Saint Valentine

4

"Is something wrong?" he asks. I shake my head and finish my own brush.

"No, I'm okay," I smile sheepishly. I wonder if he's perving on me the same way I'm doing to him. I hope so. I want him to think I'm attractive. "I'm just worried about taking my make-up off."

"Why?"

"I'll look different. You haven't seen me without make-up on."

"That's fine," he shrugs. "That's part of life."

He walks out of the bathroom, ending the conversation there. It doesn't leave me with much to work with. He's so serious. He doesn't want to joke around with me. I doubt he'll be flirting with me. I've always seen myself being in a relationship where we're constantly laughing and teasing each other. I don't think he's the type for that.

When I finally finish off in the bathroom and head back into the room, Valentino is already in bed. He's laying down with his eyes shit.

"Uhm..." I hesitate.

"What is it?" he asks.

"Do you mind if I sleep on that side?" I motion to where he's laying. "I prefer to sleep on the side that's closest to the bathroom, just in case I need to pee in the middle of the night."

He doesn't say anything, but he scoots over to the other side of the bed with no complaints. That's a positive. He could've said no.

I climb into the bed. It's a lot higher than my bed at home; I almost need a step to get up there. Once I do, it's very comfortable. Despite the warmth from Valentino laying here, the bed feels cold. He lays on the edge of the bed, as far as possible from me. His back is turned towards me.

I'm disappointed. I don't know what I expected. It's not like I thought he'd sweep me off my feet. It's only our first night. But not even a goodnight? That feels harsh.

******

He's not here when I wake up. I don't know what time it is, but the room is empty. It's filled with light pouring in through the balcony doors. It feels too early for it to be this bright. I didn't sleep well. It was uncomfortable. I was tossing and turning all night. I was hot and bothered. I don't know why, I was just overthinking. I keep switching between being exciting this is happening, to denying that it is at all. But I need to let that go. I need to focus on the positives, and not let my doubts overshadow them.

He chose me. Valentino Sainte chose me.

He didn't notice me stressing last night. He was out cold all night. I could hear him snoring. He must be in the shower now. At least, I hope it's him. I can hear the shower running. It'd be weird if someone else was showering in here.

There's a small table beside the bed that wasn't there yesterday. There's a coffee pot on it, along with some jars of jam and a few slices of jam. It's not the only thing in the room that's changed. At the foot of the bed, I spot my makeup bag and one of my favourite dresses. My family must've passed on more of my clothes. I hope they remembered to feed Whiskey last night.

I grab my phone off the nightstand. I abandoned it completely last night. It's filled with messages and calls, all from my family and friends. News must've spread. I scan over them, an eager smile pulling at my lips. They're all so happy for me. They want this. They've recognised this is a good thing and I need to accept that it is, too. I need music. I need Taylor Swift. She always helps me see things in a more positive light — a romantic light. I play her latest album through the speakers of my phone. Valentino must not listen to a lot of music. There are no speakers or headphones in his room at all, at least none in plain sight. I'll have to play it on my phone until I can get my headphones.

I reach over to grab a slice of toast. It's already been buttered. I take a bite, careful not to spill anything on Valentino's bed. I'm sure he wouldn't like that. He's wearily neat. There's not a speck of dust in his room — not even a single crumb. It might not be his doing, though. He might have cleaners. I can't exactly see big, bad Sainte vacuuming his bedroom.

I sway along to the tune of the song until I hear the bathroom door open. Valentino's eyes land on mine. His dark hair is wet and tousled, only dressed in a pair of white boxers. He looks so casual, so normal. He's usually so... stoic. And yet, his deep scowl remains plastered on his face.

"Morning," I grin.

"What's this?" he motions down to the phone in my hand.

"Taylor Swift," I tell him. "It helps me wake up in the morning."

"Can you turn it down?"

"Uh... sure," I lower the volume. It wasn't even halfway up, but now it's just a whisper. "Are you not a fan?"

"No, not particularly."

What the fuck? How is that even possible? Is it just Taylor Swift or music in general? Does he have any interests at all?

"Thanks for breakfast," I change the subject.

"That's okay. I was making it for myself anyway," he steps into his wardrobe, returning a few minutes later dressed in a pair of black suit pants and a white button-up shirt.

"Did you sleep well?" I try to ease the awkward silence in the room.

"I slept fine," he sits down on the bed to tie his shoes, only turning to me for one brief moment. "Did you?"

"Yeah, it was okay," I respond. It feels inappropriate to say otherwise. It's like neither of us really knows what to say to the other. We've just shared a bed, yet it feels so tense.

"We should go see your family today," he says. "Pack a few of your things."

"Okay," I nod.

"We'll have dinner with my family tonight."

"Tonight?" I scowl.

"Is that a problem?"

"No, it's just... soon."

I don't even know him and now I have to meet his family — the royal family.