golden ✨

Marisa had asked if he believed in truth or honesty, and Reed took a real moment to consider the question. "Not entirely," He admitted with a shrug that was far too casual for the conversation they were currently having. If she were anyone else, he would have left it mysteriously at that and let the subject change. Reed was a conversationalist, he was trained to socialize and keep people interested, and he knew that the best way to achieve that goal was to say as little as possible. By keeping someone guessing, wondering what you were getting at, you kept their interest. If you told them the answers all at once, what use did they have left for you? And that, in itself, was just another example of dishonesty.

But he did want to be honest with Marisa. It was a strange but powerful compulsion that pushed him to elaborate, and soon enough, Reed embodied his own words. "No one will give you honesty out of the goodness of their heart. They want something out of the deal, even if they aren't admitting it to themselves." Whether it was a physical need, something tactless, or simple vanity, Reed didn't believe in honesty. Humans were built to barter and trade, and words were nothing but currency. Even he wanted something from her, but unlike so many of their peers, Reed was fully aware of his desires, and he had never been afraid to act on them.

For all the reasons, Reed was entirely forthcoming with Marisa tonight. It was refreshing to talk to someone who asked all the right questions. Or maybe they were only the right ones because they were coming from her. Telling her the fun fact about memories was easy, and Reed realized his favorite part was watching as she thought about it. Almost as if he could see the wheels turning in his head. Marisa didn't just listen or soak up information like a sponge, she poked at it, thought about it, asked questions, and Merlin did he respect that is a witch. She deserved every accolade she was going to get tonight. "We're all just products of our own egos then?" Reed laughed at her assertion, a small laugh at first that built into a bigger one as he nodded and agreed. "Precisely,"

"Not me, though, no ego here." One wicked eyebrow shot up his forehead, and he laughed again, this time full on, his head tilting back as he shook. Maybe it was the bit of whiskey he'd had, or finally feeling like he wasn't putting on a show, but Reed allowed himself that laugh. He was always in a good mood, it was practically a job requirement, but it had been a long time since he'd had a genuine laugh.

They turned to find the monument, and Reed's smile faded as a stunned look replaced it. Moreta had good tastes, and Marisa, too, for deciding to show him this instead of anything else on the sprawling grounds. Reed watched the snakes with amazement and then turned back to answer Marisa's question about family emblems. "Something like that," He offered, back to half-truths and mystery, but only because he was so enthralled. The idea that she'd compared him to the God of War was not lost on him, though; it was something he'd tuck away and bring up later, indeed. Then, stepping onto the stone, Reed waited for the magic to begin and spoke to her when it had finished.

He wanted her to have a go, but more importantly, Reed wanted to hear what the snakes whispered about her when she couldn't understand them. As with most things that were misunderstood, Reed knew snakes were wildly good at judging people. It was probably why the creatures had been immortalized in these statues. But instead, someone came to ruin their fun, and Reed was quick to turn and look down at them. He stepped in front of the attendant who had come to collect her, like some instinct had taken over, and then pivoted. The ceremony was starting, and of course, they couldn't miss it, so Reed didn't argue when Marisa ushered him back toward the main house. "Over the God of War's dead body," He stated when she mentioned him getting stuck sitting next to her alcoholic all-hands auntie.

Everyone seemed to be buzzing around the banquet hall, but Reed only noticed the look on Marisa's face. She was nervous, but it looked like the exciting sort of worried like she was anxious and exhilarated at the same time, and he loved the way it looked on her. "Don't worry; you'll do great up there." He leaned in to whisper. It was unwarranted, but it was honest, and it didn't matter if he wanted something from her in return because it was still accurate. "And you look amazing."

She smiled at his compliment, feeling his breath against her ear as he leaned closer, catching a scent of oakmoss and sandalwood and gave him a look. "Normally, I would question that considering your 'I don't believe in honesty' ideology, but--" The sound of the Sonorous Charm ringing into place made her snap her eyes back to the stage and she quieted immediately, forgetting whatever cheeky comment she was going to say to him. She knew she shouldn't care about it this much, but she found herself teetering on an edge of anticipation and quiet excitement. She could silently chide herself for looking forward to the praise and validation from her peers while still also accepting said praise and validation.

