golden ✨

"Alright," she agreed softly, wondering at the sharpness she heard in his tone and focusing on a slow exhale. He didn't accept her thanks, but that didn't mean she wasn't still appreciative of him. Gratitude for even the smallest of kindnesses from others had seen her through some harder times.

He seemed so sure in his opinions that it made her doubt herself even more than she already was. Was it so obvious that she wasn't seeing it? Or did he know something she didn't? "Why?" she finally asked. "Do you know something I don't?" It wouldn't be the first time he surprised her with knowledge that she didn't think many had, it seemed to be his job to know everything and while she might think it helpful on one hand, she couldn't help but fear the dark secrets he might know too.

She started, her eyes whipping back to the window as a crash of thunder and a flash of lightning lit up the night sky before settling back against the bench. Her smile started slow and then grew as he mentioned giving her all the trophies. It was a nice thought, but she didn't need all of them. She'd be happy with just one. "I bet the world would look a lot different if it were up to you," she mused, the idea taking her like a train away from her morose thoughts for a brief moment, imagining a world according to Reed. Then again, she added, "You might be biased though." She looked at him in the suit. He really did make her designs so much better.

“Not that I am aware of,” Reed answered honestly. Of course, he knew things, but he doubted any of them would be of consequence to her. And he was sure he did not understand whatever it was that she was so intent on hiding. The more questions she asked, the more he was convinced that there was indeed something worth knowing. And the more interested he became. Marisa had always been a woman of mystery to him, but the depth of that intrigue continued to grow.

The lightning crashed against the imaginary ground in the window, and Reed could have sworn he felt the pane of glass vibrate against his head. It was damned good magic, and he made a note to install one in his flat one day. Reed hated when people had things he did not; he was a man of great ambition.

He laughed a little at her words, taking another drag from his cigarette and picturing the world she spoke of fondly. “It would indeed.” His head still titled against the glass and the cigarette hanging dangerously from his lips, Reed looked out across the grove, but his mind was a million miles away. “My world would be extraordinary,” he began, “None of this petty shit,” Reed made a circling motion with his free hand and exhaled.

“Though, I suppose all Gods want to remake the world in their image,” turning back toward her, his blue eyes crinkled at the idea. He was dressed like a God tonight, thanks to her craftsmanship, but it wouldn’t be the first time Reed had dreamt of reaching for more than he should. He was quiet again; Reed listened to the sound of the rain trickling down the window behind his head and pooling on the sill. Eventually, he spoke, his gaze far off somewhere past the orange trees.

“Why was the trophy so important to you, Marisa?”

She nodded at his answer, fighting the feeling of vague disappointment as she rolled the orange between her fingers. She knew she might be putting too much importance on her family drama for someone like Reed to bother with. It was silly to think otherwise. Marisa pressed her thumbnail into the peel of the orange, making little indents as the scent of the cigarette smoke tickled her nose.

"I bet it would be," she agreed easily, honestly. He was so particular, so detailed that Marisa was sure he would craft something superior for all the senses. It made her wonder what he would keep and what he would change. At least they agreed about the family politics being very much not needed. She hummed a response about the gods remaking the world in their image and she wondered if he aspired to that sort of power. The statue outside had lit up with orange for purpose, not purple for power so maybe not. Perhaps that had all been a randomized party trick though. Quiet cropped up again and Marisa threaded through her thoughts, shifting from one to the next as they popped up, before his question made her frown and glance back down at her hands.

Why was it so important? It didn't seem like an easy answer. Or at least not one that she knew of. She thought about it for a moment, considered not saying anything at all so she wouldn't reveal yet another fatal flaw tonight on top of the ones she had already divulged. But for some reason, she felt safer with him. As if she could tell him anything and he would listen. Not that she would tell him her secrets, of course, but she had at least considered it.

"I wanted.." she started and then sighed frustrated as the words to explain how she was feeling didn't come easily. "I wanted her to see me, not as the daughter of my father's failure or my mother's..." she trailed off, not knowing how to explain that one or even if she wanted to. Her mother, who had never been accepted by the Marchesi's as not good enough, who was now lost within her own mind most of the time and residing in a mental health institution. She swallowed thickly and shook her head to clear the thought. "I wanted her to notice what I've done," she heard herself say and it was ironic and sad at the same time.

For someone who hated the spotlight and attention, the one time she wanted just a small piece of it, she was denied. Serves her right for being so greedy.

