Hey There, Delilah

The Lion's Den

Song: a vintage playlist by Conceptually Yours

The last week flew by just like Vincent said it would.

Between studying, work, Cameron, and pretending not to notice Simon's glare, well, he was tired. Ambrose wanted to rest and spend Friday night with Jill or Cameron walking all over his body. Maybe even drink a beer or two before going to sleep early. And he'd skip his morning run with Kiki in favor of sleeping in.

Alas, such things were not meant to be as he had a "date" to the wedding from hell (as Vincent called it) in an hour.

Six o'clock couldn't come and go any sooner.

The door burst open. Vincent came barreling in with an excited gleam in his mischievous eyes. "Wow."

"I look like an idiot," Ambrose mumbled. He adjusted the starched white collar and loosened the black bowtie so it wasn't choking him. "This feels... like too much."

Ambrose eyed himself in the lilac full length mirror (on loan from Vincent) and sighed. He didn't recognize the man in the reflection.

His dark hair was slicked back. The impeccable suit he wore was a rich velvet black and had a crisp white dress shirt underneath. It, oddly enough, felt tailored because it fit Ambrose perfectly.

He looked at Vincent suspiciously. "Why does this fit so well?"

Vincent circled Ambrose like a vulture, looking every bit like Blanche Devereaux with his evening wear. "You're a heavy sleeper when you're tired. It wasn't that difficult to get your measurements and send them to Lilah."

Ambrose touched his chest. A part of him felt violated imagining Vincent creeping in with measuring tape while he slept. And yet, he also kinda respected his cousin's dedication once he set his mind on something.

"Don't worry about owing her anything either," Vincent said over his shoulder as he rifled through the box. "It's all a loan. Everything you see tonight came from their great aunts and uncles or grandparents. Old money loves to reuse shit."

Ambrose nodded, feeling more at ease as he slipped on the polished black shoes. Oxfords. He whistled lowly when Vincent fastened a silver Rolex around his right wrist.

"Carmichael family heirloom," he explained, motioning towards the watch. "All of this is, actually." Vincent took a step back and looked upon Ambrose with approval. "To the trained eye it looks like Lilah pissed all over you."

Ambrose pulled a face of pure disgust. "Excuse me?!"

Vincent tossed his head back, letting out a witchy cackle. When he was done he sighed, wiping a tear from his eye. "She practically put the Carmichael stamp on you." Vincent plopped onto his bed. "It would be sexy if this wasn't all a sham."

Ambrose rolled his eyes but secretly, he actually agreed.

There was nothing sexier than a woman staking her claim on her man. Not in his book, at least.

Vincent hummed, swiping left on his phone then threw a thick black coat at Ambrose. "Kiki just texted me. Your car is here."

"Is he coming?" Ambrose asked, slipping on the wool coat.

"Nuh-uh. He's gotta pick up his date then he'll be there after."

Ambrose raised a brow. "Date?"

"This girl he's known since high school. She's a lesbian," Vincent herded Ambrose towards the front door, "and he's gay. They pretend to date every now and then to keep their heterosexual covers intact."