Leandra looked at her phone, her text from Mara saying that she had just made it to Darktown. Mara texted a picture of herself showing that she was safe, just like she promised Leandra. Darktown was not a place Leandra would ever send Mara, but it was the only place to get the medicine Leandra needed since birth control was seen as a slight against the Maker.
Mara insisted that this healer was reputable, and that she used her before, but still Leandra wasn't sure if the Maker would forgive her if she went through with taking this medicine. Or did he even care? With Isaac's possession it seemed like the Maker was intent on making her life miserable anyways. Still, if something happened to Mara, she wasn't sure if she could ever forgive herself and she feared that the Maker would strike Mara down as a way to punish Leandra's foolishness.
As Leandra tried not to think of her impending sin, her mind wandered to Malcolm. She had never seen him look as scared as he did last night. She didn't know what he wasn't telling her, but she could tell by the way he shivered in her arms that his pain ran deep. She couldn't imagine what he'd been through in the Circle. What stole the words from his throat? What could make him whimper like that?
She only meant to give him some comfort. She didn't mean to get him in trouble. She didn't mean to fall asleep either. It was just so easy when he was beside her, making her feel safe and loved in a way that she never felt before.
Already the ache in her heart was back as she counted the seconds for their next meeting, hoping that somehow time would pass faster. She missed the warmth of his skin, the taste of his lips and she found it hard to focus on anything else.
Leandra was dressed modestly, not just because she had a full day's worth of prayer that she needed to do at the Chantry, but because throughout the night Malcolm had marked her body with many love bites. And though he had been careful not to leave them anywhere too noticeable, there were a few higher on her chest that left out some of the more daring designs Mara would try to get her to wear.
Honestly, she preferred to dress in something modest and conservative when meeting Guillaume. She didn't want to show off her body to anybody but Malcolm. Though that dress he was asking her to wear a few nights from now was pushing it. It would be the most skin she had ever shown in public. There was a little thrill at the thought of his hungry eyes on her all night. How long would it take for him to drag her off to a discreet corner and ravish her again. She wanted to drive him crazy like he did her, but she had to admit she wasn't sure if she had the confidence to pull it off. Thankfully she had some time to gather some.
Her Father and Mother approved of the high necked long sleeved dress that Leandra chose. It was pink and lacy, with light chiffon cut in a fashionable way, but still very appropriate for an appointment with Grand Cleric Elthina. Her Mother thankfully did not have time in her schedule to even stay for breakfast so it was just her and her Father, eating silently as she fumed, refusing to be the first one to talk.
After last night, she wasn't sure she wanted to be around her Father at all. He usually let her Mother be the bad cop so he could have a more agreeable relationship but she knew he was just as culpable. Her Father looked like he kept wanting to bring up a conversation, but her silent glares told him he'd be in for an argument, and her Father hated arguments. It wasn't that he was a soft man. Leandra had known some of his criticisms to be cutting and cruel, but most of them were spared for Gamlen.
This new dynamic her Father seemed unprepared for, and she was pleased that he seemed at a loss to how to act around her.
Leandra had never had a reason to disobey her parents before, never found fault in their judgment even if they didn't always agree. She was taught to heed her elders, show respect, appeal to their better senses and take in their wisdom. But she found no wisdom in her parents' logic. And her parents were never easy to appeal to. The fact was that before now Leandra and her parents had been civil and she thought they were close. But Leandra was realizing that closeness was only given if she danced to their tune.
Ever since meeting Malcolm, she started wanting more for herself, more freedom than the carefully planned future her parents had constructed for her. She knew they loved her, but she didn't realize the lengths they would go to exert control over her. Leandra expected resistance when Mara and Gamlen came out to the public as a couple, but not threats of disownment, or draining Leandra's accounts to keep her from paying Mara the wage she deserved. Were they always like this? Did she just fail to notice their cruelty?
Leandra still had hope that she would find a way to bring Malcolm home to her parents, and they would accept him as the son they never knew they wanted, but she knew from their reaction with Mara, that that path would not be without serious confrontation. She did wish she still had rehearsal, so she could let her mind wander as she played. She had never had more clarity than when her hands were plucking at her lute. Still, prayer was its own clarity of sorts. But she didn't need prayer to know she couldn't marry Guillaume, not after the night she had. She just didn't know how to tell him the news, yet.