Reed finished his cigarette between when he had stopped speaking and when Marisa had begun to answer his question. He rolled whatever was left of the hot out of the end, squishing the ember with the sole of his shoe and holding on to the rest for no reason at all. He could have thrown it on the ground, but they were not outside, even if the magical room gave another impression, and he was not a complete savage.

Listening to her answer, Reed nodded a few times, slow and steady, as he mulled it over. He understood the need to be seen as something worthwhile in another person’s eyes. More than he cared to admit it, Reed had spent half his life doing just that. He never felt like he was enough. Not for his family, not for his friends, not for his enemies, always wanting, never enough, but he had since remade himself so many times over that that version felt like a distant memory. One that barely belonged to him anymore.

“I understand that need,” He admitted, and the honesty was a surprise even to himself. Reed shifted a little where he sat, scratching his cheekbone and clearing his throat. “So, what will you do now?”

He nodded enough that she felt he was actually listening and his words felt honest, but she couldn't help but think of his words from earlier. 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. She wanted to believe him, but...

His question left her more at odds. Marisa gave a sigh and a one-shouldered shrug in response as she thought about her options. What did she want to do? Go home, get a shower, and curl up with her cats. What would she probably do? "Go back to the party and make one last round before I go and avoid Moreta?" she said, one corner of her mouth turning up. It wasn't what she wanted, but she somehow still felt obligated despite what had just happened.

Unless he meant something else, bigger picture stuff and she didn't even know where to start with an answer for that. Was there anything she could do now? Wait until next year's gala in fear and anticipation that she would be honored. Merlin, that sounded even worse. "I wouldn't even know what to say to her," she confessed as she glanced at him. In Reed's world, she imagined she would have the courage to do just about anything, even talk to Moreta, but not in this one.

Marisa’s inclination to return to the party proved what he’d known about her true, and Reed smiled. She was stronger than she thought, more resilient, and certainly worthy of one of those stupid trophies. “Well, it’s settled then, isn’t it,” Reed said, one hand tapping his knee as if it were a gavel banging.

“Back to the party, we go.” It wasn’t as if Reed had expected any less from her. She was a Marchesi, after all, and he’d probably never met someone with more pose or grace than Marisa, but still, it took gumption to show her face in that snake den again. And he respected that.

As far as Moreta, Reed’s eyes narrowed at the mention. “You could let me do the talking?” He offered, but the sinister look that grew on his angled features told a less than pleasant story of his intentions. “I would know just what to say.” Reed was a trained diplomat, he knew how to diffuse a situation with words or with wands, but he was also way too good at using those same words as weapons. And as far as he was cornered, Moreta had it coming.

Her eyes strayed to his hand tapping his thigh, the ink of his tattoos standing out against the red of his God of War costume in a way that made her study the lines a bit more closely. It made her wonder the reason behind them, but she was sidetracked by his decision. What was settled?

Oh. She met his gaze with a question her eyes. “We?” she repeated, wondering at the flutter of hope and relief she felt at the idea. Marisa never considered herself dependent, but perhaps just this once she could indulge herself and borrow a little of the confidence and calm strength he offered.

Marisa watched as his expression changed as he thought about her grandmother and she wasn’t afraid necessarily, but it was such a contrast to what she normally saw in him. It seemed so natural though. She wondered how many other sides of him she had yet to see this far. Still, his words did put a thrill of fear in her, not wanting Moreta to hear anything he would say, while at the same time desperately wanting to know. She debated asking and she paused as she thought about it but in the end, she gave him a simple smile and shake of her head. “Somehow,” she said she stood, her dress swirling around her feet, the orange still in one hand. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.” Her smile grew a little bigger as she teased him.

Reed smiled at her question, but the 'yes we' response was nonverbal. The man tucked one hand behind him as he held the other out for her to take as if he was escorting her to some grand ball. Marisa looked like a queen in that dress, but he was no prince charming. OFfering to speak to Moreta on her behalf had been partly a joke, and Reed had known she'd never take him up on it, but it didn't stop him from considering what he might say anyway. He'd probably use a few choice words to rile the old witch up, but mostly he would try to discover why she had done it in the first place. Moreta was no fool, she was clever and entrepreneurial, and every move she made was calculated, so there had to be a reason for tonight's events. It was more than just petty nonsense, but Reed didn't have many solid leads about the real reason, yet.

