Foreign Affairs ❥ lrh

Chapter Fourteen: The Girl From The Party

When Violet woke up, the very first thing she felt was her throbbingcheek pressed up against a hard surface. Pulling away from it left her face sore, but she saw that it was just the pink handset that she'd fallen asleep on. A small smile painted the corner of her mouth when she pulled the phone up to her ear, hoping to hear something on the other end.

There were small puffs of air hitting the speaker every few seconds; the Prince was fast asleep, just like she had been a dozen seconds before. She covered her mouth with her palm so she didn't make any noise and listened to Luke's soft breaths come and go. Although Violet couldn't shake the feeling that she should have hung up on their call instead of listening in on his soft slumber, her body sunk deeper into her mattress as she switched the handset to the other side so she could rub the cheekbone that had been pinned against it all night.

She just barely allowed herself two or three minutes of trespassing, but it was still long enough to catch a soft clearing of his throat and a few rustles between fabrics that she couldn't envision. There was a hazy, hypothetical picture of the blonde prince's curly hair tucked into an enormous pillow and white heavy cotton bedding all around his body. Maybe the sounds were from him pulling the blankets over his head to block out the sun, or, perhaps, wrapping himself tighter in hopes of building heat.

Once she saw how late she was running, Violet didn't have any other choice but to place the handset back in its place, effectively putting the sound of his breathing on hold. The only thing that kept her mood from dropping was knowing she would get to hear it in person in a matter of hours.

Ever thankful that she had double checked the wardrobe selection rules with Luke last night, Violet left her already-packed luggage how it was and brought it along with her brother's suitcase downstairs and made sure her deceptive electric guitar case was among them. Once they were all accounted for, she sped through her morning routine.

When they passed each other in the kitchen, Violet couldn't help but notice that Michael looked like he had hardly rested as he didn't say much other than a mumbled "g'morning" through a mouth full of toast and jam.

He was usually in a much better mood in the morning; the difference was striking. It didn't take more than a few seconds to attribute his state to the room he'd spent the night in. Like every visit to the penthouse hooked a sharp, pestering thorn under his skin for the duration of his stay. Like the very smell of the air evoked such soured affection for the place he used to call 'home.'

It wasn't until the siblings were multiple thousands of miles in the air, with fuzzy first-class slippers wrapped around their pedicured toes they'd gotten done together earlier in the week and sheet masks graciously applying a generous coat of niacinamide to their pores, that Violet really focused in the present moment.

Michael shuffled through songs on Violet's old walkman she'd passed along to him after Sage gifted her the MP3 player. Soon he gave up, seemingly not liking the selection and took the headphones off to set them aside. He glanced past his sister and out of the window while he ran his fingers over the bit of scruff he had recently started growing out. The small tattoos he'd gotten on several of his fingers were starting to bleed and fade.

The morning had felt so rushed thanks to her lack of sleep and the anxiety permeating her every thought of meeting Luke's mother later that evening. But every time her mind went shaky, she leaned against Michael's soft shoulder and took a deep breath.

Even though Michael was the youngest, his tall stature and independent nature frequently made him one of Violet's fiercest protectors. No one could beat Sage in that regard, but he came close. Not that many people would know it. He kept his mild mannered appearance up, but he would shatter it if he needed to; Violet was sure of that.