𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄 ~ | 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘓𝘦𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘤

XI

Chapter Eleven:

~ My jokes are so funny my world is cracking up ~

It was strange, the way a few days could change everything, wasn't it?

Here I was, standing in front of the mirror, trying to tame my hair into some semblance of order. The bathroom was a mess of makeup and discarded outfits. The club night was Rory's idea – a way to let loose after the drama of being stranded on the island.

I was still wearing one of the large shirts I had stolen from Charlie to sleep in, but it was time to get dressed. I stared at the mountain of clothes scattered across the bed, feeling a twinge of panic. Nothing felt right. Nothing was good enough.

Then the mountain moved.

Charles's arm appeared from the pile of clothes, his eyes half-closed as he peeked out from under the pillow fort he had constructed.

"Jesus, Percy, what are you doing?" I laughed, nudging his arm away so that I could sit on the bed.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I'm being a burrowing mammal."

"Well, you're not helping me pick out an outfit," I said, tossing a dress over his head. He sat up, looking at me with feigned annoyance.

"You're doing it again," Charles' voice rumbled from the bed, his eyes still closed.

"What?" I snapped my head around, my hand mid-air with a black dress.

"You're thinking too much," Charles said, his eyes still closed. "You always do."

"How do you know what I'm thinking?" I snapped my head around.

"Your forehead is doing that thing again," Charles murmured, his eyes still closed.

"What thing?" I asked, setting the dress down and crossing my arms over my chest.

"That thing where it wrinkles up like you're trying to solve the mysteries of the universe." He opened one eye and peeked at me. "You're worrying."

"I'm not worried," I said defensively, even though I knew my voice gave me away.

He sat up, pushing the pillows aside. "You're wearing that black dress," he said, pointing to the one I had just tossed aside. "It looks amazing on you."

"Does it?" I asked, looking back at the dress with renewed interest.

"Everything does," he said, his voice firm. "Now, come here."

I walked over to the bed, stopping in front of him. He looked up at me, his hands circling my waist and pulling me gently closer to him so that I was standing between his legs.

"You're so beautiful, Mon amour," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. "You could wear a potato sack and still be the most stunning woman in the room."

"You're biased. You have to say that," I said, trying to hide the smile that tugged at my lips.

"I am. But I'm also right." His eyes searched mine, the seriousness in his voice causing my heart to flutter. "You are perfect, Biche."

I rolled my eyes. "Easy for you to say, Mr. I'm-built-like-a-Greek-God."

He chuckled. "Hey, I have my own insecurities."

"Yeah, like what?" I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"Well," he said, pretending to think. "Sometimes I worry my abs aren't symmetrical."