In the tensely silent car ride with her Father, the layers of her dress did not help with the nervous sweating. Thankfully her parents didn't notice that Mara was gone for most of the morning and that Leandra mostly gotten ready by herself.
Because of her little mishap she had no time to even tell Mara her parents' new power play, which was not an easy thing on her mind. As she went through her closet and jewelry, she started noting the things she could possibly sell and let go, to give her more time with Mara if that's what it came to.
Leandra let her hair down since her braids were always sloppier than Mara's and she fiddled with the ends of her hair impatiently waiting to arrive at the Chantry. Perhaps her parents thought their plan had worked. They would be wrong.
Her Father looked up from his phone, the glare of his glasses obscuring his eyes. "What happened to Dulci? Or Heather? Or Amelie? You have other friends than Mara."
Leandra went a shade darker at the implication. "Of course I do."
"But you don't go shopping with them like you used to. Are you at odds?"
"I don't exactly have the expenses to go shopping, do I?" Leandra bit her lip as she kept her glare suppressed to the window.
"Well of course we'll give you money to shop to hang out with your friends. We don't want people thinking we're on hard times," her Father sniffed.
Though Leandra wasn't sure that was the right reason, she had to admit she did kind of miss Dulci even if she could be even more Orlesian than Guillaume. And Heather, she had seen in rehearsal, but ever since the Ball it seemed like she was avoiding Leandra. And Amelie, as annoying as she was, was a very dear friend for years and she could always count on her advice, even if she was nosier than her Mother.
And yet she had been avoiding them because they all didn't like Mara and she was afraid of what they would say about her new relationship with Gamlen. And she could not even think of how to tell them about Malcolm. But, she still loved them dearly. Perhaps she could find a way to make peace between all her friends but she froze as she suddenly realized the main problem. "Can I bring Mara?"
Her Father stiffened. She knew she should have taken a page out of Gamlen's book and just begged for forgiveness rather than ask permission. She could tell she was in for a lecture now and she crossed her arms at her Father's glare.
"I really thought you'd grow out of this on your own, and you might think your Mother and I are coming from nowhere, but we have felt this way for a long time. Frankly, we find your relationship with Mara to be…inappropriate."
Leandra's cheeks flamed. "How so?"
"People are talking," her Father failed to elaborate more on who or the details as he took off his glasses and started cleaning them with a handkerchief from his pocket. "We are civil with our servants because respect fosters respect, but I think you've gotten confused as to who your real friends are."
Leandra scoffed, raising a fine eyebrow. "And you would know who my true friends are?"
"It's certainly not the help," Lord Amell sighed, placing his glasses back on his head delicately. "You're my daughter. I know what's best for you, even if you don't know it yourself. I don't want to see you get hurt or taken advantage of."
"You're being ridiculous. Mara's never taken advantage of me," Leandra looked solely at the window, grateful that the Chantry pillars were close.
"Does she not steal your clothes? Your makeup? I mean the other day I think I caught her wearing the blue sapphire diamond earrings your Grandmother Vittoria gave on your birthday."
"She doesn't steal," Leandra scowled. "I let her do that."
"You shouldn't!" her Father snapped back. "What if she lost them? Her paycheck can't afford replacements."
Leandra couldn't keep the scoff from her throat. "Mara keeps a better track of my things than I do. Besides, I wouldn't be so vulgar as to ask my best friend to have that kind of debt to me. I would have hated to lose Grandmama's earrings, but honestly I have so much jewelry most of it goes unused. What's the harm?"
Her Father looked absolutely flabbergasted as if she asked to go to the moon. "What's the harm?" he repeated. "You must know what it looks like?"
She couldn't believe this. Or maybe she could, which was worse. Whose opinion was the great Lord Amell cowing to? Who got offended that their gift decorated a commoner? One of his political friends? Grandmama herself? Leandra looked her Father square in the eyes, sick of all the ways he controlled her and she just snapped, snarling, "I don't give a fuck what it looks like. They are my things. I can do what I like."
