Hi everybody :) I know I'm beginning to repeat myself, but sorry for taking so long to update this story. I realise that tomorrow will be a month since my last update, and I really will try to have the next chapter up sooner.
While life has been busy, you can blame the Australian Open for part of the delay. There were some great matches and the women's final was the best I've seen in recent memory. Kudos to Kerber for her biggest win ever. Let's hope she can sustain the level she played at in Melbourne. God knows it'll be nice to see Serena have some actual competition. If anything, I think it'll only make her raise her level even more (a scary thought, I know!)
As always, thank you to everyone who has written me a review. A special thank you to everyone that wrote in as a Guest. I can't thank you in a message, so allow me to do so on here. Also, thank you to everyone that has followed/favourited myself or this story. I can't believe A Perfect Match is now at 351 follows. Wow.
I'd like to wish everyone a Happy Valentine's Day. Good luck to those of you that are looking for love, and congratulations to those of you who are in happy relationships. Remember, don't let a good thing slip through your fingers!
And now, onwards and upwards to the update! Enjoy!
After a few months of annual travel on the junior circuit and almost a full year of playing on the women's tour, Rachel considered herself to be a bit of a connoisseur of hotels. In the space of a few years she'd lived in basic guesthouses, practical lodges and utterly glamourous seven-star hotels, the accommodation getting more luxurious as her ranking and profile rose. Which is why the fact that she was overcome with awe as she took in the magnificent Ciragan Palace spoke volumes about the splendor of the former Ottoman palace.
"Stunning, isn't it?" Kurt commented, climbing out of the limousine and coming to a stop beside the brunette, whose eyes were fixed on the exquisitely carved marble pillars before her as she nodded her agreement. "It's even prettier on the inside," the Adidas rep commented, beginning to head inside.
"I find that hard to believe," Rachel said, matching his stride. The pair walked through the large doors, only for Rachel to come to another abrupt halt. "And I stand corrected," she added, drawing a laugh from her companion.
A woman approached the tennis player, followed by what appeared to be an employee of the hotel. Rachel thought the blonde seemed vaguely familiar, and she knew why when the woman reached out her hand with a "Ms. Berry! I'm Terri De Monico, with the WTA. We've met before, in London."
"Yes, I remember," Rachel smiled politely, shaking the woman's hand.
"Kurt," Terri said, nodding at the man that stood beside the US Open champion.
"Terri," Kurt acknowledged with an amiable nod of his head. He turned to Rachel, "I need to shoot off to make sure everything is organized for you, Fleur, Lily and Santana. I'll see you in hair and makeup." And with that, he dashed off.
Rachel waited a moment for Terri to introduce the hotel employee who was standing half a step behind the WTA rep and when no introduction seemed forthcoming the New Yorker put her own hand forth, "Hi, I'm Rachel."
"It's a pleasure to welcome you to the Ciragan Palace Kempinski, Ms. Berry," the dark-haired man smiled, showing off pearly white teeth. "I'm Khalid Oguzbas, the assistant manager."
Rachel felt a wave of impatience coming off Terri as she exchanged pleasantries with the man, and sure enough the woman spoke up as soon as the tanned-skinned man was done speaking. "The players are to meet in the Oriflame Style Suite at twelve pm to begin getting ready for the draw ceremony, which will begin at exactly seven pm. Please do not be late to either. I should also inform you that a camera crew will be present throughout the day, except for when you're changing of course." The blonde woman's gaze alternated between Rachel and the hotel's large double doors as she spoke, keeping an obvious eye out for anyone else that was expected.
"We have organized a suite for you for your stay, if you would like to go there while you wait. Your bags have already taken there, and I would be happy to show you the way. Or you are most welcome to wander around the hotel first. The Ciragan Palace Kempinski has quite the collection of artwork for those with an appreciative eye to admire," Khalid threw in. Rachel thought the WTA would have done better to just have him greet the players instead of Terri who, from the look of things, lacked basic decorum.
"I'd love to look around the hotel for a bit, if that's alright. But I will take my room key, in case I stop there before reporting for duty," Rachel said, addressing the hotel employee with a smile.
