Kasumi Note: Here's a little something I came up with after reading a book by Brooke Hastings entitled "Playing for Keeps". The plot was so interesting that I couldn't help but write a Hetalia version of it. But my version doesn't quite stick with the plot, since I added a little of my own ideas. Those who have actually read the book will know what I changed. To those who haven't read the book, I suggest you do. It's a good read.
Warnings: OOC. I repeat OOC! Very bad Anglo-English. It's been a long time since I've been to the U.K and I'm completely engrossed in American culture that I forgot how to write that kind of English. Sorry to all Englishmen out there! BTW: It's yaoi. Yes ,yaoi!
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, though I wish that I did. All credits for the characters go to Hidekaz Himaruya. As for the plot, it loosely follows Brooke Hastings' book so I can't take credit for it either. I take credit for nothing. NOTHING, I TELLS YA!
This was not happening. No, of course not! I'm not seeing myself in the mirror with only a dress on, right? This is obviously a dream, right? Right?
The cold, harsh slap Matthew Williams received from his hyperactive younger sister proved his insistent denial of reality wrong. Everything that happened within the last thirty minutes – his younger sister, Emily, barging in through the front door, he being dragged into a closet and forced out of his clothes, he staring at himself clad in a backless yellow dress- was all real. It was definitely not a dream. It was a nightmare.
"Would you calm down, Mattie?" Emily F. Jones yelled, after harshly slapping her bewildered half-brother and then shaking him wildly. "It's just for a month. No one will notice a thing!"
Matthew rolled his eyes. "Oh, sure they won't!" his voice was nothing but sarcastic, "They won't notice the fact that you got taller, or your hair being a tad too curly or your blue eyes becoming violet! Sure, Em, they won't notice a thing!"
Emily pouted. The same adorable pout that got Matthew into trouble more than once with his parents. Mon dieu, could she stop pouting like that?
"Your pout's not working, Em. Try another approach?" he said icily, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at her.
"Oh, just help me out big bro!" she finally caved in, looking at him with those big, blue eyes. "I got myself into a lot of trouble today and I don't think I can get out alone!"
Matthew sighed. Twenty-three years. That's how long he had to live with his troublemaker of a sister. All because his Maman decided to get drunk one day and have the little devil.
"Emily F. Jones. What did you get yourself into this time?" he growled.
"Uhm…" she hesitated, "Probably a marriage contract…"
Matthew's eyes widened. "A marriage contract?!" he yelled in surprise.
Emily frowned. "I did say 'probably'!" she argued, "I'm not really sure what it is yet…"
Matthew turned pale. Not that he already was pale to begin with. He found himself staggering towards the nearest chair, which was an old rocking chair at the corner of the room. He slumped down on it, tired and angry.
"What did you do, exactly? How did you get yourself into- into this mess?" he tried to sound calm, but ultimately failed when his voice cracked.
"Well, let's start from the very beginning!" Emily sang, trying to lighten up the mood. "You do know I work for the Hetalia Gazette, right?"
He responded with the nod.
"Well, there was this ad on the paper…" she stopped and started to giggle. Matthew raised an eyebrow. "I-I-I can't even say it… I just… Bwahahahaha!"
Matthew groaned. "Out with it, Em!" he said weakly.
Emily shook her head, wiping tears that pooled at the corners of her eyes. "Okay, okay…" she gasped, "The ad said:
Wanted: Young woman between the ages of 21 and 26 to bear child of unmarried man. Must be attractive, healthy, and intelligent. $5000 upon employment, $10,000 upon conception of child, $25,000 upon birth of baby. Send resumé, picture and personal history."
Emily ended her oral recitation with a dramatic bow which Matthew greeted with a stern look. "So you answered the ad?" he said coldly.
"Of course!" she beamed, "I mean, it's $40,000! Can you believe it, Mattie?! It can pay all of Mom's hospital bills and it can pay your rent!"
"Emily! You didn't really have to do that!" he whined, "I can pay my own bills from my own salary. You may not know this, but accountants make a considerable amount of money. And about Mom, I'm sure I can find a way to pay for her bills…"
"Yeah, because you're just so good at that!" Emily mocked, "Stop lying to yourself, Matt! You can hardly pay next month's rent and you think you can pay for Mom's hospital bills. You think therapy for stroke is cheap?!"
