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tomtenadia · 3 years

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Island Dreams - Chapter 19

Good evening, afternoon, morning to everyone and welcome to chapter 19.

I have a few notes before letting you to the chapter. Rowan and Aelin finally attend Heb Celt. Heb Celt is this wonderful festival held in Stornoway each year (non covid years) and it's all about Scottish and Celtic music. It's big and it's amazing. That's where they are. I mentioned some groups. Peat and Diesel have been mentioned before in the fic. The new ones are Skerryvore and Skipinnish. they do some amazing music and I highly recommend it if you want to try some Scottish bands. They also sing in Gaelic. The song from Skerryvore that Aelin sing is called You and I. Awesome stuff.

Half way through you will notice Elide and Lorcan appearing in the fic. I tried to keep Lorcan IC as much as i could. not an easy task. I had to give them modern world jobs so Lorcan in my head is perfect for a rugby player. He is the Captain of the Glasgow warriors. They are a real team in Glasgow. The boys also mention the Six Nations. This is a wonderful competition that if you are in Europe you might have heard of. It happens every year and it has 6 teams competing: Scotland (YAY), Italy (YAY - I am Italian... imagine my pain on a Sco vs Ita game), Wales, Ireland and France. I love this competition and it's going to start this weekend. Rowan and Lorcan joke about England and Scotland. Although England wins most of the times (grrrrr) a few years back Scotland actually won and it almost became a new national day after St Andrews. I am not joking. Rugby is a big thing in Scotland.

Two Gaelic phrases: -Tha Gàidhlig agam cuideachd: I speak Gaelic too -Tha beagan Gàidhlig agam. I speak little Gaelic.

Quick update as well about the fic. Most of the chapters have some big chunks written. But there are two important chapters: 22 - something big happens. I wrote the main important part 5 times already and probably re write another five before i publish it. It involves something I don't usually write and I am really nervous. So finger crossed.

26: this will be the last chapter (there's an epilogue as well) and again I have written the main event. There is so much fluff that it's probably not healthy :)

So, after this massive introduction I can let you go and enjoy (hopefully) the chapter.

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Aelin had woken up before Rowan that morning. It was finally mid July and it was Heb Celt day and she was super excited. The festival would run for three days but they had chosen the one with the most of their favourite artists. Plus Rowan had tickets for Peat and Diesel and they could not miss them. She rolled out of bed and went to the kitchen. That morning it was her turn for once to prepare breakfast. Rowan had taught her enough for her to make breakfast safely without burning the house down. It was a special day and she was going to make eggs and bacon, the only concession Rowan would make in his perfect diet. Once a week they could treat themselves to a non healthy breakfast. She prepared the coffee, sliced some bread for the toaster and started frying the bacon in one pan and getting the eggs ready as well. She felt good, she could make breakfast for Rowan for once. She was almost done when she felt his arms around her waist and a soft kiss behind her ear. “It smells lovely.”

