XXXIV

P E R F E C T  F I T

—aka, the understanding before the storm,

INT— ANOTHER GODDAMNED HOTEL.

SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA— MORNING.

SCENE I.

The ring was simple, old and definitely had an owner before it was promised to be mine.

The band was white gold, with a metal that spoke of someone owning it beforehand by the lack of gleam and the few dents. The diamond was colourless, made into a radiant cut, set surrounded in six small, fresh pearls.

It was beautiful, but it had an owner. When I slid it on my finger, I hummed.

"A perfect fit," Archie said, raising an eyebrow. "No re-sizing needed then."

"Almost like it was made for me."

His gaze sharpened. "Hm."

I gave him a wink. "Who owned it?"

"Kristoff's grandmother. Hand it over. You'll wear it properly when Kristoff proposes."

I huffed, handing it back. Though it was simple, it was weighty. In more ways than one. "Which grandmother? May I remind you he had three." I took the papers he gave me to make note of the entire clan.

Yes, you heard that right. I got a dropdown studying of Kristoff's entire family as if my life depended on the exam that was meeting them.

Though it wasn't anything specific, really just the family connections— how one was related to another — it included the ridiculous line of ancestors, detailing the nuptial lines to prominent figures in history. Including, a time or two, of being married into royalty. Birthing a few or two of royal bloodlines.

And a few that married into the family, but I chose to block that out.

... Okay, maybe not block that out. Fully.

"Three grandmothers and about five types of inter-marriages," I finished, leaning back on my chair. "Which one will you give me?"

Archie shot me a dirty look, carefully tucking back my supposed engagement ring back into its velvet cushions, then into its dark box, away from my prying eyes and hands. "The last one, Dotty. It was specially made for her when Baek-Je married her."

"Five years of marriage, right? Before her death? It just says 'accident' as an answer for her death." It was the same in the dossier. It was still out of the luck that his final wife had been a Hollywood starlet, though not one to rouse in public affectation today, she still had a better log of movement than the other wives.

The other two seemed to only have a birth and an obituary date to be honest.

Margaret Park's death was only cited as a medical issue, at the tender age of nineteen, having only been married for four years. She did have a history of illnesses, though redacted. It seemed as if she had been weak from childhood.

Margaret and him had been arranged to be married since Margaret was young. Again, it didn't specify on the dossier, but assuming from the history of arranged marriages and dates of firstborn births, I'd say very young, in some cases, illegally young— illegally young enough for child welfare to be called in at the turn of the century to be honest.

It was a marriage out of obligation, and truthfully, from everyone's talk of the old man, I wouldn't be surprised if he had done it with his first wife because the date of his second wife's first birth, his first child, was the same year between Margaret Park's death.

The few months between it didn't assuage any of my feelings toward the old man.

Four children later, Han Da Som dies in childbirth from her youngest child. Three years later, the old man was once again, and for the final time, was married to the American starlet.

Five years of marriage later, dead, cited as 'accidental'.

"I can't tell you because I have no idea," Archie said, face pinched, mouth pursed. I blinked once. "No one does."

Now, see here. My mornings, usually, in the last weeks of doing nothing but work through webs, had been spent more with Archie than Kristoff or KC.

We talked recon, plans and what foot best to put forward. In those times, I had learned a lot about Archie. From the tonal shifts in his voice, the inflections with certain words, even the hitch that pairs with a certain scrunch of his nose that tells me if he didn't like something; something I said, something he just popped in his mouth, something— I've learned them all slowly.

After all, compared to the cold posterity that seemed to be stapled to Kristoff's face, a parallel shimmer of a stone cold man to warm a beast to a boyish heart— Archie was more expressive. His dislike of me that slowly shifted into tolerance to even the smallest bit of affection was something so easily seen if you take the time to see.

And Archie Noh was lying to me at the very moment.

Lying, I mused to myself, wrangling my face to calm. Archie Noh is lying to me. Isn't that precious?

Why does a person lie? To hide the truth is the perverse thought of it.

But why hide this particular truth, why now, why this person, why this facet, why from him— all totals to why the lie is made.

