A/N: I randomly wrote this for something, but I'm thinking that I may continue it
For the flirtatious man with heart too wild to settle, falling in love was likely his mistake, but he fell and he fell line, hook and sinker for the sweetest lady he had ever seen. A dainty dame of nobility, exuding grace and kindness. Unattainable, presumably, for the man who had little to his name but experience with women. He knew how they worked, and it was easy to work the flustered lady into his arms.
And it was perfection.
She was everything he could ask for, she was understanding and cared little about his past – even though she displayed jealousy as per the norm with pouts and flushed cheeks, crossed arms and little stamps of feet. She demanded affection with simple actions, the casual slide of digits into his, the intoxicating smile that brightened up his day; and she was there. With him.
But she was busy, always busy. She took time to see him, but there were moments he felt the urge to see the light in his life, and she declined. He understood, a woman like her had tasks to handle and they had to keep their relationship under wraps, the media would have a field day with their romance, and she wanted no part of it. She was media-shy, and wanted her personal life to remain private.
He understood. He worked with her schedule. He was the perfect boyfriend, the perfect lover, the perfect…..secret.
She told him not to visit, not to enter the area where she lived. It was dangerous, she told him, especially since her guards knew naught of him, he could be shot on sight, for they were strict with trespassers. She told him to call her and she would meet him. She told him that her family would not approve, but she would slowly, yet surely, introduce the idea to them. That one who lacked the noble blood could be a man in her life as well, that material wealth mattered little in terms of love, and the purity of blood was a foolish tradition.
But he wanted to surprise her. It was a good day, a special day, an anniversary.
Yet he found her in the arms of another, ring glistening upon finger, giggling in amusement as dainty digits worked his tie, just as she had done to him many times over. Those glossy lips pressing a kiss upon cheek, and that familiar smile. Things he possessed, he had believed.
But they were things he shared.
Oh he loved, but alas he was only the side man.
A married woman he had consorted with, a woman who had clearly married a man of power. What was there in comparison to him?
Thus his presence was no longer required, even if he desperately desired answers, explanations; closure. He shunned her, ignored her calls and texts and allowed himself to dwell in misery, spiralling back into the life of his past, the past before her. How ironic that his past was no different from her present, he thought, drowning his anguish in alcohol.
He had not expected her to find him, he was but an animal easily ensnared by her beauty, one of many, surely. But there she was, drenched and shivering, but beautiful all the same. He wanted to spit, snarl, and send her away, yet her embrace came with the sweet scent of roses ( her favourite ), and her kiss tainted with a salty flavour.
It was just rain, he told himself. She would not cry for just a side man. But she did, trembling and quivering. He should have sent her off, sent her home to the arms of the man she married. She was not his, but arms tightened and he found no release. He wanted her,needed her; and he cared little that she was a wedded woman.
Thus he embraced her, and while she suffered the illness brought upon by the storm, he watched over her.
When she wake, he would have answers.
He had to. She owed him at least that much.
And when weary gaze laid upon him, she knew she had much to speak of. Too much.
And she was still wearing that goddamn ring.