XI.

B E S T  I N T E R E S T

—aka, bargains with devils have surprising interests,

INT— A HOTEL ROOM.

VENICE, ITALY — MORNING, FORTY MINUTES AFTER DAWN.

SCENE II.

THE NEXT MORNING, I had woken up with one of the best sleeps I've had in years.

No painful crick in my neck, no ugly tossed bedhead, and no feeling of a lurking sniper.

I woke up glorious and humming.

At one point, I was sure the birds were humming with me.

I pulled open the doors to my chambers, finishing my hum as I reached the open veranda and smiled for all my wonderful sleep's worth at my adoring audience sporting various emotions.

A look of acknowledgement, an annoyed sigh, and a lopsided grin.

I'll let you guess who belonged to each.

"Good morning, moi tovarishchi." I plucked a piece of pomegranate, juice exploding once teeth met flesh, and lazily wiped at my mouth before I sat with them. Sticky red dried in my fingers as I used a napkin.

"You're all looking very fine this morning."

And they did.

Kristoff was in a more casual wear— and he did wear them, matter of fact. A cream coloured turtleneck and mahogany pinstripe pants. His hair was still coiffed and his face was as still as marble as always, with the damn newspaper and coffee he had for breakfast. Still in his routine, perfected every morning.

You would think after last's night affair of his routine biting him in the ass, he'd adjust a few things, but no.

Kristoff and routines were a married pair you couldn't destroy.

Kristoff acknowledged my staring with a brief look away from his paper. "Good morning, Miss La Verne."

I winked at him. "You look good in a creme sweater. Very tres chic."

"Thank you. It's one of the things you bought from one of your shopping sprees." Another newspaper flip.

I blinked, going back to my wonderful memories with his numerous black cards. I had bought so many things. . . At a few points, I had stopped at the men's section when something caught my eye. "Oh! I remember now."

"You don't remember your own purchases?" Archie asked with a tone that meant it was half rhetorical, half air. I simpered a smile. He was battling the pretences from last night. Casualty with heavy undertones of I still want to kill you very much.

"Should I? I'm joking, don't get your panties in a twist, Archie baby." His jaw clenched and KC snorted through his orange juice. I smiled at him with a tilted head. An apology. He winked with his grin. I was worried KC was going to hate my guts now too, but I'm glad we were going to be okay.

With Archie rapidly advancing as chairperson of the Hate Antonina Club, I didn't want for KC to be one of them too.

It was so easy to hate me, but I did count on the fact that KC was a soldier. Things that had to be done in order of survival was something I was sure he could relate too.

I turned back to the scowling second in command, going through my first meal of the day with a lazy precision. For someone who was attempting to lessen his own unpleasantness, Archie did look good. He was in some sort of a modern Chinese outfit in a nice, deep blue embroidered with dancing flowers in gold stitching. His waterfall of a black hair had been tied to a low ponytail hanging on one side as he held a tablet, flipping through it and occasionally typing.

The tablet was a little curiosity. It was small enough to tuck in his jacket's pockets, and he always had it. It was like he monitored everything else through it. There were times I casually planned snatching it from under his nose, but in every scenario so far involved failure. And I didn't like a personal bout of repercussion from him.

Kristoff was fair; if I had personally fucked over Archie, Archie was allowed a swipe of retaliation.

With the gun pointing yesterday, with the finger that really wanted to pull the trigger and how much Archie used the tablet, I wasn't going to take my chances.

Plus, it had a passcode and I'm not very good at guessing.

"I do remember buying it now." I speared my poached egg and smiled at the eruption of yellow. "It looked good on the mannequin, and I thought it might looked good against your skin tone. And tada! I was right. Plus, a girlfriend with an eye like mine would definitely buy a few pieces for her lover. Only an out and out gold digger would buy things for herself. And I think that's rather selfish." I waved my fork at Archie. "Anyway, you can't deny he looks good in it. I am a fan of your outfit too. I like the modern take on a very sexy classic. Never can go wrong with those."

"Any compliments on this end?" KC joked as Archie accepted my compliments with as much grace as a baboon; unmoving save for a little grunt.

This is what I adore about KC. Even when I drugged him and left him out on the mercy of Venetian's night air, he still wanted to be my friend.

Mr. Baboon could learn a thing or two. . .

"Of course, saving the best for last." I leaned back and assessed him with a gentle hum. KC played with me, posing a little. "Plain white T, hugs the body nicely— good. I do care that you didn't choose a camo print for the utility pants, but there are still too many pockets."

"They're useful."

