Her Wicked Ways
By Andrea Sinisterra
Rated R
Romance/Drama
Standard Disclaimers Apply
Author's Notes: Well, first off, please let me apologize for the tardiness of this update. It has been many, many months, I'm well aware, and I will not bore you with trivial, unimportant excuses.
On the other hand, I come with quite a lengthy chapter, packed with lots of twists and revelations and maybe a few answers. I hope you find this accommodating for time being while I start on the next chapter, and sincerely hope you're still keeping up with my fic. I know it gets tedious when you have to wait between updates, but please! I'm still writing! I swear! wail!
Warnings: Well, in case you hadn't noticed, I upped the rating. There's quite a lot of swearing and maybe a scene or two I wrote or am planning to write that wouldn't fit into the whole PG-13 scheme.
Also, this hasn't been beta-read yet, since I wanted to post this as soon as I finished writing the last word. I'll repost the chappie once I get the proofread version from my lovely GG. If she's still willing to beta, that is. cringe
Anywho... On with the story!
EDIT APR-22-06: Proofread version up! I was flabbergasted by all the mistakes GG found in this chapter! I'm so sorry! It's just that I was typing too fast and I wanted to post it as soon as possible that I didn't even reread the whole chapter to try and fix a few of those. I apologize!
- - - - -
Part 7
Has it ever happened to you that whenever you think of something really embarrassing, you automatically want to block out the image, feeling that the mere remembrance obligates you to relive the moment? But there are some times when it isn't really anything embarrassing, just moments you wished you could take back.
It was all I could think of as I laid on my bed while the sun burned my back, too exhausted to even move an inch to either roll over or drape the sheets over my back. It was a combination of mental and physical exhaustion, I felt hung-over and beat up, as if my body was a single bruise, throbbing and bitter. And in a sense, it was, beaten up by all the emotional rollercoaster of the past few days—the lust in his emerald gaze, combined with the mighty prowess of his Adonis-like body, the grip of his hands on my skin, the slip of his tongue against my neck, the clashing of his teeth against mine, and the forbidden fantasies he conjured up, almost involuntarily it seemed, were ever-present in my mind.
And although it wasn't a really weird night yesterday, it threw me off seeing the more than obvious changes in Trowa's demeanor as of late. It was as if he didn't want to believe or accept this engagement was just a fake—either that or he was a really good actor. I don't know if I should feel flattered or on edge with all this. Frankly, I haven't been sure of almost anything since New Year's.
I forced myself out of bed, sitting on its edge, relishing the sharpness of the cold floor against my bare feet, letting the shock jolt me further into wakefulness. The sudden shrill of the alarm clock startled me, and I could only glare at the consecutive hands marking 8:30 a.m.… on a Sunday morning.
Hilde had called me late last night, eager to know how my 'date' had gone, only to squeal loudly when Trowa chose that moment to burst out laughing, even though we had been in the throes of a very mind numbing, earth shattering kiss right there on my apartment's doorstep. I guess, from sheer logic, he overheard Hilde's more than effusive voice, not to leave aside the fact that we were standing in the middle of a very empty, echo-pronounced hallway. Her interrogation, a speech composed of a thousand words per second was a dead giveaway— something, I suppose, he found very amusing.
We agreed on spending the evening together, supposedly because we needed as much publicity as we could get. I had a small suspicion my mother would do something to compromise us even further when we met again on the weekend. I was quite surprised though, at my father's continued silence about this whole ordeal. I wondered if he knew what was going on and if he was just playing along to please my mother's childish wishes—or if he really had no idea and was just as clueless as I was two weeks ago.
After preparing myself a very big and very hot mug of instant coffee, black and without sugar, I headed to my bathroom to start my Sunday so early in the morning. I don't know if it was because I really was feeling tired or because I was feeling languorous and reminiscent of last night's events, but for some reason it took me almost two hours to shower, wash and blow dry my hair, choose an outfit and get dressed. Hilde claimed my morning during last night's speed-light phone call, saying that she wanted to go shopping. She needed to buy baby clothes and other stuff for her cousin who gave birth to a beautiful baby boy not even three days ago.
We met at the Plaza for a quick breakfast and I found quite interesting the fact that Hilde never mentioned Trowa; it's been practically the opening speech-slash-interrogation to the past two thousand conversations we've had. By midday we were swamped in packages, most of them from this trendy new maternity boutique that opened a couple of days ago. We ventured into Harry Winston, thought I didn't really know if it was because we were curious or because we only wanted to torture ourselves, but we spent almost an hour perusing display cases of engagement rings and wedding bands. Being inside that store made the ever-present weight of my own engagement ring even more prominent, and I couldn't help but notice how it sparkled so brightly —Trowa really had outdone himself.
It was amazing how he had managed to get under my skin in such a short time. He used to do it before, he had always been able to, but not in such levels. It was amazing the common ground we had been able to create: who would've expected we had so many things in common? And he was able to surprise me with the most out of character actions like meeting his sister and the time we spent at her house, or when he caught me completely off guard by presenting me with the ring… He was completely confusing me: he could be such a sweetheart, caring and tender, amusing and intelligent, yet there were other times when he was such a bastard, demeaning and condescending, arrogant and irritating.