“It’s a special day today so we are having our special breakfast.” She told him while finishing ti prepare the eggs. She was very proud of her job. “I’ll set the table.” He added and moved away and she missed his arms. “So, the main event is tonight at seven.” She said passing him the plates with food “I had a look at some events and it seems there is enough for us to fill up the entire day.” “You have done a good job,” he commented taking a bite of the food she had prepared for him. She tasted it as well and found it edible. Well, at least she was not going to poison them and he seemed satisfied. “Look at you.” He pulled her to him, and Aelin sat on his lap. She grabbed her plate and finished her breakfast with one of his arms around her. She was really loving it living with him. It had taken her a little while to adjust to his way of life but she had realised that living with him was quite easy. They had their little fights but he seemed to hate to hold grudges for too long so every time they had fixed their issues quite quickly. The two of them ate in silence for a moment “This is good, Fireheart.” And he polished off his plate. “I had a good teacher.” She stood and Rowan noticed that she was only wearing a large t-shirt, his t-shirt, and under it he could very barely notice her underwear. He grabbed her and pulled her back on his lap and she straddled him. His hands landed on her butt and she kissed him. “You really love teasing me, don’t you?” “It’s fun.” He looked at her in a weird way “Sure, torturing a poor man like that.” She got up again and took all the plates to the sink and she walked swaying her hips on purpose. Rowan almost howled at the sight. She started washing the dishes and at the same time she began dancing and singing and that’s the way we do it, the way we do it in the Western Isles. Rowan laughed and helped her. She washed and he dried them. She kept singing and bumped her hips into his and the two started dancing together. Once they were done Aelin went to her old room to get changed. She wore a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Then she braided her hair and tied a colourful bandana to her head. She prepared her backpack and she was ready to go. Once out, Rowan was waiting for her. He had blue shorts a grey t-shirt and on top of it a blue shirt with short sleeves and his sunglasses on top of his head. Aelin took a photo of him “so sexy.” He raised an eyebrow at her comment “I am not—“ “Shh…” she said placing a finger on his lips “I am your girlfriend and I am the one to judge.” He bit her finger in reply. “Fine, fine.” He grabbed her hand “Come on, I have a surprise for you.” Her face lit up and he could spend an entire day staring at her smiling at him. It was such a beautiful sight. They left the house and began their walk all the way to the harbour and Aelin was getting curious about their destination. They reached a small house down at the pier and Rowan pulled her toward the small group of people gathered. Aelin noticed another couple and a woman on her own. She was quite intent in studying the couple. The woman was quite petite with black hair and black eyes as well and she had a very bright smile. The man was almost the opposite. He was tall, Aelin suspected even taller than Rowan, something she could not believe it was possible. He had a thick muscular build with long dark hair and same for his eyes. But where she exuded a friendly attitude, he seemed to scowl even at the stones. “Is this part of the festival?” Wondering about his plan. “In a manner.” He explained quite vaguely “It’s just a pre festival fun.” Sure, now it was clear, thought Aelin, none the wiser. Rowan left her side for a moment and she noticed him talking with a man who, from the way he was dressed seemed to be a crew member on a boat. Rowan looked relaxed and Aelin suspected the two were friends. And with sadness she realised she had never met any of Rowan’s friend and he did not seem to mention any of them. “Ready for an adventure?” He told her once he came back, carrying two lifejackets. Aelin stared at him and then he pointed at the small rib boat and he gave her a huge grin. “I know one of crew members, Callum,” and he pointed at the man he was talking to. We used to dive together. I asked him if he could save us two seats for this morning. It’s a gorgeous day and a boat trip seems like the best way to spend the morning.” “You are a very resourceful man, Rowan Whitethorn.” She tiptoed on her feet and kissed his nose. One of the crew member walked around distributing lifejackets and explained the basic health and safety measures. Aelin wore her vest and Rowan double checked it was up to his standards. Once he was happy that the jacket was safely on he helped her to get on the rib. The brunette girl who was part of the couple sat beside her giving her a wide smile full of excitement that probably mirrored Aelin’s. “I am Elide.” The woman introduced herself and Aelin took her hand. “I am Aelin.” She smiled back “Are you here for the festival too?” She had a feeling they were tourists. “Yes,” she replied excited “Lorcan and I come every year. We love it.” Then she turned to the man at her side “This is Lorcan by the way. Don’t worry he does not bite. That is just his regular face” and the man grunted in reply. Aelin laughed. The man seemed to be mad at the world. She turned to introduce Rowan to the couple, but she noticed he was still on the pier chatting away with one of the crew members. “The tall guy on the pier with the blue shirt? My boyfriend, Rowan.” Elide’s gaze took in Rowan and Aelin smiled wickedly at the woman’s stare of understanding. “Did you come here for the festival too?” “Oh, Rowan and I live here. He is the local, I moved her a few months ago.” “Nice,” said the woman. Aelin liked her already, she had a very bubbly personality. “Lorcan and I live in Glasgow.” “I never been there but Rowan did uni there..” “You should come and visit. It’s quite a fantastic city. So alive.” Rowan finally returned and sat down beside Aelin “nice chat?” “Yeah, I haven’t seen him in ages. I knew he had opened a boat tours business but I never had the chance to come and say hi. We were just discussing some ideas for possible diving adventures.” She caressed his head and realised that there was still so much she did not know about him. Some days he still felt like a huge mystery, but still, she was madly in love with him and she was looking to find out more about him day by day. “I made a friend by the way,” and she pointed at the woman at her side “This is Elide. She and her boyfriend Lorcan are here for the festival too.” Rowan extended his hand and then he and Lorcan exchanged a manly nod and both women rolled their eyes. Rowan fussed over her again and double checked one more time that her lifejacket was fitted and tied properly, when the rib boat started to move. His hand reached behind her back and he leaned comfortably against the side of the boat and closed his eyes, letting the sun kiss his face. Aelin and Elide on the other hand, were taking photos and chatting away happily pointing at all the points of interest. The boat glided on the water and Aelin leaned back against Rowan, taking in the scenery in front of her. She had explored all of that during her adventures, but seeing it from the water was a completely different experience. “Thank you for this.” She said to him. “Hopefully we will see some wildlife.” He added “Callum said that yesterday they spotted Orcas.” Aelin’s eyes went wide in surprise “I saw whales at the Butt of Lewis, or what I think it was whales.” “Highly likely.” Then she turned to Elide “So, you guys are staying here for the whole festival?” The woman nodded “Yes, Lorcan and I always rent a cottage for a week and spend the whole weekend at the festival. I am looking forward the main event tonight: Peat and Diesel.” Aelin almost squealed “us too. Rowan introduced me to them very recently and I am dying to see them live.” “We have been to one of their concerts in Glasgow at the Barrowlands.” Said Lorcan almost grumbling. “Oh, he speaks,” joked Elide, patting his leg and giving him a smile. He did not reply and just placed a hand on her back. “What about we spend the day together?” Aelin turned all excited to Rowan who gave her a nod “Yes,” she shouted looking at Elide again. They sailed for a bit longer and reached Tiumpan Head and Rowan told her to keep and eye on the sea. Not a moment later she spotted a couple of fins and she and Elide almost jumped. “Dolphins,” Rowan said in her ear. She made a 360 and sat on her knees facing now the water. She felt Rowan’s arm tight around her waist. “Please, don’t fall in the water.” Her hand was in the water and a dolphin passed very close to her and she almost touched it. Rowan used his free hand to take pictures of her. His phone gallery had nothing but pictures of Aelin. Elide turned as well and Rowan noticed the panic in the other man’s eyes and they exchanged a glance of understanding. Aelin leaned a bit further but Rowan’s arm pulled her back “Please don’t. Lifeguard service is not in my plans for today.” “There’s dolphins around the boat.” Aelin squealed. “I know, Fireheart,” he pulled her back “but you need to calm down.” She sat back down to a safer position and Rowan felt like he could breath again. “Is that Tolsta?” She then asked when they continued north and she recognised the place in front of her. The closer they got to the beach the clearer the water got and Aelin was in awe “This reminds me of when Lys and I swam at Luskentyre.” Oh yeah, Rowan remembered the day and very quickly chased the memories away. They were in public. The boat made a turn and they began to make their way back to the town. Aelin snuggled to Rowan’s chest, with her arms around his waist. “Are you cold?” He demanded “I have your favourite hoodie with me.” “I am fine.” An hour later they were back at the harbour and Aelin was high on excitement. The trip had been amazing. Once off the boat she flung her arms around Rowan’s neck and kissed him “Thank you. I loved my surprise.” “You are most welcome.” He pulled back from her “Let me say bye to Callum.” And she was left alone with Elide and Lorcan. “That was a nice trip.” Said the woman, grabbing her boyfriend’s hand. “Totally. I had never seen dolphins before. It was so awesome.” “Really?” Elide was curious. Aelin nodded “Until a few months ago I lived in London. Born and bred there. Not much chance to see dolphins in the water. I doubt they would enjoy the Thames.” Elide gazed at Lorcan “We were planning a quick weekend in the capital next month.” “Ask me anything. I can tell you the best places to go and how to survive London without breaking the bank.” “That would be lovely,” was Lorcan’s reply “I feel like I need a mortgage for this trip.” He kissed the woman’s head and she noticed the first sign of affection “But it’s a belated birthday present, so…” he shrugged. “Ach, I can help you with that. I survived London on a budget when I was student.” Rowan finally came back and embraced her from behind “Sorry, Callum and I were just planning an excursion for next Sunday.” He kissed her ear. “Can I come too?” “Of course.” Then he lifted his head and looked at their two companions for the day “Aelin and I are going to grab lunch, fancy joining us?” Lorcan almost protested but Elide poked his shoulder “Stop being grumpy.” Then she turned to Aelin and Rowan “Of course we are coming.” Rowan smiled and took Aelin’s hand and started walking to Maeve’s. He laughed when he noticed that Aelin was almost skipping. Gods, the woman had never ending energy. While walking to Maeve’s Rowan and Lorcan ended up side by side and Aelin just noticed that her assumption was right and Lorcan really was taller that Rowan. The man must have been closer to two metres. She felt tiny all of a sudden and Elide seemed even more petite beside the huge man. She could put Aedion with them as well and they could form a sexy, tall wall of muscles. She grinned and was glad that Rowan was busy talk to Elide so he did not notice her savage blush. They reached the cafe and noticed that it was packed and Rowan sighed. He loved the festival but it also meant a savage invasion disrupting his day to day life. He entered first and went to his aunt and Aelin smiled when she noticed that Maeve had managed to find some space for them. “Privileges of being related to the owner,” he smiled, going back to them. “This is a lovely place,” commented Elide “why we never stopped here?” “So, will you be enjoying the entire festival as well?” Asked Elide, passing a menu to Lorcan. “No, Rowan and I will be doing today only. Tomorrow we have to reopen the bookshop.” The woman’s eyes lit up in surprise “do you run the bookshop down the road?” Rowan nodded “It’s my shop.” He took Aelin’s hand in his “she helps.” “Yeah, I fix his displays and I charm customer. Rowan scares them away by being a grump” She grinned back at him and he, in exchange, flicked her nose. “I am a primary school teacher,” continued Elide who was definitely the chattier of the pair “And Lorcan is the coach of the Glasgow Warriors. They are a rugby team.” And Aelin was grateful to the woman for the clarification. “No way.” Said Rowan amazed “That’s why you looked familiar. You were their captain until a few years back. Lorcan Salvaterre.” Lorcan nodded. “I studied at Glasgow university and the Warriors were, and still are, my favourite team. I went to see plenty of their games. You guys are awesome.” “You like rugby?” “Aye,” added Rowan and Aelin studied him for a moment. He was alive all of a sudden, his usual calm disappeared and he was one beautiful sight “Stornoway has a small club and I go and watch some of the games. But I miss the big league guys. I usually get tickets for the Six Nations as well.” Lorcan smiled “I can get you some tickets for one of Scotland’s home games. Perhaps for the one against England. Wonder if it will be finally the year we trash them as they deserve.” “Hey,” Aelin exclaimed almost hurt “English woman here.” And as a joke she pushed her London accent. “No one is perfect, Fireheart.” Rowan kissed her temple. She pinched his side and he barely reacted “Fine, I will support England this year, just to annoy you” She threatened and the two guys glared at her. “Fine.” She raised her hands “but you need to teach me Flower of Scotland.” “It would be my pleasure.” And he pulled her to him and in that instant Maeve came with their order “Sorry for the wait guys, we are quite busy today.” Rowan said something in Gaelic to his aunt and she walked away with a smile. Elide turned to him “Tha Gàidhlig agam cuideachd.” Rowan’s face lit up. “I teach at the Glasgow Gaelic School. I am not a native. I picked it up at uni and I fell in love with it. I spent some time on the islands to learn it and then I got a job as a teacher.” “Yeah if she starts to shout at me in Gaelic I know she is really mad at me.” The man joked taking her hand. “I only know a few sentences. Tha beagan Gàidhlig agam.” Aelin said proudly “Rowan has been teaching me.” They finished their lunch chatting away nicely and getting to know each other. Lorcan did manage to utter a few more sentences but he became quite talkative once he and Rowan started talking about rugby. Aelin ordered a trip to the ice cream parlour. And the boys followed. Aelin took Elide’s arm and let Rowan and Lorcan follow. They were super immersed in their conversation. Aelin wished Lysandra was there too. She had a feeling the three of them would get along greatly. Aelin and Elide got a triple cone and the two men just went for something more sober with just one flavour. “Look at them all perfect and healthy.” Aelin mocked them and Elide giggled at her side. Rowan, in front of her just met her gaze and then licked his ice cream in a very taunting way and took great pleasure in noticing her reaction. Aelin almost chocked and his eyes flashed in amusement. A wall, she just wanted a wall and twenty minutes alone with him to remove that smirk form his face. He knew he had rattled her and hated the way he casually went back talking to Lorcan. She would have her revenge. Eventually her mind started functioning again and went back talking to Elide, hoping the woman had not noticed their exchange. That would have been embarrassing. Slowly they reached the festival grounds. They made it till four and they still had three hours to fill in before the main event. They all collected their tickets and ventured inside the main arena. Aelin squeezed Rowan’s hand and once she turned to him she noticed he had the most amazing smile. “We got a concert coming up.” Said Elide, then grabbed a notebook and scribbled something down “this is my number. Text me later. We can meet again for the main event.” Aelin took the piece of paper and then the notebook and wrote her number for the woman “Looking forward to.” The two said their goodbyes and Rowan finally pulled Aelin to him and kissed her deeply “I had to restrain myself all afternoon.” “You are a wicked man,” a whisper against his lips “You will pay for the ice cream trick.” But in response his kiss deepened and his tongue repeated some of the motions he did early. “Unless you want me to drag you in a hidden corner and have sex at a festival, you’d better stop it.” He laughed “Yes, Fireheart.” And mirth flashed in his pine green eyes. “Come on, let’s go and have a look at the merchandise. See if we can get you a P&D hoodie.” And he dragged her to the area with all the stalls. “Uh, food stalls.” She pulled on one side. “Later. We just had a massive lunch and ice cream.” “You are no fun.” She complained while following him. He walked with her in tow for a little longer and they finally found all the stall with the merchandise for the bands and the festival in general. “Look,” he said to her pointing at the big stall of the band “Good thing we are here early, we can do all these things now. Later on it will be mobbed.” Aelin got closer to the stall and started having a look at the hoodies. She noticed a green one and gave it a try. She had decided that for some reason green reminded her of Rowan, perhaps for his eyes, but the colour now was a reminder of him. She tried on the hoodie and Rowan turned and stared at her in appreciation. “You look lovely.” “I’ll take it.” As Rowan turned again, apparently interested by what was going on on the big screen and she used the moment to buy a t-shirt for him. His birthday was coming up and this was the second part of her present. She paid for her stuff and quickly placed the t-shirt in her backpack before he would turn again. She embraced him from behind and leaned her head against his back, he turned, “I really, really like it.” And kissed her forehead. They wandered a bit longer until they finally reached one of the smaller stages where the first band they were waiting for was going to play soon. They did manage to squeeze to the front and Aelin felt bad for whoever ended up behind Rowan. He pulled her in front of him and his arms went around her neck “Are you ready to sing?” She nodded. The band was called Skipinnish and one was one of Rowan’s favourite and she agreed that they did some wonderful music. The group started with a slow song and Aelin danced on the spot in Rowan’s arms and she felt like the happiest woman alive. In his arms she was finally happy. As if the last year ceased to exist all of a sudden. That had been his magic. He had slowly taken away all the grief she had felt until only a few months ago. He had given her again the desire to dream. She squeezed his hand and tried to convey somehow all those feeling in that simple gesture. The music suddenly picked up in pace and Rowan turned her to him, one of her hand landed on his chest and the other one in his hand that he held high. He started dancing and she swayed with him, then he lifted her and turned on the spot and put her back. A quick kiss and they kept dancing. His eyes alive with happiness. She giggled and he smiled at that sound. All through their dance, Aelin sang, impressing him by her knowledge. She only refrained from singing the songs in Gaelic, that was still too much of a challenge. They danced for another few hours then they moved to the next stage where Skerryvore, the next band they wanted to see was going to play. This time they ended up at the back, but Rowan had Aelin climb on his back, piggyback style, and that allowed her to see the stage a little better. She could not dance but loved her position. Her chin leaned on his head and her arms went around his neck. She took a sniff of his wonderful scent of pine and snow and kissed the back of his head. One of Aelin’s favourite songs began playing and she sang out loud you and I, we held each other tight. Time will take its toll, but I will never let you go. Your love is like a high, you and I. Our love can never die, together as we grow. I’ll always let you know, you’re my reason why Rowan joined in and she hugged him tighter and her head leaned against his head. “I love you,” she whispered while he was busy singing the chorus. It was past six when the concert finished. Aelin looked at her phone and noticed a text from Elide telling her that she and Lorcan were already at the main stage and they had a spot at the very front. “Let’s go.” Aelin grabbed Rowan’s hand “Elide and Lorcan have spot fro us as well at the front of the stage.” Luckily the main stage area was not busy yet, and they found the couple quite quickly. Rowan had a look and noticed they had found a good spot. “This is perfect.” Rowan commented. “Not our first festival.” Lorcan grinned back. Aelin and Elide were huddled together talking and being all excited for the grand event. Aelin paraded her hoodie and Elide showed her the t-shirt and the hoodie she had bought as well. Rowan really thought he had created a monster. With the passing of time the area started to fill and Aelin could feel the excitement around them. Half an hour later the show started with a roar. Aelin climbed on Rowan’s shoulders again and she noticed that Lorcan offered the same to Elide. Aelin roared as well and shouted as soon as she recognised the notes of the first song Stornoway of course. She sang with all of her voice and waved her hands in the air. She and Elide grabbed their hands and sang and waved together. Then they moved to Western Isles and the crowd went wild. Rowan laughed at Aelin’s wild excitement and was impressed by the fact that Aelin really had learned all the lyrics. “And that’s the way we do it, the way we do it in the Western Isles” she was singing with a passion and his mind went to that morning when she was cooking breakfast in nothing but a baggy t-shirt while singing and dancing to that song. Rowan moved a bit dancing as much as possible with Aelin on his shoulder but he sang as well and with his hand he beat the rhythm on Aelin’s legs. The band was playing some of their hits and he was having the time of his life. He had never been able to convince Lyria to go to Heb Celt with him. Her music taste was different and she was never interested in that type of music so he had gone alone for a very long time. But now he had Aelin and she was basically perfect. The guys started playing My islands and Aelin let out a savage cheer and then started to sing. She slowly slid off his back and started dancing and jumping in front of him shaking her head at the rhythm of the music Elide at her side being just as wild. She took his hands and danced on the spot as much as the crowd allowed it. Aelin took some photos of her and Rowan and went back dancing. It was quite late when the concert finished. Aelin and Elide were now walking silently hand in hand with their respective men. “I think they finally ran out of fuel.” Joked Rowan, seeing the two women quiet. “It took them a while, but eventually it happened.” Joked Lorcan who had slowly opened up a bit more. “You are both so mean.” Said Elide leaning against Lorcan. “Yes, and you are going to fall asleep soon.” Lorcan crouched down and offered to carry Elide piggyback “Come on, time to get you to bed.” “Are you coming to the ceilidh at An Lanntair tomorrow?” Aelin and Rowan looked at each other “we might,” she said. “Let us know.” Said Lorcan settling Elide properly on his back “Thanks for the day and evening.” And the two slowly walked away. Rowan turned to Aelin and noticed she had a massive grin on her face. Alas, she seemed to have some energy left. “That was awesome.” She took both of his hands “And we need to go to the ceilidh tomorrow. It’s your birthday. We need to celebrate.” “Fine. We can go. But now we are going home. You have to rest and recharge the batteries for the ceilidh.” She leaned forward and kissed him “Thank you so much for this. It was unbelievable.” He pulled her to him and lifted her and pirouetted while kissing her. Finally they started making their way home and when Rowan noticed that Aelin was on the verge of falling asleep on her feet he offered a piggyback ride and she accepted. By the time they got back home she was fully asleep. At home he deposited her on the bed and he started to ponder how to get her out of her current clothes and into a pyjama. He went to get her Cookie Monster pyjama, removed her hoodie and placed it on the chair at the bottom of the room. Next it was the t-shirt and her shorts and he tried to look away. He was about to put the new clothes away when she groaned and woke up briefly. “I am just changing you into your pj.” He told her gently. Still half asleep she let him guide her body into her night clothes. Then he realised she liked to sleep without a bra and he had no idea how to solve that one. “Bra…” she muttered. “I am… you…” he tried to hide his embarrassment “you do that.” She muttered something unintelligible and removed her bra and threw it in his face. Then collapsed on the bed and went back to sleep. Rowan slowly tucked her in then changed in own night clothes and joined her. His arms went around her waist tucked her head in the crook of his neck. Not longer after he was asleep as well.

