Three Means 1

Confrontation

Dulce's initial confusion quickly became a realization that drained the smile from her face.

    "Fleur is your sister?" She whispered, fighting the urge to shout. With both of them approaching, she wanted to keep her composure in front of Arthur's parents.

    "Yes, I thought you knew that." Arthur replied.

    Dulce clenched her fists tightly, her nails digging into her palms. If she knew about their sibling relationship, she would have been more careful with Pierre around Fleur.

    "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Bonheur." Angelo greeted once he and Fleur were close enough. "Thank you for coming and always supporting us. Where's Pierre?"

    Angelo scanned the room briefly before admitting "Not sure, actually." His eyes then settled on Dulce, who he could see was visibly uncomfortable. He chose to ignore it, as he always did in public.

    "If you will excuse me, I think it's time for me to start this." Fleur said, passing her glass of white wine to Angelo.

    "Please, have a seat where you wish. We will be right here to keep this event flowing nicely." Arthur's mother added. Before Dulce could respond, Arthur was already guiding her to a corner where the lights were even dimmer.

    Fleur began her speech with the same authority a TV host would have. It was the start of the competition. Dulce watched as each participant began making the dough from scratch. Her mind was momentarily distracted by their movements, like adding: flour, eggs, milk, Pierre.

   "Pierre?" She thought, shaking her head.

    Arthur's hand on her cheek gently turned her away from the stage and towards him. His blue eyes seemed more dilated than usual, even in the dim light.

    "Your eyes are so blue." She pointed out, thoughtlessly. He didn't say anything; instead, he let go of her face and lowered his head to take a sip from his glass, his eyes never leaving hers.

(A/N: This is not what he was wearing and the glass didn't have a straw)

    After a few sips of his wine, Arthur extended his hand, palm open, directly in front of her face. He spread his fingers apart, showing off their length and the rings that decorated them. They looked like artifacts worthy of the museum they were in. Dulce, intrigued, raised her eyebrows, trying to make sense of that.

    "Now your hand." He murmured. She understood his intention and extended her arm, placing her palm against his, her fingers spreading too. The difference in size was undeniable, and Arthur knew it because a smirk was visible on his face.

    "You know, we should be paying attention to the competition. Especially you." Dulce scolded, trying to redirect focus. As she started to look away, Arthur intertwined their fingers, locking their hands together.

    Nervousness ran through Dulce as she looked around, careful of the pda. Yet the dim lighting covered most of the room, leaving only the stage illuminated brightly.

    "Don't worry." Arthur calmly assured her. "Nobody's looking." He pulled their hands towards his chest, bringing Dulce closer.

    Their faces were now only inches apart, and she could feel the warmth of his breath against her. The pull between their lips was clear, but something held her back from closing that distance. They lingered, eyes locked. Just as their lips were about to meet, loud clapping shattered the moment.

    Dulce jumped and turned her head, as she tried to understand the sudden applause. The figures of people waving their hands and cheering became visible, though the competition on stage was just starting.

    "Why is everyone clapping? They're not done." She asked, turning back to Arthur. He remained still, not joining in the applause, but watching Dulce, amused.

    "They do it for support. It helps the contestants feel encouraged if they think they're losing." He explained, his thick French accent more noticeable.

    "What's so funny?" He asked, placing his hand over hers on the table.

    A smile formed on her lips. "Your voice...

    "It's lovely." A familiar voice interrupted, completing her sentence. Dulce's eyes widened.

    It was Pierre.

    He stood in front of them, holding a glass of wine. Despite how full it was, he struggled to maintain his balance as he walked closer. The glass clanked loudly as he set it on the table before plopping himself down on the chair next to Dulce.

"How many glasses did you have?" She asked, with concern once she noticed Pierre wobbled his head. He struggled to focus on her face and his eyes were barely able to remain open.

"Not that ma..." His attempted lie was interrupted by hiccups, followed by a loud laugh.

    "Shush your mouth, Pierre." Arthur commanded, looking around. The every so often claps of the audience offered some relief because it meant that no one was paying attention to their table.

    Dulce pulled her hand away from Arthur's and began to fiddle with her other one. Some tingling sensation spread through her fingertips, and her red dress all of a sufden felt uncomfortably tight. She looked around, her eyes searching the stage for Fleur, but she was nowhere to be found. However, an inexplicable itch at the back of her neck made her turn around. She realized that it was the piercing stares from Pierre, like daggers, that had forced her to look.

Once their eyes met, Pierre's expression changed. The corners of his lips curved into a smile, a lazy one, which confirmed his inebriated state. He was, without a doubt, drunk.

    Dulce's eyes traveled down his neck, noticing how his white button up shirt was now unbuttoned. The sweat that ran down his neck made him glisten a beautiful ruby color under the red lights that covered the room. He looked like sin itself... personified.

    "Finally, you cute lovebirds!"

    The words brought Dulce back to reality. She looked down, trying to break out of the hypnotic state Pierre had her in. After a few moments, she gathered the courage to lift her face. Fleur stood next to Pierre with a huge smile on her face.

    Her eyes were not on Arthur and Dulce but on Pierre and Dulce.