Late August, 2007
There are colors. Bright, dancing splotches, flying over Vivienne Montclair's closed eyelids.
Her eyes follow them as they zoom past; first red, then yellow, green, then blue. They are hopping past too fast for her to keep track of, blurry and shapeless. They are mesmerizing, spellbinding. She has to know what they are. The floating orbs of colored light continues to fly past. She tried to move her hand towards them, wanting to catch the mysterious dancing colors within her fist, but her arm is quite stiff and she cannot move it. Its as though a heavy weight lay upon it, rendering it useless.
It takes her a moment to realize that the heavy weight is herself. And it takes another whole minute to realize that she has fallen asleep awkwardly atop her arm, explaining why it feels so stiff and tingly, and why she's stifling a yawn.
Slowly, blearily, Vivienne's delicately lined eyelids open.
She's in a black, sleek town car, curled up in the backseat facing the passenger window. Somehow, there is a secure seatbelt wrapped around her and a heavy charcoal peacoat has been draped over her like a blanket. Vivienne peers down at it, wondering how in the world it's been strewn across her, when familiar neon lighting passes over her arm.
Vivienne lifts her head and peers out of the tinted window, finally finding the source of the dancing lights. She can barely hold in her gasp of excitement.
New York City in the nighttime is more beautiful that she can describe. She gapes out of the window, pressing a hand to the cool glass, wanting to touch the City, wanting to feel the City. There are slick cars riding past, the billowing smoke of cigars swirling from the windows. There seems to be lights absolutely everywhere, hanging from overpasses, drifting off the numerous signs. Even the people seem to be alighted; there is an unmistakable glow in their faces that can never be found anywhere else in the world.
Or, so Vivienne thinks.
Something else hangs in the atmosphere, as well; romance, mystery, and the unmistakable air of adventure. The moon hangs lowly in a perfect crescent, glowing and smiling. The night is dense and black, but she is simply transparent with joy to be back home.
And, as if all cannot be more perfect in that moment, over the tops of the buildings and streetlights, she can see the tip of a gleaming picture from her dreams: the Empire State Building.
Vivienne releases an excited breath and fogs the class. There is a low chuckle and she turns, genuinely surprised to find she is not alone in her exhilaration.
Sebastian Montclair—known affectionately as Bash, by his close friends and family—smiles at his younger sister knowingly, reaching out a hand to tuck a few stray tendrils of her wheat-blonde hair behind her ears. "Bonsoir, petite sœur. Ou, plutôt, bonne nuit."
Vivienne grimaces, embarrassed. Looking around awkwardly in the car, she says the first thing that comes to mind. "How did I...?"
Bash laughs; it's a ringing, bell tone laugh. "I boarded the jet after you landed to get you," he explains. "The stewardess nor captain could wake you. You were quite...incapacitated. I helped you to the car and you fell asleep, again, right away. Hope you don't mind that I let you sleep. I know you probably wanted to see the City, but you were tired. I didn't have the heart to wake you."
Bash looks genuinely worried that she would be upset about this. Vivienne musters a convincing smile and shakes her head.
"Bien sûr que non."
He looks convinced. Vivienne turns to marvel out the window again. There is a silent moment in the car, thick with her excitement to be back home, before Bash speaks again.
"N'est-ce pas beau?"
Vivienne doesn't have to ask what he means. She nods, keeping her eyes glued to the sights before her. She cracks the window and lets the cool breeze wash over her warm face.
"Better than I can ever imagine in my wildest dreams. The books—the pictures—of the City just can't—"
"—compare to the real thing," Bash finishes, equally entranced.
Vivienne turns in her seat to look at him. His eyes—the very same crystalline ones that all of the Montclair children inherited from their mother—exudes excitement. His refined features are composed, yet thoughtful, so she knows he's thinking hard. Sometimes, Vivienne wishes she could know exactly what goes on in her older brother's mind. Sometimes he's just a closed book: there is one solid cover, but inside, it's filled with thoughts, words, and feelings that are so hard to find unless you read every letter.
He's a lot like Papa in that way.
"Bash?" Vivienne inquires, finally resisting the tempting sights outside the window and commanding his undivided attention. "Make me a promise?"
His blonde brows lifts slightly. "A promise?"
