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missameliep · 2 years

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Meet me under the Mistletoe - Mr. Sinclaire x MC

Book: Desire and Decorum

Pairing: Mr. Sinclaire x MC (Lady Clara)

Rating: Teen and up (kissing, general holiday fluff)

Word count: ~3.500 words

Summary: Christmas is a time of joy and beauty. A time to be surrounded by loved ones, sharing with them old and new traditions. This afternoon, Mr. Sinclaire has one particular tradition in mind...

Characters: Mr. Sinclaire, Lady Clara (MC), Miss Beauregard (OC), Beatrice Sinclaire (OC), Vincent Sinclaire (OC), Prince Hamid, Mr. Konevi, Mr. Chambers.

Notes:

* English is not my first language;

* All characters belong to PixelBerry, except the OCs;

* My dear friend @princess-geek, this fic I dedicate to you. This is an early Christmas gift and a way to thank you for your kindness and support. Merry Christmas, Débora! I hope you enjoy it and that this silly story can make you smile 🎁🎄

* This is my submission to @choicesficwriterscreations Fics of the week and my late submission to @choicesdecemberchallenge2021 - Day 20: Holiday Traditions | Celebrate.

Christmas is a time of joy, beauty, and meaningful traditions. A time to be surrounded by loved ones. A time for friendly meetings with games and music, the pleasantest meals and brew by the hearth.

Rumour has it that ever since Ledford Park was rebuilt, the most festive gatherings with the merriest companions were held there by the Sinclaires. However, they are famed for being equally as festive as exclusive.

To be invited to the celebrations was a privilege few had, a motive that stirred envy and gossip amongst the ton at London and beyond. Not that Mr. Sinclaire and his wife, Lady Clara, the Countess of Edgewater, paid any attention to this, rather focusing their minds and efforts in more relevant matters, like the perfect gift for every loved one who spends the holiday with them or new elaborated plans to steal time alone, considering the very busy weeks with soirees that last until the last guest goes to bed and started in the earliest hours of the mornings to dedicate time to their children.

Therefore, every year, not even the worst weather or icy roads would prevent the coaches from arriving at the estate.

The current year was no exception. In spite of the rain or snow that fell in the mornings and the freezing winds from the North, a succession of guests arrived at Ledford Park; some to spend but a few days at the manor, some not expected to leave before January is upon them; some coming all the way from London, like Mr. Chambers and Mr. Konevi, some from much closer, like the Harpers and the Parsons; some boldly, some shyly, some gracefully, some bearing many gifts, some not as much, but all of them in the greatest and jolliest of spirits to celebrate the holiday and its old-age traditions, but also the fresh ones made-up by the family as the years went by.

This year, the first ones to arrive were Prince Hamid and his wife Elizabeth, the eldest daughter of Admiral Caldwell, who was brought in yesterday with extreme care due to the blessing inside her enlarged belly. Other coaches came in and out of the drive ever since. Each new visitor received with joy and excitement, especially by the youngest children of the hosts, Beatrice and Vincent, who anticipated the many games and gifts.

To Miss Beauregard, the stern French preceptress who attends to the instruction of Beatrice and little Vincent, however, the agitation was observed with dread. In an armchair close to the window, sipping her tea, she mourns the lost quietness. The silence in the hallways was gradually replaced by conversations and laughter and every new visitor makes it almost impossible to maintain rules and propriety. The children, it seems, wish only to run wildly, and misbehave, specially under the influence of the Ottoman Prince who is friends with Mr. and Mrs. Sinclaire. The man engrosses the infants in all sorts of dangerous and loud games. Not even Percival, a perfectly well raised youngling who is first in his class at Eton College, resists the call to the shenanigans.

A loud bang from a door followed by a fit of giggles and the cup of tea in her hand was almost dropped to the floor. The clicking of shoe soles resonates, and her attention shifts to the door ajar.

“Ces enfants terribles!” she muttered under her breath.

At this hour, Beatrice should be with her mother at the drawing room, performing to the ladies the newest songs she was taught, and most definitely not trotting around like an untamed mare. The cup returns to its place at the saucer, and the woman marches with determination. A determination to put a stop to this absurdity. No more transgressions on her watch, only perfectly well-behaved children or else what shall the guests think about her abilities as a preceptress?

Trying to impose her entire 5’ feet on the way of the runners, she stretches her arms like the crucified Christ to block the passage but covers not even half of the distance that separate the walls. Less than a minute Miss Beauregard stands immobile like a statue until the runners turn the corner and become visible. Her eyes widened at the sight and her chin nearly dropped to the floor when realization dawned on her. The person who faced her was not Beatrice, not even her older brother Percival, but her father.

Apparently, the prim and proper master of Ledford Park himself is the one running around and laughing. And he is not alone. Looking as dishevelled as her husband, Lady Clara follows close behind, one hand clasped in his, and the other holding the hems of her skirts up, exposing her ankles.

The unexpected sight of the middle-aged woman, astounded Mr. Sinclaire, who stopped abruptly, causing his wife to bump into his back.

“Ouch!” Lady Clara cried, then asked what had gotten into him to stop all of a sudden.

Whispered words exchanged between the couple, and Mr. Sinclaire gentlemanly greets Miss Beauregard. His words come out more winded than intended; his cheeks are visibly reddened and his skin glistens with the exercise.

Speechless, the preceptress returns the greeting, unable to hide her surprise. No explanation is given whatsoever, and any sensible woman like herself would never demand one from the master of the house. The woman moves around her husband, fingers tucking strands of hair behind her ears, a cheeky smile that rounded the flushed cheeks, gazing at Miss Beauregard who probably is wondering which is the proper etiquette to adopt in this very situation.

Lady Clara settles on an amiable, almost informal tone.

“Now, if you excuse us, Miss Beauregard, we must take our leave.” The other woman moves out of the way, and Lady Clara adds in a conspiratorial tone, “I beg you, please, do not tell a soul you saw us.”

She nods in agreement and watches astonished the master and mistress of the house sprint again.

At the end of the corridor, the couple turns around the corner and stop to survey their surroundings.

“Are we setting a bad example for our children?” Mr. Sinclaire whispered the worrisome question that troubled his mind.

“Only if we lose, darling,” Lady Clara answered over her shoulder with a smile. “Where should we go next? I believe Miss Parsons might be hiding at the dinning room.”

“If we reach the foyer, we can find a better shelter at the library. I am quite certain none of our guests has made that far...”

“Then lets away, my darling,” she whispered back and offered her hand, which he gladly took in his.

- Twenty minutes earlier at the drawing room -

The rain, falling heavily since the earliest hours of the morning, trapped the family and visitors inside and changed the plans for the entire day. However, the impromptu game of hide-and-seek turned out to be the ideal activity to amuse children and adults alike. Although, judging by the excitement in Lady Clara’s voice and the eagerness in which Mr. Sinclaire politely refused to partner with Beatrice when asked, might make one consider the hosts were more enthusiastic with the competition than anyone else.

A new set of rules was stablished after the first round and the pudding incident. For instance, only the ground level of the house constitutes fair territory for hideaways, and under no circumstance children would be allowed to go outside. After a few more deliberations it was decided there would be two competitors per round, and the one who finds more people in hiding would be declared the winner and rewarded with a box of candies brought from Paris. Percival volunteered to compete, and Beatrice wished to go against him. The entire room, however, debated if a six-year-old girl should compete against a twelve-year-old boy, and therefore the majority suggested she would need a partner to counter the odds. Their parents agreed upon it being unfair to team against their own kin and suggested someone else should assist Beatrice.

At one corner of the room, Miss Annabelle Parsons confided Mrs. Caldwell the probable motivation behind their refusal and both giggled.

Mr. Sinclaire and Lady Clara were not the only ones with ulterior reasons to participate in the dispute. Despite loving sweets, the prize was the least important reason to motivate Beatrice. Turned out the younger sibling wished to prove herself as talented as the older brother in the art of following clues and finding the most elusive adults.

Hearts thumping furiously, Mr. Sinclaire and Lady Clara rushed past a few closed doors, trying to keep it quiet. Relieved they breathed when they reached the foyer.

The imposing Christmas tree with colourful ornaments hanging from its branches, including the one from their very first holiday together at Edgewater, and the others painted with their children in the following years, occupied most of the space closer to the stairs. And fortunately no one was around.

Before they reached the other wing of the manor, however, a door clicked open. Lady Clara stopped, and Mr. Sinclaire turned around to look at her.

“Is there something wrong, love?”

One hand went to his lips to shush him, and the other pushed him back by the chest. Soon, both were circling the tree. In their rush, a few ornaments dangled, and a tiny brass bell chimed softly. Lady Clara prayed it went unheard, as they huddled together. Thankfully, the coordinated colour of their outfits in dark green deemed then almost invisible in the shadows underneath the stair.

Steps neared, and fingers were raised to each other lips. Perhaps that would be it, the moment they would be found and escorted back to the drawing room. Lady Clara sighed, then hugged her husband and raised her stare to his eyes. Smiling at each other, Mr. Sinclaire wondered if he would ever tire of Lady Clara’s green eyes filled with adoration and mischief. The attention flushed her cheeks, and it took all her strength to remind her body where her focus should be.

