[milan] like passing notes in secrecy. [tag; charlie]

april 2002

"No, più scuro, per favore."

Everything was a bit…bridal. Whites and creams and pastel shades, it looked like a child's fairy fantasy had thrown up on  the place. Perdita couldn't remember the last time she even wore anything so bright. Summer had always been difficult for her and she often needed to be hauled forcefully out of the winter months. She liked shopping but as a rule, she tended to wear Bloom Mill designs out of loyalty but sometimes, it just didn't have the finesse of the Italians.

Up and down the rows she went, her pale fingers stroking various different fabrics to test out their softness and more importantly, their durability. Perdita had money, lots of it, but that didn't mean she wasn't frugal. She liked understated items whether it be dresses or handbags and she wasn't going to accept anything that wasn't able to be laundered.

Lingerie and the like was a second-skin for her. Prices in London had sky rocketed. She couldn't get her head around the fact that knickers without a crotch seemed to be the same price as a month's rent. So, she diversified. She'd come to Milan to get some fabric, after strong-arming one of the Mill's seamstresses into making her some unique pieces. They weren't for anyone else but herself and she didn't have any plans to show them off to anyone.

Her skirt swished as she peered at the fabric hanging, occasionally stopping to rub her fingers together over it. Perdita was taught from a young age how to identify real silk. It generated heat easily and she couldn't bring herself to try the burn test. With care, she pulled off a beautiful jewel-toned teal; a deep turquoise, almost sitting between a royal blue and a green and hung it over her arm. She didn't even flinch at the price tag. In her mind, she ticked things off. A lace overlay on the tops of the cups might be nice, a dinky little bow on the centre or the straps would be cute. She had a haberdashery at home she could raid when her father wasn't looking.

The shop she frequented was in the gorgeous glass topped shopping centre, tucked away in between the more boisterous of Muggle designer shops. The lack of clientele in the shop should warn people entering how exclusive it was. It was a well kept secret. Perdita had pushed her father and her family to use the shop to supply fabrics for the Mill, trying to explain that the quality would outlast their competitors and would be worth the price tag. After being pooh-poohed and humiliated, she decided to run her own cottage industry. They were men making decisions over what women should wear and it knocked her sick. They had no idea. Lingerie especially was a gift for a woman, by a woman. It didn't have to be overtly sexy but it had to make her feel like she was special and a bunch of middle aged bores weren't going to accomplish that.

Her big blue eyes were caught by some lace. It was intricate, with little roses and trailing vines. It was white but she'd be able to dye it black so she added that to her pile of fabric as the store owner pottered about. Aria was a middle-aged woman, late fifties with a mass of dark curls that were always pinned back neatly. In typical Italian fashion, the grandmother was not a push over. Once upon a time, she and Perdita had almost come to blows but now, the toleration had come to respect; Aria knew what she liked and what she didn't and Perdita could get on board with that.

Though she was here solely for fabric, there were a few garments hanging up tastefully. Silk scarves, gloves, dresses and undergarments. They were understated but beautiful, hanging on golden hangers under the lights sparsely. Perdita's body wasn't made for the Italian ideal. She was boxy and tall, not short and curvy and as a result, the stuff here just didn't seem to suit her. The waist hit her wrong and the skirts were always a bit too short and they fell at the awkward length between the modest knee and the raunchy thigh. They were modern, chiffon blouses and asymmetrical skirts. After a while, she gave up, which she assumed had annoyed Aria somewhat.

"Grazie," Perdita told Aria as the older woman pointed her in the direction of the more fluid fabrics as she blew her a kiss off the tips of her fingers in response. The tinkling sound of a bell at the door caught her attention and she turned and she panicked as she recognised the silhouette. She didn't want to see him and if she was correct, he didn't want to see her, either. Things had gotten muddled recently and with his tour, they'd sort of decided enough was enough. It had been a few weeks since she'd seen him last but the embarrassment still burned as strongly as the night he'd said goodbye. Or hadn't. He didn't even give her that.

"Shit the bed," Perdita hissed quietly as her eyes widened. Clutching the fabric to her chest, she spun in a quick little circle as though trying to find the fastest escape route. As she was too busy dilly-dallying, the only choice she had was to hide. She threw herself into the deepest part of the shop, near the back with all the folded silks. The lighting was dim and the shop was vast so really, anyone seeing her here had to be slim to none. With an uncharacteristic squeak, she held her breath and stood back, her fabric held tight like a security blanket against her as she waited for him to leave. Either that, or she booked it straight out of the back door.



@Charlie Baker

After their most recent therapy session Kate had elected to pop over to America early to see her sister for a few days before Charlie and the other boys made their way stateside. Despite this short separation, the two of them had been closer than ever the last few weeks – but it hadn’t been easy. It had been hard on the both of them. Hard on Kate because she had had to listen to all the sordid details of his indiscretions, then his (rather extensive) sexual history from before he’d met Kate. All part of being honest with each other, apparently. Hard for Charlie because he’d had to relay this information, witness her reaction to it all, and be confronted with what a horrible human being he was. But still, things were getting better. He was drinking less. Staying in more. Kate had helped to make that easier, in her own special way – against direct instruction from the therapist, that was. It seemed like now that they had a diagnosis they also had an excuse to ignore some of his behaviours.

Trying to show his appreciation to Kate for not just putting up with but embracing all of this wasn’t his forte. Charlie best expressed himself through physical touch, but it seemed cheeky and self-serving to say thank you like that. So he was trying to find other ways. Over the course of their ‘anti-therapy’ sessions, Kate had worn several new sets of lingerie that Charlie hadn’t seen before, presumably to surprise him, and he’d sneakily made note of the sizes and label. As per her usual tastes, they were designer.

So he was in Milan. Because that was Charlie’s MO: grand, albeit inconsistent, gestures. He hadn’t yet wrapped his head around the fact that this was still a self-gratifying gift, but it was too late now anyway, he was already here. The moment he stepped into the shop Charlie was regretting this decision. Lingerie-buying was not something he was comfortable doing in English, let alone fumbling through a foreign language. He was immediately beset upon by two fast-talking Italian women. Like a deer caught in headlights he took half a step back towards the door before one of the assistants had grabbed his forearm, dragging him further in.

“Er—” Charlie’s cheeks were already flushing a furious shade of pink, and they’d barely gotten a few feet into the racks. “I need—“ the woman cut across him instantly, speaking at a million miles an hour in Italian. “Silk?” He said hesitantly, “for my girlfriend.” He added, holding his unrestrained hand at the approximate height of Kate. The last thing he wanted was to walk out of here with some custom silk boxers.

