XVII.

W O W  F A C T O R

—aka, it's the little things,

EXT— A FIVE STAR HOTEL.

PARIS, FRANCE — MORNING.

SCENE I.

HOW DO YOU dress to meet a family member, especially an undeniably strong woman who your pseudo man trusts? Said pseudo man who trusts only a limited amount of people and to certain degrees, like tiers in an expensively tall cake, and knowing that trust meant something, worth a lot more, and painfully rare?

And of course, with no qualms in slicing you off a tier if you become a useless, much less a hindrance.

Paris is classic, a woman, and there's nothing that introduces you better to maybe a serious relationship— as serious as something born from barely a month-long love affair, snort insert here — for the extended family, and getting into the good graces of Asian socialites of the highest pedigree, than the classiest of them all.

And no, not diamonds.

Diamonds can have ill intentions. Diamonds have a history of greed, ill, and even death. They're a precarious move, especially for a first time meet. Diamonds are for the married women, the proposed women. The sure women. If you wear diamonds for this specific moment, being labeled as a gold digger won't be far behind.

"Pearls?"

Archie's eyes narrowed at the string of pearls I had draped across my neck, tensing and giggling at the coldness that touched bare skin.

I met his eyes on the vanity and smiled prettily. Sweetly. "Of course pearls. Pearls make you look innocent. Like a good girl, a classy girl, and a rich bitch all in one. It speaks of quiet fortune, timeless sophistication. It caters especially well to socialites who are traditional."

I went back to looking at myself at the looking glass, re-focusing my attention to every detail of my presentation, and moving as I blinked like every close lid is a snapshot.

Everything had to be perfect, if only to calm the worry of failing.

My hair had been pulled back to a low ponytail, affixed a headband of black velvet. Medium sized pearl earrings made way for the two-looped pearl necklace with the biggest of them all, dead centre and eye catching. Less sparkly and more shiny— which is the important distinction. My make up was minimal, eyeliner kept a thin streak and lipstick neutral and nude.

To avoid looking entirely too preppy, a neutral cream sweater, thick and hanging over one shoulder was dropped artfully over a white dress, black-tinted skin tights, and black heels.

This was a new version of Antonina. Not the French socialite who partied and enamoured her audience with a beguiling grin, captured looks in every necessary order. This was Antonina La Verne, in love and adored by a rich man, ready for more as she met the daunting Parisian auntie. Comfortable and sweet, timeless and traditional.

Ready for the next level kind of girl.

That diamond ring with the lumps of carats kinda girl.

Hell, if I was a rich man ready to settle down, I'd marry me too damn.

I looked at Archie, smug for the inevitable approval.

"You look like you play badminton at the Orchard and secretly hate the espresso shots she drinks every morning but think is necessary for diet," was his only flat reply.

My smile dropped. "Gee, thanks for being specific."

"Tell me again," Kristoff began as he entered back to my room, adjusting his black sweater, "— why I had to change?"

"Because you were wearing nude."

"And?"

I sighed. Loudly.

"It looks too fake," Archie answered. "Matching too much might bring the wrong idea."

I stood up, smoothening the back of my head and wondering if it was enough to stay down during the gloomy weather. Windy downpour is one thing, an all out war with mother nature is another especially when you're trying to look like the perfect person for someone's son.

I fixed my sweater one last time and reached up to him, my beau to certain degrees and connotations, and brushed across his shoulders, tucking the lapel of the long coat that Archie helped him wear.

He stared at all of my movements until my fingers slid sideways on the corner of his pink lips. People who naturally have pink lips during cold day are too blessed.

"And I look sweeter in cream," I said, smiling as I took his hand like any good girlfriend. "Shall we?"

Archie gave me a look, then Kristoff, before going back to his tablet. "We shall. The driver has been waiting for ten minutes, and with this ETA, we will arrive right in the middle of breakfast. After the cheese and definitely past the first coffee."

"Is punctuality that important to her?"

"Yes."

I smiled. "Then I will apologise sincerely."

Once we reached the hotel's entrance though, only the driver was there. Still no KC apart from that horrible ordeal last night. I mulled over the thought of asking. It wasn't my place, and my life will always be my first priority.

... But the words were out as soon as I was settled into the vehicle and Kristoff's door shut quietly.

