AN: I know 'Snow White' is a German fairytale and obviously Snow doesn't have an accent in OUAT but I am using some artistic license here. Also I apologize now if the French is translated horribly!
Shout out to aras13 for helping me with the Italian translation!
Chapter Four - 86 Days Left
Although the long, thick, linen curtains were drawn, darkness no longer consumed Emma's mind. The room was quiet and tranquil, warm summer light peaking through the edges of the heavy material. Awaking in this room still felt strange to Emma. She knew this particular hotel's model was fashioned after their Alsace, France vineyard collection. The entire room was created using neutral hues throughout the living area and calming blue accents giving off a countryside cottage-y feel. The décor was artfully designed with European patterns and soft powder tones. The high walls were painted a warm crème color with pristine molding and wainscoting throughout the circumference. The dark wood furniture drew the eye in while the plush taupe fabrics warmed the atmosphere.
It really was a gorgeous room and reminded her so much of her French mother. But it seemed too immaculate to live in all summer.
Then again, she could probably stay in this wonderful bed for the next three months without any objections. It was like a queen sized cloud floating down the Belice River with the Sicilian sun warming the sheets.
But alas, she could not lazy in bed all day. Especially with it being Saturday morning, and her first day off.
Just as she threw the feathery comforter off of her legs to stretch her refreshed body, Emma caught sight of the mess in the bed next to her, also known as her second cousin Regina Mills. Emma couldn't help but laugh at her cousin's misfortune. She had managed to remove her formal attire from the night before but that was as far as she got. Only half of her body had made it under the tightly made sheets, the numerous decorative pillows haphazardly covering her exposed back.
Emma quietly made her way to the en suite, clicking the door shut as to not to wake her cousin. When that time came, she knew, Regina would spend the rest of the day miserably hung over.
Steaming hot water flowed over Emma in a relaxing stream. All the dirt and grim from the night before washed away along with the desire to ever repeat her actions. Although she was in the prime of her life, what was the point in mutilating her liver and dashing away her inhibitions? Just for a few hours of fun, then two days of recovery? She would leave that to her spirited younger cousin.
The luxurious shower, covered in white marble and crème porcelain, fogged with thick haze as Emma scrubbed away any remaining impurities from her skin. Feeling fully awake and rejuvenated she shut off the heavy flow and covered her damp body in the warm fluffy white bath sheet.
Not wishing to torture her cousin with the noise of a hair dryer, Emma brushed out her long blonde locks, wrung the remaining water from them and threw it all up in a towel to dry. The mirror was still slightly misted over but Emma started her beauty regime anyways. Moisturizer, primer, concealers, bronzers, the works. She had all her materials organized by order of operation and season. As her skin was now slightly tanned from the California sun she knew she needed to increase the SPF in her foundation. After the standard twenty minutes, Emma's face was contoured and highlighted flawlessly. Today she would only outline the corners of her lids in a thin stroke of brown liner and mascara. Her large green eyes seemed clearer and in the morning light, all traces of tension gone.
Removing the smaller towel from her head, her flowing hair tumbled down her back, still slightly damp. Knowing the summer sun would soon dry it completely; the blonde just rustled her fingers through her roots for good measure. With the larger sheet still wrapped around her body, Emma smoothly opened the adjoining door returning her back into the sleeping quarters.
Silently searching for something casual to wear, Emma inwardly groaned when she heard the agonizing whine of her pain-ridded cousin. From what she could gather, Regina was not even making coherent sentences, which was no surprise. Still shoeless, Emma crept her way back towards the bathroom, wetting a washcloth with cool water. Folding it precisely, she laid it gently over Regina's forehead. The brunette furrowed her eyebrows but kept her lids closed.
"I'm dying." She drawled withering under the silk pillows.
"I'm going to get you a smoothie and some painkillers, I'll be back soon." Emma whispered sweetly to Regina, brushing the loose strands away from her face.
As Emma grabbed her cognac colored Gold Togo, Hermès Birkin bag, placing her iPhone and room key into the side pocket, she could, again, hear the even breathing of her cousin-signaling she had already drifted back to sleep.
Killian shoved his hand deep into his faded jade shorts, reaching for his iPhone-8:02am. The jet lag was doing crazy things to his sleeping habits, even with the aide of last night's escapades he couldn't fall back asleep. He removed his large hand from his pocket, placing the phone back in its place.
As Killian waited for the graying manager to finish his hushed phone call, he straightened out his fresh white, linen button down shirt. The airy material made up for the fact that the shirt was actually long-sleeved. It also helped that Killian had rolled up the thin sleeves to his elbows, revealing his strong, tanned forearms. On his feet were brown leather Sperry Top-Siders boat shoes. They were worn and comfortable, even with the absence of socks. The twenty-seven year old lazily looked around the prestigious lobby as Mr. Gold continued to speak into the front desk phone. He just needed a recommendation on where to eat. Just as he could hear the other man finishing up his conversation the distinct ding of the elevator could be heard from across the empty lobby. As the two doors separated, Killian smirked as the tightness in his chest returned. She was just as appealing as the night before…and every other time he had seen her. Her long, lean body was smoothly covered in a slim black cotton dress with small, white horizontal lines. The hem reached just above mid thigh and the sleeves, just above her elbows. A small, red leather belt also synched around her natural waist effortlessly. With the woman staring down at the phone in her hand, her blonde hair fell around her face and shoulders in natural waves. He noticed she paused her steps as she continued to type away furiously at the device.
