- - мy aяcнιvεs

[- - la nuit blanche]

Syeira stared down at the cold man’s bloodied head. His hair was sticking wetly to his forehead, strands of it slicked with red. She held the rock above her and hatred began to seethe in her eyes. Her teeth grit together, remembering the things he’d hissed at her, his horrid smirk as he traced his knife down her body, and the exhilarated excitement in his eyes as he explained that he’d murdered the family that had kept Syeira alive. She’d have been all too happy to crush his face into a bloody pulp, but just as she made to bring the stone down, it was yanked from her hands. Then a set of strong digits grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her sharply up to her feet. She hadn’t even seen the Fox hurry over to her; she’d been too consumed with thoughts of the murder she’d been so ready to commit.

He accused her of planning all of this, his eyes wild with rage, and pulled her face close to his. She closed her hands around his forearms and glared back up at him. “You’re mad,” she snarled at him sharply, struggling to yank his arms away from her and shove him back. Like a drenched, spitting cat, she twisted lithely this way and that until he was forced to let go of her. Then he was staring at her, taking just one step back, and anxiously raking a hand through his hair as he explained that she didn’t know a thing about the kind of men the Cacciatoris were. She glared and pouted and found that she better understood her visions with his elaboration. It was true then; each one of these men, all of them would die if they failed to bring her to their Pope. They would neither be separated, nor give up. And evidently they were quite intent on making sure that Syeira was kept alive to be delivered.

Daunte presented her with a choice, and she began to pace vaguely along the beach, releasing him from her eyes a moment to glance back towards the unconscious body of the archer. She deliberately chipped a bare foot into the pebbles and dirt, sending a shower of sand and small rocks over him. Then her eyes were brought back to his companion. She thought for a moment, what if she offered him an alternative? “Come with me,” she’d purr to him, reach for his hand and bind it up in her own. She’d press her lips into his palm, desperately spread his hand across her cheek, and look up into his eyes. “You are not like them… I know you are not… Come away with me. They will not find us. The both of us, we’ll be free…” But somehow, she couldn’t believe he’d acquiesce, nor was she certain that his comrades would fail to find them if they ran. Nevertheless, it was a tempting alternative. She could save his life – she didn’t care if the others were left to hang – and he could join her and her people. There would no cruel Pope, no gallows, no wicked man with cold eyes. But it was not to be this way.

Her arms drew tightly around herself as she began to shiver. Her eyes moved once more to the archer, then back to the Fox and she bit down on her lower him as she looked at him, almost appraisingly. At last, she dipped her chin in a slow nod, her copper eyes never leaving his face. “I will come,” she agreed in a voice that was soft, almost tender. If the archer would be left behind, she would go without trouble. She doubted Daunte, even without the scrutinizing eyes of his brothers, would treat her much more kindly, but she could not bear that man’s cold eyes an instant longer. Without waiting for any further direction, she started to walk a little ways down the shoreline, noting her shawl which she’d shed off before plunging into the river. She lifted it from the pebbly beach and drew it around her shoulders, then looked back to the Fox with calm, inquisitive eyes.

“You will die if I do not go with you to Italy…” she murmured, returning to his side as she repeated this understanding. “So I will go… Not for my own well-being, no matter what you threaten, and not for your godly king or your brothers… For you.” Her eyes lowered from his face with this quiet admission and she began to walk back towards the forest on the edge of the beach. “Come,” she told him faintly, evidently not aware that she was the prisoner in this twosome, and that she was meant to be led. “We go to the place where the two rivers meet, yes? It is best to go this way.” She did not look behind her to him as she spoke, but barefoot, stubborn, and trembling, continued to step on.

ooc; awfully skimpy, this one, but i was raring to reply. (:

xxx xxx

[- - la nuit blanche]

Vianne sat quietly in the car as her would-be husband explained that he did indeed have a private beach, and that he wouldn’t be sharing her with anyone else on the island. She smiled faintly, girlishly to herself. It was both funny and flattering, that the man intended to be so possessive. Of course, he probably felt that for what he was paying her, she’d better not be willing to flaunt herself around in front of other men and make him look like a fool. But Vianne didn’t think in that direction too long; she was enjoying herself today, and she wanted to keep it that way. Even when Dae-Hyun told her that he was going to be sure he knew everything about her, including what she preferred her sex life to be like, she didn’t bother to blush. However, she did look sideways at him, brow furrowed slightly. “You’re quite thorough, aren’t you?” she remarked softly. For a woman he’d only have to date for a month, he sure was going all out with this… She doubted very highly that it would be necessary for him to know such… intimate details. She guessed he’d figured enough out for himself already.

However, as pleased as she was with the day, Vianne felt her heart fall when Dae refrained from giving her the heartfelt reassurance she’d been hoping for. She wanted him to tell her that no, he certainly didn’t think she’d be the sort of woman to betray him, that now he knew she was innocent. She wanted him to give her some hint that maybe he… he was beginning to care for her. But no, he merely told her that she ought to be smart enough to know that if he was allowing her to do this job for him, he must trust her to some extent. Vianne looked down into her lap and pressed her lips as she nodded mutely, then waited as he came around the car to open the door for her. Somehow she hadn’t noticed that they’d reached the restaurant. She wasn’t even very hungry anymore.

She stepped out of the car and let her hand slip into his, just for show, and followed him into the restaurant. When they were led to a table, she remained silent and turned her eyes out a nearby window. The sky was starting to get cloudy, she noticed… Dae was speaking again, but as she processed his words, she began to wish that they could’ve spent their lunch in silence. Each sentence seemed only to confirm that he didn’t want her, at least, not in the way she wanted him, and it cut her like a blade. She supposed she could appreciate his honesty, but her eyes grew notably somber as he concluded and she only nodded and muttered a hollow, “I understand,” in response. Suddenly she felt a lot less like joking with him, playing coy and maybe scooting around the half-circle booth to sit nearer to his side. She sat on her end of the table, staring mutely at a waterspot on the blade of her knife.

After a moment, she lifted her eyes to Dae’s face and her gaze was less affectionate, hard and filled with a new expression, something like detachment. “I might as well tell you,” she began, keeping her voice lowered below the din of the rest of the diners. “I’m happy to act like the perfect fiancée when we’re out in public, and to be civil with you when we’re alone… I’ll even consent to sleep in your bedroom, but… I have no intention of having sex with you again.” It wasn’t necessary, and she knew that forming a physical relationship with this man, something so intimate and not the least bit related to the show they’d put on for everyone else, would only make things… messy, and all the more difficult for her. “Night before last was… I enjoyed it very much, and I’m glad you did too, but…” her eyes peered into his face, and she tried hard not to glance longingly towards his lips or fall into the amber eyes that looked back at her. “This is only business. And surely you know better than to mix business and pleasure.” She could only hope he was disappointed. Her ego could use the boost right about now. It was no easy thing being told by the man she sincerely cared for that he was only paying her a shred of attention for the sake of appearances and sex. “You say you intend to know everything about me… But I don’t see us becoming any more intimate than we have to be… It’ll only complicate things. Besides, now you know that I don't exactly go sleeping around all over town. In fact, I show such restraint because I do actually prefer to be comitted to a man before I go to bed with him... We both know that our sleeping together was a mistake. I don't see any reason to repeat it.”

After a waiter had brought them some water, Vianne took a sip from her glass, then looked back across the table to her employer, folding her hands upon the table in front of her. “Tell me, Mr. Moore,” she murmured slowly. “If at your age, you’ve never once been in love with a woman… If you’ve always kept relationships with women at a distance… Do you think you’d ever want to fall in love? Or are you just too serious and independent for that sort of thing?” She watched him carefully, lifting one of her hands from the table and setting her chin in her palm. She smiled faintly. "Your mother wants you to find love, doesn’t she?” Vianne added somewhat boldly. Yes, she knew her fair share about such things. It wasn’t her fault that while sweeping and dusting outside his office she could often hear at least his side of a phone conversation, and be able to discern what was being said on the other end of the line. “But that’s all probably too messy for a man like you,” she surmised slyly.

She paused again to take another drink from her water glass, then picked up her menu and absently let her eyes scan down it. “I’ll admit,” she added softly. “I liked you the moment I met you. There are few others I respect as much as I do you… I admired you very much. You’re intelligent, handsome, successful… I… I suppose I couldn’t help but want you, but… That foolishness should stop now, shouldn’t it?” Her eyes, cold again, flicked up from her menu to look across at Dae. “Two people like us, we’re not meant to be lovers… I only hope your mother isn’t too disappointed when you tell her I’ve left you at the end of the month… You can go ahead and order for us both,” she concluded, dropping her menu back to the table and lounging back into her side of the booth. “I know how you like to have control…”

xxx xxx

[- - la nuit blanche]

Madeleine Lacy sat quietly upon a leather sofa in the hotel lobby, close beside rather a plump woman in lavender who wore an outlandishly large hat to match and a little too much pink lipstick. Beside the peacock of a woman, Madeleine – though not unpleasant-looking – faded into the neutral color of the sofa to be easily overlooked, and she knew it. She knew she was perfectly plain. She knew she didn’t belong in this upscale hotel, enjoying all of its luxuries alongside the rich and glamorous. She was just a simple girl of twenty-one, dressed in a plain black skirt and white blouse buttoned up to her throat. Her medium length, light brown hair was pinned back in a loose bun, and her grey eyes looked down at her pale hands as they folded neatly in her lap. She was not rich, she was not glamorous. She was only a hired traveling companion for Mrs. Bedair, simply a ghost that would follow submissively by her side to give her comfort and help her unpack her garish wardrobe.

