Chapter title: Si vis pacem, para bellum - Vegetius
A/N: Hello everybody! Thanks for the phenomenal response to the last chapter! I didn't expect that.
Good to be back after being absent for a week. I'm not going to apologize for that, totally warned you ahead of time that it might happen. Plus, I had the most amazing vacation ever (if you ever have the chance to go to Galapagos, DO IT) and even got to watch an ep of Arrow on the flight back. I took that as a sign to finally finish this chapter ;) Which I obviously did, but once again this turned out to be completely different than I had originally planned. But it gives you some more insight into Felicity's mindset and her past and I hope that makes up for other stuff you'll have to wait for at least another week. Btw, how awesome was this week's ep?!
Happy reading and a wonderful weekend to y'all!
Previously:
"So Grammy already moved into the room?"
"Yes, and she's planning on, and I'm quoting her, 'making sure that the two of you are busy making great-grandchildren for her to spoil'," Thea said with way too much glee in her voice. "I already informed Felicity and by now she should be in your room, settling in."
He sighed. "So basically..."
"So basically," he was cut off by his sister. "You'll be sharing a bed with your wife for the next week."
⁂ ⁂ ⁂
Felicity stretched her body tiredly on the couch in Oliver's room, instantly regretting the movement when the stitches pulled at the still tender wound. Getting shot was no fun at all. Even if it was just a graze, she hoped she'd never have to feel that kind of pain again.
A glance at her tablet's clock revealed that it was nearing 11pm and there was still no sign of Oliver. Diggle had apparently told the rest of the Queen family that he was being questioned as a witness by the police. But the shooting had been hours ago, she'd been home for more than an hour and she'd made that involuntary stop in the hood cave. Then again, if her own experience with Starling City's finest when someone had broken into her apartment had taught her anything it was that the SCPD was pretty slow but this seemed wonky even for them. It didn't take hours to take a simple witness statement, especially if there were hundreds of possible witnesses that had to be interviewed.
Not that she was worried about Oliver. Because she wasn't! Not even a little bit.
Okay, so maybe just a teeny tiny bit.
She sighed and swiped over her tablet again, pushing her thoughts of him away, her eyes flitting over dozens of news articles about the shooting. One man had been killed, more than ten had been hospitalized with various degrees of injuries. Luckily, none of them were in critical condition because apparently the emergency services had been informed by an anonymous source that the bullets were laced in Curare, so that the EMTs could act fast and accordingly.
She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She should've been the eleventh person in the hospital, yet somehow she'd ended up in what she assumed to be a basement somewhere in Starling City with the resident vigilante.
Her memory of the evening was hazy, no doubt due to the gigantic bump on the back of her head that was throbbing like hell. She remembered dancing with Oliver and camera flashes going of everywhere around them. She remembered the sudden movements around her and the shot that had shattered the window. She'd found herself cowering on the floor, big, warm hands keeping her in place.
She could still hear the screams and the heels clicking hurriedly over the marble floor. When she'd looked around she'd seen a clear path through all the chaos that led to one of the doors. Without even thinking about it she'd gotten up, trying to pull Oliver with her. Out of the line of fire. Suddenly there'd been a searing pain in her leg and all at once her body had just shut down, her legs buckling beneath her, making her crash into the hard floor. And then everything had gone black.
The first time she'd managed to open her eyes a little, she'd been carried down a staircase, the breakneck speed and movement making her even more dizzy.
The next time she had actually reached something close to consciousness, even though she hadn't been able to open her eyes, she'd heard a familiar voice. First, it had been a bark of commands, and then it had dropped down to a soft whisper in her ear. "You'll be fine, Felicity, just hang on." Her body had been held tightly to someone's chest by the same strong arms that had carried her down the stairs. She could've sworn it was Oliver. There was just something so familiar about the voice and the way the guy's fingers had flitted over her body as if making sure that she was okay other than the bullet wound.
But her mind hadn't allowed her to remember too many details. The next thing she knew, she was lying on a cold table in a musky old basement with The Hood standing next to her who had started to stitch her up. And yeah, she had cried. Sue her. It hurt like a bitch.