“I cannot believe Percival found us this quickly!” Mr. Chambers cried.

“I can. Unfortunately, two-year-olds are not the quietest partners to play hide-and-seek, my dear,” Mr. Konevi said and patted his shoulder to ease his disappointment. “Despite how incredibly adorable they might be.”

Affectionately, Mr. Chambers carried little Vincent in his arms, while the toddler played the rattle at the rhythm of the carolling he was humming, ignoring the conversation of the adults. The little boy asked to go outside and play, which was politely forbidden. However, Vincent was not convinced, and his insistence forced Mr. Konevi to use the best of his negotiation skills to reach an understanding that pleased both parts.

Wordlessly, Mr. Sinclaire and Lady Clara shared amused looks at the humorous exchanges until the offer of an early Christmas gift finally convinced Vincent to return to the drawing room with them to sit by the fireplace. However, not even two steps they took in that direction and other voices joined theirs.

The men greeted Prince Hamid and Beatrice and shared with them the last news about the game.

“Only three left,” Prince Hamid concluded, referring to Miss Parsons, Mr. Sinclaire and Lady Clara. “We must hurry then.”

Quiet footsteps neared the tree, and Lady Clara held her breath. From the secluded hiding spot, she saw the back of the man’s silk kaftan and caught a glimpse of Beatrice’s red velvet dress.

“Where can they be?” Beatrice asked, impatience etched in her tone. “We searched every room!”

“We shall find them,” Prince Hamid answered in his usual tender accented voice.

“Before Percival?” she insisted.

“Before Percival. I assure you, dearest one.”

“Good. I wish to win this time, Uncle Hamid.”

Beatrice was no longer the little girl who would believe she could beat her father at chess or outrun her older brother in the fields that separate Ledford Park and Edgewater. She would celebrate her seventh birthday the following year and her cleverness, wild spirit, and witty reminded Lady Clare of her own. Her mother’s competitiveness was passed on to her and often Mrs. Daly and Briar have compared the two and point out their matching stubbornness, urging Lady Clara’s protests, since she clearly prefers to name it perseverance or maybe strong-will.

Flashing one of his brightest smiles, Prince Hamid promised Beatrice they would be victorious.

Prince Hamid’s countless tales, his ability to skilfully compose nursery rhymes to fit Beatrice’s sophisticated tastes and eagerness for complex and philosophical themes, like the reasons the sky changes its colours rather frequently, and his playfulness that almost matched hers, earned him the place of Beatrice’s favourite uncle. Nonetheless, on every occasion she was asked about the matter, with a mischievous smile and exercising the charming tone learned from the Ottoman prince, Beatrice would deny such an untrue assertion and assure her affections were evenly shared between all her uncles and aunts, either related by blood or by love, and she could never pick a favourite one.

In reply, the girl took his hand and they sprinted towards the hallway, her braids swaying from side to side.

Lady Clara peeked, then indicated it was safe to come out. Mr. Sinclaire, however, remained behind the tree for a moment longer. A pensive look frowning his eyebrows.

“Pray tell me, Mr. Sinclaire, what is on your mind?”

“Should we reveal ourselves and help Beatrice?”

“Oh, no!” Lady Clara hushed and leaned closer to speak. “Your daughter wishes to win it fairly. She shall take offense…”

“You believe so?”

“I know so. Her competitiveness, she took it after me,” she added with a light-hearted chuckle. “And we take games very seriously.”

“It makes sense. I still remember the first time we competed against each other at the garden party…”

A wistful smile curled her lips, and the memories flooded her mind. She shall never forget what she deemed surprise in his eyes, when she beaten him at the game of skittles. Another debutante would have lost on purpose or perhaps even faked an injury to have the gentleman’s attention, but she would never do any of that.

“You expected me to lose on purpose, did you not?”

“Perhaps.” Smirking, he stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “However, if you did, you would not have proved me wrong another time.”

Lady Clara’s strength of character and remarkable resilience were amongst the qualities Mr. Sinclaire admired. Her greatness shone, despite the opinions of some of the peers who focused exclusively on what she missed: the legitimate birth, the strict education, and good manners of other noble daughters. He, however, saw the abundant virtues and good heart. Therefore, one of the few things in life he was not ashamed to admit was this: he took great pride in having someone like herself as his companion and felt most fortunate that she has chosen him to spend a lifetime together despite every obstacle presented in their path.

“Trust me when I say this: do not underestimate your daughter, my love.”

“I would never. Beatrice is her mother’s daughter after all.”

“Remove your shoes,” she suggested already bending to take hers off.

The shoes were left behind the tree, and in silence they sneaked their way to the library.

In passing the half-opened doors of the drawing room, clinking of silverware against porcelain and conversations were overheard. Luckily, the party was too immersed in their own businesses to notice their presence. From the pianoforte came a delightful tune and little Vincent was posing a great deal of questions to Mrs. Caldwell about her belly and the future baby. Neither Beatrice nor Percival were nowhere to be seen, certainly engaged in their chase.

A few more meters down the hallway, Mr. Sinclaire opened a heavy door with caution and ushered his wife inside the library.

“Why, I believe finding us shall be challenging now. Let's hope Beatrice is up to the task,” he said, with a proud smile.

Lady Clara agreed with his wishes, but only with her tongue. In fact, she hoped they got bored and gave up on trying to find them.

With her usual grace, she walked towards the middle of the room inspecting the perimeter. All alone at last, she turned to face him with a mischievous smile. The candles that illuminated the room cast a flattering soft glow over her face, highlighting her delicate and handsome features.

“Whatever shall we do to pass the time, my dear husband?” she whispered loudly for him to understand her words. “We might be trapped here for a long while. Should we read?”

“If you wish…”

Hands behind his back, Mr. Sinclaire stood by the door, while she glided past the shelves. Despite not growing up with a room like this or amongst intellectuals, his Clara had an unmatching thirsty for knowledge. On her free time, especially during wintry afternoons, she read numerous of those books and knew by heart the locations of the main tomes and his favourites. Nevertheless, her gaze was not focused on any of them today, and he could be bold to assume reading was not in her plans.

“Or perhaps,” he continued, “there could be some other activity that could be more appealing…”

“Whatever could you mean?” she asked teasingly, fingertips barely grazing the covers of the books. “Perhaps you shall be kind enough to enlighten me with what you had in mind…”

“Perhaps, you could honour tradition and meet me under the mistletoe.”

“Mistletoe?” she echoed. Turning around to face him, her gaze followed his and found the object he referred to: a small twig strategically hanging from the ceiling near his favourite armchair, almost concealed at the back of the room. When did he even bring this in?

The first year she had one hanging in the foyer, he was so flushed whenever she asked to honour tradition, she thought possible he would faint. A fit of giggles escaped her lips before she could cover them. Slowly, she walked to the back of the room, glancing at him over her shoulders, throwing the most coquettish smiles.

“I suspect your suggestion to have me here… all alone… had different purposes, Mr. Sinclaire… and nothing to do with the game whatsoever,” she deduced, while rounding the spot underneath the twig, a finger touching her chin, pretending to consider if she should position herself there or not.

A dozen long strides and his eagerness brought him closer to her in a matter of seconds. In his lungs, the pleasant odours of leather and paper mixed with the delightful scent of rosewater exuding from her hair and body.

“My heart is now, and forevermore, yours, my Clara,” he whispered against her ear; his warm breaths raising all the hair on her body. “Your smile brightens the dullest of my days. A mere glimpse of you and my heart soars, begging me to attend to its dispositions...” His fingertips caressed her bare arms, travelling to her shoulders, and she drew in a deep breath. “Then, yes, I am guilty. I cannot resist the sight of you. I wish to be ever so close and bask in your bright light, in your warmth and –”

Her lips silenced him with a passionate kiss, followed by another invigorated by the intention to make the most of the few moments they could spare. Little did the years to smother the passion and desire one inspire in the other.

“I love you too,” she breathed against his lips. “And not a day goes by without a thought spared to the blessing of being loved by you.”

It was his turn to capture her lips. Trailing down her jaw, his lips reached her neck and she shivered. Pleased, his teeth grazed the soft skin of her neck, and a quiet moan escaped her mouth. Her fingers dug into his hair, the softness of his curls trapped between them, while she pulled his mouth to meet hers. His arms snaked their way around her waist begging her closer, until they hardly could breathe.

So much they were lost in each other, they failed to hear the doorknob turning. The creak when the door opened did not reach their ears either. Only when Beatrice’s squeal echoed in the room, they pulled away and staggered backwards.

Standing in the middle of the room, Prince Hamid, eyes widened and mouth ajar, kept one hand over Beatrice’s eyes despite her protests.

“Why are you covering my eyes, uncle Hamid?” Beatrice cried again, her little hands struggling to remove his. “What is happening?”

“We… hmmm…” Prince Hamid paused, searching for words amidst his own confusion. “We found your parents,” he replied, turning her back to the couple, while he tried to escort Beatrice outside.

