Faking It • Queen FanFiction

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 74

"Holy shit, Birdie." He mumbled in awe, taking in every molecule of her appearance, from the volume of her hair to the shape of her suede shoes. "You look..." He didn't finish his sentence. Instead, he stepped towards her and placed his hands on her waist, staring into her eyes and at her lips. He leaned in to kiss her, closing his eyes, but she put her hand between them and tutted.

"Nuh-uh, just applied lipstick, no way you're messing that up."

"God, why do you do this to me. Come on." Holding out his arm, she threaded hers through it and stepped outside into the darkness. Evening had fallen quickly and she had to strategically negotiate her way around the gravelled driveway in her heels, careful not to trip over in the dark. Roger held open her passenger door for her before getting into his driver's side. Starting the car, he leaned over and gave Bernie a kiss on the cheek. "You look gorgeous, Birdie."

"You don't look to bad yourself Meddows. Have you ever thought of polishing your shoes?" She chuckled, fastening her seatbelt.

The drive was silent. The radio stayed off and Roger focussed on his night driving instead of making conversation. After a while, Bernie was getting restless and hungry: the salad from lunch wasn't substantial enough and it was getting on for seven o'clock now. But soon enough, Roger navigated his way around the streets of London and planted the car outside a restaurant. And not just any restaurant. It was the restaurant, the one she'd dreamt of dining in ever since she'd moved to this part of London four years ago. She didn't recall telling Roger about that fantasy, though.

"Madam," Roger held out his arm once again and together they entered the building, Bernie's shoes click clacking on the paved ground of the car park. She smiled goofily to herself, feeling so lucky to be here at all, let alone with Roger on her arm. Immediately as they stepped in, excitement fizzed in her stomach as the smell of well-cooked steak and posh people's perfume hit her nostrils. "Good evening, I have a reservation for two at seven o'clock, under the name Taylor." Roger addressed the waiter standing at the door, dressed in a white tailcoat and black bow tie with slick black hair. Bernie had the irrational urge to bow before him.

"Right this way, sir." They followed the waiter to a table at a round window. A white embroidered tablecloth was draped over it and a candle stood in the middle, glowing orange in an ornate holder. The chairs were red and plush and even though she looked the part, Bernie felt extremely out of place all of a sudden as she peered around at all of the other diners, dressed in their finest silks with elegant up-do's.

The entire restaurant was dimly lit in an ambient sort of way, with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The floors were of a tough, solid wood and the walls were painted a dark forest green, peppered tastefully with angelic paintings in bronze-coloured frames. Was she in a restaurant, or a museum? The place was stunning, looking fit for royalty. In fact, Bernie wouldn't have been surprised if she'd found out that Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip had dined here. They were only around a 30 minute drive away from Buckingham Palace, after all.

After a thoughtful glance at the menu, a different waiter came over and took their drinks. Bernie had to stop herself from ordering the cheapest thing the drinks menu had to offer, as Roger had explicitly told her to order whatever she wanted, regardless of price. In the end, she settled with a martini, sitting in the middle of cheap (which still wasn't 'cheap') and utterly extortionate (which was truly through-the-roof). Roger went for a white wine. "I can't believe I'm here," she grinned genuinely, taking in her surroundings and, more importantly, the gorgeous man sitting across from her.

She took his hands in hers and kissed the back of one, leaving a lipstick stain on his knuckles. Around them, the sound of gentle chatter and the chiming of cutlery could be heard. When their drinks came, they toasted to one another and ordered their main meals, skipping appetisers altogether. At this, the waiter looked judgemental, but said no more about it. "Thank you for bringing me here tonight," Bernie said quietly, unsure of how loud to speak in such a dignified, reserved setting.

"You're worth every penny and a million pounds more," Roger smiled back, a genuine one that revealed all his teeth, and took a sip of his drink. Bernie had the sudden rush of thought that maybe he was about to propose, but it was only a passing thought. They hadn't even had sex, or said 'I love you' and she was thinking about marriage? Absolutely not, she just had Brian's future plans on the brain.

"Oh yes, Brian's proposing to Chrissie tomorrow night, I'm not sure if he told you." Bernie thought she'd slip it into conversation, feeling proud of her best friend.

"No fucking way!" Roger exclaimed a little bit too loud and a little bit too profanely, earning disagreeable glances from the neighbouring tables. He shut his mouth quickly and brought his voice down to little more than a whisper. "When did you find that out?"

"Today."

"Today?"

"Yes, I went with him to buy a ring, that's what we were out for."

"Well I never," Roger proudly smiled, milling it over. But he didn't have time to contemplate it for long as their food arrived. Roger's plate bore a piece of steak with seasoning elegantly placed on the top, surrounded by carefully poured swirls of gravy and what looked to be some leafy vegetables that even Bernie couldn't identify. It had an extremely strong odour, but one that made her wish she wasn't vegetarian. Meanwhile, a dish of risotto was presented before her, neatly cut carrots embedded into the sauce and onions sprinkled on top with various spices and herbs.

"Please be careful, ma'am, your dish is very hot. Enjoy your meals." The waiter bowed and left. Bernie had to maintain serious composure with great effort at the sight of somebody bowing to them. Somebody had seriously just done that, and it was etiquette. She was flabbergasted.

The meals were flawless. Absolutely flawless. By the end, Bernie prayed to have it again, but the food didn't miraculously materialise in front of her again, much to her disappointment. Every bite was heaven and she didn't care what the chef looked like, she could've kissed them.

"Are we going in for dessert?" Roger asked.

Debating it, Bernie thought of his poor bank account and her stomach. She wasn't sure she could stomach something sweet at this time, but perhaps later.

In the end, Roger wrote a cheque for the bill and they left, hand in hand.

"Thank you so much for dinner Roger, I've never tasted anything like it. Please, let me give you some of the money back-"

"No, no, absolutely not. My treat. You deserve it." He smiled into the darkness and brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss onto it.

"I can't believe you just paid with a cheque," she exclaimed, adjusting her voice to regular volume again with somewhat difficulty. The cold of the November night bit at her exposed neck, but she barely felt it with the warmth of the food in her stomach and Roger's hand in hers.

"Well, I couldn't throw some crumpled twenties at them, could I? I have to play the part."

"Well, I must say, you played the part very well, Mr Taylor," she mockingly addressed him in the same way the waiters had all evening, but his cheeks flamed when she called him that. Suddenly, he had a desire forming in the pit of his stomach. It'd been there all evening, but was now becoming stronger.

13/5/23 - eeeek, I only have 2 pre-written chapters left... better get busy