“Tea, Mrs. Bedair?” Madeleine offered, her voice pleasant but quiet as she reached to the tray that lay upon the table before them. “Oh—yes, dear,” the woman in lavender answered, a little distractedly. “With just a slice of lemon, if you please. And make sure it’s a thin one; I cannot tolerate the acidity of too generous a portion.” Though, as usual, Mrs. Bedair had enough focus to nitpick every little thing Madeleine did for her, her attention was mainly focused upon the elevator, and a man who had just exited it. As Madeleine poured the tea for her employer, and attempted to saw a halved lemon into smaller slices with a butter knife, Mrs. Bedair suddenly, excitedly grasped her arm. “You know, I believe that’s Mr. Clarence Remington there, just stepping out of the elevator,” she whispered passionately towards her hired companion. “You know him, don’t you? Oh. No, no, of course you don’t. How silly of me. Well, he’s quite a figure in society, you know. His wife died not too long ago; I received a personal invitation to the funeral, you know.” She said this as though gloating about having been invited to a queen’s ball. “It was a sad business, though. Isabell was such a gorgeous woman. Always invited to the right parties, you know, admired by everyone... And adored by her husband, of course. Poor Clare. He must be devastated. I think I’ll invite him over for some tea.”

Despite Mrs. Bedair’s enthusiasm, Madeleine didn’t both to look up to the man until he’d been ushered over by Mrs. Bedair’s shrill voice and the waving of her plump little hand. As he made his way over politely over towards their sofa, Madeleine offered Mrs. Bedair her tea – which Madeleine had no doubt she’d say was much too sour – upon a delicate little saucer and glanced up at Mr. Remington. Mrs. Bedair practically knocked the teacup and saucer out of Madeleine’s hands as she urged her to simply place it back down upon the table. As Madeleine did so, she noticed that Mr. Remington was… quite handsome. Her innocent grey eyes looked at him with noticeable admiration and when she looked away, a slight tinge of red had come to color her cheeks. But she doubted he’d notice. Her place here was only to be successfully invisible, certainly not to catch the attention of some dashing, rich widower.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you, Clare,” Mrs. Bedair was commenting, having forgotten rather entirely about the young woman by her side. Now that her employer had been taken care of, Madeleine considered pouring herself a cup of tea, but instead she only sat in silence and allowed herself to overhear the conversation. “…Sit down, sit down!” Mrs. Bedair urged the man. “I had no chance at all to talk to you at the funeral… You must tell me all about what’s going on.” Madeleine wondered if one it was accepted in high society to gossip after the event of someone’s death, but clearly she was not accustomed to such social circles. However, she had the feeling that Mr. Remington would’ve much rather avoided Mrs. Bedair’s invitation to tea, as well as her prodding conversation. However, before the man could answer, Mrs. Bedair must’ve seen that his gaze had flicked briefly towards Madeleine and finally she thought to acknowledge the presence of the girl beside her.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Clare. This is my young companion, Miss Madeleine Lacy. Poor Lawrence’s laryngitis has been so aggravated by the weather this season, so he wasn’t able to accompany me. And you know how I hate traveling alone. Madeleine, this is Mr. Clarence Remington,” she explained, looking only briefly towards the slim brunette by her side as she introduced her. Madeleine tried to put on what she hoped was a charming, if not childishly nervous, sort of smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Remington,” Madeleine murmured, reaching once more towards the pot of tea. “Would you care for a cup—” she began to offer, but she was cut off as Mrs. Bedair started up again.

“I still can’t believe Mrs. Remington is really gone from us forever,” she lamented, finally reaching for her own tea cup and bringing it to her thing lips. “Poor, poor Isabell. Such a tragedy… How awful it must be for you, Clare. How have you managed to run the estate on your own? Isabell always kept everything in perfect order, didn’t she? Your property will never again have so fine a mistress, I’m certain of that.” She took a sip of her tea, wrinkled her tiny nose and set it noisily back down upon the saucer. “Too sour, dear, much too sour,” she remarked to Madeleine. “Better add some sugar… You’ll have to forgive her, Clare,” Mrs. Bedair smiled towards Mr. Remington, while Madeleine dropped her gaze and began to spoon a couple heaps of sugar into the old woman’s cup before stirring it gently. “Madeleine’s quite new to all of this, aren’t you dear? She’s been left all alone, now that her father’s dead, and with no money either.” Madeleine inwardly cringed as Mrs. Bedair spoke. She wondered if the woman always did what she could to lay all of one’s secrets bare, and if Mr. Remington also felt so irked by her explanation of him. “Our little Cinderella, aren’t you dear? But who knows, perhaps you’ll be swept off your feet here by some handsome prince.” Mrs. Bedair laughed and Madeleine attempted a faint smile as her cheeks heated again to a blush. “If it could happen anywhere, Monte would be the place.”

[- - la nuit blanche]

Vianne was… almost impressed by the way Dae spoke about love. Clearly it wasn’t, as she might have expected, a concept he simply couldn’t grasp. He understood it quite well. He simply never pursued it. But if he ever did, it would be something he’d evidently devote himself to entirely. Vianne could imagine it. He’d be sure his woman never had cause to even look at another man. He’d be dedicated and faithful to her forever. Vianne’s eyes lowered and she did not comment for a long moment. She wished she could be that woman, the one he decided would be worth the trouble, and would give back to him the same adoration he offered to her. “Some fall into love too easily,” she finally stated, quietly, though her voice was deliberate, even determined somehow. “You’re lucky you’re not given to such ‘fantasies’.”

She was. Clearly she was. After her first storybook romance, she expected her feelings to serve her well. While few other men had ever held her attention, when her emotions began to lean towards Dae-Hyun, she let herself go with them unhindered. She gave into them, until it physically pained her every moment that she wasn’t allowed to be held in his arms, to kiss his perfect lips. She was in love with him. That was the plain truth. It wasn’t infatuation. It wasn’t some silly, girlish fantasy. She loved him wholly and unselfishly. But that did not mean she should. She had now learned that love, as she felt it had to be, was not always returned simply because it was given. That had been the case with Luc, but she had left that fairy tale a long time ago. And somehow, it only made things worse that Dae believed they should continue to sleep together. She wanted to… God, how she wanted to. But that would only continue the illusion that he belonged to her. That was the thought she’d been deluding herself to believe all day. When they acted the part of a couple, she was so unspeakably happy. And now that she remembered that it was only a farce, that Dae didn’t actually love her, Vianne was destroyed. “It was a mistake on my part,” she muttered when he commented that their sleeping together had been only a “surprise” to him. “I abstained from going to bed with you every day that I wanted you, since the morning you hired me,” she continued, looking at him, her eyes hard. How could he not have understood all this time? Understood how she’d suffered and ached without him? “I don’t expect one month more to be anything I can’t handle…” But he made her no promises. And she wondered how she’d respond, if deep into the night, she woke to his lips upon her neck, his hands touching her urgently through her nightgown…

Yes. It would be difficult to resist. But it was in her best interest to distance herself from him when she could. She wasn’t going to encourage her love for him, not for an instant. If her feelings were going to be returned, Dae would have showed an interest in her long before they accidentally slept together. No, it would not do to continue indulging these emotions for him, she decided. He almost, for an instant, gave her hope, when he commented that if she kept making him feel so fortunate in his choice of a fiancée, he’d suspect she meant to steal his heart. He made it sound as if he wanted her to. But surely if he wanted her to love him, it was only out of some selfish desire to be pampered. She wasn’t the sort of woman he would ever care to love back.

She was calm as their conversation turned towards food and he asked her interestedly what foods she liked and didn’t like, what foods she could cook, about the recipes she was still learning. She answered his questions pleasantly, but in a manner that seemed… less natural than she’d been with him all morning. Again it felt like an interrogation to her, not a conversation with a man who was genuinely interested in her. This wasn’t a lunch date, as Vianne was becoming more and more aware.

When the food came, she had to admit, everything smelled delicious, and she was eager to taste the wine he’d chosen for their meal. And Dae… He seemed happy. More relaxed than she’d ever seen him before. However, when he tore off a piece of meat and offered it to her lips, she drew back a little and merely took it with her own fingers. She avoided his gaze as she brought it to her mouth and chewed. She evidently wasn’t in the mood for such affection. “Excuse me,” she said softly after a moment, and, without looking at him, slid out from the booth to walk to the rest room. She stepped in and locked the door behind her, then turned her eyes to the mirror to survey her reflection. She looked… sad. Heartbroken would actually probably be a more appropriate adjective.

She hated this. He doesn’t love you. The words kept ringing in her ears. He’ll buy you nice things. He’ll show you off to his family and friends. He’ll make love to you every night. But he will not love you. She couldn’t stand it. She couldn’t stand this. Suddenly she wasn’t sure if she could go through with it. No amount of money was worth this heartache, the knowledge that it was all only playing pretend. Swallowing a threatening sob, Vianne took her cell phone from her purse and searched through her contacts. She chose the one she was looking for and dialed. “Hello? Steve? It’s Vianne Auclair, Mr. Moore’s housekeeper.” She was surprised at how calm her voice sounded. The man on the other end of the line remembered her instantly – they’d spoke a handful of times, whenever Mr. Moore had a business meeting he needed to schedule flight for. “Yes, I just wanted to let you know… Mr. Moore will have to cancel those arrangements he made earlier, for a plane to Exuma tomorrow morning? Yes, I’m afraid something’s come up… A last minute meeting. But he’s given me leave to return to France for a short time, there’s been a family emergency… Do you think you could arrange a flight for me in the morning? …Yes, as early as you can… 5am? That would be perfect. Thank you, Steve. I’ll see you then… Yes, I’ll tell him… Goodbye.”

She ended the call and dropped her phone back in her bag. Suddenly, already, she felt better. She would simply go home. She would leave, run away, and no trouble would be caused. Not for her, and not for Mr. Moore. He could hire a new housekeeper straight away, and he could hire a woman to pose as his fiancée too if he wanted. And she… she could go home. Go home and forget that any of this had ever happened.