And then there had been the crazy ass motorcycle ride. One that she'd been blindfolded for. Blindfolded. At least it had been with a nice tie and not some old piece of cloth. Actually, if she though about it, that had been a really nice tie, not something she'd expected a guy running around in green leather and shooting arrows to own. Too bad she'd stuffed it into his pocket once she'd gotten it off. Maybe she would've been able to track down where it had been bought or something.
Yeah right, Smoak, like you're some private detective, maybe you hit your head a little too hard, she thought and shook her head slightly.
Once again she focused her gaze on the news bits on her tablet because there was just no way she'd let herself think about what had happened next. No way.
If she started thinking about the kiss she'd probably never stop. Because wow, that had been a kiss. Like a real kiss. All sweet and sexy and slow and nope, she wasn't thinking about it. Not even a little bit.
In an involuntary motion her fingers came up to trace her lips.
Oh, to hell with it. Who was she kidding anyway? That kiss had been all she could think about since it'd happened. Not only did the guy probably look like a freaking Greek god under all that leather of his, but he kissed like one, too. Not that she knew how Greek gods kissed. Or any gods, for that matter.
But for a few seconds she'd felt like she was floating on air. She'd never been kissed like that before. Not by any of her boyfriends or one night stands and definitely not by her husband. Even though there had been one thing that was similar to the few times that Oliver had kissed her: the hunger. Only The Hood had been able to turn it into a series of unhurried, gentle movements against her lips, whereas Oliver kissed her with an unparalleled ferocity that was much more aggressive and uncontrolled.
Not that that was a bad thing. Kissing Oliver was a kind of high that should be illegal. In all 50 states. The way he could make her see stars with just an expert flick of his tongue was amazing and frustrating at he same time. Now that she thought about it, there was something very similar about how The Hood had flicked his tongue over her lips and how Oliver did it. Huh...
Before she could dwell on the similar yet completely different kissing techniques, the door swung open and Thea trudged in. "Hey, Lis, I see that you found your clothes," she exclaimed with far too much glee in her voice.
"Yeah, I did. After half an hour, anyway," she murmured. "Thanks for bringing my stuff over, even though I still don't get why Grammy can't just use one of the twenty other guest rooms."
Thea laughed and plopped down on the couch next to her. "Wow. This couch is so freaking uncomfortable." After a pointed glare from Felicity, she continued, "Right. Grammy. Well, she's very particular about some things. Like for example the room she stays in. Back when she still lived here with my grandpa, this used to be the wing they lived in, and your room used to be the master bed room so I guess it has some sentimental value or something. Whenever she comes to visit, she refuses to stay anywhere but in that room."
Felicity furrowed her brow. "And nobody thought about that before giving me that room?"
"Well, in our defense, she hasn't stayed overnight since before Ollie... disappeared. In all honesty, it never even crossed my mind," Thea replied apologetically.
Felicity sighed in resignation. "But did you have to sort all of my things in with Oliver's? I can barely find anything. It's gonna be such a bitch to move all my stuff back to my room."
The younger woman turned to her with mirth shining from her eyes. "Well, maybe that's a sign."
"Thea," Felicity warned, knowing full well where her sister-in-law was going with this. "You know that this, your brother marrying me, is solely part of a very twisted and evil and despicable business deal. Nothing more."
Thea scoffed. "Yeah, I get that. Well okay, I don't really get it because who the hell arranges marriages in this century anymore? But I'm also a romantic at heart and I hope that one day you'll both see that you're perfect for each other."
"We're definitely not perfect for each other. All we ever do is fight."
"Well, I think it's time to apply some of my Pinterest wisdom," she quipped happily and pulled out her phone, swiping a few times before saying, "'Sometimes couples have to argue, not to prove who's right or wrong, but to be reminded that their love is worth fighting for'."
Felicity stared at her for a full ten seconds before replying carefully, "That may be true for normal couples but it doesn't apply to our case because there's no love to begin with."