I shook my head pityingly. "They're a travesty."

Kristoff cleared his throat. The table ceased noise. This was also routine. A pleasant conversation for a little while, ten to fifteen minutes maybe (I didn't really count before because I was always running on little sleep and too groggy to care), before we were down to business.

Then Archie would recite Kristoff's agenda for the day while I chewed in cursory attention, noting a few that sparked my interest. Then mine would go next, usually consisted of not being a bother for the morning, maybe a lunch with Kristoff and a few businessmen with their wives— the Italians love their 'familia' centric gatherings — and then dinner to some soiree. To be flaunted and purred.

But KC was here, on the table. And that wasn't just rare— it was almost unheard of.

When Kristoff folded his newspaper neatly to one side and regarded all of us, I realised this was a different breakfast all together.

"From last night's quarry, Miss La Verne made a very good point in a tiresome and childish way." I shot him a glare. He only raised an eyebrow before continuing. "Now with a more. . . specific outline of a bargain— Archie."

My heart thudded and Archie Noh, as if every cell in his body did not want to do it, offered me a folder. His face was in a careful little frown. I tried to keep my fingers steady when I took it from him, but there's only so much anxiety and excitement you can act through without it slipping.

And there it was, in fine print of black and white.

"You're not actually going to be bought, right?" was Sophie's nervous chuckle of a question the very night. Cease fire had been offered, and she had just finished readying one of her escape routes; a small little boat tucked under a tarp, when she turned to me.

My gaze flickered from the trio of men now in a little conclave discussion of the events prior— KC, a little unsteady on his feet with palpable sweat that he kept wiping from his brow, looking more than a little ill — before my eyes rose upward to the windows overlooking us still, all those people still watching. Waiting.

"Until when are they supposed to watch?"

"Until my ass is safely away from here."

I smirked, turning to her. "Not mine?"

Sophie raised an eyebrow. "You always knew you were going to win."

"Not always." That wasn't an attempt at being humble, despite Sophie's little snort. The chance of failure rose and fell like Wallstreet statistics, and when Archie Noh pulled a gun, scenarios of my death and pain kept flashing like a silent movie.

"But no, no I'm not actually going to be bought." I stuffed my hands in my pockets, attempting a little more warmth. "I'm going to make him pay for my services." At Sophie's naughty grin, I laughed loudly. It echoed and the trio turned. I pulled a hand to wave my fingers, eyes on the monster that just bought me. Well. . . "He's buying for my time, my performance— conning performance, Sophie dearest, so wipe that awful grin off your face — and my, well. Basically, my ability to get what I want. This time, in his directional intent. In exchange. . ."

"— No more stunts," Kristoff finished now as my eyes devoured the contract. "You will be paid for acting as my lover, by the week, with a performance review that Archie will be evaluating."

My eyes fluttered to Archie, who, for the first time since last night, smirked. Oh, I was going to hate that.

"Closely, I would assume?" I asked airily.

"By the detail," he bit right back.

I realised by then that I really didn't like Archie gloating.

I went back to the contract, tracing the last lines. ". . . Until Person A is satisfied with Person B's performance. That's the end? You choose when it ends?"

"In a satisfactorily way, yes." Kristoff netted his fingers, placing his elbows on the table. He talked about the bizarre contract I wanted to be made as if this was just another business venture. "In case of abandonment, you will have to pay a fine."

I blinked at him. Then rifled the paper for the actual number of that fine.

My heart stopped.

"Holy fuck."

That was way too many zeroes.

Kristoff's eyes closed. "Language. That's part of the contract too. I would advise for you to keep your cursing to a limit."

"It says here a complete ceasing of profanity on either party's part."

His eyes opened again, not all hiding the gravity of his feelings about it. "Ah. As it does."

My eyes narrowed. He leaned back, his expression and air controlled.

Was he acting. . . coy?

Five pages. The contract was five pages in Law language that I was now perusing by the word, silently cursing myself as I tried to absorb every meaning of the blasted English language that was twisting their meaning, making a mockery of my advantaged to language.

Of fucking course I had a feeling he was going to jot down his own little specifics when I told him I wanted a more official way of being told I can't just disappear off of the face of the earth while I'm employed under his care— I just didn't know it was going to be this detailed.

Which was my mistake. I wholly accept that.

That didn't mean my molars weren't grinding.

Wait.

Wait.

I was reciting the words under my breath, repeating a few paragraphs as the image of what the contract entailed that became clearer with every re-read.

My hands started shaking.

"This. . . this is different."

"So it is."

