When she unfolded it, a slip of paper fluttered to the ground. Danny recognized that shape. It was a check.

While Belle read the letter in silence, Danny picked the check off the ground, then almost choked. Fifty-thousand pounds, made out to Belle. 

“Jesus Christ,” he said, but Belle didn’t respond. Her eyes were wet again, and she swayed on her feet from whatever drugs remained in her system. She finished the first page and handed it to him without looking, carrying on to the second. Thank god—he could not handle the suspense of not knowing what it said.

Dearest Belle,

So, you’ve won fair and square. I have decided to respect your decision not to be with me, even though I don’t understand it. I’ll never understand why a man, faced with the opportunity to drink an elixir of perfect health and immortality, would choose mundanity. 

Whether or not it makes sense, you have made your position clear. I had intended to make mine clear as well by using you to heal my ghastly wound, but I suppose I have become sentimental over the years. I thought I would be happy to have your soul a part of mine, but it turns out I am happier to see you alive. Perhaps it is because you looked death in the face and chose to cradle it tenderly. I don’t have time to speculate.

For now, you can rest assured that you and yours are safe from me. This is a courtesy to you. If you come after me again, I will hunt down you, Danny, and everyone you know and love. Do not test me. 

You don’t need to worry about the police, by the way. They do not investigate disturbances in my area. You’ll have plenty of time to sleep it off and get out. 

I am sorry for drugging you. I knew you would have a contingency plan, you’re too clever not to, and I intended to take care of it while you were unconscious and couldn’t interrupt. It’s sheer luck on your part that your plan triggered before mine, and I hope you’ll remember that. 

Danny, because I know you are here, reading this—do not make the mistake of thinking you could have bested me without Belle. If it was you alone versus me, you would be in my freezer.

Know this, Belle. Your ruthlessness in killing me has only made me love you more. Should you choose life, you know how to reach me. 

If you choose mundanity, then I can only wish you all the best. In service of that, I have left you what I hope is enough to clear your fool husband’s debt. It’s no hardship for me. When you have been around as long as I have, money saves itself.

Goodbye, my love. All the best.

Yours,
Francis

“Jesus Christ,” Danny said again. “Fifty-thousand fucking pounds, he left you.” 

“I can’t believe it.” Belle rubbed at her throat like she was the one who’d been shot. “I can’t believe he did this.” 

It was nice and all that Ives assured them there were no cops coming, but whatever arrangement he had might not have extended to someone firing shots through his window. Of course, no one had come yet, but that didn’t mean anything necessarily. They needed to get out of there.

“Well, I don’t fucking believe him,” Danny said. “There’s got to be a fucking catch, hey?”

Belle shook her head. “No. No, I believe him.”

He groaned, because he was tired of convincing Belle that fucking Francis was a fucking liar. 

“Look, I know it’s crazy, I know he’s lied to me more than he hasn’t, but he never lied about hurting me.” She swallowed, and a tear fell down her cheek. “Everything he’s ever done, and he’s never once laid a finger on me. And like he said here, he had every opportunity to kill me. I was unconscious. But instead he took my shoes off and put me in bed.”

She had a point. It didn’t ease Danny’s mind. It was possible nothing ever would.

“All right,” he said. “Okay. For now, I’ll fucking believe him. But let’s go, hey? Gotta meet Felix and Dakota.”

Belle nodded, then strode to the table to grab the bouquet. Whatever—if she wanted to keep some flowers that Colonel Fuck bought her, he wasn’t going to stop her. 

“Come on,” he said. “Gotta make sure you don’t fucking fall down the stairs, don’t I?”

Her lip twitched in not-quite a smile, and she joined him at the door, tucking her hand in his as she took one last look around. Then, together, they left Francis Ives and his flat of horrors behind, and Danny prayed it was for good.

Chapter Text

Perhaps they should have gone directly to the Parrot Club to meet Felix and Dakota, but Belle’s flat was right around the corner and she was covered in blood. She fell asleep on Danny in the taxi there and woke confused about how they’d arrived, but managed to get her legs back in time to make it to the stairs.