The New Yorker wandered around the hotel and its grounds for a good hour or so, stopping to sign the occasional autograph or smile for a selfie, before deciding to check her suite in the thirty minutes she had to herself before she needed to go to hair and makeup. She took a few moments to appreciate the opulence of the suite she had been given, leisurely walking around the one bedroom unit and snapping a few pictures of the view of the Bosphorus Strait to send to her fathers. Turning around her eyes landed on the king-sized bed that, although the same size as the bed she'd slept on at the Grand Hyatt over the past few nights, looked more inviting than any other bed she'd seen in the recent past. As if on autopilot, Rachel walked to the bed and lay down flat on her back right in the middle, letting out a soft moan as she closed her eyes and let the silence envelop her.
The teenager willed her mind to stay blank and tried to focus on the way her body sank into the mattress around her. It worked for about thirty seconds, before her mind wandered to its new favourite topic – Quinn Fabray.
With a resigned sigh, Rachel opened her eyes to stare at the canopy above her head. It was like the blonde had wedged herself into Rachel's very subconscious so that the brunette spent every free moment wondering what the other woman was doing. Or what her opinion would be on anything and everything Rachel was doing, thinking about, looking at, eating, laughing at. Hell, every song Rachel heard somehow reminded her of the hazel-eyed tennis star. The Rachel that used to laugh at her friends who obsessed over their crushes was a little bit disgusted at the person she'd become. And still, she felt giddy when she pictured her hazel-eyed friend, or played the sound of her quiet laugh in her head. Or when Quinn sent her the random text messages she had gotten so used to receiving every day. Rachel tried not to obsess over whether Quinn thought her own random ramblings were as adorable.
Tilting her head, Rachel scanned the room for a remote control and, sure enough, found a few placed on the bedside table next to her bed. After a little more stretching than she had anticipated Rachel, now located more towards the right side of the mattress, pointed the television remote at the giant flat-screen TV mounted on the wall across the bed. It took her a few seconds to find TRT Spor where she was greeted by the sight of Quinn and Santana standing side by side, smiling as the light from camera flashes bounced off their skin. Each woman was displaying a piece of silverware, and it was plain to see that the blonde's cup-shaped prize was more eye-catching than the Latina's silver dish.
The camera cut to a mid-shot of the two women just as Santana gave her vanquisher a sporting pat on the back before stepping away, allowing Quinn her moment in the spotlight. The angle changed to a close-up of the American's face. Her hair was out of place and damp from perspiration, and her cheeks were flushed from the effort of playing the match. Rachel thought she looked beautiful.
While Rachel had avoided Quinn in Moscow, she did the exact opposite upon reaching Istanbul. Not wanting her behaviour to seem odd she had kept in touch with the higher-ranked player through regular text messages, a routine that the pair had somehow established over the last few months. The brunette also watched every match Quinn had played en route to the final against Santana; she had Googled the interviews the blonde had given over the course of the tournament, and watched her post-match press conferences on the Kremlin Cup website. At one point she had justified her borderline stalking by telling herself that if she found something not to like about Quinn, this crush would go away. Many hours of Internet browsing and back-and-forth text sessions later her feelings were nowhere near diminished. And Rachel refused to admit, even to herself, that to the contrary they had gotten stronger.
The footage cut away to the studio where two men began to speak in Turkish, so Rachel turned the television off. Realizing she had less than ten minutes to get to the Bosphorus function room, she began to make her way to the second floor.
Rachel was waiting for the elevator on her floor when she heard soft footsteps behind her and turned to see Fleur Delacour approaching her. "Salut, Rachel," the tall blonde smiled.
"Bon jour, Fleur," Rachel smiled back. "Comment ca va?"
Fleur's smile could now light up the hallway on its own. "Ca va tres bien. Et tu?"
"Tres bien, merci," the brunette smiled up at her companion, just as the elevator dinged. "Saved by the bell, literally," she laughed, walking into the elevator, "that was the extent of my knowledge of French!"
The Frenchwoman joined in her laughter as she followed her into the elevator, "Well, I am very 'appy you made ze effort to speak wiz me in my native tongue. I appreciate eet."
"Well, you speak to me in my native tongue all the time, so it's the least I could do. Maybe one day I'll be able to speak your native tongue as well as you speak mine," Rachel said.
