Valentine Surprise

"Oi, is your head filled with bricks?" Arthur called. He stood in the doorway, holding a tray with a porcelain teacup on it. "You're supposed to be in bed."

"I'm fine," she said, wincing as a stab of pain shot through her side. She set a box down and turned back to the stack on her left.

"Who gave you permission to move those?"

"So you don't want them arranged so it's easier to unpack?"

"I can do that myself."

"No offense, but you're not exactly Mr. Muscle."

He look unamused. "All right, She-Hulk. Move them. Clearly your rib must not be broken after all."

"I just don't want to mooch." Arthur was letting her rest here a few days.

"You're not." He set the tray on her bedside table. Steam wafting up from the tea. "My friends owes you. He should be taking care of you. Speaking of the Frog," he said, his nose crinkling in distaste, "If you really want a task, I have one."

OOO

She gaped at the lobby. Rose pink marble flooring and pillars. A half-circle desk at the back where a red-headed receptionists sat. She raised a skeptical eyebrow as Amelia approached.

"I'm here to see Francis Bonnefrey," Amelia announced, holding up a box in pink wrapping paper and adorned with lace.

"Gifts should be left here," The woman said, in a bored tone. "I'll see your chocolate delivered."

"Chocolates?" She recalled Arthur's words, Take this back and shove it down his filthy throat! Mulling over it, she blurted out, "It's Valentine's Day!"

"Aren't you a bright one?" The receptionists remarked, lifting one well-tweaked eyebrow. "Isn't that why you brought him chocolates?"

"These aren't from me!" Amelia gasped, offended at the thought. "They're from Arthur Kirkland." She held up the label that Mr. Bonnefrey had written in curvy writing: To my beloved, Arthur Kirkland. Sweets for the sweet amour.

The lady's eyebrows shot up. "Arthur Kirkland?" She smiled.

"Well, they're not exactly from him. They're from the frog - I mean Mr. Bonnefrey - to him, but Mr. Kirkland is sending them back."

"Is he now? Well, in that case, you can go up," Her hazel eyes sparkled with amusement. "Twenty-first floor. You can't miss it." She pointed toward a set of two gold-colored elevator doors.

"Thank you," Amelia said, heading to the elevators. One opened with a ping and she almost gagged at the wave of thick potpourri and perfume that scented it.

"Say hi to Mr. Bonnefrey for me," The lady called with a wink, disappearing behind the doors.

What a weird place.

Studying the box, her heart faltered a little. If last week had never happened I'd be presenting chocolates to Ivan. She'd made him chocolates every year since Junior High.

I was such an idiot.

The door pinged open and she stepped out into room that took up the whole floor. Her mouth fell open, gaping. Her footsteps echoed over the linoleum. Pillars divided it up in rows. Massive arched windows at the back showed the cityscape. Everywhere were mannequins dressed in outfits or that had scraps of cloth pinned to them by needles. Tables full of sketches and sewing machines and rolls of fabric.

Somewhere in the back, chair wheels squeaked over the floor and a french-accented voice called, "Who is it? I ordered no disturbances!"

"Arthur sent me," she shouted back, heading for the voice. She heard him stand up and walked toward her.

"Arthur Kirkland?" He appeared from around a pillar dressed in a frilly white-shirt and a pair of beige slacks. "Ah, the mademoiselle from last night."

"And the man who ran over me."

He glanced at the box in her hands. "Chocolates for me? Clearly, I must have impacted you."

She tossed them at him and he caught them. "There're from Arthur. He said he wants you to choke on them. And not send him any more chocolate."

"Ah, Francis sighed. "When will he stop denying our love?"

"Oh, is he gay?"

"Sadly, no," Francis replied, "But when such beauty is before him how can he not be tempted."

I can think of a dozen reasons.

"So this is all yours?" She said, gesturing around.

"My studio," he agreed. "I'm a designer."

"Of mannequins?"

He stared at her flatly. "Of clothing. Haven't you heard of Bonnefrey?" When she shook her head, he gasped and clutched at his chest. "Such ignorance."

She ignored that comment, studying a nearby pale pink vanity. Its top crowded with make-up and hairstyling products. "So you bring models here?" Her eyes drifted to a mannequin in a sleek black dress.

"You have good bone structure," he noted, studying her up and down. "And high cheekbones. You could be beautiful."

She snorted with laughter. "Only if I put a bag over my head with a picture of Angelina Jolie."

He frowned, his lips pursing. "You think you're ugly?"

"I know I'm ugly," she said with a shrug. "I don't care. I mean just because someone looks like a pig doesn't mean they can't enjoy rolling around in the mud."

He sniffed. "You did look like Ronald McDonald at that club last night." She frowned. "Has no one ever taught you how to apply make-up?"