"Mmm," Vivienne murmurs, nodding. "One, solid promise. And you have to keep it—fulfill it to its extent."
Bash bites back a smile at his sister's childish request. "What would you like me to promise, Viv?"
Vivienne sighs and glances out of the window once more, losing herself in the lights, letting them blind her. "Adventures. We have to have adventures this year."
"What sort of adventures?" She can tell by his tone that he isn't mocking her. He seems as absorbed into the idea as she is.
"We live in the greatest city in the world. Who knows what sorts of adventures await us behind each corner? I want to do everything I possibly can while we're both here. I don't want to miss out on one single thing. Not one."
Bash nods slowly. "Aventures...," he repeats, trailing off.
Vivienne bites her lip and waits for his response. Bash seems to be thinking again.
"I like the sound of that, Viv. Adventures seems like an inspired idea."
She holds out her pinky finger childishly, all while peering at her eldest sibling quite seriously. "Repeat after me, then. I, Sebastian Geraud Montclair, do solemnly swear to Vivienne Amélie Montclair that we will have the most exciting, enthralling, crazy adventures we can possibly find while in New York City."
Bash grins in amusement, but clasps his pinky around his sister's and repeats each of her words with conviction and accuracy.
Vivienne pulls her hand away, satisfied, settling back into the leather seat. It's good to finally be home, again, she thinks, almost forgetting what caused her to runaway in the first place.
Or, rather, who.
A year ago...
Coarse fingertips skim down the length of her waist, dropping swiftly along the curve, coasting into a slow, delicious freefall. A tan arm, hardened with waves of leanly toned muscle, holds her tightly, hungrily, against a chest of similar build, trapped between the scouring skin of her exposed back and the cold drywall she is currently pressed against. His mouth is on her—hot, demanding, pure friction.
Her mind is racing. Her skin is on fire. Her nerves are electrified.
Vivienne has never wanted something more in her entire life.
"Nate," she manages to murmur against his mouth, her voice reduced to a gravelly growl in all of her dizzying lust. He took her swollen, red-stained bottom lip between his teeth, dragging it outward slowly, tantalizingly, and Vivienne's eyes threatened to roll into the back of her head—this is getting out of control. "Nate… I can't—"
"Ever shut up?" Nate completes in a low, husky tone, lips curling at the corners as he brings them up the line of her jaw. Fissions of electricity begins shooting through her, further weakening her resolve and coalescing into a ragged bolt of lightning as he reaches the sensitive patch of skin below her ear. "Let's practice, then, shall we?"
"N—No," Vivienne manages to reply, mustering every last ounce of willpower she has to grit the word out—she isn't sure why, but she simply knows she has to stop. There's a strange sense of urgency building within her, like she has to be somewhere really important, but with Nate kissing her the way he is, she can't for the life of her remember where. "I really have to be some—"
"Shh," he murmurs against her ear, the hot air licking at the stray curls caught in its path and tickling the skin beneath, "we're practicing the whole shutting up thing, remember?"
Vivienne parts her mouth to respond, though the words promptly dissolve into a groan as his teeth takes in the very tip of her earlobe, giving it a soft, playful nip. She's done for. Her ears are her absolute weakness. This is on my nervous system, not her—she can't be blamed for this! Her head lolled back as her companion embarks on his quest to completely lobotomize her, lips slowly brushing up the length of her ear, tongue flickering out every so often and eliciting many a hitched breath from her lungs.
Her traitorous, mutinous, going-to-make-her-late-to-her-big-important-thing lungs.
"I honestly hate you," she announces in stubborn concession, though given the breathy, hungry way it came out, she might as well say 'be the father of my children.'
He smiles lazily against her ear, brushing it with the tip of his nose in a lighthearted gesture. "Well, that's unfortunate." The drawl is warm, teasing, and he gives her earlobe a final kiss before bringing his hand up and carefully angling her face back towards his. Vivienne's pulse skyrockets at his expression: it's a bit more serious now—open, honest, and entirely unguarded. His forehead gently comes down to rest against hers, his eyes a hazy, heavy-lidded navy-blue, and she suddenly finds that she can't breathe.
"Because I think I might love you..."
A/N: Just a prologue to introduce our OC. :)
Hope you enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated!
P.S. I picture Frida Gustavvson as Vivienne and Lucky Blue Smith as Bash.