Series synopsis: After marrying her dying boyfriend, Ava Vasquez ( née Flores) is alone, heartbroken and struggling to rebuild her life in San Antonio. Will eventually be Drake x MC.
Prologue/the letter
Milestones
Becoming a woman
Anniversary/The ranch
The Walker Family
The Darkest Night
Premise: Life is just about perfect for Drake Walker. Newly married, enjoying a blissful double honeymoon and looking forward to starting a family. He had never been happier. Fate intervenes however turning his life upside down.
khaled nabhan was the soul of our souls, a mercy for this merciless planet.
he touched all of our hearts when we saw what had become of his two young grandchildren— reem, who he lovingly called the soul of his soul, and tarek. how they were violently murdered in the name of ‘israel’s right to defend itself’. since then, he was blessed with another granddaughter, a new light in the darkness, who he adored with the same tenderness and love.
he spent his days with young children, passing out food, sitting with those who had lost their loved ones. he sat with childhood amputees and encouraged them not to despair. he made sure the cats in gaza were fed when at times there wasn’t even food for him to eat. and this sums up who khaled was. a man who gave goodness to the world, who spread mercy when the world offered him and his loved ones none, who inspired hope in everyone who met him. he was proof that even in pain, there is softness to be found.
and the israeli occupation army killed him.
every day we watch the life be stolen from the softest, the kindest. we live in a time where the elderly and the youngest, the sick and the helpless, are being murdered before our eyes, while those in power turn away as if these lives mean nothing. as if they didn’t have a whole life ahead of them. they have no problem dismissing their brutal murders as merely collateral damage when everyone who knew them and loved them knows they were so much more than that.
i don’t understand how despite everyone having the ability to witness these things same as us, all so many people want to ask is how can we wish harm upon even those who do evil? those who transgress against people just like khaled. they want to know how we can celebrate death of the oppressors, no matter how wicked. how can we ‘lose our humanity’, even in the face of inhumanity? what they fail to realize is that this is what happens when you are radicalized. this is what happens when you bear witness to genocide in real time, to the killing of entire generations, the killing of the sick and the poor and the helpless.
it is so easy for the world to look at the younger generations and call us angry, hateful, heartless. they act as if we have no empathy, no moral compass, like our grief and our rage is something to be ashamed of. but how can we not feel this way when nothing changes? eighty years down the line, the successors of the victims today will be fed the same lines “it’s time to move on,” “the past is the past,” “stop acting like a victim.” we know this because we live it now. the victims of past and present atrocities are silenced again and again, told their suffering isn’t valid, told to get over it while the world forgets what happened and history is rewritten.
we are radicalized because we refuse to forget. because nothing has changed, and yet we still believe we can make a difference. and that belief— that fire —that is what terrifies those in power. they fear a generation that has seen too much to stay silent, a generation that knows the cost of complacency, a generation that will not stop until justice is served. they have taught us over and over again that the only option is to fight, so why do they want to be surprised that we are so angry, and that we have so much fight within us?
“why are we so angry” when we’ve seen settlers spit in the faces of children, bullet wounds in the heads of babies, fathers carrying the pieces of children in grocery bags. when we’ve seen toddlers missing their heads and disabled people hunted for sport. the question isn’t why are we angry— it’s why aren’t you?
It's okay if things aren’t perfect. You are still worthy, just as you are. Even in the uncertainty, you are more than enough. Take a breath and offer yourself some grace today. You deserve it. 💛 (PS—drink some water)
Thank you for being such a sweet bean of a human and always thinking of others! 😊
Your beautiful work! What a treat to see it on my dash again. That bottom middle photo reminds me of the kind of house my otp have, right next to a lake 😍
All the positive words cannot express how generous you are, especially in sharing my posts to inform other donors about the people of Gaza who are still suffering from the terrible conditions caused by the unjust war on Gaza!
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Thank you from the bottom of my heart for the support you are giving to help Palestinian families stay safe and alive. ✌✌
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We collect such donations to provide the minimum basic needs of life and help find safety and peace for young children who do not deserve to live in such horrific situations. Thanks to your contribution, my family is slowly approaching 1/2 of the way to reach the goal. Every form of your help makes a difference to the free people who have been struggling and paying so much for almost 300 hard days.
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Please continue to support the most just cause in the world either by donating directly or by sharing the link to let others know. Don't hesitate to help people in difficult and miserable times until the dark days are over.
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I am cautious over who I donate too because unfortunately where are always scammers out there.
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(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 21 - You Give Me Reason
Fandom: TRR
Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)
Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.
Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions
Chapter Summary: Harper and Drake have lunch... and a heart-to-heart...
Word Count: 5,800
Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, PDA, references to sex)
Chapter theme song:
A/N1: Apologies for taking so long to get this out! This chapter ended up being quite a bit lengthier (and emotionally heavier) than planned, so it took longer than expected to wrangle into shape. Hope it's worth the wait!
A/N2: Translations for the Italian at the end.
Chapter 21 - You Give Me Reason
Grabbing my hand, Drake pulls me beneath a nondescript archway that I would've walked right past had I been on my own.
Passing through the relative coolness of the shadowy recess, we pop out into a small, eclectic-looking courtyard.
"Wow," I breathe, taking in the ivy-covered walls and the little Gorgon-headed fountain that is burbling merrily away in the far corner. "You never would've guessed that something like this is hidden in here!"
"Never judge a book by its cover, Gale..." he reminds me wryly, leading me across the well-worn cobblestones to a sunken doorway. "Watch your head."
Ducking down to avoid the low-hanging lintel, I follow Drake into the restaurant.
"Buongirono," greets a man wearing a black shirt and slacks, who I presume is the maître-d'. "Tavolo per due?"
"Sì," affirms Drake.
"Avete una prenotazione?"
"No," replies Drake. "Ma spero che non sia un problema. Zio Bruno mi ha assicurato che avresti avuto un tavolo per noi nel retro."
The maître-d' eyes up Drake for a long moment. "Certo," the man nods, grabbing a pair of menus and spreading his arm towards the back. "Da questa parte."
"Everything okay?" I ask as unobtrusively as I can.
"Just making sure they have a table for us," he assures me, laying a hand on my back. "Ladies first."
I quirk a brow at him as I move past. But Drake has an impeccable poker face, and doesn't offer up anything further by way of an explanation for the critical up-and-down the maître-d' subjected him to just now.
Maybe because we don't exactly look like a pair of politicians...?
The man leads us across the more-or-less empty dining room, which, in real terms, is little more than a cellar, with a low, curved ceiling and exposed brick for its walls. But the darkly varnished sheen of the square tables and the tea lights glowing in their glass lanterns give the place a cozy, intimate feel.
In short, it's exactly what I would've imagined a hole-in-the wall Italian place to look like in the heart of Rome. And it's definitely a welcome reprieve from the almost choking heat outside.
The maître-d' stops by a secluded table in the corner, and pulls one of the chairs out for me.
"Grazie," I acknowledge with a smile, settling down.
"Piacere," he replies, slotting a menu into my hands. "Gradite qualcosa da bare per comincare?"
"Erm..."
Drake quickly saves me from my lack of Italian. "Vorremmo due bicchieri di aqua con ghoaccio e limone."
"Ottimo," nods the maître-d' before retreating.
"What did he want to know?" I ask once he's out of earshot.
"Our drinks order," Drake replies, opening up his menu. "Given the heat, I told him to grab some water."
"Good call," I approve, following suit. I haven't had a sip of anything since we landed, so I'm definitely overdue for some rehydration.
"But there's a whole drinks menu as well," he adds, handing over a separate booklet that is noticeably thicker than the first one. "Most of it's gonna be wine, but there'll be options for beer and soft drinks at the back."
"Thanks," I acknowledge, taking the menu from him.
Flipping to the back, I am confronted with a sea of Italian, but with a bit of perseverance, I am able to pick out some familiar words like Pepsi, café and aqua.
"I'm guessing limonata is 'lemonade'?" I query.
"Yeah, but it's different from what you'd get in the States," Drake replies, flicking through his menu. "It'll be carbonated and not as sweet."
"I'm willing to be adventurous," I reply with a coy shrug, passing the drinks booklet back to him.
Drake's gaze meets mine across the candlelight, and I feel my heart skip a familiar beat at the sudden intensity of his gaze.
I open my mouth...
...but at that moment, a maître-d' reappears with our water, and the spell is broken.
"Ecco le bavande," the man declares, setting down a jug together with a pair of glasses. "Siete pronti per le ordinazione?"
"Sì," affirms Drake, flipping his menu shut. "Noi vorremmo..."
What follows is a rapid-fire back and forth that sounds more akin to an argument — complete with bombastic gesticulations on the part of the maître-d' — rather than any kind of civilised conversation.
Luckily, Drake seems to take the apparent interrogation in his stride, and responds every so often with a question, or a counterpoint, referencing the pages of the menu like a sergeant would a tactical ordnance survey.
After about five minutes, the maître-d' snaps the menus back into his possession and disappears towards the kitchen.
"What the heck was that about?" I ask in bewilderment once we're alone again.
"Making sure he got our order down."
"Sounded like he was on the verge of throwing us out..."
Drake scoffs as he reaches for his glass. "Italians are opinionated. Especially when it comes to food and wine pairings."
My jaw drops. "You ordered wine? I thought you hated that stuff."
He slants me a look over the rim of his glass. "We're in Italy. Had I not ordered wine, they damn sure would've kicked us to the curb. Plus, this isn't the kind of place that stocks whiskey."
"Fair point," I concede, taking a sip of my own water... and draining half the glass in the process. Reaching for a refill, I ask, "So, what did the intrepid Capitano Walker order?"
Drake rolls his eyes at me. "A standard four-course lunch."
I nearly drop the decanter. "Four courses!"
"When in Rome..." he says with a shrug, leaning back in his chair. "Plus, you said you were hungry."
"Not that hungry..."
Drake shakes his head with a wry smirk. "Again. We're not in the States, Gale. They're not trying to feed a whole family from one plate. Portions are smaller, so I mixed and matched a few different options."
"Such as...?"
He shrugs an impassive shoulder. "You'll see."
I let out an exasperated breath. "You're impossible..."
"Hey," he counters, meeting my eye again. "D'you trust me or not?"
"I—"
Once again, the reappearance of the maître-d' — this time with a decanter of wine — scuttles our conversation.
"Chianti Rùfina Riserva, 2020."
Placing the wine glasses on the table, he pours out a finger's worth and steps back, waiting for Drake's assessment.
With a finesse that would've made Bertrand swoon, Drake lifts the glass to give it an expert swirl, before closing his eyes to take in the aroma, and only then tasting it.
I eye him curiously, wondering if he had any other high-society life hacks hidden up his sleeve as a result of his years spent growing up at court.
After a second or two of contemplation, Drake gives the maître-d' a nod.
The man steps back up to the table to pour me half a glass as well, before placing the decanter between us and withdrawing again, only to be replaced by a pair of waiters, bearing a basket of bread, olive oil, a plate of razor-thin slices of prosciutto, grilled artichoke hearts, and my lemonade.
My mouth starts to water in anticipation. "Wow. This already looks like a feast!"
"Ain't gonna get fed looking at it," Drake prompts, sliding the starters towards me. "Dig in."
"What about you?" I ask, reaching for my fork to spear up servings of both dishes.
"If you want it all, have it," he assures me, picking up his wine again. "There's three more courses coming."
"Yeah, but—"
"Harper, I'm fine," he insists, locking me down with his mocha gaze. "Just eat already."
My mouth parts in protest, but he shuts me down with an uncompromising look.
Heaving a resigned sigh, I return my attention to my plate. Drake is right — I am hungry — and the sight and smell of the food before me very much reinforces that fact...
...especially since everything tastes like pure ambrosia.
The ham melts in my mouth, the lemony aioli coating the artichokes elevates the somewhat humble greens to a whole new level, and the bread manages to be both fluffy and flaky all at the same time.
In short, it's one of the best meals I've ever had, and I haven't even set sight on the main course yet. So, before I know it, I've cleared both plates.
"Hit the spot?"
Glancing up sheepishly, I see Drake looking at me from across the table with a knowing smirk.
"Sorry..." I mutter, laying my cutlery back down. "I—"
"Gale, like I said, it's fine. You—"
"Yeah, but—"
"If anyone needs to apologise, it's me."
His words catch me off-guard. "What for?"
"For being an ass," he gripes, looking away.
I drop my hands in my lap in consternation. "Drake, I didn't mean—"
"You did. But that's not the point." He rakes his hand through his hair. "The point is you were right. I shouldn't have jumped down your throat like that earlier... I just..."
"What?"
He heaves a low breath, not quite meeting my eye. "I was honestly expecting the worst."
I stiffen. "What do you mean?"
