"Hello?"
"Director Tuesti, it's Pia. I have an urgent message from Mayor Domino for you."
Reeve sighs, turning away from the blinding monitor to lean back in his desk chair with the phone held between his ear and his shoulder, the remnants of his half-eaten lunch still balanced precariously upon a pile of thick file folders. "What is it?"
"It's about your latest project. He says it's extremely urgent, sir, and you should meet him in his office."
"Tell him I'm very busy, Pia."
"I said as much already, sir, but he seemed very persistent. It should only take a few minutes of your time."
"Where's Charlie?"
"In a very important meeting, Director. I'll go with you, so I can report back to her afterwards."
"I really don't have the time—"
"Please don't make me tell him that, sir."
Sighing very heavily again and rubbing his temples, he concedes. "Fine, fine, very well, but only for a few minutes. I'll meet you outside the archives."
"Yes, Director, thank you."
"I'll only be a few minutes. Go wait for me in the conference room. Tell them something urgent has come up, but I won't be long."
"Yes, Director."
Charlie hears the clicking of Reeve's office door, his and his assistant's footsteps carrying them towards the elevators.
Heart racing, she peers around the corner to find an empty lobby, the assistant's desk messy and disorganized, a desk lamp brightening her space. Charlie moves past it to his locked office door, quickly swiping her keycard and slipping inside without drawing any attention from other employees. It's not like it's incredibly suspicious for her to be slipping into Reeve's office, of all people.
She glances up at the camera positioned neatly in the top corner of the office, wondering if anyone is looking back at her. Pia had told her not to worry about the cameras, but failed to elaborate on it.
Already she's having doubts, second thoughts, wondering how she ever ended up in this position. But it's too late for that. She's already given Jessie the instructions on how to build a bomb, a bomb meant to destroy something that took Reeve years of hard work. It's only one of them, though, and Charlie knows that Shinra Inc. has the means to rebuild.
It's about the message. It's about rebelling. It's about finding passion again, something to live for, something to give hope to the people. Isn't that enough?
So why are her hands sweating? Why is she dizzy and nauseous and afraid to look at the pictures of she and Reeve on his desk and on the walls? Her breath comes fast, quick, and her heart won't slow. Why is she doing this at all? Aren't there other ways to rebel? Aren't there other ways to disappoint her father?
No one will ever know what she did but for a handful of people, and her actions will cost her father's company hundreds of thousands, possibly millions of gil, to resolve. All she wants is for someone to be held accountable, to accept responsibility for their actions, to show the people her father's company in the light she sees it in.
And yet, part of her is afraid to go through with it. Her father had spoken of making her vice president, even if it had been a lie. He had been proud of her after giving that speech, had allowed her to touch his hand without swatting her away.
She wants it, her father's approval. She wants it bad, but she knows the kind of person President Shinra is. He's ruthless and pompous and a liar liar liar.
No more will she be used as a pawn, as a puppet, to recite empty promises on screen and to give false hope to the people through lies. She doesn't want to be associated with her father, with her brother.
She wants people to see her as Cid does, as an individual with grand schemes of her own, with a desire to succeed on her own, to be bigger than Shinra Inc., to be loved by the people for her ability to stand up in the face of tyranny and martial rule.
And above all, maybe she just wants to be good.
Charlie kneels down in front of the massive filing cabinet behind Reeve's desk. It's easy enough to find the key, thrown into the topmost drawer of his desk. She unlocks the bottom of the filing cabinet, pulling out the drawer.
There are several large pieces of paper, rolled up and tied with string or ribbon or whatever he had been able to find at the time. She peeks at all of them, hesitating when she unrolls a piece of paper that she definitely recognizes, a piece of paper she hasn't seen for a long time, the drawing they had done together when she was sixteen and hoping to rebuild the model airplane that crashed right into his chest.
Reeve hadn't known the first thing about designing airplanes, of course, but she had walked him through it step-by-step, hardly able to focus on her work with how excited she was to be so close to him, to be able to smell his cologne, to be able to bump her shoulder against his, to be able to watch the way his hand moved so smoothly across the paper, to be alone with him, alone with someone she trusted completely, alone with someone who was kind to her.
She had been in love with him from the very beginning, even when he would reject her advances, back when she was young. Even rejecting her, he had been sweet and kind and warm and apologetic, only making Charlie love him more.