The younger Queen pouted. "But there are feelings between the two of you. Everyone around you can see that. You have a ridiculous amount of chemistry. Did you see all those flashes going off while you danced tonight, you know, right before the evening turned to shit? Every single camera was pointed at you two in that moment, trying to get a photo of you smiling at each other."
"That's ridiculous. I don't even understand why anyone cares. Can't they all just mind their own business and leave us be?" Felicity questioned, suddenly annoyed by the renewed media attention. It had been bad enough at the actual wedding when paparazzi had camped right out of the Queen Mansion and a freaking helicopter had flown over the property. You'd think someone actually famous was tying the knot and not just the offspring of two billionaire families.
"Because whether you like it or not you're like royalty in this city. Everybody wants to know what restaurants you go to, which designers you wear, where you spend your vacation. They look at you to get the newest trends. To know what's in and what's out. Right now, you're the couple that every girl envies," Thea explained with a small smile.
"Again, that's ridiculous. If anybody knew what was going on behind closed doors, no one would envy us. It's all just a charade," the blonde argued.
"Don't you see? This whole thing might mainly have come to be because of the business side of it. Acquiring SmoakSolutions is a smart step, even if your company is struggling right now. In the long run, it's a sound investment. But maybe the even more important part is the positive PR we're getting from this. For the past few years, everything surrounding our family was pretty negative. Closing down the steel factory, dad and Oliver disappearing on our own luxury yacht, mom remarrying so quickly, my own less than stellar escapades," she waved her hand dismissively.
"It all stained our family name and damaged the company's reputation. That's where you two come in. Oliver coming back from the dead as a responsible mature man and you being all down to earth and smart and likeable. You're the change of pace this family needs. You're the new generation that will lead the company back to former glory and make it even more successful. You're the working power couple that stands for a fresh start, that shows everybody that nothing will get this family down, that we'll always come back even stronger."
Felicity regarded her for a few seconds, considering her words. "That's a lot of faith to put into two people that don't even like each other," she mused. "What if it doesn't work out?"
"That's not an option, Lis. Too much is riding on this. If your marriage fails, especially if it fails in the next few years, the company will take a huge hit. The investors will doubt us even more than in recent years. All they want to see is a CEO at the helm who's steady and has the right background. Not that I don't love Walter, but he only fits the bill to a certain degree. There are to many questions into his and my mother's relationship. They married so quickly after my dad disappeared that there were rumors about them having an affair even before the Gambit sank."
"How do you know so much about this?" Felicity questioned curiously.
"Oh, please," Thea laughed. "I grew up with all this stuff, plus I'm a very talented eavesdropper."
"Duly noted," Felicity said. "How about we continue this talk some other time? I'm more tired than I thought and kinda just want to go to bed."
Thea got up from the couch, nodding her head. "Yeah, I'm beat, too. But don't even think for a second that tomorrow I'm not going to ask you about where you disappeared to and how you ended up limping and in a stranger's hoodie," she warned playfully.
"Good night, Thea," Felicity said vehemently as the younger woman left her room.
"You know you love me! Good night, Lis," came Thea's reply just before she closed the door behind her.
Felicity took a deep, steadying breath. There was no denying that Thea was right about the whole PR thing. Damnit, there went her 5-year plan. It had been too good to be true. She'd been so careful in phrasing her demands for the prenup and the other contracts surrounding the deal but she hadn't considered her moral obligations.
As of the weeding, QC already owned fifteen percent of SmoakSolutions and would buy seven percent for each year of marriage. At the same time, her mother had (very reluctantly) agreed to sign over ten percent of the company for every year that she stayed married to Oliver. Hence, the 5-year plan. By the end of those five years her mother would be permanently out of the company and Felicity would hold fifty percent of the shares while QC held the other fifty.
It had been a solid, calculated plan. A good plan. That had neglected to consider the social consequences of a separation or divorce at any point in her life. Maybe in five years, both companies would be stable enough to face the backlash from disgruntled investors and the media vultures. And if not? Then she was even more screwed than she'd initially thought.
