He scoots closer, nudging my shoulder with his. “This is the closest thing to a vacation I have had in a very long time.”
“Book yourself a trip when we get back.”
He turns his pleading gaze to me. “I just want to be able to enjoy my last few hours before I’m forever burdened by crippling guilt. Come on, Vera, can we please enjoy the night at least a little bit?”
I suppose the plot won’t just skip ahead to where we die. There’s still so much that needs to happen first, so we have time to stop and breathe. Still, it feels as though it goes against my very nature to do this.
I can’t even think of the last time I took time to do something fun. It has only been working toward my goal, first of writing my scripts, then of getting an agent, then of getting picked up by a film company. I always said that rest would come after my dreams came true.
But all that happened was that my dreams dissolved into a multi-step path and I lost my passion. And now I’m trapped in the world of my script. That would probably be most writer’s dream, but not me because I had to be edgy and kill my main character. And James thinks thatnowis the time to take that long needed break and rest?
All because my producer wants to shop for souvenirs?
But then a part of me goes,why not?
It isn’t as if we are in a hurry, the assassination attempt doesn’t happen till midnight anyway since I thought thatwas a fitting fairytale element to work into my script. I guess there is no harm in sightseeing.
After all, what writer wouldn’t love to see their world come alive? I just always thought I would get that chance when it went to the big screen.
I release a sigh as I tug on James’s hook. “Okay, but don’t get anything glass. That will be impossible to keep from getting broken.”
He presses his lips together and nods as he begins sauntering down the line of market stalls. I will admit, there is something infectious about the energy of the night. Everywhere I look, I see people smiling and enjoying themselves. Merchants hawk their brightly colored wares, and above the lanternlight keeps the streets well-lit and whimsical looking.
“A trinket for the lady?” James and I both turn at the new voice. A short middle-aged woman with dark hair wrapped in a bandana behind a market stall seems to be the person who addressed us. She holds up a delicate bracelet made of interlocking seashells centered around a mother of pearl charm that glistens in the lantern light.
I can’t help but reach for it, turning it in the light. I don’t wear a ton of jewelry, but I’ve always loved mother of pearl. I rub my thumb over the gleaming shell.
She smiles slyly. “Do you like it? A pretty lady deserves a pretty piece like this one.” She turns to James. “Buy it for your wife.”
I distinctly remember, this is a scene in the script, a pivotal moment between Hook and Moira where he insists on buying it for her “since it would complete her dress and he won’t have his date dressed poorly for the ball”.
Instead, James just freezes, his eyes rounding like a deer caught in the headlights. I realize that I’m still holding his hook. I drop it like I’ve been burned. “Oh no, I’m not his—”
“She is not my anything,” James states adamantly, cutting me off.
I press my lips together and glance at him out of the corner of my eye. Well, he didn’t need to say it likethat. Like the very thought of us being a couple is repugnant to him.
I guess I don’t see why that surprises me. After all, we are just casual acquaintances. We never truly got along; we certainly never hit it off. I’m not even sure if we could rightly be considered friends. All we are is trapped in this world together. Accomplices in a plan to assassinate a prince. Nothing more.
And we will certainly not be anything more when we get back home.
The fate of Hook and Moira to fall in love, is not shared by us.
“Exactly,” I mutter as I put the bracelet down on the table. I continue down the way. Never mind that crazy old lady. She’s out of her mind to assume we are a couple just because we were holding hands. Lots of people do that to avoid losing each other in a crowd.
Never mind that it’s a predestined act that I technically made her do since I wrote it into the script. I choose to take offense at this.
I wrap my arms around my middle as I continue down the stalls. A minute later, James comes jogging up. He gives me a funny look out of the corner of his eye before he holds something out to me, dangling from his fingertips. I stare at it a long moment as I begin to process that it’s the bracelet.
“James—” I begin, but he cuts me off by sliding his hook around my wrist and lifting my hand up. He presses the bracelet into my hand.
“Here, I happened to find some coins jangling in my coat pocket, probably left there by the real Captain Hook and you looked like you really liked it.”
I stare at the glistening shells now resting against the palm of my hand. James’s fingers seem to linger against my skin as he presses my fingers shut around it.
“Keep it as your souvenir.”
I lift my gaze slowly to lock onto his blue ones. I’m not sure when the last time someone gave me a gift was. Even on my birthday, I’m lucky to get a phone call since I moved so far away from my family and barely kept in contact lately. “What about you, do you get a souvenir?”
