AN: I do not own TVD, TO, or Letters to Juliet.
I find I work best on my long haul original fics when I can take small breaks from the angst and write some romantic comedies as well. Letters to Juliet is my latest TVD AU. As anyone who has read my stories before knows I am an avid ELEJAH shipper, so can you guess where this story is going?
There are 18 planned chapters; one for each scene of the movie.
She rolled her head from side to side and sighed when the slimy noodles brushed against her ear. She was attempting to check on a few facts for work, but it was proving impossible.
Her lidded amber eyes made a slow circle of the room. Drying pasta hung from every available surface. Noodles were strung over the violet lampshades, laid flat over the coffee table, and draped over the plush armchairs. Elena couldn't stretch without having her hands brush against a wet noodle.
She sighed deeply when she heard the sounds of pots clanging in the small kitchen.
Stefan was bent over a large pot of tomato sauce. The rich sent stretched from the stove to her nose. He had yet to notice her staring at him.
Elena watched as he lifted the wooden spoon to his thin lips. His intense green eyes narrowed in concentration as he took a slow, deliberate taste of the sauce. Stefan seemed to be pleased with it, but Elena knew what the frown accompanying his nod meant.
Sure enough a few seconds later he was spreading the sauce over a plate of the fresh pasta. Elena refocused her attention on the highlighted portions of the article, determined to get at least some work done. She chewed her bottom lip as she started adding notes to the margins.
"Elena," Stefan glided across the room purposefully to stand in front of her, "taste this."
"Just give me a second, Stefan," Elena sighed. She finished typing and set the laptop on a clear patch of the coffee table. She caught sight of his feet taping out an impatient rhythm on the floor.
She held out her hands for the dish. She stabbed the center of the plate and quickly twirled the pasta around the fork. Elena could feel Stefan's penetrating gaze on her as she chewed. She made sure to note the taste before swallowing; this was the third time she had tasted his tomato sauce today.
"It's your best yet," she smiled around the remnants of the pasta. She even took a second bite for good measure, "delicious."
She passed the plate back before reaching for her laptop. Elena sighed when she saw his narrowed eyes. Stefan took a bite of the dish and slowly chewed.
"Are you sure?" His brooding gaze locked on the plate. "There's not too much garlic, or Oregano?" Stefan took another mouthful of the sauce and turned it over on his tongue while he awaited her answer.
Elena pressed her lips together and glanced up from her laptop. "It has just the right amount of garlic."
"It's not too spicy?" Stefan mulled over the sauce.
"It's perfect," Elena stifled her exasperated sigh, "it's got a good spice palette."
She returned her attention to her laptop. Elena felt her deep brown eyes roll when he didn't move.
"Maybe it needs more…"
"Stefan," this time the sigh escaped her full, pouty lips, "It's delicious."
"You're saying me it's delicious," Stefan's long fingers tapped against the edge of the plate, "but you're not telling me it's delicious."
"Stefan, please," Elena sighed, "I have to finish this, John needs it tonight. I still have to pack, could you please think out loud in the kitchen?" Elena leaned back against the couch to stare up at him. "You're not doing much for my concentration."
Elena fought the urge to throw her hands in the air when she saw the realization hit his eyes. She jolted when she felt him plant a heavy kiss on her lips.
"Thank you, babe," Stefan practically skipped back to the kitchen. "It's too concentrated."
Elena released a small laugh and shook her head slowly before finally focusing on the article.
Her heels clicked on the polished tile of the apartments lobby. Elena dragged her suitcase behind her; she had her laptop bag and carryon slung over her shoulder. Stefan followed behind her he was carrying a magazine as he walked.
Stefan looked up when they stopped in front of the waiting cab.
"Passports?"
"Check," Elena nodded as he went through the pre-flight checklist.
"Tickets?"
"Yep."
"Accommodation reservations?"
"Check."
"Euros?"
"Check."
"Suitcases?" Stefan met her laughing eyes. "What?"
"I have mine," Elena smirked. She snickered when he looked down at his empty hands.
"Shit," Stefan chuckled before running back into the building.
Elena watched him go as she loaded her suitcase in the trunk of the cab. It was fifteen minutes later when the trunk slammed shut, and Stefan slid into the cab beside her. Elena turned to the driver when he was situated and told him which airport they wanted.
"I actually have to make one stop," Stefan held up his finger to interrupt the directions.
Elena fixed him with a tired stare. She sighed before giving the cab driver the address for Stefan's restaurant. She was glad she had insisted they leave for the airport 6 hours before their flight.
Elena smiled at Matt. He was dutifully going through light fixtures with Stefan.
She sighed as she stepped through the construction site that was the restaurant. She slowly slid past a group of men in hardhats on her way to the kitchen. She gazed at the bare walls with a detached curiosity. She watches in mild fascination as two men move the stove into place.
She fished her ringing cell phone from her purse. She sighed when she read the name flashing across the screen.
