Prince and the Pauper

Chapter Thirty-Five

"Dev."  I turned my head to follow the sound of Harry's deep voice, a soft smile gracing his pink lips, making my stomach flutter. His hand stretched out, long fingers reaching out for me, beckoning me.
"Come here." He whispered, making me smile, and I sauntered over to him. Our fingers locked together, and I grinned as he walked me from the chair I was sitting in to soak up the warm sun on the deck, to down the steps of the deck and onto the soft, lush grass. My eyes landed on a painting easel in front of us, and I looked at Harry curiously, trying to decipher was he was intending to do. I noticed he had an old pale blue button up shirt on, the shirt had dried paint splatters on it, and I figured it had been a hobby of his I had never been aware of before.
"You paint?" I asked sceptically, making him laugh loudly. I admired the way he looked when he did so. He looked so carefree, his eyes crinkling when his eyes shut with laughter, his head tipped back, long dark curls brushing along his shoulders.
"Yes, I paint." He mouthed through his amusement.
"Huh. I wouldn't have picked you as the arty type." I mused lightly.
"To messy for a trust-fundie?" He quipped, stealing my words perfectly. I shrugged lightly, and his smile tilted higher.
"Well I do paint. Sketching too, but mostly painting. And you are going to help." He smirked at me, making me burst with laughter.
"I don't paint. I don't draw. I don't partake in any activity that requires precession, patience, or a steady hand."
"I can think of at least one activity you're good at involving a steady hand." He winked, making me blush furiously and swat at his chest.
"Men." I scoffed, making Harry's chest rumble with laughter.
"In all seriousness, this will be easy. I promise. You might even enjoy it." He reasoned, and I pouted my lips out in contemplation.
"Nobody is going to see this, are they?" I questioned, and Harry gave a cheeky smile.
"No. Well, unless they walk into the dining room and see it displayed there."  He gave a shrug, and my eyes widened.
"You can't display any artwork I create! It will look like a toddler did it." I panicked making him smile.
"You know some artists sell paintings for hundreds or thousands of dollars, and it just looks like they splattered paint at the paper with their eyes closed."  Harry informed me, and I nodded.
"Well sometimes it actually turns out rather...interesting. Like it's open for interpretation." He said lightly, and I snorted in response.
"You mean you like artwork that isn't art-like at all?" I teased and Harry poked my side playfully.
"Yes, darling, I do. And instead of paying mega bucks for it and having you get your panties in a bunch, we are going to create one ourselves. For free. Even better, because we made it together, love can be the muse." I bunched over laughing, clutching my stomach, giggles filling the air around us.
"Oh, great. Our love is a joke to you." Harry tutted, making me bit my lip to regain some control. I stood back up, and looked over at Harry to see him watching me with his arms folded over his chest.
"Sorry." I wiped a stray tear. "I'm good. Okay. Let's paint." I smiled, and a dimple ghosted his cheek, showing he was struggling to remain offended.
"Good."  He said and I went to walk forward, but his hand caught me at my navel.
"We're not using brushes." He smirked, and my eyes narrowed in confusion. He gestured to the thin art paper lay out on the grass before us.
"I'm confused. If we are painting on the easel, why is there art paper lay out on the ground? It's grass. It doesn't matter if it gets dirty." I said.
"This grass is new. I planted the seeds and watered it for months to get it to this great condition." Harry argued.
"Okaaaay." I drawled out. "So we're fingering painting?" I asked making him smirk as he shook his head.
"Hand painting?" Again he shook his head.
"Feet?" A laugh answered my question.
"If you suggest me using any other anatomy.." I warned, and he chuckled as he leant over and reached into a cardboard box on the table beside him. I smiled in understanding as he handed over a filled water balloon, and I figured it was filled with paint instead of water.
"Paint-balloon art." I concluded with a grin. "I like it."
"I knew you would." Harry retaliated, grabbing one himself. "Ladies first." He politely offered, making me curtsy playfully. I closed one eye, aiming and threw. Harry burst out laughing as I missed the easel by a few inches. Instead, the balloon exploded over the paper on the grass before us, blood red spilling over the paper.
"So my aim is off." I defended.
"Let me show you how it's done, baby," Harry gloated, stepping up, aiming, and throwing. It hit the target perfectly, sky blue paint splattered over the easel. Harry smirked over at me, and I huffed as I picked up another one. I aimed carefully, but halted when Harry tutted behind me.
"What?" I accused, Harry licking his lips to try and wipe away his smirk away.
"You're throwing like a little girl." He mocked, my eyes daggering his.