But last night… it was all I could think of as I tried to get some shut eye after he'd dropped me off. What was going on with him? Why the sudden change? Sometimes I thought something had changed or was changing between us, like our rather strange relationship was evolving and transitioning into the next facet, yet I didn't know if either one of us was ready for that… or if it was even what we wanted… at all.
"You're thinking of him, you just groaned out loud."
I let out a low wail, dropping my head onto my linked arms. It sounded childish and imprudent, and I didn't care a pig's ass if it bothered the other diners or not.
"Babe, look at me; first of all, stop doing that, you're acting like a child." She admonished, shaking her head.
I needed a cigarette or some kind of alcohol to take the edge off; I felt jumpy, nervous, anxious and strangely, pleased.
"Hilde, last night… I—you should've been there… I think I screwed up."
"Jesus, don't tell me—"
It took me a moment to read her expression: wide eyes, brows up, mouth agape, her hand gripping mine fiercely… "Give me some more credit, would you?"
Hilde leaned back in her chair, apparently releasing the air she had gasped in seeing as her entire body seemed to relax and melt with her relief. "Well, what am I supposed to think when you can't form a single coherent sentence and then manage it and tell me you 'screwed up'? I would've blamed you from beyond had you given me a stroke."
I've always wondered about her ability to talk so fast and make sense at the same time. Have you ever taken notice how people around you are totally eavesdropping on your conversation and how everything seems more and more quiet—like there's a sudden gap in the air, filled with nothing but silence, and it's only your voice ringing out like a howl in the night?
I promptly signaled her to shut it. She was too loud sometimes.
"Hilde, the last thing I need is everyone thinking I'm pregnant or something like that."
"Okay, what's going on? You seem on edge lately, and I don't like it. You're a totally different person, Relena—what's going on with you?" (
"I don't know… Hilde, I swear it's been only a couple of weeks—"
"Relena, I'm surprised you've lasted this long. Trowa… he's a very attractive man, and from what I've heard, very persuasive. I'm really surprised—"
"—that we haven't fucked yet?" I did my best to ignore the look of surprise of a passing-by waitress, knowing she must've heard my outburst since I was kind of loud, but frankly, I didn't give a shit.
"Sweetie, I'm on your side, remember? I was going to say that I'm really surprised he hasn't tried to coerce you into his bed; that man is dangerous, his reputation isn't for nothing." She paused, then, looking thoughtful as she stared at me for a moment.
There she goes… cocking her head. Hilde has this tendency to cock her head to the left whenever she's braining something, usually she does it right before something really clever and insightful comes out of her mouth.
"Tell me." I practically laughed, knowing she was dying to say what she was obviously braining.
"Relena, for how long have we known each other?"
"Three years. Don't beat the bush."
She nodded; a soft, very serene look on her face. "When have I lied to you?"
"Well, there was that time when you tricked me into going to that awful party that almost got us raped—there's also that time with your parents, and the time we got arrested—"
"The thing is," she began loudly, shutting me up. She was really fun to tease. "I know you well. I know you so well to know that there's something about Trowa that has you intrigued. You don't love him, you barely even like him. Am I right?"
I nodded. Bitch. I wished I was half as good at reading people's minds as she was.
"You're glaring. Stop cursing me." She laughed. "Anyway, as I was saying… I think Trowa's been unconsciously exhorting you to try new things. He's giving you the chance to let yourself go with absolutely no risk of strings or any sort of commitments."
I frowned. "So, you're saying I unconsciously want to fuck him?" Hold on… "Well, that's never been the issue; you know I've always been attracted to him… What's the difference now?"
"The difference now is that he's being more receptive. He wants you; Jesus, you should've been able to see the two of you all over each other yesterday. And I'm dying to know what happened after the two of you left."
"Give and take, Hill; I'd like to know how you got that hickey first."
She smiled knowingly at me and didn't even move to cover the obvious bruise. Shrugging, she said, "Duo has a lot of stamina. I think it has something to do with the champagne; only one of two things can happen with his marathon-ic performance: either he kills me or his dick falls off."
I don't know what was funnier, her comment or the looks of surprise of the diners around us.
- - - - -
"You have got to be kidding me."
He raised that obnoxious eyebrow once again; it was absurd how the smallest of his quirks irked me. He was too arrogant, too self-confident, too fucking attractive for normal words to ever make him justice.
We stood there on the wood floor of the docks, staring at the yacht before us. I didn't know I was claustrophobic until now. Spend an entire day with Trowa, alone, with no source of escape? Yes, people, I think I'm getting nervous.
I started to back away, but his hand on the small of my back, though it was a little too low it almost graced my butt, stopped me. He wound the same arm around my waist, folding me to his side, bringing his lips against my ear, his nose shifting my hair.
"You owe me a date."
I turned to glare at him, though it took a lot of self-control seeing as we were mere inches from the other. "Don't twist the situation. It wasn't in your favor. I. Bought. You."
He gave that goddamn beautiful smile again, all dimples and sparkly eyes. Fuck! I sound like a deranged romance novelist!
I walked to the boat before he could say something; I was sure it had to be something terribly sexy from his smile and the way he was leaning into me.