A soft smile came to her lips as Moreta, matriarch of the Marchesi family, took center stage and easily commanded the room, just like she always did. Marisa listened attentively as her grandmother started her speech, thanking everyone for attending, telling them how Marchesi clients were quite literally the best in the world, and telling elegant asides that sent titters of laughter throughout the room. Moreta knew how to work a room, whether it was five people or five hundred.

The Marchesi matriarch also had the honor of revealing the gift table, one bespoke timepiece for each client, customized with initials and golden pocket chain. Marisa couldn't imagine how much the family had spent for those gifts, probably a small fortune. But just before the crowd got too carried away with anticipation of receiving their gifts, Moreta unveiled the tiffany crystal three-dimensional capital M trophies that sparkled under the party lights. Marisa had watched each head of shop receive one for their hard work and dedication. Some of the head of shops had 12, 15 even, but Marisa could barely imagine what it would feel like to be able to put even one in her showcase. She clutched her hands before her as they started to run through the different shops around the globe.

The heads of shop of Milan, Paris, and New York all called up to the stage, Moreta kissing each cheek with a gracious smile. Marisa could feel some of the party goers gravitating toward the gift table, not concerned with staff recognitions, but the tailoress felt rooted to the spot. Then Madrid, Amsterdam, and Toyko.

She hadn't paid much attention last year so couldn't remember what the order was, but she was pretty sure it chronological order of when the shops were opened around the globe. Why couldn't she remember where London fell in this lineup. The stage was getting fuller and the number of trophies dwindling until there were only two left. Los Angeles, Hong Kong. There was no way that they were older than the London shop. Marisa clutched her fingers tighter together as the slightest of frowns touched between her brows. It wasn't long before Moreta was concluding her whole speech, wishing everyone a fabulous night, to continue to enjoy the party, and other well wishes when she saw her grandmother smile at right at her.

Marisa couldn't move.

Had she done this on purpose? No, she corrected immediately, there had to be some mistake. Moreta passed by a few moments later and laid a possessive hand on her arm even though she knew the risk and gave her a smile. "Perhaps next year, dear," was her only explanation before she moved through the crowd and Marisa felt something yawning open in her chest before she reached out a shaky hand to a servant dressed in all gold and downed a glass of champagne without tasting it. She couldn't even look at the man beside her as she started to move towards to doors like a ghost, her steps slow at first and then moving faster, needing to be far away.

The ceremony began, and Reed settled into where he was standing, his weight shifted comfortably. One hand tucked casually into a pocket while the other was handed a glass of the finest whiskey by a passing attendant. He'd seen Moreta do this speech countless times over the years, and while the quips and the announcements were always a little different, it was the same. There was something to that, to the routine they had created over generations of making the finest suits for the most refined customers. The repetition wasn't obnoxious or bland but rather a testament to the companies longevity. And he knew what to expect, just like the rest of the party's patrons. Gifts. The customers were given some ludicrously expensive item every year, not that Reed was complaining, but it was the trophies he was most interested in this season. Not because he coveted one, but because he knew that Marisa did. She'd barely mentioned it, hadn't said as much, but Reed wasn't blind; he could see it written all over her in the weeks leading up to the gala. And now, as he dared to look beside him, he saw it again.

And damn if she didn't deserve one. While he'd never mention it to her, Reed knew that Marisa's father had nearly run the London shop into the ground. He'd been a piss poor manager, and if not for the skilled witch beside him, Reed may have taken his business elsewhere. She'd saved that shop, and she deserved every bit of this accolade. A lot more than half of the other tailorresses announced, he was sure.

But her praise never came.

Reed wasn't as in tune with emotions as some might have been, but he felt like he could feel the anxiety wafting off of her as another name, not hers, was called, and then another, and the trophies began disappearing. And when Moreta called the last name, he gritted his teeth, and his icy eyes found the witch in charge. It wasn't like he had any say in these things, Reed was a customer, a highly paid and quite influential one, to be sure, but he wasn't a part of this twisted family. Moreta headed toward them, her hand gripping Marisa's arm, and Reed felt a sensation of something ripple through him. A mixing need to protect her and be professional, and then decided he didn't give a damn. "The fuck just happened?" He asked, a rare moment of letting thoughts slip into words without care, and turned to look at Marisa, but she was gone. Moreta was moving on too, and Reed could only follow one of them, and of course, he chose Marisa.

