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Forever More Chapter 21
Distant Relation (S)
Post-RITD, pre-Chapter 7/III. Dress
This is really the result of an inside joke of sorts. Thank you to parisianprinceling and chaosdynamics for the conversations that inspired this nonsense.
There's a couple of cheap shots in here and nothing to be taken seriously. I don't expect this to really be funny funny but more akin to having a weird interaction with that one strange relative.
“There’s something you should know, before people arrive.”
The words caught her off guard, as did his tone.
“What, you’re actually part of a French crime family and if I’m marrying in, I have to undergo some weird welcoming ritual?” Sophia asked.
The engagement party was already shaping up to be better than her previous one, although she kept that to herself (and Vincent). His parents outdid themselves and were far more welcoming than she expected. She tried her best to ignore the quips about how it was about time their son “settled down and did the right thing” and the raised eyebrows at her age.
They were old-fashioned, to some extent, but nothing she couldn’t deal with.
“One branch of my family is British. Everyone gets along well enough,” Vincent prefaced. “It is the cousins you need to be aware of. One in particular. Bincent .”
Sophia almost dropped the glass she was holding. Had she misheard?
“ I’m sorry ?”
“His actual name is Reginald but we call him Bincent.”
“That’s not really an explanation, you know.”
“You’ll understand when you see him.”
______________________________________________
She did understand.
If they stood side by side. The eyebrows, maybe the hairline. From the back, they could pass as one another.
Cousin Reginald (she refused to call him Bincent to his face, although it seemed to be used among the cousins all around the same age) held otherwise little resemblance to her fiance. Blue eyes, a little older, and a nose that seemed to be recessive among the family traits.
He almost kissed her on the lips. And it was impossible to miss the look Vincent gave after a whispered conversation. She’d caught most of the words and she did her best not to look as though she knew precisely what had transpired; it was the same conversation she imagined people called “locker talk”. Sophia thought Vincent was going to gut him like a fish and yet Reginald took it in stride, as if this was par for the course.
When the couple was left alone again, Sophia turned to find Vincent red in the face.
“I forget how utterly awful his French is,” Vincent muttered. “Do not speak English if you don’t need to. He will become a leech.”
His cousin’s French was worse than Audrey’s. Which was saying something, considering the journalist had the worst grammar and pronunciation. Sophia tried not to wince.
“So…why the nickname?”
“British Vincent. I hated it. I couldn’t stop it. But the uncles and aunts couldn’t tell us apart and I almost ended up on a train headed towards London because no one knew green eyes from blue ones. But it also means botched–”
They were interrupted by Cousin Reginald, bearing a small photo album.
“I believe your mother wants to see you, Vinny boy.”
Vincent arched a brow and looked across the room. Sure enough, expectant eyes waited. Before he stepped away, he bent down slightly and murmured to Sophia, “Remember what I said. And if he tries anything, may as well make use of your heels, ma chérie .”
The faint touch of his fingers holding hers lingered a moment longer before he walked away. Vincent’s departure wasn’t without a warning glance.
“I’m sure you probably feel out of place, surrounded by all these frogs,” Reginald said in English after Vincent was out of earshot. “Then again, Paris is pretty cosmopolitan, no?”
“ Actually, I’m pretty at home by now. I’ve been in Paris for years.”
He stared at her before he smiled awkwardly and said, “My French is shit, I’m afraid. Vinny no doubt told you, in case it wasn’t obvious.”
Sophia smiled, torn between being polite and listening to Vincent. Considering how close he’d come to immediately breaking boundaries, she opted to, for once, take Vincent’s advice.
“I’m anglophobic,” Sophia said before taking a sip of champagne.
“You’re afraid of fishing?”
Without missing a beat, she said, “Fuck off, Bincent.”
He did just that, only to turn and almost bump into Vincent.
“She’s got some bite , Vinny,” Reginald said, looking pleased. “You damn lucky bastard.”
“I am lucky, aren’t I?”
______________________________________________
After lunch and dessert, they were bombarded again, this time by Bincent carrying a photo album. He shouldn’t smile so wide, Sophia thought. It always seemed to make his face crease unnaturally.
“Has he shown you some–”
Sophia knew the glare Vincent bore. Thin ice. Thinner than a bug’s wing. She placed a hand on Vincent’s arm casually and smiled.
“He hasn’t, although I’m sure there’ll be time–”
She was soon shown pictures of summer family gatherings, names she would vaguely remember.
“You were cute,” Sophia murmured in French.
Vincent looked offended, mirth dancing across his lips.
“Were?”
“You’re more handsome than cute now, mon coeur.”
And then she came across a picture and the words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them. No wonder the parents had trouble keeping track of who was who. Although there were a few years between them, the two boys looked almost identical.
“How the hell–”
“I’m the finer specimen, clearly,” Reginald teased in English.
“You could have been handsome if it wasn't for the accident.”
“Stop telling people I had an accident. It was a face lift.”
“They certainly used the jaws of life to do the work, Bincent. ”
Reginald laughed and lifted the glass he held in his other hand ever so slightly. Vincent’s smile didn’t quite meet his eyes, she noted, but perhaps this was just…their thing.
When the party finally wound down, and they were rid of guests and niceties, officially alone, Sophia reached up and began to undo Vincent’s tie. As she did, she looked up at him, eyes tracing the lines of his face.
“Vincent, promise me something?”
“Of course, ma chérie.”
“Never get a nose job.”
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parisianprinceling · 2 years
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Rêvant de Toi I - Tourmenté
(On AO3)
Soulmate AU for me to relive the olden days of fanfic.
Vincent and MC are haunted by dreams that leave them longing for each other, even though they've never met before. Are either of them ready for the consequences of such a meeting?
Her gaze could light fires in the darkest abscesses of his mind. The deep crevices where his insecurities went to bury themselves into his psyche and further the blackening of his heart stood no chance against the spark in her eyes when she bestowed her attention onto him.
His chest tight, he watched her with bated breath, waiting for the softest of sounds to leave her gentle lips and render him alive once more.
Her tender hand found his cheek, and his eyes closed on their own accord as her fingers brushed against his cheekbone, tucking a stray tendril of hair back into place. His head tilted, resting its weight into her palm as he gave her what was left of his resolve on a silver platter. He was hers; everything that he was and everything that he would be, belonged to her and her alone.
He felt her nose graze against his own and the breath he was holding left his lungs, the air between them warm and thin as her lips met his, the world melting away around them. He swore that he must have been made with the sole purpose of being ruined by her with the way she fit against him so perfectly.
Mumbles of adoration fell from his tongue and were silenced by her, lost once again in the torrent of his devotion for her. His own words failed him, and he resorted to the speeches of those far better equipped against the ailment of ardor.
“J’ai observé tes yeux, chacun de tes mouvements, ton air; j’ai tremblé à tout. Tu peux qualifier un tel comportement intéressé de traître, de perfide, de meurtrier. Un amour si semblable à la haine devrait provoquer le plus grand mépris et la plus grande colère,” he murmured softly against her lips.
She merely smiled in response and laughed softly, her breath tickling his skin.
“Mais c’est pas le cas, n’est-ce pas? Mon cœur…” she trailed off, grazing her lips against his once again.
He gasped softly, desperate for her touch.
“Non… t’as raison…” he sighed. “Je t’adore… sans hostilité… sans animosité…” He lifted his head to follow her slightly as she pulled away. “Sans regret…”
She regarded him with a soft smile, a hand against his chest to keep him from trying to reach her lips once more.
“Je t’aime… mon cœur… pour toujours…”
He closed his eyes again as she kissed his cheek, reveling at her warmth before it disappeared altogether. When he opened his eyes, she was nowhere to be seen, the warmth against his skin replaced by the beams of the morning sun, illuminating the bedroom around him.
After a moment, he turned his head to the side with something akin to hope, but found the bed empty as it was every morning, the sheets on the other side of the bed nearly untouched except by his own occasional movements during the night.
He sighed and closed his eyes just long enough for her face to flash in his memory once more before sitting up, his fingers combing themselves through his hair. These late night visions were starting to exhaust him.
Like how most of the stories tended to go, she only came to him in dreams, haunting him just enough to keep him hooked, to make him remember her face, her voice, and anything that could possibly lead him to her. The visions were supposed to be temporary–it wasn’t supposed to be hard for soulmates to find each other–but unlike the stories, her image had been plaguing him for months now to no avail.
The first few had been tame enough. In his dreams, he saw her in passing, walking by with friends, catching his eye from a street corner, coyly winking at him before disappearing, but over time, they became more intense. His dreams had begun to feel real, like she was actually there with him. He could feel her touch, her lips against his skin, but everytime he woke up, she was always gone, leaving him nothing but her image to go off of.
If he was being honest, he had been surprised when the visions first came. It had been a long time since he believed himself worthy of that kind of love, either because of the rumors that surrounded him or the wall he himself had built up around his heart. But even though the knowledge comforted him in some ways, he hadn’t made any effort to find her, even though he had seemingly infinite resources at his disposal as a man in his position. Fate aside, he had come too far to open back up again.
He didn’t know what kind of man he might become if he met the person destined for him, the only person left on Earth who held the potential to bring him to his knees.
But after months of torture, of soft whispers in his ear and caresses against his cheek, he wanted nothing more than to see her, to bring reality to his visions so that he could focus once again on his life in front of him instead of the one he led in his dreams.
After another moment of gazing at the empty space beside him, he forced himself to get up and get ready for the day. He couldn’t afford to daydream his mornings away. He still had a company to run and decisions to make. He was a man known for his efficiency, of course.