From the paper to his eyes, they gleamed in dark obsidians. Glossy, unmoving rocks.

"What is this?" The world was spinning. I tried to ground myself. I passed the fear, the shock, and found anger. I pulled at that emotion as hard as I could. It was going to keep me afloat. "Explain yourself, Mr. Park."

"With pleasure." He straightened in his chair. I knew he read my panic, my emotions too bare for me to control, but the anger was prominent. And that was enough. "The contract draws up a different agreement than what we had started with. As such was the clear intention of both parties by your urging. Archie drew up the proposal for a more... official business transaction. Which brought new trajectories I could bring our little... playacting. I didn't realise we were playing it too safe until last night."

If I wasn't already feeling shaken up, my eyes widened at the smile playing on Kristoff's lips. It was reminiscent at it was. . . indulgent.

This was him. . . winning, I later realised. He shrugged it off, acted as if it was nothing, but I felt the fascinating air of superiority. Of what he could do when he won— it was quiet smug.

"That is my mistake that I want to rectify. With your permission, of course."

I rested the folder down on the paper that made me want to vomit half of my breakfast, pointing on the very word that triggered it and his words that kept ringing in my head. Brought up by your urging.

"The word matrimony is in this."

"Mmh." He didn't even look down to where I was pointing, neither at me but at a view, an image— his plans laid bare in his gaze. "Sign this contract Miss La Verne, and in a month's time, I will propose and ask you to be my wife."

I wanted to throw something at him. Or throw up. The world kept spinning like a child was playing with the globe.

"Wife?" KC asked, looking and sounding just as surprised as I felt. Although mine was a muted scream of What the ever loving fuckery—

Archie tsked. "Honestly, I don't like this idea either."

"You're insane." I exhaled all of this to the monster who regarded the statement with a cool look.

"I had been tested as a child. I am in a good state of mind."

I laughed. Harsh and trilling. "Then your doctor was wrong. What do you mean propose?"

"Showing you around Italy is not enough, it was playing it safe. That's what you showed me."

"So we're going to roar it with a proposal— wow, gee, great. I'm so glad I inspired you with the second stupidest idea I've ever heard in my life."

"Second?" he hummed, as if this was a genuine curiosity.

I glared at him. "Your sister's proposition of baby trapping still hasn't topped the cake, unfortunately."

"Probably not in shock value," he mused. "You have to admit mine is more refined, more sound and detailed—"

"That's not the point! Why would we need a proposal?"

"Drink some water, Antonina, you're getting a little hysterical." He raised a finger and a warning glance before I could cuss him out. "Don't. Let me explain. Breathe." So I did and he patiently waited until my heaving chest calmed. "We're just transitioning to a faster plan than the original. Morphing my use of you as a lover to a fiancé with the plan I already had to win against Yuna."

I exhaled, breathing as calmly as I could before I spoke. "So all of this is still to best your sister? In what?"

"In getting everything that was meant for me. This is a very old story, of the most classic degrees. There are only two legitimate Park grandchildren and the head of the family, our grandfather, is old. He has a few years at most, and I have reason to believe that he is sick, sniping away at his remaining years with vigour. He wants to keep this a secret of course, but secrets are only as good as the tight lips with knowing eyes that hold them."

He said all as if he was reciting a menu. Callous and matter of fact.

"My father was useless and not a Park. Neither of my parents are trusted by the family, much less the board. Our mother is insane, prone to fantasies and suicidal tendencies, and no one but my grandfather knows of Yuna's true paternal parentage— yes, we don't have the same father. Archie and I have conclude that he is a prominent figure, strong backing in every way that matters, but most likely married. Which makes sense why it has never been revealed and why grandfather hasn't disowned her. Apart from us, are a few relatives and seven branch families that seek higher positions. We have been divided since Yuna was born, a surprise and harbinger, the rest left picking the side that they think will win not only grandfather's favour, but next in line for the throne so to speak."

An aged old story of the most classic degrees.

Family feud, dripping in gold and blood. Malice and macabre.

If I wasn't feeling poorly, I'd laugh at my little predicament.

This wasn't just sibling rivalry, this was— and Kristoff was correct — a very old story with no tragic ending.

Only a cycle that has one clear winner every generation.

The rest? Death.

Russian.

мои товарищи, moi tovarishchi — my comrades

+

I must say, I am tossing Nina around which way to gods way, I feel bad.

Oh, well.

I hope you're reading to meet the rest of the Parks. . .

Shoutout to the gif of one of my favourite sleuths of all time~

- ?