Slinging her purse over her shoulder, Vianne turned and headed out of the restroom, and back to the table where she’d finish her lunch with Dae. Perhaps she’d let him feed her. Perhaps she’d even go to bed with him that night. After all, it would all be for the last time.

xxx xxx

[- - la nuit blanche]

For the rest of lunch, Vianne felt… tense. She was pleasant enough with Dae, but she was not as relaxed as she’d been while they were shopping together. She ought to feel fine, she thought. She was going home. She was running away, and she doubted Dae would bother to come after her. But as they got into his car and she heard his cell phone ring, she suddenly felt that reassurance fall away. As soon as he answered the call, she knew she wouldn’t be going home after all. Swallowing hard, she angled her body away from his, refusing to look at him. Half like a stubborn child who had just been denied her way, half ashamed for having tried to escape her promise at all, she avoided his gaze and didn’t speak until they arrived back at the apartment.

She walked along beside him though the lobby, stood quietly in the elevator, and let him motion her into the apartment. She’d have retreated immediately to her bedroom for the rest of the day, but almost as soon as she stepped inside, Dae had her pinned, his hands on either side of her face, his eyes boring down upon her. She almost jumped when he snarled at her, and defensively, her eyes grew sharp as they peered up at him. She was prepared to hiss and spit just as much as he, but then his tactics changed drastically. He bent slightly to bring his lips closer to her own, almost begged for her promise that she wouldn’t leave him, and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth…

Vianne suddenly felt short of breath, her eyes heavy, every bit of her aching to give into him. She wondered in that moment if he’d been right when he said that she only hadn’t tried to sleep with him until the other night because she’d been afraid of his rejection. That now, she had no reason to feign such restraint, knowing he wanted her in his bed. How she longed to touch him… To draw in close against his lean chest as he seductively nibbled her ear, let her fingers rake into his dark hair and purr a soft moan of encouragement… But she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t allow it. Her arms did not reach for him, but remained by her sides, and any sounds of pleasure were kept bound in her throat. She grit her teeth and refused to let her eyes drift closed.

She turned her head, shrugged away to force him to remove his lips, then looked up into his handsome almond eyes. Her own eyes had softened, but only slightly, though her cheeks had flushed to a light pink beneath his persuasive kisses. “Why can’t you understand..?” she whispered hoarsely, pressing her hands to his chest to nudge him away. “Staying here… It’s not good for me…” As if to shield herself from him directly, she wrapped her arms around herself and looked down for a moment. Somehow, she knew he wouldn’t stop trying to persuade her until she gave him his promise. And whether or not she did, and whether or not she lied to him, he’d probably make sure she didn’t find herself at any airport in the state until their month was up. Her breast heaved with a long sigh and finally, she looked up to him once more. She raised a hand slowly and, as if touching him, exploring him for the first time, laid it gingerly along the side of his face. Her thumb delicately traced the edge of his lower lip, as though somehow to memorize it. There was a sad, profound fondness in her eyes as she looked at him.

“Fine…” she murmured at last, dragging her touch away from his cheek. “I promise I’ll stay… I won’t run.” She deftly wet her lips and looked down from his face, turning away from him to start towards her bedroom. She supposed she ought to get her things packed for their trip tomorrow. However, when she came to the doorway, she paused, and turned to look back at him. “But when we leave on that plane tomorrow, I want you to stop treating me like an employee, like something you own…” She looked at him with a challenging, determined glint in her eye. She wondered if he had it in him, to treat someone – a woman, his former housekeeper at that – like an equal, like something he cared about, not just an object into which invested time and money for some expected profit. She leaned gracefully into the door frame and crossed her arms over her chest.

“We’ve made a deal, and I understand that… But if you want me to act the part of your fiancée even when we’re alone together… Well, then you’ll have to do more than just convince your coworkers, and your friends, and your mother that you’re in love me… You’ll have to convince me as well.” She smiled a little, almost mischievously. She wondered if he could. “You already know that I care for you… If you’re going to expect me to let you take advantage of that for the next month, to play it to your gain… You’d better be able to repay me in kind. You may never love me, Mr. Moore… But if you can make me believe for the duration of our time together that you do… Then maybe I’ve been wrong about you. Maybe that night wasn't a mistake, or, if it was... one I’d be willing to repeat… at least until you have to let me go.”

Vianne turned to go into her bedroom and pulled a suitcase out from under the bed, then began to go through drawer after drawer of clothing, picking out a few nice outfits for four days in the tropics, and of course a couple bathing suits as well. Maybe her bargain with Dae would only leave her hurting all the more at the end of the month, she considered as she packed. Maybe it was terribly stupid of her to want him, in turn, to act all the time like some smitten fiancé, while she’d be willing to accept any and all affections he seduced her with. Or maybe, he’d get used to playing the part with her. Perhaps he’d come to realize that love was something he wanted to pursue, and that she was, and maybe had been all along, the one he wanted. Maybe, if only she believed in this lie hard enough, it would somehow turn itself into something true.

xxx xxx

[- - la nuit blanche]

NEW!

i've had some film-inspired plots cookin' in my mind for a while, and i thought i'd add a post to elaborate.


xxxxxxxxAmerican South | 1950s | Love/Hate

"I've spent my whole life around men who push and shove and shout and think they can make anything happen just by being aggressive. And I'm not anxious to have another one around the place."

Frenchman’s Bend, Mississippi, the summer of 1949...

Adeline Varner would never forget that particular summer in Frenchman’s Bend. It was the summer her daddy, the proud, pompous Will Varner, had become unquestionably the most powerful man in town after buying just about every business there was. It was the summer her twin brother Jimmy got himself a wife and brought her home to live with them in the big, glorious Varner plantation house. And it was the summer he came to town.

The slick-speakin’, rakish rogue blew into Frenchman’s Bend like a hot evening storm. People said he was no good, a thief, a trickster, but innocently enough, he only asked for a job and maybe a little land to till. He found both in employment with Will Varner. Addie would never forget the first time she saw him, ambling up the drive to her daddy’s plantation, wearing just some old jeans and a cavalier grin that grew considerable when he laid eyes on her.

Her father hired him onto the property and took a liking to the boy right off. He was confident, a hard-worker, and clever as they come despite his low beginnings. Bit by bit, Varner edged the boy under his wing, set him about town doing jobs for him, gave him a little shack of a farm house on the edge of his property to live in. Even more than that, he began nudging him in the direction of his daughter. Since before her eighteenth birthday, Will Varner had been shoving Addie towards marriage as if her only will could be to pop out children to improve her father’s stock. And now he’d found her the perfect mate. But she was not so easily won. Charming as the boy was, she resisted him like all the others, until her father became more aggressive.

He owned a successful plantation. He owned a town. And Heaven and Hell be damned, he owned his daughter too and he’d see that she marry the man he wanted for her. He struck a lucrative bargain with the boy, offering him his own farm and acreage in the neighboring town if he married his sly, stubborn daughter, and set a date for the wedding.

( i took a class on hitchcock this semester... i couldn't help myself. )


xxxxxxxxPsychological | Thriller | Romance

"I'm not mad. I'm not mad. I don't want to die. There's someone within me and she says I must die. Oh, don't let me go!"

There was nothing wrong with him! That was what he had to keep telling himself. After watching one of his friends die before his eyes, the psychologist he’d been sent to by his employers at the Central Intelligence Agency concluded that he’d suffered some sort of psychological breakdown. He was given temporary leave from his job, and left under the impression that everyone thought he was crazy.

While momentarily retired, an old friend unexpectedly called him up and asked if, given his experience, he could tail his wife for a while. She’d been acting strangely lately and her husband suspected she was depressed, if not losing her mind entirely. So the ex-intelligence man agreed, putting his own psychological issues aside, and began to follow the man’s wife. She was undeniably lovely, the man noticed as he trailed after her all around town. But she seemed to move as if in a dream, as though her mind was a haze. Then one day, he was there, looking on, when she attempted to drown herself.

He took her home with him and when she came to, he found that she had no recollection of anything that had happened to her that day. There was surely something wrong with her. Surely a therapist would be better equipped to help her. But by the time he had to lie and tell her he’d simply been a stranger passing by when she fell into the water, he was already falling in love with her.

He began to accompany her through her trance-like habits every day, refusing to leave her side as he desperately tried to understand her strange psychosis, and the two became lovers. But then one day, she broke away from him, and when it became clear that she was going to try to kill herself again, he froze, paralyzed by memories of having seen one of his friends die before his eyes while he was helpless to aid him. This time, she succeeded. Her husband buried her and her lover sank into a depression of his own.

Until, months later, he could have sworn he watched her walk down the street. She was dressed differently, her hair was a different color, but he was so sure, somehow… Sure that it was her.


xxxxxxxxPsychological | Drama | Romance

"You don't love me. I'm just some kind of wild animal you've trapped!"

She was damaged. Damaged as they come. There were pieces of her past that… that she couldn’t even remember. She’d blocked so much of it out. Sometimes she wasn’t even sure who she was. So, she lied. She assumed a different identity near every day. She lied and cheated and stole things. She seduced, she manipulated, and then she ran. Running away was probably the one thing she was good at, the one thing she liked doing. She liked to run, to flee and forget. And then she met him, and she wasn’t allowed to run anymore.

He was a successful businessman. A man who had inherited a big company and meant to rule it with an iron fist. And he was something of a cad. She came to him with no references, but he hired her for her looks. And not only did he let her into his office, but he brought her home, glued her to his arm to take to business engagements and upscale parties, and she let him. She let him because she knew the combination to the safe hidden beneath a rug in his office, and she was going to take him for all he was worth.

But the day after she’d stolen the money and ran, he’d run after her. No one else had ever been able to catch her before, but he did. And he wasn’t going to let her go. He loved her, he said. And he knew about all the other jobs she’d pulled, all the money she’d stolen from other employers, other lovers. He could turn her in, but he wouldn’t. He would much rather marry her instead.

Without much of a choice, she agreed, and she hated herself for it. He knew there was something wrong with her, but he took her anyway and made it his job to find out where her life had taken a turn for the worst. She became a project for him, an outlet for his domineering intellect, his pride. He would be the one to cure her. And once he had, she’d turn into just the woman he’d always been waiting for.



xxxxxxNoir | 1940s(?) | Spy Thriller | Romance

"Dry your eyes, baby; it's out of character."