Of course, there had been others—if they could even be considered such. Charlie remembers a dark-haired SOLDIER that had caught her eye, and a handsome journalist, but they had been sent away before anything could happen, and there had been an actor she thought was cute, but she never saw him again after the night he pulled her backstage to flirt with her.
But she had always come back to Reeve in the end.
He would never turn her away, not even when he was seeing that slum girl. Charlie had doubted that girl even existed until Reeve's mother had let it slip once over dinner. His mother had been doting over Charlie, of course, and had accidentally mentioned how similar she looked to Reeve's new girlfriend, to which he had immediately clarified that the girl definitely wasn't his girlfriend.
That had broken her heart, having still been mourning the recent disappearance of her SOLDIER, but the very next day, Reeve had mentioned a little too casually that whatever was happening between him and that slum girl had come to a clean end.
He had asked her out that very night, Charlie recalls, to a play in downtown Sector Eight.
They had gone out together before, seen plays together many times before, but that night had been different. That was the night he held her hand on the way home, as they were sitting in the back of a private car and looking out separate windows. She still remembers the way he had dragged the pad of his thumb back and forth across the back of her hand, and the way he had smiled at her so shyly.
How could she do this to him? How could she betray his trust now, after all he's done for her? He's never raised a hand to her, has never berated her, has never spoken down to her—has only ever cared for her since their first meeting nearly ten years ago.
He sabotaged your department when he knew what it meant to you, she thinks, and then he lied about it.
Charlie stuffs the original drawing away, picking up something and unrolling it. It's exactly what she's looking for, the plans to the Sector One reactor. Flattening it on his desk, she pulls her phone out, taking as many pictures as she can, trying to make sure that everything is clear and visible.
Her phone pings!, warning her of Reeve's return, and Charlie almost faints, rolling everything up and struggling to stick the key in the lock to lock it once more, throwing it half-hazardly into the drawer and slamming it shut, mere seconds before the door swings open.
Reeve makes a surprised little sound at the sight of her standing by his desk. "Charlie! I thought you were in a meeting."
"Just got out, actually."
"I hope it was more engaging than the urgent meeting I was just called into by your assistant with the mayor," he grumbles, moving closer to her. "He just wasted nearly fifteen minutes of my precious time." Reeve looks around, as if expecting something to be out of place. He narrows his eyes at her, almost knowing. "What are you doing here?"
Charlie smiles sweetly at him. "Hoping you can spare another fifteen minutes?" The adrenaline is still surging through her, and she probably looks rather harassed. "Or less? It's really up to you. I would even be all right with more than fifteen minutes."
"A very tempting offer," he chuckles, rubbing at his chin. "But I'm afraid I have to be at a real meeting in about . . ." Reeve holds his watch up, groaning. "Twenty minutes ago."
"They can wait," she insists, already reaching out to untuck his shirt. "You're the director. They can wait as long as it takes, and I can make this very, very quick, if you'd like. Or not. It's completely up to you." Her hands are still shaking as she unbuckles his belt, meeting no resistance.
"Charlie, I have to go," he protests weakly, dragging a hand through her hair as she sinks to the ground. "Not here, my love—"
"Don't worry," Charlie whispers, smiling up at him. "Don't act like you don't enjoy the sight of the president's daughter on her knees."
He smiles nervously, one hand still tangled in her hair as she looks up at him, tilting her head back and forth like a lost little puppy dog, an innocent little smile on her face.
"Okay?" she asks, touching his thighs lightly.
He gives in. He always gives in. "Okay."
When she leaves fifteen minutes later, lips swollen and her face flushed, she nearly runs straight into Scarlet, hardly paying attention to her surroundings.
Charlie's mouth tightens. "What are you doing here?"
"Relax," Scarlet replies, holding up a file. "I'm here to have your boyfriend sign off on some paperwork."
"Nope, that's not right," Charlie tells her, popping the 'p' and watching the other woman's lips curl upwards, smug and malicious. It's a familiar look. "We're still engaged."
"Is that still going on?" Scarlet laughs behind the file, lowering her voice. "Forgive me. None of us really thought he had it in him. Took him long enough, didn't it?" She sighs, fanning herself with the paperwork, dress cut low to show off assets that Charlie doesn't really have herself. "I suppose the opportunity to sleep with the president's daughter was too good for him to pass up."
