XXVI.

G O L D E N  H O U R

—aka, don't put your vulnerabilities up your sleeve

INT— THE LOUVRE.

PARIS, FRANCE — NIGHT.

SCENE I.

THE LOUVRE AT night had its own charm.

Fewer people in certain wings, tourists underestimating the amount of people filling up on the weekdays, much less the weekends. Especially in wings that contained the most notable works. You'd be surprise how much people just move past great masters and flock the ones that are of general knowledge.

The Mona Lisa's wing was impossible to even traverse during the afternoon on a Saturday. Packed like sardines was one thing, but what's the point of taking a picture of it when it's among a sea of sweaty heads, a rumbling conversation pit of yelps, children crying, and shoves? You can't even enjoy looking at it.

So I pulled Kristoff away, moving past a lot of the crowds. I walk with purpose, too aware of my biting shoes (heels the entire day is a pain, no matter how well verse you are in them) before finding a quiet enough spot, offered my hand, and silently walked hand in hand, aimless, letting the weight of the day settle behind us.

I didn't want to think; scheming the entire day with hostility at your front and centre can definitely burden the charm for a while.

So instead, I just wanted to be a woman walking hand in hand with a man in a museum. I didn't want to be who I was and who I needed to be. I just wanted to exist. Nameless, a portrait with its frame off the hooks, turned away, just another framed canvas.

After a while, despite feeling my toes pinch at every step I took, it felt nice. His own exhaustion was palpable, and being a usually silent person, I felt almost weightless in my own existence.

I liked it.

"I didn't know the Portrait of Marie Medici was here," he hummed, bringing me back to the present to where he was looking at the side.

I blinked at him. "Yes..." It wasn't new that the Rubens lived here. "Is this... is this your first time at the Louvre?"

I didn't know what I was expecting, but that simple nod flabbergasted me more than I thought it would.

"But you have been to Paris?"

"Numerous times."

I frowned before my brows smoothening. "Huh."

He turned to me. "Is that a problem?"

"I wouldn't call it a problem, per say..." I slowed. This didn't seem like a good introduction to the museum. Our walk wasn't slow enough to actually see and inspect the great works. "Would you like to see it?"

"See what?"

"The portrait?"

"No. I'm fine walking with you."

I pursed my lips but didn't press.

After a while, he broke the silence that now felt tentative as I mused over a new fun fact about him; unlike the ones I procured from my brother, this one wasn't like a bruised I could press. It was just another thing to know past Billionaire, Psychopath, Calculative.

I guess, I could also add A Bit of a Tease to his growing resume.

"Does it bother you that I haven't visited the Louvre before?"

"I wouldn't call it a bother. I was going to say I didn't expect it, but it's you so you're probably burdened by a hundred million things." I gave him a look. "You don't really struck me as the type to go to places for vacation."

I felt his smile before I saw it. "No, not really."

"See? Too focus on work and smooching to go visit one of the most famous museums in the world. Have you ever been to anything touristy? I don't understand rich people," I continued before he could speak in edgewise. "What do you do with all that money if you don't use it on flights of fancy?"

I felt his hand, warm and rough, so, so alive against my own, squeeze against the contours of mine. The realisation that I could familiarise his ridges, the smooth and warm skin, that if someone tested me with a blindfold and I could pick him in seconds...

I would know him blind. And that comforted me as much as it scared me.

"...'Smooching'?"

When I finally looked at his face, oh, he was definitely teasing me. I snorted. "What else would you call what you do for work? These geezers fall at your feel like honeytraps, it's so funny to watch."

He laughed and I thrilled at the sound. "I'm sure you know the feeling."

I levelled him with a look. "And I think you know too."

And his smile— this one felt pretty.

"Did you rush then?"

We continued walking, aimless and with no particular art to see. I kept our hands together, tied our fingers. He didn't seem to mind so I leaned my head against his shoulder. He didn't mind that either.

"Rush?"

I peered at him, then smiled.

He quirked an eyebrow. "What does that smile mean?"

"Nothing. But I still stand by what I said. No more nice selfies for you." I pouted. "They were really good too. Shame I didn't buy them. The yellow lace was really pretty. I liked the Gerbera patterns."

"You didn't?"

"Your sister came," I sighed. "There wasn't a lot of chances if I didn't want to be left cold and bled out in my favourite lingerie shop, you know? That's not how I want my death to be known. Billionaire's Pretty Girlfriend Found Dead in Lingerie at Lingerie Shop. Can you imagine the photo they'd have to use for a headline like that? Also, very cliche."

He didn't laugh this time, sighing instead as I felt his hand squeeze again. I decided I liked his warmth. I liked him like this. Languid. Unburdened.

"I'm sorry about that. The men who were supposed to look after you had been dealt with, as it shouldn't have happened in the first place. That was a grossly disgusting oversight on their part and mine. It will never happen again."

I paused.

He brushed a hand across my cheek. "Antonina?"

"...Are they floating with the fishes?"

"Do you want to know?"

I tried to really look at him to see if he was making a joke, but he was back to that imperceptible look with his jaw clenched. Angry. I guess when he makes a deal with someone, he hates being unable to do his part.

Well. That's good for me.

So I shook my head, letting my head fall on his shoulder once again. "No, I guess not."

We reached the outside of the left wing enough for the small trellised exit, unbeknownst to most guests, with the sky darkened and covered in clouds, but Paris is awake. Beautiful. Lights seeped in every corner, not letting the dark widen and make chance. The street was busy, thick exhaustion of the day, of people wanting to go home and kick back with a good bottle and let the entire day come to a better close.