And as he expected it would be, the morning at the office was even more draining than usual, given his state of severe sleep-deprivation. His already short fuse was cut to the bit, and it didn’t seem like any of his employees understood the concept of “do not disturb.” Countless phone calls were redirected to him, full of complaints and ass-kissing alike, and by lunch time, he couldn’t even stand to be in the building anymore.
Instead of waiting for everyone else to file out like he usually did, he was the first one out the door, donning his scarf and sunglasses and craving some fresh air and a cup of coffee from his favorite café in La Défense.
This was going to be a tiresome day.
-------------------------------------
She shivered as his warm fingers brushed against the back of her neck, and a weight settled over her collarbones.
She let her fingers trail along the golden chain around her neck until they settled over a charm, resting against her skin. She traced the shape and let her eyes close as his lips pressed against the curve of her neck, sending another shiver through her body.
“What are you playing at, mon cœur?”
She felt his laugh reverberate through his chest as he stepped closer, pressing himself against her back. One of his hands fell to her waist while the other brushed the hair back from her neck, leaving her even more vulnerable to his advances.
“Why do you always insist that I’m up to something, hm? Can’t I just cover you in jewels because I want to? Because they suit you?”
She rolled her eyes and swallowed the sound that threatened to rise from her throat when his warm breath tickled her skin. She lifted a hand to entangle it softly in his hair and she felt him pause, a soft groan escaping his lips as her fingers found purchase against his scalp. She hummed smugly at having silenced him.
“One day all these jewels are going to weigh me down and I won’t be able to move,” she purred and leaned her head back, loosening her grip on his hair.
He grinned and lowered his head.
“Good,” he breathed, his lips ghosting softly against her own before he continued, “Then you’ll never be able to leave my side.”
She laughed softly at his response and turned in his arms, cupping his face softly with one hand as he closed his eyes in bliss.
“Je vais nulle part sans toi, mon amour.”
She felt his grip tighten and pull her in against him. His eyes opened once more to gaze down at her in admiration.
God those eyes.
Like emeralds set in the most brilliant of rings, they shone with mischief, constantly narrowed but always warm at the sight of her.
“Je sais, ma chérie.”
He lowered his head, brushing his nose against hers for a moment before kissing her tenderly. She felt herself melt in his arms as she always did at his touch, legs weak only for him. She could never refuse his kisses, the moments of his affection where it seemed that in the world, she was the only thing that mattered in his eyes.
“Je t’adore, Isabelle.”
Her hand left his face as he pulled back from the kiss, aiming to pull him back in by the waist, but when her hand reached out to grab onto him, she found nothing but the empty air.
The cold room she awoke in was a stark contrast to the warmth she had just felt in her mystery-man’s arms. She groaned and pulled her duvet up over her head, already beginning to ache as her eyes adjusted to the light in the room. The sound of dishes clinking from down the hall told her that Kat was already awake, likely getting ready to leave for her day at the library, given that she had a large project due within the week.
She had planned on sleeping in, seeing as she only had two days before she had to start reporting to work, but it seemed almost pointless to go back to sleep now that she was awake. She had plans of touring a little more of Paris while she had the chance anyways, she’d just start a little earlier.
And besides, if she went back to sleep, she’d only be haunted with more dreams about her strange green-eyed lover.
Begrudgingly, she pulled herself up and started for the bathroom, taking the blanket at the foot of the bed with her to block out the freezing air of the apartment.
She made her way to the bathroom and groaned when she caught sight of the dark rings under her eyes in the mirror. Pulling at her face, she sighed before starting to shuffle through her drawer for her concealer stick.
It didn’t really make sense. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t sleeping. She got the recommended amount of sleep almost every night, but even so, it seemed as if her dreams were zapping all the energy away from her before she even woke up. It was starting to become unbearable.
Back in America, she had dreamt from time to time about her so-called “soulmate”, but it had always been just vague glances. An outline maybe, a physique, but it wasn’t until the days leading up to her trip to Paris that they became clearer.
Slowly his visage had unscrambled and she had seen his eyes for the first time, and since then, they had been burned in her mind. The sudden increase of intensity in her dreams made more sense to her once his voice had joined the mix; a deep, smooth timbre, with a gentle French lilt that seemed to chase his otherwise perfect English–though it was when he spoke French that she noticed her heart beating even faster.
She shook her head suddenly at the thought of him, and sighed, rubbing her eyes softly with the heels of her palms. She needed to try her best to chase him out of her head if she wanted to get anything done today.
And so, she got ready for the day, applying a liberal amount of concealer under her eyes before getting dressed, actually trying to put together an outfit that was somewhat stylish. She wanted to see the city like a native, not like a tourist, and she figured the best way to do that was to dress the part and go to the places of the city that typically shied away from the usual tourist crowds.
After all, there was this small café in La Défense she was dying to visit for lunch.
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A Chapter That Will Be Properly Posted When I’m More Awake But For Now Lives In Weird Formatting
2019 November, Week 32/40
Thanksgiving rolled around again, a quiet affair with the usual crowd minus Sophia’s parents. Vincent wanted nothing more than to pack up and live in the countryside for the foreseeable future. Which was saying something because he usually had a hard time falling asleep to silence. If not for her doctors being much closer in Paris than anywhere else, he had a feeling Sophia wouldn’t need to be asked twice.
The soft sound of exacerbation from the woman beside him at the table told him everything he needed to know about the phone in her hand. The six hour time difference meant that by the time they were settling in for dessert, her family was only beginning to gather. It interrupted the flow.
And how could anyone eat dinner so early?
It hurt to see her so frustrated by her own family. All because she was unable to fly home.
They excused themselves to once again dance along the family obligations and endure being passed around from relative to relative. Some lamented their absence while others lamented the absence of Vincent’s wine choices from years prior. Unsolicited baby advice was abundant.
“Was any part of that call genuine?” Vincent asked when the call ended. “It felt as if they were burning us alive for fun.”
“No one got the memo that flying this late in pregnancy is a risk for some,” Sophia muttered. “Or perhaps don’t care.”
He watched as the corner of her mouth twitched downward, the hand resting on the curve of her stomach shifting slightly. She shook her head, a gesture he wished desperately took away every itch of worry; it only quelled the instant panic he seemed to have lately. He needed to be prepared for literally anything and it had him on edge, even when they were in the same room.
Sophia pressed a hand to his cheek, brushing her thumb over the delicate edge of his cheekbone.
“Let’s enjoy tonight. At least it’s quiet,” she said.
A clatter in the other room, followed by shattered glass, a warbled yowl, and three shouting voices pierced the calm.
The smile and wry laugh were just the balm he needed, anxiety slipping away into familiar and manageable chaos.
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Vergissmeinnicht XIII
It was just one night. It wasn’t meant to be more than that. Even if neither of them could entirely forget the other. She wasn’t expecting to see those piercing eyes again, especially at the other end of her desk. And he didn’t make a habit of sleeping with colleagues. Also on AO3.
She expected the car. It was, after all, the same vehicle Vincent took her home in.
But she didn’t expect it to show up at her building’s curb and draw the attention of her roommate and their neighbors. The driver stepped out and after a minute, the buzzer sounded, the tone harsh and intrusive.
“Goddamn it,” Sophia muttered as she caught sight of the sleek car.
“Oh, yeah, he definitely still wants to bone you,” Kat teased as she peered down, toothbrush poking out of her mouth. “Wants to make himself known to the people nearby.”
“Shut up,” Sophia threw back as she darted into her bedroom and gathered her bag.
She was going to have to lay down that boundary. He probably found her address from her personnel file, granted, but she would have met him in front of the office. In fact, that was agreed upon yesterday.
So much for that.
Sophia tried to soothe the last of her stray flyaways as she made her way down the stairs, chastising herself when she realized what she was doing. It was just her boss. She needed to be presentable, not perfect.
The driver opened the building door for her before she got a chance to do it herself and managed to open the car door as well in a smooth, fluid and anticipatory movement. Vincent was already inside, of course, his seat reclined to make room for his tall form as he scanned the tablet in his hand.
She had no idea that backseats could recline.
He offered a cordial good morning as she settled in, and as she returned the words, she tried not to think about how those were the only set of words they never said to each other in private.
When they pulled away from the curb, Sophia said, “I would have met you at the office. There was no need to pick me up.”
“We have to head north anyway,” Vincent replied. “I recalled you mentioned you lived in the 18th and it made more sense to save the time.”
He sounded so earnest when he said it. Somehow that made the ache in her chest all the worse.
After a moment of silence, Vincent said, “However, I suppose I can see how that assumption gives the wrong impression and crosses a line.”
He plucked a cup of coffee from the large armrest between them and held it out to her. Sophia took it, trying to ignore the jolt that ran up her arm as their fingers brushed.
Was it ever going to get easier?
“I don’t think it qualifies as appropriate for our circumstances. But I appreciate the thought.”
Vincent pulled away first, carefully avoiding her fingers again, and turned his attention back to the tablet to continue reading.
“Duly noted.”
The silence that passed between them felt more like a wall than absence of sound. How did one build such a barrier of propriety when it didn’t exist to begin with?
Sophia pulled out the folder she began reading last night and carefully made her way through the contents again. It wasn’t just information on this one painting in particular; a record of all created works, press clippings and praise, letters, eventually early emails, sketches…
She didn’t want to ask. Asking such a thing felt invasive, personal. The very thing she was trying to avoid to begin with.
But if there were dynamics or minutia she needed to be aware of…she would look a fool in front of everyone if she didn’t.
She didn’t want to fail.
And the idea of failing Vincent felt even worse.
After a few sips of coffee (so much better than the sludge Kat made this morning), she found the courage to let the words fall from her lips.
“For the sake of transparency and so I’m not stumbling over details with the owners, this painting is by Paul Géroux, right?”
“Correct.”