Her father had been a traitor. The man had paraded as a patriotic intellectual, but he’d been all along a Nazi spy. He was tried, found guilty, and sent to prison. He was there for two days, and then he’d committed suicide. His daughter was swept up in the press, scrutinized brutally and suspected to be a secondary cohort of her father’s Nazi connections. It was a trying time, and she came to be known around society as something of a playgirl. She leaned heavily on liquor and men and big, debauched parties, and earned herself a less than savory reputation. But she didn’t care. Everyone already thought she was a traitor; let them believe all the lies they wanted!

Then she noticed a man at one of her parties, someone she knew she hadn’t invited. He looked much too… serious to be one of her regular party gusts. But he was handsome too, so she let him stay. After all her other guests had left, he explained to her that he worked for the CIA, and that they wanted to hire her to help them.

The government had detected a Nazi conspirator in South America, one who had worked closely with her father. She’d been well-acquainted with this man, and now he was at the center of a scheme that could tip the war farther into the hands of the Germans. She was to go to South America, find this man, and try to find out what she could.

The man from her party, the man who had explained all of this, would be her contact in South America and would stay with her as protection when he could. This was no comfort to her; the man seemed to hate her. He was a very moral sort, stern and unyielding. He taunted her for her lechery, her whorish lifestyle, and made it quite clear that he’d never stand for such antics in a woman. But then she fell in love with him, and he saw her begin to change.

Though, just as he began to warm to her, the man she’d been sent to become reacquainted with… proposed to her. The higher-ups at the CIA told her she could accept or deny him – they could not force her – but it would be a great asset to them if she was allowed to live and interact so closely to this man. She’d tried so hard to be a respectful lover to her intelligence agent protector, but she knew that to atone for her father’s misdeeds, she’d have to go through with it. She would both marry and submit herself to the enemy, while her lover hated her for choice, broke her heart, and seethed with jealousy, still obligated to remain with her when he could, until her new “husband” began to grow suspicious...



xxxxxxNoir | 1940s(?) | Melodrama | Romance

"Do you think the dead come back and watch the living?"

[- - la nuit blanche]

Vianne continued tossing her things together in her suitcase, going about it all maybe less efficiently than as per usual, given the fact that her mind was muddled by thoughts of the day and the conversation, or rather, negotiations, that had just transpired between herself and her employer. As she packed up her toiletries from the bathroom, she contemplatively sucked at her bottom lip. She wondered if Dae would be able to keep to his word, be able to prove that, as he’d said, he was a “brilliant student.” He was right when he presumed she meant to teach him some lesson. This whole scheme of playing house would be far more than a game now. It would be a test, perhaps for both of them. Dae-Hyun Moore would have to prove to her that he was capable of not only feigning love for her, but displaying a real respect, despite her position beneath him. He’d have to be kind, considerate, grateful… And he’d have to convince her that he was actually more than all business propositions and the drive for personal gain. And she, she would have to come to terms with her feelings for him. She’d have to let him try to love her, allow herself to be vulnerable again and accept him as whole-heartedly as she had that first night. She would have to be open and honest and give him the chance to show her truthfully who he was. And she’d have to let herself be reminded why she’d fallen in love with him, and realize once and for all whether she’d been only a foolish, stupid girl with a crush, or if… if maybe that night hadn’t been a mistake at all, and let her shame be forgotten.

After zipping up her bag, she set it out in the hall outside her room and glanced in the direction of Dae’s bedroom. She was surprised he hadn’t called for her yet… Usually she’d be the one packing up his suitcases, making sure everything he’d ever need was carefully stored away exactly where he’d expect it to be. No forgotten razorblade, no wrinkled dress shirts. Everything just the way he’d want it. After she’d finished with her own bag, her first impulse had been to go to him and take care of his packing. But then she remembered, she wasn’t his maid anymore. She was his fiancée. And a fiancée would let her husband-to-be pack his own things like a big boy. But she hadn’t been certain right away that he’d remember this, and hold to their bargain. She was his equal now, and could not be expected to act as she always had – passive, timidly polite, more than willing to serve and cater to his every need. If he wanted a fiancée, a woman, then that was what he’d get.

Though, even if he was actually going to pack his own things without putting up a fuss about it, Vianne was moderately surprised that he hadn’t called for her for… other reasons. To cater to other needs… After all, it was getting late into the evening and she’d sufficiently agreed to act fully as his fiancée, in every sense of the word. Why shouldn’t he take advantage of that? If he was so eager to have her in his bed, why not see just how attentive she was willing to be as his loving future wife? Vianne was glad to be given her own space, to see that he evidently didn’t mean to stifle her by ordering her to his bed, and at the same time… The prospect of going to her own bed alone was suddenly less than pleasing. She took a step or two towards his room. She could hear him running the water for a bath. She closed her eyes and could picture him lounging nude in the steaming water, and herself, approaching him, shedding a bathrobe as she moved to join him. But then she changed her course, moved towards the kitchen to see that everything was in order, all dirty dishes cleaned and put away.

She couldn’t deny it: she wanted him. Despite all her confusions, despite the panging ache that came when she considered the reality that he didn’t love her, and maybe never would… She wanted him. Some base desire called out for him, longed for him to capture her forcefully against him and never let her go. But not now, she decided. Tonight this separation would be better. It would give them both some time to prepare themselves for the next day, and every one that would follow wherein they’d bind each other to this lie.

She made herself a cup of tea as she emptied the dishwasher, then went to bed. She set her alarm for the next morning, and went to bed more soundly than she’d expected to, and dreamt of white, perfectly vacant beaches, and a pair of salty lips against her own.

When her alarm woke her up the following morning, she got herself up, neatly made her bed for what she realized might be the last time, and pulled on the light little sundress she’d set out for herself the night before. She guessed she ought to dress according to a tropical climate if their plane would be touching down in the Caribbean. She then spruced herself up, pulled her hair back into a low, loose bun so that a few stray tresses framed her face, and added a little make up before stepping into her heels. Once she was ready to go, she stepped from her bedroom into the hall and waited by her suitcase, listening for any sign that Dae might be awake. Part of her wished to go into his room to check on him, to allow him to wake maybe to the touch of her lips upon his face, but she refrained. He’d arrive by her side soon enough, surely. And then they would be off. Until then, she did what she could to mentally prepare herself. All her inhibitions would have to be done away with now, all restraints lowered. She was no longer a quiet young woman in unrequited love with her indifferent employer. She was the confident fiancée of a man she adored, open, unguarded, and both willing and content to see to her husband’s every happiness. It sounded like a dream come true, and yet, something in the pit of her stomach made her wonder if everything would go as pleasantly as she wanted to believe.

xxx xxx

[- - la nuit blanche]

Vianne stood in the hall by her luggage, going over everything in her head as she tried to think of anything she might have forgotten. She realized at the last moment that her passport was still in the top drawer of her desk and went back in her room to retrieve it. When she walked back out into the hall, Dae had arrived there as well. She’d had no idea that he’d gone out that morning, and while regularly she might have been a little flustered, and quickly apologize for having not fixed his breakfast already, she only smiled to see him and remembered that the dynamic between them had changed.

He looked her over and commented that she looked… “good.” And yet something about his tone of voice made her believe that he’d wished to bestow a much more flattering compliment. Vianne smiled a little proudly in response. He looked quite nice himself. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something about him seemed… different. He seemed sort of… more relaxed than usual. Happy, maybe. She wondered if this was only part of the act she’d told him to put on for her, or if he really was looking forward to this little mini vacation with her. He approached her as he explained that they’d leave as soon as he’d showered, and as the space between them closed, she felt a slight tingling begin somewhere deep in her stomach. She wondered if he’d touch her, try to drag her off to the shower with him, and as he came nearer the scent of his cologne became suddenly almost intoxicating. She peered up into his face, her eyes drifting longingly to his lips before falling closed for the brief moment that his mouth lowered upon her own. It was the softest of kisses, a quick, casual peck, and then his lips were gone again.

“Morning,” she answered a little breathlessly, smiling wistfully up at him, then watching him as he turned and headed back to his room. Was he… whistling? She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard him whistle before, or partake in any such cheery behavior. Not even after closing a big business deal, not even while he was in the shower. She smiled a bit to herself and strode her way into the kitchen to take his suggestion that she eat some breakfast before they leave. She had a bowl of cereal topped with some hastily sliced strawberries and sipped at a cup of tea until she heard the shower water be turned off. Expecting that he’d soon be ready to leave, she washed her dishes and did a couple of last minute checks around the apartment to be sure everything was in order. All secondary doors locked, lights set to their proper timers, no stray coffee cups or silverware lying around. Of course everything was exactly how it should have been.

With her double check finished, Vianne went back to the hall and saw Dae emerging from his own room, clean and pressed, dressed in light, casual clothes that, whether he knew it or not, suited him quite well. Vianne smiled as he grabbed up her bags for her and asked if she was ready. She exhaled a quiet breath and nodded, opening the door for him since his hands were currently full of their luggage. She was surprised at how calm she felt. She’d expected to feel sort of nervous, on edge. If she was honest with herself, she never really expected that she’d ever be able to be openly intimate with her employer. Touch him, kiss him whenever she liked, no matter who might be looking on, entirely without the fear that he’d be displeased or push her away. She thought it would take a little getting used to, now that their charade would be constant, even more than just a game, a farce to subtly control the opinions of Dae’s colleagues and relations. She considered that it might be awkward, to fall into such an intimate routine with a man she was still coming to know on a more personal level. But… it was nothing if not easy. As they exited the apartment, Vianne let one arm slip gingerly around his, holding herself close to his side as she let him lead the way down to his car. The pressure of their arms coiled together, the way her thumb absently stroked his bicep, it was all very natural somehow.