I was trying to decide what to do when we lingered in the fresh air. I didn't want to go back to the hotel just yet.

"Should we go back or—?"

"Did you send some to him—"

We paused.

"Send– what?"

He looked away, coughing. "Nothing."

"What do you mean nothing?" I tugged at his arm, forcing him to turn back to me. "What does that expression mean? Continue your sentence, Kristoff Park."

He strangled a sigh, running a huffy hand through his hair. "Fine. Did you send some to him as well, is that why he was there?"

"Huh? Who?"

He turned to me, stopping. From our intertwined hands, he pulled me close. With the other, he grasped my neck, trailing to my jaw.

I breathed deep. Hyper aware of everything, of him. He was drowning me in him. I didn't want to speak, almost scared to break whatever trance he was putting me in. His warmth was nice to a cold cheek. I remembered every other time his hand had been on my cheek. His warmth had been on my skin.

My stomach felt warm.

"I didn't realised..." He said, low and smooth. "Jealousy could be a deep gash."

I blinked. "... You? Wait. Louis?" I smirked despite myself. His thumb traced it, flicking back and forth against my bottom lip, following its corner as if mesmerised. "To be fair, he called them pretty. Which is the appropriate response by the way."

His thumb stopped. I tried my hardest not to look as if I was enjoying this, bu I knew myself better than that. Trying not to look smug has always, somewhat, been one of my losing forte.

His mouth raised. An annoyance. I couldn't contain my laugh.

"Enjoying this, are we?"

"You have to learn how to put yourself in others' shoes," I said instead. "Especially mine." He pressed on my bottom lip as if trying to draw blood. "Look at it from my perspective. I needed a saviour. I couldn't rely on you then."

The smallest dip of his eyebrows. A frown.

"And why not? Despite their incompetence, the men I had to protect you was going to do their jobs." His hold tightened. "And Archie did well. He sent Natasha."

I peeled his hands off my face, moving them to rest on my hips. "Just like I told him, my life is in my hands, Kristoff. I have never once trusted a man about it. Anything else, if I can delegate it and if it provides me, then yes. But my life, my neck, is in my hands. If I felt unsafe then, then I was unsafe. You should've done better."

His grip tightened, but I only smiled.

Darkness cannot touch where it does not allow. But if light bends...

I pulled him close, just a step. Now, are chests are pressed close and I could inhale him. I brought my hands to his face. This was intimate in a place that reminded me of a glass shard, freshly broken, on a delicate neck. Pressing against skin to warn, blood beading from the pressure.

I'm always toeing the line of wanting to hurt him and kiss him recently, I noticed.

"I don't want guilt, just do better in protecting me. Oh, but I do take gifts as ways of apology." I leaned in close, our lips just a silver and we'd be kissing, but I kept that minuscule line, whispering my sentiments. "I can feel the game moving, Kristoff. All these meetings of yours, this party, meeting your aunt— your grandfather knowing my existence."

He froze.

"I can feel, better than most, when a plan is reeling. All the dancers preparing their steps, preening their postures and presence. Something is happening. I don't care to know what it is. I just want you to do better in making sure I come out of this unscathed. That was the deal after all. Follow with your promise."

"I will."

I smiled, pressing my lips lightly against his. A simple peck, as if sealing a promise. When we leaned back, his eyes felt devouring, and I shivered against them.

"Do that again," he ordered.

I laughed. "You do it. Pull me close. Just like I taught you."

With his hand trailing to my elbow to my arm to my neck, leaving an unscathed skin of gooseflesh in their wake, before he cupped my jaw and brought me in for a proper kiss— one that seared like a sizzled fire and demanded more. He slanted his lips upward and I hummed against him, feeling just as desperate for the warmth that blazed into a furious but tentative heat. It builds. Slowly but surely.

Because Kristoff Park kissed like a man starved. He pulled and pulled, my waist, my jaw, a hum, a moan— always more. Granted, I was no better, but he fought for it. Like I had always been what he wanted, and that feeling sure can make a girl feel special, hot and dizzy all over. Like a thirsted man who had lived in his entire life in the desert.

When he tipped my head back, bracing my neck with his warm hand, a finger to my dancing pulse— I placed my hands firmly against his chest, pushing. I breathed out a laugh as I tried to starve off the lightheadedness.

He really was no better, because that didn't deter him in the slightest. His mouth moved away from my mouth, keeping me close, and kissing my cheek, the corner of my lips, my eyelids. When he went for the corner of my neck and I had just strangled to keep a moan that was deeply inappropriate in a public setting— my push was firmer, giving him a look.

But what I saw surprised me; kissed bitten as he was, mused up dark hair as he had, he looked languid. Dare say, relaxed.

He must've seen the expression on my face because he schooled his features, rubbing at his bottom lip which drew my attention to them almost immediately. They were red and raw and I did that.

"We should head back, I haven't had dinner yet and I'm hungry."

"For food?"

He gave me and my impish smile a look. "Yes. For food."

I took his hand and tugged. "Let's eat out. I know a good place. It's not touristy, I promise."

I don't want to go back to the hotel yet, is what I thought. Going back meant more of that line, that wall that was keeping the tsunami at bay; all our problems, our realities. All the things I didn't want to face.

I felt like a coward and a fool.

But Kristoff must've understood, because he only nodded, letting me lead him once again.