Summary: Amidst all the training and preparing for the engagement tour, Mika gets a surprise visitor.
Learning the quickstep is not nearly as fun as she might have hoped, but it’s at least a step up from learning about types of forks and describing wine.
“If I just drink all the wine, no one else can have any, and I can make up whatever description of it I want,” Mika mutters under her breath as Bertrand pours her an infinitesimal amount of merlot and she takes a sip.
Bertrand raises an expectant eyebrow at her and Mika sighs as she rattles off the description of the merlot he’s expecting.
“Very good, Mika,” he praises her.
They move into the dining room, and Mika groans as she notices the forks that Maxwell is laying out. Maxwell runs her through yet another review of the dreaded cutlery, failing to hide his laughter as she inserts comments of “this one is best for stabbing snooty blonde women” and “this fork is designed for gouging out one’s eye”.
She half expects Bertrand to throw the forks at her by the time they’re through, but he simply sighs and says, “Your unnecessary sarcastic comments aside, you did very well.”
“Thanks, Bertrand.” She feels a little guilty knowing all of this training is to benefit her, and necessary for her to flow seamlessly into the engagement tour, but she’d rather be doing just about anything else.
Maxwell leads her into the ballroom, and they practice the damn quickstep yet again. She doesn’t know why she can’t get it down, and is about ready to scream in frustration, when Bertrand huffs and decides to call it a night.
“We’ll resume this tomorrow,” he says. “There are only a few days left before we travel to Fydelia, and you must have this down by then.”
Maxwell looks relieved when they stop, probably because Mika keeps stepping on his feet. “Sorry, Maxwell,” she apologizes.
“No worries, Mika. I’ve had plenty of bad dance partners,” he says cheerfully.
She gives him a look, raising her eyebrows.
“Not that you’re bad,” Maxwell says hastily. “You’re just…well…”
“I’m bad,” she admits, laughing as she drops into a chair.
“You’re really good at the Cordonian waltz,” he reassures her.
Mika snorts out a laugh. “So, as long as I can just dirty dance my way through this tour, I’ll be fine.”
Maxwell grins. “You’re pretty good at describing wine, too. Speaking of…” He inclines his head towards her.
“There are several partial bottles of wine in the kitchen. Be a shame to let them go to waste.”
Mika smirks. “Isn’t that what corks are for?”
“Yes. But it’s more fun to drink it, wouldn’t you say?”
“No arguments here. Let’s do it.”
They snag the wine and sink down on the wood floor in the ballroom, trading bottles back and forth.
“This one actually tastes like the world’s cheapest booze, all mixed into one. It’s like jungle juice,” Mika says, grimacing and looking at the label.
“Hey! That’s expensive!” Maxwell protests, grabbing it from her hand and taking a swig. “But you’re not wrong. What’s jungle juice?”
Mika explains jungle juice to Maxwell as she finishes a bottle of Chardonnay.
“This one tastes like the tears of a duchess, discovering that her $4000 designer dress is actually a fake,” Mika declares.
“You’re funny when you drink,” Maxwell laughs, grabbing another bottle of wine.
“I-” she says, pointing her empty bottle at him. “-am always funny.”
“I won’t argue with that.”
When their last bottle is gone, Mika frowns. “Sad.”
Maxwell is completely sprawled out on the carpet, one arm over his eyes. Mika pokes him with her foot and he grumbles.
“You can’t possibly be drunk,” she announces, rising to her feet and staring down at him. She’s not drunk, but she’s pleasantly buzzed and wants to crawl into bed.
“I’m not. Just tired. And my feet hurt,” he says, grinning at her as he moves his arm.
“Ha. Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Bed time.”
She tugs at his hand until he stands and they head upstairs, giggling. They stop at her door and Maxwell makes a show of bowing and kissing the back of her hand.
“My lady,” he says.
Mika laughs, curtsying. “M’lord.”
He heads down the hall, and Mika steps into her room, shutting the door. She looks towards her window and notices a silhouette, and lets out a scream.
“Anyone ever tell you you have a really good set of lungs, Kelemen?” the silhouette says.
“Drake?” She flicks the bedside lamp on. “I cannot possibly have drank that much,” she mutters, rubbing her forehead.
When she looks up again, Drake is indeed still there. She’s so stunned and relieved and confused by the sight of him standing in her room at House Beaumont that she forgets for a minute that she’s mad at him for not even attempting to contact her after the Coronation. When she does remember, she scowls, and hurls one of her shoes in his direction.
Drake steps to the side quickly. “Did you just…throw a shoe at me?”
“Yes,” she says, lifting her chin at him stubbornly.
He rushes up to her and snatches the other shoe out of her hand before it follows the first one. They stand there for a minute before Drake says, “Are you drunk?”
“Absolutely not. Buzzed? Yes. Drunk? No.”
“How did you get in?” she finally asks.
“Back door was unlocked,” he answers.
“That’s not creepy at all,” Mika mumbles, then plops into one of the chairs in her room.