Matthew winced. He had never in his life thought his younger sister would raise her voice. Not until now, that is.
"What do you need me for?" he asked, "You were the one who answered the ad and not me. Why was I suddenly awakened at 5 in the morning and then forced into some dress? Why, Em?"
Emily looked guilty. In fact, she looked as if she had just sent her own brother to his death. "About that…" she slowly began, "The lawyer of the guy who put up the ad called me yesterday at work. He asked for a meeting with me 12 noon today. I had no choice but to accept his offer…"
"And where do I fit in?" Matthew interrupted.
"Dude, I'm getting there!" she barked, "The thing is, I sent him the wrong picture when I answered the ad. Instead of my current picture, I sent that picture of you in college. You know, when you got drunk and I dressed you up as a girl? I thought it would be funny and… Mattie!"
Mathew fainted. He was probably the only one in the whole world that fainted while sitting on a rocking chair. And no matter how many times Emily frantically called out his name, he was still out cold. He remained that way until Emily decided to wake him up by dropping a glass full of ice on his chest.
Who wouldn't wake up with such a cold and slimy thing sliding down their chest? Matthew woke up with a start and glared at Emily.
"You could have done me a favor and let me stay that way until 12 noon…" he growled, "So I can miss that appointment and a possible engagement…"
"You're going to that appointment whether you like it or not!" Emily sneered.
And that was it, his fate was sealed. He gave in and just let Emily haul him back to his room. There, she sat him on a chair in front of a large, brown dresser and fixed his blonde hair that hung a little above his shoulder. She tried to get rid of that one unruly curl that always went against any comb's will but gave up when it utterly refused to stay in place. Matthew occupied himself with thinking of reasons as to why any sane man would put up such an article. It helped keep his mind off the fact that he was going to meet this man any time today. Well, it was amusing to think of the man. Couldn't he just date, get married and have kids like normal people do?
"I know what you're thinking Mattie…" Emily mumbled as she lovingly put powder on her model's face.
"Well?"
"Well…" she repeated, "I think the guy's handicapped. Can't move and no one's there to take care of him. Or maybe he had an accident that left an ugly scar on his face to the point that no woman can ever look at his face. Kinda like the Phantom of the Opera or something…"
Matthew giggled, despite being angry at her earlier. "Maybe he's just too old…" he put in, "You know, a retired businessman loaded with cash. He probably doesn't want any of those old hags that only nag and nag. I think he wants someone young and fresh and can make for him a suitable heir to all his millions…"
Emily raised an eyebrow. "Maybe he isn't interested in women at all…" she purred, "Maybe he likes men and didn't have the guts to tell his parents. His folks want a child and he sure doesn't want to do it with any woman. So, bam, he hires a mother and continues to pleasure his lover…"
Matthew muttered a small, helpless cry. "If he's interested in men…" he mumbled, "I'm as good as dead…"
To his dismay, Emily laughed. He shrugged nonchalantly and smiled. But he couldn't hide the uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. Was he really going to go to the meeting with this lunatic's lawyer? If he didn't, what would happen to his sister? She might never be able to smile like she was doing now. The sight of her crying would send Matthew hysterical.
I don't have to agree, eh? I can still refuse the offer and say that I answered the ad when I was drunk and out of my mind. Or I can explain that this was all a misunderstanding cause by my outlandish sister. There's no harm in just talking with the man, is there?
With all the courage he could muster, Matthew smiled to Emily at the mirror. She looked surprised and smiled back awkwardly. She knew he was at least trying to be positive with this, like how he had been positive about her crashing the car into a fire hydrant two months ago. For a half-brother, he sure was supportive.
God, please help Mattie out. I don't wanna see him cry like he used to. I can't be his hero during the meeting tomorrow so please be his Hero for me. Matthew's a good brother and I pray that You would make sure he's safe
Later that same day…
Matthew found himself staring up at the Zwingli law firm which he found amusingly high and amazingly new. He had lived in New York for ten years after moving out of Vancouver when he was thirteen and he felt ashamed that he hadn't really noticed this building before.