Mr. Sinclaire’s hands worked quickly to smooth his hair to look presentable, while Lady Clara’s covered her face and the redness around her lips.

“We did? Then why will you not let me see them?”

“I – It’s a secret.”

“A secret? What sort of secret? Is it a present for me?”

“No – They – They’re… reading,” he said at last, feeling his cheeks warm with the silliness of his own words. However, why else could one tell a six-year-old in a situation like this? Thankfully, he still had years ahead of him to wonder about a proper answer to his future child in case of a similar occurrence.

“Reading?” she echoed confused.

“Yes!” he replied, and the couple’s voices confirmed the information.

Mr. Sinclaire cleared his throat, “Congratulations, my dearest, you found us.”

At last, Prince Hamid removed his hand from her eyes. Her skirt swayed, when she spun to stare at the two, who were sheepishly tottering in their direction. Mortified, her mother used her fan to cover her flushed face.

Cheering at the news, Beatrice jumped up and down. Judging by the child’s enthusiasm, rambling about the possibility of being victorious against her older brother, the three adults assumed the other matter was forgotten.

Once the door closed behind them, however, Beatrice asked, “Which book were you reading?”

Chuckling, Prince Hamid excused himself like a good uncle would. “I must attend to my dearest wife now.” And with that, he left the parents to deal with the predicament. This was not yet his turn.

#desire and decorum #desire & decorum #playchoices #mr. sinclaire #mr. sinclaire x mc #prince hamid #oc: beatrice sinclaire #oc: vincent sinclaire #mr. konevi #mr. chambers #choices fanfic #oc: miss beauregard #desire and decorum fanfic #playchoices fanfic

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alccaddsccup · 3 years

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The Proposal (chapter 2)

this is part two of my fic The Proposal

Miss Parsons x Mc

Mr Konevi x Mr Chambers

warnings: smut and some angst

lmk if u would like to be tagged in future desire and decorum fics or have any suggestions for me!

——————————————————————

Mr Konevi sighs as he discards a letter on the desk before him. Mr Chambers rushes over and places his hands on his shoulders “What’s the matter Yusuf? Please tell me it’s good news” Mr Konevi runs a hand over his tired face and squeezes Mr Chambers’ hand briefly

“Another rejection. It seems no one in the whole of London requires my services anymore” Mr Konevi crosses the drawing room to sit on one of the loungers and gazes hopelessly into the fire

“Don’t say it”

“I have to go back” Mr Konevi interrupts “I cannot afford to stay in England for much longer” Mr Chambers kneels before him and grasps his hands tightly

“Please, don’t leave me. I can pay for you to continue living here” Mr Konevi strokes Mr Chambers’ cheek and gazes into his eyes adoringly “You know it’s not that easy. My mother needs the income I provide” Mr Chambers hangs his head in resignation then sits beside Mr Konevi, not daring to let his hands go

“When will you be leaving?”

“The next ship leaves in two days’ time” one hand shoots up to Mr Chambers’ mouth and he lets out a sob before enveloping Mr Konevi in a fierce hug and burying his head in his chest. Mr Konevi strokes Mr Chambers’ head gently “I should only be gone for a few months. Just to see my mother through the winter” Mr Chambers wipes at his eyes and pulls away from Mr Konevi

“Well, I suppose we’d best tell our wives” The pair get up and walk to the parlour where Annabelle is attempting to teach Clara a new dance.

“No! It’s left, together, hop then right, together” Annabelle giggles at Clara, who has yet to master the dance. She holds her hands out to her

“Right, let’s take it from the top again” Annabelle tugs on Clara’s hands slightly stronger than she intended which sends Clara crashing into her. She gazes down to her lover and the pair are just about to kiss when…

“Ahem. Sorry to interrupt ladies” They spring apart and Annabelle smooths out her dress as Clara looks away blushing “We have some rather… unfortunate news to share” It’s then that Clara notices the red circles under Mr Chambers’ eyes

“What’s the matter, sir? You seem rather upset” Mr Chambers looks to Mr Konevi before continuing

“I suppose I am. Mr Konevi must leave for the Ottoman empire, in two days from now”

“But that means-“

“I’ll be going with him” Annabelle’s head begins to spin and she reaches out to Clara who is frozen in shock

“You must forgive me miss, for I could not have foreseen the current state of my employment” Annabelle nods weakly at Mr Konevi before releasing Clara to sit on one of the sofas in the parlour. She fiddles with the ring gifted to her by Clara on their wedding day

“Thank you for letting me know sir. I suppose I had best start packing” the gentlemen bow to the pair and exit the parlour. Shortly after, Clara sits beside Annabelle and takes her hands in her own

“Oh Annabelle, this is all my fault. I never should’ve encouraged you to marry him”

“Nonsense, my love, it was I who made the decision” Clara rests her head on Annabelle’s shoulder and sniffles quietly. Annabelle pulls her closer whilst stroking her hair gently and the pair sit in saddened silence for a few moments. When they finally pull away, Clara notices that Annabelle’s eyes are watery like her own. She stands and holds her hand out

“This won’t do. We cannot sit here wallowing, wasting the precious time we have together” She pulls Annabelle up from where she was sitting, holding her hand tightly

“Come with me and I promise I will ease your sadness” Annabelle smiles weakly at her before letting herself be led through the endless halls of Edgewater. After several twists and turns and a long climb up a staircase, Annabelle realises where she is being led

“You’re taking me to the spire” Clara doesn’t respond until she ascends the final stair

“This is where one of my happiest memories is. I thought we could share in each other’s company before…” she trails off, not wanting to remind Annabelle of her impending trip. Annabelle kisses her cheek

“I think that’s a wonderful idea Clara” They sit themselves by the window and gaze out into the clear night sky. Clara points to a cluster of stars

“Do you remember that constellation?”

“How could I forget? That’s our constellation” Annabelle sighs dejectedly “I wonder what the stars look like in the Ottoman Empire” Clara turns to her and turns Annabelle’s face with her hand

“Hush now Annabelle, you are not there yet. Please allow me to spend an evening in your arms without thinking of your departure” Annabelle’s eyes dart to Clara’ lips before meeting her eyes. She leans closer, until the pair are only centimetres apart

“Very well then my love” She leans in to place a delicate kiss on Clara’s lips but as she goes to pull away, Clara pulls her closer by the waist and catches her lower lip between her teeth. Their tongues swirl together as they explore each other’s mouths. After a few heated seconds, the pair pull apart and rest their foreheads together breathing heavily

“Should we take this further?” Annabelle asks, her words barely a whisper

“Why do you think I took you up here” Clara trails a line of kisses down Annabelle’s neck before placing a smattering of kisses across the curve of her breasts and she sighs in pleasure. Annabelle guides Clara’s mouth back towards her own but suddenly, Clara pulls away from her and stands

“What’s the matter Clara?” she smiles flirtatiously at Annabelle and a gentle warmth spreads across her face

“I thought I might give you a show” As she says this, she begins to unlace her dress painstakingly slowly in front of Annabelle who gazes at her with eager eyes. She reaches her hands out to assist her but Clara steps out of her reach

“Just watch, I promise it will be worth it” Annabelle huffs but complies with Clara’s request and she resumes her performance, now unlacing her corset with practiced ease. Once she is fully undressed, Annabelle drinks in the sight of her; she would never get used to seeing such beauty. Her gaze finally meets Clara’s, and she gazes back with unbridled desire.

“What do you make of me?” Clara trails a hand down the centre of her chest and Annabelle’s eyes follow the movement

“You are just as perfect as the first night we spent together” she stands and pulls Clara to her who immediately begins to undress Annabelle, placing kisses on every inch of exposed skin. When the pair of them are bare, they sink down to the padded bench and lose themselves in the feel of each other’s mouth. Annabelle traces delicate lines across Clara’s breasts and she sighs in delight before gently coaxing Annabelle to recline on the bench and whispering in her ear

“Let me take care of you” As she says this, she trails a hand up Annabelle’s inner thigh, barely ghosting over where she needs her then making small circles with her fingers. A beautifully vivid blush rises up Annabelle’s neck and her eyes widen

“Clara I need you!” Clara begins to trail a fiery line of kisses down her flushed skin until she reaches just below her navel; she stops to meet Annabelle’s eyes, which are dark with desire, before placing a gentle kiss on her centre which encourages a lustful moan from her. Clara swipes her tongue against Annabelle before pushing her tongue further inside and quickening her pace. Annabelle places her hand on Clara’s head and pulls her impossibly closer, rocking her hips all the while, enjoying the pleasurable sensations her lover provides

“Oh, I’m so close” At Annabelle’s exclamation, Clara increases her already relentless pace which pushes Annabelle over the edge only moments after the increase in speed and she lets out a chorus of moans. Clara runs her hands delicately up and down Annabelle’s thighs whilst she recovers from the pleasurable release then crawls up her body to rest her head on her chest

“I shall miss that tongue when I am in the Ottoman Empire” Clara swats at her arm

“Don’t say that”

“What? It’s true, it will be but one of the many things I will miss about you” Clara raises her head to look Annabelle in the eyes

“You cannot miss me yet Annabelle, for you are still here” Annabelle places a sweet kiss upon Clara’s lips before stroking her face and she leans into the tender touch

“I know my love, we shall make the most of every second we have together” Clara, who was satisfied with her response, returns to her reclined position with her head on Annabelle’s chest and one arm draped over her torso. But from this place, she cannot see the silent tears that slip down her lover’s face

#playchoices #choices stories you play #choices #desire and decorum #miss parsons #annabelle parsons #miss parsons x mc #annabelle x mc #mr konevi x mr chambers #mr chambers #choices desire and decorum #choices d&d #annabelle parsons x mc #mr konevi

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missameliep · 3 years

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SECOND CHANCES - CHAPTER TWENTY: ABSOLUTELY SMITTEN

Book: Desire and Decorum – Modern AU Rating: Teen and Up Word count: ~8K Summary: During a conversation with Yusuf and Bartholomew, Hamid can finally admit his feelings for a certain friend of his, but is he ready to make a move? Meanwhile, Lady Dominique shares her many concerns about Elizabeth's future with Lord Vincent. Characters: Elizabeth Foredale (OC); Prince Hamid; Yusuf Konevi; Bartholomew Chambers; Dowager Countess Dominique; Earl of Edgewater.