That fabric in particular had been chosen for a few reasons. Kate seemed to have a preference for the material. Firstly, she had a number of sets of lingerie in the textile already. Secondly, she’d been wearing a silk dress the night they’d met, and silk pajamas the night they’d first slept together. Lastly, because Kate had recently been on a trip to Japan and had come back with a very nice silk kimono – and Charlie hadn’t reacted very positively following her little jaunt with Hefin.

So this was intended to be a mixture of appreciation and an apology.

“She’s… very small. Petite. Minuta?” His Italian was next to non-existent. He could speak basic French, hold a limited conversation, and had been working at learning Spanish in secret, and although Italian was related, there were enough differences to cause a problem.

’Colore?’

Charlie’s eyes bulged lightly. “Erm, rojo?”

The woman gave him a look that could only be described as filthy. ’Rosso?’ Charlie nodded, “Si, erm. And, verde?” The assistant’s eyebrows seemed to raise even further into her hairline. “Uh, maybe lace, too?” Charlie said, thinking he was being sufficiently clear that he wanted more than one set, but the woman already seemed to be figuring out how to create the monstrosity he’d unintentionally requested.

What a fucking nightmare this was turning out to be. Out of all the places in the entire world for him to visit, Milan hadn't even made the top twenty. He could be here on tour, she assumed, but she hadn't kept up with the band's progress. Why should she? She wasn't really a fan. The music was all a bit dark and moody for her, she thought.

But it was fine. All she had to do was bide her time. Perdita sighed heavily as she squinted in the gloom, tapping her toes against the wooden floor impatiently. It wasn't as if she had a lot to do that day but she certainly didn't want to be here. Judging by the strain in Charlie's voice, that made two of them. It was pathetic. At the end of the day, Charlie Baker was just a boy. He was handsome and charismatic and deceptively funny but strip it all back, he was just a normal guy.

Perdy sighed in the dark as she looked down at the fabric now creasing in her hands; this wasn't like her. Hiding from people? Avoiding places she loved, just in case he'd be there? Pitiful. She shook her head, her curtain of shiny brown hair swinging in response. He had an effect on her. She assumed she was just star-struck but things had come to a screeching halt and they'd parted on bad terms. The worst thing about it was that she missed him. For all of his faults and her mistakes, he was a genuinely lovely man. They got on well and things were easy but now she was stuck.

Red and green? Perdita blinked and winced as she envisioned something that looked like Christmas had thrown up on it. Red or green, sure. A nice ruby tone or a forest green would look stunning. She bit on the side of her cheek as she heard his voice advancing, trying not to simultaneously laugh at Aria's disproval and cry at the dumb ass situation she'd gotten herself into.

She rested her back against the wall. Perdita closed her eyes and tilted her head backwards, offering a silent prayer to any deity that might here her to give her strength. Once upon a time, they'd been friends. Then she'd made a mistake. It wasn't really Charlie's fault because she didn't have to keep answering the door in the middle of the night but she did anyway. She felt a twinge of guilt because he'd obviously come here for his girlfriend and the thought that the woman might be outside somewhere made her feel a bit uncomfortable.

"Bloody Hell, Princey," came the soft response as Perdita stepped out of the shadows swiftly, using his nickname in hopes that if he was still angry with her, it might lessen the blow. She'd cast her die. She didn't like hiding. She was twenty two; too old to be a petulant teenager but too young to be a fully functioning adult in her family's eyes. It had stunted her somewhat, almost like she couldn't really break out of the Bloom family mould. But she could still try.

"Best you don't make her look like a Christmas tree, hey?" She joked but there was an uncertain tinge to her voice. For all she knew, his girlfriend might really like Christmas. Clearing her throat, Perdita shifted her own fabric underneath her arm as she anxiously chewed on her lip. It was on the tip of her tongue to offer Charlie the use of the Mill's seamstresses. It'd be a nice way of saying sorry and she'd get a really high quality, beautiful set but it occurred to her that it might just cross the line in the sand that she didn't know she'd drawn.

"I was just going," Perdita told Charlie quickly as she lifted her fabric up and nodded towards the front of the shop. She didn't want to be rude but she hoped she didn't have the words get me out of here glowing above her head. The balance had shifted and she was no longer at an advantage. It wasn't about power but things weren't the same. It wasn't his fault of course because these walls were her own. She watched Aria's retreating back as she stood in silence for a minute.

"Think about navy," she told the musician honestly as she stepped around him. "Silk, with a lacy overlay? That'd look nice," Perdita replied with a smile that had a lot of effort behind it. "Anyway," she said breezily as she ruffled her own fabric. "Better go. Things to do, people to disappoint," she joked. She didn't think she'd told him about the set of meetings she had lined up or the brewing trouble with her father. Then again, they weren't that type of friends any more.

The woman released Charlie from her surprisingly strong grip and he looked visibly relieved – for all of thirty seconds, at least. She gestured for him to follow her further into the shop, or warehouse – it seemed to be a combination of the two – between the racks of fabric to presumably select the textiles they would be using for his order. The woman pulled a long roll of deep, merlot-red silk halfway out of the rack and appraised it. Charlie had, mistakenly, assumed that it was the type of place you could turn up and just pick something off a hanger. Charlie made a mental note to just head to the nearest La Senza next time.

Charlie’s eyes widened as he heard a familiar voice, and he took a step back instinctively in surprise as Perdita emerged from seemingly nowhere. “Perdy?” He blurted out in disbelief. His surprise shoved all thoughts of his lingering ill feelings towards the tall brunette out of his head; the last time he’d seen the Englishwoman had been months ago, and she’d made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t to drop by her townhouse anymore if he didn’t want his genitals bitten off by her dog. He’d (miraculously) managed to keep to their unspoken agreement, though he supposed everything that had happened between he and Kate was more the blame than any sort of restraint on his part. And perhaps a little bit of wounded ego.

The musician had essentially forgotten that the seamstress was still present until she cleared her throat loudly and obviously, with a large helping of suggestion, as she rolled her eyes at him. “Tua ragazza?” she asked, gesturing between him and Perdita. Charlie simply looked from woman to woman, not understanding. Without waiting for an answer, the woman turned on her heel and set off further down the row, leaving the two of them alone for a moment.

“A Christmas tree?” his brow furrowed in confusion, until he saw the seamstress draping some green lace over the red silk out of the corner of his eye – his face contorted into a grimace. “Oh, no—not together.” He looked to Perdita, really not wanting to ask for her help but knowing that without her he was going to end up paying top dollar for something he’d be throwing in the bin rather than giving it to Kate. The shop assistant had apparently understood his expression and waddled off again. Equal parts of him wanted her to return immediately and save him from himself, or leave them alone and not come back at all.