"Did you fire KC?"

He wasn't even looking at me when he answered. "If I did, would it be a concern of yours?"

My chin raised. "Is that a rhetorical threat?"

He looked then. "No, a genuine question."

"Not as big as a concern mind, but I would like it answered."

"Curiosity bites cats."

"Sure. Purr."

He raised an eyebrow.

I sighed. Loudly. "Can't you just answer straight?"

"No, KC is still under my employment. Hopefully doing a better job than last night."

"Oh."

"Is that relief? Care for the hitman that had a bullet with your name on it?"

Oh, the funny man jokes. I glared at him. "That's not nice."

He straightened. "I'm sorry. I made you a promise. That won't happen again."

My eyes turned to the moving streets, Paris in the ends of a sunrise. Unmistakably familiar, terrifyingly unknown.

"As long as I'm useful," I whispered.

"And you are," he said, even. "So far besides last night, you have been doing an exceptional job."

My smirk is faint. "Is that a compliment, Mr. Park?"

"It is."

"I want a bonus."

I was expecting a reprimand, Archie who had been listening all the while gave a sharp snort of definitely not. But of course Kristoff was different.

"Name it."

I laughed as Archie's eyes immediately found mine, his head spinning so fast back towards us it looked like a scene right out of a horror movie. Just to kick off my Annoy Archie quota of the day, I settled a palm on Kristoff's knee, deftly patting it.

"I'll think of something, thank you."

The thank you was said sweetly, chin tilted a little down, smile demure. A practice of the Antonina that will be at breakfast today.

"Oh, lord," Archie muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Okay," was Kristoff's only reply, and that was it.

With a hand still on his knee, a thought came to pass in my hand.

"You know, we should have intimacy practices."

"Intimacy?"

I swear at some point, Archie's neck was just going to click, snap, and roll off his head.

"Practices?" was Kristoff's echo.

"Like in Italy, but less me urging you to do this, planning the steps as we go, and more... practiced behind the scenes. The subconscious actions— the reactions really. A subtlety that you only see from fresh couples enamoured. Not just for you, but for Archie as well who keeps reacting to every little thing, tut tut, love. Tut tut. But also just. Natural movements, as natural as you can, mind you, of a lover to his, you know? Love?"

"You don't need to be very public about it," Archie said. "Kristoff isn't known for public indecency."

I rolled my eyes, giving him a pointed look. "I didn't mean touching, kissing or humping, Archie, my god. A little decorum please." He shot me a glare so withering it rivalled Mother Russia's first breadth of winter. "But yes on the first two. Definitely no matter how Not-Kristoff it is to be public abut his lovers, apart from I have to be different if we're going the wifey route, yes?" I raised an eyebrow. "To be believable and to work my best, you have to let me work my best."

The silence was my acknowledgement, so I continued.

"But I was specifically talking about looks. Gazes. Little things that are different with lovers, especially new ones." I raised a finger. "Observe."

Scooting closer to Kristoff, I nestled well into his side, feeling him freeze like a statue despite the insistent heat of his body that he is, in fact, human. "Don't go rock hard." I laughed at my joke and his little reprimanding look did not go amiss, but I concentrated on my work.

He hired a con artist. An actress.

If you can't leave 'em, perfect 'em.

"It's about the comfort, that easy, comforting silence where two lovers are so enamoured, so aware of each other, that the world outside of their skin blurs. Outside of the other person, their heat, smell— everything outside of that little bubble they created is unimportant. Minuscule to the scheme of things. It's Kristoff reaching out for my hand in a crowded room. It's me brushing my fingers across his shoulders, running my nails on the nape of his neck. It's the subconscious want, looking for, and need. It's a relationship. Undeniable and perfect.

"To fool the world, sure I can do that." I sniffed. "But this game isn't as singlehanded as you think it is. Does your aunt know about us?"

A shared look. From a master to an employee. A pinch of annoyance nibbled at the back of my mind, but I pushed it off.

"That was going to be a test today," Archie finally answered. "Whether you could perform for Natasha. If you could—"

"— the rest of the world didn't matter. If you can lie to her, you can lie to anyone."

That, of course, doesn't put unnecessary stress to someone who hasn't eaten yet.

Edited.