Chapter 8: We're an Old-Fashioned Bunch

Malcolm is a smart cookie. There is something going on between me and Laetitia, that’s for sure. What it is exactly, I can’t say. All I know is that she hates me, she thinks I’m disgusting, and she’s a prissy rich bitch, and also my knees seem to wobble every time she talks to me. Even when she’s talking down to me.

No. Especially when she’s talking down to me.

“Nothing,” Laetitia responds to her father, taking a step back from me. “Mx. Everness was just leaving.”

I was? I guess I am now.

“Nonsense!” Her father smiles broadly. “Stick around for a bit. Laetitia, put some tea on, would you?”

Laetitia rolls her eyes. “Sure.” She storms off into what I assume to be the kitchen, and I hear the sound of clinking metal as she puts a teapot on the stove.

“It’s good to see you again,” Malcolm says. “I was worried when you said you were just passing through.”

Worried? Why? “Yeah, I…um…” I waffle a bit on how much to tell him. I settle on: “I decided to stick around a little longer.”

“That’s great. I hope you won’t be a stranger. You’re welcome here anytime.”

I am? News to me. Laetitia re-enters a minute or two later holding a cup of tea on a tiny, ornate dish. “Uhh, thanks.” I take it and sit back down on the couch. “I appreciate the hospitality…?” It comes out sounding more like a question than a statement. Then, after a moment of hesitation, I open my dumb mouth. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” Malcolm says. Laetitia just sits there glaring at me.

“Why the cash? Why don’t you do this shit online like a normal person?” I practically cover my mouth as I realize I’ve just called him “not normal” to his face. But, still—it’s a question that’s been burning in my mind ever since I left on this errand.

If my comment pissed Malcolm off, he doesn’t show it, offering a shrug and a gesture with his arms as if to say, who knows? “Old habits, I suppose. That’s just how it’s always done around here. We’re an old-fashioned bunch.”

Who’s we, I wonder? The Gelspers? Or the whole town?

“Okay, but, like. Wouldn’t it be easier? Then you wouldn’t need me or Addy or whoever to stop by every month or whatever,” I say, my curiosity still not sated.

“I like to keep a close eye on my clients,” he replies. Oh good. He’s going to be keeping an eye on me, too, isn’t he? “Speaking of which—Laetitia, why don’t you show our guest about? I have some work to get done. I’ll be taking this, though,” he says, grabbing the envelope on the table. He glances once more my way before exiting the room. “Lum, you are welcome here anytime.”

Laetitia sighs and motions for me to join her. “Fine. Come with me,” she orders. I oblige, although I’m not sure why. Because Laetitia said to, I guess. Man, what is it with this family? One is a bitch to me and I’m somehow into it, and the other is super nice to me and I just don’t trust him one bit. How does that make sense? I’m fucked in the head, aren’t I.

Laetitia leads me to the rear section of the room, where a set of glass windows overlooks an inground swimming pool, a cobblestone path leading to a gazebo, and a straight up zen garden. “Here’s the backyard,” she says, as if this isn’t the most extravagant backyard I’ve ever seen.

“Jesus,” I mutter. “I didn’t even have a backyard growing up. This is… sheesh.” 

“You didn’t have a backyard?”

I send a glare her way. “I lived in an tiny apartment complex. We didn’t have any yards, period. Let alone swimming pools and gazebos and…tea sets and…all this shit.” I motion to everything around us, the nice couches, the paintings, the fancy curtains, the whole shebang. Laetitia’s expression is hard to describe. I can’t tell if it’s pity, shame, or concern. Either way, it shuts her up for a second and she just examines my face. I take the opportunity to swim in the oceans of her eyes for just a moment. Gods, they’re gorgeous. She’s gorgeous. I must look like a wretched little goblin person in comparison to her porcelain beauty.

Then she shakes her head, and the spell shatters. “C’mon. I’ll show you the rest of the house.” She takes my hand, swirls in place, and makes for the staircase. I follow obediently, because of course I do. Who wouldn’t follow Laetitia Gelsper literally anywhere? I’m starting to think if she told me to jump off a cliff, I wouldn’t even ask for a parachute. I try and fail not to stare at her ass in that dress as we climb the stairs to the second floor. She shows me their library, yes they have a godsdamn library, her dad’s office and her brother’s room, or at least the door to her brother’s room, which has a sign on it that says NO GIRLS ALLOWED! which causes me to bust out laughing.

“How old is he?” I wonder aloud.

“He’s twelve,” she says with a smile on the verge of a chuckle.

“Wait, twelve?” I reply incredulously. “You’re, what, twenty-four or something? That’s a heck of a gap.”

She lets out a breath and continues leading me down the hallway. “Twenty-six, actually. My father remarried when I was young. Xavier is from his second wife. My mom’s…not in the picture anymore.” Cold washes over my face. Laetitia looks as though she’s in another world for a moment.

I can’t help myself. “Look, I know we’re not friends or whatever, and we’re definitely going to circle back to the name ‘Xavier’ because that shit is hilarious, but…do you want a hug?”

“A hug?” Laetitia’s eyebrows shoot up her forehead. 

“Yes, a hug. It’s this thing that two people do when—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” She rolls her eyes. Eventually, after a long moment, she nods. “Sure. A hug would be nice. But keep your hands to yourself, degenerate.”

“I wouldn’t dream of violating your consent,” I say, and reach over her shoulders to wrap my arms around her. She feels tiny in my arms, delicate and fragile like the teacups left on the table downstairs. 