Notes: * All characters belong to Pixelberry, except OC. * Yes, they are talking about Halloween and costumes. I know it's July, but let's pretend for a moment it's October, 2018. * In the series chronology, this chapter happens after two one-shots - Anything But Zombies and Netflix and Cafuné. * Non-English words and expressions are translated in the notes in the end of the chapter. * English is not my first language. * I want to thank @princess-geek for being my beta and one of the most supportive people I've known. My friend, you're the reason I'm finally posting this chapter. 😊 * This is a submission to @choicesmonthlychallenge - Day 12 - Dance. Thanks for hosting it @lovealexhunt

I. At Bartholomew and Yusuf’s flat

Click-click-click. Hamid's fingers rhythmically press the buttons on the controller, relying more on muscular memory than his attentiveness to the match.

“London would be much greyer if you were not here…” Elizabeth’s soft voice and words have been echoing in Hamid’s mind in a delightful loop for the past days.

The concern in her tone was so genuine, and even the timid reassuring smiles she offered that evening were more than enough to make his mind race.

“…I’m happy that you came…”

His face lightens up with a smile even more often than usual whenever he thinks about her words. His skin tingles at the vivid memory of their embrace, her small hand enveloping his so tenderly, and if only he closed his eyes, he can almost feel her fingers stroking his hair.

No, not stroking my hair, fazendo cafuné. Cafuné, what a lovely word.

Bartholomew’s enthusiastic cheering brought Hamid’s focus back to the screen, prompting his fingers to press the buttons quickly. But not quick enough.

Hamid mutters a curse in his mother tongue once the rival’s back takes the virtual ball away from the attacker before he could shoot. The play-by-play commentaries praise the nifty executed pass that leads to another attack of the red team – Yusuf’s team –, and Hamid retorts the teasing words that drip from his friend’s tongue. “Yusuf, you know what they say about the rooster that sings too early...”

The other laughs at his remark and, at last, the trio watches the ball flying high above the stand packed with a pixelated crowd after Hamid shoots and more friendly mockery ensues.

Glancing at Yusuf and Bartholomew laughing together, he wonders. If Elizabeth were here watching his poor performance, he can imagine what she would say. He can anticipate the prolonged dude – long, lazy and filled with amusement –, the feather-light smack of her hand in his arm more of a caress than anything else, the wrinkling in her nose from the smile she would not be able to supress. Her shapely lips. The lips he cannot stop thinking about, not at work and not even in the middle of this match.

He forces his attention back and succeeds for a few moments, but the game cannot capture his attention. Not long enough.

Lately, nothing can steer his mind from her.

Tonight, specially, it did not help that Bartholomew showed those pictures of Elizabeth and Sinclaire at the fundraiser. The pictures are all over Twitter and other social medias. It is not her debut at those functions, but it almost seems like it. After the tea with the Queen and the confirmation of her title as the Viscountess of Edgewater, the press follows her with renewed and increasing interest. Beauty and brains, one reporter wrote and set the tone of the flattering words about the beautiful young woman who is also an accomplished Law student – nothing Hamid does not know already –, while another tweet speculated about her love life. According to one tabloid, everyone wants to know if the young woman has won the heart of Ernest Sinclaire, one of the most eligible bachelors in the UK. There was a link to a poll on their website. Hamid did not look at the results and wishes not to dwell on that topic either.

More than their polite smiles or inspirational words reproduced by the journalists, it is the image of Elizabeth’s body sporting the long gold rose dress with sleeves, flattering hugging her curves, that will not leave his mind for a long time.

How can my mind not drift to her?

His tongue involuntarily moistens his lips, and a small smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, in spite of not concluding the play.

I would like to see her in that gown. Up close. I wish I were the one escorting her tonight, to have my hand on her back… Actually, I much rather be the one escorting her back home. The one to unzip her dress... to have her entirely to myself…

A familiar urge stirs inside of him, and he stops himself – a dangerous line of thought considering he is not by himself this time. He briefly touches the burning lobe of his ear. Am I thirteen again? Rolling his lips inside his mouth, he refrains a chuckle.

Bartholomew flops on the couch between the two players and Hamid’s attention momentarily shifts to his question.

“How does it feel to have your ass kicked by my fiancé?”

“He’s got lucky,” Hamid retorts, but there’s no real edge on his annoyed tone.

“He certainly did. But only when it comes to me,” Bartholomew mocks and kisses Yusuf on the cheek.

“I couldn’t agree more, my dear.”

“Allah Allah,” Hamid mutters and playfully grimaces. “I thought we were here to play…”

“So did I,” Yusuf laughs.

A click and the ball is kicked back in game.

Hamid presses the buttons not fast enough and the back fails to tackle the attacker.

“Not again,” Hamid sighs when the pass back leads to the virtual ball falling perfectly into the rival’s attacker foot. Holding the controller tight, his fingers hit the buttons frantically, repositioning the backs. Another dribble and Yusuf grins. The click-click-click of the buttons is replaced by Bartholomew’s loud cheers when Yusuf scores for the fourth time. And it’s only the first half.

“Yes! Into the back of the net!” Yusuf celebrates, throwing his hands up in the air.

“It’s not even fun anymore,” Bartholomew mocks, then raises to his feet to get more appetizers like his fiancé suggested.

Hamid’s player kicked the ball back in the game, only to Yusuf’s middle fielder steal it before the whistle.

“I must be on fire tonight,” Yusuf taunted, “or your mind is elsewhere, my friend!”

“You know me too well, Yusuf Abi.”

Hamid puts the controller down on the coffee table and shifts in his seat to face the other. The corners of his lips pulled upwards rounding his cheeks and baring his white teeth. A smile too wide for someone who is having his ass kicked in the game, Yusuf considers.

“Which of the three Ws is it, Hamid Abi?” Yusuf asks, and his voice carries a laugh, “Work, worry or woman?”

“Is it ever work?” Hamid quips, and they chuckle.

“Judging by the smile on your lips,” he says, holding his friend’s gaze, a wider smile rounding his cheeks partially covered by the thick black beard, and raises his index finger in the air, “there's only one possible answer.”

A low chuckle erupts from the other’s throat and Hamid’s fingers rake his black hair. Propping one elbow on the back of the couch, he nears Yusuf, who continues speaking in a lower tone, “Since I am feeling lucky tonight, I am guessing this is about a particular woman. Elizabeth, perhaps?”

The mere mention of her name and Hamid’s smile grows impossible wider, almost touching his ears, dimpling his cheeks and crinkling the corners of his brown eyes.

“Am I that obvious?”

“Were you trying not to be?”

“I don’t think I can, even if I tried…” Hamid chuckles again.

“You look happier lately. We’ve noticed it.”

“I never felt like this before… which is odd, considering nothing ever happened, but... No one else ever affected me like she does... I just...” he trails off and rubs a hand over his mouth but cannot erase the grin parting his lips. “It is almost unreal how the tiniest and most mundane things make my heart soar whenever it is about her!”

The admission darkened Hamid’s cheeks just a little, despite his belief he never blushes. This fact does not go unnoticed. The amusement pulls the corners of Yusuf’s lips upwards, but he chooses not to mention the unusual occurence.

“It’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it?” Yusuf muses and meets his eyes, “To have someone in your life who puts that kind of smile on your face?” Hamid nods, and Yusuf pats his arm fondly.

The strophe from the top of the charts’ pop song Bartholomew is singing reaches them. Both glance at him and share a quiet laugh. Oblivious to the ongoing conversation, the blonde gently sways at the rhythm of the song and balances the content of the tray as he walks back from the kitchen.

Humming the song, he places the tray over the coffee table and looks around. The absence of clicks and the looks shared between the two in the couch are impossible to ignore.

Raising an eyebrow at them, Bartholomew asks, “What were you two talking about?”

