Between the annotations
Chase a wish through the trees
Turn my back and it’s chasing me
Oh, the fabric of reality
Is strong enough to tether me.
There’s weightlessness in fantasy.
Life’s heavy, but it’s gravity.
Maybe I’m missing it
Bliss is just ignorance
Cloaked as indifference
-Cognitive Dissonance by Rosie Holohan
"Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood"
- 1984 by George Orwell
When she made her way to the dining room, she made sure to stop by her room first. She combed her hair, shed off her cardigan and scrubbed off her lipstick like she was cleaning a crime scene. She reapplied her makeup slowly, soothed by having something to focus on. She smoothed off her dress, and looked as unruffled as she could be. She didn’t go down just yet. Instead, she called Penelope
“Happy birthday Pen!”, Eloise wrung every cheeriness out of her atoms and shoved it into her wish, “A very happy birthday to you!”
“Thank you”, Penelope’s voice was happy and warm, “again. You already called this morning.
“I wanted to wish you again”, Eloise said, welcoming the way the tension in her shoulders disappeared at the sound of Penelope’s voice, “and see if you got my present.”
“I did”, she could almost hear Penelope’s grin, if that was possible, “Thank you. Your letter made me cry and your gifts were perfect. I have been itching to read Rebecca for ages.”
“You’re coming for the party tomorrow right?”
“Yes”, Penelope’s voice immediately became brisk, almost businesslike, “Is that where you were going to tell me about Theo Sharpe crashing in your house?”
Eloise spluttered. She was doing everything to not think about it.
“Pen, come on”, Eloise tried weakly protesting, “it is your birthday. Tell me about your plans.”
“I already did! I am coming back today for the party and then you and I can celebrate tomorrow.”
“Tell me again!”
“Why didn’t you tell me, El”, Penelope asked, almost harshly, “why did I have to hear about it from Colin?”
Eloise’s cheeks burned. She somehow could never get it right, even when she went out of her way to not make herself the subject of conversation. A part of her also wanted to keep it a secret just for a little while, like a pocket of time and space that belonged to her alone.
“I am sorry Pen” she said, “I wanted this day to be about you. I didn’t—I am trying to be a better friend.”
“You have already been the best friend I could ask for. Nobody else would put this much of an effort for me.”
“Anyone who doesn’t is an idiot, Pen.”
“See”, Penelope’s voice had softened, “I appreciate it El, but you shouldn’t have to hide things from me to make me feel—”
“I was going to tell you.”, Eloise said quickly, “he just turned up looking battered and now we have to pretend—”
“He’s Colin’s guest”, Penelope finished, “Yeah, I heard. That’s not too bad though right?”
Eloise chewed her lip. Penelope hadn’t heard the worst of it yet, but Eloise didn’t want to ruin her birthday with the news about Victor. She hadn’t realized how much she made so many conversations about herself until she put an effort not to. The thought sent a flare of hot shame to every nerve of her body.
“I’ll explain later okay?”, Eloise said, “I have to go for lunch. There’s more to it.”
“El—”
“Not now, Pen”, Eloise kept her voice gentle, “please, I want you to enjoy your birthday. Let me spoil you when you come back and then we can talk”
“Okay”, the warmth had returned to Penelope’s voice, “Love you”
“Love you too.”
When Eloise hung up the phone, she realized there was nothing left to do but go downstairs.
Luckily, lunch had not started yet. When Eloise entered the dining room she was overcome with the sudden desire to dive behind the couch, but she walked, legs shaking. She kept her head high and locked eyes with Theo, who gave a small nod. Eloise made to pull out a chair between Benedict and Michaela, who she had quickly become friends with, when Grandma Mary barked out.
“None of that! Sit next to Victor.”
Her blood ran cold and she wished she didn’t leave her cardigan upstairs. Benedict and Francesca gave her a worried look but she couldn’t bring herself to look at them. All it takes is a glance, laden with the unspoken understanding of the gravity of the situation to make it feel real.
She sat in between Victor and Daphne. Daphne brushed her fingers at hers and gave her an apologetic look. Eloise kept her face hard, but squeezed Daphne’s hand gently in return.