“Wait—” he grabbed Perdy’s wrist as she turned, “I— can you help me? Please?” His voice was softer than usual, more pleading. His gaze dropped and he let go of her, already regretting the action and what it symbolised. Charlie flicked his eyes back up to meet hers, “If you’re not, if you’ve got time… I’d appreciate it. I don’t really know what I’m doing and,” he cleared his throat softly, thinking about the many different, luxurious looking, lingerie sets he’d seen Perdita in over the last year or so that they’d known one another, “I’d say you do.” For once his trademark smirk was nowhere to be seen. He still liked Perdita, but he felt awkward. They didn’t interact outside of hooking up. Not really. A few quick comments on their respective lives was sufficient small talk to lead into the real reason they ever saw each other. God, if she knew what he’d been through in the past few months she’d run a mile, even in those heels.

"Hiya," came the small response as Charlie spoke her name. She felt a brief pang of sympathy for him because he looked like he'd seen a ghost. Perdita studied him, nestled between the rolls of fabric. The shock on his face was just enough to burst her ego and there was no easy way to say it; it hurt. Thank goodness London was a big place. He was doing pretty well for himself so he had the cash to move into her neighbourhood but she didn't think he was that stupid.

His girlfriend? "Absolutely not," Perdita corrected Aria smoothly as she dropped her gaze to the floor. It was an easy mistake to make, seeing two young people talking in this type of place. While her tone wasn't rude, it let the older woman know that this was not going to be a subject of conversation. As she left, Perdita pinched the bridge of her nose briefly. She didn't want to deal with this. Deep down, she knew they needed to have some sort of chat but she didn't think it'd solve anything.

She held herself stiffly, a weak smile crossing her full lips as he finally realised that red or green was better than red and green. "Opposites on the colour wheel," she explained to Charlie. "It'd give everyone involved a migraine." The shades that he'd seemingly picked out were really nice and flattering and he should get something made up using them.

She didn't want to be rude but she assumed she was projecting the words fuck no like a neon sign, flashing above her head. Did he really not know how wildly inappropriate this was? If she were his girlfriend and she found out, she'd be positively apoplectic. Then again, it wasn't as though they were going lingerie shopping together. It was just fabric but it was still all kinds of wrong. If this was what it took to prove that she was fine, then so be it.

As her wrist was touched, she turned to face Charlie properly, her arm left hanging in mid-air as he quickly retracted his fingers. Clearing her throat, she scratched the back of her head as she tried to ignore the feeling of imprints on the underside of her wrist. She didn't want to do this. It wasn't that she couldn't, it was more a case of that she shouldn't. Too many lines had been crossed and everything was tangled and if they wanted to straighten things out, this was definitely not the way to go about it.

It was too late to grow a conscience now. What was done was done. She swallowed quickly. The tone of his voice was something she hadn't heard before and she suddenly felt a bit sorry for him. All of his Devil-may-care bravado had fallen away and she could see a glimpse of who he really was. Just a northern lad, normal and down to Earth, like she remembered before he'd become a superstar. Clearing her throat again, she rubbed her wrist in a poor attempt to get rid of the tingles.

If she really, truly wanted to be cordial, then she had to get over this. Charlie had. He looked so vulnerable and stressed out that a part of her couldn't say no to him. "Shit, Charlie," she swore softly as she rubbed at her forehead, her slender shoulders sinking in defeat. "Really?" Her voice was squeaky and unlike her usual velvet tones. There had to be someone else he could do this with that he hadn't seen naked yet. She chewed on her lip. If he just said he got it in Italy and kept it vague, his girlfriend wouldn't be any the wiser. It was a little white lie. Harmless, really. And it'd be beautiful. She didn't think he'd treat his girlfriend to anything sub par but this wasn't going to be off the rack. It was going to be one of a kind, made to measure and perfect.

"Okay," she said with a sigh as she dropped her own material to the floor with a thunk. "Whatever you've seen me in, forget about it," she told Charlie quickly. "No replicas. You don't want that, I don't want that and I imagine your girlfriend doesn't, either." She winced and grimaced; no thank you.

She wondered how long she'd be able to keep her artistic secret hidden and then he had to come along and ruin it. Perdita grabbed the back of her order form and flipped it over as she sketched a surprisingly realistic feminine form, from neckline to waistline. "Aria's pretty good at getting you what you need," she told Charlie, in an effort to get the focus away from herself and quickly in a subtle hint that she'd be better.

With faint and delicate strokes of a pencil, Perdita sketched out a standard bra and matching knickers, her smooth forehead creasing as the phrase what are you doing? What are you doing? What are you actually doing? bumped around her head. "Different materials act in different ways  but I'm sure you know that. Silks have different weight. It might be an idea to feel a couple of samples. Don't forget; you're buying this sort of stuff for her, not for you."

"You should make a list," Perdita informed him, still not meeting his eye. "Things she likes, colours and styles. It shouldn't be too sleazy," she informed him. Not that he was included but people she knew thought that barely there knickers were great. Personally, Perdita loved high waisted underwear. They were cute. "But you don't have to tell me," she added hastily as she flushed pink. "That's your thing and nothing to do with me." She nodded towards a nearby mannequin. "You can describe what you want. The mannequins in here move," she added distractedly as she shaded in her sketch and held it out for him to take. Embarrassed at him finding out what she could do, she simply shrugged. "Just an idea." She assumed Charlie would take the scrap of paper and go. He had no reason to hang around now.

“Right,” he nodded, “of course.” Charlie didn’t bother to argue that he’d intended to buy one green and one red set of lingerie, not some horrendous mish-mash. It seemed beside the point now. He continued to look at Perdita pleadingly, but was internally struggling with whether he should have asked for her assistance at all. In hindsight, perhaps he shouldn’t have. Still, he’d done it now. And it wasn’t like he was asking her to sleep with him – he just needed her help to make sure he got the right thing. The right thing being lingerie for his girlfriend. He could pretend it wasn’t inappropriate that he was asking the woman he’d been having an affair with to help him do so.
 
She seemed very reluctant, and when he looked back on this moment he’d likely think ‘rightly so’. Charlie would never have invited her along for a shopping trip back home, but now that she’d conveniently appeared he didn’t want her to leave. “Nobody needs to know.” He said quietly, echoing words he’d said to her before, but for even less appropriate reasons.
 
It appeared that he’d worn her down. Charlie’s eyes widened a little at her demand – and his thoughts immediately filled with memories of the brunette in front of him in various states of undress. That was the way your mind worked, wasn’t it? Be told not the think of the purple elephant and that was suddenly all you could think about. It was only now, as Charlie mentally revisited their encounters, that he realised how many times he must have stepped out on Kate with Perdita. Why was he such an arsehole? Well, he and Kate knew the answer to that now, didn’t they? But nobody else needed to know, if they hadn’t already worked it out on their own, he supposed. In a way, he’d always known. It seemed unlikely that nobody else had figured it out. He nodded his head in hurried agreement, “Yeah, I—I know. I didn’t know— I didn’t know you shopped here.” He stumbled over his words, still caught off guard by her presence. “I just—Kate has some of their stuff.” Ah, there it was. He’d already broken their golden rule: saying Kate’s name aloud. His cheeks flushed pink and he cleared his throat, hoping she wouldn’t think twice about it.
 