“I wasn’t really in the mood for dealing with Maxwell and Bertrand,” Drake explains, pulling the other chair over and sitting facing her.
“Hmph,” she huffs.
“I’m mad at you, you know,” she says, annoyed when tears spring to her eyes.
“I know,” Drake answers in a low voice. He reaches out, taking one of her hands in his.
“You didn’t even try to get ahold of me,” Mika says, staring down at their joined hands.
“I couldn’t. There are people watching for anyone trying to get in contact with you.”
“You still could have tried,” she whispers, her tears dripping on to the back of his hand.
Drake sighs quietly, tilting her chin up.
“I wanted to,” he murmurs. “I thought about it.”
“You just…you left. You kissed me and they dragged me out and then…”
“I’m sorry, Mika. More than you can know,” he says, squeezing her hand.
As mad at him as she is, she’s missed him. She bites her lip and then stands, looking down at him for a second.
“I missed you,” she confesses.
“I missed you too,” he murmurs, sucking in a breath when she straddles him in the chair and wraps her arms around his neck.
He hesitates for just a second before he brings his arms around her back, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.
“You okay?” he asks, his chest rumbling underneath her.
“That’s a loaded question,” she answers, leaning back and resting her hands against the solid warmth of his shoulders. “I think I’m okay. It’s been a weird week,” she laughs.
“Tell me about it,” Drake mumbles, running his hands up and down her back.
“Where have you been?” Mika asks.
Drake sighs. “Helping Liam. There’s a lot more to this than someone just taking those pictures of you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, frowning.
“It’s…complicated. You’d be better off asking Liam.”
“Ha!” Mika snorts. “I’m sure Madeleine will be more than happy to let me have alone time with her fiancé.”
“If I know Liam, he’ll find a way to make it happen,” Drake says, moving his hands down to rest on her hips.
“Hmm.” She winces, her knees protesting the cramped position they’ve been in, so she scoots back and stands.
“Are you…leaving again?” she asks.
“I need to be gone before Maxwell and Bertrand wake up. But I can leave now…if you want me to,” Drake answers slowly, standing.
“No!” she bursts out, reaching out for his hand instinctively.
Drake smiles at her reaction, wrapping his arms around her tightly. She stands on her toes so she can press her lips to his neck.
“Kelemen…” he says warningly.
“Sorry,” she murmurs. “I just…” she trails off, swallowing hard, then yawns involuntarily.
Drake laughs lightly, squeezing his arms around her. “You should get some sleep.”
“Stay with me?”
“I shouldn’t…” he says, but he’s clearly torn.
“Please?” she pleads. “I just want to fall asleep with you next to me.”
Drake groans. “Dammit. You’re not making this easy.”
Mika shrugs. “When have I ever made things easy?”
Drake chuckles. “Never.” He sighs in resignation. “Okay.”
She tugs her shirt over her head and kicks her pants off, and she has to admit she takes pleasure in the way Drake groans and stares at her. “That’s not very nice,” he grumbles.
“Sorry,” she says again, clearly not. She fidgets with a button on his familiar blue button down.
“Can I wear this?”
“Jesus, Mika,” he mutters.
“I’m really not trying to make this more difficult,” Mika murmurs. “It just…it smells like you.”
“I smell like me, and I’ll be sleeping right next to you,” he points out, but he’s already started pulling the shirt off.
“Yeah, but you have to leave in the morning.” She means it to sound light and teasing, but her throat catches as Drake slides her arms into his shirt.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’d stay if I could.”
He buttons his shirt up for her, the action making her tear up as his fingers brush over the soft material. She unhooks and squirms out of her bra, then presses the fabric of his shirt up to her nose, inhaling the familiar warm scent of him.
Drake strips down to his boxer-briefs, and she can’t help but stare, her eyes wandering across the muscles of his chest, the dark hair trailing down from his stomach and into his waistband, the lines of his hips.
“You’re staring,” she hears him says, and looks up to find his cheeks flushed.
“Guilty,” she murmurs, flicking the bedside lamp off.
Drake takes her hand and leads her to the bed, laying on his back and wrapping an arm around her waist, his other hand tangling in her hair. Mika props herself up on his chest, tracing her fingers over the bridge of his nose and across the soft fullness of his lips, then leans down and presses her mouth to his, sighing as he tangles his tongue with hers and groans.
He pulls her back reluctantly, cupping her cheek in his hand. She smiles at him, then scoots down and nuzzles into his chest, running her fingers through the fine dark hair.
Drake is gone when she wakes up, a hastily scrawled note on her nightstand. She rolls over and grabs it, pushing herself up to rest against the headboard.
Didn’t want to wake you. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay. Keep the shirt. I’ll get it when I see you next.
-Drake
Mika smiles as she gets dressed, bounding down the stairs to find Bertrand and Maxwell in the dining room.
“Okay,” she says, clapping her hands together. “Who’s ready for the quick-step?”