A Bride for the Desert King | Crocodile

Chapter 3: Best Bet

The opulent halls of the Duskblade mansion buzzed with anticipation as Sineka prepared to meet Sir Crocodile that afternoon. The grand halls, draped in honeyed hues, resonated with the promise of an important encounter.

Sineka's choice of attire was deliberate – a gown that embodied the richness of golden honey. The silk draped around her figure in a cascade of elegance, the sweetheart neckline adorned with intricate lace adding a touch of sophistication. The gown cinched at her waist, accentuating her silhouette, and its layers trailed behind her, leaving a trail of golden silk in her wake. Her cinnamon hair, adorned with a honeycomb hairpin, added a subtle touch of whimsy to her refined ensemble.

As Sineka descended the grand staircase, the soft click of her heels resonated in the hallway, creating a symphony of anticipation. The fragrance of winter blooms clung to her, a delicate accompaniment to her presence. Sineka's heart echoed with a mix of excitement and apprehension, each step resonating with the gravity of the impending meeting.

However, as she approached the entrance to the living room, an unexpected shift in the ambience unsettled the carefully crafted atmosphere. Muffled voices and an uneasy energy reached her ears, causing a ripple of disquiet in the air. The door stood slightly ajar, revealing a scene that shattered the warmth of the honey-coloured gown.

Upon entering the living room, Sineka's eyes widened in disbelief. Amara, her step-sister, was straddling Crocodile on the couch. They were clothed and the man had not touched the woman, hands still beside him. The room seemed to freeze, the golden glow of Sineka's gown contrasting sharply with the unexpected tableau before her. But she was the eldest daughter. She did not throw a tantrum. The cinnamon-haired woman masked her inner turmoil in a practiced steady voice, "Amara, what is the meaning of this?"

Amara, caught in the act, looked up with a wicked glint in her eyes, a calculated malevolence. She smirked wickedly as if winning a game, "Well, well, if it isn't the perfect Sineka, ready to play the victim again."

Sineka's expression remained composed, though the atmosphere crackled with tension. Crocodile, however, regarded the scene with undisguised disgust. The once-anticipated meeting had transformed into a spectacle orchestrated by Amara's deceit.

Sineka did not even acknowledge the vulgar words, the eldest daughters don't let gaucherie get to them. "Sir Crocodile," she addressed instead, "it seems my step-sister has a flair for theatrics. I apologize for this inappropriate interruption."

As she turned away, the honey-coloured gown trailed behind her like a beacon of dignity. The room, tainted by Amara's wicked machinations, echoed with the disrupted elegance of a once-promising encounter. Sineka retreated to the solitude of her room, leaving behind a living room ensnared in the aftermath of an incident that cast shadows over the honeyed tapestry of the Duskblade legacy.

.....

The evening descended, the sky painted in hues of twilight as Crocodile, without a trace of apology, knocked on Sineka's door. The echoes of the disrupted elegance earlier lingered, but there was a new resolve in the air. Sineka, a symbol of resilience, opened the door with a composed expression, meeting Crocodile's gaze without a trace of apology.

"Dine with me," he said without a preamble. "I've arranged something."

Sineka, intrigued yet composed, agreed. An hour later, she descended the grand staircase once again, the honey-coloured gown flowing elegantly as a silent proclamation of a chance to fix the morning that the man acknowledged. He played the role of a gentleman that day. Kissing her hand and escorting her to his car silently. Not a word was spoken. Not about this morning. Nor about the night, half a year ago.

The vintage car glided through the winter night in silence, a driver navigating the winding roads to Crocodile's leased villa on the other side of town. The hum of the engine was the only sound that broke the quiet tension between them.

Once they arrived, Sineka remained silent until the staff greeted them, and they found themselves alone in the living area (Crocodile had already instructed the staff to make it that way). Crocodile, without apology, poured whiskey for both. Sineka, maintaining her composure, declined the offer, a subtle rejection that didn't go unnoticed.

He persevered, raising his glass in a cheer, "To unforeseen encounters."

"To unexpected turns." 

The woman who had teased and seduced him half a year before was nowhere to be found. This cinnamon-haired woman was solemn, almost grave. 

Suffocated

They engaged in small talk, the clinking of ice against glass punctuating the silences. As the night progressed, a quiet settled between them.

"Why didn't you just let her seduce you?" she broke the silence, "It was a marriage of convenience you sought, after all."

Crocodile looked at her for an uncomfortable moment, his eyes revealing nothing. Then, in his characteristic way of turning questions into counterattacks, he posed one of his own.  "Why wait for me? You could've married anyone."

A pause ensued, a chess game of unspoken words between them. Crocodile pressed further. "Why the urgency to marry at all?"

Sineka, a flicker of irritation in her eyes, did not speak for a moment. Silence enhances the tension between them.

"Well, you are my best bet."

Sir Crocodile's expression remained inscrutable. The air between them held a blend of challenge and understanding, the complexities of their circumstances intertwining in the quiet villa. The vintage clock on the wall ticked away as the night unfolded, leaving them to navigate the uncharted territory of a marriage of convenience that bore the weight of unforeseen intricacies.