"Nobody knew where you were," he grits, expression tight. "Chris and Max said you left with Maddy to go the bridal shop... Livy swore on her parents' graves that she left you there with Hana... Only for Hana to turn around and say that you went back to the embassy because you weren't feeling well... Except you weren't there either. And when you didn't answer your phone, I—"
"But I had my phone with me the whole time," I protest, reaching into my bag. "And I didn't—"
Pulling the device out, my eyes land on the still-open camera app, which I must have forgotten to close after taking the photos at the fountain... and which I had apparently opened right from my bag without stopping to look at my lock screen.
"Oh."
"The volume up button is on the left," Drake advises dryly.
"Point taken," I tell him sheepishly as I swipe out of the camera app and come face to face with the multitude of missed calls and text alerts that had accumulated in the background.
"At least you kept your phone on you..."
"Is that how you found me?" I ask, swiping across the screen to clear the notifications.
"No," he corrects. "I called Allard. Who knew better than to lie to me."
"Sorry..." I say again, slotting my phone away again. "I didn't mean to freak you — or anyone else — out. I honestly thought I could get to the fountain and back before anyone noticed."
"And any other time, any other place, it'd've been fine," he accedes, reaching across the table by way of a tacit truce. "Hell, I'd've taken you myself! But we're not in Cordonia anymore, and this isn't the social season. You can't just—"
"I know..." I sigh, meeting his hand halfway. "But Madeleine was being such a bitchy bridezilla, and after the run-in with the Applewood photographer, I—"
"Wait," Drake interjects, leaning forward. "You found the photographer?"
"Yeah," I confirm distractedly. "He was at the boutique."
"And you talked to him?"
"Olivia did... mostly," I admit. "Though 'interrogated' might be a better word..."
Drake takes a moment to digest this. "And he had nothing useful to say."
"Not really," I say with a sigh. "But worse than that, he didn't care. Not about what Tariq did to me, not about the fact that I had obviously been set up, nor about how the photos he took turned my life upside down. And I just—"
"—had to get away from it all."
I nod tightly. "Yeah..."
"Hey. I get it," he says, tightening his hold on my hand. "This freak show? It's enough to drive anyone insane. But I—"
"Tutto bene?" asks the waiter, swooping in from out of the blue at the worst possible moment.
"Sì," grunts Drake, dropping my hand like a burning match. "Grazie."
Probably catching onto the slightly tense atmosphere 'round our table, the waiter beats a hasty retreat with the empty plates.
"But what?" I prompt, once we're alone again.
Drake lifts his gaze to mine. "I can't have you get hurt again."
My shoulders slump. "Drake, I told you, that wasn't your—"
"It was," he insists. "Every time you've gotten hurt, it's been because of me. Either I wasn't there when I should've been, or I lost my cool and I—"
I shake my head insistently. "That's not—"
"I gave you fucking bruises, Harper!" he snaps. "On your neck! How the hell can you sit there and—?"
Plates of steaming pasta suddenly appear between us. "Ecco il primo piatto."
Drake flops back into his chair. "Oh, for fuck's s—!"
"Grazie," I say quickly, hoping the simple acknowledgment is enough to send the waiter on his way again, so Drake doesn't explode in front of me.
But I have no such luck.
"Vuoi del pepe o del parmigiano grattugiato?"
"Err..."
"No," replies Drake somewhat testily, as irked by the constant interruptions as I am. "Stiamo bene."
The waiter bobs his head before retreating. "Buon appetito."
A heavy silence descends on the table, interrupted only by the occasional fizz of wax dripping off the candle between us.
I extend my hand again. "Drake, I'm not angry with you for—"
His darkened gaze meets mine. "Don't make excuses for me, Harper. I don't deserve it."
"But—"
"Dammit, girl!" he snaps, slamming a fist onto the table, and making me jump. "I can't fucking think straight when it comes to you... Let alone act in any way even that's even close to being rational! I'm nothing but a goddamn liability..."
"Wh-what are you saying?" I whisper, feeling the food I've just eaten turn to lead in the pit of my stomach.
He's not... is he?
"I'm saying..." He rakes his hand agitatedly through his hair. "I... I had a lot of time to think on the plane. And I realised this whole thing... It isn't working. And I—"
"Are..." I gulp past the burn of the acid that's suddenly choking my throat. "Are you breaking up with me?"
Drake jerks back as if I'd stabbed him. "What! No! That's the last thing that I—!"
"Then why the hell are you trying to scare the bejesus out of me!"
"I—" He swallows thickly. "Shit. I'm sorry, Harper. I've fucked this beyond recognition..."
"Fucked what?" I demand, loud enough for the patrons of the occupied tables to turn their heads.
"That I'm thinking of quitting the Guard."
I nearly fall off my chair. "What!"
"It's past overdue," he huffs ruefully, folding his arms over the top of the table. "And I should've handed in my resignation months ago."
My head is still reeling from his unexpected announcement. "You... You don't want to look out for me anymore?"
"I'll always look out for you, Harper," he corrects, reaching for my hand again. "But in hindsight, I was an idiot to agree to head up your Guard detail."
"Why?" I whisper.
His fingers wrap around mine. "Because I love you."
"And I love you," I affirm confusedly. "But why is that—?"
"It's a conflict of interest," he expounds. "A fucking big one. And it's compromising my judgment."
"Because of Christian..." I murmur with sudden clarity as my mind falls back to the flashpoint of Valtoria... and its aftermath.
Drake nods. "I may be assigned to you, but because of the oath I took, my ultimate loyalty is to him. At least... it's supposed to be. But I can't pretend that's true anymore."
"But you said at the gun range—"
"And I stand by that. But if it came down to choosing between him and you...?" His grip on my hand tightens. "I ain't choosing him."
My throat constricts. "You don't know that..."
"Actually, I do," he insists, mocha gaze meeting mine solemnly across the candlelight. "Because I've been making the same choice every day for the past three months."
"But he's your best friend..."
"Like I said... Things change..."
I glance away uncomfortably. All because of me...
Drake heaves a low breath. "I'm not gonna lie to you, Harper. I never expected to find myself in this position, because I never expected to meet anyone like you. But if I'm being brutally honest with myself, I'd throw Chris to the wolves if it meant keeping you safe."
I swallow tightly. "Let's hope it never comes to that..."
"Agreed," he concedes. "But the fact remains that I'm stuck in a Catch-22. I can't abide by my oath to Chris and still put you first. At least not in any way that's fair on either of you. Which means something's gotta give."
"And that something is you?"
"It's the cleanest solution," he admits. "If I resign, I'm no longer being pulled in two directions. Just one."
"And you think that will make a difference?"
"Yes," he affirms, running his thumb over the back of my hand. "Because what I'll gain is space... and agency. Not to mention time. With you. I won't be yanked away on other tasks, I won't have to deal with the bureaucratic bullshit and paperwork. And I won't have to answer to anyone else but you."
A flush creeps up my cheeks. "You saying that I'd be your boss?"
"I already do things for you against my better judgement, mon coeur..." he replies with a sardonic smirk."So, in real terms, it wouldn't really be that big a shake-up. Except for the fact that Chris won't be able to court martial me for insubordination the next time I flip him the proverbial bird."
"But you'll lose your diplomatic immunity," I remind him. "And your access to the Guard's systems."
"True," he concedes. "But we got Tariq now. Which makes both those things a moot point."
"Not necessarily," I counter. "We still don't know who he's working with... or whether he'll even give up that information."
"He will," comes the stone-faced assurance. "Grade-A assholes like him — they're all about self-preservation. He'll crack under the right pressure."
I gulp uncomfortably. "Wh-where is he now?"
"Nursing a broken jaw in the Palace dungeons."
My eyes widen. "You broke his jaw, too!"
"He's lucky I didn't castrate him for what he tried to do to you..."
A shiver runs down my spine at the memory of that horrible day...
...but also a welcome sense of relief.
"Thank you," I say sincerely. "For finding him. And bringing him back."
"No need to thank me, girl," he murmurs. "I made you a promise. I'm just keepin' it."
"I still appreciate it," I reply. "Not many things have been going right lately..."
"I know," he huffs ruefully. "But hopefully we're past the worst of it now. And I know it's past overdue, but I meant what I said. I'm sorry I was such a dick before. I just—"
"—got caught off guard by the bruises and the signet ring," I finish wryly. "I know. And then everything else happened so fast that we didn't get a chance to talk about it, and—"
"It's not just that," he grumbles. "I... I know I was the one who talked you into coming back — to fight your corner... But if we're being honest, I've done a piss-poor job of backing you up. If anything, I've only been adding my own insecure shit to the rest of the steaming pile that you've got to deal with, and—"
Leaning across the table, I press my fingers to his lips. "No. You're the only one keeping me going, Drake."
His shoulders drop. "Harp—"
"I mean it," I insist, brushing my hand away from his mouth to coast down his jaw. "Everyone at court — Christian, Madeleine... even the Beaumonts — only care about themselves and the furtherance of their own schemes. You are the only person — in addition to Hana — who has been completely honest with me from day one, and who has consistently been there for me without expecting anything in return. So, I'm not going to let you brow-beat yourself when it gets all too much for you... when you get overwhelmed by it all. Because like me, you're only human, Drake. And there's only so much we can cope with on the best of days, let alone when we're constantly having to swim against the tide. But what keeps me going... what gives me the strength to get out of bed each day and face whatever it is that the press and the aristos decide to throw at me, is the knowledge that somewhere — at the end of it all — lies a little haven of normalcy. Where we don't have to sneak around, where I no longer have to pretend to be the Royal Consort, and where I can hold your hand without it becoming front-page news. Because that's what I want — those real, everyday moments with you that keep being denied by this stupid scandal hanging over my head."
His mocha gaze searches mine for a long moment. "We got a lot to make up for..."
"You can say that again," I agree with a roll of my eyes. "But you're worth the wait, Drake. You always have been."
The last of his resistance crumbles. "Christ, Harper..."
Before I have a chance to blink, he's surged out of his seat to clasp my face between his palms, tugging me across the table so that he can meet my lips with barely restrained passion.
The front of my dress dips over the top of the steaming plates of pasta, but in that moment, as his lips part mine and I catch the faint aftertaste of black coffee on his tongue, I honestly can't care less.
God, I missed him...!
Grabbing onto his shoulders in a bid to keep myself upright in the face of his demands, I kiss him feverishly back, glad that he's back, glad that we're rowing in sync once more, despite the choppiness of the waves surrounding us.
He groans against my mouth. "Have I mentioned you drive me to the edge of reason, girl?"
"Once... or twice..." I gasp, feeling the heat pool between my legs in response to the scrape of his stubble across my skin.
"Good," he smirks. "Can't have you forgettin' it."
"No danger of that, cowboy," I assure him with a nip of his lips. "You're all I think about."
A low sound rattles his throat as he presses me to him once more. "Sweet Jesus, you have no idea..."
I melt against him, savouring this sweet moment of calm before we're forced to head back out into the inevitable storm.
Which reminds me...
"I have... something for... you," I manage to squeeze out between our compressed lips.
His eyes snap open. "Whaddaya mean?"
"It's nothing big," I admit with a final peck as I sink back into my seat and reach for my bag. "But since you got me the bracelet, I thought—"
His hands fall down to clasp either side of the table in consternation. "Gale, I told you—"
"—you don't expect anything in return," I finish, locating the jewellery box and pulling it out. "I know. And I wasn't really planning on getting you anything, because I know how you feel about presents and surprises. But I saw this, so I'm hoping you'll make an exception."
He stares back at me unconvincedly as he too takes his seat again. "That's kind of a tall order, girl..."
I punt him under the table. "Shut up! You secretly loved the surprise party I threw you for your birthday!"
"I said it wasn't terrible," he corrects, managing to dodge out of the way. "Which is a far cry from saying that I loved it."
"Tell yourself what you want, Walker," I grin back, holding the box out to him. "Because I've got you down pat."
His eyes drop down to my hand as of it were cradling a stick of dynamite. "You sound mighty sure of yourself..."
"If it helps, you can think of it as a late birthday present," I prompt. "Or a retirement gift."
He flicks his gaze back up to mine. "So, you're good with me pulling the trigger on that?"
I shrug back at him. "It's your job. You don't need my permission to—"
"But I want it anyway."
The naked sincerity behind his words catches me off guard. "Why?"
"Because you asked me to let you in more," he reminds me. "And this is what that looks like."
I feel a flush creep up my cheeks again. "Oh."
"But also because this impacts you as well," he continues, reaching out to pluck the box out of my hand so he could entwine our fingers together once more. "And I don't want to make a one-sided decision without your buy-in. Especially not when it comes to your safety."
"What about Christian?" I ask, searching his gaze.
Drake heaves a low breath. "Honestly? This isn't up to him. This is between me and you. Because you're the one who asked me to head your Guard detail. So, if I'm going to do this, I need you to be okay with the fact that Allard and Schweitzer — not the mention the six other guys you have in your detail — will no longer report to me."