“Hello, Eloise”, Victor had leaned close to her, “don’t worry, I have to say you look better than most women after a little hysterical breakdown.”
Eloise wanted to punch his lights out, injure him twice as much as he injured Theo. Little hysterical breakdown, it seemed. Eloise mustered her will to look at him. She hated to admit it, but she couldn’t help but think Victor was handsome, with his dark hair, full lips and startling grey eyes.
He was popular and known for his charm and humour, always surrounded by his friends. She knew he was at the top of his class. Colin told her Professor Kathani Sharma used Victor’s exams as sample answers for the juniors.
None of them knew that this was the same boy who drowned someone, that the same hands that wrote those essays and shook hands with anyone worth impressing could bruise skin. She looked up and saw Theo sitting across her, already halfway done with the salad in his bowl. He gave her a tiny nod.
All those thoughts seemed to melt away when Victor placed a hand on her bare knee.
“Don’t worry”, he whispered, “there is no rush. Maybe I can take you on a date when university starts.”
She stared at the beans served on her plate and felt the appetite drain out of her. Her voice was hollow and flat.
“You mean a week from now?”
He nodded and she bit back a retort the moment she saw her Grandmother grip her fork like a sword, not taking her eyes off Eloise. Daphne gripped her hand beneath the table, rubbing circles with her thumb. Michaela looked ready to leap across the table and shove Victor’s face into the gravy to fight for Eloise’s honour. A nerve was jumping in Benedict’s neck and Anthony was grinding his teeth, keeping his eyes fixed on his salad like the onions personally offended him.
“That sounds lovely doesn’t it Eloise?”, her grandmother said, her smile sharp and icy.
Eloise felt something press against her. Theo had bumped his leg into hers under the table. When she glanced at him, she realized even though he was not even looking at her, it was not an accident. He was just reminding he was there, or to open her mouth and answer.
She forced a smile, her cheeks almost hurting, “Sure, Victor, let’s see.” She raised her knee and crossed her legs, forcing Victor’s hand to slip off.
The smile slid off Victor’s face and Theo coughed. A thrilling bolt of satisfaction shot through Eloise when she saw Victor fight to keep his face straight when he looked at Theo. He shot Victor a shit eating grin. Benedict rested his face in his hand, covering his mouth as he held back a laugh.
“So, Sharpe”, Victor said coldly, “are you excited for the ball tomorrow?”
She pressed the tip of her shoe against Theo’s. His smile dropped. He took his eyes off Victor and rested them on her. He regarded her as he sipped from his glass, his eyes darkening like a shadow of storm cloud fell over them. His eyes pierced into hers, and she couldn't tear her head away. Victor suddenly dropped his spoon, swooping under the table and Theo yanked his foot back. Eloise didn’t take her eyes off her plate, shovelling the food into her mouth. As Victor took his seat again, Eloise hoped she imagined the look of suspicion in his narrow eyes—not that there was anything to be suspicious about, of course.
“Yes”, Theo said, “It is my sister’s birthday so she is in for quite a treat.”
“Oh, how wonderful”, Anthony said, “Please Sharpe, allow us to arrange outfits for them, transportation too.”
“Oh!”, Hyacinth exclaimed, “a younger sister? I would love to lend her one of my dresses.”
Theo’s face hardened and Eloise remembered their fight. Time seemed to have warped and twisted, tricking her into thinking that argument was a lifetime ago.
“No, no”, Theo said. He appeared composed, but his fists were clenched, “Please don’t go to any trouble.”
Eloise kept her feet crossed at the ankles, not daring to reach out to Theo again. She set her fork down on her now scraped plate, stomach churning.
“Nonsense”, her mother said, “I already called them and asked. They happily agreed.”
“Of course they would”, Victor muttered, lifting his glass.
“I beg your pardon, Crane”, Theo said coldly, every line of his face sharp, “what was that?”
“Nothing”, Victor said in mock sweetness, “I just think it is very generous of Violet to do that.”
