Smoke and Mirrors : Royal Angels I

White roses

~Xavier~

"Pro tip : try to act like a Lady, Shortcake."

"Pro tip : I am a lady, Sir Ässhole."

I didn't even bother with a comeback. My mind went blank as I saw the wrought iron gates.

They were gilded to look like a Phoenix's wings, cast in the Royal Family's crest. It would've looked nice -

But then two huge marble statues of 'artistically' robed half naked women stood to either side of the arch.

The guy who designed this probably went, "Dude, I just saw a Roman style threesome when I was high on LSD.

Let's just put that on a huge äss iron gate with a bunch of feathers.

Because that's tasteful as fück."

When Kiera invited me to stay at our aunt's house, I'd refused because a) the house matched the monstrosity that was the gate.

And b?

Victoria was already making weird faces at the CCTV mirror outside.

But as resolute as I'd been to not come here, our little motel got shut down last night because there was a murder downstairs.

And while we didn't have anything to do with it, the guardians weren't exactly going to give us a gold sticker and a pat on the back.

I was down to my last pound. I was used to being on the streets, but I sure as hell wasn't letting Victoria follow me there.

Rolling down the window, I let the cameras see me.

The penniless Prince and his starving tiger cub.

Power couple right here, folks.

"So," Victoria propped her arms behind her head, as we headed down the dark driveway. "You haven't actually asked me out yet."

I looked at her.

"Eager much? Because we could skip that whole deal and do it in the car right here, Shortcake."

She smacked me. "What part of being a gentleman do you not get?"

"Oh, I'll be gentle." I shrugged. "But that's not what you really want now, is it, baby?"

I didn't even have to look to know that she was blushing.

"I want you to shut up."

"I want you in black lace." I said, looking up in mock prayer. "But alas, we live in a cruel universe where you're wearing jeans."

"What's wrong with my jeans?" She fumed.

"They're not on the floor."

She hit me with a rolled up newspaper. I probably deserved that one.

"I don't even care anymore." She muttered. "Ask me, don't ask me, you can go fück yourself, you riled up horny son of a bîtch."