#rowan x aelin #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #fanfic #fluff #throne of glass series

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causeiwanttoandican · 3 years

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Holy crap!

The Telegraph- Camilla Tominey

'She wanted drama': The inside story of the rift between Harry and Meghan and The Firm

As the Sussexes give their tell-all Oprah Winfrey interview, royal insiders reveal the 'other side of the story'

By Camilla Tominey, Associate Editor5 March 2021 • 9:00pm

There was something distinctly familiar about the Oprah Winfrey teaser in which Prince Harry declared: "My biggest concern was history repeating itself."

The words, due to be aired during the Duke and Duchess of Sussexes' tell-all interview on Sunday night, bore an uncanny resemblance to the statement released by Harry's communications secretary, Jason Knauf, in November 2016 after the Sunday Express had revealed that the Prince was dating the American actress.

Confirming that "his girlfriend Meghan Markle" had been "subject to a wave of abuse and harassment", the statement criticised the "racial undertones" of newspaper coverage, adding: "Prince Harry is worried about Ms Markle's safety and is deeply disappointed that he has not been able to protect her. This is not a game – it is her life and his."

The unprecedented salvo created two important narratives around the former Suits star – it formally confirmed her status as the woman in Harry's life but also positioned her, in the eyes of the palace and the public, as the victim at the heart of a media "storm". As the statement suggested, a line had been "crossed".

But the tirade "by the Communications Secretary to Prince Harry" also put Mr Knauf in a compromising position. How was the former director of corporate affairs for the Royal Bank of Scotland going to be able to handle media relations for a couple when the Prince had so publicly made plain their deep hostility towards the press?

Almost exactly two years later, the 39-year-old spin doctor would submit a a bullying claim accusing Meghan of driving two personal assistants out of the household and undermining the confidence of a third staff member.

The Sussexes have denied that Harry pleaded with Mr Knauf not to pursue it, claiming the couple are the victims of a calculated smear campaign based on harmful misinformation. They said the Duchess was "saddened by this latest attack on her character, particularly as someone who has been the target of bullying herself and is deeply committed to supporting those who have experienced pain and trauma".

Those highlighting the "outrageous bullying" say they want to "tell the other side of the story" to the picture expected to be painted by the Duchess on the Oprah special of her "almost unsurvivable" time in the Royal family. "Anyone who is a victim can't bear to watch it," said one.

The couple's lawyers insist Buckingham Palace is manipulating the press to peddle a "wholly false narrative" –notwithstanding the fact that the complainants no longer work in the royal household and the lack of palace action has now prompted an internal inquiry.

The Telegraph has spoken to a number of well-placed insiders who witnessed first-hand the turmoil within the royal household from Meghan's arrival as Prince Harry's girlfriend to the couple's decision to stand down as working royals last year.

All spoke on the condition of anonymity amid claims they had been operating in a "climate of fear", where employees were routinely "humiliated" in front of their peers and repeatedly subjected to "unreasonable demands" by both Meghan and Harry.

Unwilling to play a supporting role

It was not until October 2017, a year after Mr Knauf's unprecedented statement that Meghan gave an interview to Vanity Fair in which she declared of her relationship with Harry: "We're in love. I'm sure there will be a time when we will have to come forward and present ourselves and have stories to tell, but what I hope people will understand is that this is our time."

The public did not have to wait long. Just a month later, the couple announced their engagement with a photocall in the sunken garden at Kensington Palace and an interview with the BBC's Mishal Husain in which Harry described his fiancee as "another team player as part of the bigger team".

Yet behind palace gates, it was quickly becoming apparent that Meghan had no intention of she and Harry being seen as the "supporting act" to the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, despite their seniority in the royal pecking order.

That Christmas, determined to walk side by side with William and Kate to Sandringham's St Mary Magdalene Church, rather than several steps behind, they were pictured together as the so-called "Fab Four".

The Cambridges invited the Sussexes to spend the festive period at their nearby bolthole, Anmer Hall, an experience Meghan spoke of fondly afterwards. "Meghan was very positive about it," said a former aide.

Two months later, the quartet appeared at their first official event together at the inaugural forum of their Royal Foundation – a highly choreographed event described by one royal insider as "designed to send a message that they would be working as a team. It was all very carefully rehearsed beforehand".

Disagreements with the Cambridges

After Meghan showcased her years of previous work with "larger NGOs and smaller grassroots organisations", both William and Harry acknowledged that working so closely with loved ones had led to "healthy disagreements" over how to best guide the foundation's work.

"Working as a family does have its challenges, of course it does," Harry said. "But we're stuck together for the rest of our lives."

By now, Kensington Palace staff had already become familiar with a mantra that would come to characterise the run-up to the Sussexes' wedding in May 2018.

"Want Meghan wants, Meghan gets" may have been shouted by Prince Harry to Angela Kelly, the Queen's personal assistant, following a row over a tiara – but royal aides were already well acquainted with the importance of meeting the Duchess's exacting standards.

