Grapes In The Winter

Part 2: La Biblioteca de Henderbilt

Note: PAY ATTENTION TO POVs, RJ IS THE NEW GIRL AT THE VINEYARD, CHASE IS THE SON OF THE VINEYARD OWNER! xx

Warning: extreme pretentiousness from both POVs

Chase's POV:

I wake up and rub the sleep from my eyes, I glance over at my alarm clock is well past ten. I walk from my room, not bothering to throw a shirt over my bare chest and duck into the library. I scan through the towering shelves, the old man has every book ever published in here, I swear. I move back to the right corner.

The philosophy section.

I start down the rows of books, dragging my pointer finger along their leatherbound spines. I entertain the thought of selecting something new, but select the untouched, bound copy of Divine Comedy. I round the corner and there she is. What the fuck? I think to myself.

That bitch really think she can just waltz into the restricted section of our library? She looks up and nods when she notices me standing there.

"What are you doing in here?" I say, through clenched teeth. She holds up Dante. At least she has taste.

"You're not supposed to be in here." I threaten, clenching my reading tightly in my fist. She chuckles.

"And why's that?" She said, amused. She had no right being in this library, but especially not this section. Mom's section.

"Because I said so." I seeth, not expecting for my comment to have any effect on this intrusive, insolent little bitch girl.

"Your mom has beautiful taste." She set the book down on the table and leaves. I let out a breath that I didn't know that I was holding.

RJ's POV:

I woke up this morning with a pounding headache and an itch to read some philosophy. As little as I was actually listening to their conversation, I remember overhearing something about a library in the Henderbilt house. I slipped out of my shirt and into my cream turtleneck. I pulled a pair of slacks from my drawer and belted them around my waist. I clasped a small gold necklace around my neck, pulling it over my neckline. I tossed a tweed overcoat over my shoulders and left the room.

The Henderbilt building looms overhead as I hurry up the gravel path and push through the grand double doors. The wind is biting this morning, making me glad that I brought a jacket. I rush through the doors, no staff is there to greet or stop me. I remove my coat, looping it around my pointer finger and tossing it over my shoulder.

I take the first hallway, I hesitate before opening the first door. If my father has taught me anything, it's that some doors are better off remaining unopened. I cracked it gently, it wasn't the library but it was empty. I sighed. The room looked to be a ballroom, an ancient phonograph was sitting in the far corner and the floor was constructed of polished oak. I closed the door. Further down the hallway, was a pair of dark mahogany double doors that looked promising.

The library, I smiled, pushing open the doors. I settled into the back corner with Dante resting in my hands. The towering shelves were welcoming and the book in my hand looked as if it had been well loved.

The front page had cursive writing scrawled across it. So that one day, you will find no fear in what comes after the end, Franny Hendervilt.

Chase's mom. I murmured softly to myself. My mom had told me about Mrs. Henderbilt. She had killed herself a couple years back. At least she died unafraid.

"What are you doing in here?" Chase Henderbilt's drawled from behind me. I turned, noting that he was holding a Divine Comedy and finding that extremely amusing. I was, however, able to recognize that I probably shouldn't be in here.

Far be it from me to ever admit I'm wrong, I ask him, "And why's that?" Making sure my indifference to his response is clear in my tone.

"Because I said so." He retorts, obviously angry. What the fuck did I do? I think to myself, already getting tired of his pointless and seemingly endless supply of anger.

Out of the books in the library I had picked the one his mom had inscribed, I put it down on the table in front of him. The closest thing I was going to give to an apology.

"Your mom has beautiful taste," I nodded, hoping that he would see that I was being sincere. She was obviously well-read and, if nothing else, had passed down that attribute to her son. Though you could never tell from his vulgar speech, he was clearly a reader.

This didn't make up for him being an entitled dick, though. I nodded at him quickly and left the library.