They learned a lot about each other in the forty-five minutes they had until the front door opened and Simon arrived home. Five was particularly cruel when he discovered a sweet spot of Gwen's just under her left breast and then proceeded to ignore it. In return, Gwen just barely skimmed her lips over his collarbone, rather than paying a spot under his jawline the lavish attention he wanted. Both of them learned that Five had no control around her but was capable of a surely remarkable recovery time. They also learned that it took little more than a few well-placed flicks of his fingers and a growled proclamation of ownership to have her falling apart under him. Five almost ignored the sound of the front door, but Gwen gave him a reprimanding look. So he settled for enjoying the smug pleasure he felt mix with the remnants of his physical pleasure. In forty-five minutes he had managed to get Gwen to ignore all rules of propriety. He almost wished he could meet her grandparents, who had instilled all ideas of etiquette and eloquence in her, just so he could relish in the fact that it had taken him forty-five minutes to unravel it all and replace their respectable granddaughter with the wanton young woman only he would ever know she could be. Five kissed her deeply and rolled off of her, whispering that he would be back later before he disappeared.
Gwen smiled to herself, a blush staining her cheeks as she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Pleasurable shivers shook her body as she felt his phantom-touch and she quickly headed for a shower, fully aware that Simon would ask how she was doing with her homework. She slid onto the barstool again, picking up her pencil where she had left it on the kitchen island before Five happened. "Simon, would you mind preparing a quick snack," she asked not looking up from the squares and circles in front of her, "I need the energy if I'm ever going to get this done." She winced at her choice of words, hoping that Simon would not ask why she was feeling tired. "I took a shower to wake myself up," she added, "but it only served to relax me and now I feel like I'm going to drop at any minute."
"Not sleeping well, ms. Gwendolyn?"
"No, not since debutante preparations got started," she replied, surprised to find that she was not blatantly lying to him, "With the way the teachers are acting, one could believe the ball is tomorrow and not a year away." Gwen hated debutante preparations. It did not help that her grandmother had taken to visiting her at school to inquire about possible matches for her, as though the batty old hag had not already decided on choosing one for her. A fact that was further complicated by the recent… developments, in her camaraderie with Five. "I don't understand how mother put up with it," she commented, accepting the bowl of grapes and apple slices that was handed to her, "Then again, she only had to go through this with grandmother harping her, did she not, while I have to face the judgment of the entire school."
Simon smiled sardonically. "Ah, yes," he agreed, "the conundrum of whether or not the may or may not be bastard daughter will find herself a suitor." The torment the poor girl had to face at school was one of the many reasons that Simon had learned, after many months of snarky remarks, to appreciate Five Hargreeves. The boy clearly adored her and he was not afraid of her. Where she faced verbal abuse in the form of barely veiled insults in school, the boy from next door treated her like a treasure to be in awe of. Hiding a snort behind a cough, Simon faced Gwen. He was certain that both of them believed themselves to be discreet. "Does Mr. Hargreeves know that he will be required to be your escort," he asked, "seeing as he has taken certain liberties with you?" Her eyes widened as he held up a silver serving tray and pointed out the mark visible just above her neckline. Had she been wearing another color, say plum or deep burgundy, he would not have noticed it, but the bruise was starkly contrasting against her pale skin and the cream silk of her blouse. "I suggest covering that," he added with a smirk, "as your grandparents have invited themselves over for dinner."
"First off," Gwen muttered, face red, "that rule was abolished three years ago." She gathered her homework and grabbed the fruit bowl. "Second, would you please head over to the Hargreeves and tell Five to hold off visiting for a couple of days." Simon nodded and Gwen left the kitchen, still blushing slightly. If her grandparents were willingly leaving their upstate manor, she had no doubt that they were going to be staying for a few days in an attempt to get their heiresses to go along with whatever they considered to be important. It would not go over well if Five decided to visit, especially since he never used the front door. No, it was far safer if he knew not to visit until the coast was clear. In retrospect, she should have known better than to expect him to comply.
Dressed in her best outfit, Gwen plastered a smile on her face and checked in the mirror to ensure that the mark Five had left was not visible. Her mother called, with no small amount of exasperation, that her grandparents had arrived. With a deep breath, she left her room and descended the staircase, keeping the smile on her face as Annie-May and Henry Silver came into view. "Grandmother," she greeted, "grandfather, what a delight to see you!" Exchanging kisses on the cheeks with them, Gwen gestured up the stairs. "Simon has prepared a room for you, in case you would like to lie down for a minute," she continued, cheeks hurting, "Dinner will be served in just a few minutes."