Charlie doesn't answer, still blocking the office door with her body. "Too good for an assistant?" she asks, glancing towards the heavy woman sitting at the previously unoccupied desk outside Reeve's office. "Leave it with her. That's what she's there for."
Scarlet doesn't bother to reply, sighing heavily, standing nearly a head taller than Charlie, especially in her heels. "You look healthy, Char," she notes, raising a single eyebrow, looking Charlie up and down. "Positively ravished."
When Reeve steps out, stumbling over Charlie's feet, he looks even more disheveled, his hair a mess and falling into his eyes, cheeks pink and eyes bright.
"Director," Scarlet says, but Reeve cuts her off.
"Leave it with my assistant," he interrupts, smiling at Charlie before hurrying off.
"By the way," Scarlet says, as Charlie makes to follow him back to the elevator, to return to her own office. "I think your father is looking for you. He probably has another speech for you to give."
Charlie waits for Scarlet to leave, finally giving the assistant the paperwork that needs signing. When she's sure they're alone, Charlie braces herself upon the assistant's messy desk, knuckles white as she leans forward to place herself nose to nose with Reeve's newest assistant, an older woman with square glasses and a faint mustache.
"If you ever let that woman near my fiancé, I will kill you, do you understand me?"
The woman blinks back at her. "Yes, ma'am."
"Gotcha!"
"No, you don't."
Reno reaches up to grab the arm that's wrapped around his neck in an attempted chokehold, and in one smooth and swift motion, flips Charlie completely over his head so she lands with a grunt on her back, the blow cushioned by the leather sofa of the Turks' base of operations, a large office in the center of Headquarters without windows, the walls adorned with blank screens and flickering lamps.
"I could have you killed for that, you know."
"Piss off, Charlie, I'm tryin' to eat lunch. I only got thirty minutes, unlike you hot shots up on the top floors."
"You're not doing a very good job of watching me if you let me sneak up on you like that."
"I heard you comin' from a mile away. Your brain's too loud," Reno says, his cheeks full of food as he fusses with a dossier on the glass coffee table. "You're not as stealthy as you think." He glances up at her, a cheeky little grin on his sharply angled face. "Y'know, you put on quite a show."
"Meaning?"
He shrugs innocently. "It's hard to believe that, of all the people in the city—the world, even—he's the one able to bring you to your knees."
Charlie blushes furiously, trying to keep her composure. "You didn't have to watch."
"You didn't have to do that in his office. I'm assuming you do have a home."
She sits up on the sofa, watching him eat. It's a horrible sight, to be fair, his mouth open when he chews, talking with food tucked in his cheeks like a rodent (what's really the difference between Reno and a rat?), stuffing his mouth as if he'll never eat again.
Charlie really doesn't consider the Turks her friends, not in the sense that Rufus sees them. She's known most of them for a long time—or what's left of them—and they've always taken care of her, have been a steady part of her life for as long as she can remember.
Tseng has saved her from trouble more times than she can count, and Rude is always a welcome presence when she needs to go somewhere less than savory, but it seems Reno has only one job in regards to her, and it seems that job is to make her life equal parts frustrating and humiliating.
Nearly of an age with each other, Charlie can't deny that she and Reno get on relatively well when he isn't meddling in her romantic affairs, spying on her on behalf of Rufus, carrying out kidnappings or assassinations she does not condone in the slightest, or mocking her by bringing up the embarrassing show she had put on in Reeve's office not long ago.
Trying to make light of it, she tells him, "I'm really good."
His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Are you?" he teases. "Are you really good at blowing your daddy's employees?"
"Only the handsome ones."
"I'm tellin' your brother you told me that," he says, the both of them painfully aware of how her brother would react to that information being repeated in that same crass way.
Charlie scoffs, propping her legs up on the coffee table and sinking back into the sofa. A magazine with her name on the cover is lying abandoned, and she picks it up to flip through the pages. "I'll tell him you touched me."
Reno laughs from beside her, shaking his head. "Man, you really have no problem goin' straight for the balls, don't you?"
"What balls, Reno?" Charlie asks him, admiring a photograph of herself in black-and-white.
Reno swipes the magazine out of her hands, tossing it out of her reach. "The ones you keep in your purse. I'll have 'em back any day now."
"How does it feel to know that you've been emasculated by your boss's sister?"
