"Why don't you want me to accompany you?"
Esmé sighed, her eyes meeting Leslie's. They had been discussing this for the last ten minutes and her friend was persistent. She had gone up to her room to get her bag before leaving with Wyatt and she found Leslie organising her vanity table.
"It's not that I don't want you to come, Leslie. You've been working a lot lately. You must be tired." Esmé explained, "It's just a siblings' night with Wyatt anyway."
"Siblings' night, my foot."
Esmé chuckled, "You've been sassy lately. I like that."
"Don't change the topic, my Lady." Leslie crossed her arms in front of her chest, unfazed, "You just want to go out in hope of finding out something new."
"That's true," Esmé nodded, but she also wanted to get her mind away from Jack and her father. "Can you bring me my shoes?"
Leslie walked to the wardrobe to pull out a pair, "I'm with you in this. Just let me be."
"I know!" Esmé threw her hands in the air, glancing at her friend with a sincere expression. "But tonight, you need to rest!"
Leslie rolled her eyes, handing her a blue pair of shoes with golden ornaments. They were the ones that had started everything. Esmé shook her head rapidly, pushing them away from herself, "I'm never wearing those."
"Why?" Leslie studied her lady with a confused look, "They are your favourite."
"Ill-luck, that's what they are."
Leslie stared at the blue flats in her hands, shrugging. She handed Esmé a different pair - black ones this time. Putting them on, Esmé quickly adjusted her hair in front of the mirror before leaving.
"Please be careful."
"I will!" She pulled Leslie into a quick, loose hug, leaving her with a slight smile on her lips and in hopes that someone would make her Lady forget her hardships and stay by her side. Even if it was just for tonight.
~~~
"So this is the place Leslie and you hang out?" Wyatt examined the building in front of him. The White Shore. A wide grin spread on his lips, his hands deep in his pockets. It was appallingly dark in the streets of London. Only the splendid full moon shone on them as the siblings approached the entrance of the famous pub. His eyes fixed to the writing underneath the pub's name.
"Ama et fac quod vis, " Esmé read out loud.
"That's Latin."
"I know, smartass."
Wyatt chuckled, "But I don't think, they'll allow me inside." He looked at his sister with pouty lips, "This place is well-known. We tried to sneak in once with a few friends but the redhead bartender threw us out. Literally. She was damn strong."
Esmé looked at him, trying to stifle her laughter. A picture of how Charlotte grabbed him by the collar and dragged him outside visualised in her head. She sighed, "I'll ask her to let you in this one time but only if you behave."
"You know me," Wyatt nudged her arm, gleaming. "I'm such a well-behaved boy."
"Sure," Esmé rolled her eyes. "A boy that gets beaten up easily, remember? I can't save you if you get into fights."
"What? That just happened once. And I can defend myself!" Wyatt continued to argue, rambling how he had fought a boy two years older than him. But Esmé didn't listen, pulling at his arm.
He stopped talking abruptly when they stepped inside, his eyes wide, looking around amazed. "This is even better than I remember." It was crowded as usual but the atmosphere was much more at ease than Esmé's last visit. Hoping that people wouldn't recognise them again.
Her eyes narrowed, "At what age did you try getting in here?"
"14."
She hit the back of his head. A little 'ouch' escaped his lips. Then he turned away hastily when Charlotte approached them with crossed arms. Her hair bounced on her shoulders as she strutted towards them in her tight, dark-green dress which matched the colour of her shiny iris.
"Lady Esmé," She smiled then searched for her brother's eyes, "And you are?"
"This is Wyatt."
"Oh, right." She grasped his chin, making him meet her gaze. He was taller than her, hovering over her almost but the blush on his cheeks made him look younger than he actually was. His pupils grew large, alarmed as Charlotte touched him. She chuckled, noticing his nervousness.
"Cute," She cooed, tilting her head to the side, "Unfortunately too cute to stay here."
"Just tonight?" Esmé asked with a hopeful expression, "He's my only friend."
Charlotte let go of Wyatt's face, making him exhale deeply in relief. She examined him from the side. "Only because it's you, Esmé. And you," She put her finger on his chest, making him tense up again. "Don't tell your friends or I'll kick your ass."
"I won't, I promise," Wyatt responded quickly like a shot.
"Good!" Charlotte's face lit up, whirling around to grab Esmé's arm, pulling her towards the bar. "Look who's here-" Esmé sat down on the barstool next to the quiet journalist who she hadn't heard from for over a week.
"William!" Charlotte cheered, snickering.
Esmé took a glimpse at him but he was immersed in his papers, writing down hectically. He didn't seem to sense her presence at all, nor did he hear Charlotte call his name, so Esmé tapped his shoulder carefully, making him jump. His tousled hair fell to his wide eyes.