She had a lot of thoughts and feelings about Francis’ letter and his drugs and waking up tucked softly into bed, not to mention the fifty-thousand-pound check—which, since she could barely remember the location of her own feet right now, was tucked safely in Danny’s pocket—but those would have to wait. They were just here for her to change her clothes and wash up.

“You’ve never been up to my flat before,” she said as they climbed.

“Aye, I have, you just weren’t fucking in it at the time.”

“Not very romantic, is it?” 

He snorted behind her, hand on her hip. She suspected that, while this was partially to be on hand in case she stumbled, it was also because he had thought her dead. Would he ever stop worrying about that? As much as she felt confident that Francis was telling the truth this time, especially since he had followed it up with a real threat, she understood why Danny wouldn’t believe him. 

She couldn’t find her keys in her purse with her sluggish fingers, but it turned out Danny had a set in his pocket, so he unlocked the door, and then Belle almost fainted in shock.

The sight before her should not have surprised her. She knew Francis had access to her flat, but she hadn’t given any thought that he might do something other than take things from it, like clean it from top to bottom or purchase her a bookshelf and shelve all her books. If she examined them, she was sure they would be in the exact order she’d put them in a lifetime ago. 

“Jesus Christ,” Danny muttered. “Didn’t look like this last time I was fucking here.”

“No,” Belle said quietly. “It didn’t.”

Danny rubbed her back, warm and comforting, and she smiled at him. At least she hadn’t had to choose between Francis and loneliness. She would have chosen loneliness, but it would have been a much harder pill to swallow. She wouldn’t think about how lonely Francis was—perhaps if he chose meaningful connection over murder, he would have more friends.

Belle stripped off her bloody clothes, glad they were none she was particularly attached to, and handed them to Danny to bin. She hopped into the shower to scrub herself down in her six minutes of hot water, and the spray woke her up a bit too, and then when she left the bathroom to find a clean outfit, Danny gathered her up in his arms and kissed her.

“Jesus fucking fuck, I thought you were fucking dead,” he said, holding her so tight, she couldn’t even consider hugging him back. “I thought you were dead or a fucking cannibal or being fucking tortured.”

“I’m okay,” she said, trying to kiss his hair. “I’m alive, and I’m safe.”

“You’re fucking right you’re safe.” He kissed her again, tangling his hands painfully in her hair, and she gripped his coat in her fists, kissing him back with such fervor, their teeth bumped. 

When he pulled away, he was breathing heavy, and he didn’t lift his hands from her hair.

“I have to get dressed so Felix and Dakota don’t panic,” Belle said.

He nodded, but didn’t let go, just stared at her. Should Belle be more worried about what could have happened to him? Part of her didn’t believe that Francis would have harmed Danny, but Danny sure believed it. Would he really have gone and killed Danny while she slept? Danny, Dakota, and Felix, if he could find him? 

Maybe that would hit her later, how lucky she was. 

“I love you,” she said so that Danny would know that she wasn’t being quiet for any reason other than shock and exhaustion.

“I love you.” He kissed her again before releasing her to get dressed. 

Soon, they were walking into the club, which was fairly empty in the early afternoon, which meant that the first thing they saw in the dim room was Felix, sitting at the bar next to Dakota, smoking a cigarette and chatting with Frank. 

Frank’s hand stilled as he wiped the counter, and Belle smiled at him. He dropped the rag, and then Felix turned, frowning, but grinned as soon as he saw them. 

“Oi, you made it!” 

Belle and Danny made their way over, and it hadn’t felt as good to walk into her own flat as it did to walk into the club. Before she could greet Felix, though, Frank had made his way around the bar and was scooping her up in his big, meaty arms.

“You’re alive!” he said, which was, quite possibly, the most animated she had ever heard him without him pretending to propose marriage. 