We set sail not much later; it really was a beautiful day. It was like something out of a tourist catalogue; white seagulls, deep blue ocean, one fucking huge yacht and one sexy, Ralph Lauren-look-alike model. What more could a girl possibly ask for?
We had a really great day, even if I do say so myself. He acted like a complete gentleman, civil and respectful, the perfect guide even if I knew New York's coasts like the back of my hand. I caught myself more than once staring entranced at his profile, loving the way the air wove through his hair, shifting every independent strand and making it sparkle with light.
So much had happened on such a short time; how long has it been? A month? I could still hear Hilde's words running through my head, and still I felt nervous whenever I thought too deeply on it. What happened after we left the party? Just thinking about how well we had connected… and that kiss. We had kissed again, much deeper and more desperate on my doorstep, and it had taken all my willpower not to allow him entry.
But hell, he had been so insistent, so passionately coercive, trying to convince me with kisses and licks, whispering sweet nothings against my skin. I even went as far as to consider letting him take me against the hallway wall, right there in the middle of the public passageway, right in front of the elevator. I could just picture Mrs. Stile's shock-ridden face, spluttering nonsense about profanity and fornication in the eyes of God. The prudish old hag. The things he did to me. Needless to say I had pushed him off me as if I had been burned… and in a way, I had. I swear if it hadn't been for Hilde's phone call right then, I would've made the worst mistake possible.
I shivered with just the thought of it, goosebumps rising on my skin just wondering what it must feel—NO!
Fuck!
"Are you feeling okay? You look like you're about to throw up." He grabbed my arm then, and led me a few steps back to sit on a leather-upholstered bench. His proximity was doing surprising things to my body, and for a moment there, when my hands started to feel too clammy and sweaty, I thought I would drop the glass of wine to the floor.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
"I'm feeling wonderful." The sarcasm in my voice didn't go unnoticed by him, apparently, seeing his brows furrow and his lips thin to a grim line.
He hadn't even tried to kiss me today, hadn't even brought up what happened—or almost happened last night. Was I the only one affected by it? I would be damned if I let him know how it had affected me. Damn asshole with the titanium façade.
"Hm." He turned around then, his back to me, his body bent over with his elbows resting on the railing supporting his weight.
God, but he was magnificent. Even in the simple black slacks and white button-down soft cotton shirt, the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows, he looked stunning.
Asshole.
"Why did you accept to come in the first place? You certainly wish you were anywhere else but here."
There was something in his voice, hurt masquerading as curiosity maybe, I was not sure, but there was a tilt of disappointment carrying on his words. "Don't act like you know me."
He snorted, casting a look at me over his shoulders before turning back to look at the sea in front of us. "There's no need; it's pretty obvious you abhor being in my presence." He laughed then, short and abrupt, surprising me with its suddenness, turning around to face me, the lower part of his body still resting against the railing. "How can you turn so cold overnight? Just last night…"
"I attribute that to too many glasses of champagne and beer. Nothing more. Trowa, nothing's going to happen between us; this is just a fake engagement—everything we do or say is just a fluke."
"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself of that. Drunk or not, Relena, you liked it. Don't waste your breath trying to deny it; if it hadn't been for your cell phone, you know what would've happened right there. You enjoyed it, more over, you encouraged it." He pushed off the metal barrier, moving towards me in slow, calculated steps, and in a moment of desperate insanity, I thought of a panther, sleek and powerful, stalking its prey, intent on murder. "You damn well know what will happen if I touch—"
"Get your hands off me." The nerve… "Look here, Trowa. I don't know how else to say this, or how many times will it take for it to get through your thick skull: I don't like you."
"Why?" His tone rose, practically yelling the word. "Why the fuck don't you like me? You can screw half the guys living on this damned island, yet you can't even like me?"
"Oh, please! Like you like me. You just want me to be your fuck buddy! You think you can screw me now and then, whenever you feel like it, and then act like nothing's changed? Newsflash, Casanova, it doesn't work that way. I'm not one of your speed dial whores, always at your beck and call."
He looked stricken for a moment, surprised. I was sure a woman had never talked like this to him before. I was pretty certain I was the first one who hadn't melted at his feet, begging him to take me. Prick.
"I don't think of you like that."
Those, certainly, were not the words I was expecting. Who did he think he was talking to? Who was he trying to fool? I laughed, long and loud, so hard my sides started to hurt. I couldn't stop myself, everything was so out of the loop, so strange and unexpected. When had everything changed so that I lost control of my own life? When did he start to affect me in such a way I found it hard to keep myself from wanting to jump him? I laughed, laughed until tears stung my eyes.
"You expect me… to believe that?" I asked between breaths, suddenly feeling spent, wanting to crawl into my bed and never come out. "Trowa, give me some credit. I don't want anything from you; I don't want you to want me or like me or love me. I don't need any distractions in my life. And you—you are the biggest distraction. Why now? Why now all of a sudden? We've known each other for years, and now you've suddenly developed feelings for me? Don't let this stupid 'engagement' get to your head; you mean nothing to me. You're just someone I work with. You're my coworker; your status in my life will never differ from that."
I didn't even give him a chance to say anything because I walked away, trying my damnedest to just ignore him and pretend. Just pretend nothing had changed.
