Criminal ~ OP81

17. The worst gala ever in the history of galas

Andrea Wolff

The Parisian rain tapped gently against the outside of my penthouse, creating a soothing rhythm that matched the contentment in my heart.

We'd been back from Australia for a few days now, and the magic of our time there seemed to have followed us to the City of Light.

I pushed open the door, grocery bags in hand, and typically I'm greeted by my white ragdoll cat- Beans-  but she's no where to be found I step inside. But forgetting my precious cat for a second, Oscar was also nowhere to be found.

As if in answer, a soft snore drifted from the living room. I padded quietly across the hardwood floors, setting the front bags down in the kitchen quickly, and had to stifle a laugh at the sight that greeted me in my living room.

Oscar was sprawled across my plush sofa, one arm dangling off the edge, the other draped protectively over Beans, who was curled up on his chest, purring contentedly. His usually perfectly styled hair was mussed, a few strands falling across his forehead, and his face was relaxed in sleep.

I must have made some small noise because Oscar's eyes fluttered open. He blinked at me sleepily, then quickly pressed a finger to his lips. "Shh," he whispered, nodding down at Beans. "She's been asleep for thirty minutes."

My heart melted at his consideration for my cat. How many times have I had to kick a guy out just because they called her a 'stupid cat'? And yet here Oscar was,

"Have you seriously been lying there for half an hour just to let her sleep?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

Oscar looked at me as if I'd asked the most ridiculous question in the world. "Of course," he replied, his brow furrowing slightly. "What else was I supposed to do?"

I walk over to give Beans a little scratch. "You're something else, Piastri," I murmured, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

The rest of the week passed in a blur of lazy mornings, rainy afternoons, and cozy evenings.

We fell into an easy rhythm, one that felt so natural it was hard to believe we'd only been together for a short time.

One evening, as the rain pattered against the windows, we decided to cook dinner together. Oscar insisted he knew the perfect pasta recipe, a claim I eyed skeptically given his usual diet of food being prepared for him ahead of time by his nutritionist or mum.

"Trust me," he said with a wink, pulling ingredients from the fridge. "I've got skills you haven't seen yet, Drea."

I laughed, hopping up to sit on the counter. "Alright, Masterchef Piastri. Impress me."

What followed was equal parts cooking lesson and comedy show. Oscar, it turned out, did know his way around a kitchen – when he wasn't getting distracted by trying to flick bits of flour at me or stealing kisses or even messing around with Beans between stirs of the sauce.

"You're going to burn it," I chided, trying to keep a straight face as he used one of Bean's feather toys to get her to run in a circle.

"Huh?" He asked and looked up. I bit my bottom lip and pointed towards the stove. "Oh shit" he said quickly and dropped the cat toy- much to Bean's dismay- and stood up to quickly stir the pan.

I rolled my eyes, "should I get a takeout order ready?" I joked making him laugh sarcastically as he walks over to where I'm sitting on the counter crisscrossed. I let my legs fall off the counter when he approaches and he steps in between them, his warm palms laying on my thighs as he presses a short kiss to my lips.