Turning quickly, Reed downed the rest of his whiskey and headed toward the doors. Only slowing down long enough to place his empty glass on a tray and take the entire bottle of whatever the attendant had. The young wizard said something, but Reed gave him a deadly glare and carried on. They were going to need this. He left the banquet hall and searched Marisa, finding her further away and rushing to meet her. "That should not have happened." He said, popping the top off something that probably cost twice his yearly rent and holding it toward her.

How could I have gotten this so wrong? Was I missing something? I thought--

Marisa hurried her steps, her pale blue dress whispering against the floor, her breath feeling shallow, as an inescapable need to get out of there propelled her from the room. She hesitated only a step once she cleared the doors to the grand ballroom, glancing down the three corridors before she took the right by instinct that would take her to the wing with personal rooms for family and guests. It was typically off limits during a party, but the two guards recognized her from her years of living here, and gave her a nod. Not that she would have taken any other answer at the current moment.

There was something rising up within her and it made her panic even more that she might not be able to control it. Marisa was equal parts berating herself for wanting something so vain and so silly as well as devastated for not getting the one thing she had allowed herself to covet. The fragility she felt was the most worrying of all, like she could shatter at any moment. All because of a stupid trophy.

Marisa new in some part of her mind that adults standing around a room giving other adults awards was ridiculous and yet this year she had bought into it. Perhaps because she had to work twice as hard after the faults of her father to be taken seriously by her family. Or maybe because she had always felt like she had been looked over by Moreta and was somehow still craving for her approval. Maybe it was something she would just have to come to terms with, but at this moment, she couldn't do it. She just felt hurt and a need for an explanation she knew she wouldn't get and more than anything, she felt very, very foolish.

Marisa turned a corner before she heard footsteps behind her, but it wasn't long before she heard the familiar voice. She didn't stop her speed even as he popped a bottle and she glanced at it, wishing it were a cup of tea, but it might do. Marisa wasn't even sure what to say to his comment. Should she have received an award like so many other heads of shop? Maybe. Who was she to say anymore. Doubt circled her, nipping at her heels even as she took the bottle from his hand and only slowed long enough to take a long drink. She could taste the luxury in the way it slid down her throat smoothly and it made her bitter.

"Moreta has an interesting way of rewarding me," she told him with a glance at her magicked bracelets that helped keep many of her visions at bay, but it didn't feel genuine after what had just happened in front of everyone. Goddess, she hadn't even realized in the moment that everyone might put two and two together. was she the only head of shop not to be recognized. Questions and doubts and insecurities circled her and she swallowed thickly before she pushed the bottle back to Reed, a frown pulling her brows together as she look at him. Why was he even here? She didn't want a witness to this.

Marisa felt like she couldn't stay still so she started moving again, old habits guiding her, as she inhaled and reached out a shaky hand to a golden doorknob and pushed open the door, a wave of citrus and vanilla hitting her like a forgotten memory as she stepped inside, leaving the door open to Reed more out of politeness than actual want for another human to witness this weakness she felt like she couldn't hide.

The room was all gray stone and white marble with high arched ceilings, but every surface was covered with leafy greens. A veritable orange orchard right inside the Marchesi mansion, the tang of citrus in the air, the magicked ceiling that shone with sunshine during the day was dark and pale, mimicking the night sky outside. There were other rows of flowering trees, but the room was overwhelmed with oranges, a hold over from some Marchesi ancient who had wanted their own orchard and had enough money to spend on whims like this. Marisa, who had always loved this room when she had lived here years ago, felt an instant wave of comfort and familiarity, warring with everything else inside her.

"I feel like a fool," she admitted to one of the orange trees, reaching out her hand to pull one perfectly, round orange off the tree, rolling it between her fingers.               