"Hey," Esmé greeted, studying his startled look.
"Oh, Rose." The name rolled out of his tongue naturally. For a brief moment, everything seemed to fall in silence. Esmé gulped, hiding her bewilderment. Hitting his arm, she chuckled nervously and avoided Wyatt's curious looks. "It's Esmé."
"I-" William shook his head, laughing, "Of course, Lady Esmé."
Wyatt scratched the back of his neck, "I thought he was a close friend of yours." He sat down next to his sister, watching Charlotte hand him a glass of water, "You know, I can drink. I drink heavy-"
"Not in my house, little boy." Charlotte furrowed her brows, making him huff deeply.
"What a bummer." He turned around in his seat, "Are you a journalist?"
"Yes, I write sometimes," William mumbled. Esmé felt the tension radiating off of him. His mind seemed to be elsewhere.
"What do you write?"
"This and that."
"You were about to fall into the paper," Esmé remarked, staring at him with hooded eyes as she sipped the light drink that Charlotte had poured her.
"I wonder what's it about," The bar lady added, propping her arms on the counter to get a better look of William's taunted face.
"About the incident that happened your engagement party."
Esmé coughed hard, not expecting him to be this blunt about what he worked on. She had hoped that he'd turn the conversation around. Wyatt patted her back and Charlotte pouted, "You didn't have to startle her like that, William."
"But-" Esmé inhaled sharply. "That's three days back. Why write about it now?"
"Because I have new information," William stated absently again, his eyes glassy.
"What is that?" But he ignored Esmé's question, standing up from his seat.
"You can read in the papers - if they let me publish that is." He murmured the last part. He turned to leave when Esmé grabbed his arm firmly, "You'll be surprised to see some familiar names," He added, not looking at her.
"Is this it?" Esmé hissed, tightening her hold on his jacket, "Are you serious, William? I thought you'd help me." She whispered only for him to hear. Still, she knew that Wyatt watched her, probably flummoxed by all this but she couldn't care at that very moment.
William had been away for over a week as if the ground had split and swallowed him. He had come into her life, making her believe that he'd guide her through the mess she was in but he didn't. Suddenly she felt furious but he was quick to shrug her hold off.
"Not here," William mumbled, stepping back and leaning down to reach Esmé's ear, "Unless you want Ellis to chop our heads off. He's been watching you since you arrived."
Esmé fought the urge to gasp audibly, her eyes scanning the bar. Her whole body on alert when William continued talking, "I think, I found something interesting."
"What's that? We all want to know."
Their heads snapped up to see the owner of the voice - Dean. The blonde guy that haunted Esmé in her dreams.
"You," She breathed out, leaning back, hitting the counter behind her.
"What?" Dean chuckled, "Why are you looking at me like you've seen a monster?" He put his finger on Esmé's forehead, pushing it slightly.
"Everyone enjoys spooking me today." She groaned.
Meanwhile, William sneaked away, circling Dean's side with a faked grin on his lips. He lifted his arm, waving dramatically, "See you all later! I'll get this article done then."
"What's up with him?" Dean watched after him with his hands propped on his waist, "He's acting strange lately." Taking the seat William emptied, his eyes fixed on Wyatt who was behind Esmé. He was busy looking at the ceiling with his glass close by his lips, nervously dodging Dean's stare.
"Charlotte, you never let minors in," He noted, leaning over the counter to get a better look at Esmé's brother, "Oh, you are Wyatt Benson. Your little brother?" He glanced at Esmé, making her nod in response with clear indifference written on her facial features.
Dean snickered, throwing his head back, "Looks like the Bensons became frequenters here. How fascinating."
"I hope, you keep unnecessary comments to yourself." Esmé murmured, her eyes locked on her drink, "I'm not in the mood."
"When have I ever made any unnecessary comments?"
"This was one for example."
Dean snorted, "Someone's snappy."
"That was another one you could have kept to yourself."
Now he looked at Esmé with sincere eyes, steadying his arm against the counter, examining her attentively. "What's wrong? I'm not used to you being ignorant to me."
She turned her head, meeting his stare, "I basically had my worst day ever." She didn't know why she told him that but she had this urge to blabber everything out - what a fool Jack was, what idiot her father was, on and on.
Dean didn't say anything, only kept his icy gaze on her with his nonchalant face that Esmé was too familiar with by now. He didn't care about her - obviously. But he asked the right questions at the right time, making her answer unthought-through.
Then he stood up from his barstool, searching for Charlotte behind the counter table. He snipped his fingers to catch her attention, pointing at the young Benson, "Take care of him while we're gone."
"Alright," Charlotte lifted her thumbs up as Wyatt frowned.
"Huh?" His voice rose, "Where are you taking her?"