"Thought you were going to fire the two of them anyway..."
He slants me a side-long look. "You ain't letting this go, are you?"
"Nope," I confirm. "Because neither of them did anything wrong. They stayed with me the whole time I was out, helped me buy a change of clothes and shoes so I wouldn't stand out so much, took me through the side-streets and—"
"Christ, you're like a dog with a goddamn bone..." he huffs. "Fine. I won't fire them. But one more screw up, and they'll be spending the next year in the Palace basement, backing up CCTV footage."
"That... does not sound fun..."
"Wouldn't be much of a demotion if it was..."
I shake my head wryly. "You really are a hardass boss, aren't you?"
"Kind have to be," he admits. "Got a pain-in-the-ass principal to deal with."
I kick out at him again. "You're the one to talk!"
He somehow manages to trap my foot between his shins. "Hey. I'm just sayin'... Looking after you is a helluva lot of work."
I roll my eyes at him. "Who will they report to instead?"
"Depends on what Chris decides to do," he shrugs. "He could assign a new CO to the team, or he could pick up the reigns himself."
"And you would be okay with that?" I query skeptically.
"What Chris chooses to do — or not do — with his own men is up to him," he replies flatly. "My priority is you. It always has been. And the less that gets in the way of that, the better. At least in my mind. But the final decision is yours, mon coeur."
"I can't say I'm completely at ease with it," I admit. "Not because I don't trust you. I do. And I know this whole thing has been hard on you. So, if you think that quitting the Guard is the best solution — for everyone — then I'm going to support you in what you decide to do. I just feel guilty that it has had to come to this at all — you having to choose between me and your best friend."
"Honestly?" he murmurs with a heavy exhale. "It's not a choice. At least not for me. I've given up the past five years of my life for Chris. And I don't say that to be shitty or bitter. It's just a fact. But it's time to move on. Because being a Guard? It ain't just a job. It's your entire goddamn life. And there's no room for anything else next to it. Hell, I learnt that the hard way."
"Because of what happened with your Dad?" I ask quietly.
He nods, jaw clenching with emotion. "I've always looked up to him, y'know? Thought he had the most kick-ass job in the world, getting to wear a suit, to carry a gun... like a real-life James Bond. But I wasn't stupid. I saw first-hand the toll the obligations of the job took on both him and Mom. Because apart from the occasional holiday, or the odd camping trip, we barely got to spend any time together as a family. Mom practically raised me and Savs by herself — all while holding down an equally demanding job of her own. And I was okay with that. Because I knew what Dad did was important. But I never planned to follow in his footsteps."
"Is that why you decided to go to college in Texas?"
"In part, yeah," he admits. "Also to be closer to Mom and Aunt Lee. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. But I knew that whatever it was, I wasn't gonna find it at court."
"But you came back anyway..."
"In hindsight, the best damn decision I never wanted to be forced to make," he says, raising our clasped hands up to his lips. "But that's exactly why I don't want to screw this up... And make the same mistakes Dad made. I'd rather go back to shovelling shit in the stables for less than minimum wage than shoot what we have in the foot because I'm not able to be there when you need me to be."
"What will you do instead?"
"No clue," he admits. "But I owe you a holiday, so I figure we start there. Everything else? We can hammer out later."
"Are you sure?" I ask, searching his gaze.
"More sure than I've ever been about anything else in my life," he affirms. "Because ultimately, a job's a job. I can always get another one. But a girl like you? That's as rare as rocking horse shit. So, I know which one I'd prefer to keep..."
I can't help but snort at his unconventional metaphor... even as my heart swells with emotion. Because I feel exactly the same way about him.
"You got yourself a deal, cowboy," I tell him with a smile. "Now open your present."
"Dammit," he cusses under his breath. "Thought I managed to throw you off that."
"No chance of that, bud," I reply, pushing the box firmly towards him. "I'm not so easily distracted."
"That's not the way I remember it..." he counters, dropping his free hand under the table to circle my bare ankle — which I still have raised — and slide my foot into his lap.
My skin erupts into goosebumps at his touch.
"...'cause if memory serves," he murmurs, coasting the warmth of his palm up the back of my calf, "it's just a matter of finding the right distraction..."
A needy moan slips past my lips as his fingers reach the sensitive skin of my knee. "Kind of like this?" I ask breathlessly, twisting my ankle slightly.
His mocha gaze darkens as the bridge of my foot brushes across the growing protrusion in the front of his jeans. "Don't make me throw you across the table, girl."
"Better hurry up and open your present, then," I prompt, sliding my foot down across the inside of his thigh meaningfully.
He exhales sharply. "Christ, you're impossible..."
"I learnt from the best."
He drops his hand with a snort. "Touché, baby. Fine. I'll make an exception. But you owe me."
"Always a catch..." I mutter with a roll of my eyes as I pick up the box and toss it at him.
His hand shoots out to intercept it with a smirk. "Hey. I learnt from the best."
A genuine laugh bursts out of me. "Guess we're just as bad as each other, huh, Walker?"
"Guess so," he agrees, peeling the paper back. "On which note... This isn't a set of handcuffs, is it?"
"No," I tell him. "But I can get some for you for Christmas, if you want."
He cocks a brow at me as he drops the last of the wrapping. "So much for not getting off on all that BDSM crap..."
"Maybe I'm slowly coming 'round to the idea..." I return with a coy smile, trailing the arch of my foot up the inside of his leg.
The liquid fire of his espresso gaze burns into me. "You're definitely kinkier than you let on, girl..."
"Gotta keep you on your toes somehow, bud."
A low scoff escapes him. "My heels haven't touched solid ground since you walked up to our table in that New York dive, mon coeur."
An inadvertent flush rises up my cheeks. "You've been a bundle of surprises, too, Drake."
"Yeah. Well," he shrugs, flipping the lid up. "Gotta keep some sus—" He trails off as his eyes fall on the contents of the box.
"Do... you like it?" I ask hesitantly, trying to gauge his reaction, admittedly without much success.
He stares at the necklace nestled on its black velvet cushioning, barely even breathing. "I— I don't fucking know what to say..."
I feel the heat rise up my throat. "I can take it back if—"
His eyes jerk up to mine. "Why the hell would you—?"
"You obviously don't like it, so—"
"Like it?" he scoffs, carefully lifting the harp-shaped pendant out of its box. "Harper. You couldn't top this even if you tried."
I still. "Really?"
"It's hands-down the best thing I've ever been given. By anyone. And that includes the limited edition, 18-year-old bottle of Willett single-barrel Kentucky bourbon Chris got me for my 18th birthday."
I look up at him in genuine surprise. "Didn't think anything could beat out whiskey in your book."
"Trust me," he assures me, slipping the length of silver rope chain over his head. "You do."
My blush creeps higher. "Hopefully it's long enough. But if it isn't, I can always—"
"It's perfect," he interjects, scooping the pendant up to press it against his lips. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," I reply with a smile as he tucks the chain behind the security of his shirt.
"I kinda hate to admit this," he drawls sardonically, "but you really do have me down pat..."
"Don't worry, Walker," I assure him with a wink. "Your secret's safe with me."
The warmth of his mocha gaze meets mine across the now very melted-down candle sitting between us. "I love you."
"I love you, too," I breathe, settling my foot between his under the table as I allow myself to drift off on the lazy currents of the moment.
The story continues in Chapter 22 - Coming soon!
A/N: Translations for the Italian below:
Buongirono. Tavolo per due? - Good day. Table for two?
Sì - Yes.
Avete una prenotazione? - Do you have a reservation?
No. Ma spero che non sia un problema. Zio Bruno mi ha assicurato che avresti avuto un tavolo per noi nel retro. - No. But I hope that's not a problem. Uncle Bruno advised that he would always have a table for us at the back.
Certo. Da questa parte. - Of course. This way, please.
Grazie - Thanks.
Piacere. Gradite qualcosa da bare per comincare? - My pleasure. Would you like to start with something to drink?
Vorremmo due bicchieri di aqua con ghoaccio e limone. - We'll have two glasses of water with ice and lemon.
Ottimo - Perfect.
Ecco le bavande. Siete pronti per le ordinazione? - Here are the drinks. Are you ready to order?
Sì. Noi vorremmo... - Yes. We'll have...
Tutto bene? - Is everything okay?
Vuoi del pepe o del parmigiano grattugiato? - Would you like some pepper, or grated parmigiano?
Grabbing my hand, Drake pulls me beneath a nondescript archway that I would've walked right past had I been on my own.
Passing through the relative coolness of the shadowy recess, we pop out into a small, eclectic-looking courtyard.
OMG That picture, gah! Takes me back to Arles, there was a place that took very similar to that (minus those seats)
Drake's gaze meets mine across the candlelight, and I feel my heart skip a familiar beat at the sudden intensity of his gaze.
Making sure he got our order down."
Dosen't harper get a choice here??
Drake rolls his eyes at me. "A standard four-course lunch."
I nearly drop the decanter. "Four courses!"
"When in Rome..." he says with a shrug, leaning back in his chair. "Plus, you said you were hungry."
"Not that hungry..."
FOUR COURSES?? lol
Also, is that a thing at lunchtime? Granted, I've not been to Italy, although I have noticed how different things are done on the continent when it comes to lunches and dinners. (mainly France)
With a finesse that would've made Bertrand swoon, Drake lifts the glass to give it an expert swirl, before closing his eyes to take in the aroma, and only then tasting it.
YES! I hate how utterly clueless they made Drake in canon, he literally grew up surrounded by high society, of course he's gonna pick things up!
Before I know it, I've cleared both plates.
Three courses to go, she's so gonna regret that! lol
"The volume up button is on the left," Drake advises dryly.
That is sooooo me! LOL!
Drake flops back into his chair. "Oh, for fuck's s—!"
Rude! You're at a restaurant, Drake. You've ordered food. What do you expect??
"Dammit, girl!" he snaps, slamming a fist onto the table, and making me jump. "I can't fucking think straight when it comes to you... Let alone act in any way even that's even close to being rational! I'm nothing but a goddamn liability..."
I luv you hunny buy you're being a self pitying pain in the backside right how!
"That I'm thinking of quitting the Guard."
Oh wow!
But if it came down to choosing between him and you...?" His grip on my hand tightens. "I ain't choosing him."
Fair point
I wonder how Chris will react. He probably won't be too pleased, not only for personal reasons but now he'll need to find a replacement... during his engagement tour!
"Wh-where is he now?"
"Nursing a broken jaw in the Palace dungeons."
Lol
Yeah I shouldn't laugh, but...
"Fine. I won't fire them. But one more screw up, and they'll be spending the next year in the Palace basement, backing up CCTV footage."
Uhh, you won't be their boss any more, remember? lol
I'd rather go back to shovelling shit in the stables for less than minimum wage than shoot what we have in the foot because I'm not able to be there when you need me to be."
"Dammit," he cusses under his breath. "Thought I managed to throw you off that."
Monday Through To Sunday - You aren't just a Tuesday Girl.
Clean - Trey's old life comes back to haunt him.
Trey has never been able work out why he fell for you. It started the night of the storm, when your car broke down and quickly evolved into a relationship before he knew it. He remembers waking up next to you and instead of slipping out the sheets like he has with every other woman that’s crossed his path, he’d stayed instead.
And then he kept coming back.
I just want to check your oil, he tells you. Your engine needs a quick tune up. Your tire pressures a little low.
They’re all excuses, reasons to spend time in your proximity because when he’s with you, he feels something, something he’s not felt before.
He’s had passion, he’s had spice, he’s had kink, he once made a woman so crazy that she’s stabbed him in the thigh with a pen, but he’s never been in love, not until you.
“You’re the only one, you know that?” he whispers against your lips. He’s tangled up in you, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek as he looks into your eyes. “The only one whose ever made me feel this way.”
He makes love to you for the first time that night because up until now it’s been all about the fucking and Trey, he’s ready to make a change.
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(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 20 - Steal Me Away
Fandom: TRR
Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)
Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.
Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions
Chapter Summary: Drake is back... but that doesn't mean that it's a happy reunion...
Word Count: 4,300
Rating/Warnings: M (shouting, guilt-tripping, dangerous driving, swearing in multiple languages, one over-heated kiss)
Chapter theme song:
Chapter 20 - Steal Me Away
I whirl around in disbelief. "Drake...!"
He's stood before me with two days' worth of stubble, regarding me with a long-suffering look.
But it really is him.
And I feel my heart swell, even though I can tell that he's not exactly best pleased to find me in a random antique shop in the middle of Rome.
The muscle in his jaw twitches. "I turn my back for one goddamn minute and—"
"What are you doing here?" I blurt.
"I can ask the same of you, Gale..." he counters, folding his arms over his chest. "Because this sure as shit ain't no bridal boutique."
My chin lifts on its own accord. "I decided to make a detour."