"The only person in this building that's been emasculated by you is currently in a meeting, probably still reeling over the really good show you put on. I didn't really think he had it in him."
Charlie scowls when Reno lifts his eyes from the paperwork on the table to grin at her, smug and taunting. She sighs, sitting up straight. "I need a favor," she begins.
"Not interested, princess," Reno retorts.
"Not from you. Where's Tseng?"
"He left when the pants came down."
Charlie scowls. "You could have turned it off, you know."
They're quiet for a moment, and then he asks, "You ever seen Rufus cry?"
"Of course," Charlie chuckles, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's pathetic."
"I'm so glad you told me that." He lets out a high-pitched laugh before stuffing his face with the last of his sandwich. "What's the favor?" Reno asks, crumpling up the foil that had been wrapped around his sandwich and tossing it into the trash can, raising his eyebrows at her when he makes it in. He brushes the crumbs off his wrinkled white dress shirt, peeking down the front to shake out the crumbs that fell onto his chest.
"A little bit of espionage," Charlie confesses sweetly, getting to her feet. "Possibly a little bit of extortion."
Reno gives a dramatic shudder. "You're more like your brother everyday, Charlie," he notes. "All right, I'll bite. Who did you dirty?"
"The orphanage."
"What orphanage? You're not really askin' me to go extort some orphanage, are you?"
"Threats were supposedly made," Charlie explains, biting down on her lip in an attempt to persuade him with a good dose of pouting. It always works with Rufus, but Reno doesn't give in quite so easily. "They asked Reeve and me to leave and not come back."
"Gee, I wonder why?" Reno sneers, scooping up the dossier in front of him and standing, walking over to the empty desk reserved for Tseng. "So someone doesn't think you and Reeve are the perfect fuckin' angels you think you are, and that warrants espionage and extortion?"
Charlie approaches his side again, putting on the most serious face she can muster. It would be much easier to have Reno agree, so she at least doesn't have to go over the entire thing with Tseng again. "You've done a lot worse for a lot less."
"What are you gonna do if I refuse? Blow me?"
"No, but you can get that kind of action from that slum whorehouse you're so fond of. How's that rash of yours, Reno? Healing well?"
"Who told you about that?"
"Rufus, of course. I'm still shocked you'd actually admit something so incredibly embarrassing."
Reno gives her a sideways look. "I can think of someone who might be . . . a little better suited to this kind of stuff. Someone . . ." He turns to face her, looking at her with an intensity that makes her slightly uncomfortable. "Someone . . . black-and-white . . . sorta cute if you look at him from far away . . ."
Charlie blinks back at him, completely lost. She hesitates, narrowing her eyes at him. ". . . Rude . . . ?" she asks, drawing the single word out, unsure if her answer even makes sense.
He laughs loudly. "You idiot. Never mind. What orphanage is it?"
"The Leaf House. Heard of it? You're a slum-dweller, aren't you?"
"Hey!" He puts a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I used to be. Anyway, I happen to know the place."
"Yeah?"
"And it happens I'll be down that way tomorrow."
"For what?"
"Charlie, Charlie, Charlie," Reno says, clicking his tongue at her. "If I told you that, I'd have to kill you." He claps a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll look into it, see who's concerned about our dear ol' Miss Shinra visiting a bunch of dirty kids. And, before you leave . . ."
Charlie flinches as Reno reaches up towards her face. "What are you doing?" she snaps. "Stop."
"Relax. Have you looked in a mirror lately?" With his white sleeve, he wipes at the corners of her mouth, his sleeve coming away stained with bright red lipstick. With a long thumb, he swipes at the corners of her eyes afterwards, his skin painted with smeared makeup. "Gods, you're a walking disaster, you know that?"
Charlie smiles weakly. "Thanks, Reno." She brushes past him towards the door, turning before she leaves. "I'll get you next time. Won't even hear me coming."
"No, you won't."
"Oh, good, you're here." President Shinra rises from his desk, not a single guard in sight. "What took you so long?"
"I was talking to Reno."
Her father gives her a stern look as he approaches her, exasperated. "Stay away from that boy, Char. He'll only give you trouble."
"Don't worry, papa, he knows better than to do anything that would make Rufus mad."
President Shinra grumbles under his breath, opening the double doors of his office, where Charlie has just come from. "Let's go for a walk," he says, waiting for her to follow.