Reed felt like he was in one of those fairy tales, chasing the princess through the castle, catching glimpses of the folds of her dress disappearing behind corners, but he didn't stop. He followed her around this corner and then the next until finally, she stopped, and Reed slowed to meet her. He understood why she had left the room, but something drew him to her; something made him grab that bottle and find her. For whatever reason, he wanted to make sure that she was alright, and it was better than staying in the ballroom and risking arguing with Moreta. Reed was mighty, but Moreta was in charge here. Eventually, Reed had caught up to Marisa, and he had the top of the bottle in an instant.

He was so used to managing people, not because he understood their emotions, but because he'd been trained to focus their motivations. Reed had a knack for telling people what they needed to hear to get the desired outcome. Manipulation was half of his job. But he wasn't looking to do that with Marisa. Instead, he wanted to make her feel better. He wished he could go out there and snatch one of those stupid fucking trophies and award it to her himself, but it wouldn't have the desired effect. Instead, all he had brought was some expensive liquor, but as far as consolation prizes, he could have done a lot worse.

The idea that Moreta had personally and purposefully snubbed Marisa in front of basically their entire world (her family, her clients, everyone) was a low blow. It was sinister, too, and seeing the pain it caused made him feel erratic. The need to defend her was strong, but Reed was still as she took the bottle. His eyes followed hers to the golden bracelets she was always wearing, and though he didn't understand the whole meaning, he understood some. They always seemed more expensive than Maria's tastes, big and blocky, but she wore them well, and now he realized Moreta chose them. Reed wondered why she still wore them, especially right now, but he didn't ask.

Marisa led them further into the estate, and he was shocked to see the indoor orange grove when she pushed the door open. Was there anything Moreta Marchesi would not waste sickles on? I feel like a fool, Reed had watched her as she plucked an orange, and her words felt so heavy. So full of disappointment.

"No, fuck them," He said abruptly, far more abrasive than was typical in front of Marisa, but emotions had a powerful way of unhinging Reed. He didn't like them, didn't like to see them or experience them, and he especially hated when they were out of his control. Marisa was hurting, and there wasn't a thing he could do to make it better. "Moreta is an idiot for not realizing what a treasure you are." Reed was sure the walls had ears and half expecting the oranges to have them as well, but right now, he didn't give a damn. Moreta had been wrong to do that. "Your better than half the tailoresses out there put together, and the London shop would have gone under if not for you; everyone knows it. Moreta knows it." Reed felt his anger rising, but he squashed it down and reached for the bottle. Quelling his own chaotic emotions with a large drink, his eyes found her again, and he realized something.

"That wasn't about your skill. That was a power play." Reed realized he was too close to this, too concerned with emotions to see the bigger picture, and it reminded him of another reason why he hated them all together. Feelings clouded judgment, they were blinding, and Reed liked to be focussed. Reed felt his skin tingling from the alcohol; it was as potent as it was expensive, it seemed; he felt his mind clearing and came to a sudden realization. "Why would Moreta be afraid of you?" There was no logical reason for her to mistreat one of her kin, so; it would have made more sense to remove Marisa from the shop than to shame her publicly. That was like admitting one of the Marchesi witches was not good enough, but that they let her run a shop anyway. In Reed's mind, this only added up one way. Moreta was intimidated by Marisa, and this was the old witch's way of keeping her down.

His words, heated and abrupt, made her turn to look at him, her brow furrowing in both question and alarm. That was not what she expected from him, half of her agreed with the sentiment and the other half wondered if perhaps they were right. Not that she would voice that to him of all people.

Marisa wondered why she didn't ask him to leave though. She desperately didn't want him to see her upset over something so trivial and silly and she could pull herself back together more easily without an audience, but she didn't have the courage to tell him to go either. Knowing Reed, he probably wouldn't listen anyway.

But as anger-fueled words spilled out of him, Marisa turned to face him more fully, more interested in why he seemed so upset even though his comments were quite amusing. Moreta was an idiot? No, no, no. Far from it. Moreta was all wit and strategy, scheming and wicked smart. Marisa, however, was hopeless at the game of familial politics and posturing. She knew she couldn't win, so much so that she didn't even want to play the game. She couldn't help the worried glance toward the door at his insult to the Marchesi matriarch, as if someone might overhear and report back.