"Must have been finished only a year ago…" he thought to himself, glancing down at his watch. 11:45. Better to be fifteen minutes early than fifteen minutes late.
He took in a deep breath, adjusted his three inch yellow heels and proceeded towards the buildings swinging door. The moment he stepped in he was greeted by a rather short woman that sat at a desk for too large for her.
"I have an appointment with Mr. Vash Zwingli…" he said in his most feminine voice. Having a very small lump in his throat, it wasn't so hard for him to speak that way. He had been mistaken for a girl countless times when he chanced to pick up the phone in his mother's absence.
"O-Oh… You must be Miss Jones…" the petite woman, or in Matthew's opinion, petite girl stammered. "Big brother… I-I-I mean Mr. Zwingli has been expecting your arrival…"
Matthew gave the blushing girl a gentle smile which seemed to reassure her because her shoulders seemed to loosen as she gave him a lopsided grin. She held her hand towards the long corridor to the right of her desk, "Mr. Zwingli is on the third door to the right…" she explained, "Oh! Please do knock. He might be expecting you but he strictly requires all his clients to knock first before coming in."
Matthew thanked the girl and proceeded to walk down the long hallway. Upon arrival at the third door to his right, he suddenly found himself deprived of his will to walk. He ended up just standing there, admiring the intricate design of the Swiss Alps that was carved into the mahogany double doors. He told himself that he was waiting for a sign, something that would tell him that he wasn't supposed to get into the room. Unfortunately for him, no such sign came. Instead, the doors opened by themselves and a short, obviously annoyed man peeked into the hallway.
"Miss Jones…" he said sternly, "I you would be so kind as to come into my office right away… I can't have you waste your time staring at my door now, can I?"
Matthew nodded sheepishly, following the man into the lush office. Matthew took in the rare sight before him- the antique furniture, the bear-skin rug, the rifle that hung on the wall above a picture of a boy and girl in front of a wooden cabin- everything looked so… Swiss.
"Care to sit down, Miss Jones?" Mr. Zwingli offered, motioning towards a red velvet couch. Matthew nodded wordlessly and sat down.
"Would you like something to drink, Miss Jones?" the man asked again, "I'm afraid I only have beer and some champagne…
"If it isn't too much trouble, Mr. Zwingli…" Matthew replied, "I'd take up your offer on the champagne…"
Mr. Zwingli nodded and walked towards the fridge that was designed like an old wooden cabinet that Matthew didn't notice it when he stepped in. Mr. Zwingli handed him a half-glass of champagne which he gladly sipped. He felt himself relax to the cool taste of the liquid on his mouth.
"I see you're feeling a bit better…" Mr. Zwingli began, "First of all, Miss Jones, I would like to start with introductions. I'm Vash Zwingli, heir to the Zwingli law firm and my purpose for staying here despite my flight to London being only two hours from now is to inform you of what you are supposed to do as the woman whom my client has chosen to be… How should I say this…?"
"His wife?" Matthew jokingly finished for him.
Vash raised an eyebrow. "Something along those lines…" he said cautiously, "Moving on. My client thought your application was very impressive. I've read it myself and I can honestly say that you are quite the woman. Having graduated at the top of your class all throughout your school life tells me you've got the brains. You're certainly beautiful, though the picture you sent didn't to that beauty of yours any justice. I'll have to trust you on the health part, seeing that you won't seem to be fainting any time soon…"
Matthew giggled as Vash continued; "You have a decent salary, being on Hetalia Gazette's list of fresh, young talents and you don't look too thin to have starved yourself. So, why would you want the money?"
Matthew smirked. "As expected from a lawyer…" he said, "My mother suffered a stroke last week and, due to the hospital bills, my so called 'decent salary' dwindled into nothing. I guess that sums it all up…"
Matthew smiled. Vash didn't seem to be the humorous type. He just nodded blankly and handed Matthew a piece of stationary. He opened it up to see the address of Vash's "client" printed in bold letters.