When they got to the car, Vianne opened the trunk so Dae could stash away their bags, then smiled as she looked at him. The collar of his shirt was slightly upturned on one side, and she reached delicately to smooth it, standing maybe a little nearer to him than necessary. “You seem different this morning, Mr. Moore…” she commented inquisitively in a playful sort of purr. Her eyes settled on his as her deft fingers lingered a moment at his shirt collar. “Maybe I really was wrong to think you’re simply all business, all the time.” And somehow she suspected it wasn’t just an act for her own benefit. He was, in fact, prepared to enjoy himself, and in the company of someone who wasn’t only a paid employee or casual booty call. Vianne grinned a little, then pressed a warm kiss to his cheek before letting both her lips and hand slide away from him as she went to the passenger side of the car and sat herself inside.

xxx xxx

[- - la nuit blanche]

Syeira shivered into the shawl she’d plucked from the shore of the river, absently shaking bits of sand from the slightly damp woolen fabric as she trudged towards the trees. She glanced once over her shoulder and saw that Daunte had not yet moved to follow. He stood a few yards away by the Wasp’s unconscious body, stock still and sort of rigid, Syeira thought, with his back to her. She thought to call out to him, maybe wishing somewhat jealously to yank his attention away from the form of his fallen brother and back to her. And yet, somehow she couldn’t be sure he was actually pondering the immobile body of the archer. He seemed… distracted, by something that was not present there by the river, rather by something unseen. And one of his hands was clenched into a fist, as if holding tightly onto something. Perplexed, Syeira slowed her pace and stopped for an instant as she surveyed the young man. Her brow furrowed and she parted her lips to call out for him, but then his brief moment of pause was almost abruptly ended as he stepped forward, catching himself as though some invisible force had shoved him forward from behind. His shoulders shuddered as he labored for breath, and Syeira’s eyes narrowed inquisitively. She wondered what had come over the man, but then she turned forward again and continued treading towards the forest, deciding his behavior wasn’t so odd – surely he was still only a little shaken by the plain fact that he’d battered one of his own comrades, for the sake of an ill-tempered gypsy girl.

Brushing the last bits of clinging sand from her clothing and wringing the moisture from her sopping hair, she plodded onwards until the voice of the Fox reached her, and she glanced over to see him falling into stride next to her. He inquired sharply as to how she knew the Italians' decided meeting place, and she looked up into his face, wearing a slightly irritated expression, her lips pulling into that signature pout. “I thought I’d told you,” she answered plainly, as though the visions she’d briefly spoken of were no extraordinary phenomenon, no more astounding than the ability to view and hear some illicit thing at a door’s keyhole. “I have seen it…” She considered leaving her elusive response at that, for what entitlement did an Italian soldier have to the secrets of gypsy magic? And yet, something prodded her to continue. Something urged her to confide in this man. These visions, she’d never seen or felt anything quite like them before. If that stone had always carried magic in it, it had only ever before fed her its power through vague dreams, pictures that would be only half remembered by morning, and swiftly discarded. These more recent trances, hallucinations , whatever they could be, were so much stronger, clearer. They frightened her in a way, and she wished to divulge her secret, even to one who would likely never understand. “My mother’s stone…” she murmured softly. “Sometimes when I hold it, when it is near, it takes me away, to… to visions, I suppose. It seems that, at least sometimes, what it shows me is the truth. This is how I have come to know how your companions blamed you when I escaped, their plans to meet at the joining of the rivers… Through these dreams, I have seen the fate that may await you all upon your return to Italia. I have seen you and I…” Her voice suddenly faded and her gaze faltered as it rested upon his face, skittering aside as a light but unmistakable blush bloomed into her cheeks. She swallowed dryly, allowed a hand to dip absently into the pocket of her skirt, and then abruptly stopped, froze where she stood and snapped her gaze back towards the river.

“The stone…!” she gasped, eyes wide with dread. Where could it have gone? She remembered seeing its faint amber glimmer through the fabric of her skirt as she sunk beneath the dark water, but she couldn’t recall feeling its warmth, its glow, after the Wasp had dragged her from the river. Her gaze jerked this way and that over the pebbled beach, from the place where the unconscious Italian lay to the icy, churning river, eyes frantic with terrible regret. She was about ready to comb the whole shore for the coppery rock, even throw herself back into the river to retrieve it, when she paused to look up at Daunte. Even in this terrible frenzy, she could… feel something different about him. One could never know it to look at him, but somehow she could sense a change in him. Even more so, she could sense that the stone rested nearby. It called to her. Her eyes peered into his face, down his form as though searching for something. “You…” she murmured feebly, uncertainly. “Did… Did you find my mother’s crystal..?” Somehow she seemed already to know the answer, and yet she did not pounce on him as she otherwise might have, attempt to wrestle the stone away from him and spit insults and threats at him until he relented. Instead, a profound curiosity came into her eyes and she took a tentative step nearer to him. Her gaze inquisitive, and maybe a little nervous, she looked into his eyes and chewed anxiously at her bottom lip.

“What did you see..?” she finally asked, her voice an almost trembling half whisper. She couldn’t say how, but somehow she knew he did indeed have that amber crystal in his possession, and that when he’d taken it, it had released some of its power into him. She recalled his strange, rigid posture as he stood mutely at the shore, silent and unmoving for a moment as she walked off. The way he almost fell forward, panted for breath, seeming suddenly released from some gripping spell. It was the stone. And yet, she couldn’t understand how. She’d always been told that such magic was inherited, that because it had rested in her mother, it would inevitably be transferred to her as well. Only very rarely would an outsider be destined, be chosen to possess such gifts. Perhaps, Syeira thought, perhaps because fate had evidently bound her to this man, he too could be susceptible to the stone’s power. A new chill surged through her and she huddled more closely into her shawl, her penetrating gaze still resting steadily upon Daunte’s face. “Daunte... You must tell me…”

xxx xxx

[- - la nuit blanche]

Vianne felt like a schoolgirl on a first date as Mr. Moore clasped her hand in his through the ride to the airport. She felt like she was being courted all of the sudden. Not that memories of their less innocent evening together were entirely erased – no, they were still just as vivid as ever, and somehow pondered yearningly upon almost without ceasing – but there was almost something more… genuine, in Dae’s behavior now. He went through the motions – kissing her hand, placing her palm to rest upon his leg as he drove – as flawlessly, as naturally, as any smitten gentleman. He was treating her a little softer, she thought. He didn’t yank her to his lips, pin her to her seat so he could trap her in his kiss. Those displays of manly aggression had been replaced by something more gentle. It was still too soon to tell whether Dae-Hyun was being sincere in his affections, or merely doing his damndest to keep Vianne swooning, and therefore willing to please him. But it’d be a lie if Vianne said she wasn’t enjoying this little ruse already. He was a far more tolerable man when he seemed to be in love.

Conversation in the car was perfectly pleasant. Vianne explained that she’d indeed had a bite for breakfast, then listened as Dae commented that the location where they’d be vacationing was an island he’d bought as an investment. She couldn’t help but laugh a little to herself. She honestly couldn’t even imagine what it’d be like to own an island. It was a thought beyond her wildest dreams. She knew, of course, that Dae’s island was indeed a property for investing in, not like some indulgent millionaire’s yacht or fleet of jets. He was, after all, a businessman, not some spoiled little playboy. And yet, she couldn’t help feeling somewhat in a haze, as if dreaming, as Dae led her to the plane that would take them to their tropical isle. It all still seemed too good to be true.

Steve greeted them as their luggage was carried to Dae’s private plane and Vianne smiled. Her fingers itched to reach for Dae’s hand, but she restrained them. She wasn’t sure if Dae wanted one of his other employees knowing that they were evidently “together” before their actual engagement was announced. She stood by her employer’s side but clasped her hands together rather than reaching for his. Steve teased that Vianne should have a couple of swims on his behalf, and she realized he was flirting with her a little. She couldn’t help but grin and laugh a little. “I’m lucky Mr. Moore’s been so generous as to let me accompany him. There’s always work to be done but…” Where her voice trailed off, Dae’s picked up, assuring Steve she wouldn’t be too busy with her work and they would – both of them – have plenty of time to enjoy the beaches. As he spoke, he drew her in beside him, holding her maybe a little closer and a little tighter than necessary. As her own arm wound loosely around his waist, she realized that he was a bit jealous, set on his guard by the way Steve spoke to her, looked at her. Vianne grinned inwardly to herself; she wondered again whether Dae was merely playing a part for both her benefit and that of the people who would recognize them as a couple in days to come, or if he really had let his jealous side get the better of him. Either way, somehow she found his possessiveness sort of attractive.

As she slid into a seat by a window, Dae apologized for his evident jealousy and Vianne couldn’t help but smile at him. “If I have admirers,” she began a little sardonically, “I’m going to have to get used to that idea as well…” She’d never thought of herself as one who was “admired” by other men. At least, not many. She realized she wasn’t a horrible thing to look at, but she wasn’t flashy, trendy, or rich. There were so many others who made her look perfectly plain. Her beauty was natural, subtle, and given that she wasn’t prone to painting herself up for nights out at clubs or pulling on short skirts and stilettos to gain attention at bars, few really took the time to notice. Nevertheless, she found herself flattered by Dae’s jealousy, and silently tickled by the notion that he thought any other man could grab her attention away from the one she really wanted: him.

“You don’t have to apologize…” she explained quietly as she slid her seatbelt loosely into place across her lap and looked over to him. A slightly lopsided smile came to her mouth and she let her hand sidle its way back to rest upon his leg. “Whether I have admirers or not… I’m yours now, remember..?” She spoke softly and nibbled at her lip as he took her face between his hands and commented that he’d forgotten to give her a kiss that morning. She hadn’t realized that was something he was supposed to remember, but she wasn’t about to object as he pressed his mouth to her own just as the pilot started the plane down the runway. She couldn’t feel the engines rumbling, the jet gaining speed, or the wings lifting them into the air as they took off. All she could sense was Dae’s lips upon her own, his tongue deftly stroking its way into her mouth, the way his perfect hands framed her face, and she kissed back with nothing less than the fervor of a girl about to become engaged. By the time the kiss ended, they were some thirty-thousand feet over the city and Vianne was feeling a little light-headed, to no fault of the ascending aircraft.