Her Father opened his mouth, his face reddening to a tomato color. He glowered. "See, this is why we must insist on a new Lady's Maid. Mara has been a terrible influence on you."
"I quite disagree," she sniffed, thankful that Senhel pulled into their designated spot in the Chantry parking lot, because she had enough of this conversation.
She got out of the car without waiting for Senhel to open the door, which only irritated her Father more, but she couldn't stand breathing the same air as him. She didn't know how Gamlen survived all these years under their intense scrutiny. She hated what her relationship with her parents had become but she couldn't find it in herself to play peacemaker like usual.
She only managed to get halfway up the steps of the Chantry when she spotted Guillaume sitting on a bench, appearing to be waiting for her.
Her heart wrenched thinking of how devoted he always seemed to her, and how she knew hurting him was inevitable. Better sooner than later, right? Or was the bliss of ignorance better?
That was what killed her the most. She was going to crush his heart in her hand but she had to, if only to spare him greater pain. Stringing him along seemed crueler. Still, she wished she could have brought Mara for support, but her trip to Darktown took priority. She checked her phone again to find Mara giving a quick update where she took a picture of herself next to a beautiful wall mural she found in Darktown. Still, thankfully, safe.
Until she landed herself questionably pregnant, she didn't understand how people could be so irresponsible. She didn't understand the rush of emotions that came with the heat of the moment, didn't know how easily one could get carried away in ecstasy. But the Chantry had harsh ideas about things like birth control and harsher views on abortion and though Mara assured her that this stage it could hardly be called a baby, she couldn't think of herself of a person that could harm a child unborn or not.
Still, when Mara said she knew a healer in Darktown, Leandra thought immediately of her conversation with Malcolm, how he'd ask her to run away. What if she didn't want to run away? Would he skip town and leave her to raise his baby?
She told herself he wasn't that kind of man, but did she really know him? She reminded herself it had only been a week, and though their text and phone conversations went on for hours and they talked deeply, subjects like the future and what they wanted out of their relationship had been left vague.
But no matter how uncertain her future with Malcolm was, Leandra knew breaking up with Guillaume had more to do with her own cheating. She tried so hard to live her life with pure intentions, and no matter how things ended with Malcolm, she couldn't be with Guillaume. Not after she betrayed him so deeply without him even knowing.
When Guillaume went to kiss her cheeks she allowed it, knowing this would be the last time he'd ever do this, even if he didn't know it yet.
No sooner did his lips touch her skin did she shudder involuntarily. She felt her throat closing up, freezing up so much it was hard not to notice.
"I don't mean to be rude, but you don't look well, ma cherie," Guillaume rubbed her hand sympathetically, trying to ease her.
She knew he was just being kind, but it was tearing her up inside. "No, it's nothing," she smiled brightly, wondering if he could tell that the cheer in her voice was false. "I'm just looking forward to some peace and quiet," Leandra shot a hasty glare at her Father as he started up the steps of the Chantry.
Guillaume's eyes widened in understanding. He offered his hand to Leandra. "Shall we head inside, then?"
Leandra looked at the hand, suddenly paralyzed. She found she could no longer act normal around him, not with Malcolm's touch ghosting her memory, and the promise she made to be true still on her lips. She couldn't break up with Guillaume in front of her Father on the Chantry steps but she couldn't think of a way to dodge his hand, so he tapped his shoulder and said, "Look! I think I spotted a demon!"
"Andraste's Blood! Near the Chantry?!" Guillaume turned around to look where Leandra pointed, but she took off in the other direction as quickly as she could, scolding herself for acting so rashly and yet it was all she could think of on the spot. Still, she ran up the steps like a madwoman and into the Chantry, unsure what she was going to say when they inevitably caught up to her.
She kept running through the Chantry, needing to escape Guillaume with all of her being. She didn't know what she was thinking. Every statue was peering down at her menacingly, like they knew the sins were written on her skin. How did she expect to react normally when she could feel her life shifting directions, like a ship knocked adrift into uncharted waters? Suddenly she was in the Great Hall where in the chapel the sisters knelt in prayer. They raised their heads, questioning eyes at who would dare run in the Chantry only to be surprised it was Leandra. She stopped mid-stride, her heels catching as she slowed to a more appropriate pace.