God damnit, she'd only agreed to this whole thing with the prospect of getting out in five years, leaving her enough time to find someone she actually loves and settle down with him. But now that option seemed a million miles away. Stupid conscience! Stupid sense of obligation! They could both just screw each other and make little guilt babies.
By the time she finally got up from the couch, her head was hurting even more than before, sending little piercing jolts of pain through her skull. Slowly, she made her way to where she suspected the bathroom to be, careful not to put to much weight on her injured leg. Yeah, sleeping would be a bitch.
When she opened the bathroom door and flicked on the lights, her steps faltered. That meddling little sister-in-law. Felicity's robe was hanging right next to Oliver's, all of her toiletries had been neatly placed on one of the two sinks of the enormous bathroom. Her freaking toothbrush was sitting in a cup right next to Oliver's. The domesticity of the situation hit her like a brick wall.
A longing sensation shot through her heart. She wanted this. Preferably not just as a temporary fluke because of their nosy grandma, but for real. The craziest thing? She could maybe even imagine having this with Oliver. Not right now, because hello? They were still at each other's throats every opportunity they got. Well, almost every opportunity. The dance had been kind of nice.
She frowned. Actually, it had been very nice. The way he'd held her (once he'd released the grip of death on her hips) and the way his voice had softened. He'd seemed genuine in his offer to listen to her problems. And then he'd pulled her down to the floor when the first shot had been fired, putting himself between her and the windows, guarding her from any harm. He had willingly put his body, his life, in front of her to keep her out of the line of fire.
Maybe it'd just been a reflex, but since her own first instinct had been to get them to safety, get him to safety, maybe they'd have to reevaluate their feelings for one another. Move their status from hate to very strong dislike?
No, it was more than that. Only someone she cared about could provoke all those feelings. The hate, the anger, the frustration, the confusion, the hurt, the lust.
She sighed. Maybe they should talk, like, really talk to each other. About their situation and more importantly about their feelings. But not now, because a) he was nowhere to be seen and b) her head was killing her.
In record time she got ready for bed, opting to keep her sweatpants and the baggy t-shirt she'd stolen from Oliver's dresser on even though she usually slept in shorts and tank tops. Her decision had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the t-shirt totally smelled like Oliver! She rummaged through the drawers and found a bottle of aspirin. Thank God! She swallowed two pills and walked over to the king-sized bed.
She hesitated for a second before climbing on it and leaning against the headboard, swiping lazily over her tablet. She didn't just want to make the unilateral decision that she'd be sleeping in Oliver's bed, so she decided to wait for him to come home and discuss this with him. Maybe she could sneak into one of the other guest rooms or something. As long as she didn't have to sleep on that awful and uncomfortable couch.
Ten minutes later, she felt the pain killers kicking in, soothing away the throbbing pain in her skull and the twinge from the stitches in her leg. A glance at the clock told her it was nearing midnight, surely, Oliver couldn't be long now. She just had to keep her drooping eyes open for a few more minutes.
⁂ ⁂ ⁂
When Felicity woke up, it was 2 o'clock... in the afternoon. Someone had moved her under the covers of the bed and placed her glasses on the bedside table together with her tablet at some point during the night.
Tiredly, she ran her fingers over her face, taking in the rest of the room. There was a tray of food on the desk in the corner, but other than that there was no indication that anybody else had been in the room. Nothing to indicate Oliver had come home, even though she had a feeling that he'd been the one to move her under the covers. Who else was strong enough to lift her?
She spent the rest of the day lounging around the room, trying to find her stuff among Oliver's things and generally avoiding everybody else in the house. By the time she had to get ready for the usual Sunday night family dinner, there was still no sign of Oliver. Where the hell was he? He couldn't possibly still be with the police. That had already sounded like a flimsy excuse yesterday.
Finally, she couldn't put off the dinner any longer, especially with Grammy being there, so she opted for a colorful summer dress and made her way down the stairs, trying not to show her limp too much.
As soon as she reached the dining room, she was bombarded with questions. Was she hurt? Why was she limping? Where did she go last night? Where had she been all day? Why hadn't Oliver been with her when she came home last night? And speaking of Oliver, where was he? Did he come home last night?