Last night had been amazing. It was all I could think of as I walked to the back of the boat and took a seat, letting the sun wash over, willing it to erase the look on his face after taking the impact of my words. I wanted to dispel everything he'd said, trying to forget everything, but I knew, deep down that he really liked me. He really did; I wasn't blind or stupid. I'd seen the changes in him, the looks he gave me now and then, the angry tone of his voice whenever I turned him down… But I know it's more like a side-effect of his lust for me than the actual attraction. He wanted me and hated it when I gave other men a chance to be near me; he was jealous that they got to touch me and he didn't. It had always been a matter of pride.
He liked me.
When did things get so complicated?
- - - - -
I've always prided myself on being an intelligent, level-headed woman. I've always been direct, straight to the point, not indulging myself in silly hobbies that make me waste time I could employ on more important, essential things like work. I've always kept myself away from things that distract me from my job, foolish things like love and insipid social gatherings, only assisting when my presence is in high demand.
"Give me another one." The man in front of me looked apologetic; I knew he would tell me slow it down… again. "You're making money; why tell me to stop when you're making profit?"
He sighed, shaking his head before refilling my empty glass with more burgundy liquid. I would have thought I was more intelligent than this; drinking my sorrows and misfortunes away. I couldn't believe I was letting a prick like Trowa Barton get to me like this. I could just imagine his face if he were to see me right then; he'd probably laugh his stupid head off thinking he had the upper hand. And well, to be brutally honest, he did almost have me.
I could still remember the pressure of his body against mine that day at my office, and of course, more recently, the taste of beer and honey from his lips of last night. Fuck.
He was so freaking confusing! He acted like he had a permanent hard-on around me, always trying to kiss me or touch me in some way, yet at the same time, he acted like an utter gentleman, caring and attentive, like he were my fucking boyfriend. And the things he said now and then, those deep, meaningful stares he threw at me, his lingering hand on my back, or his hand on my knee… The possessiveness he showed when he was with me even when we were alone…
"Fuck."
Another shot. How many has it been so far? I couldn't remember the last time I drank this much. And who was counting, anyway? It wasn't like I had someone waiting for me back home. How sad. Not even a pet. How depressing was my life, when one came down to it. A workaholic with no serious relationship to speak of, one real friend, a bitch for a mother, an indifferent father, no siblings, no close family members like a cousin or aunt, and no pet.
I automatically thanked the bartender as he refilled my glass, downing it in one swipe, the once bitter fluid now like water down my hot throat. I didn't think twice when I saw my hands tremble lightly as they held the glass, nor did I think it was funny when the bartender's face started to waver comically in front of me. Talk about being drunk. Here I was, twenty-three, single, and drunk, with no drinking buddy to speak of.
"Need some company?"
I shrugged noncommittally, not really paying attention to the person who had suddenly taken a seat beside me. I waved my hand dismissively, nodding at the bartender to refill my glass. Bourbon. Jolly. "It's a free country."
I don't remember much of what happened after that point.
- - - - -
I can't remember when was the last time I woke up naked, with absolutely no recollection of the previous night, packed up with a pounding migraine and aching limbs. I heard the jingling sounds of a belt and the pit-pat of bare feet against the floor, and knew my bedmate was still lingering around, probably wanting to make a dash before I 'woke up'.
I sighed, closing my eyes, trying to shut the sounds out, relieved when I heard my bedroom door open and then close.
My stomach groaned, just then, the bile in my throat watering my eyes before I made a mad dash across the room to empty my stomach in the toilet. I felt disgusted, humiliated at myself. I wanted, for some reason, to blame Trowa for everything, wanted to blame him for every misfortunate turn my life was taking ever since that stupid day we got swamped into this equally stupid engagement.
I flushed the toilet, ignoring the swooshing water as I headed to the shower, enjoying the cold blast prickle against my skin.
It was his fault, I conceded, it was his fucking fault.
I dressed, for the first time considering actually skipping work and going back to sleep. My stomach wasn't helping much, nor was the hour. It didn't rush me, still. I half expected to see Trowa sitting at my kitchen like he usually was, waiting for me to be ready and head to work together—alas, he wasn't. I tried to ignore my disappointment as I left my apartment and headed to work, deciding to walk, instead of taking the usual cab, not really trusting my unsteady stomach.
It did surprise me, though, when at a quarter to four that day, I still hadn't seen or even heard from Trowa. I'd usually have to barricade my door and screen my phone calls during my day because he's always making a pest of himself, calling for no apparent reason, or turning up at my office and plopping down on my couch to 'watch me work'.
It went this way the entire week, and by Friday, I was actually starting to think he'd either dropped dead or was, more likely, avoiding me. Why would the prick want to avoid me? It wasn't as if our last spar had been different than all the other fights and discussions we'd had over the years. Was he truly hurt, or was he waiting for me to come around and kiss his ass?
As if. Screw him.
By Saturday evening, as I was getting ready to head to my mother's birthday party, I was still expecting him to call. I found myself missing his obnoxious company; I did always enjoy our conversations, and the times we spent together when we weren't fighting or making out. I was really missing his company.
