A/N: This is supposed to be a companion piece to a longer fic that hasn't been written as yet. Also, I don't have a beta, so sorry if it sucks!
Gwen stretches, soreness pinches her thigh muscles, serving as a reminder of the previous night; it was the soundest she'd slept in weeks.
She shifts closer to the centre of the bed, sliding her hands over the sheets, brushing against something smooth and firm. For a moment she basks in softness against her bare skin. Her brows furrow slightly in confusion. Gwen runs her hand over the cool dented space next to her, and clings to one of the many pillows cluttering their bed. She mumbles her disappointment, her eyes still shut tight.
Her current schedule had her tethered to early mornings with mountains of paper work; late mornings, evenings and nights bustling around the restaurant, cooking and overseeing the kitchen; and even later nights and weekends testing out new recipes. Regret and guilt gnawed at her; she went entire days without seeing Arthur and Ishara and lately, she'd spent many stolen moments fantasising that Voilà Violet was still an obscure hole-in-the-wall. The flurry of restaurant fame had descended on her too soon, though she couldn't complain about all the success or her amazing support system.
Wednesday night, after she'd waved her chef's knife at Elyan and threatened to cut out his tongue for pestering her about the plans for Percival's surprise party, he'd finally caught on to his sister's distress and offered to take Issy until Saturday.
As much as Gwen wanted to keep her close, her daughter could use some time with her uncles and she desperately needed an evening with Arthur. She had thanked Elyan tearfully and apologised as he sat her down, poured them both glasses of her favourite Riesling and reassured her that-with her superhero levels of patience and talent-she'd survive the rest of the month.
By Friday, piles of paperwork disappeared from her desk and she managed to drag herself home at a reasonable hour. The moment she stepped across the doorsill, Arthur stripped her of her jacket and bags, and whisked her away to their bathroom. He'd drawn a bath using her favourite bath bombs and had dinner ready (he'd probably bribed one of the chefs at Hunith's restaurant to be their private cook for the night) once she emerged from the tub, content and wrinkled. They avoided talk of work and ignored desert, which sat uneaten on the table as she and Arthur stumbled to the front room with their fingers twisted in each others' clothing. A few hours later, they collapsed in their extravagant antique four-poster bed. Arthur had insisted on upgrading their normal bed a few months back; "a bed fit for my queen," he had murmured in her ear as she rolled her eyes at his "posh excesses." She relentlessly teased him whenever he made an absurd buy.
Gwen burrows further into the sheets, clutching his pillow, inhaling his lingering scent. She squeezes her eyelids even tighter, wishing she could rewind the hours or spend the rest of the day in bed. But, there's a party to plan. She sighs and stretches again, then reluctantly lets the light in. Through her lingering blurriness, she breathes in the faint aroma of coffee and something she couldn't quite place in the air; her ears perk up at Arthur's voice traveling upstairs.
Gwen slips into her robe then creeps downstairs to make sure her husband isn't on the verge of starting a fire. She passes through the sitting room-stopping suddenly at the sound of tiny babbling-then tiptoes toward the kitchen. She spots Ishara and Arthur in the alcove; Issy seated in her high chair, her dark blonde curls highlighted by the sunlight spilling through the light yellow curtains half-covering the large windows. Arthur is crouched on a stool, spooning what-looked-like-porridge into a bowl. She loves watching them chat and play. Issy jerks her head away from the spoon aimed at her mouth while Arthur pleads, "s'il vous plait manger, mon petit ange, mon petit chou"—despite the fact that neither of them speaks enough French at home for her to pick up the language. Arthur insists that it's best to start a second language as soon as possible and constantly blames his clumsy grasp of the language on his mother introducing it too late; Gwen tells him he's just being pretentious because there are more useful languages.
She stifles her laughter as their daughter eats some of the thick off-white liquid sliding off the spoon, then puckers her lips together and blows a raspberry, spraying Arthur with spittle.
"You're lucky you're so cute and I love you so much or you wouldn't get away with that," he says, wiping at his skin with his tattered sleeve. Issy giggles excitedly and places her hands on each side of her father's face as though she understands just how much she has him wrapped around her finger.
Gwen chuckles at her daughter's disregard for her father's pride. Issy cocks her head, tight curls bouncing, and squeals "Mama," finally spotting her mother in the corner of the room. Gwen walks over and then stands next to Arthur to prevent the inevitable hell her little girl would raise to be set free from her confining chair.
"Good morning, my darling, hopefully well-rested wife," Arthur says-his attention still focused on spoon-feeding their daughter-"and before you ask, I woke up early to look over some documents for the new acquisition…"
Gwen nods slowly. Half the time she couldn't make heads or tails of what he was saying. The Pendragons, descended from royal blood, seemed to own a tenth of England and were always expanding their influence through their various businesses. They owned restaurants in competition with Peasant's Cottage, a discovery that had further fueled the bad blood between her and Arthur during their first official introduction.
She listens intently, sliding her hand across his back as he chatters away about his morning.
"Something important sprung up and Elyan and Percy couldn't watch her, so they saddled me with our little duck and the tickets to this Lolli-ruckus thing."
"Lollibop," she corrects.
"Yes. That. Do we have to go?" he whinges, his bright blue eyes pleading with her.
She shoots him a look that says that she isn't up for it either, but she knows how important it for at least one family member to be seen at an event sponsored by one of his mother's charities. Plus, they shouldn't deny their daughter her very first experience at a big festival.