"Jesus fucking—" He rakes his hand through his hair. "Did you leave your brain in a ditch somewhere in the process?"
My eyes widen. "Wha—! No! I—"
"The city is crawling with paps!" he almost shouts, jabbing a finger towards the door. "Who are looking for any excuse to make a meal out of you! Did you not think for one second that—?"
"What?" I counter heatedly, stepping up to him. "That I should cower and hide instead, like I'm to blame for it all? I told you — I refuse to let these people—"
"Well, it would've been a damn sight better than making me chase you across half the fucking city!"
"Why were you even chasing after me?" I demand, my own ire flaring. "You're supposed to be in Dubai!"
"Been there, done that, got the jet lag to prove it," he hits back sarcastically. "But just because I'm gone doesn't mean you suddenly have carte blanche to fuck off on your own."
"Says the person who walked off without so much as a 'see you later'..."
His mouth hardens. "I didn't want to—"
"Also, I'm not on my own," I continue testily. "Allard and Schweitzer—"
"—are fucking fired," he cuts in, suddenly darkened mocha eyes flashing. "They should never have—"
"Ch'è qualche problema?"
"No!" Drake and I snap in unison.
The old man falls mute before muttering something disparaging under his breath.
I continue staring at Drake, heart thumping and chest heaving in the wake of our dust-up.
He glares back unblinkingly, jaw clenched as the tension rolls off him in palatable waves.
I reach up to adjust the strap of my tote indignantly. "So much for trusting each other, huh, Walker?"
"Dammit, Gale," he growls. "That's not what—"
Grabbing the wrapped box off the counter, I stomp past him without a backwards glance. "See you back at the embassy."
He has some nerve, showing up out of the blue t—
I barely make it two steps before he's grabbed me by the arm.
I open my mouth to retort...
...but I'm not given a chance to get a word in edgeways, because in the next instant, he's slammed me against his chest, laying claim to my mouth with a ferocity that's on the verge of being savage.
The fight whooshes out of me as my arms fly up to wrap themselves 'round his neck, even as I feel his fingers dig against the soft cotton of my dress, pulling me to him like a long-lost ship to anchor.
"Christ, girl," he growls against my lips. "You send me off the edge of reason..."
"I'm... sorry..." I gasp, clinging to him helplessly as he trails down the line of my jaw. "I didn't mean to—"
"Ah... l'amore... non è bello se non è litigarello."
Drake starts as he gets clapped roundly on the back.
Peeking up, I see the shopkeeper smirking at us conspiratorially as he ambles past.
"Err... Sì," coughs Drake, pulling back from me. "Sto certamente imparando che a mio spese..."
The man laughs in response. "Non capita a tutti?"
"You speak Italian?" I gawp, feeling a flush creep up my cheeks as the old man throws us a wink over his shoulder.
"Uh... Yeah..." Drake mutters, running his hand over the back of his head somewhat sheepishly. "With Bast."
"Oh." I glance between him and the old man. "What did he say?"
"An old proverb," Drake says, looking just as embarrassed as I am feeling about the fact that we'd inadvertently let our dirty laundry rip in the company of a complete stranger. "Love is not beautiful if it does not quarrel."
My cheeks redden further. "I-I see..."
"It's kind of a compliment..." he admits, shooting a sidelong glance over at the man, who's now busy dusting some shelves. "But we should probably get out of his hair."
"Definitely...!" I chirp, diving towards the saving grace of the exit.
"Err... La saluto," offers Drake on his way out. "E scusi il disturbo..."
"Eh!" comes the scoffed response. "Chi non risica non rosica. Ma è meglio stare attenti con lei! Donna buona – vale una corona."
"Lo so..."
"Everything alright?" I ask as Drake joins me on the baking pavement.
"Yeah," he assures me, not quite meeting my eye. "Just giving his two cents..."
Something flashes across his face, too fast for me to read.
But before I can ask him about it, he's already marching me across the square.
"What about Allard and Schweitzer?" I protest, trying to squint behind me as Drake navigates us 'round the incessant stream of sightseers. "Are they—?"
"I sent them back to the embassy," Drake replies, yanking me back as a pair of kids dart out in front of me.
"You didn't actually fire them, did you?" I gasp.
"Sure as hell thinking about it," he mutters, moving us forward again.
"If it's any consolation, they did try to talk me out of coming out here..."
"Clearly not hard enough."
"I can be very persuasive when I want to be," I remind him.
He lets out a low breath. "Don't I fuckin' know it..."
"Look," I say, coming to a stop and turning to face him. "I get you're pissed—"
"That's putting it mildly."
"—but don't take it out on Allard and Schweitzer," I tell him flatly. "They didn't do anything wrong... and I actually get along with them."
He holds my gaze for a long time before answering. "They're not your friends, Gale."
"Maybe not in any conventional sense," I admit. "But getting me a security detail had been your idea, Walker. And I know I was against it initially, but Allard and Schweitzer have been able to be there for me when you haven't."
His mouth hardens.
"And I know that grates you," I continue quickly, before he can cut me off again. "But we knew from the start that this was going to be the case, so if you do need to leave, then I'd prefer to be left with people I can trust. And I trust Allard and Schweitzer — with my life. Which is actually saying a lot."
He holds my gaze for what feels like a full minute before answering. "I'll think about it."
"That's it?" I demand in disbelief as he grabs my wrist to pull me after him again. "After all that, you're just going t—?"
"I said I'll think about it."
I glare at his back. "You're a dick."
He rounds on me like a wolf. "I'm a fuckin' realist. And the reality is that Allard and Schweitzer messed up. Big time. And I don't care how much you like them, or how many times you've braided each other's hair—"
My eyes narrow. "That's not—"
"—because none of that fucking matters out here! What matters — the only goddamn thing that matters — is keeping you safe. From the paps, from the aristos, even from your ownfucking self, if you're about to do something stupid. And at that, they've unquestionably failed. So, no. I'm not about to cut them a break. Especially not on your say-so. Because the stakes are too fucking real, and I'm not gonna let anyone play dice with your life. Least of all the people whose one job is to look out for you. Got it?"
I force myself to blink back the sudden tears in my eyes. "Yeah..."
"Good," he grunts. "Now get on."
Glancing past Drake, I spot what is very literally the last thing I'd expect to see him with.
I scoff up at him. "In your dreams, bud."
"Gale," he warns, reaching for one of the helmets that's hanging from the black and white moped's frame. "I'm not in the fucking m—"
"Well, neither am I," I hit back tersely. "So, you can take that deathtrap of a Vespa and shove it."
"First off," he counters, tossing the helmet at me. "It's a Piaggio. Second, the only reason I had to resort to this is because you decided to bail."
I catch the helmet irately. "So, you're saying that this is my fault?"
"Damn right, it is," he confirms, extracting a second helmet from the storage compartment nestled beneath the seat. "It's got all of 50cc so it's underpowered as fuck."
"Then why the heck did you get it!"
"Because it's the fastest way to get around the city."
I snort at him. "You mean, it's the fastest way to get into an accident..."
He prays for deliverance under his breath. "Gale, for the love of Christ, will you just—?"
"No," I declare, folding my arms. "The last time you conned me onto the back of your motorbike, I literally thought I was going to die. And after seeing how everyone in Rome drives, I have no interest in—"
"You drive, then."
Drake's unexpected offer pulls me up short. "Wait. What?"
He pulls a set of keys from his pocket. "It's a one-time offer, Gale. Either you take the wheel, or I do. But you've gettin' your ass on this sorry excuse of a bike, one way or another."
"I..." I swallow thickly. "I don't know how..."
"I'll walk you through it," he assures me. "There ain't much to it."
"Somehow I doubt that..."
"Clock's tickin', girl..."
I heave a breath before shoving my head into my helmet. "Okay, fine. I'll do it."
"Figured you would," he murmurs, holding the keys up. "You know where these go?"
"Up your ass," I retort, snatching the keychain from his hands.
The corner of his mouth twitches — whether in amusement or annoyance, I can't tell.
Not that I really care. I can be a jerk, too. But, I figure that at least with me driving, we won't rack up any speeding tickets or near misses on our way back to the Cordonian embassy, which is where we are staying for the two nights that we are in Rome for.
Walking up to the moped — admittedly with more swagger than I'm actually feeling at this moment — I grab the handlebars and swing my leg over the middle of the frame.
After a quick inspection, I locate the ignition switch and slot the key in.
But before I have a chance to try and turn the engine on, Drake's hand appears in my line of sight.
Reaching between my legs, he opens a hidden compartment in the frame. "For your bag."
"Oh," I say in genuine surprise, taking my bag off so I can tuck it away. "That is actually kind of neat."
"Last thing we need is for you to lose your stuff..." he drawls, shutting the glove box back up.
As he straightens again, his arm brushes the bare skin of my knee. And despite (or maybe because of) the unresolved tension shimmering between us in the wake of our heated reunion, I can't help but feel a familiar zap of electricity course through my nerves at the inadvertent contact.
"No kidding..." I concede, somewhat hoarsely. Clearing my throat, I add, "So... umm, what's next?"
"Grab the break and turn the key over as far as it'll go."
"So, kind of like a car," I surmise, following the instructions. "Why isn't it starting?"
"Because you only turned the electronics on," Drake advises. "To kick the engine off, you need to disengage the kick stand, and then press the start button."
"Jesus Christ, this is complicated..." I grumble as I scoot off the seat so I can try to figure out how to do what he just said.
"No more complicated than sailing a yacht," Drake counters, watching my antics from the safety of the pavement. "Just give it a shove ."
"How will that—?"
"It's got a rear-mounted kickstand," he says. "You disengage it by rolling the bike forward."
"Right," I grumble, feeling like a total idiot. "Because that's so obvious."
Maybe I should've let Drake drive, after all...
"You still holding the break?"
I snap my head up as I give the handlebars a hard push. "Huh?"
A squeal erupts from my mouth as the moped suddenly lurches forward beneath me, and I have a moment of sheer panic as I wrestle with the hunk of metal to keep from crashing to the ground.
"I told you to hold the break..."
"You could've been more specific!"
He lets out a low breath. "You good?"
"Yeah," I huff, finally managing to find some semblance of balance with an uncooperative moped stuck between my legs.
"Turn her on, then."
I scan the buttons in front of me. "Err..."
"The one by your right thumb."
Shifting my grip, I extend my thumb out to press the button...
"You still holdin' the break?" Drake asks.
I quickly tighten my hold on the left-side break. "Yes."
Drake eyes me unconvincedly. "Just checking..."
I stick my tongue out at him.
"Hey," he objects. "You're the one who wanted to do this, Gale."
"Yeah, everything is my fault today..." I grumble as I press the start button.
The moped sparks to life beneath me, and I feel a massive rush of achievement.
"I did it!" I cry, meeting Drake's eye with an unadulterated grin.
He quirks a brow at me. "Y'know you're still stationary, right?"
"Shut up."
Drake steps up to the bike with a shake of his head and flips out the passenger foot rest. "Last chance to bow out gracefully, Gale."
I glance over my shoulder at him. "If you're trying to pull some kind of reverse psychology on me, Walker—"
"Wouldn't dream of it..." he assures me dryly, mounting up as well. "But my word is gospel, y'hear?"
"Aye-aye, Cap'n," I say sardonically... while trying to ignore the heat of his body and the instinctive urge to lean back into it as he settles down on the narrow seat behind me.
Because as much as I missed him, and as glad as I am that he's back, our volatile reunion has served as a stark reminder that we never finished our conversation back in Applewood. Not only that, but thanks to the almost break-neck speed at which things have been happening, the list of topics for discussion has only grown since then.
And the last thing I want is for us to fall down the same toxic hole that we did in the wake of Christian's surprise reveal in Valtoria.
I just have to hope that we'll be able to squeeze in some much-needed couple time before even more things pile up between us.
Not to mention, I'm desperate to know what had happened with Tariq in Dubai... and whether Drake's record-fast turnaround is a sign of some much-needed success, or even more demoralising failure.
But, first things first: getting back to the embassy in one piece, without the paps chasing us.
I feel Drake roll his eyes at me. "Wrong salutation, but never mind... Now. We're gonna do this slowly and gently. There's a lot of people around, and we don't need you on the front page of the Sun again because you accidentally torpedoed a toddler."
My throat constricts. "Y-You saw that?"
"You'd be hard pressed to find someone who hasn't," he mutters. "But right now, your focus needs to be on driving this thing. So, eyes up front and ignore everything else."
I swallow down my nerves. "Okay..."
"Your right hand controls the throttle. Your left hand controls the break," Drake instructs. "For the love of God, don't mix that up, or I'll be on the phone to your patents explaining why you suddenly need skin grafts."
I wince involuntarily at the gruesomeness of that particular image. "Got it."
"It's a mistake you'll only make once," he warns grimly. "To get going, twist down on the throttle while slowly easing up on the break. Don't jerk it, or you'll face plant into the speedometer."