How many times in the last week had I found myself groaning when my thoughts turned this sad, actually wanting him to call me? It was amazing how attached I'(d) grown to him in such few weeks, with him always picking me up to go to work, having breakfast together, exchanging amusing phone calls during the day, an occasional dinner out… It all sounded as if we were a serious, authentic couple.
Dear…
The sudden, unwanted shrill of my cell-phone coming from somewhere on my bed, probably hidden by all the clothes and stuff I had dug from my closet moments before.
"What?" I practically barked into my cell-phone, angry at myself for these thoughts, and angry at the caller for interrupting me.
"Is that the way a proper lady shoulder answer her phone? What if it had been someone else? What if it had been Trowa? Or your father? Or a coworker?"
"Or the fucking President of the United States? Well, I don't know, Mother, I wasn't thinking."
There was a short silence, followed by her clearing her throat. "You should mind your manners, Relena; I don't know how people put up with you."
I sighed; I felt tired suddenly. "Mother, is there a particular reason to your call? I'm almost done getting ready; I'll be there in thirty minutes."
"Oh, yes, I was wondering if you were coming at all. Since you didn't RSVP, I didn't know if you had other plans—"
Un-fucking-believable. "I didn't know I had to RSVP for my mother's birthday party."
There was a sudden rush of air through the earpiece. "Well, you know how these things are, sweetie; you wouldn't want to be left without a seat."
"Don't worry", I hadn't meant to sound so curt, but I swear my mother brought out the worst in me. "I'm going. Include me in the guest's list, wouldn't want someone to deny me entrance to my own house, now would I?"
"Relena, don't be so sarcastic!"
"Mother, really, whatever do you mean?"
The dial tone was all that was left once my mother slammed the phone down on me.
I was such a bitch.
- - - - -
I half expected, half feared running into him, not sure if he would come or not. I'd mentioned the party to him that night at the seafood restaurant and he'd agreed to come, but after our little fight the next day, I wasn't so sure he would even consider coming at all.
By ten o'clock, dinner done and drinks flowing freely around, the fifth glass of whisky in hand, I was certain he wouldn't come. I swept from group to group, not really in the mood to socialize, even though there were over two-hundred people in attendance. I was bored, tired and moody, and just wanted to crawl into my hole and never come out again, when a hand around my waist stopped me.
"Relena, dear," my mother cooed, obviously a little tipsy from the champagne overflowing the party. "Look who I found wandering around all by his lonely self!" I half expected her to hiccup somewhere along the lines, but alas, she did not.
Trowa's striking height behind my mother was hard to ignore, standing well over a foot over my mother's shiny, blond head. His eyes were cold and austere, and his smile was ruthless, but to those around, he looked handsome and charming, like the prodigious son any mother could ever hope for.
I stood there, not sure how to act or react, his presence rendering me still.
What are you doing here? I wanted to ask, but my mother, her smile so wide it was almost fake, prevented me from practically chewing out my 'fiancé' into tiny pieces. I could only smile sweetly. "How nice of you to join us. Trowa."
My mother chucked her tongue at us like a fat mother hen, shaking her head before she grabbed my elbow and pushed me into Trowa's arms. His kiss on my forehead was automatic, bitter as his lips pressed stoically against my skin. "I'm sorry I was late, I couldn't get off soon enough."
I frowned. The cold and wicked glint in his eyes, added to the taunting grin and weird words caught me off guard, and his double-entendre was met straight on. What the fuck? Maybe I was just too paranoid. Happens when you have too many reasons to feel guilty.
"Oh, honey!" My mother gushed, clinging to his arm and looking lovingly at his handsome face. "I'm just glad you could make it. It was about time someone did something for her, she's been moping around all night. She just missed you."
I forced a smile to my lips. She really was drunk; I was two seconds away from snapping at her, but Trowa's strong arm around my shoulders distracted me. I was pulled under his arm, tucked like a child, but somehow, even at this proximity to his warm body, his hold was nonchalant and cold. Dismissive. There was something totally wrong with his demeanor; he wouldn't look me in the eyes, wouldn't smile at me, he hadn't even talked to me—at least not directly.
What the hell was up his ass? Was he seriously pissed off by the way we said goodbye last week? I should be the one upset by his behavior, seeing as he's the one who acted childish by completely ignoring me for one week. One fucking week.
Waiting patiently for my mother to take the hint and hightail it back to her group of friends only made me fidget under Trowa's arm, all nerves and anxiety, two emotions I rarely came across. I was intensely aware of the weight of his arm around my shoulders, the pressure of his hip on my side, the brush of his thigh against mine; it seemed as if my senses were extra sensitive, perhaps it was due to our time apart, or maybe to my part-time paranoia… I was not sure.
My mother had just turned around, her hair up in her stylish braided bun, when Trowa had already dropped his arm from my shoulders, bringing his glass of dark whiskey for a long, bitter drink. He did not look at me, his eyes were a dark emerald, hard and cold, as if he was absent of any emotion, the warmth of his presence completely gone.
"What the fuck is your problem?" I hissed out, smiling still, our 'engagement' a never ending show.
"Nothing," he replied smoothly. His look froze me, that familiar, mocking grin baffling me. "Just playing my part in this fiasco; isn't that what you wanted?"