Charlie watched with interest as Perdy began sketching a design, his eyebrows rising in mild surprise. He knew that her family was involved in textiles and fashion, but had assumed her Ministry job was a purposeful step away from all of that. He’d never paused to consider that she might have had a hand in designing her own clothes, but now wondered if that was indeed the case. His dark eyes flicked from her drawing up to her face, watching her curiously. It was as if it had finally dawned upon him that he knew very little about Perdita Bloom outside of their clandestine meetings. He supposed she didn’t know a whole lot about him, either – other than what an awful boyfriend he was.
 
“I.. yeah,” he licked his lips slowly, still staring at Perdita’s face as she spoke. “I just—I know she likes silk.” The musician twisted to look at the mannequins as she nodded in their direction, almost flinching as one waved coyly at him. “That’s… not creepy at all.” He said, to no one in particular, subconsciously shuffling closer to Perdita. Christ, now his nightmares would be filled with faceless mannequins.
 
Charlie turned back to take the sketch from her slowly as she pronounced it done. “Thanks,” he looked at it for a moment then lifted his gaze to look her in the eye, “I didn’t know you could… do this.” He stared at her, holding their eye contact. “I owe you.” And he meant that. He owed her for a lot more than just a drawing. She could have ruined his life several times over by now, had she wanted to, and she’d always kept her word. As much as they were both terrible human beings for what they’d done, she’d somehow earned his trust – in a really fucked up way.
 
“Can I…” buy you a drink? He wanted to ask, but they’d never done that. They drank in his flat, before Kate had moved in, or in her townhouse. They didn’t go out in public. He dropped his gaze to the drawing. “Can you help me place the order? With Aria, was it?” He looked back up at her, the cocky frontman persona missing; fuck it. “Then we could… get a drink or something?”

As if on autopilot, her body reacted. The hairs on the back of her arms stood on end as a blast of goose bumps rose on her flesh. It was an automatic reaction. He'd said those words before, right before it happened, usually. Once upon a time, it filled her with excitement but now, a weird sort of mixture of guilt and regret bubbled in her stomach. She didn't reply but she did send him a sharp look. Staying silent, she simply gave him a shake of her head; not today.

"Why would you?" Perdita answered Charlie gently. Personally, she was the only one who looked inside labels of underwear and she hardly expected her partners too as well. "Ah." The noise slipped out before she could help it. Kate. Perdy sketched a small smile. He should be free to talk about his girlfriend as much as he liked, especially since their "arrangement" had ended some weeks ago. "Smart girl," the tall brunette replied politely. This place had the finest Italian silk and lace and any girl who decided to wear it definitely wasn't stupid.

In all fairness, she couldn't even be mad at him. He was clearly putting in the effort with his girlfriend and while her feelings were still muddled, her pride was hurt more than anything. She was nursing a bruised ego and she thought that was what was bothering her more.

She could feel Charlie's eyes on her and she steadfastly refused to meet them. The pencil made soft scratching noises against the paper as she added more unnecessary shading and finesse. This was fucked up. Royally wrong. But a small part of her brain thought that if she could help his bedroom matters, maybe it'd prove that she wasn't harbouring a crush? She looked up and chuckled gently. "They're a bit frightening at first," she admitted, taking a half-step sideways, placing her body just a little in front of his out of habit, like she was protecting him. "They're actually pretty obedient." As if to demonstrate her point, Perdita draped a length of silk across the mannequin's form and it held it in place for her.

Perdita offered him a wan smile. "It's in my blood," she remarked simply. "I couldn't always find what I liked. I used to just modify things in a while back," she added as she placed the stolen pad of paper back on a nearby table. "Then I realised I could just design what I wanted, rather than have to settle for second best." Plus, she had access to expensive materials and machinery and a lot of free time. A slight blush suffused her cheeks as she realised she'd revealed one of her secrets. "I don't do it often," she was quick to assure him. Charlie didn't need to know that the Mill was getting left to her older brother because he was a man. He had no idea what to do with it, how to run a business, how to treat staff, how to keep up to date.  It was frustrating because she was the best candidate. Her Ministry job was basically just a giant middle finger to her daddy.

As they locked eyes, Perdita chewed on her lower lip anxiously. "You don't owe me anything," she added gently. Oh sure, she could have made money by exposing him to the newspapers. She could have derailed his tour and broken up his band but for what? She'd be implicating herself and she'd never be able to show her face in polite society again. More than anything else, though, hurting him had never been an option. "Don't worry about it," she said hastily as she pulled her silk off the mannequin and bundled it together with her other samples.

"Of course I'll help," Perdita said quickly, smoothing over his offer of a drink as she made her way to the desk where Aria was waiting, wearing a pinched expression. She explained to the Italian woman what Charlie wanted; a set in red and in green. The green should be more of a forest-y colour and the red classy. Lace and bows were good. "Write down her measurements," she told Charlie as she handed him a pen and a slip of paper before kindly looking away. She'd already broken the Girl Code but she knew two things she should never ask; a woman's age and a woman's size.


She handed Aria the sketch and the woman nodded in approval. "You can tweak these," she told the seamstress, tracing her finger along the curve of the bra. "Some lace here, maybe?" Aria told Perdita that a pair of silk shorts were both practical and sexy and a good idea and she shifted uncomfortably on the spot, both out of praise and having Charlie standing so close. Perdita translated the other woman's words to him, letting him agree or decline before handing him an order form for him to sign. "They'll be ready in about three or four days," she added. He could possibly pick them up between rehearsals for his shows.

As Charlie was double checking the paperwork, Perdy paid for her own fabric and took the bag from Aria who still wasn't convinced. Her eyes flicked back and forth between them both and Perdita resolutely ignored it as she shrugged her coat back on.

A drink. It seemed innocuous enough but they could have bonded over absolutely anything. Art, music, fashion, books, even bloody one-liners but no, they were in a high end lingerie shop. She'd been silent for a few minutes now. The more time progressed when they were apart, she realised that whatever they had was just purely physical. It wasn't Charlie's fault, he'd even warned her. Maybe that was why he was so confused at her behaviour or why he didn't really give a shit. Perdita was so stupid. So stupid. She could blame it on him. He was a natural born front man; charming, sexy, confident and his smile was so wicked but she'd been the one to fall. Not him.