She rubbed at her nape. "Nah, I was never a make-up girl. Putting it on me was like putting lipstick on a pig."

He gasped. "Oh this will not do. Just because you have a dreadful sense of fashion, manner, speech, and style does not mean you're ugly."

"Uh... thanks. I guess?"

"It is decided!" He clasped his hands, his blue eyes glinting. "Sit down. I will transform you!"

OOO

That can't be me.

It had to be trick. But when she touched her cheek, the woman in the reflection touched hers. When she blinked so did the woman. The beautiful woman.

It can't be.

She wore a wig, dark blonde hair spun up in an updo, held up with a gold leaf hairpin. Diamond earrings glittered in her earlobes. Pearly-white glitter sprinkled across her cheeks, accentuating the layer blue colors of her eye shadow. She'd never realized had long her eyelashes were until now. Her lipstick was dark red.

My glasses.

She felt naked without them. Francis had made her dig around in her backpack for her contacts. She hardly wore them. Too lazy too.

"And now the dress," Francis said.

Her eyes widened when he gestured to the sleek black one. "I can't wear that!"

"Why not? I can adjust it. I sew fast. One must when one works the fashion shows I have."

"What's the point? I'll just take it off."

"Oh no. I already informed my secretary earlier to extend an invitation for you to tonight's Lover's World Meeting."

"The what?"

"A Valentine's Day party for the elite. Quite a bore. I wanted Arthur to go with me," Francis pouted, "But you'll do. Though he'd look better in a dress."

Fair point.

"I don't know anything about dancing," she began, cut off when he placed a forefinger on her lips.

"Hush now." She was tempted to bite his finger. Don't hush me. "Arthur will be there."

He pulled his hand away. "Didn't you just say he wouldn't?"

"As my partner, no. Watch, mon ami," he said, whipping out his I-phone. A moment later it was ringing. When it clicked to message, Francis said, "Ah Mon cheris! You must be wilting from lack of my beauty. Trouble yourself no longer! For tonight, I will tell the world of our undying love at the Lovers World Meeting Ball!" She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifler her laughter. "And then I'll announce our Wedding Date. 'Til then amour." He may a kissing sound and hung up.

She burst out laughing, clutching at her side.

"Hell will not stop Arthur from being there," Francis said.

"I gotta see this," she admitted. Francis took her hand and kissed her top knuckle.

"My Lady."

Rubbing shoulders with the rich and powerful. Could be fun. What's the worse that could happen.

OOO

"Ivan."

He turned to see Yao looking up at him. "You need to socialize, not sulk in the corner." She wore an emerald-green dress, pinned at one sleeve by material bunched up in a flower shape. A ruby hairpin tied up her black hair in a bun and matched with her ruby earrings and wine-red lipstick.

"That's your gift, da," he said, curling his upper lip at the smell of the wine in his glass. No vodka?

"Fine," she said, shaking her head. She went back to where the mayor and several big wigs stood, chatting near the buffet area. Their relationship had cooled since the "incident". Somehow not being a forbidden affair had killed the whole thing for both sides.

"A chocolate, sir," said a waiter, holding up a tray. After one foul look from Ivan he shrunk in fear and hurried away.

"Chocolate," he muttered, sipping his wine. He'd received plenty of chocolates today from the female co-workers in his office. All store bought stuff. Yao had even given him some liquor-filled ones. All bought.

No idiot to make heart-shaped-hamburger ones. Not that he cared.

He'd called their old apartment last week only to find the phone line disconnected. Then he called management - wanting to tidy up legal matters - only to learn she'd cancelled her contracted and moved out.

Why did I leave it all in her name?

Oh, that's right. So it'd be easier to be rid of her.

He'd never thought of the downside that it'd make getting rid of his stuff that much easier.

Not that he cared.

It was nice coming to his office and not having obnoxious messages on his answering machine sung in some jingle.

I'm much happier now without that loud idiot.

"I hope I never see her again," he muttered.

There was stir from the back of the room. It rippled toward his corner as people said things like, "Francis is here!", "I so love his designs!", and "Look at her! Who is that?"

Francis brought a woman?

That was surprising. The murmurs increased as the crowd broke apart, revealing Francis and his partner. Ivan only glanced over in mild curiosity, but his heart nearly stopped at what he saw. His wine glass almost dropped.

The woman at Francis side was a vision. She smiled radiantly. Her black dress accentuated her athletic frame and fell to just below the knees. It made her muscular figure somehow feminine.

People whispered and pointed.

Impossible.

Her blue eyes turned to his direction and stopped on him, recognition filling them. Her smile faltered, falling away.

Amelia?

(TBC...

Next chapter preview:

A stunning Amelia has now appeared before Ivan. Things get complicated with Arthur's arrival...)