DEAD TO ME [tartaglia]

003 - CHESS GAME

STEPPING OUT INTO the cold air of the night, you make your way from the limousine into the chilly lobby of the building wherein Childe's penthouse resided. When made aware of your presence, the woman at the receptionist wearing her hair in a professional sleek bun seems to pale considering your name has been on multiple headlines as of late, highlighting your wedding and the merging of two great companies into one.

You hesitate for a moment, pursing your lips and taking in the misty fragrance of the carpeted lobby before speaking. "I'm here for the man who lives in the penthouse, could you give him a call and tell him I need him?"

"Of course!" She responds swiftly, the nervous squeak in her voice awfully present as you stared back at her blankly. "Your.. your name, Miss?"

"I believe you know my name, Miss." You respond flatly, having noticed the way she reacted when you entered the room. Perhaps she's the kind of woman who enjoys reading gossip tabloids and such. Either way, you have no intention of paying anyone any formalities tonight, seeing as you have just ran away from your husband and your home, likely leaving him a pride-wounded mess in front of your father when the old man questions your whereabouts. The thought of it almost brings a small smile to your face.

"Of course!" She flashes you a strained smile, most probably embarrassed by your words and picking up the telephone after punching a few numbers onto the number pad. The phone rings a few times before it's answered when you hear a muffled and in your opinion— rather disinterested voice. Your name is mentioned and the voice suddenly perks up, and the receptionist puts down the telephone.

"Please make your way to the highest floor."

Upon hearing those words, you nod curtly and head towards the elevator, Disappearing to the relief of the woman at the front desk and the absolute delight of the man whose hands you have willingly just walked into.

—————

"LOOK WHO DECIDED to show up." Childe whistles, to your utter dismay.

Huffing tiredly, you hand over your coat to one of the many servants in his home to be hung up neatly. "..No need to make fun."

Your attention shifts to the maids present in the corner of your eye, and you think about whether or not others could be trusted to be in the presence of this conversation, and how much trouble you'd be in when the news hits your disapproving parents.Iinwardly, because god knows you would not let other people know it, you panic. But when Childe pulls seat in front of you from under the table for you to sit on, you graciously accept.

He takes the seat across from you, ushering away the servants present as if he noticed your previous discomfort and begins to run his mouth to your dismay, again. "I'll ask this once more because you've given me the displeasure of repeating it— marry me?"

His eyebrows are raised ever so slightly, and he's seated, or more like draped over the dinner chair like a shiny new coat with his legs crossed. His eyes shimmer with a glint that makes you uneasy, and it makes you wonder if you can back out now and beg for Scaramouche to take you back.

Your mind also wanders to his motives, knowing all too well that if his father truly wanted him to marry he could've easily avoided it by pouting and whining like the spoiled only child he was raised up to be and his father would comply. Unbeknownst to you, your expression turns as sour as your line of thoughts. You've known this man since you were children, and dealing with him long term would be a chess match of mind games. Would marrying him really benefit you? You have a reputation to upkeep, and being the other woman in your own marriage is one that you would like to avoid.

You think of your parents and their would-be disappointment of your chosen marriage candidate, but then you remember a strategic genius is sitting across from you, like a king would be to a queen on a chess board. He was anything but unsuccessful. In fact, he was the definition of successful. Multiple businesses up and running, young, single and not to mention has been the bane of your husband's existence for as long as you can remember. He was perfect, but that would not stop him from being cruel. Whatever piqued his sudden interest in marrying you is something you know you must look out for from here on out.

But when you think of the alternative decision where you go back to living with your parents, bear the embarrassment the media gives you and live with being second to your younger sister, how bad could his offer really be compared to what was waiting for you? With this thought in mind, you speak abruptly.

"Yes, I will."

and Tartaglia cannot stop the cheshire grin that creeps onto his face.