He was in the middle of a global tour. There were bound to be cameras and journalists and Heaven forbid one of them caught them together, however innocent it was. She opened her mouth to decline his offer before she remembered that this must be hard for him, too. Prior to this, they'd been friends. Perdita had never lied to him, unlike perhaps his manager or his crew. Their friendship was fractured but not beyond repair. He seemed genuinely keen to recover some of it and it wasn't his fault that she just wasn't on his level.

Being so close was too painful and humiliating. Charlie had come out of his smelling like roses. He still had his girlfriend (who was evidently too good for him), his friends and his successful career. She, however, only had Pongo, who was great for companionship but wasn't a great conversationalist. "Okay," Perdita finally acquiesced as she held the door to the shop open for him to exit into the street. "There'll be a coffee shop somewhere close." Italians loved their coffee, there had to be a non-threatening, family-run establishment away from people somewhere. Imagine if they'd decided on cocktails instead. 

Charlie listened to Perdita, really listened, as she told him about her hidden talent. He bit his lip softly, frowning a little at himself. He really was a dickhead, wasn’t he? Not only had he treated Kate like shit, he’d been treating everyone else like shit too – Perdy included. A voice in his head told him that it was fine, that they’d agreed to it all from the beginning. Known what was and wasn’t required of each other – and yet, they had gotten on, hadn’t they? She’d been a good sport about everything, and he’d just tossed her aside when he was done. Charlie didn’t harbour any intense feelings for Perdita, but he didn’t dislike her. Didn’t not care about her as a person. Of course, he wasn’t silly enough to think she couldn’t do better. And she deserved better than to be someone’s bit on the side.

“No, I mean it.” He said quietly, “I—” he stopped himself, unsure how best to explain what she’d done for him. Whether or not she’d intended to. And the more he held the eye contact with her, he felt that she had intended to. For a brief moment Charlie was teleported back to that moment in her hallway - right before he’d left - when they’d stared at one another and both been either unwilling or unable to say what they had wanted to. “I really appreciate it.” He said finally, his voice softer than usual as his defences began peeling away slowly before her.

Charlie followed Perdita to the counter, standing awkwardly and a little too close as the two women exchanged instructions in Italian. Obediently, he reached into his pocket for Kate’s measurements and scribbled them down on a corner of the parchment Perdy had designed his girlfriend’s lingerie on. “Er, yeah. Make one of them shorts if you want.” He glanced between Perdita and Aria and gave them a vague nod. “Right, great.” He picked up the pencil once more and scrawled an address on the form, “Can you send them here? I’ll pay for the extra postage.”

Charlie paid for his goods, then turned to face Perdita. He half expected her to politely remember a prior engagement now that he no longer desperately needed her assistance, but she surprised him by agreeing to extend their impromptu catch-up. He wasn’t quick enough to hide his disbelief; his brow rising for a brief moment before he managed to regain some control over his expression. “Great.” He said, though he didn’t really feel great about it. He supposed it was marginally better than getting a real drink with her, and that he, once again, owed her for saving him from himself.

The musician exited the shop back into the ‘street’ of the shopping centre, “I think I saw one up this way.” Charlie offered, reaching up to run a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture. Not expecting to see anyone he knew, he’d not bothered to put any product in it today and was only now regretting this decision. “So erm, you on holiday or summat?” He asked as they began walking, trying to gauge the level of familiarity he would be permitted to assume with her. Maybe he would ask for a shot of something a little stronger in his coffee.

After a short walk through the centre even Charlie with his non-existent Italian was able to identify a suitable looking 'bar'. On previous visits to Italy he'd been dismayed to learn that a bar was not really a bar here. He pulled the door open and stood to the side, "After you."

She offered Charlie a sympathetic smile. It wasn't really his fault - or hers - they just weren't that sort of friends. It was actually pretty funny how similar to one another they tended to be. It didn't matter about the fame or the money or the notoriety. While they didn't like the same things, they had similar values. Perdita didn't want to talk about it and the more Charlie tried to, the more she wanted to cry.

After that night, she didn't think they'd see each other again. London was a big place after all and he had an American girlfriend; she still didn't really know if he had a base in the capital. Perdy just felt embarrassed and she thought he did, too. They'd both behaved poorly and the blame fell equally on both of their shoulders. Swiftly, she held a hand up in an effort to silence him as she shook her head, her shiny bob swinging. "It's fine." She said shortly and it was. She didn't really like feelings; they were messy, disorganised and hard to control, they were everything she hated. They'd both treated each other wrongly and they'd apologised for it, so it was fine.

"Ta," she said as she headed out back outside, her slender fingers pulling her jacket closer around her to ward off the early spring chill. Perdita let out a very small chuckle at his accent. In a way, it was sort of…endearing. Charlie lead a fast-paced, high-flying life now but it was nice to see him a little rough around the edges. She wondered if that was what made him so exciting and approachable to his fan base.

"I'm doing some work on the villa," she told him as her heels click-clacked along the worn cobbles. Charlie knew that she very rarely spoke about money. She wasn't raised that way. It was tacky and classless and gauche. He knew her family had money, that they had holiday homes dotted all over the continent and he knew that she'd never really struggled. But it wasn't ever a conversation she felt comfortable having, so she didn't. "Just some new windows and few bits and bobs," she added vaguely. She purposefully downplayed the fact that Villa Tivoli was undergoing a complete refit.

He probably didn't know that she loved Italy dearly - again, it wasn't the sort of things they discussed. She felt a bit touchy. Charlie's casual remark about her being on holiday nettled her somewhat, as though he thought jet setting was the only thing she ever did but she managed to swallow it back down. It wasn't the time and the place. "My boss is having some sort of summer event he wants to throw for his department," Perdita rolled her eyes. "He thinks this area would be perfect and asked if I knew any villas he could rent. There are loads by the coast he can pick from, so I'm also just swinging by to collect some pamphlets on them."

Of course she knew some nice villas. The Amalfi Coast was stunning but it was her happy place and she didn't want anyone to tarnish it. Perdita would be the first one to admit that she was selfish in that respect.

She opened the heavy door to the coffee shop, a little bell tinkling to announce their arrival as the smell off coffee and tobacco hit them hard. There was idle chatter in the dark wooden room, the clinking of glasses and the faint whirr of the industrial coffee machines on the counter. Perdita shrugged off her jacket and slung it over her arm as she waited in line before placing her order, allowing Charlie to do the same before she paid for the drinks and the inevitable cover charge before he could protest.

Her dinky little cup of inky black coffee was carried carefully over to a table as she folded her tall body into a seat. A moment or two of silence passed before she found it almost unbearable. Her stirring stopped suddenly as she pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. "We're fine," she told Charlie briskly as she sipped from her potent little cup. "I misread the signals - " or the fact that he wasn't actually giving her any "- and I didn't mean to make this…excruciatingly uncomfortable," she winced. "And for that, I'm really sorry. It's not your fault." With that, she quickly placed her tiny little biscotti from her saucer to his as a peace offering. "Best we don't mention this again."