"Just offering advice. But hey, if you want to miss again," he spread his hands out, "be my guest." I touched my tongue to my upper lip in anger, and Harry laughed again. I took aim again, only to drop my arm again and glare over at him.
"Alright, Miss Everdeen." I spat. "Show me how it's done." Harry strolled up to me and carefully pulled me into him. His hand readjusted my arm, his lips pressed to my neck as he eased my body into the motions, mocking how to throw it correctly. I knew he was closer than necessary, but neither of us seemed to mind, and I let him repeat the action more than required.
"Got it?" He whispered, making me nod.
"Got it." I agreed. I raised my hand and took aim, Harry watching beside me. I went to throw, or at least pretended to do so. Instead, I spun around swiftly, and pressed the balloon down on his head, green paint bursting and oozing all over his head, dripping onto the paper below us. I burst out laughing, Harry freezing, coming to terms with what I had done. At last Harry smirked over at me, and I stopped laughing, reading his mind to easily.
"Nononono." I  shook my head. "Baby it was a joke." I pleaded, but he just laughed and lunged for me, tackling me down to the ground, and I squealed as we rolled, green paint smearing across my skin. I giggled as Harry rolled us around, paint gluing our bodies together as he rolled us over the paper on the ground. I tried to catch my breath as Harry leant back on his legs, and he grinned down at me as another balloon was retrieved and I shrieked, trying to roll away. Harry was too quick, and  with a clench of his fist, yellow pain splashed all over me, and around me on the paper. I hollered with laughter, and  I pulled Harry down by his shirt, dragging him into the mess of  paint. Balloon after balloon was burst over one another, and by the time we were out of breath and paint bombs we were collapsed on the paper. Both of our shirts had been discarded, leaving Harry shirtless and me in just my bra an panties as we had turned it into heated play fight. Harry's body had mine pressed down, his lips brushing against mine, paint smeared all over our faces as well. When we eventually pulled apart, we sat up to study the mess we had created. Different coloured splatters and hand prints, blurred shapes filled the canvas, and I laughed at the sight.
"I knew I loved art." Harry smirked, leaning over to kiss me again, to which I happily obliged.

A pathetic whimper slipped through my dry, chapped lips as consciousness maliciously greeted me, tearing me from the sweet memory I had been trapped in. I had loved that day, even finding it amusing days later when I was still finding paint in my hair. The day Harry and I had left our future home and returned to Adlington we had hung up the artwork in the dining room. Not the intended art piece either. The one that Harry and I had turned into a display of our cheeky and fun-filled passion. The thought of in the future sitting down for dinner with Harry and seeing a reminder of that day made my heart swell. My eyes creaked open, blurriness first blinding my vision, only to eventually swim into focus. Not that there was much to focus on. My body ached, hunger cramps panged in my stomach, and I groaned as I stiffly readjusted my body. I had no idea how long it had been since Sebastian had left, saying he had been going to plant my shirt in Dante's house to get him arrested.  It seemed too long ago, more than a few hours I thought anyway. Maybe it had been a lie. Maybe he just wanted the shirt off me to let the exposure to the cold kill me faster. As if two, nearly three days without food wasn't doing a stellar job of killing me already. Just when I began to curse Sebastian in my mind, the door swung open. Hope turned to dread as Dante stomped into the room. I croaked my disapproval as he yanked me upright, my body slumping against the wall.
"What the fuck have you done?" He demanded viscously.
"I'm sorry." My voice hoarse. "Am I the pot or the kettle? You are the guilty one." I didn't think Dante would be able to hear my scratchy voice, but the guttural growl he let out told me he had. A harsh smack to my cheek had my head swinging to the left, darkness nearly pulling me in.
"Police are searching my house as we speak." Dante hissed.
"Then I suggest you don't kill me." I gargled. "Only adding to your sins." Dante kicked me in the gut, and I groaned as I buckled over, the chains bolted to the wall being the only thing preventing me from face-planting into the ground.
"The bat is there, Devonne. If they find it, they will have evidence of my attack against your brat of a brother. I will be in prison till I'm eighty!" He bellowed, hope blossoming inside me.
"Last breath more...likely." I managed to spit out.
"Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you!" Dante yelled, making me flinch. It was hard to keep my eyes awake, and I forced more air into my lungs.
"Harry." I mouthed, not sure if I had correctly managed to say it out loud.
"You think I care about my let-down of a half-brother?" Dante laughed gruesomely.
"Deep...d-down." I nodded. I didn't hear his response, which meant death was closer than I would hope, or I had struck a chord. I hoped upon hope it was the latter.
"What is it he sees in you?" He pondered out loud. I didn't comment, not having the energy to argue my worth to a soon-to-be convict.