She opened her mouth to answer when Oliver's voice sounded from the door. "Guys, would you please stop pestering her? She probably has a headache from hell from that nasty fall last night." He came up behind her and slung his arms around her waist pulling her to his chest before dropping a kiss to her exposed shoulder and then to her cheek. Right, Grammy was there, so loving husband mode it was. "Hey, babe," he breathed against her neck.
That man should seriously come with a warning label. Or just a warning in general to help her steel herself for his lips because holy hell! Those gorgeous, full lips that left blazing trails of fire in their wake.
Instinctively, even though theoretically this should go against every instinct in her body, she leaned back into him. She just couldn't resist. She couldn't deny that being in his arms empowered her, gave her a feeling of complete and utter safety. There was just something about the way he held her that made her feel like... home. And that right there scared her more than anything else. She was losing her grip on her feelings.
"Well, since you haven't seen each other all day, how about we give you a minute or two," Moira suggested and pushed the rest of her family gently towards the dining table.
"Thanks, mom," Oliver said from where he had rested his chin on Felicity's shoulder, his stubble scratching her skin lightly. Once the others were out of ear shot, he turned her around, searching her eyes once she was facing him, still in entrapped in his arms. "How are you? How are your leg and head?"
The softness of his voice took her slightly aback and she took a second to answer, "I'm okay, a little sore, but I took some pain killers last night that I found in your bathroom so the pain is manageable."
He furrowed his brows in confusion. "Pain killers?"
"Yeah, well, I could only find a bottle of Aspirin, so I took a couple of those. I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have gone through your stuff but Thea moved all of my things and I can't seem to find anything anymore, and my head was killing me, so..." she let out in a rush.
To her surprise, he wasn't pissed at her. On the contrary, actually. He huffed out a laugh. "Felicity, those were not aspirins."
Now it was her turn to furrow her brows. "What? What were they then?"
"Oxycodone."
"What?" she asked harshly. "Why do you even have Oxycodone? And why the hell would you keep them in an aspirin bottle?"
"A doctor prescribed them to me after I was in an accident last year," he said, carefully choosing his words.
With a pang of sadness she realized that she hadn't known that he'd been in an accident. While she'd done a certain amount of... research on him, she'd consciously skipped hacking into the hospital database. That had seemed like a line she didn't want to cross, that she had no right to cross, especially after hearing rumors about the injuries he'd sustained on that island.
If she'd learned one thing about Oliver in the last six months, it was that he didn't like to talk, especially with his family, so instead of pressing the issue, she opted for another question that she'd been itching to ask. "Why didn't you stay last night?"
A sliver of surprise passed through his eyes. "How do you know I was here?"
She let out a soft sigh. "You moved me under the covers and put my things away which I'm actually really grateful for because once, I destroyed a pair of my glasses while sleeping in them." She saw the amused look on Oliver's face. "Which is totally beside the point. Now that we've established that you were indeed there, why didn't you stay?"
"I..." he started and then shook his head slightly. "I don't know. I didn't want to wake you and I wasn't sure what to do. The couch isn't exactly comfortable and you were in the bed, so..."
She nodded in understanding. "I guess we'll have to have a talk about that stuff later."
"Yeah, we do."
"Come on, you two lovebirds, dinner's ready," Thea called over from the table.
With more reluctance than she'd ever admit to have, she stepped out of his embrace, instantly feeling the loss of his fingers on her hips. What was this man doing to her? With just a single touch or whispered word he had her turning into a puddle of emotions. No man she'd ever been with had made her feel this way. Not a single one of them had even come close to this. Whatever the hell this was.
Dinner was spent dodging questions about the previous night and ignoring Grammy's innuendos. That woman needed to get a hobby other than pestering her and Oliver about their first child. Moira finally took pity on them when her mother-in-law was starting to talk about ideal sex positions to conceive.
Felicity took that opportunity to excuse herself from the table. "I have to prep some things for work tomorrow, so..."
"Nonsense, honey," Grammy interrupted her. "You're not going to work tomorrow, not while some guy is running around shooting at our family."