"I'll help your sister cheer up. Hang out here until we come back." Esmé wasn't able to follow when Dean held out his hand for her to take. She watched him with wide eyes, confused by his behaviour. Help her cheer up? She felt flustered when his voice dropped low.
"Don't worry, I'm not on something. Just taking you to the rooftop." Esmé's gaze landed on his hand. She hesitated, her eyes travelling back to meet his. She didn't trust him. His actions were dubious but she had enough of questioning. She wanted to go with the flow. Even if it was only for the moment.
Esmé put her hand in Dean's, her skin tingling as he engulfed it, pulling her up from her seat with a small smile to his lips. He was quick, not hesitating as he walked behind the counter with her close behind. He didn't say anything and her senses were numb. He guided her to one of the backrooms, pulling her towards narrow stairs that went up three floors.
When they arrived at the end of the stairs, Dean came to a halt, causing Esmé to bump into his back. He didn't bother and she was glad that he didn't see her blushing.
He kicked the door open to reveal a small roof terrace. Stepping into the light of the full moon, a small gasp escaped Esmé's lips as she took in the sight. Even if the terrace wasn't as high as some other buildings in London, it still had a breathtaking view over the city. She walked near the railing, leaning over as the cold winter wind blew into her face. She inhaled deeply, her eyes shut, a satisfied smile tucking at her lips.
Esmé let her eyes travel over the city, propping her chin on her hand, feeling grateful for Dean letting her experience this beautiful sight. Large buildings to her feet, engulfed in the darkness of the night. Small light spots presented the little houses and families that were still awake. All had their own hardships, oblivious to the problems of others. None of them were people of Rose's time.
The shining full moon turned the scene to a more mesmerizing one. Esmé whirled around on her heel, hugging her torso as she began to feel chilly.
"Thank you." She mumbled, staring at her feet, "This is beautiful. We have a great view of the forest at home but this is different."
Dean nodded only, stepping closer, watching her every move. Taking her off-guard with his sudden curiosity, he asked, "What happened today?"
"Did you really take me up here to bring that up?" She snickered, rubbing her forehead. "You said, this was to make me feel better."
"I thought," He stammered, "Sharing what's on your mind, might make you feel better."
Esmé looked at him, trying to hide how overwhelmed she was. Why did it feel like he sincerely worried for her? Biting the inside of her cheek, she tried to find the correct way to respond.
"It won't." Her lips were in a thin line. "And I'm sorry."
He quirked an eyebrow, "For what?"
"For hitting you that night." Dean glanced at her still bewildered, then he erupted in laughter.
"Well, I deserved it." He ran his fingers through his blonde strands, "I should be the one apologising. I behaved like a complete douche."
"You did." She remarked, stifling her grin as she met his gaze.
"What made you so upset today?" Again. She had believed that she had succeeded in evading this topic. His question hung in the air, suffocating her.
"It's just this and that." Esmé smiled slightly, swerving his stare.
"You can tell me." His voice was soft, "Whatever you want to get off your chest."
"I wouldn't know where to start." It just slipped out. With him, she had no censor, no prepared excuses. And she want to tell him - but why not Jack? Why did Dean's words surround her with a wave of warmness - although Jack was probably the more wholehearted one?
"I can help you with that." Dean stepped forward, trapping her between the railing and his broad chest. Esmé grabbed the bar behind her firmly, her back leaning over it as he moved his face closer, examining her intensely. The atmosphere shifted, the temperature palpably dropping a few degrees. His icy eyes never leaving hers.
"Why do you keep coming here when you know that it's probably a death wish for you to show up in this pub?" He was right. She was here again. Was it this place? Or its people? Was it the foolish bravery of facing her potential murderer or was it the misleading hope of believing she could change fate?
"Something pulls me here." The skin between his brows crinkled when he frowned, hearing her words.
"And that is?" He whispered, breathing heavily. His grip around the railing bars tightened, the arms in his jacket perceptibly straining.
Esmé didn't know how to respond although she knew the answer. She absorbed the sight in front of her, strangely realising now how much more stunning it was than the city behind her. His deep eyes, distinctive cheekbones and full lips. His blonde hair needed a fresh cut but the way it was tousled called for her to run her hand through it.
Dean noticed how her gaze landed on his lips, causing it to curve up at the corners. But before he could make a shameless comment, Esmé spoke up.
"I want to stay alive." She looked away, not daring to glance at him as she decided to pour out what was on her mind - admitting to her deepest fear. "I know that someone is after me - Someone wants to murder me. And every day, I try to find out who that is - to get him before he gets me." Dean glanced at her confused, opening his mouth to say something but she lifted her hand, stopping him. Her fingers mere inches away from his lips, she couldn't move in his hold.