"Oh, no!" he cried, "I-I-I wasn't planning on accepting your client's offer. I-I just mailed in the application on a whim… I thought of it as a joke!" Well, Emily thought of it as a joke.
"I'm sorry, Miss Jones, but my client doesn't take kindly to jokes…" Vash informed sullenly, "That idiot went through a lot of trouble to get you…"
Matthew winced. Idiot? He just called his client an idiot… They must be close.
"I apologize very dearly, Mr. Zwingli. But I can't simply agree to be a mother to some stranger's child…" he explained.
"I told him that. Told him he'd gone insane. Still can't believe why Lili sided with him…" Vash mumbled to no one in particular, "No choice, lass. No harm meeting him, though…"
Matthew considered the suggestion. Well, there's really no harm in meeting him. Besides, it would mean more if I told him personally that I can't be a mother. And maybe we could all laugh at Emily's silliness and dismiss this whole episode as something to tell my wife and kids when I get older.
"V-Very well then…" he stammered, "I'll go and meet him. Maybe he'll be okay with me refusing his offer…"
Vash laughed. "I'll be dead before those eyebrows decide to actually listen to someone other than himself…" he seemed to be mocking his own client, "But with those innocent looks, I think you at least have a chance to escape. Lili manages to do it all the time…"
Matthew was now dumbfounded. Okay, so they weren't just close. They seemed to be really, really, really close. And who's Lili? Oh! She must be that girl I met earlier. Go figure, she looks like a female version of this military man in front of me. Must be hard having a brother like this…
"Uhm, Mr. Zwingli…" he gently called, stopping the man from going on further about his rant, "Thank you for taking time to explain things to me… And I'm sure I'm keeping you from your flight to London…"
At this, Vash quickly glanced at his watch. An hour more and he'll be swimming to London. "I see, I apologize Miss Jones but it seems I have to leave…" he excused himself.
As he stood up, Matthew carefully placed the now empty glass of champagne on top of the small fridge and was now standing by the door. Just when he took a step outside, Vash called out to him.
"Miss Jones! That stupid idiot won't be back until the day after tomorrow so I suggest you go to him on the afternoon of that day. The arrogant bastard's already planned some sort of welcome party for you on that day. And when you see him, do me a favor and slap him. Right across that lovely cheek of his. Tell him it's from Vash, with love."
Matthew tried not to giggle as he managed a weak "Yes" and left the room. He struggled with his heels but managed to get out into the busy streets of New York anyway. He found himself sighing, first- because he felt relieved no one noticed he was male- and second- he still hadn't succeeded in refusing the offer. How was he going to get out of it now? He tried to be optimistic but eventually ran out of ideas.
"Well, it's still the day after tomorrow…" he reminded himself with false cheer, "Still got a lot of time to think, eh? Hope so…"
Since when did I convince myself to do this? Emily, you idiot, I don't think we can escape this one. I don't think I can escape this one!
Matthew looked at himself again through the windows of the jet black Ferrari that was parked across his "mystery man's" front door. Well, it wasn't exactly the man's front door. But it was the door to the building where the man's apartment could be found. So, to Matthew, it was technically his front door.
"I don't think I look so good…" Matthew told himself dejectedly.
He was half wrong and half right. Half wrong because he looked absolutely gorgeous in Emily's long-sleeved red turtleneck, her brand new skinny jeans and the beige ankle-high boots he bought the other day. And with his hair in a fancy French knot, no one would've thought he was male.
He was half right because his face was a little- if not complete- wreck. He wore little make-up today since Emily saw he was already as white as a ghost. His lips had a little gloss and some lipstick, but they seemed redder due to all the biting he had done on the taxi. Thankfully, his hair remained perfect despite the cold, autumn wind that fogged up his violet rimmed glasses.
"Great. I didn't wear my glasses when I was with the attorney, thinking I might look too nerdy in them. But here I am, wearing my glasses when I'm finally going to meet the so called 'client'. Maple! I can't even see anything with all this fog!" he mumbled loud enough for himself to hear.
