the beguiled | reus

TWO: RED MEAT

But she didn't know the true source of Marco's infidelity, hushed as it was kept—an open secret, that everybody knew. One could suspect, easily enough, that he liked his women fractured—malleable, shameless. Not in the cute, socially acceptable way; but in a way that even puzzled him. That way, he could put the pieces together however he wanted, and usually it left them far worse for wear. But again, that was no accident.

"Daddy, look!" Inessa clapped once more, then pointed Sahara's way. For the first time since that night at Mats Hummels' dinner party, Sahara didn't shy away from Marco's penetrating gaze. Instead, she giggled again. Smile when you want to be pretty, she remembered, and repeated. Smile. Smile. Smile. Until it hurts.

While Sahara knew Marco gave no more importance to her than he did dirt on the pavement, her only interactions with any men besides Andreas were Marco. Of course she thought about them constantly. The orphan thought about them enough to feel it again, in her thighs, and the pit of her stomach, and on her burning red cheeks. So for Marco, she wanted to be pretty. Yet it was the freedom of knowing that he'd never actually consider her as such—pretty, or beautiful—that had emboldened her to try. How could he, when women like Scarlett Gartmann-Reus and Aurelie Nikolaeva were amongst his current and former lovers?

"Sahara," Marco spoke to Sahara exactly as she'd expect; with condescension. It was the first time he'd ever said her name, and she knew he knew it, but it was still shocking—how easily, how sternly, he voiced her identity. She hardly even knew herself, beyond her name, but he spoke it like it was familiar. "Playing games that amuse girls half your age? Is that all you have to keep yourself busy under his watch?"

His was Andreas, and Sahara couldn't help finding intrigue in the disdain Marco attributed to who was effectively her father-in-law. But Juliette's younger sister was equally as terrified by that distaste which dripped off of Marco's tongue so smoothly, as smoothly as her name did, and that only gave him another chance to strike. "You do speak," he set Inessa down on her feet, allowing her to run off and play with one of the many players she considered uncles and big brothers. "Don't you?"

Sahara's breath was shaky as her dark eyes met Marco's, snake-like and scrutinizing. "Of course—um, sir-Herr Reus...?" Stuttering through a yes or no answer. Is it sad that this is an improvement from how bad I was at expressing myself the last time I saw him? At least I said...something.

Then, much to the surprise of Sahara and Marco himself, the footballer cracked a smile so genuine that he couldn't stop it before it arrived on his rugged face. But he quickly registered and erased it, and Andreas provided a stern but welcome excuse for him to do so. He arrived the moment he noticed Sahara and Marco Reus talking, alone. "You should be ready to get back on the pitch, Marco. Tomorrow you'll train with the team." Marco watched as Sahara sprung to her feet, flustered, as if she and Marco had been caught in a scandalous act. "I didn't know Sahara here had anything of use to offer you on the matter of football."

Sahara nearly flew to Andreas's side, taking Marco by surprise. Look at how she hides behind him, he thought, watching her slowly hug Andreas from the side—in effect, hiding half of her body. He felt his lips twitch at that sight of her behaving so demurely. At how Andreas began to smirk, because he knew men like Marco—he was a man like Marco—and in the German's eyes wasn't shock or discomfort, as most would react, but the slightest hint of envy.

"She has plenty to offer," Marco quickly wiped that smirk off of Andreas' face, and watched Sahara reveal hers in full. Marco stared straight into her eyes, a viciousness unlike anything she'd seen up to then. Before he sauntered off, clearly satisfied with the last word, he spoke again. "But clearly, that's something you already knew."