“You got one here?” He asked for the sake of conversation, before realising it was a redundant question. He supposed that made sense -- her family was in fashion, he was pretty sure, and he was at least worldwise enough to know Milan was famous for its textiles and fashion week. Not something he was interested in, of course. Nor was he overly interested in the Bloom family’s property portfolio, but it was almost as far away as they could get from their usual kind of conversation. “You doing it yourself?” He joked, pretending to be impressed but simultaneously making it quite clear he didn’t expect Perdita Bloom to be decked in overalls with paint and plaster dust all over her.

“Ministry must be paying him too much if they can afford to throw parties in Italy.” Charlie muttered, a little darkly. They’d never discussed it so she wasn’t to know, but Charlie wasn’t a fan of the British Ministry (not that he had any great love for any other Ministries, for that matter), even though several of his friends worked there. Part of him knew that it had been You Know Who and his Death Eaters who had taken over and enforced the various anti-muggleborn rules and restrictions, but it still amazed him that the wizarding government could be so easily infiltrated and swayed. He’d been lucky; he escaped to the States during the whole thing, but he knew many muggleborns hadn’t been so fortunate.

Hands in his pockets, Charlie looked in the food cabinet to see if there was anything he fancied -- but for some inexplicable reason eating with Perdita felt like another toe over the line. The line he was already crossing simply by being anywhere with her. Reaching the front of the queue, she placed her coffee order and Charlie glanced up at the menu, feeling that inherent pressure to place his own quickly so as not to hold anyone up. The child in him wanted a Marocchino, but he wouldn’t allow himself to get one in Perdita’s presence. “Cappuccino, please--” he hadn’t even reached for his wallet before Perdy had already paid for them both.

“You should’ve let me get it.” He scolded her quietly, taking a seat opposite. Once sat down, his dark eyes drank her in slowly. He was used to seeing her in lingerie, pajamas, or nothing at all. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Perdita in actual clothes -- perhaps when they’d met, which he now realised was almost two years ago. It had been after kicking things off with Kate, but before he’d considered them anything serious. They’d just been writing letters to one another at the time, which hadn’t been enough for someone like Charlie. Perdita had filled the gap, for the time being. He just hadn't ended it like he'd originally planned to.

Silence fell over them as the abnormality of the situation sunk in. They had never been ‘out’ together. His gaze roamed around the small bar, looking any way but at her. He was regretting his olive branch, and now wished he could pull it back in, but it was too late. Their drinks arrived and he picked his cup up to take a sip.

Charlie’s eyes found hers and he set his coffee back down. His eyebrows rose as she started babbling -- this was not the cool, charismatic Perdy he was used to. Charlie kept his lips pressed together, a strange feeling in his chest. He didn’t know how to respond to… that. What was she even saying, really? We’re fine, what the bloody hell did that mean? Was she apologising for the way they’d left things? As if they had things to leave. She was just sex, he reminded himself. That he’d been giving her signals -- well, he supposed he had been, but maybe she’d interpreted things differently to how he’d intended. He swallowed and dropped his gaze to see her long, thin fingers placing her biscotti on his saucer. To anyone observing them, it wouldn’t have seemed a strange thing to do, skinny girls gave their boyfriends unwanted food all the time, but it was an alien gesture to them because of what, he believed, she was trying to symbolise with the action.

He had two choices, as far as he could see, and not a lot of time to make a decision before it would be made for him: try to placate her, and likely do a horrendous job of it because he didn’t do feelings with anyone but Kate (and even then, he was hardly good at it), or shrug it off like nothing had happened -- something he was used to doing. An expert, if you will.

Charlie picked up the biscuit and sat back in his chair, glancing up at her with a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Mention what?” He took a bite.

"It's more of a townhouse," Perdita replied as they walked through the higgledy-piggledy streets. It was very rare for her to be in London these days and it wasn't just because Charlie's neighbourhood wasn't far from hers. The idea of them bumping into one another in the supermarket was too close for comfort. London was sprawling but if they moved in similar circles, it felt more like a goldfish bowl.

Was she doing it herself? She nodded, her sleek dark bob swaying as she did so. "I'm the only one who uses it really," she admitted to Charlie with a wan smile. "Mummy's not one for the sun." Perdita and her mother looked very much alike. Both tall with high cheekbones and delicate skin but that was where the similarities ended. While her mum was keen to languish in the Bloom's money, the conversation about wealth had always left Perdy feeling somewhat nauseous. An English rose through and through, her mother stayed while her father travelled. Mrs. Bloom was a lady that lunched and Perdita had long since stopped accompanying her. If she had to endure one more mention of her lack of boobs by one of her mother's friends, she was going to launch herself right into the Dee.

She caught his vibe but didn't look over at him. "If it helps, I'm not invited," she added with a gentle smile as she flicked her eyes over to him. Perdita was fighting a losing battle. People knew her family so they assumed she was an airhead. An heiress, living off her grandfather's money. She'd had it every day since she was born, while her empty-headed brother was "training" to take the reigns when everyone knew she was the only one qualified to run it. The Ministry job had been a big middle finger to her dad but now, she'd come to think of it was something that was keeping her sane. "Please, feel free to gatecrash. It might liven things up."

Perdita sighed as she slipped off her coat and folded it neatly across her lap. "Gender roles aren't really my thing," she told Charlie with another brittle smile. Typical them, arguing over something so insignificant as paying for a cup of coffee. "It's easing my guilt, so just let me."

She also wasn't offended as the musician didn't meet her eye. He was looking for an escape route; she understood. She did feel very exposed, even in a foreign city. This wasn't their thing. They were at her place and very rarely his, meeting in the middle of the night to do sordid deeds. An unusual sensation settled around her shoulders, a mixture of guilt and a faint pang of loss. It felt like a break up, even though they were never together. How messed up was what? It was also the problem.

Charlie was very unlike himself. He held himself stiffly and anxiously and while she wasn't a fan of his music, he was undeniably good at what he did. Charismatic with a dark sense of humour that only Northerners could appreciate, it was a shock to see him this way. She sipped at her coffee in silence, the bitter tang of the thick black liquid trickling into her bloodstream. Sooner or later, Perdita needed to understand that they were fractured. A friendship based on hooking up was never really a friendship to begin with. Charlie had been interested in her body, not her personality and she'd admit that it went both ways. It was a very real possibility that if Charlie ever got to know her, he wouldn't actually like her. That happened often.

In spite of herself, the tall brunette gave a snort of laughter. She visibly relaxed, her slender shoulders back as she regained her perfect posture. "Good lad," Perdita commented as she raised her up in a mock salute. She'd be okay, she'd always be okay. Like a cat, she'd always land on her feet. Now wasn't the time to talk about how she was feeling. Charlie had agreed to draw a line under it and she owed it to him to do the same.