Fleur let out a chuckle, "Ah, you sound like Fabray."
"I do?" Rachel asked, her ears pricking up at the mention of the other woman's name. "How?"
The elevator came to a stop and the two women walked out side by side. "Quinn 'as been practicing 'er Francais for a few years now. She 'as vowed zat she will give 'er speech een Francais when she wins Roland Garros. I 'elp 'er when she asks, and each year I tease 'er zat she ees not winning on purpose because 'er Francais ees not, 'ow you put eet, up to ze mark." Fleur looked at Rachel for confirmation that she had phrased that correctly and received a nod from the brunette before the two players shared a chuckle. "I know zat ees not the case zough," the Frenchwoman said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "By zis point, Quinn speaks Francais like a Fabray oo 'as never left Paris."
The pair reached the double doors of the function room, and Fleur held the door open to allow her companion to walk through. "Thank you," Rachel said as she passed the taller woman.
"Je t'en prie," Fluer smiled, following her in. "Remember, ze offer to teach you Francais will be zere eef you ever decide to take eet up. Eet ees sometimes nice to 'ave somezing ozzer zan tennis to zink about on ze road." The two shared an understanding look before they were swept into the madness that was the Oriflame Style Suite.
For the next four hours Rachel and Fleur joined Marley Rose, Kitty Wilde, Asami Sato, Lorna Morello, Piper Chapman and Lily Chan in what the brunette could only describe as one long pampering session. Hair and makeup teams fussed over the eight women and every-so-often Rachel would stop to look around in wonderment at how a group of the world's finest female tennis players had been reduced to a gaggle of giggling girls. Court rivalries were forgotten as they oohed at each other's nails, smiled for group selfies with curlers in their hair and even fed one another when someone's hands were preoccupied with a manicure. Despite the presence of several cameras in the room, Rachel knew this camaraderie was not for show. This was merely a bunch of girls being girls.
Rachel was so caught up in the enjoyment of it all that she was almost shocked when Quinn and Santana walked in the door. Glancing at her wristwatch she saw that it was four-thirty. Looking back up at the mirror she saw Quinn's gaze trained on her reflection, and the blonde smiled when they locked eyes. The teenager had just returned the smile when Blaine Anderson approached the blonde and diverted her attention. Rachel felt disappointment fill her chest, only for the feeling to completely dissipate when moments later the blonde sat down in the makeshift hair and makeup station that had been set up next to her own.
"Quinn," she exclaimed, turning to face the blonde and ignoring the annoyed huff her quick movement earned from the poor woman that was attempting to straighten her hair. The woman not-too-subtly moved Rachel's face to face forwards again so the brunette had to resort to talking to Quinn's reflection instead. Her heart leapt at the fond smile on the other woman's face.
"Hi Rachel," Quinn husked, sitting still while a man behind her covered her in a cutting cape.
"Congratulations on your win," the brunette smiled. "What are you now, fifty points behind Santana?"
"Sixty-three, Berry. Get your math right," Santana's voice called out, earning Rachel another huff from her stylist when she craned her neck to see where the Spaniard was. She spotted her sitting in front of a mirror, four stations away.
Rachel rolled her eyes at the Latina before her head was physically straightened to look forward again. "Hello to you too, Santana," Rachel called out as she shared a smile with Quinn in the mirror again. Her brow creased a second later. "How do you already have your makeup done?"
Quinn thanked someone that had brought her a drink on a silver tray before meeting Rachel's gaze again. "We had a couple of makeup artists on the plane with us," she said by way of explanation, obviously referring to the private plane Rachel knew the WTA had organized for the Kremlin Cup finalists to get them to Istanbul on time for today's events. Rachel quickly averted her gaze when the blonde brought the glass in her hand closer to her face and wrapped lips covered in baby pink lipstick around the straw jutting out of it. She thanked the stars above for the artificial blush on her cheeks that currently felt warmer than usual.
Looking back at the mirror before her, she noticed Kurt talking to Fleur before one his assistants escorted the Frenchwoman from the room. Moments later, he was standing behind her. "Wow," Kurt breathed out, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of the brunette. "You look great, and you aren't even really ready yet."