After an unsuccessful pep talk to himself, where he ended up convincing himself that he was "digging his own grave and might as well brought flowers to leave on his deathbed", Matthew took a deep breath and calmly walked towards the automatic sliding doors. He wasn't really aware at how close he had been holding his red handbag or how absolutely stunning he looked as he walked in, his sleek black coat flowing about his ankle creating some sort of wind blown effect.
He waited impatiently in front of the elevator, trying hard to ignore the stares the male audience was giving him. Sooner than expected, the "ding" from the elevator was heard and Matthew rushed to get in. Fortunately, none of the men were going upstairs so he was left alone in the elevator. He opened the crumple piece of stationary Vash had given him the other day and tried to find the floor number. 26. There it was.
Punching in the number, he tried to concentrate on the awful elevator music while looking uninterestingly at the small black screen on top of the elevator that told the passengers what floor they were on. He whistled at how high he was and wondered whether or not he was going to die if he was to jump from that height.
Matthew Williams, killing yourself is not an answer to your problems. If Maman ever heard of this nonsensical idea of yours she might as well have a heart attack. Control yourself and just imagine you're going to get some pancakes. Pancakes. Delicious, maple syrup-drenched pancakes.
When the elevator doors finally thought it was time to derive Matthew of his anxiety, the latter felt a mixture of relief… And more anxiety.
He walked stiffly- very stiffly, as stiff as a robot as far as Matthew was concerned- towards the large oak desk in the middle of the 26th floor. Matthew thought it looked ridiculously big to be functional and thought of it as some sort of decoration. But the tanned, rather short, brown haired girl behind said desk told him that somebody was actually using the darn thing.
"Bonjour!" the girl greeted gleefully, pigtails bobbing up and down.
Oh! She speaks French. Pleasant surprise! I thought nobody else in NYC spoke French but me!
"Bonjour to you too, petite madame oiselle…" he greeted back, "I have an appointment with Monsieur Zwingli's client…"
At once, the girl's brown eyes brightened. "I was told to wait for you, Miss Jones," she told him, "I'm Sesel Creole, born in Seychelles grew up in France. I noticed you too speak French, oui?"
Matthew giggled. "I lived half of my life in Canada and learning both its languages was my hobby…" he confessed, "I've lost my touch, though, having lived in New York for the other half of my life…"
Sesel giggled. "That seems interesting Miss Jones, no I know why he was so keen to have you." Another giggle. "He's been expecting you, but it seems you came at a bad time. He's out for his usual afternoon tea. But he asked me to let you in his office. It's the only one on the left of the hall, you'll never miss it. He'll be back shortly, his tea breaks never last more than fifteen minutes and it looks like there's only seven minutes left…"
"Merci, Sesel."
Matthew followed the girl's instructions and found himself in front of another huge door. Unlike the time at the Zwingli Law Firm, he decided he might as well go in. He wouldn't want his "mystery man" thinking he was some kind of weirdo, just standing in the hallway and staring at his completely bland door.
The moment Matthew opened the door, he literally jaw-dropped at the panoramic view the room offered. Shyly curious, he walked towards the nearest window and looked down at the busy streets.
"Maple!" he yelped when he remembered he had a fear of heights. His breath became more rapid and erratic as he looked on, ignoring the fact that his stomach was turning in the most uncomfortable way. "It's so far down, eh! Maple, it's scary! B-B-B-But… It's strangely…"
"Beautiful?" a voice interrupted him.
Matthew turned with a jolt. He pressed his body towards the glass, not caring that the harder he pressed the bigger the chances for the glass to crack and for him to fall. The man whose voice frightened him earlier seemed amused at his reaction. He ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair and just stood there, leaning by the door, watching the poor boy (er, girl) squirm with those enchanting emerald eyes.
Matthew couldn't help but notice he was beautiful. From the way his sandy blonde hair was disarrayed to the complete and utter poise he had while leaning on the wall. Matthew stared at his face, his eyes catching something ridiculous right above the man's eyes.
"Are those caterpillars?!" he gasped without really thinking, "You have caterpillars on your face! Wait, don't move! I'm going to get a magazine to whack them with! Just, just stay there!"
