Behind the psycho || Rafe Cameron x Reader || OBX fanfic

thirty-one

some people will hate or lowkey love this chapter. lmk what you think hehee

----------------

Rafe*

Pulling at my sleeves, I straightened my suit across from the mirror. 

My face was gently flustered—a mix of being sunburnt and the reminiscence of the past hour's events. But my eyes were a bright blue, a feature I secretly detested simply because they made my eyes look soft. My ridiculously short hair cancelled it out though, and I couldn't help but smirk at the memory of Dad's face when he saw it. 

I was out of the room, pacing down the polished stone floor to the drawing room where Rose had probably taken our guests. 

As I walked in, I was met with a pair of dull brown eyes that bore into mine with a hint of irritation. Rose sat with her arms crossed across from two people. A woman with short black hair and relatively simple clothing, and a man who wore a suit similar to mine, only with cufflinks I knew were bound to be expensive.  

I gave a small nod in their direction before taking my seat, catching the untrusting glance of the French man. Rose cleared her throat as I leaned my elbow on the chair's armrest. "Thank you both for coming--I know it was a long way to travel," I started, individually running my fingers on the edge of the wood. "But I think what we have," I turned to Rose, who had become as bland as a statue, "is pretty worthwhile." My eyes caught on the man's face, who was examining me thoroughly, a gentle smirk erupting on my face. 

"Yes, well, Michel is the most prominent antiquities dealer of the West Indies," the lady said, a thick French accent lacing her voice. "Unfortunately, he only speaks French." She looked at the man, Michel, who was relative;y clueless, but somehow did not fail to make himself appear prominent in the conversation.

"No English," he said. 

I grinned--there was an uncanny light feeling in my chest that told me today was a good day. "What is french for 'priceless'?" 

The lady didn't answer, but I had taken an interest in the way Michel watched me with dull eyes, every once in a while fidgeting with the hem of his sleeves. Looks like he was beyond bored to be here, and was wondering of ways to leave this meeting. But not only was I planning on keeping him, I was planning on him to accept my offer--a priceless offer in the eyes of an antiquities dealer.

"Well, if it's alright, I'd love to show Mr Michel my artefact." I stood up gesturing to Michel as the lady translated. Rose, of course, was probably cursing me the whole time--for not involving Dad, blah blah blah. But what she needed to fucking understand was that this was my responsibility and not his--with Michel's signature to prove it. 

I lead them to the next room, standing in front of the cross, the sun pouring onto the red fabric. Gripping the corner of it, I swiftly uncovered the cross, its glory glowing in the sun. Michel exhaled shakily and whispered to his translator. 

"Uh, may he touch it?" she asked me with a smile. I smiled back, not only at Michel's reaction but also at Rose sulking in the background. 

Michel watched me anxiously as if his hands were going to shoot out to the cross if he didn't control himself. "Knock yourself out," I beckoned. 

His face lit up and he quickly started talking in French like he was trying to fit as many words as he could in five minutes. His hands grazed every bit of the cross as if trying to remind himself that it was real. The translator eventually gave up trying to interpret his French and just smiled.

"He wants to know where you got it from," she said. 

"Don't worry about it." I waved my hand and then placed it on the cross, looking at Michel. "We got it. That's all he needs to know. It's here, it's for sale. So who can we get to buy it?"