Disclaimer: I own nothing.

AN: This ff uses the daily prompts created for the #Hyareth Week 2022.

Many thanks to Djcwrites hosting and to my very efficient beta Coeurs_de_Coeurs.💜

Happy reading!❤️

Chapter II : Tuesday, Bloody Tuesday

"It's time to wake up."

Gareth rolled over, putting his arm over his face at the bright sun pouring in from the window.

"Did you have to open the curtains?"

A welcome breeze ruffled his hair, as he blinked a few times.

"I have been waiting for you. Until I realised your lazy ass wasn't out of bed yet." Her voice was trying to sound stern but failing. How amusing the situation was to her, he couldn't fanthom.

"I hate Tuesday."

She laughed, turning to face him with her bright smile, her blue eyes shining, a lovely neckline hinting at her cleavage.

"Didn't you promise me an adventure though?"

Gareth sucked in a breath despite the pounding in his head. The twinkle in her gaze made her so alive, so vibrant, so different from all the girls he was used to. So different from his wretched body and soul.

He wanted to kiss her. Kiss her, really kiss her, nothing like the kisses he shared with other women. As if she was his, as if he was hers. As if she belonged with him, and he could be allowed a lifetime of kissing her.

Shaking his head, he struggled to rein in his urges, to withdraw his gaze from her body before she could catch him.

Of course, Gareth would have been a fool not to notice that she was but female. But it was so easy to forget that Hyacinth was a pretty woman; she swore and drank as much as any man present.

And she never wore anything that hinted at her soft curves, not at any concert, not in any pubs or even at an after party. She was nothing if not professionally dressed.

Always playing the part of the young journalist struggling to be taken seriously. So different from all the groupies around him.

But for once, it wasn't the evening yet. This wasn't night. And she had never looked prettier than in the sunshine.

Gareth gulped slowly, trying to pretend he wasn't started by her appearance. Hyacinth was his friend, not some random women he could fuck with.

Tightening his fists to keep from reaching for her, he sat on his bed, keeping the sheet around his middle so that she wouldn't see the obvious reaction of his body to hers.

"I did, didn't I? But you'd do well to remember that I'm definitely up to no good."

Hyacinth arched a brow, crossing her arms on her chest. Gareth scanned the floor with an interest he couldn't have faked if he had meant to.

"Why do you pretend you're such a bad boy?"

A slight sneer marred his features, his darkening eyes meeting hers.

"Do you pretend to be anything but a good girl?"

"You'd be surprised," she grinned. She bit her lip as she finally noticed he was waiting for her to leave the room so that he could get dressed. "I'll... I'll wait outside." A faint blush on her cheekbones, she closed the door behind her.

Gareth shook his head. Hyacinth was so easy to love. So precious. So perfect. If only he could keep her with him for more than the tour.

If only he wasn't such a wretched man.

If only he was not Gareth St. Clair.

A bitter laugh escaped him, because technically he certainly wasn't a St. Clair.

Meeting his father hadn't been planned. Not here, in this place where his grandmother used to take him, that held some of his fonder memories.

He had been careless, so enthralled was he by Hyacinth's antics that he had forgotten to avoid the man at all cost.

And even though she couldn't understand half of their conversation, Hyacinth had been nothing but pleasant. Gareth could kiss her just for how collected she had behaved.

"Are you okay?"

Her voice was soft, caring. Oh, how he hated the pity he could see in her eyes. His jaw clenched as he nodded quickly.

"He's worse than in my memory."

Gareth froze, surprised. "You... You know my father?"

How the word was ironic, on his lips more than anyone else's.

"I met him once or twice at a few parties when I was younger."

With a pained thud, Gareth remembered that Hyacinth was well-connected, very well so. She was a Bridgerton. He had almost forgotten, so determined was she to make a name for herself without her brother's or her family's influence.

"I know your grandmother too. She's a lovely lady."

His laughter was genuine as he searched her face for any sign of humor.

"Wait, you're serious?"