For the second time in mere minutes, Rachel felt her cheeks heat up. Kurt turned to the hairstylist, "Do you have an ETA on how much longer you'll be?"
"I'd say another ten minutes love," the lady replied in a thick Swedish accent. "If she stops moving her head around so much," she added, throwing Rachel a mock glare. The teenager had the grace to mouth a 'sorry' at the woman, who just rolled her eyes and grabbed another bunch of brunette locks to straighten.
"So, you want me to straighten your hair and then just tie it up in a high pony?" the man working on Quinn's hair asked, his incredulous tone drawing Rachel's attention. This time she remembered to move her eyes and not her whole head, watching the interaction between the two in her mirror.
"Yes please," Quinn nodded, looking up at the hairstylist in her own mirror.
The man just stared back, clearly not happy with what was being asked of him, but Rachel wasn't able to watch what happened next because Kurt addressed her again. "Rach, either myself or one of my assistants will escort you to get changed into your dress when you're done here. We'd like to get a few pictures of you when you're all dolled up, and I think Oriflame wants to take some too. So please let me know when you're ready."
"Will do, Kurt," Rachel said. The Adidas rep squeezed her shoulder before walking away in Santana's direction.
The brunette turned her gaze to Quinn again and couldn't help but smirk when she saw the Oriflame employee dutifully straightening the World No. 2's hair. Quinn must have sensed her stare because she looked up from her phone to smile at the brunette. "How've you been?," the blonde asked.
"Good," Rachel smiled. "Busy really, between hitting at the Sinan Erdem Dome and then training on clay with the Fed Cup crew."
"And playing tourist," Quinn threw in with a kind smile. Rachel knew she was referring to the flurry of Instagram images and tweets the New Yorker had uploaded after visiting the Hagia Sophia, the Sultan Ahmed Mosque, the Archeology Museum and the Grand Bazaar.
"Hey, I can't help it if there's so much to see and such little time," Rachel defended through a laugh.
"You do realize that Istanbul's hosting the tournament next year too, right? You don't have to see everything in one week," Quinn retorted, averting her gaze to quickly take in the changes to her own hair before looking back at Rachel, who was flattered by the blonde's faith in her ability to make the cut for what was widely considered to be the 'Fifth Slam' two years in a row.
"I'll try to remember that," Rachel grinned.
"Did you buy a lot at the Bazaar?" Quinn asked. "Last year I bought practically everyone I know mosaic lanterns for Christmas. And I got myself a few as well. I had to have them shipped back to Miami separately."
"Oh my God, I know!" Rachel exclaimed. "I bought a few too, and a few ceramic bowls. They're stunning. How did you organize for the lanterns to be shipped back?"
"Just talk to Khalid. He's one of the assistant managers here. He sorted out everything, including having them properly packed so they wouldn't break en route to America," Quinn said.
"Oh yeah, I think met him earlier. Khalid Oz... Oz, something?" Rachel asked, her brow creasing as she tried to recall the man's last name.
"Oguzbas?" Quinn prompted.
"Yes, him!" Rachel responded.
The blonde nodded, "That's him. He's extremely helpful, so just check with him if you want to have anything shipped home."
"Noted," Rachel said. "What about you? Is there anything you plan to see here this week?"
"Well, I did most of the touristy stuff here last year but I do want to go back to the Bazaar for a browse. And I was hoping to go check out a photography exhibition at the Modern Art Museum. I was actually wondering if you wanted to come with, if you're free?" Quinn asked.
The hopeful expression on the blonde's face warmed Rachel's heart. The brunette guessed Quinn didn't often have company when she went to things like exhibitions while on tour. God knows Santana didn't seem the type to spend hours exploring a gallery or museum. "It depends on when you plan to go but yes, I'd gladly accompany you if I can. Can we wait till the draw is out before we make any concrete plans?"
Quinn's eyes shone as she nodded, "Yeah, of course. Hopefully we're in the same half of the draw. That way we'd have the same days off, at least at the start."
Rachel nodded, quietly thinking it would also mean she would know sooner rather than later if she'd managed to get her focus levels up to a point where she could be competitive against Quinn. "So, what's the exhibition about anyway?"
"It's a portrait exhibition-" Quinn began, but cut herself short when Rachel's hairstylist rested her hands on the brunette's shoulders.