"Anything else?" I ask, somewhat nervously.
As anticipated, driving a motorbike is a lot more nuanced than Drake made it look back in Cordonia. And I'm having some serious second thoughts about this whole thing...
"Keep your feet off the foot-stand until you've got enough momentum to stay upright."
"How will I know that?"
"You'll feel it," he assures me. "Like on a bike."
I bite my bottom lip.
"Hey," he says, brushing his fingers across my hip. "You got this, girl."
The familiarity of Drake's touch — even though it's fleeting — unwinds something in me. Because it's an unspoken reminder that no matter what may be going on around us... or between us, it's not going to come in the way of the promise that he made me.
I suck in a steadying breath. "Okay. Here goes."
Readjusting my grip on the handlebars, I twist my wrist down. Feeling the engine start to rumble with increased vigour, I gentle ease up on the break.
The Piaggio begins to creep forward.
"Watch the road, not the instruments," Drake cautions from behind me.
Lifting my eyes up, I carefully navigate us 'round the oncoming pedestrians, keeping my feet suspended alongside the moped, in case I need to make an emergency stop.
But, as we move away from the iconic landmark, the crowd starts to thin out, and the street widens. Passing a fruit and vegetable stand, I let go of the break fully, the bike pulls forward eagerly. Feeling slightly more confident, I add a bit more gas so I can finally lift my feet up without capsizing our delicate operation.
"Not bad," Drake approves. "You just gotta relax a bit."
I flush inadvertently. "I am relaxed."
"Your shoulders say different. You're driving like Quasimodo."
"Oh." I make a concerted effort to straighten my posture. "Better?"
"Yeah. But now you need to drop your elbows."
"So much for this being easy..."
"It is," he insists. "Once you get the hang of it."
"You and your technicalities, Walker..." I grumble.
"Everything's got a learning curve," he reminds me. "But we just might make a Hell's Angel out of you yet."
I snort back at him. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Evil Knievel. We haven't made it back to the embassy yet."
"Then you might wanna knuckle down for this next part."
"Why? What's—?"
I get my answer as we round a corner and come parallel to a busier-looking road.
Great...
"Right here, then first left," Drake advises as we approach a somewhat complicated-looking three-way intersection.
"Umm... Okay..." I mumble, eyeing up the noticeably faster-moving traffic on the main road with more than a bit of trepidation.
"No one's gonna give you room, so you'll have to gun it," comes the no-nonsense tip from behind me. "The indicator is by your left thumb."
A Fiat whizzes past, but the next car is some distance away. Taking a breath, I flick the indicator on and twist down on the throttle to merge into the gap.
"Move over one more," Drake shouts over my shoulder. "You're taking up the bus lane."
"Where the heck does it say that?" I demand, casting my head around in confusion.
"On the sign we just passed..."
"Was it invisible?"
"Hey," counters Drake. "You wanna argue with me, or a cop?"
"Neither," I concede sourly, making the switch to the left-side lane after a quick check in the mirror. "But they could've made it more obvious..."
Drake scoffs. "It's Rome. The bastards are trying to catch you out."
"Clearly," I agree, taking a left at the traffic lights...
...straight into a two-way fork in the road.
"Umm... What now?" I squeak, trying to hedge my bets as much as I can in the rapidly shrinking room that I have to make a decision before I run into the curb.
"Stay left."
I start to turn the bike, only to yank it back violently with a yelp as a car that I hadn't realised was trying to overtake me blows past with a scream of its horn.
"Vaffanculo!" yells Drake, throwing his hand out angrily at the other driver.
"Ohmygod..." I rasp, my entire body shaking in the wake of the near miss.
"Fuckin' asshole," gripes Drake. "You okay?"
I swallow thickly past the lump in my throat. "I... think so."
"If you need to pull over..."
I shake my head. "No. I'm fine. I just..."
"...get a kick outta playing chicken?"
"I don't do it on purpose!"
"You sure?" he asks dryly. "'Cause you definitely seem to be making a habit of it..."
I open my mouth, but quickly think better of it... as Drake has a point. I have had a few too many near misses lately. "Sorry... It isn't intentional. I thought that since I'd left the indicator on, that—"
"I know," he assures me, laying a hand on my hip again. "I'm not blaming you. But all the calls you've had have been too close. And..." His fingers tighten against the material of my dress. "I just don't want you to—"
"I know," I concede softly. "I don't want that either. And I'm not normally this accident-prone, I promise..."
"Except when your blood sugar's low," he corrects wryly.
His words cause me to clench my eyes together in consternation. "Damn it, the croissants..."
In the whirlwind of Drake's surprise reappearance, I'd forgotten all about the primary reason for sneaking away from the bridal boutique.
"What croissants?" queries Drake.
"The pistachio ones I was supposed to get from this little bakery next to the fountain that the Italian President had recommended."
I feel Drake's disbelieving gaze knife into the back of my head. "Seriously? That's the reason you were out playing hooky?"
"One of them, yes..." I reply evasively.
"Putain de merde..."
"Apparently they're very good..."
Drake mutters something under his breath. "Pull over."
My eyes widen. "What? Why?"
"Because it's past noon, and you're clearly starving."
"I'm fine," I insist, even though the only thing of substance I've had since this morning was the cup of coffee on Olivia's jet. "I'll just grab something when—"
The Piaggio lurches to a stop as Drake slaps a hand on the break. "No. You won't."
My eyes widen as my feet fly out on instinct to steady the suddenly stationary moped. "Why not?"
"Because the staff at the embassy already have their work cut out pulling together tonight's dinner, so the kitchen is off-limits," he explains, hopping off the back. "And you won't be able to take two steps outside to grab a sandwich without picking up a pap tail."
"Then why have we stopped in a dead-end alley?" I ask in disbelief as Drake pulls the moped it onto its kickstand while I'm still sat gaping at him from the seat.
"Because we just passed one of the best restaurants in Rome," he states. "So, I'm buying you lunch."
His cinnamon-laced eyes meet mine, and I see a sudden flash of rawness in his gaze... a silent plea entreating me to say yes. Which means this is about more than just food.
"Okay," I accede, wondering what could've prompted such a sudden change of heart. "But what about the paps? Aren't you worried we'll get spotted?"
"See any people?" asks Drake, reaching across my lap to turn the ignition off.
"No, but—"
"Exactly," he affirms, pocketing the keys. "This is one of the few places in the city where you ain't gonna bump into a reporter."
"How do you know?"
"Because apart from the fact that Sugo actually makes its own pasta, it is also a stone's throw from Parliament," he explains, offering me a hand to help me off the bike. "Which means that pencil pushers from every level of government come here to ink deals over carbonara, so no one — staff included — is gonna mess with the status quo."
"Sounds like something out of a mafia movie..."
"Where d'you think Hollywood gets its ideas from?" he drawls, pulling his helmet off to stow it in the under-seat compartment. "Places like this. Which is why no one will bother us here. Especially not the paps. It'd be a death sentence for this joint if their tight and discreet ship suddenly sprung a leak."
"Good to know," I acknowledge, unclipping the clasp of my own helmet. "But how did you even find out about this place? Let alone got in?"
"Leo," Drake replies, taking my helmet to clip it onto the handlebar. "He's on a first name basis with the chef."
I quirk a brow at him. "Sounds like there's a story there..."
Drake extricates my bag from the glove box with scoffs. "It's Leo. There's never not a story. But let's get you inside first. Before you pass out on the pavement."
"I'm not going to—" My stomach rumbles in pointed disagreement. "Okay, I am hungry. But where exactly is this place? There's nothing here apart from the back-ends of buildings..."
"Have I ever let you down when it comes to food?" he asks with a raised brow.
"No..."
"Then trust me."
The story continues in Chapter 21 - You Give Me Reason
A/N: Translations for the Italian below:
Ch'è qualche problema? - Is there a problem?
Ah... l'amore... non è bello se non è litigarello. - Ah, love... It is not beautiful if it does not quarrel.
Err... Sì. Sto certamente imparando che a mio spese... - Err... Yes. I am definitely learning that the hard way.
Non capita a tutti? - Don't we all?
Err... La saluto. E scusi il disturbo... - Err... Farewell. And apologies for disturbing you.
Eh! Chi non risica non rosica. Ma è meglio stare attenti con lei! Donna buona – vale una corona. - Eh! No risk, no reward! But you better take care of her! Good woman – worth a crown.
"Jesus fucking—" He rakes his hand through his hair. "Did you leave your brain in a ditch somewhere in the process?"
That's not nice! Calm down!
I do love their arguments tho! lol
"—are fucking fired,"
Don't you dare!
Gah their entire exchange, Their chemistry is A-MAZE-ING!!!!!!
What does she have against a moped anyway? They are like cycles, compared to actual motorbikes.
"Your right hand controls the throttle. Your left hand controls the break," Drake instructs. "For the love of God, don't mix that up, or I'll be on the phone to your patents explaining why you suddenly need skin grafts."
He cracks me up with his snark!
Exhibit two. LOL!
I feel Drake's disbelieving gaze knife into the back of my head. "Seriously? That's the reason you were out playing hooky?"
(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 19 - Field Day
Fandom: TRR
Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)
Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.
Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions
Chapter Summary: It's off to the bridal boutique, but Harper and Olivia have a secondary agenda...
Word Count: 6,200
Rating/Warnings: M (royal bitchiness, possible emotional abuse, kidnapping, threats of murder)
Chapter theme song:
A/N: So, I have tried to keep everything as realistic and accurate as possible in terms of the locations that are touched on in this chapter. The only thing that is made up is the antique store. As usual, translations for the French and Italian are at the end.
Chapter 19 - Field Day
The five-minute drive to the bridal boutique is every bit as excruciatingly awkward as can be expected.
"What part of we are already running late is so difficult to comprehend?" derides Madeleine before the limo door even shuts. "When I tell you to hurry, I expect you to do exactly that!"
"I'm sorry, Lady Madeleine," stammers Penelope tearfully. "The heel of my shoe became caught on—"
"Save it!" the Countess of Fydelia snaps. "If you cannot do something as simple as totter down a corridor without breaking your neck, then frankly, I do not see how you are supposed to be of use to me."
Penelope's face turns whiter than a sheet. "I—"
"As lest you forget, I took you on as a lady-in-waiting as a favour to your family, given the historically close personal relationship between our fathers," Madeleine reminds her with a steely edge to her voice. "But that does not mean that I cannot send you packing just as easily. And if you do not get your act together, then that is exactly what will happen. Am I clear!"
"Yes," Penelope whimpers, lowering her gaze.
"What was that?" demands Madeleine imperiously.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"And the same goes for the rest of you," adds Madeleine, casting the haughty gleam of her gaze over the limo. "One misstep — proverbial or otherwise — and you are gone. Not just from my employ, but from court as well."
Shifting my gaze over to Hana, I see that she is just as perturbed as I am about this borderline psychotic power-trip.
Talk about being a queen bitch...
Olivia scoffs from her seat in the corner. "How about you try making a threat you can actually carry out..."
Madeleine bristles. "As Queen I will have the authority to—"
"Do exactly what Christian permits you to do," Olivia interjects flatly, examining her nails. "As lest you forget, you will only ever be a queen consort — not queen regnant."
The Countess of Fydelia's eyes narrow. "That is but a technicality."
"I still wouldn't overplay my hand," Olivia cautions with a smile. "Wouldn't want to get caught out on a technicality now, would you?"
Madeleine glares down the length of the limo like a viscous viper.
"Didn't think so," smirks the Duchess of Lythikos as the driver pulls the vehicle to a stop...
...and the paps immediately descend on us like a swarm of black flies.
"What the—?" I blurt, catching the flash of the cameras through the blacked-out windows. "When did they get here?"
"Five minutes ago," replies Madeleine tartly, slotting a pair of shades on.
My jaw drops. "You... told them where we were going?"
"Of course," she affirms as the Royal Guard who had been riding shotgun manages to squeeze his way through the human press to open the door. "Royal patronage elevates the esteem and profile of any institution. It is only right that the press should be invited to cover the visit."
"Like that's the only reason..." I mutter as Madeleine steps out of the limo and the roar of the crowd becomes deafening.
"Contessa!" several people shout. "Contessa Maddalena! Quaggiù, per favore!"
"It's horse shite, by the way," Olivia advises as she slides past me. "The only thing she is looking to promote is herself."
"Well, she definitely seems to be succeeding..." I admit, watching the Guards struggle to hold the photographers back as Madeleine sashays her way towards the doors of the boutique.
Olivia scoffs. "It's an act of desperation. Nothing more. She knows she is on thin footing with Christian... and the public."
"Great..." I groan, pulling Drake's blue aviators from my clutch as I, too, exit the limo.
Rather than being an unfortunate one-off, it seems like yesterday's altercation at the Apple Harvest Festival was actually the opening salvo in a concerted campaign of media brinksmanship that Madeleine is determined to win.... at my expense.
