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"I'm going to tell her that you like being called Frenchie."
If this is what she has to deal with then it's going to be a long three days. Most of the time she can handle it. Shouting at him was usually her go to method of fighting back but she couldn't exactly do that in front of his parents. She was trying to make a good impression. He knew that ... dickhead.
Damon was fully aware that he could push her without receiving any resistance. He had a clear advantage and he was exploiting it. What happened to a fair fight? This was betrayal.
"You wouldn't dare.", she whispered sharply, aware that he had just knocked on the door and someone could open it at any second — which she was anxiously anticipating.
He hummed, "I wouldn't?". Francesca took a deep breath. All she could do was hope that he wouldn't embarrass her.
He wouldn't, no ... okay, she couldn't even convince herself, he definitely would. It was exactly something Damon would do. She knew him too well to lie.
She was waiting. Looking at the outside of his parents house. The red brick and white speckled walls, sparkling clean windows with seemingly brand new frames. The little stone tiled pathway and healthy shrubbery (bright green leaves in December). She saw a cat strolling down the street on their way up and another in someone's window. There was a concrete space in front of every house for cars. All the houses looked similar. Clean and bright. The perfect little neighbourhood.
They were the kind of houses that were luxurious compared to her pebble dashed house crammed into a row of identically houses all falling apart. Chipped paint bordered windows and plastic white doors. Weeds in every concrete crack. Car alarms going off every night and dodgy backstreets. She never had friends over, or a birthday party at home.
Then as her head was turned to look at the house next door, her magpie mind liking the shiny Christmas tree twinkling in the window, she felt something grab her hand.
His guitar calloused finger tips brushed against her palm, opening up her hand so he could slot his fingers in between hers. She looked at him and he squeezed her hand gently, "I was only kidding.", he said apologetically. A comforting smile.
He was just trying to comfort her — lightening the mood with a joke. When that didn't work he took a different approach. Taking her hand to show that she had nothing to worry about.
Damon could see that she was nervous. It was her neutral expression that gave it away. Ironically it was her acting like she didn't care that made it obvious she did.