As the flight continued, she found herself sipping champagne and looking down out the window as the towns below became nothing but specks, half shrouded by fluffy, cotton ball clouds. By the time they made their way over the ocean, she’d grown a little sleepy and found herself curled up, her head resting comfortably against Dae-Hyun’s shoulder. And when again she opened her eyes some hours later, it was to see the clear azure blue of the Caribbean ocean beneath them. The pilot announced that they’d soon be beginning their descent. After leaving a gentle kiss at that special place on Dae’s neck, just below the ear, Vianne smiled and began to get ready to get off the plane, slipping her shoes back on and gathering her purse. And as the plane lowered to a slightly bumpy landing, she found herself squeezing Dae’s hand a bit tighter than was maybe necessary, just because well, now she could.

xxx xxx

[- - la nuit blanche]

Evey felt herself melt back down into the bed as her glorious lover guided her head to the pillow and cradled her in an arm, his lips searching out her neck and doting upon it with dozens of warm kisses. She still felt something like jelly, blissfully limp beneath Edward’s touch, her cheeks tinged a fevered pink. A little dazed, she could only smile wistfully as her beau allowed her a moment’s rest. She felt briefly a bit guilty for needing those few minutes of respite, and was glad to know that in time, she would come to possess Edward’s same superhuman stamina and strength. Exhaustion wouldn’t come quite so easily then, and Evey wouldn’t allow a second to pass in which she wasn’t ardently returning her love’s favors. But for now, she relished the relaxation that worked through her limbs, each breath that came a little more evenly, and figured that Edward wouldn’t hold it against her if she needed a quick rest. It was all his doing anyway.

Once she’d found the energy to move once more, she raised a hand up to cup the back of Edward’s head into her neck as his sweet kisses continued, and allowed her fingers to comb into his tousled hair when he paused to peer down into her eyes. She looked up at him, and somehow, despite all the intimacy they’d shared over the course of their acquaintance, her heart still fluttered in her chest to meet his expressive, liquid gold eyes. She felt distinctly as though she was about to melt into a puddle all over again. And then he parted his perfect lips and spoke to her of his family, the importance of her love for him, and her bravery. Evey huddled a little more closely in against her mate and tested her quaking limbs, which had at least by now steadied considerably, as she propped herself up on one arm. With a tiny smile, she leaned in to press her forehead affectionately to his. She wasn’t sure she felt altogether very brave… So long as Edward was in danger, there was a part of her that remained a terrified wreck, that huddled in some dark corner of her heart, whimpering and rocking back and forth. And while it was indeed a great comfort to know that Edward would have the support of his family behind him in this battle, in a way that only heightened her anxiety, raised the stakes that much higher. Jasper had already been scarred by this awful business; what if one of them, one of the people Edward had called family for much longer than Evey had even been alive, was lost in the battle? The loss would be devastating to him, and Evey wasn’t sure she could ever escape the crushing guilt of it all. And yet, if her only duty in this affair was to love her husband, the father of her growing child, she would arm him as best as she could with the protection and unswerving loyalty of her love.

The sheer notion that Edward felt he needed her love made the young woman’s heart swell beneath her breast. From what he’d explained to her, she understood that his parents had struggled for years and years to find a companion for their son, to bring him the eternal happiness and camaraderie he deserved. And they had evidently searched in vain. It pained Evelyn deeply to know that for all her lover’s long life, he’d been alone. “I don’t…” she began softly, her voice a little choked and her eyes glazed with a strange sort of pain. “I don’t have it in me, to ever stop loving you. I… I can’t.” It was probably unhealthy in some ways, how desperately she loved him, needed him. She couldn’t imagine what she’d do if she were asked to let him go, forced to give him up. She would be utterly shattered, broken beyond repair. She swallowed hard and nudged her nose gingerly to his, smiling gingerly and giving a small, hoarse laugh. “You have me so wholly, Edward… If I couldn’t love you any longer, I don’t know what I’d do. There is no purpose in this world for me greater than my responsibility to love you…”

And with that solemn vow, she leaned into his lips and kissed him, sweetly, needily, with a passion fraught with desperate emotion. She wasn’t feeling so exhausted any longer, but rather fueled now by a fathomless desire to show, to prove her love for her flawless mate. She tugged affectionately at his lower lip with gently nibbling teeth while one pale arm snuck up to hook around his neck, drawing him down into the amorous abyss of her kiss. Subtly but confidently, she maneuvered his body, almost luminescent in the moonlight that dappled the bedroom, back over her own and shifted her legs carefully apart. While one thigh lifted up to hug against his hip, she let her fingertips trail meanderingly down the slope of his muscled back.

[- - la nuit blanche]

Daunte could curse her, threaten her, drag her by the hair and do all he wanted to scoot her along through the forest, but even as he clasped her face in his hands, Syeira felt her eyelids growing heavy, beads of icy sweat accumulating at her brow and neck. She shivered as she woozily shook her head, feebly trying to shake away at his touch. But she was fading fast and as determined as she might have been to walk to the village on her own two legs (though they were rapidly becoming as frail as those of a newborn fawn), she did not object as, without a word or a moment’s search for her permission, the Italian hauled her up into his arms. All in all, it was not an uncomfortable perch. He felt warm against her, his arms able and strong as they supported her limp weight. She didn’t have the nerve or the strength to struggle, and so she relaxed, letting her fragile arms drape themselves about his shoulders. Then, in a faint, muffled whisper, she half slurred her thanks, “Teşekkür ederim…” and let her head loll against his shoulder

As he began to walk, her eyes drooped shut. The graceful rocking of his gait became an almost hypnotic motion, lulling her into a hazy repose. She weaved in and out of consciousness, lying still in his arms as he journeyed onwards. Her feverish dreams were foggy and fragmented, mainly just murky traces of her previous visions. Five nooses. An old man with a cruel mouth, looking on in satisfied silence. And Daunte, holding her as a lover would, a deep tenderness in his impassioned, hazel eyes. He bent and sweetly kissed her brow, and at that, Syeira woke. She groggily lifted her head from the man’s shoulder, looked up at him. She half expected to see him looking back down at her, smiling fondly then, perhaps, nuzzling his lips once more to her damp forehead, to her hair. But it was truly only a dream. The man she saw now was not gazing at her so lovingly, had not only moments ago pressed a warm kiss to her face. He stared with hard, stoic eyes ahead through the trees and continued, until at last he set her down and she was left to realize that they’d arrived.

Her rest had left her feeling just faintly more alert, at least awake enough now to keep up at Daunte’s side as the gatekeeper finally allowed them into the little village. The settlement was vaguely familiar to her, and yet rather than finding herself comforted by this familiarity, Syeira felt a cold uneasiness seep into her blood. Nevertheless, she said nothing and merely let Daunte lead the way towards the town’s only inn. As soon as they’d stepped inside, she allowed Daunte to deal with the proprietor and tried to make herself as unnoticeable as possible, then wordlessly let the Italian direct her to a little table in the corner of the tavern. She drew her shawl up over her head like a hood and said nothing as she sat, enjoying the warmth of the place and doing her best not the meet the eyes of any of the townspeople that peeked surreptitiously towards her. They sipped at their ale, chomped at crusts of bread, and muttered to their comrades while vaguely motioning to the young woman in the corner. Syeira knew exactly the thoughts in their heads, the hushed, crude words on their lips. However, no one bothered to make much of a fuss. Mainly she was treated as though she were invisible, which was little more than what she’d expected. These upstanding citizens would know her as one of the Roma and would treat her, consequently, as nothing that need be acknowledged with more than a passing glance and muttered insult. Had it not been made clear that she’d been escorted into their town by a paying customer of the inn, she’d have been promptly booted out into the street. As it was, her escort’s money was as good as any and she was left to sit in exhausted silence, really quite thankful that no one seemed interested in challenging her place there.

When Daunte returned to the table, informing her that she’d be given something to eat and that she was not to move until he returned, she nodded mutely, almost strangely subdued. “Don’t be long,” she muttered after him, and somehow a sort of anxious significance reverberated in her tone. As bothersome as the Italian’s company tended to be at times, she wasn’t exactly pleased to be left alone there, amidst so many judging stares and glaring eyes. But for some time after he’d left, she was allowed to sit without being hassled, and after a little while she was brought a steaming bowl of stew. The soup was hot, so she ate it without complaint, but she noticed that her helping was composed of mainly wilted cabbage and precious few bits of meat – the proprietor probably didn’t want to waste a more hearty helping on an unwelcome and sopping wet miscreant. Nevertheless, Syeira spooned the broth into her mouth without raising any indignant protest. For perhaps one of the few times in her life, she’d prefer not to cause any trouble.