Yet, I'm just not sure I have it in me to play her contrived publicity game. The paps have already up-ended my life more completely than I would've ever thought possible, so the last thing I want to do is pander to their voracious appetite for scandal.
"Duchessa Harper! Duchessa Harper!" the photographers shout as I step out onto the sidewalk. "You made it to Italy! What do you think of the city so far?"
"You did not travel with the King and future Queen! Were you forced to make alternative arrangements because of your argument?"
"Will you attend the opera tonight?"
"When was the last time you spoke to your family? Is it true you cut all ties with them?"
Gritting my teeth, I force myself to keep my head down and my feet moving forward as the invasive questions zing over my head like bullets. Camera bulbs flash in my face as the photographers press in, trying to get that front page close-up...
...and that's when I spot him.
My heart skips an uncomfortable beat as recognition hits me like a punch in the chest.
Oh, my God, the photographer from Applewood!
He's standing in the second row, regarding me almost casually, like a tourist at a zoo, faded red baseball cap slung backwards over his head, just as in the picture Ana de Luca had saved on the flash drive.
Our eyes meet and I stumble to a stop, unable to tear my gaze away, my morbid curiosity overpowering my senses even as the paps close in around me...
...but then I feel the warmth of a hand on my back and the sound of a familiar voice brings me back to earth.
"Nous vous tienons, Demoiselle," Allard assures me, appearing at my side to shield me from the press invasion.
Glancing up, I see that Schweitzer has taken up position in front of me, using his body like a blocker to force a path through the crush.
Curling into the safety offered by my Guard's no-nonsense attitude, I let them whisk me into the boutique.
"Thank you..." I say sincerely as we pass through the doorway into the foyer.
Allard relinquishes his hold on me with a nod. "Certainement. Vous allez bien?"
"Yeah..." I reply, heart pounding as I try to recollect my bearings. "I just—"
"Oh, my gosh!" gasps Hana, stumbling into the boutique behind us. "That was horrible!"
"C'est le bordel!" agrees Kiara as she and Penelope manage to squeeze themselves through the press before the Guards shut the door. "Qu'est-ce qu'elle croyait?"
"She wasn't," Olivia replies flatly, shooting an accusatory glance over her shoulder at Madeleine, who is already being given a queen's welcome by the boutique's owner.
A tense silence descends as we all process this assessment.
"I... I suppose we should go through," Hana suggests eventually.
"Oui," Kiara affirms with a huff, smoothing the front of her dress. "Sa Majesté expects our assistance."
Penelope glances uncertainly towards the fuss being made over Madeleine. "I don't think she's expecting mine..."
"Don't be silly!" Kiara admonishes, looping her arm through her friend's to tug her forward. "She just had a petite éclat. Every bride gets nervous and she is under a lot of pressure to maintain constant perfection. But that is why we need to help her, non?"
Penelope looks like she's about to disagree, before finally acquiescing with a sigh. "I just miss Merlin and Morgana..."
"J'sais..." consoles Kiara, patting her reassuringly on the back of the hand. "Hopefully once the tour is finished, Madeleine will allow you to send for them."
"I doubt it..." Penelope mutters meekly as they join Madeleine in the store proper. "She said she hates yappy little dogs. You don't suppose they have anything here with poodles on them, do you?"
"I don't think this boutique specialises in that type of lingerie..."
"Oh..."
"I'm sure they have some pretty floral designs, though!" Hana offers encouragingly. "Italian lace is known around the world for its intricate rebrodè detailing."
"Yes, because that's what men care about on the wedding night..." Olivia mutters dryly, turning towards me. "You coming, or what?"
"Huh?" I ask, snapping my head up. "Umm... Yeah. Sorry."
"You better be," she snips disdainfully as she starts down the foyer as well. "I refuse to be the only sane participant in this clown show..."
I glance warily back towards the front of the boutique, where the paps were still battling each other, trying to snap a shot of us through the tastefully curated window displays.
"What?" Olivia objects after a beat. "No snide comment? No wry clap-back? You're not conveniently coming down with a sudden fever, are you?"
"I... I saw him," I admit, tearing my gaze away from the feeding frenzy outside.
Olivia grabs my wrist to yank me to a stop. "Saw who?"
"The photographer," I say tightly, pulling my arms around myself in a bid to stop myself from shivering, despite the record-breaking temperatures outside. "From Applewood."
"Dion Guillard..." clarifies Olivia, staring at me intently. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," I nod.
Olivia purses her lips. "He could be here on his own volition, or because someone invited him. Either way, we should make use of this opportunity."
"How?"
"By making him an offer he can't refuse," she replies slyly, pulling her phone out.
My eyes widen. "You mean right now? But Madeleine—"
"Has enough sycophants coddling her already," she counters flippantly as she quickly types up a text. "We only have one chance to do this. Do you want the truth, or not?"
I swallow down the lump in my throat. "I do."
"Good," she nods, slotting her phone away again. "You don't mind if I borrow your hunks, do you?"
"Umm..."
"I'll take that as a 'yes'," she responds, clicking her fingers authoritatively at Allard and Schweitzer. "Meet me in the back in fifteen minutes."
Before I have a chance to respond, Olivia has already spun on her heel and is striding towards the rear of the store, my two Guards in tow.
"'Kay..." I mutter under my breath.
I have no idea what Olivia's plan is... much less how she thinks to arrange a clandestine meeting with the photographer under Madeleine's nose while there's an entire army of paps parked outside watching our every move.
But I've learned during the course of the social season that the Scarlet Duchess is as enterprising as she is resourceful, having pulled a number of successful ploys in a bid to advance herself in the competition. And Drake seems to trust her implicitly, otherwise, he wouldn't have asked her to keep an eye on me while he's off in Dubai.
So, it looks like I'm just going to have to trust her, too.
Taking a deep breath, I move towards the other end of the shop floor, pretending to peruse the various items on offer while I wait for the allotted time to tick down.
Luckily, Madeleine is busy loudly shooting down each and every lingerie option that is presented to her by both the boutique staff and her increasingly frazzled ladies-in-waiting, so nobody really notices when I announce a pretend visit to the restroom.
Slipping back out into the foyer, I move as casually as possible towards the back of the store, knowing that the paps are still watching me like hawks through the windows.
Rounding the corner, I allow myself to speed up a bit, casting my gaze left and right, looking for Olivia...
...when I'm suddenly yanked into a dimly-lit storeroom stacked with cardboard boxes and plastic-wrapped veils and dresses.
"Hey! What the—?" I protest as the door is shut promptly behind me.
"You're late," Olivia informs me dryly, clicking the lone light bulb on above us.
"Sorry, I had t—"
I reel back in horror as my eyes land on the bound and gagged form of Dion Guillard perched on top of a box of lingerie.
"Oh, my God!" I gasp. "When the heck did this turn into a kidnapping?"
"Ten minutes ago," she replies breezily.
I drop my head in my hands. "I am going to jail... I am literally going to jail..."
"Oh, ye of little faith..." Olivia admonishes, stepping over to the photographer.
He shrinks instantly back from her.
My brows shoot skywards. "Jesus Christ... What did you do to him?"
"Nothing," she shrugs. "Yet..."
A chill runs down my spine. Apparently, Olivia's reputation is more than well deserved...
"I presume you know who we are?" she asks Dion levelly, coming to a stop in front of him.
The man nods tightly, brows bunched together beneath the line of his baseball cap.
"And your current circumstances leave you under no illusions as to the lengths we're willing to go to obtain — by force, or otherwise — the clear and unvarnished truth?"
His gaze slips to meet mine for a second before sliding back to Olivia's to give her the barest of nods.
"Good," she smiles, reaching towards him. "Then this will go that much faster."
In one quick motion, she yanks the scrunched-up handkerchief from the photographer's mouth, making him wheeze.
"Sa mère la pute de—"
"Who are you working for?" Olivia demands, folding her arms.
Dion spits on the floor next to her feet. "I'm a freelancer. I work for—"
"We know who you are," Olivia interjects with a wave of her hand. "You're a lowlife slug who's willing to do anything to make a name for himself. You demonstrated as much when you sold compromising photos of my friend here to the press. The question is, who hired you?"
Dion scoffs. "Nobody hired me. I work for myself! That is what I've been trying to—!"
"Liar," Olivia accuses. "We know you didn't just stumble upon this by yourself. Who's your client?"
"Nom de dieu..." he disparages under his breath. "I told you already, I—"
Olivia is suddenly up in his face, knife pressed to his throat. "And I didn't like your answer."
Dion jerks back instinctively. "Your petite friend is correct... You are going to jail..."
"They'll have to find your body first," she tells him silkily. "What little will be left of it, anyway... Because no one here is going to the police. And I'm sure that your so-called friends out the front will secretly be glad for your unexplained loss. The freelance photography business is oh-so cutthroat, after all..."
"Tu es une salle grace..." he snarls through clenched teeth.
Olivia presses the knife tighter. "Then you should know that it's not in your interest to test what's left of my patience..."
Dion laughs bitterly. "À quoi ça rime? You say already that you will just—"
"What if we paid you?" I interject, stepping forward.
Olivia's head snaps angrily around. "Harper, stay out of—!"
"Paid me?" the photographer cuts in, eyes swirling to meet mine with interest.
"To give us the information we're after... voluntarily," I clarify, in a bid to avoid the impending bloodshed. "And to sell us the photos from Applewood."
Dion frowns. "I already sold the pictures to the papers..."
"Not all of them," I correct, hoping against hope that my gut instinct is correct and I haven't just torpedoed Olivia's interrogation for nothing. "You only sold the ones you were told to sell — the ones that fit your client's narrative."
Dion seems to assess me in a new light. "You come prepared... Fine. I'll do as you ask... for five million."
"Ducats?" asks Olivia.
"Euros."
I very narrowly catch my jaw from falling to the floor at the sound of the obscene price tag.
"You've been paid once already," counters Olivia. "The highest we can go is one million."
"Four," insists Dion, somehow managing to find the balls to negotiate even with a knife pressed to his throat. "There are a lot of pictures."
"Which no one else is willing to buy, so two is our best and final offer."
"Three," declares Dion. "And I'll forget this conversation ever happened."
Olivia purses her lips for a moment, before whipping the knife away with a flourish. "Fine. Start talking."
Dion lets out a low exhale. "I received a call some days before the Jamboree. The person had a tip on one of the Prince's suitors, and said it would make big news if it got out. Naturally, I was interested."
"Who was this person?" I ask.
"I don't have a name," he replies. "The tip was anonymous, and the call came from a hidden number."
"Was it a man or a woman?" Olivia queries.
"A man."
Olivia and I exchange a glance. Tariq or Godfrey.
"How did you get into Applewood?" I ask, turning back to Dion.
"A security pass was delivered to my apartment. No return address," he adds before either of us can ask.
"And that didn't seem suspicious?" I press.
"Demoiselle," he scoffs. "I am a paparazzo. I am not going to... How you Américans say? Count the teeth of a dog?"
"Look a gift horse in the mouth..." I correct dryly.
"Once on the estate, I took some pictures of the Jamboree — in the event, you know... nothing came of the tip — but then I received a message on my phone that the suitor in question was on her way back to her room with her paramour, andI should make myself ready."
"How did you know which room to go to?" I cut in.
"There was a blueprint of the manor included in the same envelope that provided me my security pass," Dion explains. "It was your room that was marked."
His words hit me like a kick to the guts.
It's been clear for a while that my run-in with Tariq has been anything but chance. But to learn the malicious extent of the planning that had gone into setting it up makes me want to actually puke.
Who was sick enough to even think up something so twisted?
"What then?" asks Olivia, diverting Dion's attention from my momentary muteness.
He shrugs. "I took the photos, and left."
"How?" I croak in disbelief. "How could you just stand there while—?"
"I am a journalist," he shrugs apathetically. "My business is to be impartial..."
"You watched me get assaulted," I hiss through trembling lips. "There is nothing impartial about that!"
He shrugs again. "Affairs are messy. Maybe you should choose your lovers more carefully."
I feel my fists clench at my sides as I take a step forward. "He is not—"
Olivia's hand pulls me back. "How did you deliver the photos?"
"There was no delivery," Dion counters with the same level of nonchalance that he's exhibited since he started talking. "I selected the best pictures and put them out to offer to the newspapers. The Sun offered the most for them, so I sold to them the exclusive rights to publish."
"That's it?" queries Olivia. "No one else was given copies?"
Dion scoffs. "Absolutement pas! Selling copies to anyone else would violate the license agreement with the most influential tabloid newspaper in the country! Why would I put myself out of business? I am not an idiot..."
"You didn't send any samples to the person who tipped you off?" I press, having finally managed to regain my composure somewhat.
"Non," he insists. "I said before — he was not a client. I have no obligation for him. And even if I did, I have no way to contact him because—"
"—the conversations were anonymous," I finish wearily.