The tailoress sighed and shook her head as she glanced back down at the orange in her hand, digging the fingernail of her thumb lightly into the bumpy orange peel and feeling it give slightly. "Thank you," she said quietly with a bitter smile before she met his gaze. "But I don't need you to make me feel better." It wasn't true, but then again what he just said wasn't either. Hadn't he just told her honesty was a lie? Earlier she might have questioned him on in that cheeky playfulness that she had uncaged, but now it was just a grim realization. The worst part was that he seemed to know about her father and that dark part of the family history. It wasn't exactly a secret, but Marisa still felt ashamed over her father's actions. Knowing that Reed knew made her feel off-balance.

A power play? She gave him a lopsided smile, sardonic but tired. "I'm aware," she told him even though she knew it wasn't not about her skill too. There were lots of reasons involved, she was sure, and the doubting part of her mind was only too happy to provide more and more evidence. She was gazing at him, picking at the orange but not actually peeling it, watching the gears turn and wondering what pieces he was putting together in that way he had.

His conclusion was not anything she expected though. A surprised laugh escaped her as she looked him incredulously. "Moreta afraid of me?" she repeated with a shake of her head. Here he was proving her wrong because she always thought Reed got everything right, or at least most things. The idea circled in her mind and made her laugh again out of sheer ridiculousness. "I don't think Moreta is afraid of anything, especially not someone like me. I'm just an apple from a bad tree," she told him, aiming for a levity she didn't feel, but she missed the mark as she detected a note of sadness as the words left her mouth and almost made her regret saying anything at all.

Marisa pulled back her shoulders as she tried to reel herself back in and yet she found herself reaching for the bottle in his hands too. It wasn't her preferred drink, but it would do for now. She took another long draw before she started walking down one of the lanes, searching to see if her favorite bench was still her, nestled between the orange trees or if that simple comfort had been taken away from her too.

For reasons Reed could not fathom, someone, somewhere along the line, had decided that knowing what you wanted was the same as being shallow. That for someone to understand their desires, they had to be a slave to them. But Reed disagreed with this notion. In his world, the only people worthy of his respect were those who not only knew what they wanted but were willing to take it—those who did not give up and did not ask for permission. Marisa was one of those people in Reed's mind, even if she didn't know it yet.

She had taken over Marchesi's of London when everyone thought it was a disaster. She had turned the shop around when it should have burned to the ground. And she deserved that award whether the tyrannical matriarch decided to bestow it or not. Reed felt incredibly erratic seeing Marisa in such distress, but Reed forced himself to take a steadying breath. He returned to his usual self, entirely in check and totally in control. What happened on the inside had no bearing on the outside. "I doubt you need anyone for much of anything," He tacked on to what she had said, in no way offended by her words.

Reed noted the lopsided grin, but it wasn't until Marisa laughed out loud at his words that the wizard turned to look at her again. Curious to see if the smile reached her eyes the same way it did when he said something clever that caught her off guard while fitting him for a suit. Or if it was the smile that fell short, the one she'd seen him give customers as they were leaving, the one she'd given him any time he went too far with a compliment. This one was different from them both, and he understood it too.

Marisa didn't believe that her grandmother could be intimidated by her, and Reed clicked his tongue at her argument. "Powerful leaders have been taken down by far less than an apple before," He said, pausing in front of one of the orange trees. It was shorter than the others, its trunk darker and riddled with knots. Something must have gotten in the soil, or maybe the seed had been faulty from the start, but its poor health was evident enough. Reed pulled on one of the oranges, and the gnarled branch was stubborn to release the fruit. He pulled again, and the branch bent to the point of snapping before the stem finally gave way with a bit of popping sound.

Deftly, his tattooed hands peeled a side of the orange, and Reed dropped the pith near his feet. Moreta had people who would clean it up, or honestly, for all he knew, she had a brigade of pixies to do her bidding. When he'd finished, Reed took a bite from one of the slices and smiled at the sweetness. "Bad trees often create the best fruit." Reed raised his eyebrows at her once, emphasizing the phrase she had used to describe herself, and began to follow her down the path.