The nuns squinted their eyes disapprovingly, and Leandra bowed her head, curtsying quickly, before heading sideways into one of the alcoves and hurried upstairs, unsure what her plan was.
Perhaps she could sneak out the back and just go home. Fake sick. Maybe that would give her some time to write some speeches, and come up with the words to tell Guillaume she didn't have right now. She could hear Guillaume and her Father calling for her from the Chantry lower chambers. She just ignored them, and kept climbing and climbing until their voices grew distant and she reached a hallway that she wasn't all that familiar with.
Leandra knew she should not be here. Most of the doors seemed locked tight and she went further in hoping to find a staircase that led back downstairs but not back towards Guillaume and her Father. Still, if she was caught she did not have a credible excuse.
As she got further in she heard voices coming from an ajar door guarded by two imposing statues of Maferath and Justinia, Andraste's most trusted advisors. They glared at her as if they knew she was guilty and she avoided looking at them as she tried to pass.
"Your Grace, do you not see the need for such a writ? I already have support of the Rivain and Fereldan Circles," the man's rich timbre voice had a distinct Rivaini accent, with overly formal speech obviously taken from the most structured lessons.
"You've delivered your petition, Serah Jaheem. I will see that it gets on the desk of First Enchanter Elric," Grand Cleric Elthina said with a tired voice.
Leandra knew this conversation was not for her ears and if she was caught up here she might be in big trouble so she tried to sneak past the doors seeing another alcove that looked like it had more stairs.
"First Enchanter Elric is a Lucrosian that would sell his own Mother if it fattened the Circle's coffers. Do you really think a man such as him cares about keeping a Mother from being separated from her child? Brothers from their sisters? A Grand Cleric's support in favor of the Maker's forgotten children could change a lot of minds. The Circle need not be a trauma to endure."
Leandra stopped in her steps, perking up as she had never thought to meet another soul that felt as passionately as her about mages. She considered this the working of the Maker's Hand somehow guiding her and so she walked up to the door to listen in.
"Serah Jaheem, I think you must be mistaken. I do not have the power to dictate the mind's of men any more than anyone else. Opinions are not easily swayed with a few pretty words. Besides, the Circles are sovereign. If the First Enchanter denies your petition, I'm afraid you'll just have to accept that." She could see the Grand Enchanter in her blessed garb, her blonde hair in carefully braided buns, not a hair out of place.
"But you are a close adviser, no?" Leandra pushed the door open and stepped fully into the room, not even apologizing for eavesdropping. She knew she should but she learned from her parents that admitting fault could also mean admitting weakness, and she could not seem that to the Grand Cleric. "Surely one who speaks for the Maker could sway a man's heart in favor of such Mercy."
Leandra raised her head to her full height, which unfortunately wasn't that tall at all, and placed herself beside the towering dark handsome man as if she had been invited there.
The man's full lips pulled into a bright white smile, his coarse coily thick hair was trimmed to a neat flat top and the sides of his heads had patterns shaved into them. He had many golden piercings with delicate engravings on his face and a giant necklace on his neck that seemed to be choking him and many bangles on his wrists that jangled as he moved. He was dressed just as gorgeously, in silks that draped his muscled body in robes or rich oranges and reds so fine it billowed like a multicolored flaming waterfall. He offered a hand, his fingers having different colored stones on each ring that sparkled with some magic. "And to whom do I owe this pleasure to?"
Leandra took the man's hand eagerly, his hands surprisingly soft. "Leandra Amell, and I am quite interested in signing your petition."
The man looked amused, grasping her hand warmly. "You don't even know what I'm asking for?"
"I heard enough about families being reunited to know that I agree with what you're proposing."