“The same Paul Géroux who also founded the magazine?”
Vincent turned his head to her so quickly she thought he gave himself whiplash. He hadn’t expected her to know; it was clear in the way his brows furled together and the firm line of his lips. She kept her expression neutral in return and swallowed the desire to defend her line of thinking. If it was as personal as it seemed, it was important to allow the person to speak and set the boundary, not the other way around.
After a soft exhale, Vincent turned away and directed his gaze on the road. Knowingly, he asked, “Mathias?”
Sophia winced but admitted, “He mentioned Paul at lunch yesterday; I filled in the rest with a few quick searches online.”
Vincent was quiet. He sipped his own drink once, twice, and then, before he could speak, his phone chimed. He pulled the device out of his inside jacket pocket to take a glance.
“Insufferable bastard,” he muttered, thumb making quick work of a response. “By all means, just throw off my schedule for the sake of your lack of foresight…”
Sophia averted her gaze to give him at least the semblance of privacy. Today didn’t seem to be going as he’d planned.
“My apologies for my language and my reaction.”
She turned her attention back to him to find Vincent leaning back with his eyes closed and his free hand on the bridge of his nose.
“Laurent has a whimsical tendency and has decided to take the more scenic route. It’s inefficient and inconvenient for the owners, nevermind us, but he never quite thinks that far ahead.”
He caught himself and clarified, “Not us in the…” Vincent’s hand left his nose to gesture vaguely to the space between them. “Rather, in the sense that both of us have separate schedules that should have been considered.”
“I knew what you meant, Vincent.”
He muttered something under his breath that sounded like, Glad one of us did.
“To continue your question, yes, the very same Paul. And the owners we’ll be seeing are his parents. The fact that Laurent has decided to dally makes this all the harder.”
“Is he…usually this difficult?” Sophia asked.
“Yes, so I should have anticipated such antics but alas. I despise nothing more than a lack of consideration.”
Vincent tapped his cup, finished what little was left, and then gestured for the folder in Sophia’s lap. She obliged and he pulled out two photographs; each depicting a different name but a similar flourish.
“Paul only signed one set of paintings under his legal name; the rest are under a pseudonym, under which he was rather well-known. The family wishes for discretion but that the painting is signed under his actual name makes it all the more valuable.”
The G’s and the R’s were the same shape and size and the brushstroke for the signatures was smooth. Very likely the same person and if there was record of both names being attributed to Paul, the only option was that it was him.
Something about this just seemed…odd. Why would they be selling their son’s painting? Especially one that had his personal signature, a mark of intimate knowledge, rather than his more well-known moniker?
She wasn’t sure it was a question she wanted to ask aloud; the line she was walking for this assignment was more narrow than fishing wire and far more tenuous.
When she looked out the window again, the city had given way to suburbs as they headed into the outskirts of Paris and beyond. Eventually, houses faded away into countryside, green landscapes and distant rolling hills. Idyllic and lush and vibrant under the stunning blue sky; it was much more beautiful at this level than it was in the plane. She couldn’t help but wonder where, precisely, they were going, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask.
Vincent fractured her thoughts by saying her name and she looked at him again to find the folder neatly arranged and held out, a silent offering.
“I hope you can understand now why, precisely, I wanted someone dedicated to discretion and without the legacy that others have to work on this. I need tact, consideration for the living and the dead, and a fresh eye.”
She took the folder silently and nodded her understanding. He’d said yesterday that privacy was paramount and now she knew, precisely, why. He and the rest of the parties involved would have nothing less than her utmost dedication to keep names out, if that was the approach desired.
So much of this was as intimate as their weekend together, if not more so.
Didn’t that defeat the purpose of their agreement?
Another question she dared not ask.
Sophia was beginning to get sick of those.
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Vergissmeinnicht X
It was just one night. It wasn’t meant to be more than that. Even if neither of them could entirely forget the other. She wasn’t expecting to see those piercing eyes again, especially at the other end of her desk. And he didn’t make a habit of sleeping with colleagues. Chapter also on AO3.
His assistant was out but the doors to his office were open, the man himself deep in thought.
If that furrow in his brow was anything to go by, the very same one she caught on Saturday, he was serious with everything in his life, be it art or work. She pushed down the urge that came from nowhere to smooth her thumb over the tension and instead focused on her breathing, on how to not make it awkward.
He didn’t look happy.
Was it her? Or whatever happened from his last meeting?
She stepped through into a space with dark wood paneling. The heavy walls were offset by the large windows, shelves filled with books and a painting of a pug and a banana behind him like a caricature of a Warhol.
“Close the doors,” Vincent instructed.
She fumbled with one of the latches for the pocket doors before sliding them home. This was it, wasn’t it? She was fired. Her employment visa was going to be revoked and she would have to return home with her tail between her legs.
Sophia swallowed and focused her attention on the monitor to Vincent’s right—her left—titled in such a way that she could just make out a competing magazine’s website. City of Love was written in bold script across the top of the site. She’d applied there.
They hadn’t wanted her.
“We ought to have a...discussion,” Vincent said, looking at her over the rim of his coffee cup. “Have a seat, Sophia.”
Her heart jolted at the sound of her name. She took a seat at the singular chair that sat on the other side of his desk. Her stomach was in knots.
“I recognize this is quite...an unorthodox situation, and quite...awkward, at that. But I feel it’s imperative that—”
“Don’t fire me. Please.”
Vincent’s eyes widened and his face fell ever so slightly. Good god, the man looked like he ran over a puppy.
Was she that pathetic?
“What makes you think I would terminate your employment contract?” He sounded concerned and genuinely confused.
If she didn’t feel guilty for leaving him before, she certainly did now. They’d been respectful to one another otherwise, save her hasty departure, and he hadn’t tried to track her down, as far as she knew. He deserved a bit more credit than that, surely?
“We...I mean…if anyone found out...I don’t want to be the reason for a scandal.”
“You trusted me enough to accompany me home and be intimate but think I’m petty and shallow enough to fire you in an attempt to save face? I’m aware of the rumors that I’m a ruthless scoundrel but I do have standards.”
They both cracked a small smile for a moment, gone in an instant. Vincent’s eyes fell back onto his monitor before returning to her.
“It is precisely because you’ve proven to be trustworthy that I’ve decided that I’d like for you to work directly with me to cover the auction and the circumstances surrounding it,” he said.
Sophia blinked and tilted her head slightly. “I...I’m honored but isn’t it a sensitive story? Marion mentioned the story might need someone with a hand for optics and…”
She trailed off when Vincent let out a breath through his nose.
“You’ll learn very quickly that Marion says a lot of things, Sophia. Her ambition gets the best of her more often than not. She is not suited for the situation. I would have given this to Mathias but he’s got more on his plate than usual. I need a trustworthy outsider for this. You have the background on stories like this, handling details with care, and you hold a great respect for artwork.”
She tried to keep her tone as neutral as possible. Was he keeping her close on purpose? “This weekend isn’t a conflict of interest in that regard?”
“As far as I’m concerned it never happened. From this point onward, provided you’re capable of being discrete and professional, our...entanglement won’t interfere with your employment.”
She wasn’t sure what she expected. This was, in all situations, the best case scenario. Move past it and continue onwards. After all, she was the one who left without a trace.
So why did she feel so disappointed? And why did she still feel like her body was on fire every time he looked at her?
“Great,” Sophia agreed, her stomach sinking further than she wanted it to.
Now if only her heart could stop pounding in her head.
“The auction is in two weeks’ time. In that timeframe, you, myself, and Raphael Laurent will be speaking with the current owners about what the piece meant to them and their connection to the artist and the artist themself. Laurent is...doing his own work for City of Love and I have been unsuccessful in persuading him not to.”
He explained further and provided details for the next two weeks as far as a schedule. They would leave for a small town in the suburbs first thing tomorrow to get started. A thick file awaited her reading and she took it, crading it to her chest along with her notebook. When she rose to leave, she stopped, hesitant.
She hadn’t given it much thought but the guilty feeling in her body was as heavy as lead. She’d walked out on him without so much as a goodbye and here he was, using their chance meeting as reasoning to give her a crucial story that could end up impacting more than just her own writing career.
“Can I say something? Just between you and me?”
“I assume you mean without the pretext of employment?”
She nodded and after a moment, Vincent gestured with an open hand. The floor was hers.
“For whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry for leaving. And for context, I’d still be sorry even if we never met again. I was trying to avoid an awkward goodbye and it seems I’ve landed in weirder circumstances instead.”
She took a breath. “I don’t want to be given projects because of circumstances that happened outside of my role here. I’m honored but it feels wholly undeserved. If you’re so keen on forgetting what happened, then it shouldn’t be used as justification of my character or skills for a crucial piece.”
Something between annoyance and indignation crossed his face and he opened his mouth to speak before promptly shutting it again. He looked away and let out a breath, as if absorbing her words, before he nodded.
When he looked back at her, his eyes were as piercing as they were the first night they met.
“If that’s how you feel, then I suppose I could just assign it to someone else. But I don’t think anyone else is capable of doing it justice without personal bias. Even without our encounter, I would have given this to you because one of your portfolio pieces covers restitution from all perspectives and from the shining references you provided to which everyone attested one of your best skills was your disinterest in nonsense and dedication to the privacy of your sources. I have no interest in favoritism. Is that clear now?”
Sophia bit her cheek. Idiot. He’s not stupid, she chastised.
She’d just made a fool of herself.
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Perhaps consider it isn’t me that you need to prove yourself to. That’s all, Ms. Cousland.”
She turned, unlocked the door, and slid one open just enough to slip through before sliding it shut behind her. Thankfully, the assistant’s desk was still empty, and she was able to return to her tiny office without running into anyone.
