Love thy Enemies

Mr Versailles

Kyna's P.O.V

My date went well. We spent his last night here together before he had to leave to go back to the Navy. He'd brought me a large bouquet of white roses before he left.  After he left I got onto the first flight to Italy. Just a little trip to go meet up with an old friend. Katlego and her husband Antonio Vivaldi are having a baby shower. It's their first child.

When I arrived in Italy, I found them waiting for me in the airport with a welcoming sign. She's glowing in her blue floral print dress and her husband matches her in a similar looking outfit. Although I noticed she's in a wheelchair. I rush over to my friend and hug her. Her husband and I shake hands before he chooses to hug me too. When we reach their home the housekeepers show me to my room and invite me over for a lunch by the pool with the family.

"I hope you don't mind I've invited a guest you might know." He says and I shake my head.

"I'm a guest, this is your home, I don't think I've got rights to deny you who's allowed and who isn't." He nods and he rises to let in the unnamed guest who just so happens to be The prince of the Versailles and Versace empire. The nouveau riche and famous fashion forward and acclaimed as the most iconic man in the industry. The ultimate chauvinistic misogynist in the flesh. His curly hair is tied in a man bun and his sharp suit accentuating his toned body. If I met this man three years ago, I'd have gushed over the prince of Versailles and Versace. Valentino Versailles. We moved inside their ballroom for the main event.

"May I have this dance madame ?" Mr Versailles asks extending his hand out for me to take. This started off as a small baby shower and in the span of an hour this charming and quaint little get-together turned into a full blown party and the husband and wife began dancing, with the wife occasionally sitting down due to being around eight months pregnant. I place my hand in his. I didn't want to embarrass him or seem rude and standoffish to him. His hands are rough and hardworking. Just like Sam's own. I shake the thoughts of him out of my head. We just met, and I get it, I'd probably led him on and now I'm seemingly heartless. Even though I'm trying not to be hostile towards anything to do with love, it's hard. So to protect myself from being the only one who fell harder, to change up the storyline and not be the one who's getting in way over her head for this guy, I'd rather be closed off and apathetic to avoid being hurt again. You can't just give someone you loved all of you, to have them take it all from you, taking everything and leave you with nothing left for yourself. His hand rested on my lower back as he led us to the floor. His movements we're enchanting. The way he held my body. This man knew exactly what he was doing. When I placed my hand on his shoulder, I nearly fainted at how muscular he is beneath the thin white fabric of his dress shirt that's now rolled up at his sleeves. Talk about men in suits will corrupt your sanity. His hand held mine gently as he set the pace to slow and captivating. He didn't rush me and flail me around like a lightweight object. Something tells me that he'd done all of this countless times before. He's an expert at his game regardless of his ignorance that he's unknowingly dealing with a heart he hadn't broken. Someone's yet to steal the fragments of it. He knew how to shift his energy to invite me. Entice me and entertain me. Accomodate my every expectation with precision. If he we're an artist, I'm his Picasso. Carefully creating a masterpiece of me. He's tenderly working on me. Bringing me to life so he can snuff my light out when he achieves his goal. He's only here for one thing, I know it, I'm sure of it but the sense of danger feels so familiar and comfortable it's shameful all at once.

"Hey! Get your hands off her!" A male voice says as familiar hands grab me by my wrist and pull me off Mr Versailles. That thick Englishman accent. I know it from anywhere. I've lived with it for longer than I should have. It's none other than him. Jack Atlas in the flesh. He looks well but you can tell he's not. I pull my hand away from his. I cannot ruin Katlego's event.