Once Charlie follows him out of his office, it's a silent walk and elevator ride to her father's favorite floor, the visitors museum, where President Shinra is displayed in all of his glory, beginning with a golden idol that makes him look far more handsome than Charlie thinks he really is.
She's been through this museum hundreds of times, and has probably memorized the details written on every placard. Her father had her lead some guided tours for a few months after he learned about Reeve moving in with her—it had been her punishment, of course, to walk around and declare all of her father's triumphs and accomplishments with a feigned voice of wonder and awe.
Instead of stopping before the statue of him, President Shinra brings her to a large painting of the family, minus her mother.
She and Rufus had been seventeen and sixteen, respectively, at the time of the painting. Charlie had been the only one seated, in a throne-like chair with velvet cushions, heavy diamond jewelry draped around her neck, her wrists, and hanging from her ears.
None of the three Shinras in the painting are smiling, their faces cold. Rufus is shown at her right and looks close to royalty, his light hair slicked back and his face pale and sharp. Their father stands behind Charlie's chair, a cigar between his fingers, one hand on his daughter's exposed shoulder.
"Your wedding is coming up. Are you getting nervous?"
Charlie smiles crookedly at him, shrugging, her hands held behind her back as she looks up at the portrait. "Not really."
"Did you find anything of worth in Rocket Town?"
She hums, stifling a laugh. "A drunken pilot still bitter about his past."
"Why does that make you laugh, Char?" His time is curious, inquisitive, genuinely so. "Surely the same statement could be applied to you?"
Charlie's smile flickers. "I'm only one of those three things."
Her father doesn't find humor in her statement. "I'm making you vice president," he says, and Charlie's heart leaps in her throat, "after that boy marries you and puts a son in you. You do know how, don't you?"
She can't tell if he's being serious or not, what with the deadpan delivery of his question. Then she remembers that her father doesn't joke. "I think I've got it figured out, thanks."
"I've only just made up my mind a little while ago, and I'm already on the verge of changing it again." Her father turns to face her, nearly eye-level. "You have just over four months until your wedding. I expect to see a vice president in that time, do you understand?" He ushers her along, down an aisle that shows off several pictures of a young President Shinra, slightly less handsome than Rufus. "Your son will be what Rufus should have been. Loyal, intelligent, strong . . . he'll be a strong boy, certainly. He'll be an excellent president after you, having grown up in the company just like you and Rufus did."
It feels odd defending a son that doesn't even exist yet. "No son of mine will be raised in Headquarters."
Her father doesn't like that. He whirls around to face her, having been looking at a picture of himself, blue eyes flashing with anger. "Without intervention on my behalf, a son by the two of you would be no better than a daughter."
"Well, I think your own daughter is doing quite well herself, all things considered."
"You insolent little brat," he hisses, mustache trembling. "I offer you a position far above your own capabilities, and this is how you repay me? A flagrant lack of respect towards your own father?" He takes a step closer, but Charlie doesn't falter. He wouldn't dare strike her here, in a public place where anyone could walk in on the president hitting his own adult daughter. "Do you think I intend to have my first, and possibly only, grandson raised by two soft-hearted people, one of them who has lacked proper discipline more than half of her life?"
She isn't sure why these words spark a fire within her. Perhaps with the events she's now set in motion, her courage and boldness has bolstered. "I will not let you do to my son what you did to Rufus," she says flatly.
"Your brother is not the way he is because of me," President Shinra snarls in her face, his face bright red, a vein throbbing in his temple. "Your brother has done that to himself. If your son turns out the same, perhaps you'll find a little more sympathy for me."
No, she thinks. My son will not be forced to watch their father beat their mother. My son will not take beatings from their father meant for their sister. My son will not be subjected to criticism every minute.
"We'll see," she says after a moment.
"If you have nothing left but jokes, then go."
Charlie lingers for a moment, leaving before she gets a clout on the head for an accidental joke.
Skinny arms drape loosely around his neck, the cool silk of her sleeping shirt pressed against his bare back. Her fingers scratch at the back of his head, pushing his still-damp hair aside in order for her to kiss the nape of his neck. It makes his shoulders tense, a shudder running through him.
"What are you doing in here?" she whispers, resting her forehead against his shoulder.