Serah Jaheem widened his dark brown eyes, as warm as his skin, his face turning rather serious as his thumb swiped the side of his stubbled jaw. He plucked a clipboard off the Grand Cleric's desk, "it's not just about reuniting families." He handed the clipboard to her with passion in his voice, "it's about improving conditions in the Circle so we can minimize the amount of death we see from both mage and templar by working together to find solutions." He swiped a pen from the Grand Cleric's desk as she went red, suppressing the rage in her eyes with a stoic mask. "It's about making the Circle a home rather than a prison and allowing mages to earn their citizenship like anyone else. It's about redistributing the work so they don't just die in our wars. They can create power sources for our cities, grow crops for our fields, do the good the Maker wanted them to do by giving them their powers. Can you imagine a world like that, Lady Amell?"
Leandra found her eyes watering, thinking of her Malcolm, how happy he would be if he could use that brilliant brain of his to be solving the world's problems the way only he knew how. Would he be some magical scientist, making new and wondrous spells like how to make things taste better without adding any spice? She remembered how proud he was of that, how happy it made him that his friends could feast on the same things she did. In a world like this, no one could deny Malcolm his brilliance. And Anna and Robert could come back to Kirkwall, and Isaac wouldn't be alone. She wouldn't have to fear Colette having magic. She could see the smile returning to her Aunt's face.
The Grand Cleric stood up from her desk, placing her palms upon the wood. "Lady Amell, don't be taken in by his idealism. He speaks blasphemy. I'm sure your parents wouldn't like this."
Blasphemy? She could not agree, and the dig about using her parents to control her decisions sparked an angry defiance she didn't know she had. "They don't have to. He's making perfect sense to me and I make my own decisions." Leandra felt a rush of glee, openly defying her parents and the Grand Cleric in such a way and signed her name eagerly at the bottom, surprised to see that there were pages of people who felt like she did, though one name stuck out from the others.
Ser Maurevar Carver.
Inspiration struck. "I know others who may be willing. Is there anything I can do to help your cause?"
His smile turned dazzling as he thumbed through his breast pocket for a business card. "It's not my cause. I'm just a simple lawyer who represents a group of like minded people who wish for mages to live in harmony with the world they came from."
He placed the card gingerly in her hand and she found the touch made her stutter.
The Grand Cleric swayed, looking uneasy all of a sudden. "Lady Amell, these are political matters that don't concern you."
Leandra could barely suppress the glare in her eyes as she turned from Serah Jaheem. "I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but I have to disagree. You know I have a niece and nephews in the Circle. You know my Aunt suffers the worst heartsickness from being separated from her children." She spoke of these troubles to the Grand Cleric often. Did she forget? Or did she think her family secretly deserved what was happening? "My family has always been loyal to the Chantry. I see great benefit in what he proposes."
The Grand Cleric paled, looking like she wished to find an argument to steer Leandra from this path, but not being such a direct woman, she seemed to be choosing her words carefully, but failing to find anything to fill the silence.
Suddenly Leandra heard her Father and Guillaume's voices coming up the stairs and down the hallways and she cringed, not feeling so brave anymore.
The Grand Cleric stood up calmly from her desk and walking across the room with grace as she pushed the door fully open motioning down the hallway to her panicked family, "Hello, Lord Amell. It seems your daughter has taken our appointment early."
She put on a sheepish smile as her Father stormed into the room and snapped his blue eyes to her in fury, seeming utterly perplexed and shocked by her behavior. "Leandra Gloriana Amell, when the Chantry Sisters said you snuck up here I almost didn't believe it. What is going through your head, young lady?"
Leandra balked, no good answer on her tongue. She looked at Guillaume who had his worried eyes on.
"I…" she dropped her eyes to the ground as her brain churned for an excuse that was not there.
"Lord Amell," Guillaume tapped his shoulder, bowing my head. "She spoke of a demon. It may be its influence."
The Grand Cleric widened her eyes, taking an unconscious step back from Leandra as she folded her hands in front of herself. "Did you see a demon, child?"
Leandra started stammering. She knew she should have said something else. Now they were going to think she's haunted. "I-I might have…" she said, unsure if she should commit to the lie. She tucked her hair behind her ear, going as pink as her dress.
The Grand Cleric thinned her pink lips, "Seeing demons is often a sign of a guilty conscience. Perhaps you should hold a confession, child."
Leandra balked, not able to keep the jitters from her throat. "I have nothing to confess to."
The Grand Cleric raised one eyebrow. "How about breaking into my office in the middle of a private meeting?"
