Page 138 of His Pretty Little Duet

I attempt to ignore the mocking piece of jewellery as I approach, but just like the fucking crockery in this mansion, it somehow appears animated.

I swallow thickly. "So…" I say to draw her attention. "You don't like cooking, but I bet you like scones."

She smiles politely. "Did you bake those?"

"Yes. Well, with Maggie's supervision,” I say, offering her the plate.

She accepts it before glancing at the spot beside her. "Would you like to sit with me?"

"Um."Yes.I shrug a little to stop myself from saying that word. "Okey dokey."

"Have you ever readThe Secret Garden?"

"No." Taking a place beside her, I lean back on the armrest, pulling my knees up to the side. "It's an old one, right? I've read a Colleen Hoover.Oh, and Erin Mc Luckie Moya has this Motorcycle Romance series calledThe Hell Houndsand that's really hot and the heroes are all?—"

Shut up, Fawn.

"Never mind," I say through a chuckle.

"Well, this isn't aromance,but it has elements. Mary has just become an orphan and has been taken in by her uncle and he's?—"

I laugh. "Bossy and controlling? Does she call him Sir?"

She chuckles huskily. "It's not that type of story. See, she's in a strange new place. I think you'll like it." Then she starts to read aloud from a chapter somewhere in the middle, and my nerves spark, provoking a twitch in my muscles.

What do I do now?

I shuffle a little.

As Aurora reads, the story unfolds.

Soon enough, I'm transfixed by her and the narrative. It is a unique experience to sit and listen and visualise. It's entirely unique to be read such words in her husky melodic cadence. And it feels nice. So much like what I imagined sitting with a sister might, or even a mother. It feels like family.

I lose track of time as she reads, lost in the garden with Mary and Dickon and Colin as they navigate their differences,understand them, and test each other, form friendships—form something likefamily.

"Everything is made out of magic, leaves and trees, flowers and birds, badgers and foxes and squirrels and people. So, it must be all around us. In this garden—in all the places."

"I like that," I say, pulling the grey mink blanket higher and nestling further into the cream-coloured sofa. "My mother used to say things like that. About magic and Mother Nature."

She gazes up from the worn leather book—and I have decided that all books should be worn and made of leather. Not clothes. That doesn't add up to me, but fashionable worn books make sense.

"Do you miss her?" she asks.

"No," I say as almost a punch to the air, and Aurora smiles in a way that challenges that declaration. "I don’t,” I press again. “She didn’t prepare me for the world and then the world became hard, and people became mean. I never had rules before because, like, who would enforce them? She was never around."

Jasmine appears and kisses the top of my head. "Night, Fawn. I'm going home." She turns to Aurora. "Can I get you anything before I leave, Mrs Butcher?"

"No, Jasmine. That's fine. Drive safely," Aurora says politely, as she turns her large,almost,liquor-coloured eyes back to me. "Keep going, Fawn."

I smile at Jasmine as she leaves. "My mum would appear, then disappear in the space of a few minutes. I was alone so much; that is what I remember most now." I look down at my fingers as I play with the ends of my blonde hair, muttering, "Being alone."

"Well, yes, but you also remember the magic and Mother Nature," she points out, looking back at the book with a peculiar curve to her lips.

"Yeah. I do remember her silly ideologies. The moon has power, ya know? It can cure anything. The earth, too. I embraced the spiritual side of my upbringing for many years, and I—I still believe in some things… to a degree. The moon does have a lot of power. I mean, the tides, that energy, it affects every living thing. We are full of water…" I stop myself. "Anyway, she was just ridiculous most of the time, though. I didn't have time to be ridiculous after she died."

I didn’t have time for magic.

Or to miss her.

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