She parted her lips to say something before she decided against it and cleared her throat. "So, how's London?" Perdita asked as she stirred her coffee, momentarily entranced by the way the dark liquid swirled around her cup. What she actually wanted to ask was did you find a house yet? It would be nice not to have to hide or, at least, alter her schedule to prevent accidentally meeting his girlfriend. Her smooth forehead creased in mild terror.

Charlie finished chewing on his gifted biscotti and took a sip of his cappuccino. His brandy-coloured eyes flicked up to look at her face as she cleared her throat. “You not live there anymore?” He asked, mildly confused by the question. Then the penny dropped and he realised she might be trying to figure out if he still lived there. “I like London but we erm, we’ve been looking at places. The flat’s not really… it were fine when it was just me.” He spun his cup around on its saucer as he spoke, looking down at it rather than meeting her gaze. “We’ll stay near the city though I think, it’s convenient for us both to be near everything.”

He couldn’t remember having mentioned any of this to Perdita, but maybe she just assumed they might move stateside now that they were back together -- he had to admit the idea had crossed his mind, but he thought California was just too far from home. New York had been a possibility, but why swap London for New York, other than to distance himself from everyone he knew? Some people he could obviously do with seeing less -- Perdita included -- but others were forming a valuable part of his support network. He wasn’t sure how much of a mess he’d be without Sam or Fflur or Ken to keep him on the straight and narrow.

He sat up straighter and scratched the back of his neck. “We were almost neighbours,” he smiled at her awkwardly, “Kate found some place on your street and it weren’t till we turned up I realised...” He pulled a face, “Obviously I said no, but um.” He paused, exhaling with a deep sigh, “I had to tell her why, after.” He swallowed. That news had gone down like a cup of cold sick, but at least he’d been honest with her. He’d tried to nitpick over other issues with the grand townhouse, but it had had everything they wanted and nothing they didn’t, so when he’d vetoed it it had rang alarm bells for his girlfriend. “Don’t worry, I um, I didn’t tell her which house was yours.”

He bit his lip and ruffled his hair, “I’m sorry for, dragging you into everything.” And he was. It had been his fault from the beginning; he’d initiated their arrangement, and he understood now how much he’d taken advantage of the pretty brunette sat across from him. She was young, too, he realised. Not as young as Kate, but still a few years younger than him. Had she really understood what she was getting herself into at the time? “Anyway, I think we’re putting a hold on house-hunting until the tour is finished. We just don’t have the time...” He glanced back up at her, “Sorry, I shouldn’t be talking about-- what have you been up to?”

Perdita offered Charlie a brittle smile. She had a plummy accent but Cheshire was home, whether or not he knew it was irrelevant. If she was going to get deep, she wasn't sure she'd lived anywhere for a number of years - she merely existed. Like a transient in designer clothing. He caught her drift and she nodded accordingly.

"Good choice," she offered gallantly. Charlie had the money for city-living and location was almost everything in the capital. Charlie should be allowed to speak about his girlfriend, he should be speaking about his girlfriend. It was a normal thing to be doing. It wasn't so much like peeling off a plaster but more like picking at a scab. She was healing but the perverse desire to just know a little bit more was making her stomach churn.

Her slim eyebrows arched in surprise and then furrowed in concern. Her street. Scratching her forehead, Perdy sighed lightly  before she ran a hand through her dark hair. "Well, that was nice of you," she commented without sarcasm. In fact, not moving in next door was probably the nicest thing he could have done. The images of children riding their bikes down the long, pristine and tree-lined avenue flickered across her mind like a movie and she shifted. Charlie could - and would - still have all that. He just needed to have it in a different post code.

Swiftly, she winced. "Oh fuck," she replied on an exhale. "Sorry." And she was. Though they were circling around each other, Perdita didn't mean Charlie any harm and she certainly didn't want him to be upset. In an ideal world, they could co-exist but realistically, neither one of them would be that comfortable. Perdita would never be "the cool chick" or someone who was as easy-going as to share lovers. Suddenly aware that she'd been holding herself stiffly, she blinked her big blue eyes three times in rapid succession. It must have been rough. That poor girl's heart must have been bruised but not broken, seeing as they'd patched things up. "Notting Hill," she added hastily. "Trendy, arty, pretty close. Might be worth taking a look at." And it was the next borough over.

In spite of everything, Perdita laughed as she rolled her coffee cup around in her hands, finding a modicum of comfort in the searing heat from the china. "I know she's American," she began in jest. "But I'm pretty sure she wouldn't paint the word "slag" across my door in red paint." Chewing on her lower lip absently, she gave Charlie a half nod, a universal symbol of thank you.

Perdy took a look at Charlie - a good look. He didn't seem quite…right. He'd lost the air of arrogance, the confidence, the jovial little bubble he was usually in. She suddenly realised that it was her fault that he was on eggshells. "It's okay," the secretary replied after a few seconds of silence. "It wasn't meant to get so --" she struggled for the appropriate wording to use. "Bungled? I don't know," she exhaled in a huff, causing her fringe to flutter.

Long story short, it went further than it should have done and neither of them were blameless. It wouldn't matter to his girlfriend, obviously, and she'd never darken their doorway again. Out of habit, she scratched her collarbone, absently wondering where she should attach her new scarlet letter.

She smiled again. "It's okay. You can tell me," she coaxed Charlie quickly as she nodded encouragingly. "It's not taboo. I'm a big girl." But how were things with her? Gee, where to start. Her car crash of a love life, Torrence Regan, mounting responsibilities, the strange guy in the canteen who kept staring at her during their lunch break, her mother asking when shed be given grandchildren.

"I'm just keeping busy," Perdy answered him vaguely. "I started driving lessons? Mainly to give my father an overdue heart attack," she joked, sort of. It didn't help that there was absolutely nowhere to park a car in the vicinity. "Work's fine. Pongo's fine. Family are fine. How's your mum?" Perdita asked casually as she sipped her cooling coffee. "She must be happy you're home for a little while. I bet she misses you."

Charlie gave her a lopsided smile. “Yeah, thought I’d save us both the hassle,” he joked – but he meant it. As much as he felt sure in his ability to behave himself at such close proximity, he was equally unsure about it. Besides, it hadn’t been about him in that moment. He’d been thinking about Kate, and how betrayed she would have felt upon finding out later down the line. It had been unpleasant to tell her, to turn down an otherwise perfect home, but he also thought that maybe it was a step in the right direction for them both.