Theo opened his mouth to answer but shoved a spoon into it instead. He stared at his plate, his jaw clenched tightly.
“He is right”, her grandmother said. Eloise looked up, surprised.
Theo pursed his lips and cleared his throat, “Indeed, thank you Violet.”
Eloise glared at her grandmother, whose lip had curled. She knew she heard Victor the first time. Everyone had.
“Ahem”, her grandmother said, smoothly breaking the awkward silence, “Please pick something pretty to wear tomorrow, Eloise. Don’t you wish to look your best for Victor? Daphne, please make sure she doesn’t look like a washed up academic”
“I’m sure she will look great with or without my help”, Daphne said, and Eloise felt a rush of affection for her.
Victor leaned back in his chair, “With the right motivation, any girl will”, he made to place his hand on her knee again, but she crossed one leg over the other.
“Ben”, her mother said, eager to change the subject, “Did you tell Grandmother that three of your paintings will be displayed in the prestigious Forwood Galleries?”
“Oh?”, Grandmother Mary raised her eyebrow, impressed, “Well I am glad his pursuit of the arts wasn’t as fruitless as I thought. I must ask you Benedict, you must have surely met some women in these galleries?”
Benedict went pink, “I haven’t really been getting into relationships. I am keeping my focus on art quite straight—”
Theo snorted into his lemonade.
“Sorry.”
“So what I heard about you and that professor in Colin’s and Eloise’s college was a rumour?”, Grandmother asked sharply.
“Which professor?”, Anthony and Eloise asked in unison. Anthony was staring at Benedict with a facial expression that Eloise imagined Penelope would have worn when she found about Theo crashing at Bridgerton House.
Benedict had gained a sudden deep interest in his steak and kidney pie, his cheeks reddening, “I told you, Genevieve Delacroix and I didn’t work out. My interests lay elsewhere. Like I said, my vision is straight--”
Theo choked on a forkful of pie. Eloise shot him a look and remembered there is no way Theo or anyone else would know Delacroix and Benedict’s relationship was all but a mere ruse, to get her parents and Grandmother Mary off their backs. They were still close friends.
“Madame Delacroix?’, Victor asked, “God, no wonder she was in such a mood last semester and failed half the class. I’d rather not tell her I’m with your sister.”, he gave Eloise a look, “I took her class this time too, and I can’t break my record of first class marks.”
Everyone else at the table was staring at either Benedict or Eloise with an odd grimace. Michaela, from the looks of it, was probably calculating at what degree she should pounce on Victor to make sure his face landed in the gravy.
Theo looked like he was going to tell Victor exactly where he could put his first class marks when Grandmother Mary cleared her throat again.
“Well”, Grandmother Mary said severely, raising her glass “To better matches, then.”
The hours galloped like a horse, ceaselessly passing through her fingertips as if it were nothing but a current of water. Before she knew it, night fell, lush and balmy and to her relief, Victor was heading home.
“Don’t remove your hand this time”, her grandmother whispered in her ear. Eloise was about to protest when she heard her tell her mother, “You should have taught her better. Edmund would have.”
So, Eloise pulled her best Daphne look- pleasant and strong and confident- and kept her hand steady when Victor kissed it. His eyes lifted up, heady as they ran down her. He smirked against her knuckles.
“Until we meet again, Eloise.”
He let out a chortle, knowing they had no choice. She was his date at tomorrow’s party, a fact she was doing everything she could not to think about. All her other siblings had gone back to their rooms after dinner, and Eloise was stung that none of them checked in on her. Perhaps this is what she deserved.
When the door closed, her grandmother turned to her.
“Well, he’s perfect isn’t he?”, she asked, not waiting for an answer before plowing on, “Eloise, don’t mess this up. You’ll like him if you give the sweet boy a chance.”
Her eyes were gleaming. Eloise picked her words carefully. Talking to her grandmother was less like being a granddaughter, and more like being an editor. For a horrible moment, she saw the ghost of her father’s smiles creeping on her grandmother’s face, warped and stripped of all its warmth. An unwelcome flare of anger shot through her, not just for her grandmother, but for her parents too.