"Sorry to interrupt girls, but you're all done," the woman said, undoing the Velcro strap around the brunette's neck that kept the cutting cape in place.
Rachel blinked as she looked at herself. Even the modest teenager had to admit that the hair and makeup people had done a fantastic job on her. The Oriflame team had given her smokey eyes, rouge that further accentuated her high cheekbones and a nearly nude shade of lipstick, and her hairstylist had complimented the makeup by straightening her hair and sweeping her forehead-long bangs to one side. The young American could hardly believe she was looking at herself.
Beside her Quinn cleared her throat but still sounded huskier than usual when she spoke. "You're going to have to beat them off with a stick, Berry."
Rachel ducked her head at the compliment before turning to the hairstylist. "Thank you," she spoke, her words heartfelt.
"Anytime, love," the older woman nodded in the midst of packing away her equipment. "I'll be around to keep checking on you as we go tonight, but don't hesitate to catch my eye if you need anything done or fixed."
Rachel thanked her again then addressed Quinn, "I should go get changed."
Rachel thought Quinn might have bobbed her head up and down if the hairstylist's tongs weren't busy working their magic on her shoulder-blade length blonde locks. "I'll see you when you get back," Quinn said.
The brunette nodded and rose, her eyes scanning the room for Kurt. She spotted him engrossed in a conversation with Blaine in one corner of the room and made her way to the pair.
"Rachel," Kurt exclaimed, noticing the brunette when she was mere feet from him. "I know I'm beginning to sound repetitive, but wow!"
The teenager smiled at him, then turned her attention to the curly haired man standing beside him. "Hi Blaine."
"Hi Rachel. It's good to see you again. Congratulations on winning the US Open," Blaine smiled.
A thrill ran down Rachel's back at the reminder of her biggest win till date. She still couldn't quite believe it all these weeks after winning the title. "Thank you," she replied.
"Are you ready to get dressed?" Kurt asked. When Rachel nodded, the Adidas rep excused the two of them and led the brunette out of the function room and up to a multi-room suite his company had booked on the top floor of the Ciragan Palace.
Upon entering the suite, the duo was met by the sight of Fleur twirling around in front of Kurt's assistants in the middle of the small living room. She was dressed in a short ruffled white dress that was cinched at the waist by a black leather belt. The Frenchwoman looked up at them as they entered, her wavy blonde hair settling around her shoulders when she stopped moving in the Mary Janes that buckled close at the bottom of her ankles. " 'ow do I look?" she asked with a smile.
"Gorgeous," Kurt breathed out, and beside him Rachel fervently nodded her agreement.
Fleur looked more bashful than she had a moment ago. "Merci," she said, reaching for a camel coloured blazer that hung on the back of the armchair beside her. An assistant stepped up to her as soon as she slipped into the jacket and set to work rolling up the sleeves, which were then pushed up to her elbows. The ensemble was more casual than what Rachel planned to wear that evening, but the brunette thought it looked fashionably chic in an enviably effortless kind of way.
Another assistant was just approaching Fleur with what seemed to be, and smelled like, a tray full of perfumes when Kurt asked Rachel to follow him. "See you downstairs, Fleur," Rachel called out as she was led to a room where her black Stella McCartney knit dress was hung up on a clothes rack. The teenager had picked the dress from a selection of pictures Kurt had emailed her while she was in Moscow, and seeing it in person confirmed to Rachel that she had made the right choice.
Slipping into the knee-length, long sleeved dress was easier said than done though, and the sheer polka dot panel on the left sleeve made things even more difficult. Rachel lost track of the number of times she worried she had ripped the delicate material, despite having two assistants there to help her carefully glide the material over her arm. The teenager was most relieved when she was finally zipped up, and tried not to think about the ordeal that was sure to follow when she tried to undress herself later that night. To be honest, all her worries went flying out the window when she was handed a pair of black leather Christian Louboutin stilettos, the red soles adding pizzazz to her monochrome ensemble.
Kurt was alone in the living room when Rachel exited the bedroom. He looked up at the young champion when she emerged, his slack jaw providing Rachel with quite the ego boost. "It's times like this that affirm just how gay I am. I mean if you, looking the way you do right now, cannot turn me then nothing can."