“It’s not your fault,” he reassured her, for what was definitely not the first time today. He picked up his coffee cup and took another sip, nodding politely at her suggestion. Arms folded on the table top, he had come in a little closer. Charlie let out a breathy chuckle and scratched at his jaw, avoiding Perdita’s eyes, “Yeah, dunno, I wouldn’t put it past her.” He smiled to himself if only to stop himself from looking downtrodden; not that he didn’t deserve to.

Charlie glanced up and met Perdita’s gaze – held it as she spoke. He felt somehow validated that he wasn’t the only one who seemed to think they’d taken it all too far. It had been fun in the beginning, and not that they should have been doing it at all, but they should have ended it the minute Kate had touched down on English soil. That had been their biggest mistake – Charlie’s biggest mistake – allowing it to continue. He wet his lips slowly and reached his hand out to run his fingers around the near-edge of her saucer. “Yeah,” he nodded, unsure what else he could add to that without giving her the wrong impression.

His attention flicked up to her face again. Charlie sat up a little straighter in his seat and drew his hand back towards his side of the table slowly, though not withdrawing it entirely from her reach. He tapped his fingernails on the wood softly as he listened. A wide, genuine grin stretched across his lips. “Driving lessons? Like, in a car?” He laughed and shifted in his seat again, lifting his hand to run it through his hair and ruffle it. “Shoulda sent out some sort of warning, get people off the roads first,” he teased. In all honesty, he had no idea how she’d fare behind a steering wheel. He bit his lip to prevent himself from making some sort of lewd comment about the backseat.

Pongo. Charlie pursed his lips and his brow furrowed lightly; he didn’t usually dislike dogs – though he wasn’t one of those people that was either a cat person or a dog person, he liked them equally, really – but Perdita’s pet dalmatian seemed to genuinely have it in for him. He couldn’t recall having had an event-free visit to Perdy’s townhouse thanks to her dog, but he supposed at least his last hadn’t involved getting bitten.

He blinked. “Mum?” They didn’t… talk about families. Was this her way of trying to permanently cement herself in the realm of friendship? He cleared his throat and smoothed his hand around the back of his neck; he suddenly felt warm all through his cheeks to his ears – the thought of his mum knowing anything about Perdita Bloom wasn’t an appetising one. “Yeah, erm, I suppose.” Kate usually prodded him about his family, about seeing them more often. Having Perdy bring them up felt off – just when they’d been sort of relaxing into… whatever it was that had been working.

“Are you—” he bit his lip again, staring at the ceiling as he tried to find a quick change in subject – but talking wasn’t their strong point, and on top of that he was swiftly realising he knew very little about the brunette across from him. He frowned, more to himself than at her, then dropped his gaze to look her in the eye. “Why don’t you—why do you work at the Ministry?” He asked, as legitimately curious as he possibly could be about his former lover’s career choices. “Like, you can obviously do the—” he gestured over his shoulder, back in the direction of the lingerie shop, “—so why don’t you?”

Perdita offered Charlie a brief smile and lowered her gaze. Shifting the blame didn't really seem like it was going to be beneficial for either of them, so she stopped doing it. If he wanted to take the blame, he could have it.

Without meaning to, she let a soft sigh escape her lips. It was always the same in these sorts of situations; the woman was the outcast and the man was forgiven. It was a time old tale, she figured. Perdy wasn't really one for "Girl Code". It was a stupid American thing that just didn't fit in with the culture here. Never one to feel sorry for herself, she was a little bit irked that Charlie had come out of this relatively unscathed. He still had his girlfriend, his career and his friends where as she still wasn't comfortable showing her face in polite London society. But she'd made her bed and they'd shagged in it. C'est la vie.

Her eyes were drawn to the way his fingers touched her saucer and she frowned briefly. She didn't think she and Charlie had ever had so much as "friendly cup of coffee" but she smiled when he did. "No, in a spaceship," she chided him gently with a playful roll of her eyes and a tut. She neglected to mention that she lived in the heart of the one of most polluted and congested areas of the world where parking spaces came at a premium. "I'm an excellent driver," Perdy commented primly as she smoothed out the non-existent creases in her skirt. "Just avoid Belgravia between twelve and one on Thursday afternoons," she warned him lightly of her driving lesson slot.

Oh. Limit reached.

Like a metaphorical record scratch, they fell silent. Why did she mention his mother for? She winced as soon as the words left her. It was pretty obvious that they couldn't really be friends. They lacked the sort of easy companionship that friendship should be built upon. Conversations were stilted, almost like they didn't know how to function around each other outside of the bedroom. It dismayed Perdita somewhat and it showed on her face in the warm café light. Stupid cow, she chastised herself mentally. How could they move forward if she kept dragging them back?

"Hm? Oh. That." Perdita blinked and cleared her throat. "Independence?" She offered with a smile and a shrug as she wrapped her long fingers around her coffee cup absently. "Extra cash. Don't laugh," she advised Charlie. She realised how dumb that sounded. The Blooms were rich - really rich - but she'd never been one to brag about it. "I was getting to the point where I wanted a bit of normality." She flicked her eyes up to his and then over his shoulder, unsure of whether or not he'd understand. "I like boring things, repetition and the mundane. I don't know," she shrugged. "Everyone seemed to be getting jobs and I wanted to fit in. And it gets me out of the house. They can be overbearing." With that, she offered him a wan smile. All Perdita ever really wanted to do was to be normal.

An uncharacteristic pink tinge suffused her cheeks as she gave a faint blush. "Ah no," she shook her head as she sipped her coffee again quickly. "It's just a hobby. I don't have formal training." Perdita had sort of done this through osmosis. She could sew, she could match patterns, she could run costs and she knew damned well she could run Bloom Mill instead of her brother. "It…doesn't really fit in with the family brand," she eventually settled on, suddenly looking as though she was shrinking in her seat and as though the pressures of being a woman, ignored and belittled were on her shoulders.

"It's not that deep," she was quick to placate Charlie before he got uncomfortable. "A lot of young ladies in society seem to want to branch out into either lingerie, swimwear or shoes." He probably noticed. A lot of haughty ladies with too much of their daddy's cash tried to make it on their own. She didn't really want to be one of those spoilt princesses. She offered him another small smile. "London's full of them." Perdita was sort of at a crossroads. While she spent a lot of time in London, "home" was Cheshire but she didn't really fit in there, either. She was floating - listless and lost. "I think I'm having a quarter life crisis," she snorted.

Rather rudely, Perdita cracked her knuckles. Safe topics of conversation were always a little tricky but he was making an effort and so should she. "I'm fine," she added quickly, in the off chance Charlie was actually bothered about her mental health. In a morbid fascination, she sort of wanted to know more about his girlfriend. It was a bit like picking a scab. If they were going to be friends, then they shouldn't have to step on eggshells around one another. "But the tour," she jumped right in. "Must be going well? I've heard great things."