Her Wicked Ways [3xR - Rated PG-13] 5/?

[Andrea]

Her Wicked Ways
By Andrea Sinisterra
Romance
Rated PG-13
Standard Disclaimers Apply

Author?s Notes: Well, here?s the next chappie! Sorry I took so long, I?ve been quite busy with finals and work; plus some really head-cracking personal issues I?m going through right now have me doing the round on Cloud 9. I?ve already started on chapter six, so the wait won?t be long. I?ve also started working on another GW fic, this time a 1xR that I?m planning on submitting for a challenge. It?s about 1xR being somehow ?lost?? Only I didn?t take it quite? canon. Let?s see how that one goes.

Special Thanks: to GG and to Aleida for beta-reading. Thanks, sweets.

Disclaimer: A few things: 1) The musical Wicked does not belong to me, I just used it for this story?s purpose and nothing else. Any comment made on it is my personal opinion and based off some critics I found on the net. 2) Scott Bryan does not, I repeat, does not belong to me. He?s a real life person, which leads me to point out that, 3) Verit?s is a real restaurant and is really owned by Scott Bryan and Gino Diaferia. 4) Verit?s real pastry chef is Dalia Jurgensen. 5) Another thing, I don?t live in the US, so if you find anything wrong, be nice to me; I?ve been doing my research, but sometimes you can?t trust the sources. 6) I looked into the families that were in the Mayflower, and Chilton really is a way-back name. Barton and Peacecraft were not in that list (well, duh), but you?ll just pretend they are.

Warnings: Heavy flirting everywhere; shock; curse words here and there.


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<b>Part 5</b>

"So I asked Quatre to come with me on Thursday."

Billy?a nickname I had secretly come up for Wilhelmina Monahan?shook her head as she relaxed back on the leather chair in front of me. "You?re playing with fire, Relena. Are you aware of the repercussions this will bring?" Billy continued to shake her head, smiling lightly. "The media will have a field day."

I laughed; she had hit it on the nose. That was exactly what I wanted. "Well, it?s only a date to the theatre; I don?t think there?s much harm in it. And anyway, just because Trowa and I have an arranged engagement?marriage?whatever? it doesn?t mean we can?t socialize."

Billy nodded this time, her tightly-coiled ash blonde hair catching the low lamplights. "Now, tell me what happened earlier today. You mentioned something about Trowa kissing you?"

I recounted everything that happened that morning, from the instant I found him inside my apartment, till the moment he left my office before Hilde walked in. Billy praised him for his fine taste when I showed her the Tiffany ring he gave me, shaking her head once again as if she couldn?t believe all that was happening.

"And it?s been only how many days?"

"Technically, three, and we still have months to go."

She nodded, writing something on her yellow legal pad. "How do you feel about your mother after this? Do you feel any resentment, bitterness??"

I could never hate my mother. I knew that despite all her scheming, she really just wanted what was best for me. Her methodology was very old-fashioned and unconventional, downright manipulative, but I knew she did it with the best of intentions. I?ve taken a few hours to think about it, over and over, and it really wasn?t so bad. After reevaluating my participation in the last battle, which I undoubtedly lost, I knew now how to successfully wage and win the war. It could be lots of fun, highly entertaining and pleasurable if I played my cards right. Drown him in his own medicine. I knew he was taking advantage of this arrangement, since he never succeeded in having me, which?even though I know it sounds too cocky?it?s the whole truth.

"Not really," I answered after a moment?s silence. "Truthfully, now that I?ve had time to think things over, I believe she made me a huge favor. Now I can get over this stupid infatuation I?ve always had with that wretched man much faster and smoothly. I should be thanking her for her astuteness."

"You are a really interesting character, Relena." Billy chuckled softly. After a pause, her voice turned grave as she removed her glasses and let them rest on her lap. "Why do you despise Trowa so much?"

"Because he reminds me of myself," I said unconsciously, the words spilling from my lips without any previous thought.

Billy pushed her glasses back onto her nose before giving two curt nods as she scribbled something on her pad. "Lay back." She instructed lightly.

I complied mindlessly, too hung up on the words I had just uttered to present much of a fuss. I relaxed against the leather cushions, the fabric hissing in protest as it gave way under my weight.

"Now, close your eyes and breathe in deeply?"

I frowned before closing my eyes. "You?re not going to hypnotize me or anything like that, are you?"

"No," she replied sternly. "Now, control your breathing. Let the oxygen fill your lungs and then let it out completely? Feel your shoulders relax? Breathe in again? Concentrate on your body; feel its gradual relaxation? Breathe out?"