“I appreciate you for looking out for me.”, Eloise said evenly, “However, I hardly know him. In order to make the right decision, I will do what feels right to me, Grandma.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Eloise gritted her teeth and crossed her fingers behind her back. No, but that is what I am saying.
“I’ll give him a chance.”
When her grandmother left, it was just her and her mother. Finally, Eloise thought with a brutal sort of satisfaction.
“Eloise, darling”, her mother started.
“No”
Eloise stared at her and all she could think of was How dare you? How dare you keep this from me and stand there silently? How can you expect me to tolerate this?
“I am so sorry”, her mother whispered.
“It’s too late”, Eloise snapped, “Why didn’t you say something?”
Her mother wrung her hands and the look on her face drove an ache through Eloise. She hated how much she loved her mother as a woman but felt so much grief and anger as her daughter.
“You know how it is darling.”
“It doesn’t mean it’s right. What do you expect from me mum?”
Her mum chewed her lip, “It was just that—”
“How long did you know about this?”, Eloise croaked out.
“A while”.
“A while?”
Her mum shook her head, “I never meant to betray you. I want you to be happy. She saw how happy Simon made Daphne.”
“There it is”, Eloise said. Sometimes puzzle pieces fall together to make sense. Sometimes, the meaning tears through you. It was the echo of the same sentiment: that she was too much, not good enough, because of course it would be her fault if she didn’t fit the mould Daphne created for herself.
“I am not Daphne, mum” Eloise said, “as much as that disappoints you.”
“Eloise, no”, her mum moved to touch her but Eloise didn’t want affection as much as understanding. She was sick of fighting to be seen as who she was rather than what she failed to be.
“So treat me like it”, Eloise said, and she hated how childish her voice sounded, “treat me like I’m someone you’d fight for rather than fight to put up with.”
Her mother shrunk into herself. Eloise wanted her to fight back, to say something, anything but stand there and pretend she didn’t do anything to deserve it, like she wasn’t affected.
“I’ve failed you”, her mother whispered, “but all I do is to make you all happy, even without your father. You don’t know what it’s like, Eloise, and I hope you never will.”
“Say it again”, she responded bluntly, feeling less like a daughter and more like a suspect of some terrible crime begging to be believed “say it like you’re taking accountability, and not like you’re trying to make me feel guilty.”
“I have failed you, Eloise”, her mother said, her voice stronger, “I should have stood up for you. I should have kicked that boy out, told your grandmother off. I don’t think I can stand up for you if I don’t know how to stand up for myself.”
“I shouldn’t have to suffer your mistakes as a mother because of your failures as a—"
“You’re right, Eloise. I am sorry. I am so so sorry. I really thought there was nothing I could do. I was wrong.”
“As you were about many things.”, Eloise said and without waiting for a response, stalked to the library.
Hot, awful shame flooded her. She did what she always did- made a scene, made it all about herself, pinned the blame on someone else to satisfy her need for control all because she had no power over the situation.
Under that simmering pain there was a deeper, snarling emotion that she couldn’t capture with her fist or even name. She knew she should feel bad for not acknowledging the pain her mother was in.
Why was her mother’s pain something that made her feel guilty while her own pain was treated like a mere inconvenience?
Sometimes you make yourself sharp to carve through the world, but people still treat you like nothing but a thorn in the side, a pocket with a hole, something as valuable as she was delicate and useful.
“Bridgerton”
Theo’s voice sliced through her reverie and she was shocked to realize her anger didn’t rise when she saw him, standing next to one of the floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves that covered the walls.
“Sharpe” she said, walking to her usual reading chair. The Secret History hadn’t moved. Good, it was the one thing unaffected by everything that happened in the last twenty-four hours, a pocket of time in which the passing of every second didn’t make a fool of her.
“I was just—”
Eloise waved her hand, “Help yourself Sharpe. Stealing a book requires a level of subtlety you hardly possess.”
“Like your writing, then.”
Eloise scoffed, “Adorable, how long were you thinking of my writing, Sharpe?”
