Royally Kissed | ✓

40|2; the reunion

"Exactly, sir. So I need to tell her the same thing. And you'd do me a huge favor if only you'd let me in."

He clucked his tongue and wistfully gazed out at the white, stony luxury home. Arthur did the same. He'd stepped inside the palace-like residence, full of spiral outdoor staircases, huge glass windows, classical architecture, with a fountain at the center, lawn so lush and green before the snow, and several lights were installed up against the walling of the exterior. The glassy-walled part at the very distant right side could be seen from where he was stood. It was supposed to be the pool, but they had placed a cover on it since it was winter.

Arthur suppressed a longing sigh. It seemed so far away now; she seemed so, so far away. He knew what he'd be missing when he'd cross the line right from the start, though. He just didn't think how much it would affect him.

The guard turned to look at him and gave him a sorry stare. "I'm sorry, young man. But I'm just doing my job."

He nodded slowly, shooting him a tight smile. "It's alright, sir. I understand. But if you could just tell her that I was here, it would really mean a lot to me."

"Of course."

"Oh, hang on," he checked all of his pockets, only to feel a slight bulge in the inner pouch of his jacket. He pulled out a paper he'd tore off from a book, one with a black poetry he'd always wanted to give her but hadn't got the chance to, all because he knew it wasn't worth it. But he decided it was worth the shot now. The man made another bob of his head as he received the paper and Arthur bade him goodbye.

Just as he was about to leave, the sound of outgoing cars made him look back. The first car that waited beyond the gate was Owen's. Had the windows been heavily tinted, he'd never know Paige was in the passenger's seat at all. He wasn't too sure if they noticed him, but he rushed to Paige's side and tapped helplessly, even if Owen was starting to accelerate the speed.

Seconds later, Owen slowed down, just as Paige noticed him, now slack-jawed and her eyes widening in surprise.

"Paige!" he yelled, because he knew his voice was muffled behind their side of the car. Tapping again, he added, "Talk to me."

Paige stared straight ahead and continued to ignore him. He met Owen's eyes, his expression unreadable. Paige was saying something to him and he creased his forehead.

Tap, tap, tap. "Paige! Please, just let me explain myself."

But Paige gazed out ahead once more and began to nod, her features completely impassive. He thought he just heard his heart breaking at that point. The car resumed on revving up the power while it slowly rolled away as the panic started to pound in his chest. Owen was hesitant, it seemed, but Paige looked at him again as if warning him. He saw Owen clenching his jaw and cast a blank stare at him.

Arthur hurried as he continued to bang his fist against the car when Owen finally obliged.

"No, no, no. Paige!" A pair of arms suddenly wretched him away from the vehicle, but he tried to writhe out of the person's clutches. "Paige–get your fucking hands off me–" he was able to get away and run for a short while, his fingers barely even touching the back end of Owen's car before someone took hold of him again.

His chest rose and fell as he regained his even breathing, watching the speeding car peeling out of the estate with a heavy heart.

Then his face turned aside when a loud slap stung his cheek.

His eyes widened when he caught sight of Isolde's furious gazes, not seeing that one coming.

"Look at you, Mr Huxley," Isolde's tone was quiet but cutting, and it dug a knife right through his chest. It hurt knowing how small he appeared to be in Isolde's eyes. If her expression was usually stoic, professional, now he caught a glimpse of her demeaning thoughts through her eyes, "What a shame that you swallow the words you spit. I wonder where your courage is coming from. The mere idea that you have the nerve to show up here is beyond me. Leave my granddaughter alone, Mr Huxley, or I will show you what I am truly capable of."

His face fractionally crumpled, but he followed behind her when Isolde aimed for the silver Mercedes Benz.

"Ma'am, please allow me to explain myself–"

Isolde turned, crossed her arms, and chuckled under her breath, which sounded something like a scoff. "About what? About how you were using Paige to pay your debts?" He clenched his jaw, his nails digging in his palms. "How you lie about your identity and how you wrap her around your little finger with more lies, Mr Huxley? Are we going to talk about this again? I gave you what you want. You proposed, I am holding my end of the deal; it is time you do the same. Now stay...away." 

He found himself searching for the right words to say but even opening his mouth to defend for himself seemed so hard to do. It wasn't after seconds later that his limbs started to work again when Isolde was about to step in as the guard opened her door.

Eager, he quickened his pace to her just as a familiar guard blocked his vision. He frowned. "Malcolm?"

"At your service, sir."

"Sup, buddy. Look, just let me through and we're good. Ma'am," he sidestepped and hurried to her, "Ma'am."

Isolde sighed in exasperation and arched her eyebrow. He swallowed and thought, "fuck it".

"I...I love her."

She stilled. In his mind, he'd hoped she would believe it. But she remained silent and stared down at him.

"If there's one truth among all the lies I've made, it would be this." He didn't dare looking away from her. Because he wanted her to know how much those words meant to him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all the things I did to her, for all the pain I've caused, but I want to say these things to you–how much I..." His chin creased as his eyebrows furrowed as if someone had just punch him right in the gut, "I truly hold her dear in my heart. I always have loved her from afar. And it's just," he averted his eyes and blinked the soreness away, "she happened when I hit rock bottom. I sacrificed my love for her to save my father's life, Ma'am," it was really hard to keep up his bravado, but his voice cracked in the end as the words stuck like a glue in his throat, "I don't speak the truth very much but–" he licked his bottom lip and nodded, "I truly do love her."

Isolde's face was unreadable. He couldn't for the life of him read what she was thinking. But she soon arched her eyebrow as she shook her head. "Go find someone else who would believe you, Mr Huxley. Either way, you will not be able to hold her for much longer as you are not the one for my granddaughter. She is enjoying Owen's company and I would like to keep it that way."

She finally ducked into the car.

"Ma'am–"

"Sorry, Arthur. Orders are orders," was the last thing he recalled before Malcolm knocked him out. 

And when he woke up hours later, he got up in an unfamiliar luxurious room, with gray bedding, the place's overall theme a combination of white, gray, and navy blue.

And there one man stood by the blinded windows, looking out far ahead with a liquor in his hand. He probably heard him getting up because he soon turned around.

He froze.

"Hello, brother."