“We are talking about the reason Hamid is still smiling after I wiped the floor with him...” Yusuf throws his fiancé a knowing smile. “Elizabeth.”

“Ooh! Finally! I thought you were going to spill the tea after I showed all those pictures and blabbered about her gorgeousness!” The man wriggles his hands and sighs, “Now I wish I had made popcorn! Tell me everything from the start,” Bartholomew eagerly asks from the improvised seat at the coffee table, “So, did it happen? Did you two finally kiss?”

Amused, Hamid clicks his tongue and flashes a sly smile. “A gentleman never tells...”

Yusuf bites back a laugh, while intrigued by the elusiveness of the reply, Bartholomew’s blue eyes remain trained on Hamid’s brown ones, staring in silent consideration as if working on a puzzle.

Familiar with that look, and being the recipient of it more than a couple of times, Hamid widens his eyes and wiggles his eyebrows playfully. “Did you find anything interesting? Can I cancel my optometrist appointment?”

“Shush! I know that look of yours!” the other insists, “And that smile! You are distracted and in too good a mood –”

“I’m always in a good mood!” Hamid protests.

“That’s true, darling,” Yusuf agrees. “He is not a man to sulk. Not even if he cannot beat me at a match to save his own life!”

“Hey!” Hamid raises his hands and his voice to an outraged higher pitch, “The match is not over!”

“As if you could recover from that...” Yusuf gestures widely at the score in the screen.

“Oh, no! Not like that, my dear!” Bartholomew cuts into the friendly banter. “Hamid’s got the same vibe of Disney Princesses singing surrounded by birds… and that means only one thing!” A manicured index finger is pointed to Hamid’s face and he declares, “You slept with her!”

“What?” Hamid lets out a loud laugh. “How can sex be the only possible explanation for someone’s good mood?”

“The most plausible, at least. Specially when it comes to you… It’s common knowledge a good shag improves people’s moods. It does wonders to mine.” Bartholomew mutters the last words and winks at Yusuf, who returns the gesture.

“And you cannot hide anything from me, sir.”

“He’s very perceptive, Hamid.”

“Spill already! We’ve been following you two like a soap-opera. At least have the curtesy of not leaving us in the dark!”

“I’m afraid you are mistaken this time, my friend,” Hamid replies and looks away almost demurely. “Though in my mind we might have made love thousands of times already, Elizabeth and I are nothing but good friends. Nothing romantic ever happened between us.”

“Yeah, right!” Bartholomew snorts.

“Why would I lie?” Hamid chuckles and leans back in the couch with his hands at the nape of his neck. “If you must know, she cares about me, and it makes me happy. Elizabeth built a home in my head. And I think I never want her to leave, even if I cannot function or work ever again… I feel so...” he pauses, searching for words. “Enchanted? Captivated? I cannot find the right word. How odd! It is like I walk on clouds. It is exciting and odd at once. Almost like I felt at eleven after I first kissed Yasemin.”

“You’re absolutely smitten, Hamid Abi!”

“You must tell her that!”

“That’s a rather silly word,” Hamid laughs.

“But fitting, right?” Bartholomew muses. “Isn’t it what being in love do to us? Makes us all silly?”

And he must be the silliest of all, he thinks, for falling for Elizabeth after she specifically told him she cannot and will not date him. A hand rubs the back of his neck, and Hamid sighs, “Well, I am feeling rather silly right now...”

“No complaints about the word love?”

Hamid smiles and thanks Yusuf for handing him another can of diet coke. “If it was good enough for Shakespeare and The Beatles, who am I to complain?”

“Hmmm… interesting,” Bartholomew says, a meaningful look shared with Yusuf, and he gulps his beer.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, my friend,” Hamid says, a smile that does not reach his eyes, “Nothing happened, and probably never will.”

“Is he doing that thing again?” Bartholomew lowers the bottle and throws the question and a look at Yusuf.

“Maybe.”

Looking from one face to the other in confusion, Hamid asks, “What thing?”

“You know…,” Bartholomew starts, his hands moving in circles, “Raising all those walls around yourself whenever there’s a teeny tiny possibility you like someone… We know your speech by heart: no woman would want to follow you on your ‘adventures’ and it is not fair to ask a woman to commit to a long-distance relationship and all that gibberish we’ve heard over and over…”

“All valid reasons, even if you do not agree with me.”

“Oh, come on!” Bartholomew huffs, the alcohol and the emotions tint his cheeks in a darker hue of pink now. “You keep running away from your feelings, as if falling in love with someone was some sort of anchor to hold you in one place or a bloody curse!”

Bartholomew’s statement hits harder than a punch, stealing all the words from his tongue for a long moment.

Yusuf says softly, a hand on Hamid’s shoulder, “You know he has a point.”

“It’s not me,” he sighs. “It’s her. Elizabeth does not wish a romantic relationship with me. The slightest mention to it and she’ll just shy away. Which just makes me feel stupid…”

“Don’t you think her opinions could have changed these past weeks?” Yusuf asks, “Or might in the future?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Shouldn’t you ask her before deciding it for her?”

Hamid’s gaze lowered to the can while he popped it. The hissing of the gas masks Hamid’s sigh, but nothing hides the grimace that wipes his smile. “Is it even fair to ask her that now? Wouldn’t I be betraying her confidence? I proposed the friendship.”

“By that logic, isn’t it already a betrayal even if you are keeping your feelings a secret?” Yusuf ponders in his graver tone, and Hamid shakes his head.

“Don’t you lawyer me, abi…”

Yusuf raises his hands. “That’s not what I’m doing…”

“I can read the signs. Friendship is all she wants. And I must respect that… She cares about me. Truly. And it’s refreshing to experience this... even if sometimes… Well, it is hard to draw the line... I’m navigating uncharted waters... Sometimes, it almost seems like she is interested too; and during those few seconds it is almost impossible to hold my tongue and not tell her how I feel… The next minute it’s all gone. And she just looks… scared. Like a frightened kitty. Eyes wide and all. As if a sudden move or a mere touch and she would vanish into thin air. All I can do is hold myself.”

“Are you not exaggerating?” Bartholomew snorts with laughter. “It is hard to imagine any woman being immune to your charms... And I’ve seen the way she looks at you. The sparkle in her eyes…”

“You saw us once. Weeks ago…”

“I saw enough.” Bartholomew’s shoulder shrugged and he offered a cocky grin.

“I don’t know… She’s different. I knew that from the start. I proposed the friendship to keep her close and let her know the real me –”

“In the hopes she would fall for you...” Bartholomew cuts him off and Hamid nods, and takes an eggroll from the tray. “But you’re the one who fell. Hard.”

“Do you regret it?” Yusuf asks, “I mean not letting her go after that conversation.”

“Never. I cannot imagine my days without her presence. Since we met, I feel there’s this unexplainable bond between us. A connection. She acknowledges that too, I know... Elizabeth is gorgeous,” Hamid pauses, and his fingertips scratch his chin and the shadow of dark stubble, while he translates the thoughts into appropriate words. “I have no shame to admit I desire her like no other. However, there is also this… this… I have no words to describe how comfortable it feels around her. And her presence brings me peace… If friendship is the only thing reserved to us, I will be happy... Specially after the other night, when she went to my flat and... Elizabeth was genuinely worried about me.”

“Why do you keep saying she cares as if it was the strangest thing?” Yusuf inquires with a frown.

“I mean, I’ve never had any other woman to care like that... I mean, they do not stick around for that part... when it’s not about fun or partying. I’m not used to people other than family and close friends doing that...”

“That’s what happens when you let people in. You care about them. They care about you...” Yusuf points between gulps of the drink.

“But why? That’s baffling. She barely knows me… And she’s got so much going on in her life... That evening, she noticed I was upset and simply went to my flat. And I was so awful to her and insensitive!”

“I can’t see you being insensitive to anyone!” Bartholomew exclaims.

“She recently lost her mother, and I was complaining about mine and my family… Bak! I usually try to be sensitive and measure my words around her whenever the subject comes up… But that day I was upset, and blabbered like a wounded child, without even considering her feelings and the pain… She makes it so easy to talk to her and... to share things I do not normally talk about.”

“This is not a competition, Hamid,” Yusuf says, “You are entitled to your feelings too.”

“Exactly! You don’t have to fill that role of the ever so cheerful. Everybody has ups and downs.”

“Now I cannot stop thinking about my head on her lap and how I wanted to just lay there forever.”

Yusuf smiles at Bartholomew as Hamid tells about the other night and explains the meaning of the Portuguese word cafuné. “Isn’t it amazing to have a specific word for that?” he muses, and Yusuf smiles at his fiancé, a whole unspoken dialogue in their looks.

And they did not interrupt when he started musing, slowly sipping their drinks.

“Words cannot explain how intimate and connected it felt. And I am positive Elizabeth enjoyed it as much as I did. Unlike any other time when it feels like a mere touch could send her fleeing like a scared cat, she stayed. She seemed comfortable too. And she was the one to offer physical comfort for a change, the one to touch me. Repeatedly. And the way she touched my hair. It is beyond explanation. I only wished to lay there in her lap forever...”

