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I could see Olivier getting frustrated, mostly that the man didn’t seem inclined to double-check. I began to wander through the aisles of books. Most of them were in French, obviously, but I found the small section of English books. Most of the selection consisted of French authors translated into English, along with various classics. At the bottom of the shelf, though, were a handful of romance novels—in English, no less.

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The Baron—her husband’s people were very capable. But, anyway, the new hardbound books Fabian bought for her were the ones she had requested. She wanted a few books written in the Italian language so she could start reading them and understand more the context of what her tutor was teaching her. And for the next three hours, Adalene stayed in the library for her lessons with Mdme. Cléore and for further reading and studying on her own. She barely managed to say her goodbye in Italian when the madame left. She was inside a quarter of one of the books with a dictionary on the side when the compter came in with Fabian, who dropped a kiss on her forehead before they discuss the books and the new

Nobody pays any attention to us, so we make our way forward. Jonas leaves us and disappears into one of the numerous shelves in the spacious room, while I continue to walk down the aisle with Luke by my side. A lot of the books here were written in French, while there were a few written in English. Luke pulls out a leather-bound book off one of the shelves, running his hand over it. The title is in French. "This is one of my favorite books of all time." "You read books in your leisure time?" To say I wasn't outrightly surprised would be a lie. I never pegged Luke to be someone who enjoys reading novels.

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I whispered. “Yes.” He leaned casually against the nearby shelf, watching me with that quiet, intent gaze that made my chest tighten. “I thought it might help her practice her French. She’s determined to improve lately.” “That she is,” I replied, my fingers grazing the smooth leather as I opened the book. The scent of ink and parchment rose faintly, familiar and comforting. As I read aloud, the French words rolled off my tongue, flowing naturally from memory. “…mais parmi toutes ses filles, la plus jeune était la plus belle et la plus douce. Tout le monde l’appelait Belle.”

“I’m not sleeping like this.” My eyes drifted around the room until they landed on the book resting on the side table. The one I had taken earlier from Drake’s library. I hesitated. Then reached for it. The cover was dark, almost black, with a single word written across it in bold, uneven letters. Bête. “What does it mean? I picked up my phone and typed the word Bete, saw different meaning but the first word that popped up meant Beast. A strange chill ran down my spine.

I gritted in between my teeth and took out my stuff, I looked at my watch and see that I only have two hours which is great since the date is going to start at 9 pm. After a few minutes of torture, here comes the unstoppable question from Nate the donkey. "But what's the point of learning this?" "How do we know that it's masculine or feminine?" "So you can say 'je m'en fous', right?" (I don't care: in an informal way) "Do you french girls says 'je veux que tu me baises fort' ?" He asked, more like blurting out. Where are we going right now? (I want you to fuck me hard)