A Truelove of Turtle Doves

Chpt 22 - Capturing Perfection

"What have you found?"

"Nothing yet."

"Well hurry up and find something. Anything! Where he goes, who he is seeing, what he is doing. I need to know. If this plan is to work, I need to know everything."

"Alright, alright. I'm working on it, okay?"

"Well work faster."

"Geez, impatient much?"

His harsh glare made them shiver and shrink away slightly. He stalked closer to the figure.

"Don't forget that I employed you to help me. That is the only reason that you are still here. I can quickly recommend to Mr (L/N) that you are fired immediately. And what would you do then?"

The figure was silent.

"That's what I thought. Bring me something. Any piece of information that you can. I have tasks I must be getting on with. Get out."

Before the quiet figure could leave, however, the chauffeur spoke up once again. "Oh. And one thing to keep in mind."

"Yes sir?"

"If you are withholding anything from me, I suggest you come clean very soon. Because if I find out for myself-" His gaze pierced through the trembling figure by the door, "-Your punishment will be severe."

The terrified figure managed only a near inaudible "Yes sir," before they scurried out of the door, ready to continue their work.

The chauffeur watched the door close.

Hm. It looks like I will have to come up with something that will act as proper... motivation.

*

The gentle breeze blew through the tree above us, carrying with it the slight chill of the sea. The grass swayed, as did the flowers that were scattered around us, and if you paid close attention, you could almost hear the crash of the waves below. Sea and sky met on the horizon if you looked out over the cliff. (H/N) was tied up at her usual post, silently munching on some grass.

I let out a frustrated sigh, practically throwing my pencil and sketchpad onto the grass before laying down. Facing the tree branches, and beyond that the sky and clouds above me, I sighed again. I squeezed my eyes shut.

Why does he have to be so difficult to draw, dammit. Stupid pirate with his stupid handsome face that looks stupidly perfect. Stupid stupid stupid.

"Mon amour?"

I opened my eyes, only to see my previous view of the sky obscured by a confused-but-amused-looking Francis hovering above me.

"Yes?" I answered.

"What is it?"

"I can't draw your stupid face."

He quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head, smile growing wider. "Is that all?"

I huffed, folding my arms, and I glared up at him. "Yes, that's all. Your stupid face is perfect and I can't draw it. Do you know how many sketches of you I've started and then abandoned because I keep finding mistakes in my work? Too many, French stick. Too. Many."

His smile widened. "You think my face is perfect, mon trésor?"

Of fucking course that is the only part of my complaint that he heard. Typical Francis.

My glare became harsher. "Yes, and it's not a good thing."

His face moved closer to mine, his smile quickly turning into something more akin to a smirk. I could feel his breath fan over my lips and I shuddered involuntarily. It was definitely a challenge to keep my eyes focused on his since mine immediately wanted to drift down to his lips.