Speak Softly, Love

Chapter 5: A Cleansing Drizzle

April 13, 1939

     After his unannounced visit to the bakery, he had returned three more times over the span of two weeks. If he came by it while on an errand, he'd stop by. On some days, however, he simply went on his own accord, to quicken the dreary pace of his life. The mere thought of it had warmed him imperceptibly and he looked forward to the next visit, the next week to come. When he wasn't at the bakery, he was at her tailor shop and helped with sorting and he slowly became immersed in her way of life. She showed him her records, more than he had expected, and the soft gleam in her eye as she shared the story behind each one had stricken him, in an incomprehensible way. As if an induction, he finally entered the back room which stored a collection of pieces stashed in a mahogany closet. She said that it would be her debut into the fashion world, displayed in her wonderful boutique in Paris. Her resolve never failed to impress him. It was the type of sheer hopefulness that one would want to preserve against the ailing nature of the world. 

     Unconsciously, he had fulfilled that role for her.

     While at an antique shop the other day, he stumbled upon across The High Fashion Atlas of Europe, a complete encyclopedia that he was sure would interest her plenty. When he first laid eyes on it, he pictured her reaction first— the radiant gratitude that would grace her face and then they would read it together under the amber-lit room as a comforting jazz played solemnly in the background. All of this premonition from a single book left him helpless to the purchasing temptations. He came home that day, paper bag in hand, and placed it underneath his desk, with unadulterated bliss. Lila came across it the next night.

     He entered his room and she stood there expectantly.

     "Good evening. Do you need something?"

     Her stoic face broke into a smile and she kissed his cheek.

     "Oh, darling, don't act so dense!" She cooed. "I saw the book and believe me, I was so flattered that you thought to apologize and bought it for me. I told Chloe that we would—"

     "Lila." He interjected. "It's—It's not yours."

     The smile faltered. "It's not? Who is it for then?"

     "It's for Marinette. She's helped me a lot the past couple of days."

     She repeated it in a slow murmur. "Marinette? The seamstress?"

     He nodded. Her frown deepened.

     "Look, darling, I am only saying this because I care, but I don't know how I feel about that girl." She thought carefully. "What would Father think? It'll cause a riot back in Paris!"

     "Riot? That's a bit much." He said and turned from her slightly, unbuttoning his sleeve cuffs.

     "Adrien—"

     "Lila." He countered. "She's just a friend."

     He sounded so assertive that he even fooled himself.

     He had agreed to help Marinette sort the storage room a week before and he decided to give the gift then. The scene played out in his head the entire walk there— her expressive gasp and joyfulness that accepted the book with overwhelming gratitude. It was vivid in his mind, feeling so fragile and real. Supposedly, Alya was going to help them as well, though when he arrived there was only one girl, whose head was buried in a large cardboard box. Plagg was a few paces behind her, on his handmade cushion. Breathing inwardly, he stepped inside and the girl looked up and smiled.