Rebirth (Hetalia X Reader)

Chapter 6

I was a good daughter.  I respect my parents, did everything the asked, got good grades in school, never did anything illegal, earned my keep... but let's just say that announcing that Paris was my destination for post secondary education didn't exactly go over well with my parents.

My father complained about money.  He said that it would be too expensive and I wouldn't be able to afford it.  I told him I'd figure it out.  And I did. 

But by no means did I have daddy problems.  The man whose lap I was sitting in tonight didn't seem to understand the fact that just because a girl was in the sex industry didn't mean she had daddy problems.  "Was your daddy mean to you, little girl?" He asked me when I had my arm laced around his neck.  He smelled of stale cigarettes.

I was about to laugh and tell him that no, of course I don't have daddy issues.  But by the look Marianne gave me from across the couch told me to play along.  So I changed my demeanor and put on a sultry smile.  "Who doesn't?" I purred. 

The four men that flanked us laugh, throwing their heads back and taping their knees.  Marianne joined in giving me a subtle nod.  I did a good job.  We were all sitting in a club a few blocks from the Tour Eifel.  Pulsing techno music rattled my bones and made it so we had to yell to be able to hear each other.  The air smelt of sweat and alcohol and the slightest tinge of cologne.  Marianne liked to call that testosterone. 

One of the men held my drink glass up to my lips.  I gave Marianne a quick look and she nodded, letting me know that nothing had been slipped inside.  That's how we worked when we entertained a group; keeping an eye on each other's drinks to make sure that no one had slipped any drugs in with malicious intent.  But since Marianne gave me the all clear, I graciously took a sip of the throat burning liquid.  Alcohol was never my favourite thing to drink... but I do what I must to satisfy my clients. 

Marianne said something to the men in French, her eyes hooded indicating she was ready to get to the main event.  They all nodded in agreement and started to get up off the couch.  I slid of the man's lap and linked my arm through Marianne's.  She threw a couple of bills on y he table beside our discarded drink glasses.  She smiled at me, her red lips stretching thinner as she revealed her pearly teeth.  "Ready?  It's the biggest job you've worked yet."

I nod, a nervous smile inching it's way onto my face.  Marianne had worked me up to this but I couldn't help but feel butterflies tickle at the walls of my stomach.  She gripped my hand as we made our way out of the club, dodging writhing bodies and drunks who were a little bit too handsy.  "Just remember the safeword if you ever feel uncomfortable.  No one will blame you."

We'd filled them in on the word we used to indicate that we were uncomfortable during any part of the act.  They could use it too, of course.  It was a French word I found hard to pronounce; Cendrillon.  It was the name the French used for Cinderella.  Why we chose that word?  We happened to walking down the Champs Élisée while discussing it and passed a poster broadcasting the new live action Cinderella movie that was to make it's appearance in theaters soon thereafter. 

The man whose lap I'd been sitting in hailed a taxi and we managed to wedge ourselves into the cramped backseat.  One of the men had to sit in the passenger seat and Marianne and I found ourselves lounging across the laps of the three remaning men.  The man I sat with at the club had graciously offered his appartement up for the night and we'd all agreed that the event would take place there. 

I watched the illuminated streets of Paris zip by just outside the taxi window.  Only half of the conversation really reached my ears.  I laughed when everybody else did and answered questions when my name was being used.  We'd given them false names, the ones we used when dealing with clients.  We didn't want them to come bother us out of work hours.  Marianne went by Albertine Lachance and I had chosen the name Julie Beauchamp.  Marianne had counseled me to take a name that could be pronounced in both English and French.  That way I could play whatever the client wanted; a sofistcated French lady for the foreigners and a foreigner for the sofistcated French clients. 

===

"Did you enjoy last night?" Marianne asked.  We were seated at a café overlooking the roofs of Paris.  I'm sure the view from this window at night was exquisite with all of the sparkling lights. 

I shrugged, bringing my steaming coffee cup to my lips.  "It was alright."

Marianne grimaced.  "You're right." She laughed softly.  "It think they were a little too high on nicotine and alcohol."

I give her a half smile.  Last night's events had really tired me out.  "So that night you had the female client in," I start.  Marianne looks away from the window, her big brown eyes anticipating what I was about to say.  "I had dinner with or neighbour."

"Oh?" Marianne pauses to take a sip of her tea.  "Which one?"

"The one across the hall.  The blond man." I smile, remembering the night.  He had been so kind.  The last time a man had been that kind to me and not in order to get a discount on my services... heck I couldn't even remember when that had been.  "I name is Francis Bonnefoy," I tried to imitate his accent when he had told me his name.  "He made me dinner."

The smile on Marianne's face falters but she forces the corners back up into a grim little smile.  She had abandoned her usual red and settled for a more natural pink for her lips.  "Was it good?" She asked.  Her voice had lost some of it's friendliness.

"What?" I was taken off guard.

"The food." She raised a groomed eyebrow, taking another sip of her tea.

"It was delicious." I smile, uncertain why Marianne had the sudden change in attitude.  "He's a chef; owns a restaurant down by Notre Dame."

Marianne nearly slams her tea cup back into its saucer.  "I'm sorry, ma chérie," She sneers.  "I love you and all your little quirks but when you pronounce some things in my language it sounds like nails on chalkboard to all of the natives speakers in earshot." She snaps.  I wasn't going to point out the fact that her accent also lead her to mispronounce certain words in my language but refrained myself from doing so.  Her sudden change in attitude frightened me. 

"Sorry... Notre Dame." I attempt a French accent.  I'm able to do a French accent in English flawlessly... but when it comes to the actual language I stumble. 

"Notre Dame." She exaggerates, leaning towards me from across the table and purses her lips.  "You have to get the rolling r for it to sound right."

"Notre Dame." I repeat.

She corrects me again and we sit there for a few minutes repeating the same two words to each other until Marianne is satisfied with my pronunciation.  She leans back in her chair and waves a hand dismissively.  "Good enough."

We sit in silence until we finish sipping at our tepid beverages.  I couldn't help but wonder why she had had such a strong reaction to Francis.  Did she know him from the past and didn't get along to well..?  No that couldn't be.  She had been friendly when we passed Francis in the hallway.  I watched as Marianne drummed her slender fingers against the tabletop as we waited for the bill.

All of my previous excitement of having spent time with our neighbour quickly evaporated.  If Marianne had a problem with him I wouldn't be spared the sarcastic comments she held in her vast arsenal.