Amiens, France

1910

The gardens of the Hummel household were endless; grassy meadows bathed in warm summer sunlight, ancient oak trees with rope swings swaying to and fro in the breeze, elegant white tables and chairs laid out in the shade, covered with lace cloths and adorned with china tea sets. They had a certain stillness about them, a quiet optimism, as though one could spend hour after hour dreaming in silence, never to be disturbed, too absorbed in one's own fantasy life to be held by reality. The house was a grand old mansion with finesse and grace, ivy wound up and around the windows, between notches in the brickwork and over the archway of the front entrance. Inside had much of the same taste: intricate wall murals, furniture polished to perfection, a certain lightness in the atmosphere.

Blaine Anderson gazed around in awe as the birds tweeted and a quiet laugh chimed from behind him.

"I hope you had a pleasant journey, Monsieur."

Behind him stood a dark-haired woman in an embroidered gown, an amused smile painted onto her delicate features. She held herself with dignity, as though she were either a woman of great sophistication or a woman from great wealth. At once, Blaine knew who she was.

"Madame Hummel, it is a pleasure to meet you."

"Please, Monsieur, call me Renée."

Renée Hummel was the wife of the late Monsieur Azaire, a wealthy man in possession of a large textiles factory on the outskirts of Amiens. After his passing two years previously, Renée had sought someone to help carry on her husband's legacy; not six months later, she had married the quiet but sophisticated and well-respected Kurt Hummel, who had since become step-father to Lisette and Grégoire, her children from her marriage to Monsieur Azaire.

"Monsieur Anderson-"

"-Please, call me Blaine."

"Of course. Blaine, words cannot describe how grateful I am to you for coming here to help Kurt - pardon, Monsieur Hummel - with the running of my late husband's factory. Between you and I, he needs another man about the house to keep him company!"

At this, she tilted her head towards the house and beckoned for Blaine to follow her inside. With a polite nod of his head and small smile, he stood up, brushed off his suit, and made his way through the doors, craning his neck to examine the beauty of the embellished portraits that decorated the walls. Waiting for him in the entrance hall were two children, a girl of around sixteen with her hair falling in blonde ringlets around her face and a young boy with his hands clasped in front of him and a look of boyish wonderment on his face.

"Blaine, my two children, Lisette and Grégoire. Children, welcome Monsieur Anderson to our home."

"Good afternoon, Monsieur Anderson," said Lisette, bashfully tucking a loose curl behind her ear before curtseying graciously and stepping backwards.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Anderson," said Grégoire, tucking his hands into his pockets and gazing up at Blaine with a shy expression. Blaine knelt down to the young boy's level, still smiling gently, and held out his hand for Grégoire to shake.

"Pleasure to meet you, Grégoire. You too, Mademoiselle."

With a giggle, Grégoire took Blaine's hand and shook it briefly before stepping back to where his sister stood and ducking his head. Blaine laughed quietly and got to his feet to find that Renée was already by the door to the library, gesturing to him again.

"You will have to excuse my husband, Monsieur Ande- Blaine, he was not aware that you had arrived."

"Of course, it's no problem."

Following Renée into the library, Blaine gasped quietly as the rich golds, reds and blacks of the books on the shelves came into view, overwhelming him and providing him with a glorious sense of home comfort. An avid reader as a child, Blaine found solace in the fantastical and the fictional, revelled in that which was not his own, longed for escape into worlds where anything was possible and he was free to be whomever he chose. Tracing his fingers along the spines of the books, he did not notice Renée leaving the room for a moment, and so when a musical voice sounded from behind him he jumped, knocking one of the novels to the floor.

"This is my favourite room in the house."

Whirling around and attempting to straighten out his suit jacket, Blaine's words caught in his chest as he caught sight of the man in front of him. He was breathtaking. He was so absorbed in memorizing every inch of the man's face - his parted lips, porcelain-like skin, eyes the colour of the sea on a summer morning - that Renée's entrance back into the room went unrecognised until she spoke.

"Ah, Blaine, I see you have met my husband, Kurt Hummel."