It went further downhill from there. All night he acted as his usual charming self, all smiles and gentlemanly favors, his savvy personality smooth and polished to a shine. Every single reporter in attendance, every single partygoer and doe-eyed, teenaged girl enamored by his charm and wit, in absolute wonder by our stellar, match-made-in-heaven union. Yet, and this is one big, cold-dwelling yet, he was everything but cold in his demeanor towards me. He was callous and biting, his remarks sarcastic and he tried to shoot me down whenever he found the chance.
I don't know why I let him. Perhaps I was way too shocked by his cold attitude, for not even once did he try to make a pass on me, not a flirtatious wink or a tempting comment made it past his cold façade. He really was upset, by what, I was not certain. The fact that he was angry by our fight the other day was too ridiculous a notion; who would believe a man like Trowa Barton, too suave to let even a hair be out of place, would get tossed out by a mere dispute? Something was off, terribly off, and in my conscience, I was afraid and guilty of what the real reason might be.
More frightening was the fact that I actually cared about all this. Perhaps the realization I came to a week ago had thrown me into a jumbled mess of emotional disturbance, not really trained on these fields—but just knowing he actually liked me, at least by the feeling I got from our discussion the other day, was setting me off balance. I, deep down, wanted things to go back to the way they were, that casual familiarity, the tenacious, yet comical back-and-forth we used to carry on for hours, doing our best to jest and out-wit the other out—everything was different. And I knew it was because of me.
However, in the midst of exchanging casual words with two other couples, I was summoned by Pagan at my father's request. The whole scenario of him waiting for me at his study was not sitting well among my hunches. Something was not right, his sudden interest in me making all the alarms and red lights in my brain go into chaos.
Just as I expected, perhaps from long years of proverbial knowledge, of common routine, he was sitting behind his burgundy desk, the imposing furniture at once demanding and foreboding. He smoked his Cuban cigar with ease, his large body draped over the dark leather chair with a casualness that had my nerves going on overdrive.
"Close the door and take a seat."
It was like the sound of the lions' gate creaking open, doom falling on the gladiator's fighting field. It was ominous at best, this feeling of impending doom once his voice rang out, cold, hard and authoritative. He was the classical patriarch figure, demanding and commanding, ruthless and cold, goal driven, always in his primetime. It didn't matter the years that sat comfortably on his broad shoulders, because my father, despite his age still held all the power and authority in his crisp manners.
I did as I was told, the motion bringing me back to my years of living in this house, trembling just thinking what I did wrong to be summoned to his study, knowing whatever misadventure would undoubtedly be punished in one way or another. He was a man who didn't bother himself with little things as family traditions or menial routines as being the father figure, yet when things clashed with his plans or his own routine, we had a problem.
"Tell me, honey," he started right off the bat, nonsense cast aside. "How are things going with this fella of yours?"
Not what I was expecting, that's for sure. "Please, dad, you know how things are."
He let out a puff of dark smoke, his bushy eyebrow crooking at once. "I wouldn't ask you if I already knew the answer, now would I?"
"No, sir. Things are… okay. I just don't understand why I have to go through this, it's nonsense! Everyone know I'm not going to marry Trowa, this is just another one of my mother's stupid games!"
"Watch your mouth." He admonished harshly, and then took another drag of his cigar. "I obviously can't leave things to your mother, expecting them to execute accordingly."
I frowned.
"You're my only child, Relena, I'm sure you're aware of this."
Well, color me blind. I, wisely, held my tongue and nodded instead.
"And I'm sure you're aware of how things in our world work, don't you?"
I shifted in my seat, feeling a nervous edge filter through my limbs, materializing into the shaking of my fingers. I pressed my cold hands between my knees. "In what aspect are you referring to?"
"In the aspect of your engagement to Barton, of course. Personally I would have preferred Winner, but somehow, for reasons unfathomable to me and those only your mother would understand, she picked out Tristan's son instead."
At once—his words hadn't even finished climbing off his lips—I felt the sudden rush of heat and fear and anxiety seize my insides, making the hairs at the back of neck stand on end and goose-bumps rise on my arms and chest. I tried to conjure the bigger image, tried to condone their motives and justify them, tried to picture my role in the grander scheme of things, I even tried to picture Trowa, him knowing this all along, but I felt short of breath. I could hear my furious heartbeat, and I knew I was going to start hyperventilating any minute now. I tried to calm myself, tried to keep myself cool and collected, not wanting to let the imposing figure of my father chastise me for overreacting, for acting foolish and, quite frankly, childish for acting overly dramatic for matters I should've foreseeing long ago. For matter I should've expected.
And here I thought this had all being a foolish attempt to please the hearts of two bored, high-society women.
"Now, I understand you accepted, quite on your own, following your mother's vague plan; I'm not certain she's captured the idea as a whole, I'm sure she painted this as a whole philanthropic fantasy of her own to try to convince you to play along with and for her, if at least for a while, am I correct?" I could only nod, trying to gather all his words and match them up into comprehensible phrases for future examination.
