Foreign Affairs ❥ lrh

Chapter Eight: Some Sort of Friends

Warning: vomiting and hinting at eating disorders beginning at the paragraph that opens with "at the very mention of such feeling"

. . . . .

Though her shocked body and overwhelmed senses made it difficult to keep up with him, Violet did her best just to follow his broad shoulders covered by his white, translucent, ruffled dress shirt. His firm grasp on her didn't allow her to get swept into the rest of the room. And she was thankful; the gyrating movements, flashing lights, and spraying champagne was not really her scene at the moment. Coming down felt the same as always: fine, but a little empty.

Violet's body was a mess. Aching from her fingers to her toes from the sharp temperature changes, her ankles weak from a night in her heels and then being cut by the snow, her nose stinging from the white dust the Duke had lined up for her in the bathroom, her mind airing out from its effects, her heart from the relentless build and drop of her emotions and expectations over the past several hours- all things considered, it was a slight miracle she was still awake and in one piece.

While she followed the Prince's footsteps through the kitchen into the next room, she was struck by a realization. Perhaps it wasn't just Prince Luke's doing- this two steps forward, one step back pattern they'd gotten stuck in. Her own thoughts shifted so rapidly, she was likely just as hard for him to read as he was for her. It would've made her laugh, if an ounce of guilt hadn't started eating away at her.

When they made it through the doorway, Violet saw that the room he'd brought her to was sectioned off from the rest of the first floor. It was quieter, lonelier, and welcomed. She took a look around at the wooden built-ins and emerald green walls and the enormous selection of alcohol along the top shelves. It was a substantial enough bar that it could've served as a small pub in a pinch. And pretty, pretty quiet. The ambient dim lighting was soothing; warmer.

There was a photo wall wrapped around on the other side with dozens of black and white photos that Violet's shivering body wandered over to look over. Some of the photos were simply family photographs, waving hats on docks, a wrestling match, eating ice cream, and picking flowers.

"Is this the family who owns the house?" Violet asked, pointing to the many arrangements of the same six faces. She heard glass clink behind her and turned to see the Prince pouring a couple small glasses. He looked up when he realized she was talking to him and set the bottle down. His hair had a bit of curl returning to it but was still frozen on the ends. She noticed that he had pulled his shirt back on and buttoned up.

"Yeah," Prince Luke nodded with a grin. "It used to belong to my tutor and nanny, Cecile. But, when she retired and a new family moved in... I guess they thought it was cool that the 'Royal Family' still wanted to party here." He explained with air quotes. "Calum, I think, may have weaseled some sort of deal with them, but I've asked him not to tell me. I need plausible deniability." He dropped a maraschino cherry in each of their glasses and brought one over for her.

When she took it in her hands, she noticed that her hands were now burning, almost swollen but it felt nice.

"Have a sip," he nodded to her, taking one of his own. "It'll get you at least a little warmer."

As soon as she took a sip, she regretted it to the point of pulling the straw from her mouth and spitting it back into the glass without thinking.

"Your Highness," she gagged. "Do not quit your day job just yet." She held the drink far from her nose to avoid the smell, coughed into her elbow, and hoped that he wouldn't banish her for talking back.

"That bad?" He asked, eyebrows raised and a slack jaw. He looked down at his own drink and smelled it but shook his head, clearly confused but put out his hand for Violet's glass. "Here, I'll take it."