He brought a book to the desk she was sitting near and Eloise glanced at it, feeling a small pinch in her heart.
“Rebecca”
He threw himself into the seat across from her.
Eloise shifted in her seat, “What’s your favourite classic?”, she suddenly felt eager to know.
“Apart from this one”, Theo scratched his jaw and Eloise realized that he had grown a light stubble, “probably a tie between Nineteen-Eighty-Four and Picture of Dorian Gray. You?”
Eloise’s heart unzipped, excitement burning like an ember, a bonfire, bright as a lighthouse.
“I love those too, as well as Emma.”, she said, watching a smile spread across his face, “If I loved it less, I might be able to talk about it more.”
“I know.”, he said flatly. He rolled his eyes, “I found her a bit annoying, especially when she thought she was saving Harriet by trying to make her act and judge others like someone from the upper class.”
“I know you do, but you are missing the point”, Eloise sat up, “Austen intended to create a heroine who nobody but herself would enjoy. I think Emma is a realistically flawed, complex character. She is vain. She doesn’t see reality for what it is and she makes decisions based on her desired narrative. Austen's depiction of such a character is compelling.”
“Yes, well, you know my thoughts on that”, he said, resting his face on his palm, “I could say Austen making me dislike a character makes me respect her as a writer, I suppose. I prefer Persuasion, though.”
Eloise regarded him with surprise. Most people would make her feel bad for her taste rather than actually talk about them. She found herself curious, eager to know more.
“Do you want something to drink?”
She got up and found the bottle of whiskey she and Penelope used to sneak up to the library hidden behind the autobiographies section that nobody visited. She took a small sip and handed the bottle to him.
“I know you like Persuasion.”, she said, remembering him trying to get her to read it, “but I never understood why.”
To her surprise, a soft blush crept across Theo’s face, “I don’t know, I guess this idea that two people can find their way back to each other, and that Anne being discouraged to marry someone because of his class status doesn’t stop her from loving him.”
Eloise remained silent. Persuasion was the only Austen novel she hadn’t picked up yet but she was curious to find out what made him like him more than Emma. Maybe a small part of her wanted to know what made him blush like that.
She watched him put the bottle to his lips, where hers had been seconds ago.
“What?”, he asked
“Nothing”, she grinned, “I didn’t know you were a romantic.”
Theo huffed, “It has one of the best love letters ever written, for God’s sake.”
Eloise tilted her head, “And you’re a romantic.”
“ Well of course I am a romantic.”, he said, “What else could you expect from someone who read You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope when he was fifteen?”
“Nothing else, Sharpe”, she said. She watched the side of his face get drenched in the light from the flickering fireplace, “although for me being a romantic also means loving the concept of love.”
He furrowed his eyebrows, “in an abstract sense?”
“Yeah”, Eloise took another sip and let the whiskey settle in her stomach, “Like, the sort of emotional connection you have with just living, you know? Laughing with your friends, smelling a loaf of bread and thinking of the times you tried baking with your family, just…someone crossing your mind when you read, or experience something because you’re reminded of them.”
He regarded her, and after what felt like several seconds, said,
“To love is to remember with fondness, for better or worse.”
“I always thought to love is to know, for better or worse.”
“More to love, more to learn?”
“I was thinking more to see, more to love.”
“Then perhaps the right word is to understand.”
Eloise wordlessly handed him the bottle in response.
Theo took a sip. His rumpled hair, pink cheeks and the bottle dangling from his fingertips made him look like a drunk, tortured poet.
Eloise stared at him intently. She took in the scrunch between his eyebrows, the way his eyes seemed to stare into blank space as he drank. He straightened his shoulders, like he did when he was about to say something.
She waited for a comment, but instead he asked, “What are your thoughts on Rebecca ?”
He was looking at her keenly, again resting his face in the palm of his hand.
Eloise looked at the copy of the novel on his lap and let it comfort her, “You’ll find it scribbled over that.”
He flipped through the copy and let out a low whistle, “You annotate your novels.”
“You don’t?”
