A/N: I know I'm a bit late with the posting. I have been having problems at home. Still do. I will, however, attempt to post more regularly.

Enjoy.

Chapter dedicated to the girls who comment me.

King of Hearts:

Milo wasn't even sure of where he was. It was true. The night before returning to Greece, he and Saga had decided to go and drink their asses off. Saga, out of heartbreak, and he, because... Well, he didn't even know why. He just felt like he needed it, and so, he did. Three rounds of Watermelon liquor and 'Red Bull', two shots of vodka, and three bottles of Dr. Lemon, which was vodka, mixed with lemon juice and sugar.

So when he finally stepped out of the plane, he felt like vomiting his insides out. His head ached inhumanly, and the constant pain of his muscles made him want to tear them to pieces. He hadn't gotten a bath in two days, and he was, officially, broke. He had spent the whole month's payment in alcohol and a cheap motel for the both of them.

He thought, for a day or so of the four they had spent in London, that Saga had induced himself into a catatonic state out of depression. He could have robbed his money to pay for everything, but he assumed that if he snapped out of his slumber, he would 'Galaxy Exploded' him to death. Not. Nice.

Oh, well.

But there was something more, too.

A tall, dark man made his way through the filthy streets of London, waiting for his friend to finish what he had to do. He, after all, assumed he had won a few hours to spend doing nothing, basically exploring. He had never been to Engand, after all, and the curiosity was killing him.

However, they had been to the southside, the poorest little place he had been in his whole life. It made him miss his home in Greece, with the woman he shared his bed with every night, he missed her food (Gods, her food. He craved her pasta more than anything.) He missed the rest of his friends. He missed to have sex.

Especially the food and the sex.

He, even being drunk at the moment, noticed a few stares from a dark woman, leaning against a wall, smoking only Zeus knew what. She seemed too calm to be stoned, too self-conscious of her own beauty to be sober. She had long, chocolate, straight hair, and was barely covered by a mini, leather skirt, and a shirt, leaving very little to the imagination about her spectacular physical self, despite the frozen temperature. She wore a half hearted smirk across her full, annoyingly red lips, as if she knew exactly what he needed. Her eyes were blue, blue as the Grecian sky.

A prostitute, no doubt.

This, however, was not what called his total attention.

She was wearing a cross made of gold and stone on her chest, between the soberbial breasts. It was delicate, and beautiful, and...

'That would look even more beautiful around Shaina's neck.'- he decided.

So, then, he decided to approach her.

"I'll give you fifty pounds for that necklace."- he declared, in perfect English. No accent, no flaws. No insinuations.

The female laughed shortly.

"Is that how you call it now?"- she inquired. Her voice was purring and low, raspy thanks to years of smoking the same brand of cigarettes. Quite sensual, if you had asked anyone else but Milo.- "Ninety pounds and you get all the package, handsome..."

The male flinched.

'Shaina's waiting for you.'

"I am afraid I'm..."-he paused, blinked, and attempted to get rid of the alcohol's effects for a few minutes to respond accordingly.-" married. I am afraid I'll have to pass. I just want the necklace for my wife."

The female, whose, he would soon learn, name was Trianne, laughed once more, and took his right hand, looking up at him quizzically.

"Let me see. No ring."- she commented, acidly.- "And you're drunk around these places, handsome. You can't fool me."

Damn.

'Well, maybe she isn't waiting. After all, four days, and she'll be alone with Shura...'

Another voice inside of his head snapped at him.

'You know she is. Stop being a neurotic prick. Be strong, buy the necklace and go, or else leave now.'

The other voice, snorted soundly.

'Shaina doesn't even have to know.'

Milo gasped when the female's lips crushed against his', and he attempted, pathetically, to pull her away, failing miserably.

Damn.

Milo woke up the morning after, in a strange bed, in a filthy motel in the same neighbourhood that he had been stumbling along the night before. His back hurt, and, he comproved, later on, that he had nail marks all over his shoulderblades. There was a small cross on the bed, between the sheets.

And on the night bed, a note.

Dear John:

Gods sake. John?!

I had a blast last night.

Last night?

There is your payment, dear.

Oh my God. Oh my God, Oh my God.

Hope you can give this to you...wife.

Oh, shit.

With love,

Trianne.

Milo ran a hand through his messy hair.

'What kind of name is 'Trianne' anyway?'

'Oh, shut up.'

Milo, after quickly shoving the note in his pants pocketsto hide it from Saga, decided wisely to hide his face between his pillows, and scream like a bloody banshee.

So, then, Saga and him decided to keep the secret. Whatever happens in London, stays in London, they said.