She hesitantly sets her hands on my hips and leans into the hug for just a moment before pulling away. “Come, I’ll show you my room.” 

I gulp. It’s true that I wouldn’t dream of violating her consent, but I might dream of touching her again. That sounds nice. “So, Xavier. He float around in a chair? He a telepath?”

She shakes her head, apparently getting my reference, which moves her up approximately two notches in my book. My book of people worth knowing, or something. “No, and he’d probably call you a dork for saying so. He is, sadly, boring as hell,” she says, a smile dancing on the edge of her lips. That’s the closest to any kind of facial expression I’ve gotten out of her, so I’ll count it as a win. She gets to the end of the hall and opens the door there, ushering me inside. “This is my room,” she says.

Ever wonder what the inside of a dollhouse might look like in real life? Yeah, me neither. I never played with dolls growing up. I preferred b-ball with the boys at the court down the block. But Laetitia either loves the dollhouse aesthetic, or she lives in hell. The walls are a soft pink, accentuated by two gold lamps and a golden-hued overhead light that serves chandelier vibes without actually being one. Her bedsheets are the same pale, pastel pink as her walls, and the bed is absolutely lousy with pillows.

There’s no clutter. I don’t mean “her room is very clean,” I mean there is. No. Clutter. It’s as meticulously organized as a doctor’s office. Her bed is made, her closet is sorted by color and style, and there’s nothing at all on top of her dresser or her desk. It’s just about the complete opposite of Addy’s apartment, which had clothing scattered about everywhere, a completely disheveled bed and half-a-day-old pizza sitting out on top of the stove.

“Wow,” is all I can say. “You sure like things neat, don’t you?”

She sits on her bed and glances at me like it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever said. “Cleanliness and godliness and all that,” she responds.

“Oh, you’re not…are you?”

To my relief, she shakes her head. “My family has…different beliefs,” she says. Okay, that’s…mysterious. I’ll pry another time, though. Right now I’m still a bit shell shocked that I am in Laetitia Gelsper’s room right now.

A long pause hangs in the air. I sit down next to her, still glancing around. No posters on her walls. No speakers, no music collection, no video games, nothing but two bookshelves absolutely overflowing with books. I guess I’ve found what she likes to do in her spare time. I take a moment to pore over her collection. It’s a mix of fantasy, romance, mystery, and more romance. Ah-hah. So we’re more alike than I thought. 

“So,” I say at last, like an idiot. “We’re…in your room.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” she says firmly.

“I’m not a degenerate,” I say, moderately less firmly. I’ve never thought of myself as one, at least. Maybe by society’s standards I am. I like sex. I mean, who doesn’t like sex? Don’t answer that.

Laetitia crosses her arms. “Oh? And how are you liking your book? Confess to Me, was it?”

Blood rushes to my cheeks. “Oh, please,” I say, pointing to her ample collection. “Like you’ve never—”

Now it’s her turn to blush. “Not in public!” she stammers. Her mask slips, and for just the briefest of moments, I see the real girl underneath all that pretense. Her skin flushes a beautiful coral-red, and she bites down on her lower lip as she avoids my gaze.

Ah-hah! So she’s not a robot after all. She’s so cute when she blushes, I can’t help but tease her a little more. “Well, obviously if I’d known you were watching, I wouldn’t have—”

“I wasn’t watching, don’t twist it around,” she snaps.

“You did more than watch, if I recall,” I say back. 

Laetitia spins to face me and grabs me by the collar, pulling me closer. The act shocks me out of my teasing tone. I notice, for the second time today, that her lips are curiously close to mine. 

I have no idea what’s going on anymore. Does she hate me, or…what?

“That was before…before I knew that Addison…” she trails off. Her eyes are searching, probing. 

I draw a little closer. “Addison doesn’t own me,” I say. Although yes, I’d have nowhere to go without her, and yes, she’s offering me money to help around the cafe, and yes, I’d apparently do just about anything she asked without question, but the point stands.

I watch gears turn in Laetitia’s mind. The moment is silent but for our hearts thumping in our chests. She places an ice-cold hand on my cheek. Not clammy, just…cold. Like she’d stuck her hand in a freezer for a minute or something when I wasn’t looking. “Good,” she says. 

Then she yanks me into her and her lips crash into mine. They’re cold too, but plush and soft, and ohmygods is this happening right now, am I kissing this girl who I thought hated me ten minutes ago? Well, I’m not exactly about to turn down the hot librarian who haunted my thoughts for most of yesterday. I lean into the kiss and she pushes back, grips me tightly, doesn’t let go. I feel her tongue grazing against my lips. Then, as quickly and suddenly as it began, she pulls away.

“I claim you for myself, then,” she says matter-of-factly. Then she stands, pulling me to my feet, and shows me to her door. “Tell Ms. Grey I said hello,” she says with a devilish smile. And then the door shuts in my face.

What. The actual fuck?

Dazed, I wander back the way Laetitia showed me and down to the first floor. Josef is there, and he says something to me, but honestly I’m barely paying attention. Something about my coat? Oh, he’s asking if I need my coat. I nod and he departs, returning a minute later with my coat and a basket of chocolate. “Mr. Gelsper told me to give this to you as thanks. Please, come back anytime,” he says.

And just like that, I’m back outside. It feels like my head’s been dunked in a bucket of ice. It might have only lasted ten seconds, but that was one of the best kisses I can remember in my lifetime. It felt…urgent. It felt necessary. And…she…claimed me? What does that mean exactly?

And why am I so stupidly, desperately into the idea of being claimed by her?

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