VIOLET EYES | LES MISÉRABLES

chapter eight

Some time later.

"I'm off to the bookstore Papa, I shan't be too long!" Sonnet passed Javert in the parlour as she headed to the front door.

"You were at the bookshop yesterday!" Javert called, making Sonnet halt in her tracks. She backtracked slowly, hands locked behind her back as she smiled innocently at Javert.

"I've been trying to find a Shakespeare play for the longest time, I was told it was coming in today." Sonnet rambled an excuse, hoping she was convincing enough for the infamous Inspector. This was the man who stared at criminals and made them blurt their darkest secrets.

Javert narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but surprised her by merely waving a hand. "Stay safe."

"Aren't I always?" Sonnet teased, hurrying over and kissing his stubbled cheek. He gave her a pointed look, staring at her cheek. "That was me being silly Papa. Nothing else."

The argument had been long forgotten, although Javert had found ways to be subtly more cautious. It was hardly noticeable; he was an Inspector for a reason. But he restrained himself from being too strict, a feat for him, and that allowed Sonnet freedoms she suddenly felt she had to take for granted. But for now, they were alright.

"I'll be back before dinner, Papa." Sonnet chirped, beaming at him before rushing out the door.

It was definitely warmer outside, Sonnet noticed as she closed the door and turned to face the Parisian morning. Every day the city inched closer and closer to summer, a sliver more blue sky revealing itself to the naked eye. It was beautiful every day, but Sonnet felt considerably more appreciative the warmer it grew.

She hurried down the carefully trimmed garden path and slipped out the front gate, not once bothering to glance behind her. He didn't suspect anything.

There was a seed of guilt that had been planted inside Sonnet. She was hiding from him, essentially leading a double life that she never expected. It was cruel to the one who had devoted so much time to Sonnet, but she had tried to warp her feat of selfishness into a crucial task. If she were to become an adult, one day without the care of her father, she had to be selfish.

Sonnet made it to the bookstore in record time, having discovered short cuts sometime during her frequent ventures into the town. She snuck in through the back entrance, noticing a few officers hovering in the street and not desiring an encounter with any.

The calming aroma of dusty books and worn leather hit Sonnet instantly, making her smile. She only read challenging works, but appreciated the art form of literature nonetheless. Besides, it would always remind her of the person she was quickly growing very attached to.

"Sonnet!" As if on cue, Jehan popped into her vision. He wore a bright smile, blotches of ink staining his face. "How lovely to see you. Through the back entrance."

Sonnet chuckled, eyeing the pattern of inky fingerprints upon his cheeks. "Sometimes we must travel in ways no one expects of us. To keep them on their toes."

"Well put." Jehan nodded his approval, moving his hand up to adjust his hair but instead knocking the quill that perched over his ear.

"Are you writing poetry instead of working, Monsieur Jehan?" Sonnet teased, gesturing at the ink stains with a soft smile. Jehan blushed, nodding bashfully.

"Of course. I seem to be filled with inspiration at the moment." Jehan replied. Sonnet quirked an eyebrow in interest.

"Have you found a muse, Jehan? Or perhaps settled your eyes upon a glorious flower or a beautiful sunset? Do tell."