"I have nobody to trust, Dean. Not even in my own home. I know things that could help me take the upper hand. But I don't know how to use that to my advantage yet." Esmé met his eyes again. He swallowed hard and stepped back - finally giving her some space to breathe. She stumbled forward when he released her, realising how tense her posture had been by her aching neck.
Dean exhaled deeply, studying her from head to toe, "Who is after you?"
"I don't know." She huffed, "It could be you for all I know."
"Why would you think I was on to murder you?" He asked calmly, "I would have done it already if I wished."
"We'll see when the day comes and you hold a knife against my throat."
Dean stared at her, utterly flummoxed. He snorted, "You are actually being serious about this."
Esmé knew that nothing she said helped her - the opposite. She knew she'd regret it later - telling the enemy. "I make no sense, right?" Fear flickered in her eyes - which she had tried to cover but Dean caught her. He was lost, unable to form any coherent sentence to ease the tension, nor to make her feel better.
"Yes, and I have a hard time believing you." He breathed deeply, looking away, "But I'll help you. I won't let anyone hurt you."
Esmé shook her head, her emotions were all over the place. Her eyes filled with tears but she bit her lip hard to hold her composure. What had gotten into her so suddenly, feeling like a complete muddle? The problem was - since when did she talk so easily about the homicide that awaited her? It was agitating and sickening.
Dean noticed her fighting the urge to cry, debating whether he should comfort her or not. His lips were pressed into a thin line when he stepped closer to put his strong arms around her petite frame.
It happened quickly - too abrupt for both of them to register. His warmth engulfed her, yet she stiffened. Her arms glued to her sides when Dean pulled her into his chest, his hand caressing her back gently. Esmé's pupils widened, her cheeks flamed up.
"Dean-" Whatever she had thought of saying it stuck in her throat as finally, a tear slipped down her cheek. She shunned out everything, only perceiving his slow steady breaths close to her ear, tingling her skin.
Dean held her securely for a few more moments. Esmé shouldn't enjoy his embrace. She should have pushed him off but this blunt closeness was what she had needed - and his scent was crippling. He pulled back, leaving a whiff of longing behind and making her exhale a deep breath she didn't know she was holding in.
"You're fine." He whispered, "Look at you." He held her by her shoulders firmly. "You're perfectly fine."
Esmé tried to put on a smile but it faltered. She wasn't fine at all. Not when she remembered what mess she was in. But his words were soothing nonetheless.
"Will you make sure of that?"
A soft chuckle escaped him, "I will." He smiled. Esmé had never seen him this serene. A new wave of emotion cocooned her.
The more she looked at him, the more she got lost in his ocean eyes, feeling light-headed. She took a step forward, "Promise?"
Dean visibly tensed up. This time he couldn't hide it - his brows furrowed, the tongue in his mouth poking the inside of his cheek. She didn't know where this was going, nor how she felt about the sudden change in the air. Heck, her thoughts were scattered. She was bewildered by her own words and actions. It was frightening - this new wavering sensation devoured her heart. But she let her chaotic feelings guide her anyway.
"I promise." He muttered lowly. "I got you."
Esmé's body appeared to move on its own when she tiptoed to reach his height. She steadied her hands on his shoulders, mumbling a little 'thank you' before putting a soft peck on his cheek.
Dean froze, his eyes large, his neck turned a pinkish colour. Esmé moved back, tucking her hair behind her ear and avoiding taking a glimpse at his expression. Her heart was frantic.
She circled around him, "I should go."
He cleared his throat, "I'll go along."
"Thank you for cheering me up."
His quiet response with his hands in his pockets and sudden knowing smirk flustered her, "Next time a peck on the cheek won't do as a trade-off."
They walked down the stairs, entering the main hall of the pub - no more chat exchanged. Esmé felt how her face was progressively getting hotter and she could have slapped herself. It was only a fudging kiss on the cheek. She walked hastily and Dean strolled slowly behind her, amused by her fidgety behaviour. He probably thought that she was being extremely childish. How embarrassing.
Without hesitating, Esmé grabbed the drunken Wyatt, surprised that Charlotte had decided to serve him alcohol anyway. She hurried, still ignoring Dean's ambiguous stares following her around when she rushed to collect the pieces of her little brother who was just about to start a fight with someone twice his age. Apologizing to the middle-aged man at the bar, she dragged Wyatt away.
Before stepping out of the pub, Esmé came to a halt - Dean's words would sweep away her fatigue tonight. Yet she felt at ease, turning around to take a last glimpse of him.
But her gaze landed on someone else - who was rigid and bleak. Then Esmé realised it would be another man keeping her awake tonight. His eyes fixed on her, watching derogatorily with a clenched jaw. Those dark eyes that belonged to none other than Ellis Walker.