Apart from lending credence to our suspicions that Godfrey may have had a hand in the set-up, this conversation has confirmed literally nothing.
The people involved in the plot have been too careful in covering up their tracks.
Which means that all our hopes now rest with Tariq... and Drake's ability to find him.
Dion nods. "C'est correct. And I told you everything you asked. We still have a deal, yes?"
"On the condition that you hand over all the remaining photographs — including any digital and backup copies — and disappear off to a godforsaken island somewhere," Olivia clarifies.
Dion nods eagerly. "Naturellement. I always desired early retirement."
"Good," she approves, cutting the bonds from his wrists with a cold smile. "Otherwise I will personally ensure that you don't live to spend a single Euro of your newly acquired millions."
The flash of the wicked-looking blade so close to his groin causes the photographer to blanch involuntarily. "Je le jure."
Olivia flashes him a cold smile. "We'll be in touch..."
"You're just letting him go?" I hiss into Olivia's ear as Dion pushes himself up.
"Unless you would prefer to dump him in the Tiber?"
I reel back. "What! No! I just—"
"Your instinct was right," she advises softly, as Dion gathers his bag and Allard escorts him back out. "He is an opportunistic shark. He just had to be made to believe that he was fleecing us."
My eyes widen. "So, you played bad cop deliberately."
"As you said, this is my area of expertise," she smirks. "And I knew you would not be able to keep your sentimentality at the door."
"Umm, thanks... I think..." I mutter. "But where are we supposed to get three million Euros from? We may both be aristos, but neither of us is Jeff Bezos..."
"The Palace has a designated slush fund set aside for these sorts of expenditures," Olivia assures me breezily, slotting her knife away. "Since you are now a member of the royal family, we'll just send the bill to Jonathan."
I slant her a wry look. "I'm pretty sure that's not what either he or Christian had in mind when they decided to clean up my image..."
"Oh, please!" she admonishes, stepping back out into the corridor as well. "As recently as last year, Constantine was authorising expenditures of five to ten million Euros to stop pictures of Leo shagging B-list actresses on top of various vehicles making it onto the front pages. Three million Euros is trump change for the Rys."
"If you say so," I concede, my mind still reeling from astronomical sums of money that had been so casually bandied about. "Let's just hope Dion doesn't screw us over..."
"He won't," she assures me. "Nobody is stupid enough to cross a Nevrakis."
"The people who blackmailed you did..." I remind her cautiously.
Olivia's mouth tightens as we reach the end of the corridor. "Which was their first mistake. And one that they will pay for dearly."
"You never actually told me what they threatened you with on the night of the Coronation Ball..."
Olivia glances at me sharply. "The less you know the better."
"But—"
"It is for your own protection," she insists. "You haven't played this game long enough to know how to handle something so... explosive."
My eyes widen. "What? More explosive than—?"
Olivia clamps her hand over my mouth. "What did I tell you on the plane?"
"Sorry..." I mumble through her fingers.
She withdraws her hand. "If — on the very slim chance — I require assistance, I'll ask for it. In the meantime, you should rejoin the bridal parade."
"Why? Where are you going?" I ask as Olivia moves towards the back loading doors.
"None of your business," she ripostes, disappearing outside.
"Bye to you, too..." I snip as the door slams closed in her wake.
Olivia may now be on my side, but she is still as caustic as ever.
Turning back towards the main part of the boutique. I barely make it four steps before Madeleine's shrieks of outrage — and the sound of breaking glass — echo down the hallway.
"How many times do I have to tell you, no thongs! They are ribald and tasteless!"
"Yeah, no..." I mutter under my breath as I promptly spin on my heel to head back towards the rear of the store.
I don't care what Kiara may have said earlier; I have no interest in spending the rest of the morning being trapped in a bridal boutique, being screamed at by Madeleine. I have much better things to do with my time... and sanity, especially given that I'm still trying to mentally and emotionally process what the photographer had said. And after everything else that's happened in the past twenty-four hours, a small break would definitely go a long way in diffusing my pent-up stress.
Admittedly, a part of me feels bad for leaving Hana behind to suffer the full brunt of Madeleine's tirade, but trying to pull her away as well would only jeopardise my chances of making a successful getaway. I'll just have to think of some other way to make it up to her.
Not wanting her to get into any unwarranted trouble on my account, I decide to pull out my phone to send her a quick text letting her know that I'm not feeling well, and that I'll hopefully see her at the opera in the evening.
Slotting my phone back into my clutch, I push the back doors of the boutique open with a decisive shove, and step out into the sunshine.
Letting my eyes adjust to the brightness outside, I find myself in a small courtyard. On a whim, I turn back towards my Guards.
"Which way to the Trevi Fountain?" I ask, pulling my sunglasses back down over my face.
Allard and Schweitzer trade glances, clearly uneasy with this request.
"Demoiselle, that is not a prudent—"
"—way to get lost in the crowd?" I counter. "I can't think of a better one. If I don't advertise myself, no one will know I'm even there. Especially while the paps are tied up on the other side of the building."
My Guards don't seem convinced. "Commandant Walker left specific instructions to—"
"I'm not planning on disappearing on you," I assure them. "I just want to make a quick detour to grab some pastries, and check out the fountain. So, which way is it?"
Perhaps seeing that I'm not going to be swayed by any cautionary counter-argument, Schweitzer gives Allard a one-shouldered shrug of acquiescence.
Allard pulls a face before finally resigning himself as well. "Par ici," he says, indicating the far side of the courtyard.
"Thanks," I chirp with a smile, setting out across the cobblestones...
...and promptly get the heel of my stiletto pumps stuck in a crack between the stones.
"Eugh," I grumble, as I manage to wrench myself free after a brief battle. "I really didn't think this through..."
"Would Demoiselle require a taxi?" asks Schweitzer as he helps steady me from behind.
"I was hoping to walk..." I admit sheepishly.
"Via Borgognona is nearby," Allard suggests. "It is a well-known shopping street, though quieter than the more famous Via Condotti. Demoiselle might find more... comfortable footwear there."
"Not to mention some more appropriate clothes in general," I gripe, already feeling the tight fabric of my pencil dress start to stick to me. "How far away is it?"
"Just around the corner."
I flash him a bright smile. "Perfect!"
With Allard leading the way, and Schweitzer holding my hand, we manage to cross the courtyard without further incident, and sneak past the paps still thronging the front of the bridal boutique without getting spotted.
Crossing the pedestrianised thoroughfare, my Guards usher me down a narrower street that is lined on either side by cream-coloured buildings casting some welcome shade in the midday heat.
We pass a smattering of tourists and locals, but luckily everyone seems to be too absorbed in their phones or personal conversations to pay any specific attention to me.
And — more importantly — as Allard promised, the street is composed entirely of fashionable-looking independent boutiques.
"Let's try this one," I suggest, indicating the arched entryway of a store with an Italian name that I do not recognise, but which nevertheless seems to have several options for sandals on offer. And — given the scalding nature of the weather — an open-toe option is definitely appealing right now!
Stepping into the air-conditioned entranceway, I am immediately greeted by an immaculately made up woman with a severe ponytail, who starts questioning me in rapid-fire Italian.
"Umm..."
Luckily, I am saved from the embarrassment of trying to cobble together some kind of inappropriate response with the very limited — and wholly unhelpful — Italian that Bertrand had managed to teach me on the plane by Allard, who steps deftly up to my side.
"Lei è alla ricerca di alcune nuove scarpe."
"Che tipo de scarpe?"
"Sandals," I say, having understood the gist of the question. "No heel."
"Prego," the assistant says, flicking her hand towards some minimalist shelving.
"Gracia," I acknowledge with a smile.
Moving over to the indicated section, I quickly assess the options...
...and nearly die when I lay eyes on the price tags.
"Almost a thousand Euros...?" I gripe under my breath "For a few scraps of leather...?"
But then my eyes land on a pair bejewelled, gladiator-style sandals.
Given my limited window of opportunity to sneak in some sight-seeing before people start to question my absence, I don't have the luxury of being able to hunt for a bargain. And if I'm going to end up forking out this much money on a pair of shoes, I'm at least going to spend it on something that I like the look of.
And these sandals definitely fit the bill.
Decision made, I pull out my phone to quickly find out how my normal US shoe size converts to the vastly different European sizing, and turn back to the patiently waiting assistant.
"Size 36, please."
With a nod, she disappears 'round the back.
While she's gone, I take the opportunity to look up the location of the little pastry shop that the President had mentioned.
Since I'm heading towards the Trevi Fountain anyway, and Madeleine had pulled us out of this morning's meeting before the refreshments could be served, I had been serious when I told my Guards of my intent to tackle two birds with one stone. Especially since it's nearly lunchtime, and chances are I won't otherwise see food until the opera this evening.
The assistant reappears with my selection, and after a quick try-on, I give her a nod to ring up the extortionate purchase, being excessively grateful that I still have cash left in my US account, given that I don't actually have access to my new Cordonian accounts yet.
Stepping back out onto the street, I change out my shoes, slotting my pumps away into the high-end bag that I've been given, and dumping the shoebox in a nearby trash can.
My toes flex gratefully in their newfound freedom as I cross the street to the clothing boutique, wondering how much a top and pair of jean shorts is going to set me back...
In the end, however, I am pleasantly surprised to emerge back onto the street in a simple, white wrap-dress, a straw Panama hat, and a matching straw bucket bag in which I've stowed my old dress and shoes, all for under two hundred Euros, which means I was able to make recourse to the money Drake had given me, and still have plenty of cash left over for other potential emergencies.
"Thanks for the suggestion," I tell Allard sincerely. "It has definitely saved me from melting into the pavement!"
"De rien, Demoiselle," he acknowledges with a smile. "Are you ready to continue?"
"Lead the way, Monsieur!" I tell him with a grin.
Taking up poll position with a scoff — with Schweitzer bringing up the rear — Allard takes us left at the next intersection to zig-zag us down various side streets, presumably in a bid to avoid both the ferocity of the midday sun, and the chances of me being recognised on the busier avenues.
But, the back route pays off, and within ten minutes, I find myself standing on the edge of the crowded plaza that serves as the gateway to the romantic monument.
"Wow..." I breathe, taking it all in. "It sure is busy!"
Allard and Schweitzer exchange a tense look, no doubt worried about the prospect of being able to keep tabs on me in the press.
"I'll be fine," I assure them. "Just a quick peek and then we can get moving."
Neither of them look convinced, but they don't try to dissuade me as I plunge into the crowd.
Skirting around wedding parties, tour groups, and other miscellaneous sightseers, I manage to work my way to the front of the throng, and my mouth parts with a gasp at the sight spread out before me.
The four-storey monument rises up from the base of the fountain, framing the dynamically positioned statues from under whose feet the water gushes into the aquamarine pool.
It's like a Renaissance painting brought to life.
But, while I'm glad to have made the trip out here to see it in person, I can't help but feel my chest tighten morosely as I gaze up at the beauty of the world-famous landmark.
I didn't necessarily realise it at the time, but part of the reason why I enjoyed my outing in the Cordonian capital so much was because I had Drake to share the adventure with. And it was the same in Avignon — his wry quips and local knowledge had definitely brought the whole experience to life, making me see the city through different eyes than I probably would have had I been by myself... like I am now.
Eugh... I miss him...
Reaching for the ties of my bag on impulse, I pull the fastenings apart just enough to plunge my hand inside. Finding my purse, I snap it open and extract a Euro from the coin pouch.
Squeezing my fingers 'round the warmth of the metal, I clench my eyes shut with a heartfelt wish as I turn back towards the fountain...
...before sending the coin flipping through the air to land in the water before me with a soft plop.
Blinking my eyes open, I am somewhat disappointed to find myself still standing solo by the railing, and Drake has not magically appeared before me like the hot Italian guy did in The Lizzy McGuire Movie.
"Worth a shot..." I console myself somewhat dejectedly as I reach back into my bag to extract my phone so I could snap a couple of pictures to send to my mom.
Mission accomplished, I turn away from the fountain to make my way back to the edge of the square, Allard and Schweitzer falling into step behind me as I scan the various store-fronts clustered around the fountain, searching for the bakery with the pistachio croissants.
My eyes suddenly land on something in one of the window displays...
...and without really thinking about it, I let my feet carry me inside.
The little brass bell above the door jingles as I step into the cramped confines of what appears to be a shop selling a motley collection of antiques and touristy knick-knacks. A wizened old man sporting glasses and a thick head of white hair looks up at the sound of my arrival.
"Buon pomeriggio, signorina," he greets. "Posso aiutarla a cercare?"
"Umm... sì," I say hesitantly. "Hai avo... in the window?" I point at the item that had caught my eye with an embarrassed flush.
The man's face cracks into a grin. "Ah, certamente!"