Theo shook his head, “I used to mainly borrow books from public libraries. Why do you annotate?”
Eloise tipped the bottle to her mouth but didn’t take a sip. She let it linger.
“I think”, she said slowly, “I like to immortalize my connection with a book. It’s…” She struggled to find the word. Her lips could find shape of the feeling that rose in her, but she could never capture it. It was like a butterfly that fluttered out of reach, tantalizing her with a fruit she could never get her hands on.
“Intimate”, he said softly.
“Intimate”, she agreed.
Her calmness surprised her. Maybe it was the whiskey, but she didn’t feel frustrated for not finding the word. The word didn’t suffer because she didn’t find it. It was safe in his mouth.
Just the idea of him tracing her annotations, running his thumb over her thoughts made her feel exposed in a way that she couldn’t understand. He was so close, just in the next armchair, but not close enough.
As the intensity of his gaze met hers, the warmth of the whiskey mixed with something deeper in her. Her heart raced as she uncoiled, loosened by the alcohol or something else entirely.
“Tell me”, Theo leaned forward, and she could see the shadows of the fire flicker across his features, “what did you like about Rebecca?”
The keenness in his eyes made her realize that she didn’t feel exposed. She felt seen. His eyes were heady and dark and fixed on her, and she couldn't bring herself to look anywhere else. Meeting his gaze was like wrapping a flame around her finger. The flicker of the fire illuminated his face in a warm glow, softening his edges. His eyes were like lanterns held against a darkening sky, brighter than the setting sun. She was struck by the strange thought that if she looked away from his eyes, the contours of his face would melt away into the darkness.
Her heart was pounding faster than ever.
It terrified and thrilled her at the same time, and she wanted to let it linger.
“The list goes on: The atmospheric writing, layered exploration of lack of sense of self, the dangers of basing your self-worth on validation from a man who merely tolerates you, women having to do what they can to get power. What’s not to love, Sharpe?”
He shrugged, “I could see the plot twist coming, which I didn’t expect from a story with unreliable narrators and untrustworthy characters. That was my only complaint.”
“Actually”, she said straightening up, her heart stuttering when he mirrored her moments, as if readying himself for a challenge, “I liked that. It made sense to me.”
“Oh?”
“It's like a puzzle. What made Rebecca so great was that there were clues throughout the novel, so the plot twist strengthened their impact by having it all…”, she spread her fingers and brought her hands together, interlocking them.
“fall into place. ”, he finished for her again. She nodded,
"They fall into place."
She didn't know how to explain it: how fulfilling it is to read a book and watch every piece connect with each other, to recognize the depth of its flow and the inevitability of its ending.
Theo’s eyes travelled to The Secret History. She couldn't imagine the sheer number of stories those eyes of his would have read.
“I think you’ll enjoy that one, then.”, he said.
Eloise was barely halfway through the novel but she was immersed more than ever.
“I wish we had a professor like Julian.”
Theo laughed, “Trust me, Bridgerton, you’ll eat your words.”
“Hey”, she raised her arms, “he sees the best in people.”
Theo rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“You’re full of surprises, Bridgerton.”
“How so?”
Theo grinned, “Maybe you are the whiskey-and-library type.”
Eloise smiled, feeling light. She stumbled back to the whiskey’s hiding place and slid the bottle back in. When she returned, she saw Theo had started the first chapter and his fingers were tracing the annotations she made. She just poured all of her secrets like wine into a glass or projected her nerves on a screen for him, like he was gazing at the parts of her she had never shown anyone.
She sat and continued The Secret History but kept looking up to see the way his expressions shifted as he read Rebecca. She recognized each one: surprise, amusement and maybe even once or twice a look of wonderment. His eyes were glassy and he was nearly buried in the pages of Rebecca, as if he was discovering an angle of something he loved for the first time.
She didn’t want to yell at him to stop or give him an unannotated copy. The book looked safe in his lap.
Eloise tried wrenching her focus to The Secret History with a pencil in her hand but she found herself stuck on the same page for several minutes all because she kept her eyes on him, not wanting him to stop.