“What were you saying before?” Yusuf taunts, “Nothing happened?”

“She was being a good friend.”

“You’re fooling yourself. Sex is not the only thing that matters!”

“If that is not the most romantic thing ever, I’ve learned nothing from years watching all those Julia Roberts’ movies with my mother!”

“You must talk to her. Tell her you like her, abi.”

“I actually said ‘I like you’ once when we were at the park… But... she just stared at me in confusion like I’ve gown a second head!”

“Did you say it right?”

“Bart, is there a wrong way to say you like someone?”

“There’s definitely the wrong time,” Yusuf points out.

“And how one knows it’s the right time?”

“First you never make a move after you make someone cry.”

“Bak! I told you it was hours later. I’ve made her laugh. A lot. If not for that photographer…” Hamid rubs his face and lets out an exasperated sigh he has being holding for a long time. “When it comes to love, you’re the experts –”

The men laugh, and Yusuf rubs the back of his neck. “Always good to start with flattery.”

“– How did you know, when you started seeing each other, that the feeling was reciprocated?”

“How did I know?” Yusuf pondered, a finger raking his beard, lost in his thoughts for a moment while looking at his fiancé. “I think I knew from the start... Like myself, Bart is very straightforward when it comes to show affection.”

“Look at him, how can someone not like him? Yusuf is charming, intelligent, and absolutely adorable!” the man giggled. “I had to make a move before someone else did!”

After a round of laughs and compliments shared by the two, Hamid went quiet.

Yusuf touched Hamid’s shoulder as gently as the words he spoke next, “As you know, people are different, and so are relationships. There is no recipe; no mathematical formula either.”

The mobile pinged on the table and Hamid leaned forward immediately to pick it up. Silently, he examines the notifications: a missed call from his mother, some texts from his sisters and co-workers, and none from Elizabeth. Not that there should be. Yet, he can’t shake off the disappointment. Why hasn’t she sent him a picture of the food to tease him or a silly joke about the ridiculousness of these sort of gatherings? Perhaps she is enjoying Sinclaire’s company. It’s not unusual that unprofessional feelings bloom between work colleagues. With a sigh, he returned the mobile to the coffee table.

“Ah! I remember those days when you’d even forget about your mobile…” Bartholomew muses, “the old thing would be lying somewhere completely forgotten.”

“Are you saying I’m rude?”

“No, I’m saying you’ve changed...”

“You’re already a changed man because of Elizabeth,” Yusuf ponders and offers the tray with goodies to the others.

“Definitely. You could be partying but you’re here with us, sharing our not so quiet domestic bliss... who would’ve thought?”

“It’s Wednesday and I’ll work in the morning.”

“As if it ever stopped you before!” Yusuf nudged Hamid in the ribs, throwing him an amused grin. “Don’t forget Faiza and I were friends long before the two of us met. And she told me all about you.”

“How can I forget?” Hamid laughs. “Thankfully, she prefers to share our embarrassing tales tête-à-tête instead of sharing with the world on that TikTok of hers…”

“Your reputation would not survive,” Yusuf bends with a guffaw of his own.

“As long as I keep my sister away from London, I’ll be fine…”

“You shouldn’t be proud of that reputation of yours…” Bartholomew mutters under his breath and takes an eggroll to his mouth.

With an amused look, Hamid asks, “Why should I not?”

“What does Elizabeth think about the infamous list?” Bartholomew retorts.

“She knows about it and does not mind.”

“Really?” Yusuf asks, “That’s good. But I’m honestly surprised she doesn’t mind...”

“Most people would get insecure seeing the lists, what the tabloids publish… and could wonder if you would just bed them before moving on…”

“I’m not like that! I’m not a womanizer. You know that!”

“We do. But does Elizabeth know? A quick search on the internet tells otherwise and could shake her confidence…”

“You should really notify those sites, Hamid,” Yusuf suggests, “I could handle that for you.”

“They can publish whatever they want, I don’t mind…” he says and gulps the rest of the coke.

“You like the attention, don’t you?” Bartholomew taunts.

“Actually, it’s all very helpful to scare away the women Anne keeps trying to set me up with. One look at that and they’re gone for good.”

“You’re evil,” Bartholomew says and slaps his arm, and they both chuckle.

“Haven’t you considered it might have the same effect on Elizabeth?”

“It’s different with her, Yusuf... She is getting to know me like those other girls never will…” Hamid’s shoulders shrug. “Elizabeth knows I like her. If she felt the same, wouldn’t she have said or done something by now?”

“Are you trully expecting that sweet shy girl to make a move on you?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Hamid chuckles and looks away. “Well, not a move… but… she could at least indicate she likes me…”

“Oh, please! Why would she do that if you said yourself you are both stepping on eggs around each other trying not to cross whichever imaginary lines you might have drawn?”

“Bart has a point, my friend. It’s not easy to make that jump without knowing if the other will catch you…”

“I don’t mind jumping. I never do. I just don’t want to end up hurting her.”

“Does she really know how you feel?” Bartholomew’s eyebrow raise and Hamid ponders, fingers stroking his chin.

“I guess so…”

“Guess is not good enough! You need a big gesture. Something huge to prove you really mean it!”

Yusuf discreetly shook his head, and Hamid made a face. “I don’t think she’d like that!”

“Nonsense. Deep down, everybody expects something grand. Something that says a 100% the other really wants you badly!”

“Very romantic, my love,” Yusuf says, smiling at him. “But don’t you think it could be wiser for Hamid to take his time and consider first what they both really want?”

“Don’t you know what you want, mate?” Bartholomew asks and Hamid smiles. “What is that smile for?”

“My heart wants forever with her.”

“Aw! That’s cute! And another evidence you’re a different man already. You could’ve just said you wanted to tap that ass, but here you are just saying the sweetest things ever!”

“Not once in my life I used that expression, and I would never say that about Liz. No matter how amazing her ass is!”

“See! In love.” Bartholomew joined his hands to make a heart shape. “When you go to the Cotswolds, you should take her to a romantic picnic and just tell her that!” Bartholomew’s eyes sparkle with excitement and he claps his hands. “Even better, you could ask the inn to mix your reservations and you get stuck with only one room. And one bed! Like one of those movies! Ugh! So romantic!”

“Actually, we’re not going anymore. We’re going to Edgewater for the weekend, instead.”

“Still good,” Yusuf says.

“But all her friends are going too.”

“Oh,” the others muttered.

“And her grandmother. Who basically hates me around Liz.”

“That’s not good!”

“Lady Dominique can be quite intense,” Bartholomew says, and frowns. “Hey! But I’ve heard it’s a huge property. You can steal some moments alone with her. Imagine! Big old historical house. You two sharing a moment. Ask her to see the drawing room. Very private. Or to take you to the library. Imagine stealing a kiss there. Against those shelves... Maybe lay in one of those settees… And maybe do more than kiss.” Bartholomew winks at Hamid, and Yusuf sighs.

“Please don’t say tap that ass,” Yusuf begs, but his tone is light and stirred a string of laughter from the others.

“Remember. Be honest. And plan something big!”

“I will have to think about it…”

“Oh, my god! Hamid! If you are not willing to give yourself a chance, I will hit you in the head until sense is knocked inside that thick skull of yours!” Bartholomew flicked his fingers hitting his friend’s forehead.

“Ouch!” Hamid rubbed the sore area. “That’s rather undiplomatic. And I must warn you I do not respond well to threats.”

“Tough love, baby! Get used to it. Next time I’ll hit you harder,” Bartholomew says raising his eyebrows. “You are a good man, Hamid. We know you deserve someone like Elizabeth. She’s such a precious bean. I only know her for a few weeks, but I will stand up for her and will kick your ass, mister, if you only want to mess with her!”

“How can you side up with her? I’m your friend first.”

“There’s no dibs here!” Bartholomew growls and crosses his arms in front of his chest, in mocking annoyance. “Maybe I like her better. Maybe I always dreamed of befriending someone fancy like that, who owns a private library and horses! So chic!” He grins and gulps his beer, and Yusuf giggles.

“Traitor.”

II. The Foredales’s Townhouse – the next evening

After a last peek at the documents piling in front of him and at the notes for his next speech at the Parliament, a defeated sigh escapes the Earl of Edgewater’s mouth, which is purposefully ignored by his interlocutor, unnervingly pacing in front of the massive mahogany desk. Aware the task will not be resumed anytime soon, Lord Vincent puts the pen and his reading glasses down and sits straighter.

With the sort of eloquence who would cause envy amongst his peers at Westminster, Lady Dominque delivers an inflamed speech about image management. Flying from her mouth words that do not match the elderly lady with grey hair neatly tied in a bun, wearing a black and white Chanel suit, who dislikes mobiles and only a decade ago stopped penning letters to friends, succumbing to the appeal of instant messages. And now, in front of him she speaks with certitude about Pictagram, Twitter, algorithms and several unknown details about social media and the importance of the photoshoot Elizabeth declined. Most of the information lost on him...

