i like to think that in public you get mistaken for lestat's daughter bc of the way you two act (even if you don't look like him) when someone makes a comment like "what a beautiful daughter you've got Mr. Lioncourt" and you go to correct them but without missing a beat, he puts an arm around you and agrees with them. calls you his daughter again for emphasis bc he knows it's getting a reaction from you down there
you can tell what the man means by his comment almost instantly. the lioncourt name is one that has power to it. power and money and fear among some. so when the man peers down the sharp bridge of his nose at you, eyes you up and down, and compliments your beauty to lestat through up turned lips, you're desperate to clarify your real relation.
lestat pulls you closer into his side and you think he's going to do it for you. you tuck your head into his shoulder, already starting to smile as you imagine the look on the mans face when lestat speaks.
"yes, my daughter," lestat says, and you jolt.
you try to pull away, but his nails dig into the layers of clothes you wear and he keeps you right where he wants you. he looks down at you, blond hair bouncing. he widens his eyes, his lips pressed together tightly but still pulled up at the corners.
"isn't she beautiful?" he asks the man, still staring right at you. "she takes after her father in that regard, non?"
your thighs brush together beneath your dress and you bite your tongue. he'd never been so blatant about the odd relationship the two of you have. he'd never called you his daughter to anyone else, save for louis, and the effects are immediate.
lestat leans down and seals the deal with a kiss on the forehead, a completely paternal action that shouldn't make your skin burn like it does. you stay tucked into his side while he finishes the conversation with the man who's name you have yet to get. you can feel his eyes on you, but it doesn't bother you anymore. you can't think about anything other than the strong and protective loop of lestat's arm around your waist and the way he sounded as he called you his daughter.
you hope he'll call you that again tonight when your face is pressed into expensive sheets the two of you love to ruin.
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