"Everyone wanted her to be happy because they knew that would make him happy," said one. "Do whatever it takes to make it work for Meghan was the mantra. We all cared deeply about Harry. Contrary to this idea that they weren't supported, we were going to great lengths to accommodate their needs."

So much so that there was an extraordinary incident during the couple's first tour of Scotland when members of the palace PR team "body blocked" Meghan's former adviser Gina Nelthorpe-Cowne during a visit to an Edinburgh cafe in what one former aide described as "the most embarrassing moment of my professional career".

The Duchess had apparently expressed "a reluctance to make eye contact" with Ms Nelthorpe-Cowne, who was reduced to having to post an Instagram shot of her former close friend and client visiting the Social Bites cafe from a considerable distance. "Anyone from the past was a problem," observed the former aide.

Ms Nelthorpe-Cowne's name would later reappear in court documents accusing Meghan's close friend and stylist Jessica Mulroney of "putting pressure on her [Ms Nelthorpe-Cowne] to withdraw or change statements" she had made in an April 2018 interview with the Mail on Sunday.

The defence documents claimed the Sunday newspaper's features editor complained about the intervention to Mr Knauf, who allegedly responded by saying he would ensure "this does not happen again". In the piece, Ms Nelthorpe-Cowne described Meghan as: "Picky, not only when it comes to her clothes but also her colleagues, instantly dismissing those who didn’t share her 'vision'."

Describing how the Duchess had "given me a bit of a difficult time" after meeting Harry, she added: "Meghan likes to move on".

When contacted by The Telegraph, Ms Nelthorpe-Cowne declined to comment on the incident.

'Email bombardments'

As the world was gearing up for what the LA Times had billed as "a royal wedding for the 21st century", behind palace gates the atmosphere was becoming fraught.

Staff had grown used to "email bombardments" by Meghan and Harry, with one describing how "the last thing we'd do before going to sleep is reply to their messages and the first thing we'd do in the morning is reply to their messages. Weekends, holidays – there were no boundaries. They live on their phones all the time".

Despite publicly claiming they largely ignored the press coverage, in reality the couple were often consumed by it. "They're both very thin-skinned," said one former employee.

Meghan's supporters say staff members "who preferred a more genteel pace" could not keep up with the Duchess's "American work ethic" – with one close friend now suggesting the criticism was racially motivated. "Find me a woman of colour in a senior position who has not been accused of being too angry, too scary, too whatever in the workplace," the friend said.

Yet it was not just palace employees who found themselves on the receiving end of "inescapable screaming and shouting".

Much has been written about the bridesmaids' dress fitting, first revealed in The Telegraph in November 2018, that left the Duchess of Cambridge in tears.

Contrary to subsequent reports that the row concerned Princess Charlotte's tights, what actually happened was that the dress itself did not fit Kate's then nearly three-year-old daughter. According to a well-placed source, "demands were made about when subsequent fittings would be, and Kate left sobbing".

While Meghan's allies suggest that Kate did not make enough of an effort to welcome her future sister-in-law into the royal fold, allies of the Cambridges suggest she "tried to arrange social things" and invited her to watch tennis together but "there was a sense that Meghan never really wanted to be friends".

Those inside the palace concede, however, that the Cambridges can "appear standoffish" and are "often out of contact for extended periods".

Another former royal aide claimed the Duke, particularly, appreciated the "deflection" from his own occasionally demanding behaviour. "Bullying is endemic across all the households," the former aide added.

"The Meghan thing is a disgrace, but it's not in isolation. They cut you out, undermine you, talk down to you. One minute you're in – the next you're persona non grata. Some staff have special protection. I've never witnessed behaviour like it before. I wish I'd never seen behind the curtain."

A reprimand from the Queen

One member of staff afforded "special protection" is Angela Kelly, who has served as the Queen's closest aide since 2002. Rumours of Meghan being dubbed "Duchess Difficult" began to surface around the time it emerged that the Liverpudlian docker's daughter had been given a tongue-lashing by Harry.

Yet what was never accurately reported around the time of "Tiaragate" was that far from being denied the item from the Crown Jewels she wanted, Meghan was in fact given her first choice.

The argument erupted after the Duchess demanded that Queen Mary's Diamond Bandeau Tiara be produced for an unscheduled hairdressing appointment.

"Angela told Harry it was priceless and couldn't suddenly be handed over at short notice. He was furious and shouted: 'What Meghan wants, Meghan gets.' Suffice to say it didn't go down too well." So badly, in fact, that the no-nonsense 53-year-old, who has her own fearsome reputation among colleagues, reported the incident to the Queen, prompting a grandmotherly telling off for Harry.

Little did the Prince know at the time that staff had also given him a nickname: "The hostage".

According to one person with first-hand knowledge of the events: "They insisted that they had the same inflation-adjusted budget for the wedding as William and Kate – she got the choir she wanted, the dress, the carriage procession, the tiara – she got everything she wanted but it still wasn't enough.

"She was constantly looking for reasons to say she had been deprived. Also, she wanted drama from the very beginning."

Although the couple wanted their spokespeople to deny it, a story about Meghan requesting air freshener to be sprayed around the "musty" St George's Chapel was true, according to multiple sources.

Even The Kingdom Choir did not get off lightly after the couple changed their song 12 times before they were happy with the arrangement of "Stand By Me". As choir member Karen Gibson revealed: "Gospel music is all about the cherries on top and it's not about stinting on anything. But we got word back that they wanted something a little less, so we did a second version which had an Etta James arrangement but again we had word back that it wasn't right."

The group was then asked to meet Harry and Meghan face to face, before the couple finally settled on an arrangement after 11 previous attempts.

"The wedding was hugely stressful for everyone involved in it," said one former aide. "Staff were spending most of their time having smooth things over with suppliers."

Tears before the big day

The "Markle Debacle", when Meghan's father Thomas pulled out of the wedding at the last minute, only added to the tension as royal aides scrambled to "rescue" the narrative around the "big day" by having the Prince of Wales step in to walk Meghan down the aisle.

Despite Meghan later claiming to ITV's Tom Bradby that "not many people have asked if I'm ok", royal insiders insist they "rallied around" the couple – who were both in tears at times.

The Most Rev Justin Welby, the Archbishop of Canterbury, who officiated the ceremony, is also understood to have given "psychological as well as spiritual" support. The principle leader of the Church of England caused hilarity among his staff by failing to recognise Ms Winfrey at the lunchtime reception at Windsor Castle, asking the US chat show host what she did for a living.

By the time the couple had returned from their honeymoon, relations between the Sussexes, the Cambridges and their staff became so bad that Harry and Meghan appeared reluctant to engage with anyone at the June 2018 leaving party for Miguel Head, William's former private secretary.

According to two separate sources, the couple "remained aloof" throughout the bash in the private garden at Kensington Palace. "It was a really convivial atmosphere with William giving a touching speech about Mig, but Harry and Meghan just remained on the outskirts and didn't mingle with anyone. They were the last to arrive and the first to leave."

Eyebrows were similarly raised when, having shared the news of her pregnancy at the Champagne reception following Princess Eugenie's wedding to Jack Brooksbank in October 2018, Meghan declined to attend the evening do. The bride was said to have been "upset" that Harry only "popped along for a drink without Meghan" – although they were due to fly to Australia for their first Commonwealth tour the day after.

During the 16-day tour, which also took in Fiji, Tonga and New Zealand, the couple appeared reluctant to engage with the press. Although Harry managed to be persuaded at one point to speak to reporters at the back of the plane, he told them: "Thanks for coming, even though you weren't invited."

Bullying claims emerge

On the same trip, it was claimed that Meghan had cut short a visit to a market in Fiji because she was concerned about the presence of a UN organisation promoting women, with which she had previously worked but now was no longer associated.

At the time, officials suggested that it was because it was humid and the crowd was oppressive in the market. After Meghan had been ushered away, a female member of her entourage was spotted sitting in an official car, looking extremely upset. Meghan's female personal protection officer left her post shortly afterwards.

Lawyers for the Duchess said she met other leaders from UN Women later on the tour and denied she left for the reason alleged.

Although Mr Knauf had not gone on the tour, he is thought to have been "deeply concerned" by reports of the couple's behaviour overseas.

"There was a sense that they were just refusing to take advice, and insisting on doing everything their way," said one royal source. "No one, from the most senior to the most junior employee, wasn't under constant attack," said another.

Matters came to a head in October 2018 following the departure of a second member of the Duchess's private office.

Mr Knauf emailed Simon Case, then William's private secretary and now the Cabinet Secretary, after conversations with Samantha Carruthers, the head of HR. Mr Case then forwarded it to Ms Carruthers, who is based at Clarence House.

The email read: "I am very concerned that the Duchess was able to bully two PAs out of the household in the past year. The treatment of X* was totally unacceptable. The Duchess seems intent on always having someone in her sights. She is bullying Y and seeking to undermine her confidence. We have had report after report from people who have witnessed unacceptable behaviour towards Y."

The email, which also expressed concern about the stress being experienced by Samantha Cohen, the couple's private secretary, concluded: "I questioned if the household's policy on harassment and bullying applies to principals."

While Mr Case was "very personally supportive" of the individual members of staff, Mr Knauf expressed his concern in the email that "nothing will be done". The palace is now holding an investigation, having been criticised for failing to act sooner.

It was not until a month later that it was reported that Melissa Toubati, the Duchess's former PA, had "quit suddenly", just six months into the job. The following month, it was announced that Ms Cohen would not stay in post after the Sussexes' baby was born.

The couple were apparently "furious" about reports of their high staff turnover, piling more pressure on their PR team to "try to turn negative headlines into positive ones".

According to one former employee: "What people fail to understand is Harry's hatred of the media is probably one of the most important things in his life. It is defining for him. So the narrative is always – it’s the press's fault, never theirs."