"Charming." the man said in a thick British accent. He felt himself giggle at the sight of the young man (er, woman) frantically search through the pile of newspapers he left for her on the only couch in the room. She seemed to be looking for a magazine hard enough to squash the "caterpillars" but soft enough not to hurt his face.
When the man couldn't take it any longer, he smirked. "Would you care to take a seat, Em?" he offered.
Matthew froze to look at him. There were only three people alive that Emily had allowed to use her nickname: Madeline; their mother, Ivan; Emily's self-proclaimed archenemy who seemed to like her more than hate her, and himself, her half-brother. No one else had the guts to call her that in fear of getting a kick to the vital regions. Some stranger, scratch that, some lunatic would never know let alone use her nickname.
"Oh, pardon my intrusion..." Matthew tried to act polite, "But, by any chance, are you the one who put up that silly ad in the Hetalia Gazette?"
The man raised up one bushy caterpillar.
Oh, so those things are his eyebrows… Now I know why Vash referred to him as "eyebrows". Those things are thick, and I mean bold permanent marker thick. Maybe even thicker…
"The ad is not silly, as you call it…" he replied coldly, "It my sound amusing at first but I assure you, pet, it's far more serious than you could ever imagine…"
A cold chill ran down Matthew's spine, as if the temperature in the room suddenly became 20 degrees lower. "I-I-I see…" he stammered, "B-B-Before things get out of hand, I would like to clear up a few things, Mister-"
"Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland. The name would be a tad too long if I added the second or junior as my dear Father fondly calls me, but it's there when you check my birth certificate."
Matthew nodded, trying to process the information. Arthur Kirkland, where have I heard of that name before?
And then it hit him. Arthur Kirkland, only son of the owner of the Kirkland Group of Companies, KGC as called by most people. One of the most eligible; and to Emily's opinion, distasteful bachelors in America. And probably the whole world.
"Oh…" was all Matthew managed to say.
Arthur grinned. Something that had an immediate affect on Matthew, making his knees buckle and shake.
"May I take your coat, Matthew?" he asked, grinning.
Oh, hell no!
He turned pale. More pale than he already was. He was probably whiter than the yeti or the abominable snowman. He felt the world spin around him, teasing him for the fool he had made of himself when he agreed to Emily's silly scheme. The man knew who he was. Damn it, the man knew!
"Is it too late to say I can explain?" he shrugged, trying hard not to cry. He was unconsciously pouting, though. This was something he did when he knew he was in trouble and there was no way out. Pouting always got him out of trouble countless times, but it failed him today.
"Don't do that, love. I might as well treat you as a woman and shove your body down that bloody couch…" he said coolly but with anger, "Now, your coat?"
Matthew obeyed and handed him the coat. "What do you from me, eh?" he squeaked, "I mean, when you figured out I was male you could've refused to meet with me. Why send me here?"
Arthur laughed sardonically as Matthew nervously sat down on the couch. The former carefully hang the coat on the coat rack by the door then sauntered off to where Matthew had seated himself. He satisfied himself with sitting right in front of the shaking blonde, taking in every nook and cranny of his rather slim frame.
"Sorry to burst your bubble, Mattie, but I ask the questions. Savvy?" he said huskily.
Matthew felt himself get sick when this complete stranger used such a familiar endearment with him. He had half a mind to punch the rude bastard then slap him so he could feel what an insensitive jerk he was being.
"Fine." He agreed, contented with just sulking silently.
Arthur grinned cockily. "You are awfully submissive, Matthew… Mind telling me where that special trait of yours came from? Surely it wasn't from your Father. I heard he left you even before you were born. Your Mother, maybe? She seems quite sheepish and shy. Oh, wait! That's just her façade, is it not? She seems to be innocently seductive. She was able to have that annoyingly vivacious sister of yours, after all…"
"Shut up!" he finally snapped, standing. "You have no right to insult my Maman in such a way! She is the most loving person I know and she would never have wanted to do what she had to do if only love wasn't involved! Maman loved my father and she loved Emily's! Don't you dare talk like that about her!"
Arthur stood as well, towering a mere five inches over the younger blonde. "You are quite the vixen, despite being male. Are you sure you're not a woman? That would be an awful way to waste your beauty."