Her resolve felt more fragile than it did at the start of the day. He was right, wasn’t he? If he could overlook their momentary lapse in judgment and the fact that they knew one another as intimately as they did, then she should be able to do the same. She got this job because she was good at what she did and the only thing stopping her was herself.
Sophia spent the rest of the day reading over the file and packed up her things when everyone else did.
She plastered on a smile until everyone went their separate ways at the building entrance. She paused long enough to pull out earbuds and prep for the long ride out of the heart of the city. After a quick text to Kat to let her know she was on her way back, she noticed a familiar car pull up to the curb, the driver stepping out to attend to its passenger, opening the door in preparation.
Sophia’s eyes caught the driver’s and despite a look of recognition, his face immediately went back to its stone cold demeanor. As it should have, given his boss arrived almost as soon as the car door was opened.
Before he stepped into the vehicle, Vincent paused when he spotted her still standing on the curb.
“Have a good evening, Ms. Cousland.”
She gave a polite smile, reminding herself that discretion was key. Forget, forget, forget…
“You too, sir,” she said, turning and heading in the direction of her metro station.
Sophia tried not to think about the feeling of a set of eyes on her the entire way to the corner. Dare she think he was concerned for her commute home.
How ridiculous.
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hi! <з thank you for filling this fandom with wonderful content such as beautiful writings, fresh ideas and funny promts!
what do you think would happen if Sophia bumped into Richard at some party and started arguing with him and then Vincent came to save the day? (everything RITD related)
thank you for answering! 🖤
This is stupidly long but also this is my utter weakness. Dark tones further in, clear references to ab*se and unhealthy relationships. Maybe even slightly out of character but in many ways, Vincent never quite lets go of his darker nature, I just don't focus on it much.
This had to be a joke. Him, at the same party as her and Vincent? Clearly no one ever read the notes she left in her RSVPs.
They ran in the same circles, if the past year was anything to go by. It was bound to happen eventually. Again.
She just didn't expect it to be here. At a benefit dinner. It was like the Kennedy Center all over again.
The last time they saw each other, she had intentionally spilled hot coffee all over him before dashing off to catch a taxi. In her defense, he attempted to drug and coerce her into an airport bathroom, and he was guilty of a lot more than that.
Just typical ex-fiancé things.
Everything went fine until she stepped outside to catch some air before dinner and bumped into the only Richard well-deserving of the common nickname, Dick. Literally. He dodged the sloshing of his drink and she managed to avoid ruining her dress but he moved with her when she tried to go around him.
"The Savior of Paris graces us with her presence," a voice drawled, a little too free with his American accent. "Our host has a sense of humor."
"Or wishes one of us dead," Sophia retorted, clutching her phone so hard her knuckles turned white.
Not tonight. Please just not tonight.
"Always such a good sense of humor, kitten."
"Don't."
Richard blinked before an easy smile crossed his lips.
"What does he call you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your lowlife criminal husband.”
She was going to snap her phone if she held it any harder. It was impossible to keep up a calm façade around him. As if the last shred of her dignity begged her to fight for all the times she didn’t, couldn’t. She spent so much of her life being polite and aloof. It was what her image was built on. No one caught her flipping tables and screaming in public.
So, as much as she wanted to, she withheld.
“You act as if a politician is of a higher caliber than the owner of a self-made empire.”
“He’s a felon.”
“So are you. The only difference is his job is not dependent on the opinion of the people.”
Sophia tried again to get away only to find her upper arm gripped tight by a free hand. She glared, wondering just where the hell the security at this party was, if she was being touched by someone who…
“Let go of me.”
When he gripped her arm tighter, she felt panic welling in her chest.
“I said, let me fucking go, Richard.”
“We’re not done here.”
She was going to trip if she moved the wrong way and probably at least twist her bad ankle, if not break it (again). The less she moved, the better. But as much as she tried to steady her thoughts and her breathing, the fear in her won out. Words spilled from her lips, her filter gone; she once would have let pleas and cries and efforts to appease fall from her mind to her tongue. But now, it was simply rapid fire thoughts in hopes of catching someone else’s attention.
“My life is none of your business. It stopped being your business when you decided to sleep around behind my back rather than break off our engagement. When you stopped coming back to the apartment. When you would tell me I didn’t believe in your cause after a day of blood and blisters from canvassing. I couldn’t smile for years without feeling you gripping my neck like a goddamn dog. Pick any instance you want, but what my husband calls me, what my life is like without you, is not your concern.”
In her fervor, she did exactly what she hadn’t wanted to and shifted her weight. Her ankle buckled and she fell into someone else as she tried to put distance between her and Richard. Familiar hands, ones she knew to be both kind and cruel, caught her before she tumbled to the ground.
Sophia registered the soft French in her ear, spoken only to her. So many found the timber of his voice terrifying. Not her. Never her.
“Tu es en sécurité maintenant.”
It took her longer than she liked to admit to look up at him, to see his eyes instead of Richard’s.
“Tu es en sécurité avec moi.”
He righted her, his gaze immediately falling to her injured foot and muttering under his breath. Many would have drawn the comparison to a broken purchase but many would have just as easily missed the way Vincent shifted his hold on her. He could bear the brunt of her weight with no issue and she could elevate her ankle for the moment.
“Do you make a habit of grabbing women when they want to be left alone, Monsieur Ingram?” Vincent crooned, fixing Sophia’s hair as if Richard wasn’t a foot away, unsure of his options. “I believe Sophia made it quite clear some time ago that she wished to not be near you.”
Eugene appeared and took Vincent’s place, ice wrapped in a cloth napkin. The sounds of the dinner party inside bled out from open windows, a beautiful swell of music mixing with the sounds of glasses clinking, conversation, and cutlery on plates.
The valet tried to lead her away but she shook her head, almost entranced.
“I didn’t want her to fall, she can be like a baby deer. You know how she is.”
Richard had the gall to laugh. Vincent did not join in. Instead, his eyes narrowed in amusement, lingering on parts of the other man’s suit, sizing him up as he did anyone else he ever crossed paths with. Sophia could only compare it to her first meeting with him, and then the first time she saw him in action working with those he funded.
Somehow, this was worse.
Especially considering Vincent had long-standing plans that may or may not have included cinder blocks and hungry sharks when it came to Richard. He broke a wine glass when she finally told him. And Vincent made it no secret how displeased he was when he heard the other man was in Paris.
“No, actually, the comparison isn’t quite as apt as you think it is.”
Vincent’s words were shockingly soft. He picked a piece of lint off of Richard’s shoulder and brushed the fabric down again.
“You see,” he continued, “Sophia is much more self-sufficient than a baby deer. She doesn’t need you, or me, or even Paris itself and all of its glamoured legacy. She is not a fawn lost without a leader to cross a busy street. But you know that, don’t you?”
Richard shifted his weight, casting a skeptical look at Vincent, but didn’t make a move otherwise.
“That's why you ripped her away from her family, isn’t it? Isolated her?”
Vincent continued to adjust the other man’s suit, fixing his collar.
“What is the saying, ‘It takes one to know one’?” Vincent asked, taking the other man’s tie in his hands and tightening the knot, pressing it into the other man’s Adam’s apple.
Sophia inhaled sharply. She didn’t think he truly meant the jabs about ending Richard. Or rather, that he would act on them. She cast a look at Eugene, who shared her concern, but the valet held her back.
“He never gets his hands dirty,” was all Eugene said to her.
“I know what you are and I know what you seek,” Vincent said as he dropped the other man’s tie and instead reached for the back of Richard’s neck. “Control. Power. Recognition. But you don’t need to abuse your partner, now do you?”
Sophia could feel what that grip was like, how her muscles were pinched to the point of bruising. She bristled but she couldn’t turn her gaze away. This was the Vincent from the catacombs, the one let his pride take root, and swallow everything in its path.
“How does it feel, to be treated like a misbehaved dog, Richard?” Vincent hissed.
Richard swung wildly, fist tight, but Vincent’s other hand was quicker, grabbing his wrist. Security finally saw fit to interrupt and Vincent was swift to grab the narrative, that Sophia was wronged, and injured to boot. She finally found a seat on the terrace and took the ice from Eugene, pressing it against her bare ankle after testing movement. A few days of rest and it would be fine.
Vincent knelt in front of her, carefully replacing her hands with his around the cold compress.
“You’re terrifying,” she said after a beat.
“Knowledge you’ve had for a long time, Sophia. Except I'm never terrifying to you. I’m sorry you had to see that.” Vincent examined her ankle and moved the ice to another part of her injury. “Shall we head home or would you prefer to stay?”
Sit and let the other guests ask about what happened and endure more stares and whispers? Or curl up into bed after throwing her heels back into the closet, wrapping her ankle, and taking ibuprofen? The choices were so difficult.
“Home sounds good,” Sophia replied, resting a hand on his cheek.
He leaned into her touch and kissed her palm, the remnants of the darkness that consumed both of them fading into the night.
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Vergissmeinnicht IX
It was just one night. It wasn’t meant to be more than that. Even if neither of them could entirely forget the other. She wasn’t expecting to see those piercing eyes again, especially at the other end of her desk. And he didn’t make a habit of sleeping with colleagues. Chapter also on AO3.
They were the last two to leave the office, Marion locking the door behind her before they headed to the elevator.
“Between you and me, Vincent seems a bit...off today,” the Frenchwoman confided as the elevator doors closed. “I don’t know if it’s his meeting with Raphael or what. But he’ll need someone with a strong hand to manage the optics of the auction. Something like this can easily end up a bit...skewed.”
“Understandable,” Sophia said, mentally crossing her fingers. “Should I...know the Raphael you’re referring to? Is he a client?”