"I have, at her request, waited this long to put these plans into motion. I've put up with your discourteous behavior, I allowed you to move out on your own, gave you the liberty to chose any career of your liking, and let you wander around to play your immoral games at your whim. I think, to put it quite frankly, I've been very patient and accommodating with your needs, Relena—Now it's time you play your part as the sole heiress to this family."
The impending doom that his words left on their wake wasn't for nothing.
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I don't know how long I stayed there, even when my father left the room, smiling to himself, especially after bending over to kiss my temple in a show of fatherly appreciation that didn't suit him… at all.
Stupefaction—that's how I would call my current state. Disoriented, bewildered, astonished, stunned, shocked, confounded, in utter, unabashed awe were just a few synonyms of how stupidly bound I found myself.
I made my way outside, barely noticing the place was still packed, even after spending god-knows-how-long in the torture chamber I now call my father's study. I waited for the pre-arranged limousine at the curb in front of the house, not even bothering to grab my coat, just wishing to get the hell out of there as soon as possible.
The cold was just starting to seep into my skin when at last the shiny black limo pulled over and I scrambled in, not even giving the driver a chance to unbuckle his seatbelt. Imagine my surprise when I land on top of a whiskey-smelling body, scampering off and landing in a heap, all grace and whatnot, on the seat across.
Trowa's eyes, deep black in the darkness of the car, regarded me with an almost thoughtful expression, sweeping over my face and landing on my eyes, before flickering downward and then up again. My skin flushed at once, I could feel already the heat pouring all over from the tips of my toes, to the tips of my ears from the sheer lust in his gaze as his eyes raked over me wantonly, unabashedly, before propping his feet on either side of my body, against the edge of the seat I rested on, preventing me from moving or escaping.
"Where did you go?"
His voice was harsh and demanding, leaving no room for excuses except the truth. But that truth I still couldn't quite grasp in its enormity, and completely refusing to tell him all the same. I wasn't prepared to accept my father's ultimatum, at least not yet, and neither was I ready to recruit Trowa into 'the plans'.
"What's it to you?"
It was, obviously, the answer he was not expecting. He surged forward so suddenly I could only gasp, pushing back against the leather as if the space inside the confines of the limo could provide me much maneuverability.
The pressure of his kiss was unexpected, the force behind it, the power that led to alternative but involuntary submission was frightening. He pressed and pushed, and I could only sit there, unresponsive, shocked by the sheer brutality of his actions as he pressed one hand on my breast over my dress and pushed the other one into my coifed hair. Even more shocking was feeling his hands shoving my knees apart, his body settling between my parted limbs—it was enough to bring me back on full alert, placing my hands flat on the space below his clavicles and pushing him back mightily.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
We were both breathing harshly, our chests rising and falling in fast beats, unsynchronized and chaotic. He regarded me in drunken admiration, before those same eyes narrowed and almost seemed to glare.
"It's funny you ask; you should know."
I frowned while at the same time, righting my dress. "Oh, yeah? Didn't I tell you to keep your fucking hands off me?"
His taunting switched rapidly to anger, his words at once crude and biting. "So, you're telling me you can fuck just about anything with a dick on this fucking country, yet you can't even i pretend /i you like me?"
He knows… It was all I could think of. "What are you…?"
"Playacting won't work this time, Relena." He swiveled lightly when the car pulled a turn to the right, and it took him some fumbling to gather his balance in his inebriated state. "What else do I have to do? Tell me!"
He grabbed my wrist in a fierce grip, yanking me towards him in one swift, powerful pull. I felt my wrist pull in a painful way, but he didn't notice, too far-gone in his rage. He pulled me so close our noses touched, but it was equally easier to hear the venom leaving his lips in whispered taunts. "How much do I have to pay? After all that's happened, I don't think you believe in love or anything associating with it, do you? What does it take to make you open your legs? A few hundreds?" He shook his head, mockingly admonishing himself. "I bet you'd cost grands. Must be the good stuff, huh—"
This time, I could definitely hear the bone in my wrist crack and twist painfully as the force of my hand hit the side of his face in an echoing slap.
The pain was well worth it.
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To be continued…
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Okay, I'll post a review I got on BI by a dear friend and assiduous reader and my reply to her comments and shocked reaction to this chapter. I know most of you have been left feeling out on a limb, or don't understand Trowa's reaction, or Relena's parents' scheming, or certain other aspects that developed in this chapter… So, to save myself some redundant comments, I will post my explanation here so that you can have a general idea of how I view things and what I wanted to portray in this chapter.
Either way, if you still want have other questions, please, ask away! I'd be my pleasure to answer every one of them!
Don't forget to review! Please! Remember I'm a feedback whore! I need to know if you liked it or now, why you did or why the HELL you didn't (kidding!). Tell meeeeee!
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The following review has been edited to keep it 'on topic'
"Why have a family when you're going to be a autocratic patriarch? Family has a very specific meaning; and love is the epitome of it. If you're a patriarch, or matriarch with an attitude like Daddy's, then why the hell does he have a family in the first place? Relena should be a slave for all his tyrannical mindset and behavior!"
Well, there are many logical possibilities. One, for example, people has different ways of loving. And we don't even have to go that far, let's say 'caring'. People care in different ways and measures. Perhaps you don't necessarily have to love someone, but you do respect them and honor their wishes. That's caring enough.
