Chapter 7
I woke up covered in a blanket that I didn't remember grabbing. I frowned and sat up. Blinking away the sunlit room, I got up and hesitantly opened one of the doors. No noise was coming from Francis's room, so I quietly closed the door behind me and walked down the staircase, careful not to wake him. As I came to the 1st floor, I made a bee line to the kitchen and opened a cupboard. I was in desperate need of some sugar or caffeine.
After a while of looking, I finally found some hot coco but no coffee. I grabbed a pan from it's hanging spot above the island and started to boil the water. After that was done, I poured the water into a mug and added the powder. I grabbed a spoon and the mug, stirring the drink as I walked into the living room.
I headed over to the first bookshelf and started scanning the shelves while taking tiny sips of the hot drink. I pulled out a copy of 'Les Miserable' that was in mint condition. I looked at the leather bound cover and opened it up to the 1st page.
"What are you doing?"
I screamed, jumping back, and the book fell onto the floor with a thud. I turned around, most of my coco spilling onto the floor in the process.
"Uh, just looking!" I said my cheeks heating up. Francis was standing against the door way, wearing nothing except long pajama bottoms. He looked me up and down then eyed me curiously. I suddenly felt very self conscious in my pajamas and ran out of the room and into the kitchen.
"What are you doing now?" he asked, following me.
"Getting paper towels to clean up the coco," I replied softly, letting my hair cover my deep red blush. I had become completely flustered and silently cursed myself for it.
"Let me help," he said.
"You can help by putting on a shirt," I muttered, pushing past him. Our arms brushed against each others. I blushed to my ears.
I knelt down in front of the spilt coco and began placing paper towels on it. I could feel his presence behind me before he knelt down and began helping me.
Once the coco was taken care of, I sat on my butt and pulled my knees to my chest.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"It's quite okay, mon cheri. Arthur spills tea on the floor all the time when he visits me." he replied, picking up the book and setting it back in its spot on the shelf.
"You're friends with Arthur?" I said, picking my head up. From what I had witnessed at the dinner table at the Christmas party, they didn't seem like they would be considered friends, more like sworn enemies.
"No, not really, but we've known each other since we were very small," he replied, chuckling.
"But how? If he grew up in England and you grew up in France, then how could you have known each other?" I asked completely confused. Something wasn't adding up in his story. It could be that I didn't buy the whole representative story. Those men were just too young, and it would not have been possible to have all the countries represented by young adults, not with all the culture differences in the world.
"Ah, our parents were acquaintances," he said, looking down at me and smiling.
"Okay," I said slowly, still not buying the whole story.
"You might want to go get dressed. We're going out and about later, and I don't think you want to wear that, although I would greatly enjoy it." he replied.
"I'm your assistant not sex slave," I said sternly with a cold stare.
"Oh I know, but it's still nice to dream, isn't it?" he said with a shrug.