Felicity looked around the table and was only met with agreeing nods. Oliver's expression was stony. "You agree with this?" she asked incredulously.
"There is a security threat against our family," he said slowly. "I wanted to talk to you about this later."
"Well, how about we talk now?" she asked with a defiant edge added to her tone. "I am not going to put my life on hold because some psychopath shot me." Shit. She had not meant to say that. "Shot at me. At us," she corrected herself quickly.
"I'm not asking you to put your life on hold, just to take some precautions," he countered.
"Precautions like hiding out in this freaking castle of yours? No, thank you," she said and got up from her seat. "Now, if you will all excuse me, I have to get ready for tomorrow."
Of course, Oliver was hot on her limping heels and grabbed her hand to stop her before she could take two steps. Damn him and his long, gorgeous legs.
"No, you're not," he growled and there was a finality in his tone that just pissed her off. "You're not going anywhere tomorrow."
She tried to tug her hand free from his grip but her efforts were futile. "You have absolutely no right to make that decision for me."
"Yes, I do, and for once you will listen to me, do as I say and stay home tomorrow."
"Do as you... Are you fucking kidding?" she questioned indignantly, ignoring four sharp intakes of breath from the table. "If you remember our wedding, I did not promise to obey you, so how about you take your presumptuousness and put it where the sun don't shine?!"
And no, she hadn't included that particular part in her vows, fighting everyone and their mother who dared to suggest otherwise. Being forced to marry Oliver was one thing, vowing before God and their loved ones to obey him, was another. One that she couldn't and simply wouldn't go through with. That shit was just too archaic and caveman-y for her liking.
Oliver let out a frustrated groan. "Why do you always have to be so fucking difficult?"
"I'm not being difficult, I'm being resolute," she retorted defiantly.
"Same difference."
"Oliver, I don't care what you think. This is my life and this is my choice. So I will go to work tomorrow and you will deal with it. End of discussion."
She stared up at him and wow, he was pissed off. Like seriously pissed off. He looked like he needed to punch something. His grip fastened for a split second before he suddenly let go, turned around and stormed out of the room.
It was silent for a few very awkward seconds in which Felicity realized that she'd just cursed like a sailor in front of her new family. Nice, Smoak, really nice.
Finally, Grammy walked up to her and patted her arm sympathetically. "The first fight as a married couple is always bad. He'll calm down soon."
It took Felicity every ounce of willpower to not start laughing loudly. 'First fight', yeah right. More like the hundred and first.
She made a dismissive hand motion. "We'll... sort it out," she answered carefully and pointed her thumb towards the door. "I'm gonna head out though." She hesitated for a second. "Sorry, you had to hear all that."
"No marriage is perfect, my dear, especially if it comes as quickly as yours did, we're all aware of that," Grammy told her.
Oh, she didn't even know half of it.
⁂ ⁂ ⁂
She didn't go looking for him and he didn't come looking for her. That's not how their relationship worked. They might not like each other but they could respect it when either one needed some time to cool down.
She'd chosen to retreat to their wing's library, armed with a bottle of wine and some priceless first edition. This was probably her favorite place in the whole house. Just being surrounded by the smell of old books and thinking about all the stories that lay hidden between the layers upon layers of pages. She loved her tablets and computers but there was just something about holding an actual book that she loved more than anything her tech could ever give her.
As it was nearing 10.30, her eyes started to get heavy and she knew she couldn't avoid facing her grumpy husband any longer, so she made her way back to their... to his room.
For one gratifying minute she sat alone on his bed, contemplating what to do. Should she wait for him? Should she just go to bed and avoid him as long as humanly possible? Suddenly, the bathroom door swung open and Oliver stepped out, a towel slung low around his hips, walking towards the walk-in closet.
Holy shit.
Do not stare. Just don't look at him, she kept chanting to herself, but her efforts were futile. The guy already looked like a fucking Adonis when he was fully clothed. Now, only covered by a towel that hung oh so low on his hips, it was all she could do to not run over to him and jump his bones. The scars scattered over his body were visible even in the low lighting of the room. A shudder ran through her, thinking about what could've possibly happened to him on that godforsaken island to brand him like this.