Marion laughed.
“It’s complicated. At best, they’re business partners; at worst, they’re rivals. And oftentimes, they’re both all at once. Others know the story better. I found it...odd for your first day and wanted to mention it. In case you were worried.”
Sophia threw a smile that she knew looked a little too tight.
“Nothing goes smoothly on the first day. If it does, that means there’s something to hide, you know? And I don’t get that impression here.”
Marion’s shoulders relaxed considerably.
“Good. We can’t make you feel nervous when you haven’t even begun.”
They approached the restaurant where the rest of their colleagues were already seated, one of the loudest tables in the establishment.
She quickly learned everyone’s names (again) and found herself pushing away her empty glass to avoid being given wine with her lunch. Sulfates gave her migraines, and when she said as much, the subject was dropped fairly quickly. It was easy to think of her as prudish, even with her valid reasoning.
How little they all knew.
And how much more she knew about their boss…
“Raphael came by just as we left, right?” Marion asked after everyone placed their order. “I thought I heard his voice.”
“I can’t even try to keep up anymore,” Mathias said. “It was probably about the painting. Boss probably already put in a bid for it and Raphael found out. The usual multi-millionaire pissing contest.”
Sophia was vaguely familiar with the entire concept but couldn’t help but feel lost.
Mathias caught the look of confusion on her face, took another swig of his glass, then asked, “You knew a lot of the background of the magazine, more than other candidates. But I’m hardly surprised you’re a bit lost, considering this arrangement isn’t public. Where to begin...”
He waved a hand and continued.
“The magazine is called Triumvirate for a reason. Three founders, best friends; Vincent Karm, Raphael Laurent, and Paul Géroux.”
Mathias took a deep breath and fixed his hair before he continued.
“The three of them wanted to go into publication but they all had their own strengths and ended up in different sectors. Vincent’s actually in television and advertising; he comes in about once or twice a week to keep us on track but otherwise we’re pretty self-sufficient. Paul died suddenly before the magazine could take off��it was his brain child, after all—and by then, Vincent and Raphael already had their careers on track. So, Vincent picked up the mantle of leadership and Raphael funded the capital. Splitting the work, you know?”
“It seems like it leads to some...tension, though,” Sophia ventured. “That has to be hard, even if you’re friends.”
Marion made a sound, her lips pursed. “I wouldn’t necessarily say they’re friends. Not anymore, at least. Business associates at best.”
“This is true," Mathias said. "Vincent has the money to support the magazine outright but to cut Raphael off is in bad taste. Raphael always seems to have a final say in anything despite never being involved in operations but his input softens all of the angles Vincent insists on covering.”
“People have joked about how they argue like a married couple,” Marion said. “They were fired.”
“And not because of…” Mathias pointed at Marion, a warning to not skew the narrative, it seemed. “Social reasons. They were actually incredibly incompetent. Vincent’s schedule was ass-backwards and it took Eugene a month to straighten out conflicts.”
“It’s why I’m here,” the blonde winked at Sophia.
“All that to say, you won’t find anyone better to write under or a better team to work with. Internal politics aside.”
The conversation continued, older colleagues recounting their experiences. Discussions on current stories and plans and ideas. Offerings of contacts, resources, suggestions to get other opinions, their boss’ included. Everyone worked so well together.
A well-oiled machine.
She felt like she was learning more and more about the man with every passing hour. It felt almost intrusive.
They returned to the office on time, a loud chattering bunch that dispersed upon arrival. The energy didn’t die but instead seemed to continue to people’s desks, reinvigorated for the afternoon. Sophia did the same and returned to her office, brushing her fingers over the touchpad to wake her laptop up. She kept an eye on the clock, reviewed and changed her biography, and sent it to Marion; before she knew it, she found herself gathering her things and heading towards Vincent’s office suite.
Now or never, moment of truth…
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Vincent paced impatiently outside the bathroom door of his master bedroom, checking his watch to see just how time they had left.
“Sophia, are you certain you don’t need any kind of assistance in there? I would be more than happy to—” He began but stopped once the bathroom door opened and Sophia stepped out.
He swallowed hard at the sight of her. For once, the man of many words was speechless. Sophia walked out of the bathroom and gave a spin to show off her costume.
She was dressed as Morticia, complete with wig, the dress offering a plunging neckline and hugging her curves. Vincent stared hungrily, a dangerous glint in his eye as he took in her appearance.
“I don’t think that’s quite the right appearance for Gomez.” she said with a giggle
“It’ll be absolute agony until this party is over, darling.”
“Don’t torture yourself, Vincent. That’s my job.”
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For Your Consideration VI
Will make proper post later. AO3 is here.
She returned to DC to consolidate her life.
To finally take a look at what she’d missed for the past few years.
Obtaining transcripts of texts had been surprisingly easy. Scrolling through their shared photo account was even easier. How had she missed all of those signs? All of the intentions behind the photos were so clear now, how she and Richard posed like stiff cutouts while any picture with her was so relaxed…
She printed and archived emails. She sorted copies of bank statements and receipts for the reception. So many calls she would have to make.
After all, Richard couldn’t (wouldn’t) do it. She’d planned the entire event and now it fell back on her like a house in Kansas after a tornado. A deep part of her wanted to leave Richard to clean up the mess but it would simply end up on someone else’s plate anyway.
Her lawyer was, thankfully, on her side, and their prenup was already combed through. The document had been her idea, on Richard’s behalf, a demonstration of her loyalty. And it covered their engagement and their marriage.
Not the ring, however. The warranty was voided, naturally, as Richard reminded her the other night. He would keep it.
In the end, everything was neatly organized into a single flash drive to be shared between attorneys.
A second drive held everything to be handed to Vincent. More than what the lawyers were getting. Richard was meticulous about his work files but not his passwords, nor his saved logins.
Nothing was of a classified nature, nothing was related to an election nor a plan regarding party lines or whatever nonsense was beginning to happen now. It wouldn’t be treasonous if she were caught.
But she would be forever untrustworthy if she was.
Around her, the man she came to know as Eugene and two nameless individuals took care of the bags and boxes she packed the day before. Important identification papers she would need for a lease or a bank account. Things she wanted in New York, things that were hers. Many of the things on the walls, for instance, along with the hidden collection of books scattered throughout. She was uncovering her own secrets, bit by bit; the emptier the place became, the more of the veil she pulled away.
The apartment had been such a good idea at the time. New. Tons of sunlight. Stainless steel appliances, white countertops, sleek and clean and soulless.
It was like living in a white cube gallery.
How utterly devoid of love this place was.
Wherever she ended up, she would make it her own.
So far, the press was quiet. Whether it was due to Vincent or other factors wasn’t wholly clear and she didn’t entirely care.
She tried not to think about the voicemails sitting and waiting for her. Her parents were understandably worried and couldn’t seem to be assuaged when she mentioned she was returning to New York. Her mother’s hesitancy when Sophia mentioned Vincent Karm spoke volumes, given her career as both an artist and a curator, but all she told her was to be careful and to be sure to visit.
Sophia resisted the urge to step through to the terrace, fling her phone to the street, and be done with it all. Someone would pick it up, find out it was hers, and ruin everything in favor of making Richard look like a saint.
Women in politics were always villainized.
But she had what she needed. A way out. A way forward.
And if she had to step on the man who stepped on her first to do it, so be it.
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For Your Consideration III
A business card. A train ride. A conversation. None of it was what she expected. Vincent Karm x OC, alternate universe with RITD elements. Darker, gray morality. Available on AO3 here.
Richard did call. In fact, he called just as she was arriving back at her hotel after dinner with Vincent. The Frenchman raised an eyebrow when she silenced her phone and pushed the call to voicemail. She waited on her ex-fiancé hand and foot; Richard could wait five minutes for her to finish her own business.
She wasn’t about to take that call in front of Vincent. But Richard called again and again, sent text after text. Her phone never went back to sleep. Her heart jolted and her stomach twisted as she froze in the lobby. Sophia knew better than to cry by now. It would solve nothing. Her hands shook.
Upon seeing her state, Vincent excused himself to the bar and mentioned he would wait exactly one hour. She stopped typing mid-response to Richard and almost asked if he was sure but stopped herself when she felt the piercing stare. Someone like Vincent Karm was always sure, what a stupid question to even consider. Sophia steeled herself, drawing what little power she could from Vincent’s own certainty, and retreated to the privacy of her room.
It was messier than she wanted it to be. There were tears, and not just from her. Whether they were real or attempts at manipulation, she neither knew nor cared. All of it was still painful.
Even more so to hear the voice in the background.
In the end, it came down to an agreement to contact lawyers to sort through their pre-nuptial agreement, for Sophia to take care of wedding vendors, Richard to deal with the landlord, and for him to keep the ring she so unceremoniously dropped in his glass. After all, the warranty was voided.
Sophia said she hoped it didn’t weigh down another’s hand the way it held down her own.
Neat and tidy.
Nothing like their actual relationship.
Sophia splashed cold water on her face, redid what makeup she needed to, and returned to the bar downstairs with foggy thoughts. She took a deep breath and located her dinner companion, who had taken a table tucked into a corner.
It was time to figure out her next steps.
____________________
Vincent didn’t seem to drink. In fact, he seemed to enjoy running his finger down the edge of his cognac glass than actually taking a sip. But he anticipated she would, according to the knit in his brow when she asked the bartender for a glass of water and a strong cup of coffee.
“You said there were other elements to this…arrangement,” Sophia said, fixing her coffee after the other maître de on shift placed her drinks in front of her.
Green eyes shot a look at her phone, laid face up on the table, and she pressed the home button, revealing the phone to be turned off.