And yet, not unexpectedly, trouble seemed to find her anyway. After Daunte had been gone perhaps fifteen minutes, the door to the inn opened and a raucous party entered. Syeira glanced up and saw three or four men with a couple young women in tow. They were all stumbling, slurring through too loudly spoken jokes, while the girls, their faces flushed with color, tittered and let the men push and shove each other for the privilege of attaching each of the young ladies to their arms. One of the men stood out, though, as the leader of the drunken little pack. He was the tallest of his comrades, with a heavily muscled physique, dirty, blond hair and an unshaven face. He limped vaguely as he walked into the inn and when he passed Syeira’s table, she noticed that the knuckles of his hand looked badly bruised. He was fresh from some fight, she expected, and given his broad, exhilarated grin and glistening, bloodshot eyes, Syeira supposed he’d rather enjoyed it and, in all probability, come out on top. He slammed a meaty fist down upon the bar where his party had congregated and ordered a round of ale for each of them, slinging a burly arm around the shoulders of the young woman one of his friends had entered with, and promptly shoving the other man away with a throaty laugh. Syeira sipped at her soup mutely as she watched the party, her eyes absently flicking now and again towards the door in the hope that Daunte might stride through. When she looked back again towards the big, blond brute and his companions, she found that his eyes met her own. Foam clung to his untidy mustache as he lowered his mug of ale from his mouth, and his coal black gaze focused, after a moment of intoxicated struggling, coldly upon her. Syeira swiftly looked away from the man and back down into the dregs of her murky soup, but somehow she knew that she could no longer make herself invisible. The blond man sloppily pounded his mug back down upon the bar counter, looked at Syeira once more from her colorful skirts to the bangles that encircled her olive-skinned wrists, and started unsteadily towards her. “Freunde,” he called gruffly over his shoulder to his comrades, “Sehen sie diese Zigeuner hure?” His great, black boots slicked mud across the floor as he stalked towards Syeira’s table. At last he stood over her, his hands clenching into fists, and she slowly lifted her chin to look up at him. “Zu stoppen, kommen zurück und trink mit uns, du großer narr,” one of the man’s friends grumbled back, ordering a second round of drinks from the inn-keeper. But the tall man wouldn’t step back. He glared down at her, and as she turned casually back to her soup and reached to raise the spoon to her lips, the man swiped his hand like the paw of a great bear and knocked the bowl noisily from the table. His head whipped back to stare at his friends again. “Ihr Idioten!” he bellowed. “Es war wohl ihres Stammes, die uns besuchten im letzten monat. Sie stahlen unsere nahrung und unsere pferde, dann legte flüche auf uns, bevor heimlich weg. Diese stadt hat nichts als krankheit und pech gehabt seitdem. Heiden dreck!” As soon as his final insult had been spat from his mouth, the man grabbed Syeira by the forearm, his hand squeezing bruises into her skin as he yanked her roughly up from her chair.

Syeira understood only maybe every other word the man had said, but she comprehended it all with perfect clarity. One month past, her people had stopped at this village. Their gardens had yielded them no food and they came to town with the hope of bartering their wares for some bread and potatoes, but the villagers refused, out of prejudice, to do any sort of business with them, even as the gypsy children starved. The Roma had camped not far from the town and, some days later, were surprised to see a number of men from the village, including the brute who had walked into the inn that night, coming to their caravan to accuse them of thievery. They threatened to attack if they did not leave their woods the following morning, and set at least two wagons on fire as warning. It was not an uncommon occurrence, being blamed for crimes no gypsy had even bothered to commit, and then punished by those who thought themselves superior. Syeira wondered if she should’ve told Daunte that she may not be welcome in this village before they’d arrived, but if they were to take any refuge from the storm that was sure to be raging outside, there was really little choice.

Syeira tried to free her arm from the man’s grasp but she was only so strong as a ragdoll as he tightened his grip and shook her. “Du dieb! Du dreckige schlampe...” he snarled into her face. The din of the pub had grown almost silent, but the man’s voice lowered as his insults continued. A boorish smirk came to his lips and his words grew more and more explicitly obscene, and he spoke slowly enough now that very few went misunderstood. He leaned in as he spoke them to her, chuckling coarsely between crude murmurs and flicking his tongue to swipe across her cheek. His lips were very near her ear when he grabbed for her free hand and pulled it to his groin, his vulgarity unceasing as Syeira found herself trapped, pinned between the man and the corner where she’d been seated. But as she jerked her hand away, she couldn’t quiet her temper any longer. She wrenched back and thrust a knee hard into his groin. The man instantly released her, but he scarcely stopped to grimace before raising a hand high across his front and bringing its back down hard upon the side of the young woman’s face. The sound of the slap cracked like a whip and Syeira was knocked to the floor by the force of the blow. Dizzy, tasting her own blood in her mouth, already weakened by sickness and grief, she laid still, one frail hand holding onto the leg of a chair that sat near to her head. She could hear the man chuckling from somewhere above her, but the sound came as if through water. As the man roughly grabbed her by her hair to pull her back up agan, she felt her consciousness begin to waver.

xxx xxx

[- - la nuit blanche]

Vianne wasn’t sure how long she’d been dozing when she finally woke up again, instinctively kissing Dae’s neck before lifting her head from his shoulder. He greeted her from her nap, asking if she’d slept well, and just as the door to the pilot’s cabin opened, she gave a still slightly sleepy nod and a happy but dazed little smile. She’d slept rather nicely indeed… Her dreams allowed her to relive the moment – just minutes before she dropped off to sleep – during which Dae had brushed her hair behind her ear and turned to look at her, really look at her, while inquiring what else there would be for her to have to get used to, in addition to the idea that she might be occasionally admired by other men. The way his almond eyes, so warm at that moment, surveyed her face, the way he shone on her all of his intimate, unwavering attention, made her feel as if there couldn’t possibly be anything else about this situation that would take getting used to. Of course, when she’d spoken, she’d been considering just about everything about this new relationship. She’d have to get used to letting him have his hands on her whenever he wanted, the idea that she was no longer his attentive, perfect, but distant employee, just like any of his dutiful business associates. She’d need to grow accustomed to the thought that now, finally, she had him for herself in some way, that for the first time in well, years, she would know in some way – whether or not it was merely part of a business transaction – what it meant to be passionately loved by a man she adored. But she could remember none of this as he’d looked into her face, and had answered him only with a knowing smile and a small, dismissive shake of her head before letting him hand her a glass of champagne and little plate of fruit slices and cheese to snack on.

And now they’d arrived. Once the door had opened for them, Vianne found her new beau unhooking her from her seatbelt, and for some reason, that made her cheeks tingle with color. Suddenly, yet again, she found herself feeling a little wary of this situation. It was easy – too easy – to let herself act as if she was in love with him, to display her readiness to let him love her. And then she had to remember, this was exactly what she’d asked of him. She’d challenged him to convince her that he loved her, and he was rising (as she maybe should’ve expected he would do) spectacularly to the test. Now she had but two choices: to let herself, while she could and without any consideration that this was all still just a game, give into it all and enjoy her time with him as his cherished lover, or to remain as distanced as she could, to be catty and a little insulting and sharp with him only as a means to keep that steel lock fastened so tightly, so protectively, around her heart. As he offered her his hand and asked her to let her thoughts and worries fly away from her on that plane, begged her to let him care for her, Vianne looked up at him and hesitated just an instant. She still felt uncertain of her choice, but it was so, so tempting to give Dae the chance to care for – and maybe even take care of – her for once, after all the months she’d so generously cared for him. She lifted a tentative hand and placed it in his.

In no time at all, both their luggage and themselves were packed into a sleek car and the driver was taking them off down the road. The island was breathtakingly beautiful from the scenery Vianne peeked at through the window. Leaning slightly over Dae’s body beside her, she stared at visions of sapphire and turquoise waves, the most lush, green landscape of hills and tropical forests, and not a single cloud in the sunny sky. Like a small child, she stared at it all with wide eyes, filled with curiosity and excitement. She’d only ever known her provincial little village in France, or else the impersonal city she’d come to in order to work in Mr. Moore’s house. She’d never before seen anything so exotic, and somehow, it was all completed in its sheer beauty, its tempting, humid allure, when her eyes happened to find themselves retreating in from the window to look beside her, at her host.

By the time they arrived at the house, Vianne was certain she must still be dreaming. The driver opened the door for her and she released Dae’s hand – which she’d been holding onto almost the entire drive, even though she’d been so stunned and entranced by the view to speak too much – as she stepped out. Their luggage was taken into the house and Vianne followed Dae to the front door in a bit of a daze. It was like a tropical cottage, pleasant and comfortable in every way, and the beach outside seemed to sneak its way into every room; it was all so open to the gorgeous scenery. As the driver asked if Dae required anything else, Vianne leaned in a little to whisper in his ear, “May I have a look around?” She spoke so timidly, though her voice was almost vibrating with excitement, as if she could not believe that this place existed and that it was, at least for a short while, all hers. While Dae went about completing their arrangements with the driver – probably telling him when to come pick them up again for their return flight, Vianne thought – the young woman moved about the house, peeking into each room and finding herself all the more impressed. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen anything more beautiful. And then she arrived in the bedroom and for some terribly silly reason, her heart skipped a beat when her eyes laid themselves upon the bed, knowing with a thrill that this was where she would come at night with Dae. How frequently would they make love there on that bed? It was a question Vianne couldn't help but consider, and despite the heat of the place, a small shiver raced through her.

And of course, the room was exquisite, bright and open with wide doors, veiled by flowing white curtains, that opened to what looked like a little balcony which overlooked the “backyard” – a particularly divine patch of beach and palms that led to the clearest, bluest sea Vianne had ever seen. She stepped through the room, letting her fingers absently trace the pristine sheets of the bed, then went out to the balcony. A small stairway led her down from it to the beach below and, almost as if in a kind of trance, she shed off her shoes and began to pad through the sand, down towards the water. She stood at the very edge of it, allowing the calm little waves to lap at her bare feet, grinning to herself as she tugged the skirt of her sundress a little higher up from her ankles so it wouldn’t get wet. She looked out at the two-toned blue horizon, where the deep, aqua sea met the clear, powder blue sky, and raised a hand to shade her eyes from the sun. A cool, forgiving breeze ruffled her hair about her shoulders and she inhaled a deep breath of the warm air. It smelled of sea salt and rainwater. She guessed that so lush an isle as this must get quite a lot of rain at times, and wondered with another inward smile if maybe a day of heavy rain might keep she and Dae inside one day during their stay, where they could only take shelter in the gorgeous little villa, and each other’s arms.