Stepping out from behind the counter, he ambles his way over to the window display, to pull back the protective glass. Reaching in, he lifts up the silver chain and holds it out to me.
I run the tip of my finger across the edge of the pendant with a smile. "It's perfect."
"For you?" he asks, lifting the chain up to my neck indicatively.
"No," I laugh. "It's a present... Por mi amore?"
His eyes light up. "Ah, bellissimo! Lo avvolgerò in su per voi!"
"Gracia," I say as he scuttles excitedly back behind the counter in search of a box.
Pulling one out with a conspiratorial flourish, he sets about packaging up the piece as if he were swaddling a precious child for a hazardous journey, even managing to dig out a slightly dusty ribbon to tie on top.
"Cento euro," he declares, presenting the completed ensemble to me.
Pulling my wallet out, I extract my card. "Visa?"
"Sì! Ovviamente!" he proclaims, slapping a brand new Square card machine onto the counter, that was starkly at odds with the otherwise Ollivander-esque décor of the place.
Slotting my card into the reader, I complete the purchase, and am just about to reach for the box to stow it away in my bag when I feel a sudden presence behind me.
"This is becoming a bad habit with you..."
I freeze at the sound of the familiar voice.
No way...
The story continues in Chapter 20 (Coming Soon!)
A/N: As per usual, translations below:
At the bridal boutique:
Contessa! Contessa Maddalena! Quaggiù, per favore! - Countess! Countess! Over here, please!
Nous vous tienons, Demoiselle - We got you, m'lady
Certainement. Vous allez bien? - Certainly. Are you alright?
C'est le bordel! Qu'est-ce qu'elle croyait?" - What mess! What was she thinking?
Sa mère la pute de— - Your mother is a whore of a—
Nom de dieu - Oh, my God!
Tu es une salle grace - You're a real bitch
Absolutement pas! - Absolutely not!
Je le jure - I swear
Out and About
Par ici - This way
Lei è alla ricerca di alcune nuove scarpe - She is looking for some new shoes.
Che tipo de scarpe? - What kind of shoes?
Prego - Please
Gracia - Thanks
De rien, Demoiselle - No problem, m'lady
Buon pomeriggio, signorina. Posso aiutarla a cercare? - Good afternoon, miss. Can I help you find anything?
Por mi amore?* - For my love?
*This is a completely butchered attempt at Italian. The grammatically correct way to say it would be 'È per il mio amore'. However, Harper is improvising, so she's not going to get things completely correct 😇
Ah, bellissimo! Lo avvolgerò in su per voi! - Ah, lovely! I will wrap it up for you!
Ugh! Right off the bat, Maddie is insufferable! I admit though, I have very little sympathy for Pen, lol
"What was that?" demands Madeleine imperiously.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Wouldn't Chris have something to say about her ott power trip?? ugh!
"Do exactly what Christian permits you to do," Olivia interjects flatly, examining her nails. "As lest you forget, you will only ever be a queen consort — not queen regnant
YASSSS! I love her!!!
"When was the last time you spoke to your family? Is it true you cut all ties with them?"
She just had a petite éclat.
GRANDE!!!
You don't suppose they have anything here with poodles on them, do you?"
"I don't think this boutique specialises in that type of lingerie..."
OMG
"You don't mind if I borrow your hunks, do you?"
I don't know why that made me laugh, but it did!
"Sorry, I had t—"
I reel back in horror as my eyes land on the bound and gagged form of Dion Guillard perched on top of a box of lingerie.
"Oh, my God!" I gasp. "When the heck did this turn into a kidnapping?"
"Ten minutes ago," she replies breezily.
OMG! Olivia! Laws are a thing, Duchess!
I love her, this has to be the most craziest thing she's done though! lol
Apparently, Olivia's reputation is more than well deserved...
NO KIDDING! LOL
"They'll have to find your body first," she tells him silkily
This is the strangest thing to happen to me on Tumblr. I got a notification for this post today, but couldn't figure out how/why I was being mentioned under a name I discarded years ago.
Then I noticed, this post was almost four years ago..
Four years!
And the tag showed up TODAY!!
But, uhh, thank you anon from about 4 years ago.... if you're even still around, lol
When you need a reminder of what strength looks like, look at yourself. Look at all you've done. Look at how far you've come and all that you've overcome. You show your strength every day. You're resilient and capable. Believe in yourself and know you'll overcome any challenges in your path. 💛 (PS - drink some water)
I appreciate you thinking of me, as well as others. You're a little star!
So today mark's Ava, my MC's thirtieth birthday and I couldn't let it pass without making a mention of it. Here is a little one shot to celebrate the occasion. I apologize for any mistakes, it seems my typing has gotten worse lately.
Also, I'm barely writing these days, so I'm not even sure if anyone still wants to read my stuff. Let me know if you want to remain tagged.
Book: TRR
Paring: Drake x MC
Word count: 1650
Warnings: Swearing & lemons
April 29th 2024
Drake Walker had been ready to go all out for his wife's thirtieth birthday. They were going to spend ten days together, with their two kids in Hanoi, Vietnam to enjoy the best it had to offer.
"I don't want to be away." She'd insisted. "What I want is to be home, enjoy some time with my family and some time with you."
So with that, he had to rearrange his intended plans with three weeks to spare. He brought forward their trip to Vietnam, so they'd arrived back the day before. But instead of going to be their actual home in the capital, Astypalaia*, he took her to their retreat in Valtoria. A beautiful cottage that looked out on the duchy castle and the waterfall. It was practically their second home, and Ava loved it there.
Best of all it had an annex guest house that, unbeknownst to Ava, her parents were staying in readiness for an intimate family cook out.
He was the first to wake up on the day. The sun was just starting to come up, and he could make out the waterfall right outside. The window was ajar because Ava loved falling asleep to the sound of it. He got himself ready and went through into the guest house, where the delicious smells immediately hit hm. The sight that greeted him in the kitchen told him that Celia had been up for hours. There were cakes cooling on the side and various shimmering pots on the stove.
Her face burst into a wide smile as she spotted him. "Mijo!" She then pulled him into a firm hug.
"Mama C." He happily returned her embrace. "Slow down on the cookin, will ya? We can't have a cook out if there's nothing left to cook."
Celia chuckled. "Everyone will be hungry. More important now, tell me about your trip. Was it nice? Did you eat? Do you have photos? "
"Did we eat!" Drake scoffed playfully. "When have you known us not to eat? We had some great food. It was amazing there and yeah, I've got hundreds of photos. "
"Bueno!"
He told her about their adventures. Their restaurant experience on train street, where they sat at a table next to a balcony overlooking the old narrow street, giving the kids a thrilling view of the train as it passed by only yards away from the shops and buildings either side. The vibrant streets, day trips and breathtaking scenery
"The water puppet show was the kid's favourite, we had to go back a second time."
"Mama?!"
Drake and Celia turned towards Ava's astonished voice.
Drake smiled. "Heh, surprise!"
Ava rushed at her mom, hugging her tightly. "I didn't know you were here!"
"Well, it would have ruined the surprise if you did!" Drake snarked.
Ava threw hm a mock glare and as she revelled in the unexpected reunion. It then wasn't long before the entire house was buzzing when Lorenzo joined them and the jet-lagged kids got up. Even though there were just six of them, including the two little ones, the breakfast table was a hubbub of chatter as they enjoyed a hearty mangù. After eating, there were gift exchanges with Vietnam souvenirs for Celia and Lorenzo and American goodies brought for Drake and Ava that they couldn't find in Cordonia, including red diamond iced tea and mound bars.
The kids played outside in the mini play park Drake had assembled for them. The four adults enjoyed a bit of quiet time nearby, sat at the outdoor table with their coffee's. Unfortunately, the Flores siblings were unable to get away, but had promised to connect via zoom later that day. Bianca Walker was also unable to make it, the ranch almost always kept her busy.
The afternoon rolled around, and they then began to fire up the grill and also the pizza oven, much to the delight of the little ones.
“Pizza!” two-year-old Yannis shouted out the moment Drake lit it up. Ava put on some music and soon the garden was alive with both sound and smell. Drake loved this, the smell of the food and the sound of the kids playing, adults talking and music playing. He’d been to so many of these cook-outs with the Flores family the past seven years that these things had become nostalgic, granted, this one was a lot smaller and quieter than the usual ones, but It felt like happiness, contentment, like home.
His kids left their playing to join in with customizing their pizzas, Yannis of course, making a mess, but at least they were outside. The dogs weren’t around to hoover up the scraps, they still at Ramsford, so it would be the local wildlife getting the treat tonight, that was for sure. They chowed down on a selection of food including barbecued meats, pizza’s corn, sweet potato, rice and of course cakes and pastries As usual way too much. But that just meant no cooking the next day… For all of them, and that was the best part. After they finished eating, his brother and sister-in-law joined them via zoom with their own families, and Ava opened her birthday gifts. She looked so happy to be surrounded by her family, he loved to see it.
Before he knew it, the part he’d been waiting for arrived. As arranged between then, Celia and Lorenzo took the kids, allowing Drake and Ava to have the rest of the day to themselves. They stayed outside for a while, going around to the side of the house near where the waterfall was. Together they sat on the swing bench, enjoying each other's presence and the sound of nature all around them.
“I could go to sleep like this.” Ava sighed.
“Don’t you dare.” He warned playfully, making her giggle.
“Why ever not?” She looked up at him with an impish smile.
“This day is far from over yet, that’s why.”
“Oh yeah! We still haven’t gotten around to watching that Color Purple remake! We’ll do that!”
“Drake scoffed, “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
She moved in closer. “It isn’t?”
He turned to face her, “Are you tryna tease me?”
“Tease? How?” Her face feigned innocence. She then let out a small yelp as he pulled her onto his lap.
“Cause you know I been waiting all day to have you to myself. She didn’t even have time to respond before he claimed her lips with his.
She made no effort to resist, and instead wrapped her arms around his neck. Even after five years of being married, he could start a spark off within her with ease. But he brought everything to the table, he was funny, smart, protective, loving, strong and so much more. How could she ever not be amazed by him? She could feel her temperature rising as his fingers slipped under her clothes, his touch always did drive her crazy. She returned in kind, enjoying the warmth of his skin, and the shape of his body.
She gasped sharply as she then felt his fingertips brush across her panties.
He chucked at her reaction. “Ya like that.”
“Don’t act like ya don't know!” She pushed herself against him as he continued to tease her.
“Heh, I thought you wanted to watch that movie.”
She leaned back a little and pulled off her shirt, revealing her bra. “Whatcha say?”
He smirked. “clever!” He then pulls back to him.
She tugged at his shirt. “Your turn.” He obliged with a smile, then quickly went back to teasing her, letting his finger slip past the flimsy strip of material, drawing another gasp from her.
“Oh!”
“Fuck, you're wet!”
“What the hell did you expect?” She just about managed to gasp as his fingers slowly began to make her lose her mind.
She manoeuvred herself so as to undo the belt buckle on his jeans before unzipping him. “Think this needs to go too.”
“I ain't stopping ya!!
He let go of her and lifted himself high enough for her to pull his jeans down just low enough not to get in the way. Before she had the chance to sit back down on him his hands reached under her skirt and yanked her panties almost all the way down. She didn't object, they were in the way anyway. He looked at her intently as he slowly pulled her down onto him, Ava returned his gaze, holding her breath and gripping his shoulders as he filled her. They both paused for a moment.
Satisfied that she was ready he wrapped his hands around her ass, moving her against him at a brisk pace. Ava held on to him, moving in unison allowing her sense to be overwhelmed by him. The world ceased to exist, all there was in this moment was him, it was perfection. She was barely aware of her own cries as he pushed harder against her, The swing bench rocked underneath them jolting the both of them into reality.
“Perhaps we should have used something more sturdy.” he chuckled.
She giggled in response, but they both knew neither was willing to stop to change position or move elsewhere, He pulled her deeper, determined to bring them both to a climax sooner rather than later.
“Stop for a moment” She gasped. “Let me.”
He did so, allowing her to take over.
“You feel fuckin amazing,” He growled. “you know that?”
She could only whimper in reply as she manoeuvred herself into just the right position. “Oh Drake!”
Sensing the end was close, he began once again to push against her, not stopping until the euphoria crashed over them both. Ava gave one last cry before collapsing against him. They sat there, tangled and breathless, until they both gradually came back down to earth.
He planted a kiss on her temple. “Happy birthday, Sunflower.”
Astypalaia* This is the name I decided to use for the capital of Codonia. Yes, I know it's not canon etc, I just wanted something that sounded Greek so chose this.
Just a quick reminder: You're doing great! You made it through all the challenges March had to offer! I hope that April is kind to you and brings you many good moments to cherish! 🌈 🌻 You can handle whatever this week throws at you! Just keep being your awesome self! 💛 (PS - drink some water)
I'm super late here, but thank you for sending this and for thinking of me. Even when I've not been active. You're appreciated!
