KIWI
act one, chapter two.

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Vittoria Corelone wins best actress in a stage performance for her portrayal as ' Lady Macbeth' at the 2023 darcy's !!

she thanked both her biological and adoptive parents alongside other people who have inspired her in a heartwarming speech.

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username1:
omg I'm so proud of her!!!

username2:
AHH I KNEW SHE COULD DO IT !!

username3:
did anyone see the camera kept panning on Paul Mescal? do they know something we don't!
             ⤷ username2: omg he looked like a love struck puppy!! mans definitely crushing on her

username4:
💘💘

username5:
Florence crying made me sob!!
  ⤷ username6: lit friendship goals.

*

I WON A DARCY!

But it's hard to concentrate on the award that's been pried in my hands all night ( until I handed it to my manager) — despite who talks to me, despite their importance, how well I know them I can't keep my focus on them.

I believe quite literally god herself could enter the room and talk to me and I think I'd be more focused on the eyes that Paul Mescal has been giving me from the opposite side of the room since we entered the afterparty hours ago.

Taunting me with his gazes, how he always seems to find me in such a crowded room — how his eyes linger as they trace each inch of me. How he lifts his drink to his lips every time I look back at him, hoping that is his attempt at liquid courage because I'm growing more agitated at this cat and mouse game he has initiated between us.

We haven't even spoken to one another. Well, Florence formally introduced us in one of the ad breaks.

" hi, I'm Paul." his hand reaches out over the seats and I smile looking down at his hand before flickering it back to his face, such a nice face.

" Vittoria." I say, my tiny hand almost disappearing in his grip as we momentarily shake hands — a imitation of contact, which leads to a touch that lasts longer than it should.

He also mouthed congratulations when I was stood on stage giving my speech — which threw me entirely but I don't think anyone except him noticed. I don't what influence this Irish man has on me but he needs to loosen the reins a little. I feel like I'm losing air every time I look at him.

" I saw you, you were phenomenal." someone says, someone I've uncharacteristically neglected to ask the name of because I feel his eyes on me a few metres away.

I shake my head, nerves building " I wouldn't say phenomenal." I tell them as they snort.

" I believe the people who gave you that award disagree with you massively." she jokes and I laugh. After a few minutes of talking, she excuses herself and I stand waving my body to the music that plays. I don't know where Florence is, she got sucked into some crowd an hour ago and I haven't seen her since.

Daring to turn my head, my eyes fixate on him again. The light shines over those blue of his, makes them twinkle, makes them look even prettier ( fuck him and his eyes)

He gives me a look, lifting his glass — and then he goes, pushing past some people. I watch, of course I do. He spends the last few hours ogling at me and then decides to leave when I'm alone, I'm not having it.

I use the hand that isn't holding a glass of some sort of alcohol to lift up my dress and excuse myself through the same trail I believe I saw the Irish man exiting from.

I end up down a desolate hallway, red dim lighting — which only means trouble, yet it doesn't deter me like it usually would.

I follow him into the hallway, " oi, mescal." I call to him, the velocity of this dress making it harder to pick up my pace to reach him.

He stands in a desolate doorway, toying with a box of cigarettes in his hand — looking up to me and there's that damn smile, and consequently the shortening of my breath.

He lifts his head " well, hello to you to miss corelone." he says my name and I feel slightly tingly at the way it seamlessly slips off his tongue, it must be accent — I heard Irish accents but this one's different.

My finger lifts as I get closer " you need to stop!" I tell him and his brows knit together and my stomach knots.

" stop what?" he hums, lifting a cigarette up before rolling the tip in his parted lips ( as much as I detest smoking, he does make it look rather hot at least the pre-smoking part)

I swallow drily " looking at me," I tell him and I only realise how idiotic it sounds when he dryly laughs at it. The tension is thick, and growing thicker by the passing moment.

" my mam gave me eyes, and you expect me not to use them?" he playfully mocks, and he even does that in an attractive manner — what is it with this man?

I fold my arms " well....you can look at me but not in the way you have been all night." I retract and he gives me another look and I try to stay strong but my restraint is crumbling with every bloody second.

He steps closer, he's single-handedly taking the wall where my restraint resides apart — brick by brick. The height difference between us makes me lift my chin to continue looking at him, which I want to. He has very pretty eyes I must admit, even when there's practically no lighting, seriously fuck his eyes!

" and what way am I looking at you exactly?" he queries, voice quiet. Teasing. And I try to appear strong although I'm anything but at the moment.

