01. THE GREENHOUSE

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WHEN HE SAW HER FOR THE SECOND TIME HIS HEART SKIPPED A BEAT

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WHEN HE SAW HER FOR THE SECOND TIME HIS HEART SKIPPED A BEAT. He loosened his tie, he coughed, he gasped for air, but he was a lost cause. Monica's gold dress clung to her body in a way that was almost obscene, like something that shouldn't ever be seen by anyone but him and his eyes. Her hair was down this time and her black curls framed her face perfectly, just in place. Her lips were so red, a red that would catch your eye and make you stop your motion. She wore gloves, up to her elbows, and held a cigarette in her left hand. Was she left-handed? When she wrote letters, when she scribbled, when she signed papers, did she do it with her left hand?

And who even dressed like that at a fundraiser?

A fundraiser organized by a family Finn would later learn were the Montecellos. He would also learn that they were ruthless and harsh, and that they had their own practices and rituals. He would learn that Monica was a hidden ray in a forest of darkness.

There were so many questions Finn had. He desired to know every corner of her, every piece of her imagination and existence. When she started walking towards him, the Blinder could've swore that he was dreaming. Did she recognize him? She couldn't have, she was too drunk. But what if she had? What if she had, and she was coming over to tell him his desprerare feelings weren't unrequited, to come with her and talk or kiss or fuck or do whatever she wanted, because there was nothing she could do that wouldn't satisfy him.

She kissed Tommy's cheeks, one at a time. Of course she did, adiamo, she was Italian. They talked for a little while and Finn had never seen a person so relaxed around his brother. John and Arthur seemed to know her, but Polly and Ada didn't, yet Tommy didn't introduce them. Why was that? Why wouldn't he spare his time, why wouldn't he make her say her name to Finn while shaking his hand?

But in the end, he didn't. She pointed someone to him and left, only to bump into Finn, hard. Considering how many people were there, it was impossible to have your own personal space, and he took it just as that. But he felt something slip into his back pocket, and without a second of consideration he spun around, yet she was already gone. He took a second to admire her like that, in the gold lighting and in her gold dress. She greeted her friend, the same friend which took her away that night. He was handsome, Finn weighted, but that was no time to be jealous over his own picture of a girl. Perhaps she was nothing like the person he created in his head. He mumbled a sorry excuse to his family and rushed out through the dancing, steaming bodies.

He checked to see if anyone was around him and pulled out a note from his pocket. His heart was racing, only to realize the worst, fuck! He couldn't read. Curse Tommy and curse Polly for not keeping him in school, curse them for ruining this moment. He did the only thing he could think of; he ran to the closest group of people.

"Read this for me." They all moved uncomfortably at the interruption of the conversation. They were high society people. You don't ask high society people to read notes beautiful girls sneak in your back pocket, Finn thought. But then again, you do, if you feel like your entire existence is hanging on whatever words she scribbled on the piece of paper.

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