Archie wasn't like Kristoff. Kristoff, if I needled, would answer regardless, a simple I won't tell you, the far simpler no, or of his offhand course with whatever feelings he situated with me— whether that was lust or a certain thought of usage — Archie was different. He closed off when needled, and I liked where we are at the moment, fair and amicable with a dash or so of scorn and snark, and I was going out today on good graces.

So I kept mum, my observations and additional questions, hiding behind a small, innocent smile.

"Alright, sure. I do have a day out today, right? Where is Kristoff?"

"He's meeting with his mother, to tell her about his plans of proposal to you." He stretched his shoulder, sighing as even I heard the crick on his bones. "You know the rules. You have to tell me where you're going, who you're meeting, and what you're doing."

I pouted. "Can't I say I've already asked Kristoff last night? Which I did, by the way, and I got express permission."

He arched an eyebrow. "Do you think I'll trust anything you made him say yes to in the throes of passion?"

"In the throes of passion?"

There was a meaningful rise of colour in his cheeks. I laughed.

"You know what I mean," he snapped. If embarrassed looks could mirror a fourteen year old boy's.

"Archie Heinrich Noh—"

"— that is not my middle name, where did you even get Heinrich? —"

"— are you telling me you're a virgin?"

He scoffed, tugging hard at his silk top. It's wrapped around and tied to the corner of his hip, a deep violet one this time, the colour of bruise and the expense of silk. It matched his pants, which was also silk. The pattern of tulips rose from a pant leg up until his ribcage.

It was truly beautiful, all unique to what I've observed. I had raided his closet back in Paris (after shuffling the lock to his room; quid pro quo about hotel rooms, KC's soldiers don't really build firewalls inside the hotel room once it's confirmed no outside source is trying to jiggle through Archie's closet's door), and one bored afternoon, I made a fashion show of my own, clad in champagne and his best silks.

The bubbly had already gone through my head, dark shades on, a pink silk set I found on Archie's closet that was my favourite but I had never seen him wear— when Archie got back with Kristoff, conversation halting when they saw me, smashed, fingers barely holding the neck of a champagne flute, the Mamma Mia soundtrack on full blast.

I think it was actually Mamma Mia's 'I've been angry and sad about the things that you do', matched it with a flying kiss when I met the duo's shock.

The little memory made me smile harder at Archie's reddened offence.

"Stop looking at me like that! I am not a virgin!"

I stood up, hips swaying as I plucked a piece of rice from his plate, leaning over with a leer and a smoky wink. I was still in my own silk sleep getup, baby blue hemmed with lace and short enough to wink my best assets in the morning.

I knew there was a bruise between the valley of my breasts, courtesy of his boss, and Archie's blush spread to his cheeks when he noticed, eyes resolutely glaring at my own.

What I would assume would be a curse was spat between teeth and a glare in Chinese.

"I truly was ready to believe you, Archie baby, especially after Kristoff so graciously tried to pawn you off to me for my sexual urges, but now that you're so thoroughly defending yourself... gotta say... had me rethinking," I sang as I left, leaving him grumbling and cursing. "I'll be taking a shower for my day out!"

"Don't forget to detail where you're going today!" he all but growled after while I giggled to myself.

"Shopping!" To myself, a whisper, "Whatever else would I do?"

Every rig was following another, every step awaiting order.

EXT— A STREET IN GANGNAM.

SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA— AFTERNOON.

SCENE II.

"When are you going to blow him off?"

"Already did."

"You know what I mean."

"And yet, you're smirking, because you wanted that response from your totally innocuous question." I rolled my eyes, licking at my sorbet, bags on each shoulder and new nail polish on my hands and feet. With the proposal in less than a day, I was primed with every concession possible.

How I talked, how I walked, how I appeared took precedent. Everything about me, about us, about how Kristoff interacted around me had to be perfect.

The transition from Kristoff's lover jet-setting around the world with him had to come down and reshaped to the future mother of his children, the dutiful wife that stands beside him.

Images matter. Perception of the audience is all it is. Smoke, mirrors, and a smile.

So choices from my hair colour to the shade of blush I was wearing had been made with that thought.

My nails reflect a pearl, awaiting a diamond to nestle between them.