“I didn’t know you liked me enough to hug me,” she said without thinking, and Frank laughed as he let her go. 

Felix and Danny had their arms around each other and were clapping each other repeatedly on the back like two old friends meeting at a football match, which Belle would have had an emotion about had Holly not barreled around them at that moment, fully topless and in a golden skirt.

“You’re home!” Without a care for her naked breasts, Holly wrapped Belle up in a hug as well, and Belle squeezed her back. “I was so worried about you! And then Frank had to escort me home? Well, you know, I’ve had my share of stalkers, so I know what to do, but I hadn’t seen you in ages!”

“Everything’s okay now,” Belle said, relieved that Holly was alive and well. Felix, Danny, and Dakota were all watching the interaction with varying degrees of interest—Danny, who had seen Holly’s tits more times than he’d seen Belle’s, was solely focused on Belle. 

“So it’s safe now?” Frank asked. “Back to business as usual?”

“We’ll see how fucking usual it is once I get a head around the fucking damage done,” Danny said, rubbing his forehead. “Holly, how many more of you can I fucking expect to want to see Belle tonight?”

“Everyone,” Holly said, and Belle’s eyes filled with tears. 

“Fucking great.” 

“Oi, how about instead of locking up in your office, you sit and have a drink with us, hey?” Felix said, waving his cigarette. 

“Yeah, come on.” Dakota patted the stool next to her, so Belle took it, and then, much to her surprise, Dakota gave her a quick hug as well. 

“Thank you both so much,” she said over Dakota’s shoulder. 

Felix shrugged, not meeting her eyes, and she smiled. He was just as uncomfortable as Danny always had been with being thanked. 

“Fine,” Danny said. “One drink.” 

One drink turned to several, and soon they were all having the kind of nice time Felix and Dakota had been begging them for while they were in hiding. Belle, of course, was not drinking alcohol because she had no idea what Francis had put into her system, but Frank did some bartender magic and made her a tropical mocktail. Danny even agreed to let Dakota have as many of his expensive tropical drinks on the house as she wanted since she had come out of sniper retirement for him.

The club was filling up, several of the strippers had come by to greet Belle and skirt around Danny, and they had all turned to watch Holly’s floor show when a bouncer came up to speak into Danny’s ear.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Danny said, “Can’t I get one fucking break? It’s your fucking job to keep fuckers on the fucking no-entry list from fucking entering. Do you need a fucking tutorial on how that fucking works, hey?” 

“No, it’s just that—”

Belle missed the rest of what he said because she looked toward the open door and her eyes met Gaston’s. He waved his good arm at her, and she shook her head, but then he rolled his eyes and raised a manila envelope. Belle’s breath caught. There was no way he had anything she wanted to see in that envelope, was there?

“Let him in,” Belle said. Danny gaped at her, but apparently her word was good enough for the bouncer because he left to do so.

“Belle, are you fucking crazy? I just want a fucking breather.”

“No, it’s fine.” Belle hopped off her stool, but didn’t walk far, letting him come to her. As much as she hoped Gaston was there for a good reason, she didn’t want to be too far from her boyfriend, his sniper sister-in-law, and his scrappy brother. Also, Frank.

“Gaston,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“You told me to come.” He held up the envelope again. “Here. They’re all signed. Happy?”

Belle accepted the envelope when he handed it to her, too shocked to respond. Behind her, even Danny hadn’t spoken, and she didn’t know if that was out of respect or because he, too, couldn’t believe this was happening. 

Gaston turned, but Belle gathered enough of her wits to say, “Wait!” 

“What?” He tried to fold his arms, but his cast made it too difficult. 

“When did I send these to you?” 

“This afternoon,” he said. “You faxed them to my office and told me to bring them down here, or your lawyer did, I guess. So there you go. You’re fucking free. You can tell your boyfriend to leave me the fuck alone.” 

“I will,” she said absently. He didn’t even glance at Danny, so she was sure he meant Francis, and then he was storming out before she could even thank him.

