Red of Berlin

Chapter Seven: Little Shop of Wonders

Adèle's point of view:

Over the course of the few days I had been here, I spent most times in my room reading Madame Bovary. The book was very intriguing to me. It was written in a simplistic form, but as I read I disdained from caring. I kept to the quote of Le Mot Juste like Michael explained to me. Why I decided to listen to him at all was baffling to me, but the book just told me different.

When Michael stepped out of his study with the other officers at his side, my eyes left the book and went to him. I tried to dart my eyes away from them as much as possible, being polite as they said hello to me. They had me very uneasy ever since they came here. I was on edge even when they weren't in the same room as me. All I needed was to know that they were there and I came close to being driven insane. I wasn't sure if Michael knew I felt this way or not, but what could he do? Those were his colleagues, he had to abide by their visitations no matter what anyone had to say or think about it.

"Adèle?" Michael asked me after both of his colleagues left the home and drove out of the driveway. I put the book down on my lap, three quarters finished already. I had never read so much in my life, which was why I was getting books done quicker then usual.

"Hello?" I asked as I stood from the little armchair in the den. It had been a while since I chose to read here instead of the bedroom supplied for me.

"You've been inside all day. The weather is beautiful this afternoon," he explained. He was correct, but I didn't see how that mattered to him. He was working half the day anyway, I was surprised he wasn't back in his study already.

"There's not much else to do," I said. He chuckled and walked over to where I stood. Michael wasn't extremely tall, nor was he short. Michael was average in the height department, maybe five foot eleven or six feet. Even then, he was tall compared to my frame. It was plain to see that he adored that fact that he towered over me like a city skyscraper.

"I did promise you I would take you for a walk," he said. I remembered the one conversation we had when he asked me of my hobbies. It was an odd talk, that I knew. I didn't know if I should be intimidated or flattered that he bothered to want to know me. I didn't really want to walk with him, but I was doubting the fact that I had any choice in the matter. Not to mention, it was stifling hot in the house and a little fresh air would be more than good for me. A short walk wouldn't harm any.

"I suppose that would be fine," I replied quietly. He nodded happily and showed me to the front door. The officers were long gone by now and the only car that remained in the driveway belonged to Michael. "Where are we going?"

"Well, there isn't much to see around here. I decided we should go to Paris. It's lovely in the summertime," Michael replied. I hadn't been to Paris since my parents were still alive and we were hiding from the Nazis. I didn't know if it was a good idea, and I stopped in the entrance as I realized where we were going. He stopped in his tracks as well, seeing my struggle to move any further.

"Is something the matter?" He asked me after a few seconds. I took a breathe, thinking it would cure my inability to speak at the time.

"I'm from Paris," I said. He seemed to understand what I meant, and he came to my side and held his hand out for me to take. As affectionate and friendly he was being at the moment, I didn't think it would work.

"I know it must be difficult, but how will you move on without trying?" He asked me, his soft and masculine hand still held out for me to take. At this very point, Michael wasn't my problem any longer. It was being able to move on from the death of my loving parents and the disappearances of my brothers.

"What if I break down?" I asked. Michael shook his head and kept his hand out still. Why did he insist on being so persistent with me? Why did he even care that I was alive or here in the first place? Why did he want me to move on and be happy again so badly? It didn't effect his life anymore then it effected a stranger's. So why was he acting so concerned toward me?