Focused on the lengthy email she was trying to send her uncle she didn't even notice the man walking towards her until he spoke, "You are far shorter than I recall, Swan."
Recognizing the lilting voice, Emma chose to finish her email before addressing the tall man in front of her. She was wearing her white worn Converse making him tower over her 5'7 figure, as he stood tall at about 6'2. All her life she was the tall one, having a long lean figure making her appear she were even taller than she was. But that did not deter her from wearing heels. They made her feel powerful and glamorous and by this time in her life they no longer made her feet ache.
"I imagine Robin is not fairing any better than Regina?"
"I gather that if the sun touched him he would indeed melt." Killian grinned at his cousin's misfortune.
"I was just going out to pick her up some remedies before she dies of dehydration." Emma turned towards the door once more, leaving the invitation open for his interpretation.
Keeping pace with the blonde Killian responds, "Mind if I join you, love? Robin's condition could use a woman's touch."
As they walk into the morning sun Emma could feel the remainder of last night's entertainment behind her eyes. Chancing a glance over at her companion she questions, "The sun doesn't seem to be having any negative affect on you, Jones."
Killian shrugged his wide shoulders nonchalantly, "Unlike my cousin, I know how to have a good time, in moderation."
"I'm surprised a European can even conceive a hangover. I thought you lot were bottle fed gin out of the womb." Emma jokingly raising a blonde eyebrow.
"Apparently they were drinking Tequila all night. And Robin got knocked on his arse for it."
The two fell silent as they continued their way down the sidewalk passing a quant breakfast café that caught Killian's eye. He paused at the entrance even though Emma continued on her path. "Are you hungry Swan? My treat."
The smell that hit her nose was divine, nothing like she has smelled in week. The small room had the same aesthetic as her French-styled room at the Plaza but with more of a loving touch. The east wall was covered completely in a dark wood built in, the shelves covered with miscellaneous objects and an array of bottles. Small round tables scattered the perimeter of the café, lining the walls near the large windows. Each table was covered in a mismatched cloth, some plaid, some striped and a few solid with a little lace detail at the bottom. No covering was the same and Emma thought they looked as authentic as if they came from a French grandmother's linen closet rather than ordered out of some bulk styled magazine.
As the two approached the bistro counter an older woman greeted them in an authentic French accent, "Bonjour!"
Killian greets her back, "Bonjour comment allez-vous?" (How do you do?) Raising an eyebrow and turning slightly towards the man to gauge his face, Emma was surprised to hear the sounds coming from his mouth as oddly sincere.
Behind the counter, the graying woman's smile widens, "Vous parlez monsieur très bien." (You speak the language well sir)
"Merci. Votre café me rappelle de Monaco." (Thank you. Your café reminds me of Monaco) Killian waves his hand behind him gesturing to the décor.
The once tired blue eyes of the woman now sparkle in the natural morning light, "Oui! C'est là que je suis de!" (Yes! That is where I am from!)
They both smile and laugh with each other. The deep chuckle coming from the tall man in front of her sent a current down the outside of her legs, damn her body. She stood slightly behind him, thankful that neither of them would notice her questioning gaze towards Killian.
After a few more lines of small talk the woman asks, "Que souhaitez-vous commander, monsieur?" (What would you like to order, sir?)
"Je vais prendre un café noir et votre plus grand croissant" (I will have a black coffee and your largest croissant)
"Oui, et pour la belle madame?" (Yes, and for the beautiful lady) Finally turning to Emma, the woman's smile softens at the blonde.
"J'aimerais un peu de thé chaud et une crêpe s'il vous plait" (I would love some hot tea and a crepe please)
Now it is Killian's turn to look on in surprise. A swell of pride fills Emma's chest as her mother's native tongue flows past her lips. Mary Margaret was originally from Avon and insisted that Emma learn how to speak her language.
Killian takes out his wallet as promised and Emma turns to sit at the dainty table by the corner window with the powder blue plaid cloth. As the Englishman sits down across from her she narrowed her eyes with a smug look, "I'm surprised she didn't give us our meal for free after that amount of flirting monsieur."
"No but she did throw in some macaroons for the belle madame." Raising his infuriating eyebrow, Emma cursed herself for loving the way the words rolled over his tongue. What the hell? Tearing her gaze away from his devilish face, she eyed the bag. She did love macaroons…but took them cautiously.
Concentrating on the contents of the bag and not the fit figure in front of her, Emma lightly asks, "So French and English, what else you got?"
