The Truth About The Many Worlds Of Printed Pages

°•○•°Seven°•○•°

They returned to the garden flat, each carrying their chosen book, in time for lunch.

"How about I put together a few sandwiches, and we'll go to the Headquarters after we'll have eaten?" Siena proposed, clutching The Little Prince to her heart, which was overflowing with the sort of excitement she had not felt in years, not since she was a little girl. She couldn't stop the most memorable scenes of the book replaying in her mind, the migratory birds carrying the boy from his planet, the rose who made him want to leave, the pilot lost in the desert, the fox looking for a friend, the snake in search of a victim, the Little Prince dying...

"All right. You prepare lunch, I'll empty the dishwasher and start the dryer, and then we get ready to leave. Do you think we should call someone and tell them that we are coming?" James asked, already kneeling by the washing machine.

Siena shrugged. "I suppose there's always someone in the Headquarters. Let's just walk there and see. If we won't find anyone, we can call them from there."

She placed her copy of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's The Little Prince on top of his book of Andersen's Fairy Tales, which contained The Little Mermaid. It was such a wonderful choice, Siena mused, she had always felt sad for the mermaid who, unlike in the cartoon version, died at the end of the original story because the prince for whom she had given up everything, couldn't love her enough.

They ate in silence, each leafing through their book, rereading the parts they considered the best moments to jump into the plot and change a detail that would rearrange the consequent events into a happier ending for their unfortunate hero, their concentration only disturbed by their legs touching under the table, at first by chance, then by volition, making them both smile and cast glances at each other when they thought they were not looking, until they found it impossible to focus on the printed words any longer.

"I'll get the dishes; you go get ready. I think we should carry these with us," James said finally, feeling utterly confused by the effect her presence had on him and content at seeing that she was far from indifferent to him. Her racing heart, betrayed by the jewel oscillating among her water lilies and her flushed cheeks, were all that he needed to understand that their attraction was mutual.

She nodded, and cleared her voice as she stood up from her chair and collected the books before saying, "I'll carry them, my handbag is big enough for both, they won't get wet in the rain. I also have a huge umbrella, so we shouldn't get wet either. Meet you by the garden door in ten minutes." She smiled, then vanished quickly into her room, leaving him to clear the table.

It took him five minutes to wash the two plates and glasses they had used, and another five to fish his navy blue rain jacket and a pair of waterproof shoes from his luggage. He exited his room the moment she dropped her handbag and umbrella on the white wooden floor by the sitting room's armchair before she disappeared into the bathroom.

She was back out a couple of minutes later, looking gorgeous in her ash rose rain jacket falling to her mid thighs, her hair freed from the braid she wore in the morning now cascading in golden waves almost to her waist.

"I... Sorry. You look wonderful. The colour really suits you, all pastel colours do," James muttered as she noticed him staring at her and raised a questioning eyebrow, his mind busy sketching a mental portrait of her, a sketch he would turn into a painting back home. The painter in him loved how she didn't wear make-up; she looked more beautiful and unique this way, her features easier to learn and remember.

Siena smiled and returned the compliment. "You look great yourself. Navy blue looks wonderful with your hair." She giggled, then added when he raised an eyebrow at her in his turn, "Sorry, it's just that Dante's favourite blanket is the same colour."