Leandra bowed her head embarrassed as the Rivaini man hid his chuckle behind his jeweled hand. "Of course, Your Grace. I'm so sorry."
The Grand Cleric looked to Aristride Amell, seeming relieved of the distraction and said, "It is time for our appointment, now, is it not?"
The other grandly dressed man bowed his head, placing the petition back on her desk with a bow. "At a later date, Your Grace."
The Grand Cleric's nod was rather curt as she retreated back behind her desk, her Father taking a seat across from her.
Guillaume stood dutifully by the door, escorting Leandra out by the arm as she shrank into a panicking ball as she hugged herself.
She could see Guillaume wanted to fuss, but the other man seemed to be studying her intently, in a way she'd come to notice as attraction. She had to admit he was rather striking, tall with a strength in his gait, shapely features and an open warm expression but his charm had no sway with Malcolm holding her heart and so she shrank at his rapt attention.
He followed them back down the steps of the Chantry, shadowing Leandra.
"I have to admit, I'm surprised. I brought my petition to Lord Amell, but he refused me. Do you disagree on a lot?"
She thought that was a rather forward question, and she found her cheeks heating in spite of herself. "Unfortunately, that does seem to be the pattern as of late," she answered honestly.
His full lips turned upwards into a smile as if he was pleased about that. "I do like a woman who knows her own mind."
She found herself going completely red, the bold flirt leaving her response stolen from her throat.
That's when Guillaume stepped between them, putting a possessive arm on Leandra's waist. "I say, you're being rather forward with my fiancée."
Leandra did not need this right now. She tried to squirm out of Guillaume's grasp, but he seemed to want to make it clear that her hand had been claimed. Still, she was grateful that the man swallowed his disappointment and bowed his head in apology.
"How impolite of me. I did not realize this was the same Lady Amell."
Leandra wondered how they knew each other that she might have already been introduced. There was a tension in Guillaume that she did not notice before now.
She had never seen Guillaume look so cross, and didn't think the man capable before now. His mustache was twitching against his cheek and he was squeezing her so hard it almost hurt as he hurried their pace down the steps.
Still, Serah Jaheem seemed more amused than put off. "I have to say, Lord de Launcet, are you going to follow Lady Amell's suit and sign the petition? Your support could sway others to follow."
Leandra turned her big doe eyes to Guillaume, wide and hopeful, to find his shoulder's shrinking as he suddenly avoided both their gazes. "My House made a decision."
"Yes, your House Heads made a decision, but what of yours?"
Leandra stopped at the base of the stairs, her steps faltering. "You knew about this petition? And didn't tell me?"
Suddenly Guillaume let go, the guilt written on his face.
Serah Jaheem closed his mouth quickly, realizing the new tension in the room was his fault and he took a respectful step back.
Guillaume was caught suddenly stammering as he retreated from her a little. "L-Leandra, you know my parents are rather conservative."
She squinted her eyes. "And was it they who told you not to tell me? Or did you deny me my own choice?"
Guillaume's face twisted. "To sign that petition would mean to take such a radical stance. Leandra, I have to think of my company. There could be boycotts on my hotels. Good Chantry folk will see this new writ as a threat. This could lead to riots. Revolts, even."
Leandra couldn't keep the disappointment on her face if she tried. She felt like she was seeing Guillaume for the first time. He was a nice man, perhaps, but not a man that would ever stand for a cause or fight beside her for her family. His name and profits would always come first.
No, she thought firmly in her head, no matter what happened with Malcolm, she couldn't marry Guillaume. This moment confirmed it.
Guillaume could seem to sense that this was the wrong thing to say. He tried to put a hand on Leandra's. "I'm sorry, Leandra. I only meant to protect you."
"Protect me? Or protect yourself from what I might do?" She glared at him so fiercely he took his hand back.
Guillaume flushed a shade redder almost matching his mustache, stammering his reply. "Maker, I never meant- Leandra, it's not like I- What I mean to say is-"
"Save it for confession," she held up her hand to silence him, unable to look at him right now.
