7.
Milathos one night stand, but something happens meaning they have to see each other again.
+modern AU
That was not how she planned her night to go. She looked at the man sleeping beside her and threw her head back against the pillow in despair. Un-fucking-beliavable.
She remembers it all too well, both him saying he never wants to see her again and him yesterday in the club, already half-drunk, eyes burning with lust for her, one hand at the small of her back, pushing just hard enough to drive her into him and drive her mad. His lips twisted in hateful accusations and his lips last night, demanding and persistent in the crook of her elbow, on her neck, against her own lips. She remembers this bed that used to be their and ironically it's their now, but only as a temporary shelter, a reminder of all the things lost, a reminder that a bed is just a bed and what it's good for, no matter the meaning it holds.
Her body is sore and without looking she knows she'll have some bruises left as souvenirs from last night, scattered all over her. They will fade eventually but she's not entirely sure this, them, ever will. Had that been the case she would have been able to avoid locking eyes with him in the dark of the club, and she sure as hell wouldn't have hurried to slip her flashy Harry Winston engagement ring off her finger and into the inside pocket of her flashy Balmain jacket .Then she would have been able to tear her hand out of his as he pulled her to the dance floor, she would have been damn able to not let him touch her like it mattered, she would have avoided his lips and his hands and surely she would have avoided their bed that is now his bed and his alone and she's an intruder in it.
She moves quietly, careful not to wake him, picking her close up from the floor along the way.
Hailing a cab is easy and soon she's on her way to the Ritz. She checks her phone - it's 9 am and apparently she's already missed her morning flight to Paris. That means she'll have to cancel the dress fitting and push it to tomorrow and move some other things around. Busy with rearranging her schedule she reaches inside her jacket for a ring.
Fuck.
Fuck.
The door opens almost immediately and there he is, clad in jeans and t-shirt, looking at her. His hair is wet and she stares at him, speechless.
He steps aside, and she brushes past him, entering the room.
"Miss me already?"
"I forgot something." She says, heading towards the bedroom.
"Something along the lines of telling me you are getting married before falling into bed with me?"
Great.
"Well you can't expect me to curl up and die because you were too noble to stay married to the woman who killed your brother. I mean you can wish for it of course, but you can't actually expect me to do it."
"You didn't kill him, Anne. He killed himself."
As a matter of fact he did. Blaming her in his note and blowing his brains out was a perfect way to go out with a bang.
"Funny, how I remember you feeling differently about it five years ago."
"Feelings change."
"Don't I know that." She sounds bitter, but he asked for it. "Can I have my ring back please?"
"Sure. Come here."
Annoyed, she takes a step towards him and watches in astonishment as he pulls the ring from his pocket and slips it on her finger.
"It's my ring." She whispers, looking at her hand. And her ring it is. She remembers throwing it in his face five years ago, right after he told her their marriage was over. "You kept it."
"I should have held on to the more important things, but yeah. Now you keep it. If you want to of course."
"Why would I…" She starts, but then it dawns on her. "Are you asking me to marry you?"
"Too late?"
"Do you have any idea how fucked up this is?" She whispers into his mouth as she closes the distance between them.
"Is that a yes?"
"You asshole."
She kisses him then.