She was wallowing, and she knew she was wallowing, and she knew that she should stop wallowing and just go back to the party and put on a good show for the rest of the clients or maybe just go back to prove to Moreta that it didn't matter. But she couldn't. She just couldn't. She didn't know what was worse, not being able to slide out of this self-pitying circle she had allowed herself into or or knowing Reed was a witness to all of it. Merlin, how was she going to face him at the next fitting. How was she going to face anyone. Maybe they wouldn't remember or care about the slight. Maybe they wouldn't even understand what Moreta had done tonight. Marisa clung to that feeble hope even as she admonished herself for being so vain.

The fact that he called her out for not needing anyone felt both the epitome of irony and also like a back-handed compliment. She brought her gaze up to his face, studying his expression, and willing herself not to bristle at his words. Maybe she was just being too sensitive but what did that even mean? Was it sarcasm because she clearly did care about approval from others thus why she had run off at the first opportunity of not getting it? Or was it a subtle scolding as if she should be someone who relied on others more? As usual with Reed, she couldn't tell and she gave a little sigh of frustration. "It doesn't feel like that," she told him with a frown as she bit the inside of her lip and wondered why she couldn't be more aloof and carefree the way he seemed to be.

She glanced back down at the orange in her hands. It felt perfectly spherical, its skin without a single bruise, soft and pliant as if asking to be peeled, but she resisted the temptation even though oranges were her favorite and she had missed the sweetness of these particular Marchesi ones. A comfort she didn't want to allow herself to have. At the click of his tongue, she found herself returning her gaze to him, watching as he pulled an orange from the tree himself, the branch shaking back as it popped free. She didn't quite know what to say to him. She didn't want to take Moreta down. Why would she? She wasn't that ambitious, not like Reed was. But the idea that Moreta was scared of her was still darkly amusing and it made her glance at the golden bracelets circling her wrists as she pondered.

Bad trees often create the best fruit. His words followed her as she moved down the path, rounding a copse of trees before she saw it and a small flutter of relief went through her. Quickly followed by an inner eye roll. Why should a bench in front of a false window give her such a feeling, she was just being silly, she decided. Yet she was sitting on the curved stone bench without hesitation as she faced the magicked window and took in the scenery it had decided on for today. She was quiet for a moment before she glanced at him, wondering why he was still here, fighting with the need to be polite and entertain even as she dropped further into her own moroseness.

"It's not real," she told him with a nod towards the window even though she was sure he was smart enough to figure out that for himself. They were in an interior room of the mansion so having a window to the outside was physically impossible and yet the window before them looked so real, depicting a night sky with a swath of stars overlooking the river that she knew was just outside. A tame slightly predictable scene for this window, she mused and then decided to clue him in. "It's very fickle though. Sometimes you'll get a nice sunny scene and others a raging thunderstorm and it's not tied to the weather outside." She smiled faintly at the memory of trying to figure out what the algorithm was for weeks before she just decided like anyone else in the Marchesi family, this window did whatever the hell it wanted.

Reed followed Marisa further into the artificial greenhouse, but he kept his distance. A few steps behind her, but off to the side of the path. When they reached a bench that overlooked a view that couldn’t possibly be true, Reed accepted Marisa’s information. He didn’t know his way around the house, not as she did, but he had enough spatial awareness to know that the view must have been magical. He peeled a bit more of the orange he’d stolen and listened.

“A mind of its own, then,” He added, nodding as he approached the window and wondered if it would take on a wholly new shape given its patrons. When nothing happened, Reed watched the water in the river as it trickled past the rocks. It was dark outside, that was real, but he wasn’t sure the stars shone quite that brightly here. The estate was vast, but it wasn’t far from the city, and cities ruined everything when it came to stargazing. What with all the smog and light pollution, not that Reed would ever choose to live out in the country over London. He wasn’t a simple man, and he didn’t want a simple life.