She raised her chin in defiance. "I am, she's a true lady! I always hoped to be more like her!"

Gareth's shoulders shook with mirth. He wiped the small tears from the corner of his eyes. Grandma Agatha, a lady!

"I used to read to her when I was in high school, you know. She was always so lonely..."

He bit his lips, watching her profile intently. Did she mean to criticize him?

"I- I was- busy," came his weak reply, as he avoided her gaze.

"Of course, you were away a lot on tour, weren't you?"

Merely nodding, Gareth looked elsewhere.

These were not the proudest moments of his life, as he had lost himself in drugs and alcohol to cope with grief. Ignoring the grandmother who had cared for him since he was a teenager, paid for his music classes and even helped him get set up with a label.

As he glanced at her, her blue soft eyes were staring at him, taking in his frown, the tension in his shoulders. Only a few things escaped Hyacinth's notice.

Which was what made her such a good journalist and such a dangerous woman to hang out with.

"She was the one who found me the internship, did you know?"

No, Gareth didn't know.

Once the sun had set and he had crawled out of his drunken stupor, he had been too ashamed He has been too ashamed to do more than reach out via the occasional greeting card and the monthly stipend he sent her.

He was a worthless son of a bitch, and he had made his peace with it. No point in dragging his grandma down that road.

"Does she..."

Hyacinth teeth sank into her bottom lip.

"She does. She talks about you often. You should try meeting with her at some point." Her nose wrinkled. "Well, once we're finished with this diary, but I'd understand if..."

But Gareth wasn't listening anymore. His gaze was fixed on the small indentation, on the shape of her mouth. She had been sent by his grandmother then.

Fury coursed his veins at the thought that try as he might, he would never be free from his family. Although it was for different reasons, he would always be a disappointment to them.

The urge to show her his true colours burned him raw. He couldn't help himself. He needed to warn her. To hurt her. To make her flee. Run away and never come back.

"Would you come back to the hotel with me, Hyacinth?"

His stance was debonair enough, despite the threatening undertone, that she snorted.

"Do you need me to walk you and tuck you into bed, Gareth?"

Her laughed died as his eyes flashed with anger. He caught his wrists bringing her to him.

"I had a dream and- fuck- you couldn't keep your hands of me."

There. It wasn't even a lie. It wasn't even a-

Her eyes closed briefly as she inhaled softly. This was... This was unexpected. Could it be that-

"Hyacinth."

His voice was hoarse as he drank her in. Her little nose, the small smile which was faltering on her lips.

"Tell me to stop," Gareth whispered against her ear. Almost begged. He was the embodiment for all that was bad, and she, bless her, a fetching little thing, she was-

"I-"

Hyacinth gulped, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She stared into his eyes.

"I won't," she finally breathed out.

And all was lost.

All was lost and Gareth couldn't stop himself, despite the fact that anyone could see them, anyone could recognise him, anyone would recognise her...

He wanted her, wanted to taint her just a little, to make her his just this once.

To feel a bit more worthy because a girl like Hyacinth had kissed him.

He dipped his head, lowering his mouth to hers. And he kissed her, kissed her, kissed her.

He could feel her softening against him, her fingers grasping his hair as her breasts met the hard planes of his body.

She moaned when his hands found her bottom, pressing her hips to his, crushing her against the nearest wall, her thighs opening to cradle the length of him.

He left her lips with a small groan, licking a path down the side of her throat. She arched against him, his for the ravishing.

She was perfect in his arms, and no doubt she would perfect in bed- under him, above him, around him.

Perfect for him.

The birds were no longer singing when his eyelids opened to lightness. It was well past noon.

A knock on the door made him aware that the throbbing wasn't all in his head.

"Gareth. It's Daniel."

The muffled voice made him grimace. Damn the man. Always interrupting his dreams. Not that they were worth remembering. But there wasn't much else Gareth still had, was there?

In a daze he got up, shrugged his briefs on, before opening the door.

His eyes took in the empty bed as his manager came in.

"It must be Tuesday again."