"Working," he replies patiently, setting his pencil down in order to accommodate her as she slides into his lap, legs thrown over the arm of his chair, arms still wrapped around his neck. "Or rather, I was."
Charlie smiles at him, fingers still toying with the ends of his hair. "Let me ask you something."
"Please don't tell me it's related to anything business."
"I think that depends on your perspective."
Curiosity piqued, Reeve wraps an arm around her waist, keeping her back from pressing hard against the wooden arm of the chair. His other arm keeps her legs in place, thumb brushing against the soft and silky skin of her thighs. "Let's hear it."
"Do you really want children?"
He hadn't been expecting that. "Why not?"
Charlie shrugs, wriggling dangerously in his lap, smiling like she knows exactly what she's doing. "Which one of us is going to raise a baby? We're never home, and you're already very committed to your work. If I'm jealous, I'm sure any children we might have would be, too." She frowns suddenly. "And I'd be fat."
"You wouldn't be fat, you would be pregnant."
"I couldn't do those photo shoots anymore. You know, the hot ones?"
Reeve chuckles awkwardly. "You know, I don't know that I'm comfortable with the world seeing my wife in lingerie."
"Yeah, but I look really hot in it." She kisses him softly. "Besides, it's your lap I'm sitting in. I'm not a whore."
He can't argue that fact, nor does he have the fortitude to tell her 'no'. "How about we get married first," he starts again, shifting her in his lap and making her smile again. With her in his arms, he's able to stand, carrying her like a new bride out of the spare bedroom that's become his office. "And then we can think again about children."
Truthfully, Reeve doesn't think he would mind a child or two, a son or a daughter, it would make no difference. A light-haired, fair-skinned daughter for him to spoil, running around the apartment, working with Charlie in her office, or a tall, dark-haired son for his mother to dote on, a son with not a trace of Shinra in him.
But she's right, of course. Half the time, the both of them aren't home until well after nine, and any child of theirs would certainly be raised by a nanny. Charlie wouldn't like that. He knows her own childhood memories are tainted by an absent father and the constantly changing line-up of Turks that cared for her and Rufus when they were young.
"You still owe me, you know, from earlier today," she reminds him, as if he could possibly forget. The image of her on her knees, looking up at him and smiling, had haunted him all throughout the meeting that immediately followed her impressive performance.
"Don't worry, darling, I haven't forgotten."
Charlie presses a hard kiss to his cheekbone, one hand cradling the other side of his face. With dainty fingers, she traces what he assumes are the marks left behind by her lipstick.
"Lovely," she notes as they cross the threshold into the bedroom, and she resumes the kissing of his face, lips curled into a smile against his skin. "My father wants to make me vice president when we're married."
"Is that so?"
"You must be happy that your plan has finally come to fruition. Married to the future president of Shinra Electric Power Company."
"It certainly took you long enough to figure me out," he sighs, grinning at her. Her eyes sparkle when he drops her gently onto the bed, teeth gnawing on her plump bottom lip. "You've no idea how torturous these past few years with you have truly been."
Charlie doesn't answer. She only continues to smile up at him, not at all the playful thing that she'd been wearing only seconds before, but something softer, something a bit more genuine.
"What?" he asks her, worried that he's overstepped, said something wrong, something that offended her. "Are you all right? I didn't mean to . . . insinuate that I . . ."
"No, everything is perfect," she replies, touching his cheek. "I'm sorry that loving me can be so . . . complicated."
His heart starts to beat a little faster. "I was only trying to make a joke. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. I only meant . . ." Charlie hesitates, giving her head a slight shake. "I'm sorry that I got you involved in all of this. All of my family drama."
"Your family certainly keeps me on my toes."
Her smile is even weaker now. He curses himself silently. "Charlie, if your family was going to scare me away, I would have left a long time ago."
This seems to ease whatever fear she may be feeling. "Okay," she whispers, spread out beneath him, his knee parting his thighs.
"Okay," Reeve repeats softly, kissing the pointed tip of her nose, lips hovering above her lips. Her eyes flutter closed, neck craning up to meet him halfway. "My Charlotte," he sighs, brushing the backs of his fingers against her cheek.
"Do you like the sound of it, at least?" she asks after he takes too long to kiss her. "Vice President Tuesti?"
"Very much."
Her eyes open again, startling him. "Are you going to stop looking at me and kiss me now?"
"Yes," he answers breathlessly, doing as he's told.