Royal Bitch

You are a criminal masquerading about as a business man

Fiore's Dress

"The world is a dangerous place to live; not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it." - Albert Einstein

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Chapter 23

Fiore readied herself for their trip to one of their factories.  Financial relief had been sent immediately as well as medical help and supplies.  Fiore and her father would be making an appearance with the factory workers in the hospital and the families of those that died. 

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Roderick asked as Fiore settled herself into the plush leather seat.

"Who else would keep you sorted?" Fiore teased.

"I know what tomorrow is."

"So do I.  But it's just a day.  It changes nothing."

"It changed everything."

"Dad," Fiore placed her hand on her father's forearm.  "I know.  And just like you, even when my world stops turning, I have only one option.  I keep going.  Just like you."

"Twenty-five years."

Fiore nodded.  "Twenty-five years."

"She would be proud of you."

Fiore smiled.  "I hope so.  Now, I need to keep my mind on work.  I need to keep busy.  You understand that, don't you?"

Roderick nodded, his expression wistful.  "Just reminiscing."

"Reminisce on the factory and the lost workers and we can get in and out in two days or less."

"You never did like China."

"No, and I doubt I ever will."

The plane ride went well, but was long.  Fiore studied her figures and facts and found several gaps that she wanted tightened up.  The turbulence made her nauseous and when she landed she wanted to do nothing more than lie down.  That was not an option.

Fiore fixed her press smile in her face and she faked her way through introductions.  Fiore had prepared gifts for all the injured and had a list of each and their hospital room and bed numbers.  She and her father would be offering the gifts in person.  For the dead she'd prepared wreaths as gifts for the family's of the deceased.  She'd had one prepared for each, no two alike.  Fiore was well educated in what was culturally acceptable.  She had to take her father's red tie and gave him a white one instead.  "Red is the color of happiness and white is the color of mourning."  Fiore warned.  She was wearing white herself as a sign of respect for the lost and when they were visiting then she'd worn green as it was the color of vitality.  The whole affair was tedious and Fiore simply translated for her father and showed the respect and well wishes they had for those affected by the fire.  Fiore was relieved when they were flying home.  There was something comforting about the dreary streets of London.  It would always he home.

Fiore went straight to her rooms showered and changed then went straight to bed, feeling the time difference and the toll it had taken. 

She awoke to a sharp pain in her side.  "Bloody hell," Fiore cursed as she bit her lip.  With a frustrated sigh she dragged herself from bed and started a warm bath.  The pain sharp and swift, but tolerable if she was prepared for it.  When she sank into the warm waters she sighed in relief as she gently massaged her side.  Slowly the pain dulled to a low ache.  With pursed lips she thought about what she would be needed to do before addressing this particular issue.