Florence observed her surroundings as they pulled into a dimly lit carpark. The sun had set completely, and the sky was now a navy blue, barring a crescent moon perched in the darkness like a torch. A rustic-looking building stood before them with what seemed to be Wisteria climbing over a wooden trellis at the entrance. Victorian lanterns lit up the veranda of the bar, revealing the extravagant steps that led up to its large door.
The floor was adorned with black and white harlequin tiles that looked as though they were polished once an hour. Florence almost slipped as she stepped into the grand entrance.
She had never set foot in somewhere so glamorous. This place made Genevieve's look like a cheap burger joint. She knew the life Harry lead was far from what she was used to, but this building blew her expectations out of the water.
Thankfully Harry didn't notice her near slip, but placed his hand on her lower back to guide her in the right direction as they continued into the bar. The doorman nodded at Harry as though he'd met him before as they walked further into the space. It definitely seemed like the kind of place someone of his calibre would frequent.
It was well lit but had a relaxing atmosphere at the same time, with tall standard lamps scattered strategically around the room. The lighting was the perfect mixture of ambient and vibrant. The venue opened out into a vast lounge area with the largest rug Florence had ever seen cloaking the majority of the floor. Its verdant colours juxtaposed the pale pink velvet sofas that stood on its surface.
To the right Florence noticed the large mahogany bar which curved at either end forming an oval shape. Its top was made of a deep emerald-coloured granite which drew out the green colours of the carpet. Shelves and shelves stood above one another like a ladder above the bar top, stocking art deco style martini glasses and iridescent Carnival glass which reflected onto the ceiling like a prism in shades of berry, butterscotch and azure blue.
"I feel like I'm in Great Gatsby." Florence laughed beside Harry as she took in the space around her in awe. She felt as though she shouldn't be stepping foot on these expensive floors in her second hand, scuffed boots.
"It used to be a bank." Harry responded, gazing up at the immense ceiling. It's expanse was carved into a multitude of decorative cornices.
"It's gorgeous." She marvelled, following Harry's gaze up to the ornamental ceiling.
"C'mon, let's get us some French Martinis." He reached down to intertwine their fingers and lead her over to the bar. His tactile nature took her by surprise from the get go. She'd never met someone so physically affectionate and willing to display their feelings so freely, using physical gestures as their sole communication.
The past couple of weeks had been beyond surreal for Florence, and as each day passed it got increasingly difficult for her not to dissociate. Not only was she in the company of someone who she was beginning to really care about, but he was seeming to reciprocate this regard too. He knew and remembered what she liked, and what interested her, and he made it clear that this was the case. He asked her about things she was interested in, and even if he didn't share this interest, he listened with full attention and showed enthusiasm simply because she esteemed these topics. And it meant more to her than she would ever admit.
Once the pair retrieved their drinks in their highly embellished glasses, they settled on one of the powder pink couches in the centre of the room. The entire atmosphere exuded luxury and grandeur with a potent smell of cedar wood diffusing around them.
Florence watched as Harry lifted his cocktail towards his plump carmine lips. The tarnished lighting exacerbated the structure of his face and shadows formed under his sculpted features giving him the appearance of a Grecian statue, mirroring the traditional carved plaster above them.
YOU ARE READING
sunny. {HS au}
Fanfiction'Give me the splendid, silent sun with all his beams full-dazzling.' Walt Whitman - Leaves of Grass. In which a London-based, 25-year-old waitress' life crosses paths with the most sought after musician in the world.