The door to another bedroom in the suite opened before Rachel could respond to his statement and both she and Kurt turned to see Santana emerge from behind the previously closed door. The Latina was in the midst of putting on an earring but stopped to let out a wolf whistle when she saw Rachel, who in turn was busy admiring how good the Spaniard looked in a black lace pencil-legged tuxedo and closed heels. "You're definitely going to break some hearts tonight, Berry," Santana said, running an unabashedly appreciative gaze over the shorter brunette.
"And I'm going to have to stand guard near you all evening, or Brittany will kill me," Rachel threw back, earning a laugh from Santana.
"Yup, definitely gay," Kurt muttered to himself, earning a strange look from the Latina.
"I'll explain later," Rachel said.
Santana nodded and finished putting the earring on as she walked further into the living room to stand beside Rachel. She passed Kurt her camera, "Hey, Lady Hummel. Take a picture of us, will you? I want to send it to my lady."
Kurt rolled his eyes but took the smart phone from the Spaniard. Santana moved closer to Rachel and the two women smiled for the camera. "Ok, now take a full length one so Brit-Brit can see all the hotness she's missing out on by not being here." The Latina slung an arm around the shorter brunette's shoulders as the second picture was taken.
"Why isn't Brittany here?," Kurt asked, passing the phone back to it's owner.
"Because she wants to come to the WTA Championships only when she qualifies for them, which I can respect. My girl has ambitions! And maybe these pictures will offer the inspiration she needs to push herself to realize them," Santana said, her head bowed as she sent the pictures off to the Englishwoman.
"Such modesty does not become you, Santana," Rachel said drily, drawing a laugh from the other woman. The American turned to Kurt, "Earrings or no earrings?"
Kurt tilted her head, staring at her as he considered it, "I'd say no earrings. I think your watch it enough of an accessory."
"So be it," Rachel said, glad to not have one more thing to worry about. She looked at black Tissot the Adidas rep had just referred to and almost did a double take when she realized it was almost six pm. "I think I'm ready to head downstairs. You coming, Santana?"
"Hold on!" Kurt exclaimed before the Latina could reply. Turning to an assistant, he simply said, "Perfume!"
The elevator filled up with the scent of Rachel and Santana's selections as they made their way back downstairs. Santana had just finished lamenting how she already missed Brittany, whom she had last seen two days ago, when she said, "Oh, and before I forget, you need to come to Miami with us on the twenty-second of November."
"I do?" Rachel asked. "Why?"
"Because it's Quinn's birthday, and she doesn't want to throw a birthday party since the exhibition match and auction are on the twenty-fourth. So I plan to take the party to her," Santana shrugged. "But it's a secret, so keep those lips sealed."
"Won't Quinn already be in New York on the twenty-second?," Rachel probed, walking out of the elevator.
"No, she doesn't fly out to the Big Apple till the morning of the twenty-third. She wants to spend her birthday in Miami," the Latina replied from beside her.
"And you're sure she won't mind us just showing up?" Rachel questioned.
"No Berry, she won't," Santana said, her tone gaining an edge of exasperation. "It's not like I'm taking a bus full of partygoers to her house. It's just going to be you, me, Brit, Finn and Marley. Oh, and her mom and sister, who will already be there. Any more questions?"
"Yes actually," Rachel said, ignoring Santana's over exaggerated groan as they stopped outside the doors to the function room. "Do her mom and sister know we're going?"
"Christ! Yes! They do, ok! Do you not want to come?" the Spaniard asked.
Rachel stared at Santana for a moment, then smirked, "I would love to come. Thank you for the invitation." And with that, she turned on her heel and walked into the Bosphorus Room.
The room seemed to still the moment she and Santana walked through the doors as everyone near the front turned to look at the pair. Asami and Lorna, who were standing together closest to the doors, immediately approached the pair and the group spent the next couple of minutes oohing and aahing over each other's appearances. A camera crew swooped in to capture the interaction, asking the women which designer's wares they were sporting. Marley and Lily joined the quartet, which led to another round of gushing at clothes and accessories.
Kurt appeared at Rachel's arm and lowered his voice to speak into her ear, "When you're done, could you please head to the corner where the camera lights are set up to have some pictures taken?"