“As I mentioned, I will buy the exclusivity on your story. This will include the purchase of other publications’ stories to suppress and ultimately control that exclusivity, a venture that will take considerable money and time. It is a practice that many of your own media companies follow.”
Vincent leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers towards her.
“Be my private art consultant in New York.”
Sophia lifted the white cup to her lips and then paused. Had she heard that correctly? He wasn’t even asking her, but telling her to take a job for him, from him?
“I’m sorry?” She asked, looking at him expectantly as she took a scalping sip.
Strong but just barely. A passable effort. They likely only made the coffee to mix it with Jameson.
Vincent let out a soft sound of amusement through his nose and reached for his glass. He swirled the dark amber liquid with an easy movement of his wrist, and then finally took a sip. He marveled at the color for a moment before returning his attention to her.
As if he finally deemed her worthy of his attention again. Or perhaps she was reading too much into it, her call with Richard left her nerves raw.
“Given I happened to not only find the artwork you chose to be an exquisite piece of postmodernism but that your explanation sold me on the symbolism, it would seem there may be…another opportunity. I’ve long considered hiring a private art consultant, at least for New York. The flight is long and I have found auction houses to be unreliable in this particular area.”
When she didn’t reply, he continued.
“Be my private art consultant here. You do, after all, need a way to establish a way to live now that you’ve cast yourself into the cold.”
He was right but he didn’t need to sound so holier than thou about it. She had a resume and experience; she could job hunt on her own. In many cases, her face would be enough for a gallery receptionist or assistant; she wasn’t model-thin but she was practiced. The commute from Montclair would suck, if she settled in with her parents again, but it was something. Karm’s offer wouldn’t be the only one.
Especially when she didn’t have a description, pay, or whether she would have health insurance. She was almost aged-out of the eligibility to be on her parents’ policy…
The to-do pile in her head kept growing and she took another sip of coffee to hide her panic.
“Consultant implies an independent contractor. That places the burden of health insurance and other benefits on me. The American system is hardly modern; the pay would have to compensate that cost if I’m not offered health insurance through employment.”
Vincent cocked his head. “You don’t have a centralized healthcare system?”
“No. It only passed earlier this year and even then, it’s highly political and subject to be gutted at any time. I’m almost twenty-six, I won’t be eligible to be on my parents’ policy, either. Whatever you offer, it needs to include insurance or the cost of it so I can pay for it myself.”
He took another sip of cognac, his lips twitching into a smile that almost crinkled his eyes.
“What?” Sophia asked.
“Just be sure to direct your negotiations skills to Mr. Ingram as well. You will have what you need.”
He quoted a salary, along with additional considerations, that almost made her spit out her coffee.
“Judging by your reaction, I assume that covers that, Ms. Cousland?”
Finding her voice, she managed, “Perfectly.”
“Good. This brings me to my conditional offer. Bring me evidence of dear Richard’s infidelity by the end of the month and I’ll cover the costs of the graduate school of your choice.”
She felt as if someone stole the very air from her lungs. Her original plan had been to attend a Master’s program in DC. But that was quickly squashed by her engagement, by Richard’s erosion of her passion and drive for anything other than whatever she was meant to be for him. Suddenly, studying for the GRE exam was almost impossible and she couldn’t plan a wedding and send in applications. Besides, Richard mocked, did she really want to go back to school only for people to harass her, given their social situation?
Richard stole more from her than she cared to think about.
And here it was, staring her in the face.
For the low, low price of handing over private records. Records belonging to the supposed love of her life who, for the better half of several years, had been sharing a bed elsewhere.
After all, if Vincent was buying exclusivity, he would need the evidence to back it up, prevent it from falling into the hands of others so easily. That made sense. And Richard deserved it for the pain he caused her, physically and emotionally.
“Of course, that’s only under the assumption you want to continue your education. A graduate degree is almost certainly a requirement for many positions now, isn’t it, given the state of the job market?”
He really didn’t need to remind her of that, either.
“What kind of evidence?” Sophia asked at last.
Vincent shrugged, bored by her question.
“Anything that will hammer the nails into the proverbial coffin. Records, photos, things that would be impossible to mistake for anything except what they truly are now that the picture has been revealed. In this kind of situation, I need to consolidate as much evidence as possible for the sake of leverage. You strike me the type to, despite everything, not strike back. Aren’t you tired of rolling over, of keeping the peace, Ms. Cousland? Why not take the lesser evil and gain a leg up?”
It was the ultimate way of getting everything back. A new job, diving back into everything as if she never left. Let her revenge be her success, her freedom, not in the personal vendetta. Something to focus on for after the dust settled.
She nodded, the warmth from the drink in her hands not reaching beyond her palms. She wasn’t entirely sure what she expected from this arrangement, in hindsight, but there was no looking back now. Vincent knew she wouldn’t refuse such an offer; not even he could be oblivious to the rising cost of education in the States.
“You’ll have your evidence,” she said at last.
“Excellent. I will have the papers drawn up for the rest of it,” Vincent finished what little was left of his drink.
He slid a large bill under the glass (surely his drink didn’t cost that much?) and rose to button his jacket. Blue clashed with green. Her patience was frayed to its last thread.
“Do try to get some sleep, Ms. Cousland. You’ll do no one any favors if your health suffers. I’ll be in touch.”
He left without another word.
She downed the water, abandoning the coffee altogether. After settling her tab, Sophia returned to the cramped but peaceful room. So far, she managed to hide most, if not all, of her frustration from the past twenty-four hours. Save the single moment earlier.
The tempest kept at bay finally broke through. She was finally alone with her thoughts, her chest constricting in agony. The weight of what she found, what she’d done, finally crashed upon her, slamming into her like a tidal wave.
She fell asleep with the reminder that she needed to either develop the strength to do bold things, or resign herself to suffering.
Sink or swim.
And she was tired of sinking.
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Silver
Vincent's gray hair begins to sneak back in. She doesn't quite understand why he doesn't like it.
The grumbling from his side of the master closet was more frustrated than usual. Sophia gathered what strength she had and rounded the corner to find her husband with his nose practically against the mirror, inspecting his hairline.
“I am keenly aware that it’s only natural, please spare me the comfort, Sophia,” he muttered.
Vincent fussed with his temples, knowing there was no way to hide the silver any longer by simply styling his hair a certain way.
“Is it really that bad?” she asked, wrapping her arms around him from behind and peering out from his side, just under his shoulder.
“When the competition is increasingly younger and younger in my line of work, yes.”
She reached up and pushed his hair back into its usual style, the sides dashed through with silver.
“I happen to think it looks quite fine,” Sophia whispered.
He shot her a look that said, You’re my wife, you’re morally obligated to say such a thing.
“I knew you dyed your hair,” she continued. “When I would wake up next to you in the morning, I felt like it was my own little secret that I could spot where you hadn’t covered up just yet. That, and well, I caught a stray shopping receipt Eugene dropped and I did monitor your finances for a few years…”
“If you’re trying to help, ma cherie…”
“I like the gray and you carry it well.” Sophia met his eyes in the mirror, her gaze firm. “You can do what you like but take comfort in the fact that I happen to find it very attractive.”
She untangled herself from him only for him to catch her by the wrist and gently pull her back.
“How so?”
“Age equals experience, obviously.”
A silent question passed between them before Vincent’s lips curved into a wicked smile. Sophia’s feet left the ground as Vincent picked her up, holding her legs as she wrapped herself around him.
“I’m going to have to cancel my morning meetings, aren’t I?”
A pleased smile met his almost Cheshire-like grin. “Already done.”
“Excellent.”
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Forever More XIV: Home
Available on AO3 here.
2019 November, 30/40 weeks
He never used to mind working late. In his line of work, it was not only expected but often necessary. Especially leading up to board meetings. They were only part of the way into the fourth quarter; companies threw money at advertising in the hopes of making it back during the holiday rush.
His CFO and COO, along with other senior staff members, were not the people he wanted to spend the evening with. Vincent found himself feeling strange. He’d felt it only a handful of times before and each time seemed to be worse than the last.
Guilt.
Vincent Karm, feeling guilty?
The world would explode with that knowledge.
Every moment they had left was finite. In ten weeks, possibly (probably) less, their entire household was going to be upended. At this point, they both needed every ounce and second of peace they could get.
His routine was broken, yes, but Sophia was having a hard time with lingering fatigue and other symptoms that reared their head again. His chest felt tight and his mind did chaotic circles. Even earlier in the year, a meeting like this wouldn’t have affected him. But no matter how many times they went through the slides, he managed to miss a detail.
It didn’t help that many of his colleagues patted him on the shoulder and congratulated him and spoke of their children as if they were a burden, even more recent parents. As if their part was over and done with after the positive test. Such a mindset was archaic and harmful but saying as much would unravel all of the expectations of someone like him. He fought so hard to get this position back that any spec of a lack of focus could be his undoing.
Vincent finally caved after a second successful run-through and called the meeting to an end. Many were fighting yawns behind fists and even coffee was failing to keep them awake.
He was about to text Sophia on the ride home but second-guessed himself. If she managed to fall asleep peacefully, he didn’t want to bother her just now.
“Eugene?” Vincent asked as they pulled to a stop in front of the house.
“Sir?”
“Please be sure to advise those managing my calendars that anything past seven is off-limits until further notice. Board meetings or not.”
“Of course, sir.”
Without another word, Vincent went inside, head swimming as he navigated the dim spaces up to the master suite. She was already asleep, dark hair spilling over her pillow, one arm keeping the blanket up under her chin. He hoped for her sake, their little one managed to finally settle for the night.
He slipped into bed beside her, the swell of her abdomen the only thing keeping them from getting closer than tangled legs as quiet words passed between them.