"Your probably right," He said with another sly smile and pivoted toward the doors they had come through. "Alternatively," He began as they walked, Reed's hand sliding into his suit pocket because she never took his hand when he offered it, "You could show me your old bedroom." Reed paused long enough to turn toward her and wiggle his eyebrows playfully before letting out an amused laugh.

Marisa glanced down at his proffered hand and she was glad that she was still holding the orange, as it to give her some excuse not to take his hand. It was tempting, but she couldn't chance it. Instead she sidled past him, giving him a small smile in apology before she started back the way they had come. She felt exhaustion in her bones and she wanted to make her last round of the ballroom quickly so she could leave that much sooner, but she felt marginally better returning than when she had left.

She turned her head to look at him, hearing a familiar shade to his voice and his suggestion surprised a laugh out of her, making her cover her mouth with two fingers as she shook her head at him. "Incorrigible," she chided him even though she yearned to say something witty or clever or maybe even something that might shock him, but she knew any remarks worth saying would only come to her later tonight when she was in bed and about to go to sleep. She left her orange on a table before she slipped from the indoor orchard.

She felt lighter as she returned to the ballroom though, slipping back in unnoticed with him by her side, everything as loud and lavish as it had been when they had left. Marisa pasted a serene expression on her face, trying to slide back into the professional demeanor she had carefully constructed around clients.

It was still early for Marchesi party standards, but Marisa had never been one to stay into the wee hours of the morning. As she started around the room, greeting clients and being a gracious host, his presence had been a comfort that she didn't want to lean in to too much, but it was steadying. He managed to excuse the two of them when a conversation with two catty Italian tailoresses from the Madrid shop cornered her and she was helpful in distracting Auntie Vi so he didn't get caught up in her clutches.

Marisa was happy to realize that it hadn't taken more than an hour to make her way around the room and she inhaled deeply, her right hand running down her left forearm and stopping at her golden bracelet at her wrist as she waited for the staff to bring her cloak so she could go. She wasn't sure what to say to him exactly, but she turned back to face him, both wanting and needing to say something. The words in her mind sounded pathetic though so she hesitated and going with a simple "thank you" before she glanced up and met his gaze.

He laughed at her words, and the sound echoed around the room; Reed’s smile lingered as they reached the corridors. In time they returned to the gala, and Reed was on his best behavior again. Saving the genuine smiles for the glances he stole of Marisa as they socialized and giving everyone else his best-plastered grin. He was good at being diplomatic and saying what people wanted or needed to hear, and he proved it time and time again as they moved through the crowds. Auntie Vi was a little more complicated, primarily because it did not matter what Reed said, the old bat only heard her own voice, but Marisa saved him. And he gave her a thankful nod, his hands clasped in front of him silently, as they moved along.


Eventually, they had made all the rounds, not that Reed was counting; he did not particularly care if he spoke to everyone or not. And as they reached the attendants and called for their cloaks, Reed wondered if this would be the end of the night for him. He knew Marisa was headed home, she was not the sort to go to a party after a party, but he was not quite ready to retire just yet. The plan of what to do next was half formulated when she spoke again, and he nodded once. “Anytime,” he imagined she was thanking him for joining her on the rounds or maybe for following her to the orchard, but he did not ask for clarification because he did not need it.

“Good night, Marisa,” Reed said, and even though he wanted to, he did not lean in to give her a goodbye kiss on the cheek. He knew she would not like it, and they were on such sound footing now, it wasn’t worth the risk.

/end

"Good night, Reed," she said in a quiet goodbye as she fastened the brooch on her cloak and stepped into the cool night Neroli air. The dark wrapped around her with its cool kiss of a breeze that felt both refreshing and invigorating, but she was very much looking forward to getting out of these shoes and this dress, no matter how much she loved it, and getting into something more comfortable.

As she took a few steps, she gripped her vine wood wand and took a deep breath, readying herself for apparation, she turned back toward the Marchesi mansion and saw the silhouette of him against the golden lights of the house. He was backlit so she couldn't see his expression, but in that moment, her thoughts were more centered on how he had acted the whole night. She didn't know what it was about him or why he seemed to show her special interest or why he even bothered, but it had felt nice to lean on him metaphorically. To borrow a little of the strength he seemed to have in spades.

And while she would never forget what had happened tonight, perhaps it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Marisa disappeared with a whisper a moment later, materializing back in her apartment, her two cats meowing their hellos.

/end