"Bueno francés es considerado el lenguaje del amor. Pero algunos argumentan que el español es de hecho el lenguaje más sexy." (Well French is considered the language of love. But some argue that Spanish is indeed the sexiest language.) Those damn eyebrows again, she swore she was going to rip them right off of his face and shove them down his throat. Instead she opted for the simple eye roll.
Ma poi di nuovo l'italiano ha un suo speciale suono romantico, no?" (But then again Italian does have its own special sense of romance, no?) Looking up at her through his thick, dark lashes Killian tries to cover his smugness by scratching the scruff down his jaw.
"Non c'è da stupirsi che voi siate sempre nelle colonne di gossip, una donna non può contraddirvi, giusto?" (No wonder you are always in the gossip columns, woman cannot say no to you, can they?) A twinge of bitterness laced the Italian words as they passed Emma's coral lips.
Arrogantly he smiles, if he noticed her distain he did not comment, "Its a curse, really. But it seems you are immune to my worldly charm, Swan." His antics were childish and attention seeking, but she had the nagging feeling that they were also calculated, precise even. She had yet to see any determination or drive from him. But then again, why should he show her those sides to him? He was on "vacation" after all.
Trying to goad the topic on her own Emma asks, "So you never told me why you and Robin are in Beverly Hills, you guys don't really fit in with the plastic surgeons and wealthy widows."
"For once in Brennan's life he thought we deserved a break." The humor was gone from Killian's face as he turned his attention to the woman walking towards them with their drink orders.
Waiting for the woman to deposit their cups and retreat back to the kitchen Emma retorts, "A break? No offense, but what do you and Robin do for the company?" She was letting her hostility towards their company get to her. Here she and Regina were shipped across the country to work part-time jobs to train for becoming CEOs. And these two were deserving of a break?
Stirring a packet of sugar into his dark roast Killian did not look up to meet her disdained face, "Right now? All of our duties and responsibilities are probationary. Brennan and Malcolm won't officially turn over the company to us until the first of the year. But just because the only side of us the public sees is in the tabloids doesn't mean we don't work our arses off. When we are across the pond we go out so little that when we do the paparazzi are all over our every move. The majority of what they write is speculation. Thankfully, they have no idea we came here and the states are so enamored with Hollywood celebrities that they don't even know who we are. My father and Robin's father thought it would be a good idea to get us away and let the paps bugger off a little before we dropped the bombshell of them stepping down." She couldn't help but notice the slight tone of defensiveness in his smooth voice.
Emma had to admit she was shocked that the infamous Brennan Jones and Malcolm Locksley were handing over their world-renowned company to their sons so soon. Although her own father and uncle were doing the same thing, they had genuine reasons to. The girls had been preparing for their fathers to step down all their lives. They were dedicated and focused, although Regina did have her days of rebellion. David and Henry refused to spend their entire lives making money and gaining fame to let it go to waste. What was the point of building a fortune if you never enjoyed it with the people you loved? David had this wonderful plan to spend an entire year with Mary Margaret sailing around the world. And Henry was building a cottage on the cliffs of Puerto Rico, something just for him and Cora. She had seen the plans and it was going to be lovely. Nothing too extravagant only 4 bedrooms and about 3000 sq feet, enough space for family to visit. Her family was never excessive with their money. That was something they prided themselves in. They only bought things that were necessary and splurged very little. And every month on the dot they tithed 10% of their makings back to a charity or church anonymously. Not even the tabloids knew about that. The Nolans and Mills were not flashy or show off-y. They were regular people that just happened to be blessed. A 180 of what Jones Trading Company stood for. And that's why she knew her father and grandpa George never liked to do business with them. They were shady and over the top. Everything was a publicity opportunity for them and it was all about the "brand". She even got the sense that Brennan and Malcolm were behind all the tabloids. They owned half of them and if they really didn't want their sons in them they could control it.
Emma internally shook herself, this was not a compare and contrast meeting between the companies. She was aware their differences but if she continued to dwell on them she was going to blow her cover. Opting to change to a lighter subject, "So how are you and Robin related?" Although she already knew the answer, this was safe.
By now their food had arrived and she concentrated on her deliciously sweet crepe as she listened to his lilting accent describe his family tree, "Robin's mum is my father's older sister. So she was a Jones originally. But when she met Uncle Malcolm she gladly took on the Locksley name. Robin followed shortly after me." Washing the bite of his croissant down with a gulp of coffee he returned the question, "What about you and Regina? You two don't look too close in origins."
Taking a calculated bite of her crepe, she chewed slowly to think of the correct response, "We're technically second cousins. My grandmother and her father are siblings, which sounds awkward when you imagine the age gap but somehow it worked. She's half Latina where I am white as snow so that explains the vast difference in our appearance." That answer should suffice.
"Well either way, you are absolutely gorgeous, Swan." Emma's head snapped up immediately. His cyan blue eyes were clear and boring into her with a glittering sense of heat. She felt as if her ribs were tightening around her lungs as that stupid smirk graced his lips once more.
Flicking a stray piece of hair out of her face she forced herself to look anywhere but his eyes, "Oh shut up."
AN: Thanks to all of you who are following the story! I hope you are enjoying it!