"Hey John," Elena answered. The stainless steel of the counter bled through her top to spread cold across her hip.
"Why can't we say that Maxfield's comb over wraps around clockwise? I'm looking at the picture we're running with the piece, and it's wrapping clockwise."
Elena quickly made her way outside as she talked; she knew this conversation would require some semblance of quiet. "You can say it. You just can't state it as a fact."
"It works better as a fact," John grumbled. "It's a fun detail."
"I looked at every picture I could find," Elena sighed. She stepped out of the way of a man carrying some equipment inside. "Every picture from the last 10 years; I even talked to his stylist. His hair changes." Elena ran a hand through her own hair. "It's a fact if you use 'usually' or 'typically', but you can't say that it does."
"People hate qualifiers, Elena."
Elena shrugged despite the fact that John couldn't see her. "Those are the facts, John."
"Your facts are getting in the way of my fun," John sighed. Elena heard him set a pile of paper aside.
"While I have you," Elena chewed her bottom lip between her teeth. Her thumb fiddled with the chain of her necklace. "I wanted to talk to you about something…" Elena started pacing in front of the restaurant doors; she considered hanging up the phone then and there.
"Talk…" She heard the squeak of his desk chair.
"I was thinking," she stammered, "since I'm already going to Italy maybe I could try doing a travel piece, or something as a feature story…"
"I have writers for that," John interrupted, "you don't do features; you do fact checking."
"I know," Elena nodded. She rested her hand against the warm brick of the building, "I was thinking I could try something new."
"Why would you want to try something new?" She felt her heart plummet into her chest. "You're so good at fact checking… too good."
Elena pressed on: "I feel like I could do more… contribute more…"
"You contribute plenty. My writers count on you Elena. They can't do what they do if you don't do what you do." John sighed. Elena heard him pick up some paper. "You're good at something, be grateful for that, a lot of people are good at nothing."
"I guess," Elena felt unbidden tears spring up behind her eyes, "I just…"
"Just keep doing what you do," John carried on as if he hadn't heard her. "Oh, and I need a table at Babbo this Friday. Can you take care of that?"
Elena rolled her eyes. She blinked back the dejected tears before they had a chance to fall. "You know you have a new assistant right?"
"I know," John chuckled, "but you know the maitre d'."
"I got it, John."
Elena hung up the phone. She made the call to Babbo's before sliding back into the cab to wait for Stefan. She wondered if she would ever get to do what she wanted to do, or if she was destined to be a fact checker for the rest of her life. She didn't notice Stefan had returned to the cab until his hip bumped hers.
"Verona here we come," he laughed breathlessly as he fastened his seatbelt. His eyes focused on Elena when she didn't share his enthusiasm. "What's wrong?"
Elena shook her head and stared straight ahead.
"What did John want?"
"He wanted to argue about the direction that Maxfield's comb over wraps around."
"Counter clockwise?"
"He treats me like I'm his assistant." Elena gripped her knees. She swallowed nervously and chewed her lip. "He'll always treat me like his assistant."
"It's not so bad," Stefan squeezed her warm hand, "he values you. And you've got job security."
"Right," Elena laughed. Is that all I'm destined for?
Stefan picked up his magazine when the smile returned to her face. They drove in silence for a while before Elena started to voice her inner monologue.
"I took the job because I thought it would be a stepping stone… to features or covers, or something… but there are no steps, there are no stones," she gestured wildly with her hands, "there's just Wes Maxfield's hair." She sighed and slid her fingers through her chestnut hair.
"You could always come work with me."
"I know," Elena slumped against the back seat of the cab, "and I appreciate that."
"You'd be amazing in fine dining."
"So you've told me," she glanced out the window. The offer was very sweet, but it would take her even farther from her dreams.
"You would be," Stefan's eyes quickly roamed her slim body in the cramped cab. "You're beautiful, smart, and funny. You could run the place if you wanted to."
Elena felt a soft smile spread across her face. She met Stefan's eyes with a shy gaze. "You just said I was beautiful," she blushed. "You never tell me I'm beautiful."
Her eyes fell to the seat of the cab as she smiled.
"You know you're beautiful." Stefan wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. "Cheer up, Elena, we are going to Italy so we can forget about everything."
"We're going to Italy to meet the suppliers for your restaurant," Elena rolled her eyes. "How are we supposed to forget about it?"
"I promise you it will not just be about the restaurant."
Yeah, right. "It's fine Stefan."
"It's not just going to be about the restaurant." Stefan nodded decisively. "We are going to relax, see the sights, shop the stores. I promise," he squeezed her shoulders, "it's going to be great."
Elena wanted to believe him; she did, but she couldn't stop her elegant eyebrow from quirking over her sceptical eyes.
"We are going to the home of Romeo and Juliet," he grinned and nudged her hip. "How romantic is that?"
"It didn't work out to well for them."
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