That Christmas, the Sussexes were once again photographed alongside the Cambridges on Dec 25 but opted to stay with the Queen at the "main house" rather than Anmer Hall.

It came after an awkward staff Christmas party in which "all mention of Melissa's name was banned", according to one royal insider. "It was as if she never existed." Some employees found it hard to reconcile the couple's erratic conduct with moments of genuine kindness, such as when Meghan would buy female staff members flowers or even jewellery.

Relations break down

By the New Year, relations within Kensington Palace had "irretrievably broken down," with Prince Harry no longer on speaking terms with Mr Knauf after he had failed to persuade him to drop the complaint against his wife. The Sussexes' lawyers deny any such conversation took place.

Sources close to the couple say Ms Toubati, who was asked to sign a non-disclosure agreement, was sacked for misconduct, pointing out neither staff member made complaints of their own to HR. Ms Toubati's friends deny she was sacked for misconduct.

With Harry and Meghan already operating in a silo – and increasingly consulting the Duchess's US team of advisers rather than palace officials – a split of the two households at Kensington Palace appeared an inevitability.

It was around the time that the couple moved to Frogmore Cottage in Windsor in March 2019 that Amy Pickerill became the third of the Duchess's staff to leave her role, having served as her assistant private secretary since November 2017.

Mr Knauf also stepped down to work as senior adviser to the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge. He is now chief executive of the Cambridges' Royal Foundation. Friends say he "bitterly regrets" not warning Sara Latham, who was appointed as the Sussexes' director of communications in April 2019, how difficult working for the couple could be.

The American PR supremo, who used to advise the Clintons, quickly worked this out for herself when the couple insisted on secrecy around son Archie's birth on May 6, while trying to maximise global coverage.

Around the same time it was falsely claimed that the Duchess had been prevented from doing an interview with CBS anchor Gayle King, Ms Winfrey's close friend. In fact, insiders say "the Duchess was calling shots throughout."

It came after Meghan had attended a high-profile baby shower in New York with Serena Williams and Amal Clooney, without being accompanied by any palace press officers. Concerns were raised behind palace gates when freebies started arriving at New York's Mark Hotel, causing consternation for staff back in the UK having to wrestle with the Royal family's strict rules on gifting.

Having courted controversy throughout the summer of 2019 for snubbing the Queen's invitation to Balmoral and taking four private jets in 11 days instead, relations with the media were at rock bottom at the start of the Sussexes' September tour to Africa.

Royal aides were then left dumbfounded when what had been a surprisingly successful 10-day trip with Archie was overshadowed by Meghan's interview with Mr Bradby, in which she revealed the "struggles" she had faced adapting to life in the Royal family.

Duke's fears for wife

It came as Harry released an attack on the tabloid press as the couple announced they would be suing the Mail on Sunday over the publication of a letter Meghan had written to her father.

In a highly personal and scathing statement, Harry said some newspapers had "vilified her almost daily for the past nine months" and claimed they had published "lie after lie" at Meghan's expense simply because she was out of public view on maternity leave.

Referencing his mother Diana, Princess of Wales, who died in a car crash in Paris while being pursued by the paparazzi, the Duke said: "Though this action may not be the safe one, it is the right one. Because my deepest fear is history repeating itself. I lost my mother and now I watch my wife falling victim to the same powerful forces."

The interview set the tone for their January 2020 announcement that they would be "stepping back as senior royals" to become "financially independent".

As the world gathers to watch the most highly anticipated royal television event since Diana's Panorama interview in 1995, it will be left to the viewers to decide which version of history represents the truth.

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everlarkbirthdaydrabbles · 7 years

Note

My birthday is May 16. I would love a fic that features Age!Gap Everlark with Katniss 5 - 10 years older than Peeta. M or E rating. Thanks for running this fabulous web site.

Wishing you the happiest of birthdays, @ldyglfr62! Your gift - the penultimate offering from everlarkbirthdaydrabbles, was written just for you by @xerxia31. We hope you enjoy!

When Irish Eyes are Smiling

rated M, for language and adult situations.

It’s not completely unexpected, but it’s still a shock to see it. Thick, expensive card stock, pale pink with roses and their names embossed in gold.

Madge Undersee and Gale Hawthorne, along with their families, request the honour of your presence at their wedding…

I’m happy for them, I truly am. I’m just still kind of shocked that after nine years together, it took Gale less than three months to marry my replacement.

It’s not like I thought Gale and I would ever marry each other, even if our friends all expected it. And our breakup was completely mutual. But that he moved on so fast is kind of a slap.

“You should go on vacation,” Prim says when I phone to tell her the news. “That way, you can skip the wedding without looking like a jerk.” Trust Prim to cut right to it. Because she’s right; even though Gale is my oldest friend, I’d rather rip out my intestines with a fork than watch him marry the woman of his dreams while all of our mutual friends look at me with pity.

“I can’t go sit on a beach somewhere by myself,” I groan. “That’s even more loser-ish than going to my ex’s wedding stag.” But the wheels are turning. I do need to get away, and not just from the wedding. I could use a break from my entire pathetic life. “Maybe I could go see Effie?” I mumble. My late mother grew up in Ireland, she moved to America before I was born to marry my father. Her sister still lives near Dublin, and is always asking me to come see her. It’s been a long time since my last visit.

A fabulous deal on the flight seals it. Since I’m a freelancer, there’s no one to arrange vacation time with. I can work from anywhere that there’s an internet connection. My neighbour agrees to check my mailbox periodically, and my friends all understand.

o-o-o

I arrange to stay six weeks with Effie. The first week passes in a haze of jetlag, lumpy pillows, and daily afternoon tea on her garden-gnome-and-flower-strewn patio. It’s calm, quiet.

Since I’ll be gone over my birthday, Prim insists on paying for a week-long bus tour of the Scottish Highlands for me, both as a birthday gift, and as a break from my aunt. “Better not be one of those singles tours,” I grumble as she details everything over Skype while I sit in Effie’s formal living room, surrounded by creepy porcelain dolls, a pair of lace doilies protecting her mahogany table from my computer. Prim’s in med school in Seattle, I haven’t seen her since Christmas, and I think she feels guilty about not having been there for me - in person - when Gale and I broke up, no matter how many times I tell her that I’m fine about it. But since Effie is already driving me crazy, I don’t put up much of a fight.

“Do those exist?” she asks, and on my shitty laptop screen she looks pensive. I can tell she’s wishing she’d thought of looking for one. “Wild and Sexy Tours. Huh. I wonder if I can change it…” She starts clicking away on her keyboard and I balk.

“No, geez Prim, this is fine, great really.” The website she’s linked me to shows small tour buses, catering mostly to elderly vacationers. Just my speed.

“Have you met anyone over there yet?”

“Sure, Effie’s friend with the strange beard came by for cocktails yesterday.” Prim’s face screws up.

“That’s not what I mean, Katniss. Have you been out to the pubs at all? Or gone to a rugby match?” At my shrug, she groans. “Dammit, you’re too young to be spending your time holed up with Effie’s antiques. You need to get out there, meet people, date.”

“I’m not really ready for that,” I tell her, and I can see by the way her expression changes to pity that she thinks I’m still hung up on Gale. I don’t bother correcting her. Gale and I should never have been more than friends, we both knew it, but being together was easy, like a comfortable pair of jeans. I’m not in love with him, I really never was. But I’m not anxious to put myself out there just yet. Or maybe ever. Because Gale’s the only guy I’ve ever been with. At not-quite twenty-seven, I have no experience dating at all.

“Just promise me you’ll talk to some of your tour mates at least,” she says sadly. And I promise, because I can never tell my sweet sister no.

o-o-o

Edinburgh is a confusing mess of streets and hills and hilly streets and more freaking hills, and by the time I find my way to Waterloo Place, where I’m supposed to catch the bus tour, I’m late and in a panic. When I see the little red bus still at the stop, I’m almost weak-kneed with relief.

“‘Bout time you showed up, Sweetheart,” the driver grumbles, grabbing my backpack and tossing it unceremoniously into the back. I climb on board, and my heart sinks. I’m too late to have gotten one of the single seats, and am now going to be stuck sharing. There are only two empty seats, one on the bench in the very back, between a young woman with spiky hair and a serious case of bitch face and a man who might be a professional football player; the other right behind the driver, next to a startlingly handsome man, who glances up at me through a mop of ashy blond waves, and smiles shyly.

I hope Blondie isn’t a talker.

o-o-o

Blondie is a talker.

His name is Peeta Mellark, and he fills the first hour of our drive north with mostly one-sided conversation. But I find I don’t mind all that much. He’s Irish, from a village on the Irish sea, and his gently lilting accent is much nicer to listen to than the rough Scottish burr that our driver barks as he points out one thing or another along the route.

“You know a lot about Scotland,” I finally say.

Peeta smiles wistfully. “My da used to bring me here, when I was small. We’d walk the hills and sleep in the heather.”

“How long has he been gone?” Peeta lifts an eyebrow, but I know I’m right. I recognize the look in his eyes. It’s the same expression I wear when I think about my own father, whose death when I was just a kid marked the beginning of the end of my idyllic childhood.

“I was seventeen when he passed,” he says quietly.

“You miss him.” It’s not a question, I can see in Peeta’s eyes. He nods. But any further discussion is cut off by our first stop on the tour.

Though it’s a bus tour, it turns out to be a fairly active one. We make multiple stops all along the route to the Highlands, exploring an ancient cathedral, touring a distillery, even visiting a heritage village. And as what appears to be the only two people travelling alone on the tour, Peeta and I end up spending most of the day together.

It’s… nice. He’s sweet and interesting, and it’s refreshing to talk with someone my own age.

When we arrive at Inverness, our stop for the night, I realize that Peeta and I have been assigned to the same bed and breakfast, along with the linebacker, whose name is Thresh, his girlfriend Rue, and our driver, Haymitch. That’s going to make keeping to myself that much more difficult, I realize. Then Haymitch arranges for the whole group to eat together at a pub on the river. I want to say no, that I’m too tired or some other excuse, but somehow I get sucked along anyway.