He felt a slight nudge as he shifted ever so slightly and then another. Vincent pressed his hand to her stomach and, despite her grogginess, Sophia repositioned his hand; he was met with another series of kicks.
“Happy you’re home,” she murmured.
He craned his neck to kiss her forehead as she drifted back to sleep.
“I’m happy to be home, too.”
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Forever More - XIII - Reassurance
Also on AO3
2019, October, 28/40 weeks
She hated nights like this.
Anxiety would do no one any favors. Least of all, the little one inside her.
Even though they went to doctor’s appointments together, the volume of information thrown at them was on par with a college lecture. Was she going to bottle feed or breastfeed? What about birthing classes?
How did regular people do this, Sophia couldn’t help but wonder. She had money and time at her disposal. Most women didn’t.
It made her anxieties feel all the more unfair. Plenty of women did this. All of this was normal.
The look of worry on her husband’s face when he saw her spaced out wasn’t.
She hadn’t anticipated taking so long getting ready for bed but her mind and body weren’t working together. She’d stood under the water and hadn’t even gotten to washing her hair because her thoughts were so far ahead of that. They were on tomorrow and the day after and figuring out Vincent’s ridiculous schedule so she didn’t have to show up to birthing classes alone.
He always made her (them, she reminded herself) a priority. It was silly to worry about.
But worry she did.
Hands that weren’t her own turned off the water and were meticulous about the floor. Soft words snapped her out of the moment and she was wrapped in an even softer towel. How childish. Ridiculous. Wasn’t she past this kind of thing already?
She didn’t want to cry. For once, the little one finally fell asleep at the appropriate time and she was afraid that the amount she had to cry would not only wake them, but cause undue stress. But Vincent took one look at her as she settled into bed and she broke. Worry after worry tumbled from her lips as she tried to not let herself get too worked up.
It still felt so far away. But it really wasn’t. Everyone kept telling them that, from doctors to distant family members. It was bad enough she was already concerned just based on the trouble they had to begin with, nevermind all of the unsolicited advice and the doctor’s list of important things to keep in mind.
Nothing felt like it was hers anymore. Her thoughts were interrupted by fogginess that was funny at first but frustrating as it continued. She couldn’t eat half of what she wanted to and she did her best to maintain whatever the heck an ideal weight range was for her. She had an intimate knowledge of the grout in every bathroom in the house. She was so top-heavy now that she couldn’t balance properly, let alone look like someone like her should.
Vincent frowned at that, the first reaction to everything she said in the past ten minutes. He’d been listening intently, wiping her eyes for her with one hand while the other never seemed to be far from wherever their child seemed to find a comfortable spot in her abdomen.
“What do you mean by that, ma chérie? Someone like you?”
She glared at him, frustrated that she even needed to put that into words.
“The wife of a multi-millionaire CEO? One of the people responsible for figuring out the Floods? Whose life is scrutinized down to the pictures I post, the things I wear, the decisions I make? Take your pick. I feel like with every piece I get in place, ten more important pieces follow. And someone in my position should have all of it under control and look...not like they’re pulling all-nighters in college and like they swallowed a watermelon.”
She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so insecure. A decade ago? Maybe more?
Vincent’s eyes grew wide and his lips formed a soft ‘oh’ of realization of just how much she’d been keeping inside. He shifted to sit next to her on the bed properly, cradling her next to him. The baby was very much awake now and she would be stuck with another bout of insomnia from her own thoughts alone. So much for sleep.
“It’s normal to feel anxious about all of this, but no one else’s opinions really matter,” he murmured into her hair. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”
She tried not to think about her current appearance, like a puppy left out in the rain.
“I don’t see dark circles and swollen feet. I don’t care that our child literally prevents me from hugging you. I don’t see ruined shirts, bizarre food choices. I see my wife, creating another life inside herself. Taking everything in stride and doing what she thinks is best for herself and the little one she shelters.”
He kissed her temple, and then her wet cheek, and she turned her head to look at him. He was already watching her, his expression so soft she thought he might break. She could count on one hand the number of times he looked at her like that, when he let his romantic nature get the better of him.
There was hardly time for that before, let alone now. And there wouldn’t be in only a few months’ time.
“No one else matters except the three of us. That goes for any nosy family, too. We’ll look into the important things together tomorrow with clear heads, ma chérie.”
Leave it to him to already be planning. Picking up where she left off.
Vincent shifted again, this time to sit in front of her.
“What are you-?”
He kissed her, and then worked his way down. Whatever coherent thoughts she had left died when he kissed the sensitive skin of her neck to drive home his intentions.
He pressed his lips to the spot where her jaw met her ear and whispered, “For now, I would like to spend the rest of this evening reminding you just how utterly stunning you are.”
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Vergissmeinnicht XII
It was just one night. It wasn’t meant to be more than that. Even if neither of them could entirely forget the other. She wasn’t expecting to see those piercing eyes again, especially at the other end of her desk. And he didn’t make a habit of sleeping with colleagues. Chapter also on AO3.
The apartment was already filled with the scent of ginger, scallions, and mushrooms when Sophia arrived home. Kat was in charge of dinner this week and had decided upon hot pot, the makings for which were spread out around the large pot on the dining table. The broth was close to simmering already.
Had her train been any later and Kat would have started without her.
“Figured this would be good since we haven’t actually had time to talk and catch up. I want to hear all about your first day!”
Sophia resisted the urge to bring back her plastic smile and instead dug around in the tiny collection of bottles until she found the bottle of Ramnista she gifted Kat months ago.
“It was that bad? We have to break out the Greek wine for this?” Kat asked, laying out glasses and the bottle opener.
“Oh, trust me, it could have been worse.”
They settled in and began cooking the meats and other vegetables. Kat went on about research and dealing with students, how some things never seemed to change despite being an ocean away from a broken academic system. She seemed eager to get her part over with.
Sophia flipped the slices of beef carefully, the broth boiling. Liquid courage was required and she took a large sip of wine before starting from the top.
“So, turns out I would see Vincent again,” she started.
Kat gave her an appraising hum but was too occupied with checking on the tofu.
“He’s my boss. I slept with Vincent fucking Karm, Kat.”
Spinach leaves fell ungracefully into the pot as her best friend stared at her. “You’re...you’re telling me...you went home with your boss and didn’t know he was your boss?”
Sophia gave a sardonic smile and a shrug before she finished off her glass of wine.
“Okay, first of all, we’re gonna take it slow on the wine, I don’t have the extra money to buy another bottle just yet,” Kat plucked the glass away from Sophia. “Please continue.”
So she did. She recounted the horror as she introduced herself to her colleagues, how terrified she was of anyone else finding out. How unprofessional it was. She repeated Vincent’s closing words to her and how he considered the previous weekend to not only be of no influence, but to have not happened at all.
By the time she was finished, so was the first round of soup and she rambled on as she served both of them.
“He should have fired me, Kat. I signed my contract weeks ago, even if everything was before my start date. We know each other in ways no coworkers, no employees and bosses, even should. He looks at me and all I can think about is the weekend. All I can think about is the conversations we had with no pretext, just two people who seemed to enjoy each other’s company. And now I have to work with him on my first project and I’m terrified.”
She swore Kat’s expressions were becoming more and more reactive the longer she went on.
“Wait, so not only do you get to keep your job because he’s taking context into consideration but he wants you to work on a super-exclusive project with him?”
Sophia nodded.
“Look, I have the world’s worst track record when it comes to men. We know this. But it sounds like he’s lying through his damn perfect teeth.”
Kat paused to pick up a spoonful of broth and let it cool as she explained.
“He’s keeping you close. He could be trying to build up the idea that if anyone does spot anything, well, you have a close working relationship. He could not trust you as much as he says he does. Or he can’t seem to let you go and wants nothing more than to have you on top of his desk. If he wanted nothing more to do with you, he would disassociate from you except for when he had to. It’s very bizarre, Soph.”
All her best friend was managing to do was pull out the very thoughts that were circling her mind for the entire train ride home. Sophia still couldn’t wrap her mind around the very idea that he wanted to build a rapport with her despite knowing that all it would take was one slip-up for someone to find out. Was France as puritanical as America on this front? She had no idea. And she didn’t want her Google history to give anything away, either.
She took a bite of tender meat as she absorbed Kat’s words. The other woman wasn’t wrong; Kat did have the worst luck with men, and despite the fact that Kat did nothing to stop it, she played right into it. It was either a lack of self-awareness or a disregard for responsibility; either way, it drove the other American up a wall. Her perspective wasn’t the same as Sophia’s and whatever advice she had to impart wasn’t necessarily going to help.
“All I’m saying is, it’s only a matter of time. Until what, I don’t know; I wasn’t there, I don’t know the tension. But as your best friend, I know you well enough to say that you only ever slept with someone you had a...brainy connection with. It’s never just physical for you.”
While her advice wasn’t helpful, Kat didn’t have to be so goddamn right about her proclivities.
“Look, the only thing you can do, short of quitting and raising questions, is to stick it out, right? So what’s this giant stack of papers you brought home and what does he have you looking into?”
“A painting that suddenly went on sale. The artist is pretty obscure but seems to have been influential, maybe even personal. But I’m supposed to go help interview the current owners and get their perspective on what the piece meant to them, things like that.”
For now, she decided it was best to leave any mention of Raphael Laurent out of the conversation. Kat would only circle back to how lucky she was to work around influential and rich people.
Nothing about this felt lucky, that was for sure.
“Try to focus on that,” Kat encouraged. “It’s still an opportunity, and one that a lot of people would kill for. I’m strictly history-focused and yet somehow people in my program still manage to tie in sources that include your magazine because of the thorough research done for the articles.”
