Heart of Stone

Eleanor

Eloise quietly made her way to the table to sit next to her father. Her heart was thundering in her chest, noting the way Alexander's eyes had darkened at seeing her, seeing that it was her. But he hadn't looked surprised in the least, and she wondered if somehow, he'd already known.

As she sat beside her father, Alexander produced a piece of folded paper from the inside of his suit jacket. He placed it on the table and slid it over towards them wordlessly. Eloise hesitantly reached out and picked it up, unfolding it. Immediately she recognized it, and she closed her eyes for a moment as she remembered opening her mail in her vehicle and sticking it inside her handbag, forgetting about it. He must have found it.

Her father began talking, but it sounded as if he were far away or underwater. She knew he was apologizing for her behavior, and she would have felt mortified if she were listening, but she wasn't. The only things she could hear were the intersecting of all the conversations she'd had with Alexander, the laughter they'd shared, the smiles and intimacy and she'd never felt as stupid as she did in that moment.

She could have had those and more, if she had just told him from the beginning who she was. Even if she had waited until they'd seen each other a second time, or a third, it wouldn't have been as bad as this. But she hadn't been able to tell him at all, and now it seemed as if she had lied to him. It seemed as if she had purposely concealed her identity from him, and to what end, she was sure he didn't know and now speculated. That uncertainty looming before her was even worse than any solidified outcome she could have ensured had she just gotten over herself, as her father had told her on many occasions, and just told Alexander the truth.

She slowly placed the letter down, coming back into the conversation. Her father had begun explaining why he'd wanted to have this meeting, and Alexander and his mother were listening quietly. In fact, she was sure Alexander hadn't said a single word this entire time. She'd heard the cadence of his mother's voice once or twice, but that was it.

A sound, a floorboard creaking perhaps, drew her attention to the doorway, and her mother appeared. She wore pajamas beneath a light blue silk robe, a pair of slippers to match with white frills around the edges, clearly having just woken up from a nap. Her blonde hair was in a disheveled bun, and her brown eyes, so much like Eloise's own, seemed detached.

Eloise felt her stomach churn with nausea, her face going as white as a sheet. Anxiety gripped her in its clawed grasp, knowing her mother was about to say or do something nobody in this room could ever take back.

"Eleanor, love, you should be laying down." Edward said, rising to his feet as if to go to her in concern.

At the sound of her name, a little bit of life came back to Eleanor's eyes, and they swept across the room as if she only just noticed where she was, and they snagged on her daughter.

"Why should I be resting? Ugh, Edward, you're always trying to keep me locked away." She waved her hand dismissively, giving a small chuckle that seemed very out of place in the tense room. "Why do you want to keep me locked away when you have guests over?"

"Eleanor, we are having a very important meeting right now." Edward said with a hard tone, his eyes pleading with his wife.

Eleanor scoffed and stepped further into the room, swiveling her head around to look at Alexander and Caroline.

"Oh, Alexander Pearson, in my home? And the beautiful Caroline, so good to see you after so long. Really so nice of you to drop by." She said, giving a wide and cheerful smile, completely in contrast to the contempt in her eyes.

Eloise felt like the floor was beginning to move beneath her, her mother staggering closer to the pair.

"You, Alexander, you have come to take my daughter away from me. Yes, I know men like you, I do. But I bet you didn't know she's very unwell, always has been ever since she was a child. She's like her father, a real piece of work." Eleanor drawled, leaning one hand on the table.