"I know, I know," Arthur says, reading her silent communication. He turns to Issy who's busy mashing her hands in her what-looked-like porridge.
"What are you feeding our poor child?"
He tilts his head back to look up at Gwen from his crouched position as she lightly rubs her fingers along the back of his neck.
"You scorn me, but I'll have you know that this is actually a green banana porridge made from an old family recipe that a friend of Hunith's passed on to her… and that she has now bequeathed to me."
"Bequeathed?"
"Yes…and it's a delicious bequeathment. Taste it yourself," he says.
Gwen raises an eyebrow, "is that a challenge?"
He lifts the tiny spoon to her lips and she reluctantly tastes the concoction. Her eyes widen in surprise.
Arthur grins at her, "is that a look of approval?"
"Maybe…" she says, the corners of her lips twitching.
"I'm not completely useless in the kitchen now, Miss Multiple-Award-Winning-Chef. You can't take the piss any longer. You enjoyed dinner last night, didn't you? That white bean soup, the saddle of lamb with the apricot stuffing, the risotto..."
"That was all you?"
"Well...mum stopped by. Offered a few pointers. Brought the chocolate tart. Um, I might have mentioned that you'd been going a bit mad and-"
"Mad, Arthur?!" she says, her eyes widening to saucers.
"Oh don't be cross, I didn't mean it like that!"
"You can't tell Igraine these things!"
Voilà Violet, previously known as The Corner (jokingly referred to as the Coroner) and previously owned by Igraine Pendragon, had seen two solid years under Gwen's ownership. Yet, her nervousness about failing Arthur's mum still formed knots in her stomach. Igraine would probably adopt Gwen if she didn't already have parents (and Hunith), but the woman had initially agonised over the risk of having a then barely-26-year-old chef reinventing the mismanaged cafe. Igraine could afford to lose the business-it was a drop in the sea of success to her-but Gwen seized the opportunity to turn the place around. She had cried her way through dozens of boxes of tissues and made herself ill working up the courage to tell Hunith that she'd be abandoning Peasant's Cottage for her new terrifying endeavour. Little had she known that at the time, her sickness wasn't simply stress related.
A few weeks before the restaurant re-opened, Gwen slipped on a loose tile in the kitchen and ended up in hospital with a concussion. Merlin sat with her for hours and coincidentally earned the title as the first person-other than Gwen-to find out that she was pregnant. Arthur had had round the clock business meetings in Glasgow and was unreachable. Merlin drank himself silly in celebration while waiting for Arthur to get the 10 vague messages they'd left between the two of them and make his way to Merlin and Gwen's. Arthur arrived straight from the station in a panic, and when she'd broken the news, his panic turned to full-blown paranoia. He immediately called Igraine and asked her to find someone else to take over the kitchen and operations, fretting too much stress might cause complications. It took Gwen's obstetrician, her mum and dad, Hunith, and Igraine to convince him that it wouldn't be like last time-that she'd be fine until the last month. She made it through the launch, took a few months off, then slowly acclimated herself back into running the kitchen shortly after Issy started sleeping through the nights at 4 months. She was quite capable; it'd just been a tough couple of weeks and she didn't want Igraine to think that she was already losing steam.
"She only wants to make sure you're being taken care of-we're all worried that it's too much," he says, gently brushing a wisp of hair behind her ear.
Gwen sighs, "I just-I don't want to make her regret giving me all this."
"Then, you'll be happy to hear that she's still gushing about you," he says, grinning. "I made us a nice full breakfast-without mum's help-before you woke up so you could enjoy your morning," he says, trying to lead her away from dwelling on negative thoughts.
"Ah, that explains the delicious smells."
"Delicious? Are you still teasing me?"
She slides her fingers through his freshly-trimmed hair and leans forward, "I loved dinner. I love the porridge. I'll love breakfast. I love you. And I mean every word," she promises, then plants a soft kiss on his lips.
He pulls her closer as she begins to move away and she lingers, brushing her tongue lightly over his. Suddenly Arthur feels a sharp tug on his ragged football shirt. He turns toward Issy, who fixes him with a stern gaze rivaling his father's.
"Dad-dy! No! Mine!" She wags her finger at him.
He frowns as Gwen purses her lips, suppressing a smile. She didn't want encourage the bad behaviour.
"No, kiddo, mummy belongs to both of us and has my attention and yours," he explains.
"No!" Issy replies, banging her little hands on her high-chair table.
Arthur sighs, "Remember when she would only say yes to everything for months? I miss that. And when did she get so possessive anyway?"
"Well, let's just say I don't think she gets it from the fact that she's hit her terrible twos…" Gwen answers pointedly.
"Hey…" Arthur looks put out at her implication.
"You're so easy to wind up! It's a phase—we just have to keep reminding her that sharing is wonderful and people aren't possessions and eventually she'll understand, all the good books say so," Gwen explained while leaning over to place a kiss on her daughter's cheek. She glances at the large face clock on the wall; it was almost 11 and she still needed to shower and get their daughter ready.
"Relax, Percy gave her a bath this morning, I'll get her cleaned up while you're in the shower," Arthur says.
She looks at her husband with a slightly impressed expression at him having read her thoughts.
"You had that look on your face, the one you get when you're thinking of all the things you've got to get done—it's a slightly panicked look…" he answers with a smirk before she opens her mouth.
"You are very well trained."
He nods dopily in agreement, then lifts their daughter from her chair. Gwen lingers for a moment, then pulls herself away and heads back upstairs.
TBC.