I hate being forced into group situations, but Peeta, seeming to sense my unease, sits beside me and acts as a bit of a buffer between me and the throng, not speaking for me, but deflecting attention when I get overwhelmed.

And it’s compelling to watch him interact with the others. He’s so friendly and well-spoken, so intelligent and insightful, easily moving between discussing the differences between American football and Gaelic rugby with Thresh, and the impact of Brexit on tourism in the Republic with the South African lawyer seated at the next table.

And though I promised myself that I wouldn’t think about Gale, it’s impossible not to compare him with Peeta. Gale has always been sort of closed minded; conversation with Gale is only possible on the narrow range of topics he cares about, and generally involves either a recitation of his opinions with no room for dissent, or a re-living of his glory days. But Peeta is so thoughtful, I watch him absorb and consider everyone’s viewpoints, watch his reflect back intelligent discourse in a way that feels engaging and exciting, not like a firestorm. I can’t help thinking that maybe Prim is right. Maybe I do need to spend time with people my own age instead of feeling like I’m still stuck in highschool with Gale.

o-o-o

The sun rises ridiculously early in Inverness, and the curtains in my room are barely translucent. By five-thirty, I’ve given up on sleep entirely, and decide to sneak down to the common lounge, where the wifi signal is better.

I’m surprised to find I’m not alone. Peeta is already there, dressed for the day and facing the large plate glass window, beyond which the sky is streaked in pink and amber. He doesn’t hear me at first, and I can see in the reflection that his usual easy expression has been replaced by something more intense and removed that suggests an entire world locked away inside him. I decide to steal away, to leave him to his musings, but he catches the motion and turns, the faraway expression resolving into a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me. “Good morning, Katniss,” he says.

“What are you doing up so early?” I ask. There’s an empty teacup on the windowsill, he’s clearly been here awhile.

“I’m a baker,” he laughs. “I’m used to the pre-dawn wake-ups.” I grin, I heard him mentioning his business over dinner, and I’m curious about it.

He makes me a cup of tea, and another for himself, and as we sit together in the early morning hush he tells me about the bakery he owns in the tiny coastal village where his family has lived for generations. The picture he paints of his bucolic life there makes me ache, my own empty, tetherless existence in sharp contrast to his certainty. It makes me realize how stunted my growth has been, having wasted all of that time with Gale. Playing things safe instead of living.

I’m ready to live.

o-o-o

Our tour guide, Haymitch, is gruff and grouchy, but he seems to know all of the hidden gems of Scotland. As we head to the Isle of Skye, he makes frequent stops to walk nature trails with stunning waterfalls, to show us multiple off-the-beaten-path lookout points, and we even spend a glorious hour searching for shells on a Carribean-blue beach. But in the mid afternoon, the bus starts to make a strange noise. And as we pull into our next stop on the itinerary - the enchanted-sounding Fairy Glen - it comes to a shuddering halt.

“Ah shit,” Haymitch grumbles.

“Well,” Peeta murmurs in my ear. “There are worse places to get stuck.”

He’s right, this place is utter magic. As a group, we explore the strange rolling hills and mini lochs of the glen, walking the concentric rings and pressing coins into cracks in cave walls. Peeta is half mountain goat, I swear, practically jogging up the steep hills, gently teasing me as I lag behind. My laughter, unfamiliar but free, echoes all around.

And eventually, Peeta and I end up in a little meadow-like depression at the bottom of one of the hills. I haven’t felt so free since I was a kid. I’d love nothing more than to lie in the grass and watch the clouds float by; when I say so, Peeta pulls off his sweater and spreads it on the ground, tugging me down to lie beside him, my head pillowed on his arm.

I must drift off because the next thing I know, the patchy blue sky has clouded over completely, and Peeta is sitting beside me.

“Peeta, you should have woken me,” I say, rubbing the sleep crud out of my eyes.

“For what? Nothing’s going on here,” he says. “Besides, I like watching you sleep. You don’t scowl. Improves your looks a lot.” This, of course, brings on a scowl that makes him grin. “I’m kidding,” he laughs. “You’re beautiful, scowling or not.”

Something flutters in my chest, but I push it away. I don’t have room for that in my life. Instead, I nod towards the notepad in his hands. “What’s that?”

He tilts the paper towards me. It’s not writing, like I’d assumed, but a drawing. A sketch of a sleeping girl. My breath catches at the image on the paper. It’s me, clearly, and the talent in the pencil lines is mind-blowing. But it’s more than that. The girl in the picture looks softer, calmer, like all of her worries have been cast away. Peaceful. No, not peaceful… content. I haven’t been that girl in a long time. “This is incredible, Peeta,” I whisper.

“I have an eye for beauty,” he says, and it should sound cocky, like a come-on line. But from him, with those earnest blue eyes smiling, it just doesn’t.

Haymitch comes stomping into the clearing, greasy handprints marring his kilt. “Bus is fixed, git your arses on it,” he grunts.

Peeta gathers his sweater and notepad, and we trudge back to the bus. The tour continues in near silence, but it’s a good quiet. A comfortable quiet. Peeta wraps his arm around my shoulder and I find myself leaning into him as he strokes my hair. It’s uncomplicated and intimate. And though I’ve never been a cuddly person, I love it.

Our last stop is a trail that winds around a glassy Loch. The whole group is subdued, introspective maybe. Or maybe just hungry. Peeta and I lag behind though, enjoying the calm.

We emerge from the cover of the trees into a patch of yellow flowers, glowing in the sunlight. “Gorse,” Peeta answers my unasked question. “It’s everywhere at home too.”

“They smell fantastic,” I sigh. “Coconutty. Like the beach.” He chuckles, but when I reach for the golden flowers, he grabs my hand. I scowl.

“Thorns,” he says, delicately moving the blooms aside to show me that what I thought were flat leaves or needles are actually sharp spines. “Beautiful on the outside, but nasty underneath.”

“Just like me,” I say absently, but his brow wrinkles.

“No, Katniss,” he says. “You’re not like the gorse. You’re a bluebell.” I roll my eyes, but he continues, so earnestly. “Bluebells are shy, unassuming. Most people hardly notice them.” He leads me with a gentle hand on my lower back to the shady part of the hill. Only when he points them out do I realize the bluebells are in full bloom here. “But they’re strong and resilient, stubborn even. And once you see them, you can’t tear your eyes away from their beauty.” I turn to face him, but his hand doesn’t fall away, shifting instead to trace circles on my hipbone.

I want to scoff, to dismiss his words as the polished pick up lines of a player. But I can’t. As I stare at him, utterly speechless, he reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I lean into his touch, and he smiles, just the barest lift of his lips. Sweet and hopeful. Before I can even consider what a terrible idea it is, I lift up on my toes and kiss him.

It’s a gentle kiss, but the desire that flares in my gut from that brief touch is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I haven’t kissed a lot of guys in my life, a handful back in highschool, only Gale after that. But no kiss has ever before felt so electric. I need more.

It’s clear he agrees, because almost as soon as I press my lips to his again, he takes control, one huge hand cupping my cheek, tilting my head to deepen the kiss. Exploring me thoroughly. I can’t hold back the little noises that escape me, and he groans softly in response.

I lose all sense of time and place, gripping his shirt, kissing him with a passion I wasn’t certain I was even capable of. It’s only when I hear the rest of the group heading down the path towards us that I pull away, reluctantly.

Peeta’s eyes flutter open, heavy-lidded, pupils fat. “I have wanted to do that since the first moment I saw you,” he whispers.

We don’t talk about the kiss, but for the rest of the day Peeta holds my hand. Even through dinner at a quiet little restaurant right on the harbour, he plays with my fingers, looking at me with something like adoration.

When we get back to our B&B I’m not ready for the evening to end. But there are other guests in the common lounge, playing a raucous game of cards. “Would you like to come to my room?” I ask, then immediately feel heat climbing up my cheeks. “Just, uh, just to talk a while longer.” I can’t meet his eyes. I’m incapable of flirting, or of communicating at all, really. Yet he follows me unquestioningly.

We sit side by side on my bed, talking. But there’s a tension between us that wasn’t there before, a crackling awareness. I don’t even know who makes the first move, but one minute we’re talking, the next I’m sucking on his tongue and his arms are pressing me tightly to him.

Kissing Peeta here in my quiet room is even better than on the nature trail. Free from distractions, I can let my hands wander, trace the firm musculature of his shoulders and arms, feel the pull and flex of his back. He unravels my braid and runs his fingers through the locks. “Beautiful,” he whispers against my lips.

We kiss and caress, hands becoming more bold. It’s when he lays me back on my bed, the hard length of his body cradled by my own, that I begin to panic. “Peeta,” I start. “I really like you.”

He pulls back just enough to look at my face. Then he smiles fondly. “But you’re not ready,” he says, and I’m shocked that he anticipated my words. “I know,” he says, and there’s no anger, he doesn’t even look disappointed. “We won’t do anything that you don’t want to,” he promises.

“Could we keep kissing?” I sound all of thirteen, pathetic and immature. But he doesn’t laugh at me.

“I’d like that,” he says.

We kiss and touch, chastely, fingers on napes and cheeks, tangled in hair. Making out like teenagers. Like the teenager I never really was. And eventually we fall asleep wrapped around each other.

o-o-o

I expect the morning to be awkward, but it isn’t. It isn’t at all. When I wake up, he’s still there, lying beside me, awake and smiling contentedly. He kisses me, just lightly, before retreating to his own room to get ready for the day.

We tour two different castle ruins, climb down (and back up) a gorge, and check out dinosaur fossils. He’s gently affectionate through it all, holding my hand, kissing my cheek, but never demanding anything else.