Truly, it wasn’t at all fair for him to bring her here. This beautiful place felt like something that shouldn’t be allowed, such a paradise outside of the city and all she knew. Here, in such a foreign and exquisitely beautiful locale, she felt somehow… new. She wanted nothing more than to fall in love; what else could a woman want in a place like this? And as Dae had asked her, all of her worries, all of her inhibitions, were left in her seat upon his private plane. She couldn’t think of anything so troublesome anymore, not now, as she stared out across the gorgeous sea and bent, finally wetting the hem of her sundress, to catch up a small, spiraling, cone-shaped shell from the sand at her feet, just before another little wave raced up to her ankles to snatch and carry the shell away again. She admired the little shell in her palm, its sandy, faint pink color, and then glanced over her shoulder, back towards the house to see if Dae might have found her yet. Perhaps it was this tropical fairytale taking its toll on her, or the damp, pleasant heat of the place urging a happy mist to blanket her better judgement, but she was missing him terribly all the sudden. Somehow, reluctant and wary as she’d been with the man who could sometimes be so cold and hard, she couldn’t stand his absence any longer.

xxx xxx

[- - la nuit blanche]

Vianne Auclair had arrived in the big city some eight months ago. All her life, she’d lived in simplicity, trapped in her provincial little hometown in the French countryside where no one expected her to do anything more than get married to a good, local man, teach Bible lessons to tiny children on Sundays, and of course, produce a fair amount of children of her own for the other village women to dote on and spoil. But Vianne wanted more than that. Not that she hadn’t been happy with her life in France. On the contrary, it had been almost like a storybook tale. Her parents – lovely, mild, and unfailingly humble people who loved their only daughter more than anything in the world – owned a little country cottage and a modest dozen or so acres of green fields. Her father was a carpenter and a bit of a tinkerer, and her mother was known to be the best cook in the county. They had a darling little vegetable garden, a chicken coop and an old cow, and everything – supposedly – that they could ever want. Vianne had been raised to be kind, respectful, and generous, not given over to materialism or greed, but despite her learned love for simpler values and her own innocent naïveté, she was also naturally gifted with a keen, ambitious mind. She was a clever girl, and at twenty-two, she knew that if she stayed in her little village any longer, she would never leave, never have an adventure, come to know herself better, or pursue her own potential. So, with the sad but forgiving blessing of her parents, she left France for the big city overseas and found herself accepted into a rather prestigious university. She thrived with her major in Literature, gobbling up books as ravenously as she could, and toyed with the idea of pursuing a PhD. and becoming a professor one day. But, after only her first semester, she realized a harsh truth: she couldn’t afford her education. She had to leave her university and look for work. She thought that maybe if she made some money, she could go back to school, or at least sustain herself in the city a while longer. The last thing she wanted to do was go back home, feeling a failure and resigning herself to her fate as some simpleton’s wife.

In finding a proper occupation, at least, she had quite a bit of luck. The sister of her landlady – a woman who just adored Vianne – had just resigned from her position as some wealthy businessman’s housekeeper. It was a respectable job that paid quite well, and would give Vianne free room and board. So, with the recommendation of the man’s former employee, she was hired. That was some four months ago now, and she’d proved herself without fail to have been a good investment on the part of her employer. She was extremely attentive; within a week, she had perfected every one of her duties, and by the end of week three, she was cooking her employer only his favorite meals, knew exactly which newspaper to have laid out by his breakfast every morning, and was in touch with his secretary at the office so she could be aware of any changes in his business schedule that might affect her responsibilities to him at home. She was the perfect servant, which meant that she was also quite adept at making herself invisible. She inhabited a small room within the man’s upscale apartment, which was where she took her breaks, her meals, and slept, so that she was never in her employer’s way. If he had visitors in his home, they’d never have the faintest notion of her existence. Unfortunately, this seemed to be her employer’s understanding of her as well, and that broke Vianne’s heart in a way she could never let herself show.

The truth was, she admired him. Of course, he’d never know it. Her affection for the cool, calculating businessman was only ever displayed in the subtlest of ways. In the little vase of flowers, handpicked from a nearby garden, that happened to show up on his kitchen table each Sunday morning. In the way the house always seemed to be stocked with that exact snack he sometimes craved late at night. How, whenever he came home from a hard day at the office, a glass of water and a couple of aspirin always happened to be sitting on his bedside table to soothe the headache he’d complained about. But he never noticed, and certainly never thanked her. Vianne remained a ghost to him, and she felt stupid each time she found herself aching to be one of those modelesque socialites he surely had a taste for. What could she ever be in comparison to such women? She was a simple girl, pale with mousy brown hair, blue-green eyes that normally looked to be more of a dull gray, and a silly spattering of light freckles across her nose. Not to say she was entirely unpleasant-looking, but she wasn't trendy, she wasn't some temptress who could strut around in stilettos and make men fall down at her feet. And somehow she felt that meant that her employer would never really see her, not if she worked right there in his home for a hundred years.

But that all changed last night. He’d stayed out quite late, long past dinnertime. Vianne had been left to suspect that he’d gone out for dinner instead, and around midnight, she sat brooding in her room over visions of her employer dining with some beautiful blonde heiress, buying her martinis and then letting her invite him back to her penthouse suite for the night. She curled up on her bed in her nightgown, trying to sleep, and then she realized that she hadn’t turned down her employer’s bed sheets that night. It was one of her typical duties and she wasn’t sure how she’d managed to forget. She hurried hastily into his room, first dragged his bin of laundry out to be taken care of, then started to neatly pull back the covers of his bed. Somehow she hadn’t heard him come in through the door to the apartment, nor through the door of his bedroom. But when she turned to leave, he was there. He looked somewhat disheveled in the dim light of the room, but before she could even apologize for disturbing him, he stepped close, took her in his arms, and kissed her. Perhaps Vianne should’ve fought harder to object, but somehow she couldn’t. It was like a dream. His mouth devoured hers, sensual and heady, and his hands began to fumble with her nightgown…

It was still quite early when Vianne woke up the next morning. She was accustomed to rising by about five ‘o clock in order to get her morning chores done, but it was closer to seven by the time her sleepy eyes opened. She stretched a little, and smiled gleefully to herself, feeling giddy and unbelievably satisfied. To be sure it hadn’t been a dream, she looked to her side, and sure enough, there he was. Peacefully asleep, his nude body lounging comfortably alongside her own. Vianne bit her lip through her grin. Last night had been… “Incredible” just didn’t seem a good enough word to describe it. While Vianne couldn’t admit to having a real wealth of romantic experience, she knew well enough when sex was simply pleasant, and when it was mind-blowing, earth-shattering -- and last night could definitely have been categorized as the latter. Their connection was unbelievable somehow, and Vianne blushed a little to remember some of the finer points of their night of passion. But now, she thought, everything would be different. He’d noticed her at last, and now she felt like it would all be like a fairytale. He’d grow smitten with her, he’d stop taking her for granted, he’d finally appreciate her feelings for him, and they’d fall in love.

Breathing a small sigh, still smiling dreamily, she nestled herself deeper into the blankets and absently draped an arm across the man’s chest as she replaced her head down on the pillow beside his. After last night, she guessed that she wouldn’t be expected to resume her usual workday this morning. Maybe he’d even decide to make her breakfast for a change…

xxx xxx

[- - la nuit blanche]

As soon as Vianne looked back in search of Dae, she found him, standing at the porch and looking back at her, as if he knew she’d be wanting to find him. She smiled a bit as he began to tread over to meet her, but looked away almost shyly. Once he was beside her, he told her that she suited this place. She peeked up at him inquisitively in response, unsure exactly what to make of this. What did he mean..? She really felt sort of out-of-place in this exotic locale. With her fair skin and light eyes, she didn’t feel much like any sort of islander at all. In fact, she wasn’t even a very strong swimmer. But then, she had a feeling that whatever Dae meant, he meant it as a compliment, so she simply smiled a little and let him go on to ask what she thought of the place. At once her smile broadened.

“I can’t believe you’ve had this property, and have never come here before now…” she commented almost as if scolding him. She let him open up her hand to see the little shell she’d retrieved and quietly relished the feel of his fingers on hers. When he let her hand go, she started to walk along the shore, taking his cue to explore a bit, and motioned for him to go with her. “I’d figure that a hard-working businessman such as yourself would take advantage of investments like this. You deserve to… I think it’s beautiful. I’ve never actually seen the ocean before, not like this.” She looked out at the gorgeous blue sea for a moment, then glanced back to Dae-Hyun. “I must seem so naïve to you…” she added softly, giving a small, dry laugh. She’d never really thought of herself as being so irritatingly… innocent. Sheltered. She wondered if Dae liked that about her, or if he found it comic, or something he could just exploit to his advantage. She thought she could keep up with him, his world. After all, that’s what she’d always been tending to during her employment with him, the fast-paced, sometimes corrupting universe of business, of the wealthy elite. But then she remembered what Dae had told her before letting her go to wander around the house, that she still needed to get used to the idea that he wasn’t her boss anymore, not here. Would she still be able to keep up with him so well as his mock fiancée? Could she not only plan parties and galas for him, but play the charming hostess? Could she slink around in handsome gowns and jewels and flaunt herself about like all the models and heiresses he was probably used to associating with? Would people be able to tell that this was a lifestyle she was so unaccustomed to, or would she be able to fool them all, to change herself to accommodate Dae’s way of living?

Truthfully, the idea of joining Dae in that world sort of frightened her. It would put her out of her element, that was certain. But as anxious as she was, she knew that she was a born professional, and she could play any part her lord and master asked of her. She was, after all, being paid for it.

That wasn’t something she really wanted to contemplate any further though, not now. As she plodded along the shore, letting her toes sink into the fine, warm sand, she glanced back up to Dae and let an arm slip around his waist, pulling herself nearer to him. As her hand rested near his hip, she opened her fingers to reveal that little souvenir shell and snuck it into his pants pocket. “Now, Mr. Moore,” she murmured silkily, allowing her chin to rest lightly on his shoulder. “You have me stranded here with you on a desert isle… I have nowhere to run… No way to escape… You can do just about anything you’d like with me…” Her lips curled into an alluring, mischievous smile and her arm slowly unfastened itself from around his waist. “But you’ll have to catch me first.”

She pecked a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth, then she was off like a shot, running playfully away from him along the beach. When she glanced over her shoulder to look back at him, she was grinning broadly, challenging him to race after her.

xxx xxx