Monica, not at all as willing to put on a show, nodded to her parents. "Mom, Dad," she greeted, crossing her arms, "what do you want?"
"As eloquent as always, Monica," Annie-May admonished, shrugging off her coat for Simon to take, "goodness, you could learn a thing or two from your daughter." Patting at her gray-streaked hair, she followed her granddaughter into the dining room. Henry pulled out her chair for her and took a seat next to her while Simon helped Gwen into her seat and Monica, as gracelessly as always, slumped down on the chair at the head of the table. "I must say," Annie-May finally said once dinner had been served, "that this is edible."
Gwen glanced at Simon. Though his expression gave nothing away to the average observer, she heard his many ungentlemanly words. To suppress the giggle that threatened to escape, God help her if her grandparents found out she was anything other than a fatherless child with good manners, she took a bite and concentrated on chewing. "I find, grandmother," she supplied, "that one's food tends to taste better when the cook finds it within themself to care for the person eating." It was an underhanded comment, she knew, and had it been anyone else who said it, her grandmother would have been enraged. But the arts of subtly implying something, insulting someone without them realizing, was exactly what Ophelia Murphy's School for Elite Youth taught. It was the bread and butter of socialite conversation. Simon smiled almost imperceptibly, refilling Gwen's glass of water.
Annie-May leveled her granddaughter with a glare as the woman who was supposed to be her daughter snorted into her wine. "Since you so kindly brought it up," she began, putting down her silverware, "We met the Carmines for tea and they invited us to dinner in a fortnight." The sound of glass breaking turned all heads to Monica, who gaped unattractively. She tried to say something, but Annie-May would not hear it. "They invited all of us," she continued, "claiming that they wished to discuss an agreement but had been turned down when they approached you."
"Hell no," Monica spat, "who my daughter chooses to pursue is her business." Of all the traditions she had hated, the 'agreement' was at the very top of her list. The agreement was a misogynistic trap to ensure that heirs had heirs and heiresses stayed silent in fear of being destitute. The full meaning behind the word was agreement to court to be engaged to be married in the name of preserving the uppity legacy of snobs with sticks up their asses. At least, that was Monica's definition of the word. "I refuse to let you dictate who she spends the rest of her life with," she bit out, "she is fourteen, Mom, and her generation is perfectly capable of making their own choices."
No one seemed to notice the way Gwen's fingers clenched around her fork. Her hand shook as she reached for her water.
"It is her legacy, Monica," Henry muttered even as he tried to stay out of it, "she must marry well, as tradition states." His marriage to Annie-May had not been a happy one at first. But they learned to love one another and had a child together. He was certain that Tristan Carmine was perfect for their granddaughter. "He is well-educated and is guaranteed a spot at Harvard Business," he divulged, taking a sip of wine, "he will find a suitable position that will ensure a comfortable life until they can access their inheritance."
Simon was the first to note that something was not quite right with Gwen. "Miss Gwendolyn," he said, drawing all eyes to himself before they turned to the blonde, "are you quite alright?" Her gaze was unfocused, her pupils blown wide. She nodded and stood, opening her mouth to speak. Nothing came out, as her legs gave out beneath her. Being the only one standing, Simon reached her first, checking her pulse. It was slower than usual, but he suspected all she needed was to get away from the stress of the sudden discussion of marriage and a good night's rest. The girl started to come to as he lifted her into his arms. "Miss Gwendolyn expressed fatigue earlier in the day," he announced, leveling Annie-May and Henry with a pointed look, "I imagine the stress of imagining a controlled future pushed her into a fainting spell." He strode toward the hallway, looking back just before he left the dining room. "I advise that Miss Gwendolyn be left alone for the remainder of the evening." With those words, Simon left and headed up the stairs. Gwen mumbled something inaudible, but Simon prided himself on knowing his mistresses. He would ensure she got what she wanted, lest he be murdered in his sleep for ignoring her request.