There are other cases, and here I know I'll sound cold-hearted—where parents just don't know. Perhaps it's not because they don't –love-, but more of an issue that they don't know how to. They think that just by spoiling their kids, by letting them do whatever they want, they're doing their jobs.
Now, boot that second scenario with a wealthy lifestyle and cold-blooded people who eat up appearance and attention… You get the Peacecrafts and Kara Barton. Bloodsuckers.
Relena's the heiress to their fortune; she's the only daughter so she gets to control their business and affairs once they retire. It's common knowledge, even if it's unpractical and antiquated, for families, especially European families, to prearrange marriages between two families (lots of things in common such as background, lifestyle, traditions, etc.; it be because of honor, tradition or financial convenience).
"Monster. That made me crazier than Trowa's losing it.
Relena--GET OUT OF THAT CAR! Just leave. No matter who Trowa is--(my armpiece)--alarms should be going off everywhere! Seriously! Get out of the limo, get out of the City, get out of the job. When that kind of treatment is shoved on you, just leave, babe. Based on Trowa's behavior, he deserves to be left hanging. Now...if he cleans up his act or the whatnot forgive-me-i'm-on-my-knees, then maybe you can start speaking to him again. Poor, poor Relena. Trowa, YOU BETTER START YOUR OWN ROSE PLANTATION, CONSIDERING THE AMOUNT OF ROSES IT'LL TAKE TO GET HER TO EVEN LOOK AT YOU, AGAIN!"
But see… I thought his behavior was only logical. The downside when you write from one character's perspective is that it's difficult to know what all the other characters are feeling and thinking. I threw a few hints here and there about Trowa finding out Relena has slept with someone else.
Now, along the story, I've pictured and tried to convey that picture of Trowa being the ultimate alpha male in the pack. He's overconfident, arrogant, a player, rich and pompous… All the no-no's. Yet, he's sexy, charming, handsome, and a gentleman. He has good and bad, which lures women to him.
Then we have Relena, she's cold, and hardworking. She doesn't like getting involved, yet isn't too averse to having some fun now and then. Maybe she thinks she doesn't need someone by her side, an emotional link. It's pretty clear when she has that conversation with her mother on chapter one. Even her mother confirmed it. Perhaps Relena doesn't fall in love so easily, especially after she's used to men lusting after her. Then again, she doesn't give them the chance to really start something.
THEN, we have them, Relena and Trowa, two perfect human beings (in the physical sense). Trowa's been after Relena for almost five years, and she's never given them the chance. What we don't know for sure is why exactly Trowa is after her. Is it because he wants her? Just lust and pleasure? Or is it because he's really interested in her? Maybe he really likes her, enjoys her presence and all that jazz. But Relena's a hardhearted woman; she won't believe he really likes her given his past/history with women. She thinks she's just another date in Trowa's agenda.
At the beginning we see it could probably be true since he's so intense (make-out scene at her office, chapter four), and she's thinks he's after her with the sole purpose of satiating his libido (something she has said several times throughout the fic). But along the way, especially on chapter six, we see subtle changes in Trowa. We can see a genuine change in his demeanor, the things he said, and the way he acted around her. And Relena's starts to doubt herself and his motives. She doesn't want to be attracted to him because deep down, she still believes Trowa's plans are just to bed her and cast her aside as he's done with all his past conquests. She doesn't want to become another patch on Trowa's history.
Then the worst happened: Relena, after turning down Trowa that night after they left the restaurant (chapter six), and then fighting with him and being downright hostile during their 'date' early in chapter seven—she sleeps with some other guy (his identity is unimportant) and Trowa somehow finds out. Maybe he did go the next morning to pick Relena up for work and she saw him walking out (that's what I pictured when writing that part). Imagine the rage he must have felt to learn that she could sleep with a complete stranger (at least to him; he doesn't know if Relena know the guy or not) yet not him? Add to this a few too many drinks of whiskey and a temperamental guy, you get chaos.
Now, some people turn boresome, feeling depressed and things of the sort when they drink; others experience hyperactivity (me!), people who laugh and joke when they've drunk over their limit… and then we have the other group, those who act on their feelings, and can be quite hostile or violent when they get angry. Or jealous.
I do agree with your general dislike of Trowa's behavior… but I believe, really believe it's understandable. Imagine practically begging someone for something; let's say… a piece of chocolate. And you beg, day in, day out and then after a while… They give that chocolate to someone else; and when you ask for another piece, they tell you 'no'. Man, that sucks!
I suck at giving examples…
"Andrea, you did a good job of making Relena a strong person. Now she just needs to become a more substantial person--all that decadence is bad for her heart"
Well, this story can't be all daisies and lilies. I've kept her strong throughout the story, even if I've made her more emotional, because as GG once said, she's only human. She has the right to –feel-. I don't think of Relena as unsubstantial, au contraire! She's strong-minded, hard working, and so emotionally complicated you'd wish she was more simplistic.
And as a small, miniscule tidbit, there are some points in this fic that come from personal reference or experience. So some things may sound or seem outrageous, but they do happen.
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Well, that's it, people! I love you all for reading this, and waiting for me! I'll try to post more often. :huggles:
