Disclaimer: I own nothing.
AN: This ff uses the daily prompts created for the #Hyareth Week 2022.
Many thanks to Djcwrites for hosting, huge and many well deserved thanks to my lovely beta Coeurs_de_Coeurs.💜
Alpha love to the wonderful Cinnamonbun24 & many thanks to HannahPelham her kind encouragements..💜
Spotify link: playlist [/] 5G7aagPtoETyfhTo9WfAE2 [?] si [=] 9414fe99ffe84d6b
See you tomorrow, and as usual, happy reading!❤️
Chapter IV : But Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend
"You're drinking again..."
Her voice was soft, understanding- Gareth hated it right away.
"So it seems," he answered, tossing his drink quickly, ordering a new one with his free hand.
The barman hurriedly poured him a new glass, despite the glare on the woman beside him. Gareth had long since learnt that a good tip went a long way.
"I wish you'd stop."
Why was she still talking? He longed to rip her fucking blonde head off.
"You're not my mom."
She opened her mouth, ready to argue that she was looking out for him, and why but she thought they were having a fine time.
"Don't bother, you're not even my type: I won't fuck you."
He turned on his heels, leaving her with her mouth hanging open.
A small laugh slipped past his throat as he thought that a long time ago, she had been exactly his type. Blonde, bosomy, brainless. Dumb and desperate had been his favourite.
Gareth had not taken two strides from the bar that his manager was already upon him.
Daniel looked ready to murder him, his thin lips cinched in a frown. He decided to answer with his usual callousness.
"Keep your slut away."
"She isn't my..." Daniel pinched the bridge of his nose, seemed to count to ten before he tried speaking again. "For God's sake, Gareth! She was just a kid!"
Gareth shrugged. A kid shouldn't expect him to take her back to his hotel room. Maybe she didn't deserve his bluntness, but if not him, someone else was bound to call her worse slurs... Anyway, Gareth didn't do younger girls anymore.
Another guffaw left his lips. To think that once upon a time, Gareth had been so very smooth, he could have charmed the pants off any girl. Any women. And even a few men. He never claimed to understand women in any way, but he had been so very charming that they were all attracted to him, like bees to honey, if he damn well wanted.
But all that was a long time ago. Before the slender, clever brunette that had stomped on the pieces of his heart. Destroyed his creativity. Left him drained out, broken. Doomed to a silence worse than in his childhood. A chilling stillness he had not been able to climb out of this time.
Music had not been an escape anymore when every rhyme, every keynote has been so entwined with Hyacinth. When he could remember kissing down her body as she half-rested on his piano, kissing her as she tried to play his guitar, kissing her and taking her on every piece of furniture he owned, his music scores long forgotten around them.
For a man who was always on the road and never home, it sure seemed that she had touched all the important stuff he had, the few things he travelled with.
How could he have escaped her?
How could he have avoided her memory?
How could he have ever entertained the idea to write music again?
Daniel had however pulled a few strings to get him invited to this party, so Gareth supposed he ought to make an effort.
"I'll behave," he finally said. "But no more chaperones. Let me drink in peace."
Cursing under his breath, Daniel shook his head. "Just be nice."
He left with a small tap on his shoulder.
Gareth rolled his eyes, looked up at the ceiling. He hated these parties with all these snobbish people. It reminded him too much of his father, of his former life. Of what he could have become if his father had deemed him good enough to handle his legacy.
But of course, for that to happen, Gareth would have had to share the man's blood. It should have been a relief that he's didn't. Still the boy he had been had tried so much to please his father, had struggled so much to make him proud, had been so desperate for his love, that all Gareth actually felt was failure.
If he had been lovable enough, wouldn't the man have loved him despite his mother's straying ways? He had given Gareth his name, the protection of his home, paid for his studies... But only until George had left the house.
All the man had done was on behalf of his other son. His real, his only son. The son who had died in a unfortunate accident, leaving a young widow, and a boyish brother who was not even twenty. Half-brother, he thought with a sneer. Would George have loved him the same if he had known the truth of his birth? That they didn't share the same father?
He dragged his hand through his hair. Fuck Daniel. He needed a drink.
Unclenching his jaw, he plastered a pleasant smile on his face as he made his way to the alcohol. Small talk, politeness, and pleasant behaviour; how difficult could it be? He used to do it all the time.
A dainty laugh startled him. Gareth froze, his head searching the crowd. It couldn't be. It certainly wasn't-
He blinked.
He knew those curves. He had pounded that fine ass on a regular basis. He had run his lips over every inch of that back. He had nibbled at all along that nape, He could even remember vividly where was that faint scar that she hid; the one due to her brother not holding her bike steady anymore and her falling down as a result. As if it was shameful that she had been human and afraid as a child.
The laugh could be heard again. And there were not more doubts.
It was her.
Gareth scoffed. He was going mad. That was it.
It was the lack of drugs. Prentice was a cold bastard; he should never have agreed to stay clean. At last, being high prevented him from seeing Hyacinth.
Hyacinth.
He took her in once more. Drinking in the apparition of her, that unpredictable mirage.
She had never looked more beautiful. The curve of her hips was rounder, more feminine that she ever was in faded blue jeans, and all he could think was that he still wanted her.
Despite the years, despite the hurt, despite the endless strings of women he had bedded in the meantime.
Another breathless little laugh left her mouth, her hand raising to rest on some man's arm. What was she doing here? Faking some attraction for some stupid fucker? Had she become like all these shallow women he used to despise?
She had been so young back then. So sweet. So eager in his arms... It was just like him to take something so pure and beautiful, and taint it- destroy it. Destroy her.
No. Fuck it.
She had left him. Not the other way around.
She had decided he wasn't worth the fight anymore.
She had decided-
She was laughing. Again. A diamond ring glinted on her finger.
She had found him with his head in his hands, his mouth haggard as he had tossed yet another drink.
The letter had left him up flayed opened, raw in a way he hadn't felt since George's death.
Without a word, she had taken him back home. Not his. Hers.
Not that it mattered anyway, he was in too much of a daze to notice much of anything.
Not that it mattered furthermore, since home had become where she was.
Nonetheless, it was the first time he had ever been allowed at her place. If only he had been more conscious. More understanding of how trusting she was being. More capable of discerning all that was happening. What he was doing. How he was abusing her and her gentleness.
But Gareth was so high, so drunk, so damaged that he didn't remember much; how many times he took her. How many times he had licked down her body, taken her in his mouth, pleasured her until she had cried out for mercy, her voice hoarse, her nails digging in his skin. How many hours he had spent in deep slumber after, as she had called Daniel to reschedule his concerts, as he was in no way capable to being on stage; and he was totally unaware of but all.
All he had known was the endless pit of despair, so overwhelming, from so deep within his very bones, and how he fucking ached to make it go away. To forget but for a minute.
The words mocked him, the voicemail as vindicative as the letter, perhaps even more.
"You foolish boy, don't you know by now?"
"You'll never be more than a mongrel, a bastard that his own father didn't want, couldn't be bothered to care about..."
"Everything you do is because of me. I've heard that you're going out with that pretty Bridgerton girl. Just after I told you weren't good enough for her. How quickly you took the bait. As if she'll have you if she knew the truth." His father had laughed cruelly."She'll leave you."
How was it that the man still affected him? How was it that he was still bothered by him? Would he ever be able to get over it?
Instead of dwelling on the thoughts, Gareth continued to love Hyacinth, desperately, anxiously, trying to prove to himself that she was there, she was in his arms, around him, underneath him... That her body was his, even if her soul maybe was not. That making love to her branded her, bound her to him.
"Don't want anyone else, no one can make me feel like you do," he kept whispering against her mouth, in the hollow bellow her ear, as he lavished her collarbones, his lips trailing paths on every inch of her skin - brash, hungry, unyielding.
With few complaints, Hyacinth always opened herself to him, her eyes earnest, her arms holding him tight, her thighs parting easily for him to nestle into her.
"Gareth, did you see-"
He had kissed her to make her silent, his hands grabbing her bottom, bringing her to him. To his mouth. To his desperate desire.
Because he knew what she was asking, and he was not willing to answer. He was not. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
How can I keep her, God, how can I keep her?
At first, he had thought these were his: Hyacinth didn't do drugs. She was a sweet little thing, so young and naïve, so pure and wholesome... So different from his jaded, unworthy self.
The little pills taunted him, mocked him, his father's voice appearing on them. By then he was fairly certain they weren't his.
"She'll leave you."
But Gareth would gladly kiss the very ground she walked on for the rest of his life if she only let him. If she forgave him.
Still, her legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust into her, over and over again, coming in her tightness each and every time. Elation filled his mind. Yes, yes, yes, the monster in his chest was feasting on happiness. On covetousness, yearning and infatuation equal part of his delight.
Because she was his.
She was his.
Only his.
He woke up to her sniffles. Day time had never hindered his sleep, but the missing warmth of her body often did.
Hyacinth had reached for his shirt on the bedside table. The crumpled letter had fallen from his pocket. The letter and his mother's ring he stuffed into it. At some point, despite the fog he had been stumbling through these past days, he managed to find it in the back of some drawer.
What had seemed like a perfectly fine idea suddenly seemed terrible. His heart dropped to his stomach. Was he going to lose her because of his foolishness?
When Gareth had understood what he had taken, he had sworn to put it all back, as soon as possible. But the little voice in the back of his head was still asking for another hour, another day. Another opportunity to make love to her. To mark her as his.
"She'll leave you."
His worst fears seemed little in comparison of her distraught blue eyes in the light of the early morning. She was crying. Not with sadness. No, Hyacinth was mad, positively enraged.
Her voice was rough, hollow as she finally caught her breath enough to face him.
"Did you... Did you plan any of this?"
Gareth knew what she was asking. Still, he looked at her, cowardly trying to appear confused. "Whatever do you mean?"
She pursed her lips, inhaled slowly, probably to stop herself from shouting in a fury, or pounding his chest with her little fists.
"Was I a pawn in your never-ending ending fight with your father?" Her voice was rising with each word. "A way to show him that you could better him?"
His heart dropped to his stomach. Was he losing her? Had he already lost her?
Swallowing a pained gasp, she kept asking all the questions he had could give no answer for. "Was I a point you wished to make clear?"
"Hyacinth, please don't read more into it than..."
"Clear as crystal."
More furious tears leaked from his eyes. "Did you hope I would get pregnant and marry you? Were you trying to trap me?"
Shamed, he took in her pained features. Her mouth tightly pinched in-between each sentence, gulping huge amounts of air, to prevent anything close to sobs to wrack her frame. She had too much pride for that.
How he wanted to reach out and crush his mouth to hers, apologize and kiss her better, but-
"Couldn't you just have cared enough to ask?"
He met her bright eyes, trying to shake his head. But she was so young, thought Gareth. She was so young and it had all been a mistake. Each time he was sober enough, he had meant to put them back, before he had forgotten yet again in the mist of his insanity.
"Hyacinth, you don't understand... My father-"
"I don't care about your blood!" Her fierce cry startled him. "I only cared about you!"
His heart pounded, his chest aching in a way he had never experienced before. Was that the sound of his own heart breaking? If he could, Gareth was pretty sure he would have started crying too. But he couldn't. He had no more tears in his body since his brother's death. He never again wanted to hurt like he did back then.
But relentlessly, Hyacinth kept talking; kept trying to drive her point through to him, no affording any time to take in all she was saying. "I knew what I was doing the first time," she said as if the words were skinning her alive. Disgusted her. "When I slept with you."
He flinched as if she had slapped him. Had it been just sex for her? Was that why she was reacting this way? Was that why the story of this true parentage didn't bother her?
"I knew it was a risk. And I was willing to take it because– because-" she choked on her words. Turning to face the other way, she pressed her knuckles to her mouth. "I'm a fool. I'm such a fool."
"Hyacinth..."
She kicked at him as she tugged the sheets from the bed, pulling them with her as she struggled to get up. "Don't touch me!"
He could see her body shuddering with a violent gasp, as if ripped from her very soul.
"Gareth, I-"
Hyacinth pressed the heels of her hands on her eyes, inhaling slowly. "I'm going to Italy next week," she finally said.
He nodded, trying to appease her. He had heard so on the phone. He had hoped it was just part of his bad dreams, as he didn't know what he'd do without her, but it seemed it was true.
"Is there any reason for me to come back?"
There were. There were so many. But Gareth sat frozen, too numb to say anything, too astonished to utter a word. Because- where could he start?
"Gareth," she repeated.
Her eyes were desperate, pleading with him to say something, anything.
For all her toughness, Hyacinth was inherently good. Soft-heartened. Pliable if it fit in with her own plans. She would never hurt him intently, but she surely wouldn't put herself in a position in which she would get hurt.
His blue eyes bore into hers, incapable of saying anything more. Of uttering another lie, nor another truth. Did it even matter? Didn't she deserve better than his sorry self? His wretched soul?