But I tug him into my room and my bed again that evening. And again he kisses me to sleep.

o-o-o

Gale’s wedding day falls on the fourth day of the tour. I’m cranky, and Peeta notices. He asks me what’s wrong but I brush him off. But even in the face of my moodiness, my pique and my - as Haymitch says - ‘slug-like charm’, Peeta is patient with me. Willing to take whatever little bits of myself I offer. And it’s that acceptance that prompts me to open up to him. In fits and starts over the course of the day as we walk and tour and explore, I tell Peeta about Gale, about the wasted years, about the holding pattern I’ve been in since we split.

He listens attentively, neither judging nor offering platitudes. But his quiet support means the world to me. “Do you still love him?” he asks as we sit on the dock in a quiet harbour town, watching the seabirds circle and dive.

“I never did,” I confess. “But after so long, I don’t know how to move on.”

When we return to the B&B, I again tug Peeta into my room. But this time I know something has shifted between us. Our sweet, chaste kisses rapidly escalate. And though Peeta tries to slow us down, tries to be a gentleman, I want more. And after a few attempts, he gives up on the idea of reining us in, surrendering to my demands and my searching fingers.

Our clothes fall away, until I’m down to my bra and underwear, and he’s only in shorts. He stares at me in awe, as if I’m something exotic instead of plain Katniss Everdeen, far too bony and wearing threadbare panties. And though I’ve only ever been naked in front of one man before now, I don’t hesitate to reach behind me to unhook my bra. But Peeta stills my hands. “Are you sure?” he asks. “We don’t have to…”

“I want to,” I tell him.

When the cotton falls away, he shudders. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, licking his lips. “You have no idea, the effect you have.”

“Show me,” I whisper. And he does. In his arms, I get what might be my first taste of real, raw passion. Sex with Gale was fine, good sometimes. But never like this. As I shatter, and shatter, and shatter again, everything I think I know about myself is turned inside out, and I am changed forever.

It’s fucking terrifying.

o-o-o

The last day of our tour is quiet, too quiet. The weather is unsettled, the group members tired. Even Haymitch has lost his sarcastic edge. Leaves me too much time to think about Peeta, sitting next to me. Playing with my fingers and humming in contentment. Too much time to panic.

How can I say goodbye to this man? This man who has opened my eyes and my heart, who has shown me the barest hint of a life I never even knew I was missing out on.

What choice do I have?

It’s pouring rain when we pull into the stop at Waterloo Place, and in the soggy pandemonium of luggage unloading, it’s easy for me to grab my small backpack and slip away unnoticed. I get into the first available cab and am whizzing up the Royal Mile within moments.

I don’t look back.

o-o-o

I love Effie, I do, but sometimes I just need to get away. There’s a coffee shop near the rail station that’s a perfect escape, it’s outside of the touristy area and the patio is a great place to people watch.

A swarm of men in sharp black suits rounds the corner, heading straight towards me en route to the train. Slim-fit wool trousers cling appealingly to athletic bodies before spilling downward in perfectly pressed lines to where polished black shoes click on the cobbles. It takes a moment to realize that, no, the swarm of outrageously attractive men sauntering in the spring sunshine are not, in fact, men at all, but boys. Irish schoolboys - fifth and sixth years by the looks of them - splendid in their crisp white shirts, perfectly tied windsor knots and shiny shoes. I shake my head at myself. Leering at a bunch of teenagers? I’m too old for that. In my defense, they’re much better dressed than any of the men I know. I mean, I assume Gale wore a suit to his wedding, but it would have been the first time. Even when he dragged me to his senior prom, he wore a dress shirt open at the collar and a leather jacket.

I bet Peeta wears crisp suits like these, though.

And just like that, my mood falls again. I miss him. I miss him so much. I’ve spent the past five days lying to myself, trying to make myself believe that the week we spent together was no big deal, a little fun, a lot of great sex, nothing more. But my heart, the frail, foolish thing, is singing another song. I miss him. I feel his loss acutely, despite only having known him a few days. I know I made the right choice, leaving him on that rainy Edinburgh street. His life is here, and mine, what’s left of it, is in Philadelphia, I guess. There’s no chance of a future for us. And no sense mooning over impossibilities. But it doesn’t mean I haven’t fantasized about hiring a car and driving to the coast, just to see him one last time.

It’s the melancholy that’s making me see things. In the middle of the group, a golden head stands out. For a split second, I’m sure the broad shoulders and narrow waist attached to them belong to Peeta. But it’s impossible, these are school children, Peeta is back in his hometown, living his life. But the crowd shifts, and I can see his face clearly, blue eyes shaded by lush golden lashes, the smattering of faint freckles that kiss his sunburned cheeks.

And I drop my teacup.

The clatter catches his attention, his head swivels until he meets my eyes. I’m helpless to look away from the myriad of emotions that play across his handsome face. Surprise, relief, joy and anger. But I’m sure my own face reflects only a single sentiment.

Horror.

He says something I don’t catch to the people he’s with, then changes course to walk purposely to where I sit, frozen and mute, heart pounding so hard that I feel light-headed. He covers the few yards in long strides. The sun catches his hair, crowns him in gold as he stands above me, a wide smile curling those sensual lips. “Katniss,” he says, in that molten sex voice that I hear in my head every time I touch myself. The soundtrack to my every recent fantasy. The lament of my regrets. “I didn’t know you were in Dublin! I thought you’d gone back to America! I’m so bloody happy to see you! You were gone so fast after the tour, I didn’t get your number, and you’re not on Facebook.” He’s reaching for me, and my body instinctively reacts, warmth pooling low in my gut. Which is what snaps me out of my stupor. I jump from my chair, angling myself so that the narrow café table is between us.

“Katniss?” His brows furrow in confusion, his hands dropping to slide into his pockets. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re in school?” It’s barely a whisper.

“For another week, yes,” he says, still looking puzzled. As if it isn’t a big deal. A big fucking deal. He’s a child!

“You didn’t tell me you were so young.” I’m not certain I say it out loud until Peeta’s face twists, like he’s tasted something unpleasant.

“I’m eighteen,” he says. “I’ll be nineteen next month.” Eighteen! As if seeing him in that school uniform wasn’t bad enough, the confirmation that he’s a just a kid, that he’s almost nine fucking years younger than me makes my stomach lurch. “Is that a problem? For the record, you never asked.”

“You’re a child!” I say, much more loudly this time, and his frown deepens. “I’m… shit, I’m a pedophile!” Peeta’s jaw tightens, and an angry flush streaks up his neck. He grabs my arm, not hard but not leaving me much recourse, and walks the two of us away from the patio and around the corner of the building, into a quiet alley.

“Knock it off,” he hisses, and for a moment I feel like a naughty child being chastised. Which just serves to piss me off, I’m the grown-up here! I wrench my arm away from him, and back up, crossing my arms in front of me. But the alleyway is narrow and I’ve only moved a step before my back hits the wall. He steps forward, close enough to feel the heat of his body, to feel the tension that radiates from him in waves. “I’m an adult, Katniss,” he says lowly, his words skating across my lips as he leans in. “Old enough to drink, to vote.” His next words brush against the shell of my ear. “Old enough to fuck you senseless.”

A full-body shudder rips through me, equal parts arousal and revulsion. He’s a child! I took advantage of a child! I push against his chest and he takes a single step back, still in my personal space, but giving me enough room to clear my head a little. “I’m, fuck!” I gasp. “I’m twenty-seven. I’m nine fucking years older than you are!”

“Eight,” he says, “and so what? Doesn’t change how I feel about you, or what we have together.”

“It’s wrong-” I start, but he’s having none of it.

“Bullshit! We’re both adults.”

“You lied to me!”

“I did no such thing,” he snaps, but I’m pissed now.

“You told me you owned a bakery on the coast!”

“I do!”

“You’re a child!” His jaw tightens again, I can see the anger in his stormy eyes. Anger and hurt.

His hand reaches for me and instinctively I draw back, but he simply slips my phone out of my pocket. “What the fuck?” I sputter, but he’s already unlocked it and apparently messaged himself.

“Where are you staying, Katniss?” he asks, handing my phone back. I want to tell him it’s none of his business, but I just can’t. The pain in his eyes compels me to tell him.

“My aunt has a house in Clontarf,” I grumble. Peeta nods.

“Come with me tomorrow,” he says.

“What? No, that’s not a good idea Peeta.”

“Please, just do this one thing for me. Then I’ll leave you in peace.” The pain in his eyes is shocking. Guilt eats away at me. It was cruel, I know, sneaking away like a thief in the night. I can see how much I’ve hurt him. He takes my silence as acceptance. “Meet me here tomorrow morning,” he says. “Half eight. Wear a jacket.” Then he spins on his heel and strides out of the alley.

o-o-o

I fight with myself half the night and all morning. I’m not going to show up. He’s not going to show up. I owe him a chance to explain. He’s a fucking child! By the time I make it to the café, I’m an absolute mess.

But an absolute mess wearing mascara and a cute top. I’m a hypocrite, on top of everything else.

Removed from the cold horror of discovering I’d been cavorting with a schoolboy, I have to admit to myself that seeing him again ripped down the walls I tried so hard to construct around my feelings for him. Damn him! Damn him for being gorgeous and sweet and Irish and a toddler!

He pulls up only moments after I arrive, riding a smallish motorcycle, blond curls sticking out from under a black helmet. In jeans and a leather jacket, golden stubble glinting in the thin morning light, he’s even more impossibly handsome. But it’s clear he hasn’t slept well, his wary gaze is ringed with faint purple. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” he says softly, pulling off his helmet. I don’t bother to tell him that until I got off the bus, I wasn’t sure either. I simply shrug. He dismounts; I pretend I’m not checking out his ass in those snug-fit jeans. But he merely pulls a second helmet from his saddlebag, handing it to me without quite meeting my eyes.

“What’s going on?” I ask, but he shakes his head.

“Put on the helmet, Katniss, then get on the bike.”

“Don’t you have a car?” I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before, and Irish streets with their too-narrow lanes, cobbles, and the whole driving-on-the-wrong-side issue are scary enough in a vehicle with four wheels. His lips twist.

“No. Let’s go, we have a long ride ahead of us.”

