Three Means 1

Color White

    Dulce's eyes widened at the sound, her heart racing, but as she scanned Pierre's expression, seeking some indication of alarm, she found none.

"Fuck! We need to lock the door ," she whispered urgently, frantically moving to rise from him. Before her feet could touch the floor, Pierre's voice stopped her.

"Stay here. I'll take care of this," he commanded with a calm authority that belied the situation.

    Though Dulce obeyed, her heart was fraught with trepidation, especially as Pierre stretched languidly, his arms extending above and behind his head, his demeanor unnervingly composed. He dressed himself unhurriedly, pulling on his undergarments, while Dulce watched in disbelief at his unhurried pace.

    "Do hurry and lock the door," she hissed, her frustration mounting at his apparent lack of concern.

"Why should he worry? He has no one else to concern himself with. It is you who must worry about Arthur, not him," she thought, a tumult of anxiety coursing through her.

    Pierre, however, had other plans in mind. Instead of securing the door, he opened it and stepped out, leaving Dulce lying there, her mind a whirl of distressing possibilities. Had Arthur arrived? Was it merely Angelo? Could it be that Fleur had discovered their private romance? Or perhaps Arthur's parents were angered? What of the onlookers? Had they perceived the scandal Pierre had caused?

    These chilling thoughts paralyzed her, and after an eternity of silence, she finally rose, tiptoeing to the door to lock it. She considered fleeing to her own room, just down the hall, but fear rooted her in place. Instead, she hurried back to the bed, cocooning herself in Pierre's bedsheets.

Time stretched interminably as she waited, and then came a soft knock at the door. She remained still, indecisive about her next move. Was it truly Pierre? door?

Resolving to face whatever awaited, she approached the door once more, unlocking it. It was indeed Pierre. She exhaled the breath she had been holding, stepping aside to let him in and promptly securing the door behind him.

    "Who was it?" Dulce inquired at last.

"It was as I suspected: Angelo," he replied, and Dulce sighed with relief. Pierre's expression, however, darkened subtly.

    "You know, Arthur will stop by shortly as we...," Pierre began, but stopped at the sight of Dulce's panicked expression. Gently, he placed a hand on her cheek and another on her waist, drawing her closer. Though a gap remained between them, she could feel the warmth of his body.

"I was thinking perhaps you should end things with him. Perhaps at dinner," he suggested.

Something in his words sparked anger in Dulce. Though she knew Pierre meant no harm, the implication made her feel as though she were concealing a grave secret. In her mind, she had not yet accepted that she was, in essence, betraying Arthur. Their relationship had not been formalized, but still, she felt sullied, treacherous.

With a sharp push, she shoved Pierre away.

    "You bloody fucking idiot. What do you intend to say now, hmm? Because I certainly will not be saying anything about us. This," she gestured between them with her index finger, "is not real. We are not together."

    Pierre remained silent, his posture relaxed, but something shifted in his gaze, an inscrutable change that left Dulce unsettled.

The room began to stifle her, and she stormed out, only to collide with a nosy Angelo, who had been leaning against the door.

    "Bonjour. You two did quite a spectacle over there." He smirked, knowing the sentence alone would make Dulce nervous.

    "What? Who else noticed?" She asked, panic rising in her voice.

    "Oh, just about everyone," he replied with a nonchalant air.

    Dulce did not react immediately. She stood in silence for a few moments before attempting to walk away, but Angelo seized her hand, stopping her retreat.

    "I'm kidding! Nobody saw. I told Arthur that Pierre sometimes gets protective over you," he said, and Dulce's shoulders dropped, perhaps relieved from the burden she felt she was carrying.

    Turning to face him, she clasped both of his hands, locking eyes with him.

    "Angelo, thank you so much for that."

    Her gratitude was sincere, and in that moment, she made up her mind to leave Pierre behind. She wished for things to work out with Arthur. Her relationship with Pierre had never felt serious, and she always felt as if she were concealing something. With Arthur, she hoped for security and transparency.

    "Don't thank me too much. I do not know how you will explain this situation to Fleur. We saw the two of you coming out of the dressing room together this morning. Do you not remember?"

    Dulce's shoulders tensed once more, as only a few plausible excuses came to mind. She needed to find one.

    "I will go ahead and get ready for dinner," she said, but Angelo did not release her hands. She looked up at him, waiting for him to speak his mind.

    "Please don't hurt my brother. I know he cares very deeply for you, and I can tell you do not see that," he said, finally letting go of her hands and walking away.

~

    Dulce's chosen attire made her feel like an impostor. Clad in white, the color of purity, innocence, and cleanliness, she felt as if the antonyms of those words were the true description of her state.

    She sat waiting at the dining table, the smell of Pierre and Angelo's cooking making her stomach churn. But was it truly the food's aroma?

    When a knock finally came at the front door, she realized it wasn't the smell of the food that made her stomach turn.

(A/N: Again, I'm so sorry for the late update. I will continue this book, no matter how long it takes. Please bare with me. My studies take too much of my time. Thank you so much for the patience!)