"Sure," Rachel replied, but it was still a few more minutes before she was able to excuse herself from the group that was now taking selfies together. The brunette looked around and was immediately able to spot the corner Kurt had been talking about. As she approached the makeshift camera studio she noticed Fleur and Quinn who, till that point, had been hidden by a large black cloth that was there to cut the light coming in and out of that particular section.
Realizing that she herself hadn't been spotted yet, Rachel slowed down and allowed herself the opportunity to appreciate Quinn from a distance. The blonde was wearing a black sleeveless jumpsuit with black peep-toe booties, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. The sight of the other woman sent currents through Rachel's veins and with striking clarity the brunette realized she was turned on.
Pulse racing, Rachel continued her slow gait towards the two blondes. The room felt smaller with her gaze fixed on one thing and one thing alone. The teenager could now see that the accessory hanging from a large silver chain around Quinn's neck was a heart with a keyhole in the middle. And that the red bracelet on Quinn's wrist was a double leather band of some sort. The colour scheme matched Rachel's own, and she was secretly thrilled that they had somehow managed to match each other without even realizing it.
Quinn and Fleur were so engrossed in their conversation that they still hadn't noticed Rachel. "Avez-vous choisi une date pour le mariage?," she heard Quinn ask when she got close enough to hear what the two women were saying. The brunette had no idea what was being discussed, but she was sue of one thing; Quinn speaking French was the sexiest thing she had ever seen or heard.
"Pas encore," Fleur said with a shake of her head. "Nous allons- Rachel! Vous regardez magnifique!" the Frenchwoman said, cutting the conversation short when she finally noticed Rachel's approach. "You look sensationnel! Beautiful!"
The teenager finally caught on to what Fleur was saying with the last word and smiled bashfully, "Merci, Fleur." She chanced a look at Quinn, and the stunned look on the World No.2's face brought forth a sense of courage Rachel didn't know she possessed. "Cat caught your tongue, Fabray?" Wait, was she meant to sound this flirtatious?
Fleur turned to see what Rachel was referring to and chuckled when she saw Quinn opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water. The Frenchwoman used the index finger of her right hand to push Quinn's chin up, effectively closing her mouth. "Vous ne voulez pas attraper des mooches, Quinn," she laughed before walking away, gently bumping into Quinn's shoulder as she did.
The action seemed to jar Quinn back to the present, and the blonde blinked furiously even as her cheeks flushed red. "Rachel, you look...amazing," she breathed out.
"You don't look half bad yourself," Rachel replied. Yup, she definitely sounded like she was flirting.
Quinn seemed to stand taller at Rachel's words, and the two women smiled at one another. The brunette ran another appreciative gaze over Quinn's form now that she was within reaching distance, and she realized the blonde was watching her keenly when their gazes connected again moments later. "I know it's not as formal as what some of the other girls are wearing-", she began, but Rachel didn't let her finish her sentence.
"Oh, hush Quinn. You look great. Some might even say you look ridiculously hot," Rachel said, nervousness bubbling in her chest as soon as the words left her mouth.
Quinn took a small step forward, her face breaking out into a wide grin. ""Some", huh?"
Rachel shrugged one shoulder, being faux-nonchalant. "Yeah. You know, people with a working set of eyes." The two women stared at each other, then broke out into matching giggles.
A man with a camera around his neck popped his head out from behind a large diffuser that was mounted on a C-stand. "We're ready for you, Quinn," he said in an Irish accent, before catching sight of Rachel. "Oh hi, you're Rachel Berry. I'm Seamus. If you could wait a few minutes, we'll get to you right after we've taken Quinn's shots."
Rachel nodded even as she inwardly cursed the man for his timing. Why couldn't he be like Fleur and not interfere while she had a, a moment, with Quinn?
"I'll be one moment," Quinn said to the man, who nodded and walked away. The hazel-eyed woman turned back to Rachel. "Remember how I said earlier that you'll have to beat them off with sticks tonight?" Rachel nodded slowly, her undivided attention on the woman in front of her. "I was wrong. I don't think anything short of rabid guard dogs will do the trick."
With that Quinn winked and walked away, leaving a very flattered and flustered Rachel in her wake.