She must've made a noise because all of the sudden his head shot up and whipped around to where she was perched on his bed. Oh shit.
"Like what you see?" he asked with a cocky smile, quickly pushing away the surprise that was written over his face.
Felicity swallowed hard and decided to ignore his question. "How about you put on some clothes so we can have that talk," she suggested, voice only a little higher than usual.
"I'm think I'm good like this," he said and walked slowly towards her. How could he make that simple statement sound like a threat and a promise at the same time?
"Oliver," she hissed as he lifted his hands from where they'd been securing the towel to cross his arms over his chest. "Put some pants on. Now."
"Why?" he challenged, standing right in front of her.
Because I'm about to tear that towel away and let you fuck me 'till I can't walk straight anymore. "Because our arguments tend to get… a little heated."
The smug bastard shot her a cocky grin while sitting down right next to her on the bed, facing her, towel-covered thigh touching her bare knee. "So we're going to argue again? Is that a promise?"
Would there ever be a time when things with him weren't going to be hot and cold? Not two hours ago they'd been at each other's throats and now he was being all playful and flirty and fucking infuriating.
"Or maybe I'm just distracting you like this? Is it hard for you to concentrate when your husband is sitting in front of you basically naked? Do I make you nervous?" he asked and his voice was just a slow whisper in the night, his eyes twinkling with lust and a clear challenge.
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips while she tried to think of a way to get out of this. "That's..." True. "Ridiculous."
"Is it?" he questioned without missing a beat. His arms dropped from his chest, one hand landing on her bare ankle, sending jolts of electricity through her body.
"Yes," she insisted, but instead of sounding as resolutely as she wanted, the single word turned into a hiss when his fingertips started moving up her leg ever so slowly.
Her eyes shot up to his from where his fingers ran long lines over her skin from her ankles to her knees. He was watching her with an intensity that took her breath away. She leaned forward and covered his wandering hands with her own. He had to stop this or else...
"Oliver," his name dropped from her lips in the barest of whispers and she hated how weak she sounded. How needy and breathless she sounded. "Stop."
His hands stilled on her knee and his head tilted a little to the side, brows furrowed in question.
"I... I can't... You can't..." She trailed off, not sure how to express her feelings, her concerns. She cast her eyes down to where their hands were connected. This felt so right. The warmth emitting from his fingers, spreading through her entire body. It felt right and yet this was so wrong.
The sheer amount of feelings she harbored for this man was scary. It wasn't supposed to be like this. There weren't supposed to be feelings involved in this deal. This was strictly meant to save her family's company and not fall for a guy she despised. He embodied everything she hated about their mutual social circle of the idle rich: the partying, the recklessness, the disregard of consequences, throwing money at any given problem. She hated it. That's why years ago, she'd tried to leave as much of that life behind as possible.
Her mother had shipped her off to a junior boarding school as soon as she'd started 3rd grade. There, Felicity had excelled in all of her studies, skipping a few grades before graduating as the youngest student in the history of her school. In all of her time there, she never went home for more than a week around Christmas. Her summers were spent in computer camps or with her grandparents, far away from her mother. She never had time for her daughter anyway, always working, or traveling around the world.
Of course, Felicity knew that her family's name and money were two factors that had enabled her scholastic career. So every year when her mother's financial people had transferred her the money to pay for her college tuition she'd donated all of it and instead created a false identity for herself to apply for a student loan. She'd looked for part time jobs close to campus and had lived a normal student life, far away from her trust fund, and it had been the best decision she'd ever made. She'd made a ton of friends who didn't care about her last name, she'd fallen in love and had her heart broken, she'd lived off of Ramen noodles for days on end if she ran out of money at the end of the month. A perfectly imperfect time as a student.
Oliver on the other hand had dropped out of no less than four Ivy League colleges and had partied and no doubt man-whored his way around most US states. He'd been arrested twice and had been a regular feature in tabloids all over the country before he'd been lost at sea. Sure, following his return from the dead, things had somewhat calmed down. He'd made less public appearances and kept a low profile overall, apparently focusing on his work with QC. Even though that was absolutely ridiculous. He had know business know-how whatsoever, letting him even close to the executive floor was ludicrous.