“What is it?” Felix asked. 

Too afraid of being disappointed, Belle handed the envelope over to Danny, who wasted no time in ripping it open. 

“Well, fuck me,” he said. “Fucking divorce papers, signed and notarized. No alimony, you give up all your rights to communal property, and Gaston’s mandated to attend counseling for gambling addicts.”

How had Francis made that happen? Was he a lawyer somehow? Had he hired one? For that matter, how had he gotten an agreement that required Gaston to attend counseling? 

“So, what,” Belle said. “All I have to do is sign and file with the courts?”

“Looks like it,” Dakota said, reading over Danny’s shoulder. “Happy divorce.”

Belle tried to sit on the stool, but it wasn’t right behind her, and if she didn’t choose to sit, her legs were going to give out, so she plopped onto the dirty club floor. Her eyes filled with tears. Here she was, the final year of her twenties, and she was finally happy.

“Hey.” Danny squatted down in front of her. “You still conscious?”

She nodded, and, with a grimace toward the floor, Danny plopped down next to her and put his arm around her.

“I’m free,” she said softly. 

“Aye,” Danny said. “No more debt, no more husband.”

“Did Francis really think that becoming immortal would be better than this?” Belle reached for the envelope, still hardly daring to believe that it contained the key to her life. “Or did he realize that this was my freedom?”

“Dunno, but I guess I fucking owe him now, don’t I?”

Belle laughed, and then she couldn’t not kiss Danny, because she was finally completely free to have a relationship with him. No murderous boyfriend, no husband refusing to release her, just Belle out in the world, free to make her own choices. Of course, she wanted to be free to be her own person for awhile too, to live in her own flat without working a thousand jobs, to feel what it was like to miss her boyfriend because she loved him and she wasn’t working too often to do anything in her free time but sleep. But it was nice to know that, when she was ready, she was free to do whatever she wanted with Danny.

“I love you,” she said to him. “I know I’m barely even divorced, but I love you and your whole family, and I want to be in it.” 

If she wasn’t mistaken, there was the inkling of a tear on Danny’s eye as well, but he looked down too quickly for her to properly assess. 

“I loved you the fucking second you walked into my office,” he said. “And I don’t know what the fuck I did to deserve you, but thank fucking god I did it.”

Belle could have written an encyclopedia of things he’d done, but that could wait for later. Now that she had processed the fact that she was holding official divorce papers in her hand, she needed to stand from this dirty floor. 

Much to her surprise, once she was up, it was Felix who offered the first hug.

“I’m glad you’re fucking alive,” he said. “And glad you’re free to be a Devine someday.”

“Oi,” Danny said, hauling himself up by the stool. “Marry your fucking fiancee, then you can talk to my girlfriend about being a fucking Devine.”

Belle Devine was much nicer than Belle Legume, that was for sure, but—

“Actually,” she said while Felix took a huff of his cigarette to prepare for a fight and Dakota just rolled her eyes, “I think I’d like to be Belle French again. Just for a little while.”

“Belle French finally, eh?” Danny slid his arm around her waist. By the end of the night, every single employee of the club would know they were together. “I like the fucking sound of that.”

Chapter Text

At Belle’s first wedding, there had been a hundred guests and a wedding party of just the bride and groom. Now, at her second, there were only twenty people in attendance, and twenty percent of those guests were in the wedding party. 

Belle couldn’t stop staring at herself in the mirror. They’d saved money using a small venue and only inviting Danny’s family and their friends, which meant that Belle had been able to convince Danny into a gourmet sit-down dinner and fresh flower decorations, and then he’d convinced her to get the gown of her dreams.

Strapless with a sweetheart neckline, a lace bodice, and a soft tulle skirt that belled out, Belle had never felt more like a princess. 

Dakota opened the bridal suite door, breaking Belle’s concentration on staring at herself. She and Holly both wore copper gowns, though Belle had given them free rein to pick the style. 