She caught Serah Jaheem staring at her again, and he didn't seem all that broken up about losing a potential petitioner. When his eyes met her she couldn't help but compare how the brown was so warm like Malcolm's, but also just as mischievous. His face was properly sympathetic but a smile tugged at his lips.
"Ser Jaheem, was it?" Leandra stepped in front of him, dropping to a more familiar tone.
And then the smile broke out into a full grin, bright against the deepness of his skin, twisting her heart. "Yes, Lady Amell?" She hated the hopeful tone in his voice.
She hesitated for a moment, thinking of Malcolm, but she knew she needed this man's help to save her family and him too. "Perhaps we could discuss ways I could assist the cause over lunch sometime?" she offered, hoping the request was innocent enough.
Guillaume looked like he had been punched in the gut, and from the way the Rivaini man started beaming as brilliantly as his jewelry that the question had only encouraged him. "How could I deny such a gracious offer? How about dinner? I know a restaurant on the Docks that serves a divine grilled tandoori I think you'll die for."
"Leandra?" Guillaume's voice sounded so broken Leandra immediately wished she had waited to ask until she could call the number on his business card.
Her face got hot in embarrassment. Malcolm definitely wouldn't like this. She could barely believe she was so close to breaking it off with Guillaume only to have to fend off another man's advances. If she didn't need this man so much she might have rejected him completely, but she said, "let's keep it at a professional lunch," and tried to keep her smile natural and not at all like she wanted to crawl in a hole and die.
"Of course," if the man was disappointed by her rebuttal he didn't show it. His smile stayed brilliant, and she still found butterflies in her stomach in spite of herself. "You have my number, already. Call me when you have time. I'll clear my schedule for you and arrange all the details."
The blush bloomed on her cheeks before she could stop herself at his forward proclamation, her fingers still wrapped around his card. She only meant to get more information, but she could tell from the mischief in his eyes that he had something else entirely in mind.
If Guillaume was jealous before, he was seething now. He looked at Leandra with questioning eyes and before she could stop herself she bowed her head hastily and said, "Good day," and suddenly she was fleeing again.
She ran in her heels straight out the Chantry, not caring who saw. As soon as she hit the street she hailed the nearest taxi and just told them to drive to Midtown. She needed to go to Mara's and figure out how to get herself out of this mess and hopefully her friend had luck on her trip to Darktown. She texted Mara that she was coming over to raid her ice cream and Mara just gave her usual double thumbs up emoji.
Why would the Maker's help come from such a hand? She needed to make sure to nip this nonsense in the bud before more misunderstandings happened and she hurt Malcolm.
She pressed her hand over her stomach, feeling the flutters still there, knowing that it was too soon to even know if something was growing and yet as her fingers rested there she couldn't help but feel hope bubble. She found herself thinking about the future, how complicated this will all become if the medicine failed and Malcolm's seed planted anyways and yet the image of her holding his baby, their baby, warmed her heart in a way she didn't think possible.
What would her life look like? She knew it was too soon for her and Malcolm to be parents, but she thought of one day having a little boy that looked just like Malcolm. Would he have his big laugh? His sharp wit? His mischievous smile?
She started fantasizing about who their child would take after. She wished they would have Malcolm's curls. She would love to run her fingers through them. Perhaps they'd have a little girl and she could give her all sorts of cute hairstyles. Little braids and pigtails with ribbons and bows. Mara could show her how. Suddenly her heart burst thinking of all the little miniature outfits she could put them in, their chubby faces so cute and cheeks so pinchable. She knew she would feel blessed with whatever the Maker gave her. She would fill albums worth of pictures trying to document every moment of their journey into life. The wishful thinking got away from her before she knew it she was conflicted about taking the medicine at all.
Her fingers wrinkled her dress as she clutched it, as she scolded herself. She couldn't think like this. She didn't even know what Malcolm wanted. Perhaps he would not even want to be a Father. Where would she be left? Would he actually abandon her if he got too scared?
She needed Mara's counsel, her brutal honesty and her ability to help her prioritize what was important to her. She knew she had made a mess of things, but Mara had a way of cutting through the crap and helping her feel sane again. She hoped Mara was home, though she knew she was welcome either way. She would pour her heart out to the only person she trusted to give her the truth, though she feared what the truth would be.