Something in Matthew finally broke into a dozen little pieces and scattered around his mind. He clenched his right hand, unclenched it again and drew it across the Brit's face with a resounding "smack". Arthur remained grinning; seemingly unfazed as the tears that pricked Matthew's face began to trickle down his cheek.
"I, dear sir, am not a woman. And if it's a woman you want, you might as well go to the nearest strip bar. There are a lot of women, heck even men, out there that would love to be your plaything. I would like to keep my virtue, or at the very least, my sanity. I don't think I can keep talking with you any longer. Not when your mouth is as filthy as a Manhattan garbage can!"
The moment his hand was about to reach the knob, Arthur spoke low and viciously:
"My little maple? Wait, I guess I would have to use that bloody language… Mon petite maple?"
Matthew froze. Not because the name he had just been called had only been used by his mother and no one else. But because the man's tone of voice commanded him to turn around and answer his call. It was as if it was his responsibility to answer the lunatic's call.
"That's a good lad…" Arthur cooed when he saw Matthew turn to face him, "Now, now. Don't be cross with me… That phone of yours will ring any second and- ah- pick it up now…"
Right on cue, his mobile phone rang. The sound of Strauss' "Tales of the Vienna Woods" began to fill the entire room. Matthew briefly glared at Arthur before reaching his hand into his red handbag and pick up his silver, rather old Nokia phone.
"Mattie, where are 'ya?"
It was Emily's southern drawl on the other line.
"Why? What happened?" he asked her.
"Well, I'll be damned, it's a miracle Matt! Nothing but a miracle!" she exclaimed. Matthew could hear her jumping up and down, wherever she was.
"What's a miracle?"
"The bills! All the annoying, pesky bills! They're all paid, in full and in advance! Someone paid for all of 'em, Matt! The rent to your apartment, the electricity and water bills, the hospital bills and even my credit card bills, all paid! Can ya believe it?!"
Matthew let the phone drop from his hand, landing safely on the soft, carpeted floor. He stared at Arthur, mouth gaping. "You…" he scowled, "Why do this? I never asked you to do anything!"
"Think of it as you owing me a favor, pet. A favor that I plan to collect now…"
Matthew folded his arms across his chest. "You want me to be the mother of you soon-to-be child, right?" he laughed, "Unfortunately for you, I am not a woman. I am incapable of conceiving any children and I'm sure you're well aware of that…"
"Who in the world said you needed to get pregnant?" Arthur put in matter-of-factly, "My parents requested that I put that ad on the daily paper. I just wanted to please them. They would never approve of any lass I bring home from my travels. They told me all these farfetched stories of young ladies being elegant, virtuous, shy, sheepish, innocent, and all that humbug. I just wanted them happy."
"So, you just want me to be some kind of... Doll, I suppose, that you show off to your parents? Some girl they would gush over and pamper like some kind of princess, right?" his sentence overflowed with sarcasm.
"You're close; love, but not yet there..." Arthur piped in, "You are more of... How do I put this? A fake fiancée would be the best term..."
Matthew laughed half-heartedly. "Fiancée, huh? It doesn't sound so bad. I've been called worse things..."
"How about it, love?" Arthur offered, reaching out his right hand.
Matthew glared at it. "Not in your lifetime, psycho!"
"Can you pay back all the money I spent on your bills, Matthew?" the older man dared.
"You're blackmailing me..." Matthew scowled, "You strike low, Kirkland. Very, very, very low..."
Arthur quirked an eyebrow at his displeasure, "Changed your mind yet, darling?" he asked.
Matthew sighed, groaned and even stomped his foot on the ground. But nothing he did could get him out of the situation. In the end, he took Arthur Kirkland's hand and agreed to be his 'fiancée'.
This will only be temporary. He's really not planning to keep me for long, right? When I've served my purpose and all the bills he paid- without my permission- will be as good as refunded, I can say goodbye to him and his arrogant eyebrows.
Additional: Please review. I wanna know if I should continue this. It's kind of a spur of the moment thing and I'm not sure if I wanna finish this. But your reviews might change my mind. So I'm begging you, please review!