And yet, behind all the things she hated about his behavior and reputation she'd also gotten glimpses of another side of him. A softer, more playful and open side that she found so very intriguing and dare she say even likeable. But he was making it hard to see that side because he was always hiding behind different masks. He was the dutiful son, the closed off business man, the husband. Her husband in all his angry, jealous, cold, passionate, sexy, sometimes even affectionate glory. And it was frustrating and infuriating and she just couldn't take it anymore. Keeping up with him and holding her own against him was just fucking exhausting and she knew she couldn't keep this up much longer without starting to crumble.
Warm, calloused fingers curled around her cheek and pressed lightly so she would look up. When she did, she was met by Oliver's questioning blue orbs.
"Talk to me, Felicity," he urged her in a low, soft voice.
She sighed softly. "You... me... this dance we've been doing for the past six months. It's too much. I can't..." She shook her head slightly, trying to sort through her thoughts. "I don't know what we're doing, where this is going. I don't know what to do with my... feelings."
Oliver regarded her with an intense look. "What do you feel?"
"I don't know," she breathed out and shook her head, never breaking eye contact. "I just know that there is more. More than I ever expected or wanted and I don't know what to do with it. I don't know how you feel. If the constant hot and cold, and all of this," she motioned vaguely between them. "Is just a game to you or if there's more going on. And I'm just so tired of fighting all the time."
He nodded slowly in understanding, but Felicity could see the frustration in his eyes that probably mirrored her own perfectly.
"Maybe we need to start over, get to know each other," he said after a long pause before dropping his hand from her face, holding it out in front of her. "Hi, I'm Oliver Queen."
Felicity stared at him for a moment, unsure what to do and then his gaze flickered down to his outstretched hand before raising an amused eyebrow. Her lips curled up in a smile and she grabbed his hand in hers. "Felicity... Queen, nice to meet you," she finally replied, wondering where he was going with this.
There was a spark of unadulterated possessiveness in his eyes that she'd seen many times before, whenever she introduced herself as his wife, only this time he didn't try to hide it. "It's very nice to meet you, too," he said smoothly. "I know this may sound a bit abrupt but I'd really like to take you out some time to get to know you. Coffee, maybe?"
There was the lightness that she'd only seen glimpses of so far. His light tone combined with the genuine smile gracing his gorgeous lips, made her heart melt just a little bit. This was the Oliver Queen that she wanted to see more of. The one she wanted to get to know.
She pursed her lips playing along with the scenario. "Mhh, I don't know. You seem like someone who likes to spill coffee on other people's things. Maybe we should try something less dangerous."
"What do you suggest?"
"Well, we have this amazing kitchen that nobody ever uses. If you bring the wine I'll cook us dinner."
The playfulness in his gaze was briefly replaced by genuine surprise. "You can cook?" he questioned.
She shot him a grin. "I probably can't compete with what Raisa cooks for us, but yeah, I know my way around the kitchen."
"Okay then," he returned her grin. "It's a date, Mrs. Queen."
"It is indeed, Mr. Queen. Now put on some pants and get into bed," she ordered.
He huffed out a laugh. "That's not what women usually tell me to do."
She flicked his arm lightly. "Well, I'm not just any other woman. You´d do well to remember that, Mr. Queen."
He groaned. "You really need to stop saying my name like that."
"Why?" she asked innocently.
"Because it makes me want to rip off that dress and fuck you seven ways from Sunday," he growled.
She swallowed hard. "Is that a promise?" she echoed his words from earlier.
He got up, securing the towel with one hand, while the other still held hers. "Definitely, Mrs. Queen."
⁂ ⁂ ⁂
A/N: No cliffhanger! You're welcome ;) Remember how content and hopefulyou feel right now when you read the next chapter. If it turns out the way I plan you'll hate me :D
Title translation: "If you want peace, prepare for the war."
Hope you liked this chapter. Let me know what you think!