@lorelodge: can i kick him? i’m going to kick him. - claudia (x)
daughter dearest draws him back up to the surface, tugging him out of the evening’s slow meditations into moral certainties, death-of-god motifs, and the endless circling around the revaluation of values. she drops herself beside him on the couch, leaning in with all the confident gravity of youth. the father smiles, doesn’t lift his eyes from the page, but one hand drifts up, tender, loving, a touch reproachful, to rest on the nape of her neck.
in the spirit of honesty, he’d tuned out the last quarter hour of the heated discussion between claudia and his paramour. the room still rings with the sharp snap of francophone curses, telling louis precisely how well that exchange has unfolded thus far.
“now, you know you can’t be rilin’ up uncle les like that, chère.” voice lazy as a late-summer river. “not if you want to get your way before the sun catches up.”
a slow lift of his gaze toward the fair-haired devil across the room; a knowing amusement stirs at the corner of his mouth, half-hidden in shadow.
“sometimes you need to give a little sugar to get your way.”
the book comes to a close with the quiet resignation of a man who knows he will not return to its pages tonight. his eyes finally settle on the petite belle beside him, this fierce little creature who’s wrapped him around her finger without even trying, and whom he loves beyond the boundaries of reason.
“how’s about we take ourselves a stroll down decatur street, hm? you and me. see the sights. find you a street vendor or two.”