The troubled and urgent words do not fall on deaf ears, and he nearly assumes the person in question needs to recover from some dreadful scandal, perhaps a personal offense to the Queen. However, reminding his mother is talking about his sweet daughter Elizabeth, whose appearance just the prior evening in the company of Ernest Sinclaire at a gala can only be classified as a huge success, the Earl relaxes. Nothing in the horizon could endanger the survival of the longstanding House of Edgewater, no matter how terrifying the data filling his ears may sound.

When the lady paused to take a breath, Vincent took the opportunity to ask, “What did Melinda advice?”

“To accept it, of course!” Lady Dominique replied with exasperation, “But your daughter did not hear a single one of her words...”

“It does not seem like Eliza to simply ignore anyone. Are you not mistaking her taking a stand to being intransigent?”

“She will not let Melinda do her job. The woman is a social media specialist, and she considers her advice irrelevant.”

Despite not enjoying the idea of having people working for her, the little resistance Elizabeth offered was partly demoted by her father’s advice on the matter and mostly by the perspective of having someone to filter the increasing number of invitations and requests of every sort that started to flood her email account and arrive almost daily at the family’s residence. Therefore, Elizabeth accepted to hire the personal assistant indicated by her grandmother and to allow the family's social media manager, Melinda Scott, who is dearest to lady Dominique, to create and manage one brand new public profile for her on Pictagram and virtually every social media available.

“You must speak to Elizabeth,” Lady Dominique’s exasperated tone demands.

“Why should I?”

“Because she respects your opinions.”

An inquisitive raise of his eyebrow, and the woman averted her gaze while fidgeting with the pearls in the necklace. When her gaze met his again, the admission came out in an almost inaudible tone, “She won’t speak to me.”

“You said you two had settled your disagreement.”

“I thought it was settled... I bought her a Birkin bag. And Cartier’s diamond earrings to match. Then I had Nora reserve a special appointment at Elie Saab’s boutique…” Taking a deep breath, she faces him. “I tried my best, and she’s being nothing but cold and rude to me. I do not know what else can I do. I’m not used to that kind of behaviour.”

“Have you tried actual apologies? It costs nothing and is highly effective.”

“I do not appreciate your tone, Vincent.”

“Sorry, mother,” Vincent coughs a chuckle, and she glares at him. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

Clearing his throat, he starts over in the conciliatory tone that made him a famous negotiator, “Considering the current situation, isn’t it wiser then to let it go? Is it worth to risk an even worse fall-out over this? It’s a mere photoshoot.”

“It’s a powerful statement. Her mother had cancer. Who could be a better spokesperson for the campaign?” the woman doesn’t wait for an answer to the rhetorical question, and concludes, “However, Elizabeth is being stubborn.”

I wonder who she got her stubbornness from... Wisely the man keeps the remark to himself this time, and rubs his face in silent consideration.

“You must speak to her.”

“Let go, mother,” he says softly but firmly at last.

“It would be a tremendous opportunity, Vincent,” she insists.

“Elizabeth can make her own decisions and she already said no.”

“She would become more relevant. Elizabeth needs to be seen. To be heard. Imagine how much her personal experience could inspire people. Also, her popularity right now could increase donations! Which is the whole point of the campaign, and the Royal Society needs it. That’s why I suggested her name in the first place.”

“I understand that. However, like you said before it is her image and her story after all. I can see why she could be uncomfortable with being on the spotlight. And how the subject might still be painful.”

“Her refusal is solely motivated by spite. She is not being rational!”

“I believe she is more than capable of putting her feelings aside in order to make a decision...” Vincent ponders. “Besides, have you considered that she might be respecting her mother’s wishes? Maria never wanted it to be made known.”

“The focus will be on Elizabeth’s experience, not her mother.”

“Once it becomes known, we can no longer control the narrative. The tabloids were cruel with Maria back then... How will they react now?”

“Melinda can work with that. Even bad publicity could be good right now.”

“That’s the opposite of what you said about those tabloids...”

“Being portrayed as some playboy’s mistress is not the same, Vincent.”

“Hamid is not a playboy,” Vincent corrects, and an unladylike scoff escapes her mouth. “I still don’t know why you oppose their friendship so fiercely...”

“I do not trust that man.”

“I don’t understand why. Hamid is a perfectly nice young man, and a good friend to Eliza.”

“He’s a charmer, Vincent. His silver tongue will say anything to win this House’s favour at the Parliament for as long as he needs it,” lady Dominique replies. “Which, I’m afraid, might include misleading my granddaughter.”

“I do not believe he is anything like that.”

Dominique purses her thin lips and takes a seat across from her son. Lowering her voice to a conspiratorial tone, she asks, “Don’t you find awfully suspicious the circumstances of their meeting?”

“What do you mean, mother? They met by chance.”

“Have they really? Was it chance or someone’s doing?” She stares him into his eyes, and continues, “Have you forgotten the unexplained messages to the driver? Sent from your mobile, but not written by you. I have not forgotten.”

“I probably got confused and wrongly instructed James about the airport...”

“Is that what the Countess told you?”

“The simplest explanation is usually the correct one.”

“You always had a blind spot when it comes to her deeds...”

Vincent sighed and met her gaze. “Maybe you give her too much credit.”

“One can never be too careful, my dearest. When you nurse a viper in your bosom, be certain it is bound to show its fangs and bite you...”

“I don’t see how Hamid would fit this plot of yours.”

“Can you not imagine the sort of scandal a man like him could bring upon our house?” she says, and they share a knowing look of understanding.

“It’s 2018, mother,” he replies, trying to hold in a chuckle. “I don’t think the plot of Dangerous Liaisons would affect our reputation these days.”

“Right now, Elizabeth is a breath of fresh air. The Queen expressed how satisfied to bestow the title she was. Everyone seems to adore her. But that can change in a moment. You know that. It takes one foolish choice. One picture. One misstep caught on video. Next thing you know, you fell from grace. She’s a woman, Vincent. If they ever want to tear her apart, anything will do. And sex is still the easiest path to destroy a woman’s reputation,” she pauses, “You think I’m old-fashioned, I can see it in your eyes. But our world hasn’t changed as much as you think it did… And the Countess is plotting. Against you. Against my granddaughter. She will not accept defeat so easily…”

Vincent’s hand curls into a tight fist, and he presses it against his forehead. Or maybe it’s his head that is toppling and needs the support. The man takes a deep breath trying to chase away the sinking feeling, and the familiarity of the words he is listening to.

“I don’t see how a scandal of that sort would benefit my father...” he scoffs and corrects himself, “I mean the Countess.”

“If I’m correct, Hamid is just a pawn. Perhaps the kind you sacrifice first on the match... A scandal could make Elizabeth step down, or lost your support. Maybe she thinks you could reconsider your decision if only she pushes the right buttons… She wants her son to be the next Earl. I know her too well: nothing will stop her in this path. No matter who she needs to crush on her way.”

With a frown, Vincent meets his mother’s stare while she continues speaking about the possible outcomes.

“Remember, Elizabeth is young and foolish and grieving. It is our duty to protect her and prepare her for her role the best we can. Even if she does not agree with our methods.”

“My daughter is an intelligent young woman and much stronger than you give her credit for.”

“Perhaps you do not know her that well.”

“Perhaps you fail to see what I see. She is her mother’s daughter. Maria was fierce. And I can see the same strength of character in her.”

“I see a lot of you in her too. She inherited your good heart,” she says, and he almost feels offended by her tone. “It is the sort of weakness some people can take advantage of. It will not be the first time for her. Only promise me you will speak to her. I’ll take care of the rest.”

III. At Hamid’s flat - the next evening

Elizabeth leaned against the wall while untying the laces of the boot, and Hamid set the turquoise slippers on the floor, his piercing brown eyes set on her.

“Still not talking to your grandmother, I see.”

“Why bother? She wouldn’t listen anyway.”

“That’s her loss –” The man throws an arm around her shoulder and leads her to the living room. “– I am interested in every word you have to say.”

“Good to know someone is,” she chuckled the reply and leaned against his shoulder for a fleeting moment. Too quick for his taste. Hamid forces the scent of her hair into his lungs before she moves away from him, already longing for this closeness.

“Many people are, I assure you.”

Her head tilts back to look at him. She cannot conceal the scepticism – or maybe she is comfortable enough not to pretend and act polite in exchange of any compliment he throws at her, a preferable option in his opinion.

“If you don’t trust my word, check Twitter or Pictagram.”

“Unfortunately, I did that on the lift... They only want to know who designed my dress and if Sinclaire and I are banging,” she muttered, “I’m already getting tired of that.”

“So am I.”

Her eyes darted upwards, meeting his.

“For you, I mean,” he tried to explain his previous statement. “I understand how irritating this kind of attention can be.”

Hamid threw her a reassuring smile and she nodded.

Princess Leia meowed and a wide smile curled Elizabeth’s lips at the sight of the cat sashaying its way to her. Hamid looked pleased at the scene, the kind of unexpected domestic joy that warms his heart these days.

Elizabeth’s focus is completely absorbed by the cat demanding her attention, and she sat on the couch. Princess Leia jumped to her side letting out excited meows and trills, a little conversation to which Elizabeth replied mostly with Portuguese words.