As silence stretched on, she finally got fully off the bed, on the verge of bolting.
"I'll-" she gulped, apparently terrified to complete her sentence. "I'll reach out if I happen to be... I'll keep in touch if-"
Still in a daze, Gareth merely nodded. It must be that, he had thought wryly, how empires collapsed. Not in heart-wrenching sobs, nor in trying pleas. But merely in silence. He fell back on the pillows, wondering if he should try to stop her. If he should plead and beg. If only for a last chance. But he already knew he had had way too many.
And when his father's lawyers started to sue his stupid ass, asking for some diary and specific possessions from his nonna that he wasn't supposed to have as he wasn't her grandchild, but that George had deemed fit to left with him – not that he cared, not that Gareth had ever cared, Hyacinth was nowhere to be found.
She had left. She had left and never called again.
He didn't remember walking to her and clearing his throat loudly, but he must have.
Suddenly, she was smiling at him as if he was an old friend, an acquaintance she had definitely missed, and oh, what a surprise- how nice it was to meet him here.
Gareth would have been flabbergasted if not for her sharp glare.
She was behaving like a foolish creature, displaying the curves she had hid so preciously when she was barely legal, angering him quite a bit.
But she wasn't his anymore, was she? God knew she was free to share her charms with anyone, damn her. Because who would refuse her?
He groaned as he tilted his head back against the wall. She would soon come out the restroom, and maybe then he'll have some fucking answers.
It was almost amusing to think that, if he waited long enough for her, he could still catch Hyacinth.
Gareth had never entertained the thought that he'd ever see her again, but clearly, he had been wrong.
He had hardly been celibate the past few years, but for all his sleeping around, nothing, no one had meant anything. Each attempt, each tumble had left him empty, angry, murky. Aching for the intimacy he had only shared with Hyacinth.
That was certainly why he hadn't expected his chest to constrict painfully at the mere possibility of her being engaged to anyone. Had he meant anything?
The door opened, finally.
"Hyacinth."
"Gareth," she sighed heavily. Not at all surprised that he had seen her leave the main room and followed her.
Her eyes were cold. Gone was the warm, friendly behaviour she had pretended to shower on him.
Stepping out quietly, she smoothed down the black dress that clung to her body in a terribly becoming way.
"I had no idea you would be here."
"Me neither."
Her blue eyes met his, her chin raising up slightly. "You used to hate these events."
"So did you."
"I have changed."
"So it would seem."
She stopped talking altogether.
"Are you going to stand there and mock me by repeating all I say?"
He grinned, pushing himself off the cold stone. She was still there underneath all the make believe it seemed. The fiery Hyacinth he had known. The not so controlled woman he could infuriate with a glance, arouse with a stare, make cum with a few dirty-
"I don't have time for this, Gareth."
"In a hurry, Hyacinth? Whatever for?"
Irritated, Hyacinth tried to move past him, but he held his hand out to her. "Walk with me?"
She bit her bottom lip - that gesture he had seen her do a hundred times, as she seemed to hesitate, struggling with a choice he could only wonder about.
Very slowly, as if Gareth was a wounded animal, her palm reached up, cradled his cheek, a tender look in her eyes.
"Remember your nonna's story."
He blinked a few times, so confused. "About the diamonds?"
She nodded. "Soon you'll understand."
His disbelieving face must have told her how cryptic her words had seemed. Made her realise that she was sounding out of character.
Her eyes dropped to his lips and for a second, Gareth was pretty sure she was debating kissing him. But she didn't, stepping back with a tight smile instead.
The mask was back on, the make-believe front clearly meant for whomever she had come with. Or decided to leave with, he couldn't be sure.
And Gareth wondered if he had ever known Hyacinth Bridgerton. If the girl who had given him her body, whom he had made love to, in exchange of his should, had really existed.
"How have you been, Gareth?"
Her eyes held his for a few seconds, drowning him, the intensity of their depth making him suck in a breath. Only Hyacinth could elicit such a reaction from him.
He hadn't felt that much alive for the past few years.
"I've been... Okay?"
She smiled at him, her eyes mocking.
"Well, I'm happy for you. Now if you'll excuse me. " She strode away, her robes billowing behind her.
He didn't fail to notice that the diamond earrings and the matching necklace that she had worn a few minutes earlier had both disappeared.
He hadn't even caught a proper glance at that bloody ring. Was it even still on?