“Someone left this for you outside the door.” Dakota held up an envelope. “Should I put it in your bag, or do you want to open it now?” 

They had said no gifts, but Belle couldn’t begrudge anyone getting her a card. “I’ll take it.” She couldn’t imagine who would have left it outside the door to the bridal suite. 

“Photographer wants to do some photos in a bit.” Dakota handed her the card. “Do you want me and Holly to go first, give you a minute?”

Belle smiled. This time around, she cared a great deal about having good photos. She wanted to always be able to see exactly how happy she was. In case anything ever went wrong in life, she could take out the photos from her second wedding and know, without a shadow of a doubt, that happiness existed and was possible for her.

And she wanted photos of all her guests. When she flipped through her wedding album in the future, she wanted to know everyone who had celebrated with her.

“Thanks,” she said. 

Dakota left, promising to find Holly, and then Belle was alone again with the mirror. She glanced down at the envelope, addressed to Belle and Danny. The familiarity of the handwriting nagged at her, but then, she had seen so much handwriting for the RSVPs, she couldn’t be expected to recognize it immediately.

Someone else knocked on the door while Belle was staring at her beautiful princess dress in the mirror again, and it was as she was staring at herself, wondering who it was, that she caught another glimpse of the card and realized why she knew the handwriting.

“Belle?” Felix called as she watched resignation dawn on her own face.

“Come in.” 

Felix entered first in his three-piece suit, then Shirley in a navy blue dress. As was often the case when Belle and Felix were together, he was chewing on the butt of an unlit cigarette. Shirley bustled over to her and took her free hand. 

“You look beautiful, love.” Shirley shook her arm up and down in lieu of hugging her. Belle squeezed her hand in return.

“Danny’s gonna shite,” Felix said, which was a nice sentiment no matter how it sounded. 

“Can you send Danny in, actually?” Belle asked, gripping the card so that Shirley couldn’t see it. Felix, however, glanced behind her skirt, frowning.

“Right now?” Shirley shook her head. “It’s bad luck for him to see you.”

Belle opened her mouth to refute this, but Felix beat her to it. 

“Eh, they were gonna do the first look photos, Mum,” he said. “I’ll go tell him you’re ready, then?”

Belle glanced behind herself again at the mirror. Makeup and hair were done, jewelry was on. Danny could have his first look now. She wanted to get a look at him in a suit that actually fit anyway. 

Of course, now that she shopped for clothes with him, his clothes fit more often than not, but he wouldn’t be wearing his kevlar vest to the wedding. 

“I’m ready.”

Shirley squeezed her hand again, and then as soon as she turned her back, Felix slipped the envelope into his jacket pocket, and then Belle followed them out.

Their chosen venue was small, but it had a lovely courtyard with canopy trees and a garden, and while the photographer hid herself somewhere, Belle waited for Danny, trying not to chew the lipstick off her lips. He had insisted she buy the dress, but of course, he hadn’t seen it yet. Dakota and Shirley had come down from Liverpool to go shopping with her and Holly, and Holly had kept it at her flat through all the fittings and tailorings. Belle had seen bits and pieces of Danny’s suit, knew the waistcoat was copper like the dresses, but had yet to see it all together.

Belle walked the edge of the courtyard, careful to keep her dress away from the azalea bushes, and then she looked up, and there he was. His brown houndstooth jacket delighted her, and she loved that he’d been confident enough to wear that and the plain brown tie with his copper vest. He looked good.

But the best part was the way he looked at her, like he might explode with feeling at any second, and she hoped the photographer was capturing whatever look was on her face in return. She had thought she’d felt like a princess before, but that was nothing to how she felt with Danny here. 

“Hi,” she said.

“Hey.” He walked toward her, tentative, and she could tell he was making a conscious effort not to bounce on the balls of his feet like he normally would. He took her hands, then stepped back, surveying her. “Well, fuck me.”

She laughed, and he grinned, squeezing her hands. The photographer appeared, snapping photos from every angle.