“Fickle, hmm, must be tied to Moreta’s moods then,” He raised one eyebrow as he turned to sit on the bench and finish peeling his orange. Reed popped a piece of it into his mouth as he watched her. A part of him eager to ask more questions, but the more assertive side kept him quiet. He’d learned more about Marisa from observation than she had ever offered in words. It made her a mystery, like some puzzle to be solved. And it set her apart from everyone else who was screaming to talk about themselves. It made her better.

She nodded at his words, agreeing silently. Was it silly to be envious of a window who had a mind of its own while hers was stuck going over and over what had happened, how she could have angered Moreta to do this, if there was some underlying reason she hadn't anticipated that would have caused this. She just needed to know why.

Marisa always thought she had thick skin, or maybe she wanted to believe she did, but in moments like this she felt paper thin. Like one more scratch could tear her apart and she hated the fragility she felt. Her fingers tightened around the orange in her hands imperceptibly as she fought against that feeling.

Her grandmother's name hung in the air between them as he sat next to her on the bench and she could feel his gaze on her. Reed was too eagle-eyed and she was feeling particularly sensitive. She didn't want to know what he saw. Marisa usually admired his attention to detail, but maybe not so much when his gaze was turned on her. She fidgeted with the fruit in her hands, turning it over and over, as her thoughts jumped from one train to the next.

It was a moment before she heard herself saying, "Do you think.." she trailed off, stopping herself as she frowned and gave a huff of a sigh, tilting her chin up and and away as doubt wracked through her. She wanted to know what he thought, maybe if he had seen something she hadn't, or maybe an explanation that would make sense to her, but she couldn't bring herself to ask. She bit down on her cheek as she felt a wave of embarrassment and sadness and wounded pride rise up in her, pricking her eyes, but she tried to squash that down immediately. She would not cry in front of him.

They sat for a moment, and Reed busied himself with the orange. He leaned his head back against the window and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing his feet at the ankles casually. Making himself comfortable in foreign places was something Reed had gotten far too good at. He could sleep anywhere, no matter the sounds, so long as he put up enough wards. And he felt more familiar in a stranger's home than he often did in his flat; Merlin knew Reed spent more time abroad than in the place he paid a fortune to own.

  "Do you think..." Marisa broke the silence first, and Reed granted her a few more seconds to finish the thought before he turned his head toward her and smiled. "Quite a lot, actually," He answered, that tell-tale smirk reaching up to his eyes as he licked a bit of juice from the orange off his thumb. Reed could imagine a thousand things she might have thought to finish that sentence with, but he wanted to hear her say it, so he nudged her shoulder slightly.

Marisa was very aware of him, the inches that separated them on the bench, the way his suit contrasted to the white marble beneath them, the way he picked apart the orange. Shew as most envious, however, of the fact that he looked so calm and casual, relaxed even. She tried to mirror that in him, extending her legs slightly, crossing her ankles beneath her dress, her the action felt hollow.

She glanced over at him, a sad huff of a half laugh, as her eyes caught on the dark ink on his hands. The touch of his shoulder, a silent urging to go on, made her want to ask, but she was warring with herself on multiple levels and whenever she was in doubt, she usually closed herself off, putting up her own inner defenses as a safeguard.

Tonight she felt like those walls had been shattered and by something so silly, but she couldn't seem to bring herself out of it, which was even more frustrating. Marisa knew she could probably guess at his answer or perhaps she was just looking for validation to recover from the embarrassment, but after a few more moments, she finally gathered the courage to finish the sentence. "Do you think she's right?" She glanced back at her hands, it was easier when she wasn't looking at him and his always intense gaze. "I don't understand why unless I didn't.. I don't know," she ended feebly, unable to come up with answers.

Reed was quiet when Marisa asked the question, his first instinct had been to tell her fuck no, but he held his tongue and considered it more. Was Moreta right to do what? He wondered, and Reed was reasonably confident that he knew what Marisa was getting at. And he hated that she would think that she wasn't good enough for one of the awards, even for a second, because it was so far from the truth it was almost laughable.

Instead of answering what he thought she had asked, Reed reached into the pocket of his devilish suit and produced the metal cigarette case he always had on him. He pulled a cigarette and held the case toward her, though he was pretty sure he'd never seen her smoke before. The cigarette dangled between his lips as Reed lit it with his wand, and Reed blew the smoke out as the wizard finally answered. "She's right to be intimidated by you," He said softly, the smoke billowing around his head for a moment before escaping out the window that wasn't real. Reed wondered where it went but sat up and turned to Marisa instead.