Joseph hummed a little laugh as we strolled through the district bustling with people. We looked out of place, not just the fact that we looked too western to even appear as if we've lived here for years, but we took the tourist gig to the next level.

Shades on, buying everything pretty on sight, and chatting about the stupidest things as if we weren't aware of the people trailing a close eye on my eye person.

There was no wire on my body, but I wasn't stupid to think that any conversation I was going to have without Kristoff's express permission, was kept between myself and the other person.

But the good thing about speaking to another con artist is there's a base level of another language hidden beneath the depths of the common tongue.

It's easy to pick up but harder to understand. You have to know the key.

And you have to trust the speaker that what they're trying to tell you is the subterfuge of your understanding, the very same thing.

You can call it conlese.

"Everyone's anticipating what you're going to do," Joseph said, a picture perfect of a tourist with his loose white shirt and wandering eye.

"Not my darling lover's?"

"Well, sure, but their anticipation of his movements versus yours is different. They're holding their breath, seeing how far he takes it. Trying to picture what their... father almighty thinks of you." He gives me a glance, a smirk. "If you're still here after all, means something."

"Is that why I'm not being attacked in broad daylight?"

His steps faltered. "You were attacked in broad daylight?"

I snorted. "Thank Kristoff's sister for me, won't you?"

"Jesus. Well... I don't know anything about her, but since you are still whole and alive right here with me, I can assume she's following everyone's lead of anticipation." He placed an arm over my shoulder, and I grimaced. There was more than physical weight to it. "Sail's blowing the way you want them to, so far? Continue on starboard?"

"Yes, but Jesus Christ, no more sail metaphors." I took his hand across my visage, twisting our fingers, and pulling my palm backward until he hissed in pain and untangled himself from me.

As he glared, I met it with a pretty smile of my own.

"I have things under control, Joseph. Just make sure to be there when he looks up at me, hm?" I swivel my head to the side, catching the eye of a few strangers, smiling politely, while I try to look past them all. There was a glint in the afternoon sun, against the mirrored windows. "And I don't think I have to tell you that my boyfriend doesn't like unnecessary contact. Keep your hands to yourself."

"Sorry, sorry." He raised his hand, sounding half-hearted as he looked. "I'm more surprised you're allowed out of your pretty birdcage."

"What can I say? I asked and I've never not got what I wanted."

A movement caught my gaze, nothing but a single shift of difference in the pool of people. A man was looking directly at me.

He inclined his head. A question. I gave a nod, an assurance.

Joseph whistled a cheery little tune. "A really, pretty little birdcage. So Nina darling, care to come here in this darling little place?"

I didn't even looked up at the shop, noticing the paper hidden beneath the hem of his offered hand. I placed my hand on his, grasping the paper.

"Well, why not? I have a card that has no bottom to touch." A swift movement, a dance between our bodies and hidden eyesight– I committed the words to memory before I tore it quickly, flinging the discarded pieces.

PETER SOPHIE WYATT WAITING.

THEYRE PREPARING THE HOUSE IN JEJUDO. SOLDIERS MOVING. TOO MANY.

EXIT— ERIS MERCER. FIND THE BLUE MAID. KEEP THE GOLD BOY.

Things were moving, and to keep myself from drowning, I had to dance with the tide.

His eyes glinted. I knew he knew what the words were. "Everything okay?"

Keep the Gold Boy, clenched between thought and teeth as I smiled. "Everything's perfect."

The plan stretched, warped and twisted, hidden beneath three layers of context and conversation.

Contingencies upon contingencies.

Kristoff and his people were planning something in Jeju-do, where I was told his ancestral home was re-built. A pretty little mansion residing on the corner of the island, far enough to have some privacy from the common folk.

Where I know his mother and grandfather flew from. Park Nana who had kept away from the public eye for decades, all for Kristoff's summons.

Where I know that if everything promised moves forward, like the ring that will hold on my finger, will be the place where Kristoff is crowned and officially recognised as the next powerhouse of the family.

People are moving from his side in preparation for it, and in clause, I was going to protect myself.

People on my side. A new name. A clear exit.

Eris Mercer does sound like a pretty new name after Antonina La Verne, no?