✔𝐁𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 ➳𝐌𝐚𝐱 𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐭

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑬𝒍𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏

« ⌑⌑⌑ »

𝐒𝐡𝐞 doesn't say much during dinner, it's not her place to speak. That much is obvious with how conservative the old man is. The food is good, intricate with flavours she's never tasted and had it not been for Max, she wouldn't have known which forks went with which meal. She had been sure that sort of thing only happened in movies, like a little joke, but apparently, it wasn't like that.

Afterwards, Max and John file back into the sitting room and she's left on her own once again as they go to discuss business. It annoys her. She should be a part of it and she wants to show what she can do, that he isn't the only one who can do this sort of thing. But he leaves her behind, uncaring and never glancing back at her.

She feels discarded, back to only being an accessory on his arm. She had thought her part to play would've been a little bigger, with how both Max and Tipsy worded this, that she would have a key to play in all of this. Instead, she's left behind whenever they need to speak of something serious and when she does try to join in on the conversation, Max nudges her leg beneath the table to stop her.

She sighs and watches as the people working in the house begin clearing the table. Jackson has gone home. He's only here during the mornings and she's not up for making friends with anyone else. She trails back towards their room. Exploring the house wouldn't be too bad, it might even be fun. Max would be mad if she did, though. He very explicitly told the old man she had work to do and that means not floundering around in the old building.

Disappointment blooms in her chest as she turns on her heels and makes her way up the stairs and down the hall towards their room. What's she supposed to do? It's been years since she had time for her hobbies — at least the healthy ones. Closing the door behind herself, her gaze flicks across the large room. The books on the bookshelf don't look half-bad.

She steps out of her heels on the way and her fingers trail over the backs, reading them as she goes. All of them are old, the kind that can only be described as classics. In other words, boring ones. But maybe reading them will do her some good, skimming through them at the very least.

Her eyebrow quirks at the sight of a familiar book, one she often recalls her mom reading before she passed, probably in the hopes that it would come true and sweep her away from reality. She wouldn't know, having never read the book herself, but maybe it's about time she does. Picking out Pride and Prejudice, she pads to the large sitting chair in the corner and throws her legs over one armrest, her back against the other as she opens the book.

She's not sure how much time passes but the book is good, remarkably so. She doesn't notice the darkness enveloping the streets outside or how her limbs and joints begin aching from the strange position. Only when the door opens does she look up, surprise on her face as she wonders why Max is back so soon. Then she takes in the outside. Pitch black, except for the lights of the city. Looking at her phone, she sees it's close to midnight and she rubs her eyes tiredly.

Max doesn't speak as he takes off his watch and throws it onto the bedside table, leaning against one of the pillars holding up the canopy on the bed. Watching him, she closes the book and holds it in her lap, still a finger between the pages.

"What're you reading?" He asks, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his chin up slightly. The topmost buttons on his shirt are undone, hair slicked back and still styled.

"Pride and prejudice," she replies and perches her head on her hand. "Found it on the shelf."

He nods, humming. "It's a good book. Shows how dangerous it can be to assume too much about people."