"Perhaps it's pity. Or a charity case. " He mused. I grimaced as he knelt down before me, cold fingers trailing over my cheeks.
"You know what I think it is?" He smirked darkly.
"Mmm?" Was all I could muster up enough energy to say.
"I think it's the similarities he sees between you, and me. His darling brother." I started to scoff, but it turned into a dry cough.
"Nothing...like...you." I breathed.
"Both of us have a troubled past. We were both rejected by our parents. Particularly our mothers. Sure, Drake is helping me now, but out of concern for himself, not me." He listed, and I forced my eyes to open, trying my best to dagger him with my heavy eyes.
"We both learnt quickly and the hard way to look after ourselves. We're both stubborn and strong. And the biggest seller of them all?" He leaned it too close. 
"The last bit of hope we cling on to, and the last shot at peace for us, lies within our brothers." Silence settled between us, and I felt anger stirring inside me.
"They're not going to find you here, Devonne." Dante taunted. "How  can they possibly know?" I realized he still wasn't aware of Sebastian's betrayal, provided he had been telling the truth. There was still the chance he hadn't planted the shirt, and I forced myself to not give up just yet.
"Sebastian told me the great idea of removing one layer of clothes every time you misbehave. So let's play a game of truth-or-truth, huh?" Dante smirked, forcing my head up to meet his empty eyes.
"Do you really think Geordie will wake up?" He asked dauntingly.
"Yes." I forced out.
"Interesting." He hummed. "Personally I don't. I could be wrong, I don't have a medical degree. But then again, I do know exactly how hard I struck him with that bat." Tears spilled from my eyes, the blow hitting me just like Dante wanted it to.
"Next question. Did you know I am officially a wanted man by the law? They found evidence linking me to your abduction in that search. So tell me, darling Devonne, who betrayed me?" I said nothing, hope exploding inside me, knowing Sebastian had come through on his word and provided the evidence to arrest Dante. Which would also mean he would now be able to confess to the police, including where I was currently being held captive. All I had to do was stall, and maybe they would get here in time.
"Come on, Dev. We both know it was Chandler or Sebastian, Zaiden, or Harry. I doubt it was Harry, he  had too much to lose. He knows me, and he knows if I was going down, I'd drag you down with me. Is Zaiden that reckless? Or perhaps guilt got the better of Sebastian? Or even Chandler felt bad for betraying Harry. Who was it?" He demanded, tightening his grip on my jaw. I looked him dead in the eye and spat in his face, his face hardening even more.
"You're screwed." I hoarsely whispered. If looks could kill, I knew my pain would be over, but he didn't have time to respond. Police sirens wailed somewhere nearby, and blue and red lights flashed through the grimy window. Dante went rigid, and I smiled to myself. I was safe. They found me. I was going back to Harry and Geordie.
"Dante Styles you are under arrest for kidnapping, two attempts at bodily harm, withholding evidence from law enforcement, and giving a false statement in court. Put your hands above your head!" A loud male voice ordered from the doorway. My eyes locked with Dante, and I knew there were a thousand silent threats swimming in those icy blue eyes. A dark-skinned police officer hauled Dante to his feet, and he was stomped out of the room. I felt hands grabbing at me gently, the calming voice of the same male officer trying to get a response out of me. I couldn't respond, I had no energy.
"C'mon sweetheart, open your eyes." His voice coaxed, but only a strangled moan of pain left my mouth. I didn't recall feeling the chains being removed from me, but my body was suddenly being carried by  a strong body out of the damp cellar, and out past what my hazy vision made out to be a swat team. In the distance I heard a voice that made my heart beat erratically, and I knew it was Harry.
"Devonne!" Harry's voice boomed from somewhere. Left, right, my sense of direction was off. It felt like my eyes were sewn shut, but I knew it was Harry beside me when warm, familiar hands pressed to my cheeks. Blue and red lights burned through my eyelids, and I knew several police cars were around, sirens all wailing. It had been a huge rescue effort, Harry had probably rallied up the best he could find.
"Baby, I'm right here. I've got you. I'll never lose you again. I promise." I heard his voice crack, and then hot liquid of tears dripped onto my cheeks. I didn't need to open my eyes to know they belonged to Harry. My body was lowered onto what felt like a bed, and Harry was instantly locking my fingers with his, fingers brushing knotted hair off my face. I forced myself to open my eyes, and two bright green eyes stared right back into mine.
"Hey, Angel." Harry whispered, squeezing my hand. "It's okay. It's all going to be okay." He promised, the sweet sound of his voice fading into the darkness as a mask was placed over my mouth, and I let sleep finally wrap it's arms around me.