It’s madness, but I do as he asks.

I sit stiffly behind him, trying to put some distance between us, but as soon as the bike is in motion, I have no choice but to wrap my arms around him and hold on tight. And having him again cradled between my thighs provokes the most confusing rush of emotions. This is such a bad idea. Such a fucking bad idea.

We don’t talk as he pilots us out of the city, we simply can’t. The rush of wind makes that impossible. But from time to time as we pass through the suburbs, then out into the countryside, he’ll squeeze my knee to catch my attention, pointing out an old tower or a ruin, or just the way the sun catches the gorse on the mountainside, making the world glow in sunny yellow. In spite of what I’ve learned, he seems like Peeta, like the man I met in Scotland. He feels like comfort, and like home. When he points of a patch of bluebells clinging to the side of a hill, my heart hurts. I stop fighting with myself and lean into him, my helmet-encased head resting against his broad back, his warmth soothing me. He squeezes my hand where it wraps around his ribs. Acceptance.

About forty-five minutes later, we drive into one of those quintessential Irish postcard villages, narrow medieval buildings crowded along the street - though here they’re painted in lush pastels - colourful bunting zig-zagging across the road and cars parked haphazardly everywhere. He circles a statue of what appears to be a young fisherman, then heads down an impossibly narrow alleyway, parking the bike in a tiny courtyard.

When he offers me his hand to help me off the bike, I take it gratefully. My legs are like jelly, and not just from the ride. He holds my fingers just a little too long, smiling wistfully. Then we rid ourselves of the helmets, and he leads me out of the alley, to stand in front of a building. It’s tall and narrow, like most of the buildings here are, but unlike most, it has an enormous plate glass window facing the street. The building itself is painted turquoise, and Mellark’s is spelled across the front in swoopy gold letters. “Welcome to my bakery,” he says softly, and with a hand on my back he ushers me inside.

The interior is even more charming than the exterior, and for a moment I can only gawk. Polished wood floors, pristine glass cases displaying a decadent array of goodies, and paintings on every wall that feel familiar. But none of that really means anything, does it? He’s in school, it’s clear that this isn’t really his bakery. It probably belongs to his family, and he works here on school breaks.

I turn my attention to the people working behind the counter, three of them. They smile warmly at me, but right away their expressions change as they catch sight of Peeta. They seem to stand a little taller, attempt to look a little busier. “Peeta,” one of them calls out. “We weren’t expecting you.” Well of course they weren’t, it’s Thursday, he’s supposed to be in school.

In school. Ugh. What am I even doing here?

“Just popping in for a bit,” he says with an easy smile. “Have a little business I need to attend to.” He heads towards a swinging door that separates front shop from back, but pauses with his hand on the frame. “Coming, Katniss?” Three heads snap to me in surprise, and I can feel my cheeks burning as I follow Peeta into a small, but modern industrial kitchen.

Here too, the workers stop and straighten, as if they’re trying to impress Peeta. It’s subtle, but I notice it. He greets each warmly by name. And I quickly realise that it’s not fear that makes them all snap to attention. It’s respect. Inexplicably, all of these people seem to respect him.

But it’s not really that inexplicable, is it? He carries himself with a confidence that goes beyond boyish ego. I can’t reconcile the businessman in front of me with the eighteen year old schoolboy I saw yesterday.

Peeta leads me to a small, windowless office at the rear of the building, and gestures for me to sit. Before I’ve even gotten comfortable, one of the women from the front shop has appeared with a pot of tea and a pair of cups. “Thanks, Dell,” Peeta says genuinely. The woman beams at him, then backs out of the office. I open my mouth to speak, but he shakes his head. “Hang on,” he says. “She’ll be back again.”

He’s right, she reappears a few moments later with a plate of food. I haven’t been able to eat since I saw Peeta yesterday in Dublin, and my stomach clenches painfully at the yeasty, cheesy scent wafting from the treats. “You call me if you want anything else,” she says, and Peeta promises he will. With one last wink in my direction, she leaves and this time Peeta closes the door behind her.

“What was that all about?” I ask, trying not to be obvious in my coveting of the buns. He notices anyway, and pushes the plate in front of me.

“Irish hospitality,” he says absently as he pulls the bags out of the teapot. He knows, even without me ever having said anything, that I prefer my tea weak.

I know all about Irish hospitality, know that Delly would continue bringing us more food and more tea and just generally fussing if Peeta hasn’t shut the office door. But this is different. “Not that. The weird way she was looking at me. She… she winked!” He glances up, and a flicker of amusement crosses his face before the sadness creeps back.

“I’ve never brought a woman here before,” he says. I wrinkle my nose at the implication of that, I can’t decide whether it’s because I’m somehow special or because, as a freaking child himself, I’m the first ‘woman’ he’s been with.

“Why have you now?”

“Because I want you to see me. To see that I am exactly who I said I am. Now eat your bun,” he says, nudging the plate again, “while I tell you about my father.”

My heart breaks again and again as Peeta paints a picture of his life. The only child of a single father, he had a typical childhood right up until his father got sick. Terminal cancer. The man spent all of his remaining time preparing his young son to take over the bakery that had been in the Mellark family for generations. At only fifteen, Peeta traded rugby for accounting, friends for responsibility. He even spent his transition year working full time at the bakery, learning the ordering system, studying food safety compliance.

By the time his father died not quite two years ago, Peeta was running the bakery himself.

He has an uncle who deals with the day to day while Peeta finishes school, something he’s doing because he promised his dad he would. But Peeta is the owner, and the one in charge.

It goes a long way to explain his maturity. He hasn’t been a child in a long time. On the face of it, the story sounds unbelievable. But I know what my eyes are telling me. What my heart is telling me. He may be younger, chronologically. But he’s the one with his life together. While I haven’t really grown since high school, his life has leapt light years ahead.

I sit in silence, picking at the cheese bun - which is incredible but which I can’t really enjoy - feeling like a pile of shit. The office door opens. An older man strides in, clapping Peeta hard on the shoulder. “Peet,” he says. “Wasn’t expecting you today! Glad you’re here though, I have those contracts for you to sign.”

“That’s great, Dalton,” he says, taking the proffered papers, his lips moving as he skims the words. But then he frowns. “The wage is wrong,” he says, pointing.

“They’re students,” Dalton says dismissively, and Peeta’s jaw tightens. It’s fascinating to watch, even if I don’t fully understand.

“That’s not how we do things here. I pay everyone a living wage.” Peeta stands, moving around the desk to take my hand, pulling me out of my chair. “When you’ve redone the contracts, leave them on my desk. I’ll pop in later to sign them before I head back to Dublin.” And with that, we walk out, leaving the older man behind.

We walk down the narrow cobbled street towards the waterfront, weaving among the tourists, past the harbour before finally stopping at an overlook right at the edge of the village. Peeta sits heavily on one of the empty benches, and drops his head in his hands. I lower myself beside him.

“You’re a good boss,” I say softly, breaking the silence that hangs between us. He doesn’t look at me.

“The bakery is more than just a job,” he says. “It’s my father’s legacy and my future. I have eight employees who directly depend on me, not to mention the suppliers and lorry drivers and pubs who benefit from my business too.” He lifts his head to look out over the water, and the weariness I see in his face speaks to a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Yet he’s uncomplaining.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.

“I’ve never lied to you, Katniss. I might be younger than you thought, but I am exactly the man I said I was, exactly what you saw in Scotland.” Wary blue eyes meet my own. “Can you say the same?” My breath catches. It’s a valid question.

Katniss Everdeen is quiet and closed-off, reserved to the point of unfriendly. Difficult to get to know. Resistant to change. That’s not the woman who spent a week adventuring through the Scottish highlands. That woman smiled more, laughed more. That woman tried new things. That woman opened her heart, if only just a little. I shake my head, and his drops again to stare at his lap. The real Katniss Everdeen is the one who left this kind, gentle man standing on an Edinburgh street in the rain, without a backward glance.

Right now, I don’t like the real Katniss Everdeen very much.

He sighs. “My age isn’t really a problem, is it Katniss? It’s just a convenient excuse. You took off before you knew.” He’s right. When I really search my heart I know that the age gap between us is just a number. In many ways, in most ways really, Peeta is the more mature of us. The one with his priorities straight, with his shit together. Our ages don’t matter at all.

After what feels like an interminable silence, he asks, “Why? Why did you leave without a word? I thought there was something between us. Something real.”

“There is,” I whisper, startling myself with my honesty. He glances up at me, confusion in his expression, but also a heartbreaking flicker of hope. “You’re right,” I tell him. “I was a different person in Scotland. And… and I think I like that person better.” I swallow hard. “I like who I am when I’m with you.

“Then what’s the problem, Katniss?” The hint of frustration in his voice threatens to put me on the defensive.

“Your life is here, Peeta! And I live three thousand miles away!”

“You’re here now,” he says.

“For four more weeks,” I say, and sadness creeps in as I realize that I don’t want to leave him again, that even pissed off and hurt and, yeah, young as he is, just his presence makes me feel alive. “And then what?”

“Why do we have to figure that out now,” he asks. “Why can’t we just take it day by day, see where things go. Live without a plan, without a safety net.” He reaches for me, cradling my face in his hands, and my eyes slip closed. “Live, Katniss. Be the woman you want to be.”

What’s left of my defenses melt away as he kisses me so softly it’s like a dream. My hands wrap around his wrists, holding him in place. Keeping him with me, at least for the moment.

I know the only thing really standing between us is my fear.

“Okay,” I whisper, the words hanging, fragile and afraid, in the space between our lips.

“Yeah?” he smiles. And at my nod, he kisses me again.

I’ve wasted so much time living in complacency, afraid of change. But this feels like a second chance. An opportunity to grow and mature, instead of staying safely stuck in the past. And the part of me that is not so brave as I could wish is glad that it’s Peeta beside me as I step into the unknown.

—–

#Everlark birthday drabbles #ldyglfr62 #xerxia31

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