“Now I wonder if you come here for my company or to see my cat...”

“I don’t think you’re ready for that conversation, dude...”

Clutching his chest, he pretended to be wound, and she smiled warmly at him. The kind of smile that makes his days so much brighter, and makes being only her friend almost impossible.

“Hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Excellent. When you texted, I ordered from that Italian you like.”

“You’re the best,” she says without looking at him, fingers threading through Princess Leia’s long fur, and he wonders who the compliment is addressed... though the blush on her cheeks hint it might not be the cat.

The conversation with Yusuf and Bartholomew still fresh in his mind, Hamid mulls over their advice.

“Do you want to talk about what's bothering you?”

“There's nothing bothering me,” she says softly.

“That was a rather unconvincing performance. Try again.”

“I’m just tired...”

“Maybe I can cheer you up.”

Before she could say anything, he disappeared in the hallway and noises caused by the wardrobe’s door opening and closing came from his bedroom.

“Look what I’ve got for us.” Hamid handed her a large brown paper bag, and joined her on the couch, his body leaning against hers in expectation.

“What is it?” Elizabeth asked peeking inside. “Oh! Briar is gonna be so mad. She specifically said no zombies.”

“Are you seriously afraid of her?”

“Totally!” Her voice carried the giggles she didn’t even try to stifle. “And you should too.”

“Then, don’t worry. This is for another party. We will not ruin her pictures.”

Examining a fake scar tissue, she pulls at the rubber edges. “This looks so ridiculously fake!” She laughs – almost like a child, no intention to cover the mouth or stifle the sound of it – and presses the fake wound against his cheek not missing the way he smiles back at her. “I loved it!”

Zombie is definitely not what he would pick for a couple’s costume, but her smile indicates how pleased she is with the idea, and that is enough for him.

He leans forward, picking a prop of his own - a large and deep cut in rubber with splashes of fake blood - and holds it against her neck. His fingers lightly graze her skin, and she inhales deeply and her cheeks visibly redden.

“Will you be my zombie date, Elizabeth?” His question was accompanied by one of his wining grins.

“Oh! I don’t know…,” she stuttered, putting the props back on the bag, and he wonders if the word date threw her off balance.

“The question is much simpler than your exams at uni... Just yes or no.” She giggles, and he winks. “Of course, yes is the correct response...”

“As much as I’d love to be a gory zombie to my grandmother’s utter disappointment, I need more information before deciding… What kind of party is this? Is it work related?”

“Absolutely not. It’s the sort of party one goes to have fun. Maybe too much fun even. Good music, good atmosphere. Nothing like the boring galas you must attend.”

“I need a break from those... and hanging out with people who either fought on the Falklands or were already on politics to support Thatcher's decisions on the matter.”

“I’d guess more than 70% of the people at the party were not born when Thatcher resigned, don’t know the first thing about the Falklands and probably mistake the Iron Lady for a heavy metal band...”

“Perfect.”

“And I can assure you this party is very exclusive. Full of VVIPs, heavy security... a strict no paparazzi policy,” he stressed the last part and by the way her cheeks rounded with a smile he was positive she’d say yes.

“Just to be clear, you are suggesting we ditch our friends at Halloween and go to that cool party of yours by ourselves?”

“No, not at all. This one is on Tuesday. And it’s the most Halloweenesque pre-Halloween party at London.”

She bit her lower lip and looked at him.

“Yes.”

“Excellent! Then it’s a date!”

Her cheeks visibly blushed, the most alluring hue of pink colouring her face, and she averted her gaze, focusing on the cat lying between them.

“Tell me more about the party,” she asks softly, not commenting on what he said. “Where is it?”

“I don't know yet. The location is kept a secret until a few hours before the event. Last year a text was sent two hours before the event was supposed to start,” he replied.

“Intriguing. Where was it last year?”

“Holloween was at a club at the Southbank –”

“Holloween?” she cuts him off, “As in Felicity's party?”

“It’s not her party. It’s not even her family’s party anymore. It’s a London institution, if I may say so.”

“No way! I’m not going...”

She put the bag down on the couch and crossed her arms. The smile from playing with the props completely gone.

The seriousness of her expression almost makes him reconsider his strategy, but his charms never fail him.

“Come on! It’ll be fun! They always have the best DJs. And did I mention the gift bags?” He nudged her side, instead of returning the gesture, she tensed and didn’t meet his eyes.

“Hamid, I was invited too, but I’m not going. Felicity hates me! And she’s not my favourite person either.”

“There will be hundreds of people. You don’t even have to see her.”

“I know that. That’s why I will be as far away as possible from her party! It zeroes the odds.”

Hamid chuckles and reaches to pat her arm.

“Alright, I will not insist.”

“Thanks.”

“But the party is awesome.”

“I’ll believe you.”

“And I really want to dress as a zombie.”

“So you should. Despite Briar’s beliefs, this is a free country. And go to Felicity’s party too if you want...”

“But I don’t want to go by myself...”

“Then invite someone, dude.”

“That is exactly I’m trying to do...”

“Someone other than me.”

“What if yours is the only company I want?”

She gasped, but tried to collect herself. Even from his seat in the couch he could sense the warmness of her cheeks, and it took a lot of his will to not reach and brush his fingers against her skin.

Clearing her throat, she replied without looking at him, “Stop it. I'm still not going...”

Hamid scratched the cat’s head propped on Elizabeth’s thigh, and mused, “It is a shame. If you have met Felicity under different circumstances, maybe you could’ve been friends.”

“Are you serious?”

He nods, and she considers if he’s teasing her or not before speaking again.

“I can’t see people in such a positive light the way you do.”

“You’ve got things in common. Like yourself, she’s cultivated and you both face similar pressures from society and your families... And beneath that rough exterior –”

“Please, don’t say she’s nice or sweet,” she spats.

“I was not going to,” he laughs. “But she has a peculiar sense of humour. Very dark and a bit unsettling. Which is understandable... Her family is not a walk in the park and the Viscount... Let’s say his parenthood would make Tywin Lannister proud.”

“Hamid, you know I respect your opinion, but...” she started hesitantly, and he offered an encouraging smile for her to share her thoughts, “I mean... everything you are saying… that’s just a sorry excuse for her behaviour... You face a lot of pressure and the prejudice of a bunch of nasty people that don’t even know you, and you’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. And Briar! She is working her ass off and not going feral and snapping at people because the world is unfair. And let me tell you, I would not hold it against her if she did that weekly! But Felicity does those nasty things because she is a horrible person who chooses to act like a spoiled brat relying on her privileges and birth rights. Don’t let her off the hook that easily.”

“I believe people can grow and change. But sometimes, they need a little nudge to realise that... What if we could help?”

“Are you suggesting to someone she deliberately hurt to help her?”

“How else will she understand?”

“It’s not my job to do that. Or anyone else she bullied. There are professionals out there if she ever realises how entitled and mean she is and decides to change.”

“I believe in second chances.”

“So do I. But...”

“You believe not everyone deserves one...”

Her cheek hollowed as she bit its insides. “Yes.”

A heavy silence dropped over them like a blanket, and she gnawed at her thumbnail. For a moment, neither seemed to know what to say next, and her shoulders slumped with the tension.

“You think I’m being petty,” she uttered at last.

“I don’t. Sorry if I gave you that impression, Liz.” His hand reached for hers, and she stopped biting on the nail. “Was I insensitive for bringing this up?”

The way she purses her lips answers the question more eloquently than any words ever would.

“Sorry, Liz,” he says, a thumb gently rubbing her hand, “I don’t want to pick a fight with you because of a party or our different perspectives on Felicity Holloway.”

“I don’t want us to fight either,” she says softly. “Fighting is exhausting and I’m too tired already.”

“I brought it up because I thought you could have fun... Perhaps even dance the night away and forget the world.”

She pursed her lips for a long second, and then she smiled and looked at him. Then, she gently moved the cat's head from her lap without waking her up, and for a split second, Hamid thought she would leave, but instead she turned to face him, looking him in the eyes, a timid smile on her lips.

“I’ll propose a compromise, Mr. Diplomat. On Tuesday, I’ll help with your makeup, if you want, and then you'll go have all your fun with Felicity and I will not hold your poor taste against you; and on Wednesday we dance the night away until our feet are terribly sore. How about that?”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Miss Foredale,” he says holding his hand out for a shake. She gladly accepts it. “I can’t wait.”

--------------------------------------

Notes:

Cafuné - Portuguese word that can be translated as stroking one’s hair. Allah Allah! – Turkish interjection that can be translated as “good Lord” or “oh, boy” Abi – Turkish word that means brother, is also an affectionate way to address friends. Bak – Turkish word that can be translated as look. Anne – Turkish word for mother. Tête-à-tête – French expression that means private conversation between two persons.

#choices fanfic #desire and decorum #desire & decorum #prince hamid #prince hamid x oc #bartholomew chambers #yusuf konevi #oc: elizabeth foredale #desire and decorum au #second chances #choices july challenge 2021

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