The conversation circled back to Kat’s day, a welcome distraction for actual dinner conversation. Any more talk of Vincent and her stomach was going to reject any additional food. She’d barely had a bite to begin with.
Dinner fell away into stacks of dishes, leftover ingredients, and a giant pot of soup that would last them for days.
Kat’s phone buzzed incessantly as they cleaned up. She made a noise of frustration when she saw who it was.
“I mentioned I could help someone with their text analysis, but they never mentioned a time. They need a translation from an English journal…”
The woes of academia, apparently.
All aboard the struggle bus, population: Katherine Hong, who doesn’t know how to manage time!
“You prepped, I’ll clean,” Sophia offered.
She could use the peace and quiet anyway. Not like she had a whole portfolio and oeuvre to read through before tomorrow or anything, anyway.
Kat’s demeanor perked right up. As expected. Words of praise fell from her lips and she disappeared into her bedroom, leaving Sophia with a table full of food and dirty dishes.
She let out a soft whine at the realization that there was no dishwasher in sight. Considering their rent, she would have thought that such an appliance would have been put in. It was fine but it would have made everything go far quicker.
Before she started, curiosity got the better of her, and she picked up the hefty file from Vincent. What was the painting’s name again? The artist? Sophia located it and then pulled out her phone, ignoring the few emails that trickled through before pulling up a browser window. She entered the title without much thought, along with the last name, “Géroux”.
The picture she found felt familiar, naggingly so. In the same way that many Van Gogh paintings felt familiar despite being so unique. A landscape, but at night, ethereal and almost fantastical in its treatment of light. Countryside, familiar rolling hills bathed in moonlight, pastures put to sleep, at least for the moment.
It was beautiful. To see it in person was going to be magical, if the photo alone was anything to go by.
She resigned herself to dishes first before her thoughts got ahead of themselves. There was a lot to catch up on before tomorrow morning and she needed as much time tonight as she could get. It was crucial to be prepared for the owners.
And for Vincent. But she wasn’t about to delude herself on that front.
Vincent…why would he be interested in a landscape portrait of an obscure artist no one really knew?
As she scrubbed and rinsed plate after plate, Sophia tried to mentally compare the painting with others she saw from the weekend. There were so many in the gallery alone, never mind Vincent’s penthouse.
But the way the light seemed to touch every leaf, every blade of grass...as if the artist painted with light itself…
The plate she was in the middle of scrubbing slipped from her hand and clattered back into the sink.
Géroux…? Not…
But that would explain a lot, wouldn’t it? Vincent’s insistence, Raphael’s sudden involvement and interest…
If that was the case, no wonder Vincent didn’t want someone else handling this. Mathias told the magazine’s history as if it were an old wives’ tale. Most people knew who Paul was and who he was to Vincent.
Sophia bent over and pressed her forehead against her soapy forearms.
It was going to be a long two weeks.
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Vergissmeinnicht XI
It was just one night. It wasn’t meant to be more than that. Even if neither of them could entirely forget the other. She wasn’t expecting to see those piercing eyes again, especially at the other end of her desk. And he didn’t make a habit of sleeping with colleagues. Chapter also on AO3.
Vincent watched as she walked down the block, likely on her way to catch a train. Once Sophia rounded the corner, he turned his attention back to the car and got in. He waited until Eugene pulled away from the curb before he sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and closed his eyes.
Her last name felt foreign to him.
But it was for the best.
‘Sophia’ was lost to him. He would call her by her name in front of others, of course, but her name held a different meaning when they were alone.
The hurt look that crossed her face earlier for the briefest of moments dug into him. He tried to remind himself of the disappointment he felt when he returned home yesterday morning but it was a hollow victory. His meeting with Raphael earlier frayed his nerves as it was. And Sophia stomped on what little of them he had left. It wasn’t her fault, not really, but he shouldn’t have to justify his decision to her.
Even if it was a little selfish.
Probably more selfish than he wanted to admit, all things considered.
“Sir, are you well?”
Eugene’s hazel eyes flicked up to look through the rearview mirror and Vincent met them for a moment before glancing away.
“I’m fine. What’s the weather situation for tomorrow?”
“Clear, especially towards the afternoon. The drive should be quite lovely.”
Vincent tried not to think about the accompanying person who would, also, in fact, be lovely.
“Can I...ask something, sir? Just for my own clarification and to understand…”
The last thing he needed was Eugene asking what he very likely was going to ask. But there was no avoiding it. Considering his role, he probably needed to know.
“What is it?”
“The woman from the curb...that...wasn’t the same woman from this weekend...was it?”
“It was.”
“Oh. Will she be…?”
Eugene had been in his employ long enough to know that the relationships Vincent kept were never long-term. They couldn’t be. Once the initial infatuation wore off, he couldn’t ignore the way they talked about money, about their putrid friendships, and how things they once thought were lovely were suddenly things to scorn when he said his schedule didn’t allow for a vacation to St. Tropez at the drop of a hat.
If it wasn’t about money, it was about time and how he never had enough of it for them.
Exhausting. Frustrating. Not worth it.
But it had been long enough that the question was to be expected. Vincent would tolerate it but only from Eugene. After all, he kept track of everything and everyone in the CEO’s life; details were his specialty.
“She’s the new senior writer, Eugene. You’ll very likely be seeing her again. Just not in a...personal capacity. And no, I didn’t know she was the new hire. I don’t think she knew who I was, either.”
“I see.”
“She’ll be accompanying us tomorrow and for every trip associated with this particular project, at least for now. Treat her as you would any similar guest.”
“Of course, sir.”
The poor man had already listened to him rant about how she left before he could return. There wasn’t much else to say on the matter.
At least a car ride with Sophia would be far easier to manage than anything with Raphael. He almost regretted choosing her just for that experience alone.
Almost.
Not quite.
A neutral third, or in this case fourth, party would help keep everyone on their best behavior.
After all, it wasn’t every day one of Paul’s paintings went on the market.
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Forever More - Ch. 14: IX, Chance
Read on AO3
Their few months away teetered somewhere on the precipice of hope and disappointment. When her cycle remained on schedule, she took a bath to ease the pain and try to bury the welling sense of failure.
The first time, she drew the bath herself and stayed until her fingers were pruned and the water was cold.
The second time, it was already drawn for her when she went to do so. It was accompanied by the creature comforts she snuck in with her; tea, a dogged-eared book with a snapped binding, and her favorite bath oil that, in a previous life, she would not have looked at twice based on price alone.
A voice in the back of her head called her spoiled.
Another told her that these things took time. She’d been on a pill for a year. It was going to take time for her body to adjust again.
For a moment, it felt like they were simply slapping plaster over their disappointment when they comforted one another and came up with plans for the day. The whole point of this venture was to have no plans but neither of them were good mentally when left bored and frustrated.
Sometimes that meant a day in the sun, enjoying the coastline, good wine, and music, depending on their location. Other times it meant curling up with a book or watching a TV series together in a day-long binge. The latter resulted in a week-long push through Game of Thrones, only for both of them to lament all of the build-up.
They returned to Paris in time for Vincent’s ridiculously lavish birthday, an event that was becoming a little quieter and a little more exclusive with each passing year. Already a third of the way through the year. Almost a year away from...
When she missed a month, they tried not to get ahead of themselves.
And when another month went by, with three at-home tests, a hesitant revelation, and an order of bloodwork, both of them sat in the waiting room of her doctor’s office, trying not to fidget. It was quieter here than she was used to back in the states, which she considered to be partially due to the exclusivity of the practice, but mainly the social class the office catered to. The kinds of families that could afford nannies so multiple children weren’t screaming and crying and running around.
Vincent was uncomfortable but no more so than the previous instance of their last experience with her doctor together. Acutely aware that they looked just far enough in age that there had to be a reason he would be accompanying her for more than simple support. Sophia held onto his hand and rested her head on his shoulder.
Confirmation of suspicion had them numb when she was called in. Neither of them wanted to consider the possibility that all of this would be for nothing yet again.
They were both healthy and there didn’t seem to be any other complications; her doctor was confident she would be fine but everything would be done to ensure it stayed that way.
Vincent seemed pleased with that answer, judging from the way his shoulders squared just a little more. It didn’t keep her stomach from sinking, the possibility of losing this little one too still sitting heavy in her mind. But it would be out of their hands, wouldn’t it?
The examination was much like her last one and just as thorough. More sample tests were orders for glucose, protein, cell counts, blood type, carrier tests for genetic screening, standard obstetrician tests she would have had annually. Measurements were taken, dates were asked for, and by a rough calculation, her due date would be January. An ultrasound would help but her next appointment would be far more telling.
She laid back, biting her cheek. Too much water in preparation. She just hoped it would be quick.
Cold. The gel was always so freaking cold.
She heard Vincent mutter something under his breath and she looked from the screen to him to find his eyes flickering between her abdomen and the screen. Rather than the wide-eyed shock she was expecting, he was looking with curiosity, perhaps, or at least interest.
The image wasn’t much more than the first one she brought home with her. Shadows and shapes, something clearly human in a vague way, but not quite. Not yet.
She turned back to the screen and watched, her heart lurching at the sight of her child.
Their child.
Later, they shared a look, just the two of them, as they got into the elevator, sonogram picture in hand, before she buried herself in his arms, seeking refuge from a world that could give them no certainty.
It was too early for many things, they were told, such as the sex of the child. Neither of them were wholly concerned with that, but rather, it seemed impossible for their doubt to resolve itself. Yes, everyone looked healthy, but that was the case before, too.
The moment didn’t last long, her stomach churning at the inhale of cologne that she normally found enticing. She bolted as soon as the elevator doors opened.
She hadn’t missed this part.
They never got things right on their first try; that was just their way. But the second time?
The second time was the charm.
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