"Thank you, Simon," Gwen said once he placed her on her bed, "Please, could you bring some water and maybe some fruit?" He nodded and bowed slightly before exiting the room. Gwen leaned back against her pillows. She was not unintelligent enough to not understand what had happened. She had been stressed since the debutante preparations had begun and the implication that an agreement would soon be made with the Carmines… well, it clearly did not help. Simon returned within minutes, carrying a tray with a glass, a pitcher full of water, and a plate with strawberries and blackberries. "Simon…" she hesitated, wringing her hands nervously, "I need to talk to him before a decision is made."
He nodded. "I will see to it that the discussion is stalled."
Smiling gratefully, Gwen grabbed the glass and took a relieved sip of the cool liquid. She wondered how long it would take for Simon to get a message to Five that, despite her earlier instructions, she wanted to see him. Chewing on.a blackberry, she considered finding a book to read, but she did not find it within herself to bother with going to the library, not when there was a chance that she could run into her mother or, God forbid, her grandparents. Five would not fuss, he knew better. He would curse and pace and then remember that she needed him calm and climb into bed with her to hold her until she fell asleep. Under different circumstances, he would likely have stayed the night, but her grandmother had no boundaries and could burst in without warning so he would be gone by dawn.
Downstairs, Simon entered the dining room to find the broken family arguing loudly. "Miss Gwendolyn requests that the discussion be postponed until she is feeling better," he stated, cutting through the shouting, "as the three of you are partially to blame for her indisposition, it is only polite to acquiesce." He took in the outraged look on Annie-May's face, as well as the grudging acceptance on Henry's and the utter relief of Monica's and nodded to the three of them, secretly satisfied that they had some sympathy for the poor girl. "Again, I urge that you do not disturb the young miss," he continued, "she needs rest to recover." Simon gave Monica a significant look and left for the kitchen once realization flitted across her face. He heard her offer to take her parents to their room as the door swung shut behind him. Rather than taking care of dishes though, as he was sure the elder Silvers believed he would, Simon used the back door to leave the house and sneak into the alley between the Silver's townhouse and the Hargreeves mansion.
Five frowned when Grace called for him, stating that there was someone at the door for him. He had gotten a message from Gwen, through Simon, that her grandparents were visiting. Therefore, it could not be her at the door. He almost bit his tongue off when his initial dismissal turned into a realization that it could be the Handler. He jumped downstairs, startling Ben and Klaus in the process. Simon stood in the doorway and the look on his face was disconcerting. Almost snarling in his effort to not show emotion, he nodded at the butler. "Yes?"
"Miss Gwendolyn suffered a fainting spell during dinner," Simon told him, "she is asking for you." He had barely finished speaking before the boy was gone.
"What happened?" Five immediately strode over to Gwen, looking her up and down as though the reason for her syncope would somehow become visible on her skin. "Simon said you fainted." If the look Simon gave him was disconcerting, the expression on Gwen's face was near worrying. She opened and closed her mouth several times, clearly knowing what to say but being unable to figure out how to say it. Five sat next to her on the edge of the bed. "Gwenny," he murmured, taking her hands in his, "no secrets." He sat, silent, as she regaled how her grandparents had invited themselves over and how the meal had barely started before they announced that they had accepted an invitation to a dinner that likely would end in them settling an agreement with the Carmine family that meant that she would be forced to date Tristan Carmine until they were old enough to be engaged. Five seethed as she spoke and once she was done he stood and started pacing, muttering curses under his breath. "No," he finally said, "No fucking way will I sit back and watch as he puts his hands all over you."
"I didn't think you would," Gwen murmured quietly, "I just thought you deserved to know." She smiled at how well she knew him, seeing the moment he reconsidered whatever he had planned to do. As she had predicted, he was gentle but, thankfully, not overbearing as he helped her get changed. He undressed and slid in beside her beneath the covers, gesturing for her to turn around so he could undo the elaborate updo she sported. Once her hair was free, they shifted to lay back against the pillows. His fingers tangled into the loose tresses, massaging her scalp with one hand as the other ran up and down the arm she draped over his chest. "Simon agreed to stall them," she admitted into the darkness, "I don't know how, but I think he can buy us enough time to find a way out that doesn't include murdering, maiming or otherwise physically or psychologically hurting my grandparents or the Carmines." Gwen could feel Five deflating and pinched his bicep, drawing a chuckle from him. They lay in silence for a while, his soothing motions never wavering. Gwen's eyelids slid closed, relaxed and comforted by his presence. Until he spoke again.
"What if your mom made an agreement with another family?"