I step closer as well, " like you want to rip this dress off of me." I say equally as whisper-like as he does.

He steps closer, the slightly outward material of my dress now pushed against the material of his white dress shirt. His lips curve, and the butterflies begin as he leans in, closer— to close some would say (but I wouldn't).

It's almost silent, but his breath sends shivers down my neck " maybe I do," my head bows as I feel my teeth tether into my bottom lip " but you do look exceptional in it, so either way suits me."

I wasn't expecting a confession, I wasn't prepared for such an unfiltered response. How do I react? How should I react? In my very short love life, I have never been faced with such openness, such abruptness, a man who will actively say what he wants.

And maybe it's the drink, the many many flutes of champagne and other alcoholic beverages that I've consumed that lead me to loop my arm around the back of his neck and pull him into me.

Kissing him, lust filled movement of our perfectly fitted lips — he must have disregarded the unlit cigarette in some manner but soon enough it's my whole front that's pushed against him. He's leant against the trim of the outside door that thank fuck has no paparazzi lingering outside of it, they'd have a field day with this one.

I don't know how long with kiss for, but when we pull away my fingers are tasseled in his hair and we're both breathless — and we both know this is going much further than making out in a deserted hallway.

" come on, let's get out of here." he suggests, I look around once before nodding. Placing down my glass on whatever surface is closest. Paul does the same before I take his hand and follow him out of the building ( through the back obviously).

There's a line of blacked out cars, someone escorts us to one — they can't help the small smirk, knowing obviously who we are and the astronomical piece of gossip they'll go back to their roommates with tonight.

Paul helps me in and is soon sat beside me. I lean across him and tell the guy still lingering by the door " can you ask the driver to take us to the four seasons please."I say, he nods and shuts the door and when the car begins to drive I sit back — noticing Paul and his hands which he can't quite keep to himself, but instead of touching me they sit being twiddled in his lap (shame)

Maybe it's the drink that comes over me again or the pure feeling of lust I feel tonight, it's most likely why I turn and cup his cheek with my hand and pull him into me, with such vigor that he's almost on top of me in the moving car . Our lips attached and barely detach except when neither of us can breathe anymore, although neither actually take a full breath before pushing ourselves together again.

I force the lack of space between us, one of his hands cradles my face as we kiss and the other pushes against the side of the cab so we don't injury ourselves any more than necessary. I laugh when we take a sharp turn and Paul smiles at my laughter — it's a mess but I like it.

We take the back entrance into the hotel, Paul hides me from any potential lurking cameras as he covers the top of my head with his suit jacket I had beforehand taken off of him.

We giggle as we nab a service elevator up to one of the top floors where my room is ( we almost miss the floor, as you can probably guess we're preoccupied).

No second is wasted as we enter the room. Well the first few seconds where I make sure that the door that interlinks mine and Florence's room is locked shut — I check again, double check and then triple check just to be on the safe side.

" fucking hell." is what he says when I let my dress drop to a pool of material around me — I feel my cheeks beat up before slipping off my shoes and moving back to kiss him.

his hands are cold against my skin, as they wrap around my hips and push me to the bed which I fall onto.

He lags behind as I push myself on my arms and stare at him as he stands looking down at me.

" take a photo it'll last longer." I smirk and he lifts his fingers and imitates that thing that all photographers do, trying to get the right angles as I throw my head back with laughter.

" just, don't want to forget this moment." he hums and my smile only widens — eventually I sit up fully and pull at the sides of his suit jacket that some time in the midst of it all he put back on .

" well, keep kissing me and I'm sure you won't forget a thing." I say, helping him out of it as he does as I suggest and we find our way to one another again.

I don't do this, at least like this. But this feels nice, as I pull him into me and I don't feel the urge to let him go and instead want to keep him near, it's the oxytocin mixed with the array drinks I've had tonight. But I will remember it all tomorrow morning.

As it all unfolds in the sheets of my hotel room bed, his words that come out as low grunts with each of his movements that make my teeth tether into bottom lip even harsher.

I hope his compliments are lust-filled. Hoping he doesn't get attached after this one night, I don't intend on doing this again despite how amazing it feels. It's just a rule — not part of my plan, at least yet. Falling in love doesn't come until I'm twenty seven. And yes it may be stupid that I have rules and plans that I lead my life by and I know life is not meant to be lead in that way.

But, Let's hope Paul's still around and available in a year and a half. Because I wouldn't mind this when the time does come.

AUTHORS NOTE.
....
(That's all I have to say)

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