His icy blue eyes searched her face as she looked away from him, studying every line, the way her forehead creased when she pulled her brows together in distress, and he spoke again. "Didn't what?" Reed asked, but there was a determination in his voice now. Resolute, and demanding, and getting to a point. "Didn't rise to the impossible challenge she gave you? Didn't singlehandedly bring the London shop back from the brink? Didn't make me better looking than any chap here in this killer suit?" Reed smirked again, the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger as he swept over the suit that still didn't have a single wrinkle on it. Another Marisa Marchesi specialty.

"Moreta didn't do any of that." She leaned his head back against the wall, calmer again, like the tide ebbing and flowing Reed's moods came in quick surges and faded fast. He looked up at the ceiling again, blowing smoke up pensively.

Marisa was usually good with quiet, not uncomfortable at all, felt peace in it normally, but with her question hanging out there like that, she felt a sudden urge to accio a timeturner and take it back. His silence made her worry. Maybe there were things she hadn't thought of that would explain this and he was trying to find a nice way to tell her? She felt an ache in her chest, the sensation feeling uncomfortable, and she lifted her hand to rest her fingertips there as if that would quell it. It didn't.

She heard the click of metal and she glanced over to see a flash of a silver case. With a small shake of her head and a lift of her fingers, Marisa gave him a polite no, she had never been a smoker and didn't particularly like the smell either. It had been one reason why she had worked so hard at perfecting the deodorizing charm on her suits. She didn't want smoke from the cigar bar at Marchesi clinging to her own clothes let alone clients. She frowned at his supposition.

"You think that's why she did this?" she asked to her hands, the idea seeming lubricous to her. How could Moreta, matriarch of the family, head of the whole business, be intimidated by her grand daughter? She touched the golden bracelet on her right wrist, a gift from the very same woman, trying to sort it out. But Reed wasn't done yet and his voice seemed harder, more sure, giving no room for her doubt. She nodded a couple of times as he spoke -- frowning as he mentioned again turning around the London shop and making her wonder just how much he knew about her father's foibles. Marisa could understand where he was coming from though, but still the question remained: If she had done all that and Reed who wasn't even in the family business saw it, why didn't Moreta?

Marisa didn't think she had the gumption to fight or rebuttal Reed, knowing full well he'd win anyway, and perhaps she wanted him to. She fought against the need to keep asking for reassurance and validation from an external source, but it wasn't easy. "I guess you're right," she offered, turning her head slightly to look at him as smoke hung above him. "Thank you," she added quietly, an appreciation for his kindness that she hadn't expected.

“Don’t thank me, I didn’t do shit,” Reed said with a sharp nod and wondered if she had really believed what he said or if she’d only acquiesced so they could change the subject. For the first time since he had followed her out of the hall, Reed wondered if she would have rather he not be here, but he decided he didn’t care. Marisa didn’t need his protection, but he wanted to offer it anyway. He’d offered her so many things throughout their —was it a friendship? — but Marisa had never accepted any of it. He hoped she’d take what he was offering now, though. And know that he expected nothing in return.

“And yes, that is what I think,” Reed had begun to notice the way she looked down at her bracelets every time he said Moreta’s name, and he was smart enough to make the connections. Clever enough, even, to start adding up more things than he probably had any right to, but that was what he was good at. Reed was observant, painstakingly so, like Marisa, he knew how to size a person up, but for far different reasons. And he could tell the idea of Moreta being afraid of her made Marisa uncomfortable, but there was something about the way she responded that made his suspicions grow. She had laughed at first, but she hadn’t given him reasons why it was a ridiculous thing to think. Instead, she looked at those damned bracelets again.

“If it were up to me, you’d have all those fucking trophies.” Reed could have asked about the bracelets, or about Moreta, or a million other things, but he could tell now was not the time for that conversation. And as if the enchanted window behind them agreed, a thunder cloud rang out across its illusion of the grounds, and lightning struck.