CASTLE HIATUS FIC PROJECT by Irene and Ning
AU; Castle and Beckett in 1920 | requested by dancersbabi
Born out of wedlock, he ordinarily would have had a life of scandal in an age of hypocrisy. But this was also an age of reinvention—Richard Rodgers received his reincarnation in the form of Rick Castle. He called himself a novelist, but he was really a second Trimalchio.
It was during one of the nights he manufactured his mansion into a wonderland of jazz and cocktails that he found her in a nook of silence. She was in his library, a world away from the crowds, when he inadvertently joined her.
She had snapped around in surprise at his entrance, her knee-length dress flapping and landing like dust on her lanky built. Her auburn hair was cropped at her ears, showing off her elegant neck. Her eyes were a piercing pair of one-way mirrors. Her name was Kate and she was enchanting. She was not immaterial like Daisy, but too ethereal to be Myrtle.
“You seem to have quite a show going on, Mr. Castle,” she remarked as he approached.
“I adhere to the notion that if you do something, you do it big or not at all.” He quipped, examining her under the orange light.
“I wasn’t talking about your party.”
“Of course you weren’t.”
She turned to the books beside her and gently touched them, pulling out a worn collection of Keats poetry placed inconspicuously amongst leather-bound journals. “And you so pretend not to be a man of sentimentality.”
Unbidden, Castle’s next story sprang immediately to his mind, gifted by her shadow. When she spoke, his dreams seemed to tumble out of her every breath. Tethered to her, his heart would never romp again.