“Good first look?” she asked. 

“Thank fucking god it’s the first and not the fucking last, hey?” 

“I feel the same about you.” She let go of his hand to trace his tie. “You look fantastic.”

“Oi, shut it,” he said, and he did not have the benefit of a full face of makeup to hide his blush. “No one’s fucking looking at me today. All eyes on you.”

“I’m looking at you today.” Careful of her lipstick, she stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. He flushed harder, as if they had not been together for five years and she had not kissed him thousands of times.

“Felix looks shite in brown,” Danny said. “Should’ve let him wear blue.”

“How does Frank look, though?”

Danny snorted. “How does Frank look.” He rolled his eyes. “Frank would look good in fucking wizard robes.”

Fair point.

Belle wanted to keep telling him how good he looked, wanted to keep holding his hands and having this beautiful moment together, but she had to think about the card in Felix’s jacket.

“What’s wrong?” Danny asked.

“Francis sent us a card.”

He scowled. “Of fucking course he did. Can’t get a fucking moment’s peace from him, can we?”

Belle laughed without much humor. Francis had a habit of contacting them as soon as they thought he wouldn’t. “And you should know that Dakota found it outside my door, so he probably dropped it there himself, so he’s probably here.”

At this, Danny flipped a bird to the garden at large, and Belle laughed. 

“All right, where’s the fucking card?”

Belle looked around, and then Felix climbed out of the bushes, brushing off his suit, and handed it over.

“Is it from him?” he asked.

“Aye, that’s his fucking handwriting.” 

“Can you take the photographer?” Belle asked. “We’ll be in in a few minutes.”

Felix nodded, and then he was gently dragging the photographer off. It was nice having such a dedicated best man, but the photographer probably would have left if he’d just asked her. 

“All right,” Danny said. “Fucking open it.”

Belle pulled out a card that said Forever on the front in romantic golden script, with white doves and hearts, and shook a handful of accompanying Polaroids into the envelope. Forever sounded much more ominous than congratulations when it was coming from an immortal man who had once almost killed her and everyone she loved, especially when it apparently came with photographs.

The inside of the card had no printed message, but instead, Francis’ beautiful handwriting.

Dear Belle and Danny,

Congratulations. I won’t hold it against you that I did not receive an invitation to this joyous celebration, as it seems your guest list was quite small. I understand why you wouldn’t want another mouth to feed.

Since you always loved my dining table, Belle, I considered gifting it to you, but as newlyweds, you don’t deserve someone’s old castoff furniture. With that in mind, I have made you a new dining set. I hope you get endless use out of it.

Enjoy your weekend in the country. I am impressed that you have managed to keep your honeymoon destination a secret, but enjoy that as well. 

Best,

Francis

Before taking the photos out of the envelope, Belle had an inkling of what they would be. Sure enough, it was five taken at different angles, showcasing a beautifully carved dining table and chairs already installed in their living room.

“So, I guess he does fucking know where we moved,” Danny said, rubbing his forehead. 

Belle shuffled through the photos again. He must have been waiting for them to leave yesterday and then immediately broken in because the photos all had sunlight streaming through the windows. 

“But he doesn’t know where the honeymoon is,” Belle said. She almost said that he didn’t know they were going to Italy, but it was possible that Francis was here somewhere, hiding amongst the trees. They would not mention a destination until they were safely in the airport together.

“And,” she continued. “At least this time he gave us a gift instead of just leaving a note somewhere we had hoped was private.”

Danny ran a hand through his hair, and Belle smiled when it stuck straight up. She reached to fix it, smoothing it down, and when she finished, Danny heaved a gusty sigh.

“I guess we did fucking need a table.”

Belle laughed, and she didn’t care about her lipstick—she could redo it. She stuck the card and the photos back in the envelope and tossed it on top of a bush where Felix would be sure to get it, and then grabbed her husband-to-be by the cheeks and kissed him.