I continued to breathe in and out rhythmically, feeling myself no longer focusing on the synchronized pattern but on the effects it had on my body. I felt utterly boneless; a kind of deep, smooth peacefulness settling on my bones as I felt all the weariness and stress of my life leave me in seconds.

"Tell me, Relena," she began after a minute or so, her voice soft and melodic as she tried not to disrupt the quiet and calmness she had created around me. "Why do you hate yourself so much?"

"Because I?m a bitch and I don?t mind? I don?t think that?s a good thing."

She kept quiet for a few seconds, and I continued to measure my breathing because I refused to open my eyes and see her _expression.

"But why do you hate yourself?" She asked again.

I sighed deeply, sinking even further into the cushions. "Because I use people for my own purposes. I?ve never had a real relationship with a man and I don?t mind. I have only two friends, and we rarely talk. My butler acts more like a parent than my mother and father. And I?ve never minded. I spend most of my time attending social events on the hand of some asshole who?s only counting the hours till we leave so he can screw me to his heart?s content. And I don?t mind. In fact, I think I unconsciously look for men like that."

"Keep breathing?" I heard the rustle of paper as she flipped the page of her pad.

"I know?" I stopped for a moment, trying to collect my thoughts into some semblance of order. "Deep inside, I know my mother is aware of the lifestyle I lead? I think that?s why she?s resorted to this? fiasco. She wants me to settle down before I do something stupid like getting pregnant and hitting the news. My parents take real pride in our family?s name and Mayflower reputation and the last thing they want or need is their daughter tainting that image." I took a deep breath, opening my eyes only to stare at the ceiling. "My parents are real close to Trowa?s parents? I think Kara Barton is having the same kind of concern? I guess this is why they?ve resorted to marrying us off to prevent any sort of humiliating gossip and thus ensuring we keep our family?s high social standards. You must understand all this, seeing as you?re a Chilton."

Wilhelmina Chilton Monahan took off her glasses with a start, and I could only smile at the look on her face. "How did you?"

"You were at the New Year?s party in Martha?s Vineyard, were you not?"

I couldn?t help myself as I laughed at the sheepish look on her face.


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"You are missing the whole purpose to the story!" Giselle, Quatre?s youngest sister, said heatedly, clearly frustrated as she tried to get her point across.

Quatre was already shaking his head, taking a small sip of his cabernet sauvignon, swirling the passionate liquid in his goblet. "Let?s be realistic here, Gigi; 'Wicked' paints Oz as a place under totalitarian rule by the Wizard; class systems are set up; the Emerald City is a snake-pit full of different factions fighting for control; the schooling system is an organized attempt to indoctrinate and recruit impressionable youths to support the status quo; the tiktoks are a slave race, and the talking animals are systematically discriminated by the government." Quatre leaned his forearms on the table, looking at Giselle who sat across him. "Are you really going to tell me this ?fairytale? isn?t some sort of vulgarized attempt at showing the misfit and almost impossible congenialities between power and love?"

Giselle looked taken aback, blinking rapidly before she leaned forward as well. "You are still missing the whole point! Elphaba and Glinda were best friends, and Glinda gave Fiyero up so he could be with Elphaba! I think it?s amazing how they overcame all the overwhelming corruption that clouded around them and managed to survive, overpowering the powerful."

I smiled at her intentional redundancy, even if I disagreed with her point. "But that?s the thing; if it wasn?t for Glinda?s obtuse and foolish attempts at being popular and accepted, none of that would have happened. She envied Elphaba?she always did. And it wasn?t till near the end, when Fiyero and Elphaba were in real danger, that Glinda realized Fiyero never loved her. She was a betraying, jealousy-driven, imprudent child who wanted everything her way and delivered in silver platters. I?m glad she never knew Elphaba and Fiyero were alive?"

"I don?t think this is a story about friendship," I continued. "I mean? Glinda never really accepted Elphaba for who she really was. Only when Elphaba seemed to help her with the Wizard, did Glinda start being nice with her. Glinda was manipulative and was only interested in her personal gain. She never had any common ground with Fiyero; she only liked him because he was a prince, thus rich and handsome. She treated poor Boq like shit, she never cared for the animals, she didn?t care for anyone but herself? and you clearly see it when she sells Nessarose out to the Wizard and Madam Morrible. And while I?m at it, I think that last song is way overrated. Anyway, it?s true that Elphaba did many good things, she helped Glinda in diverse ways in different occasions? but when did Glinda help?truly help Elphaba out? In fact, it was because of Glinda that Elphaba doubted herself, thinking that all her good deeds only caused havoc." I laughed, shaking my head. "Which is incredibly ironic since Elphaba was supposed to be the Wicked Witch of the West, but it was Glinda who preached, practiced and induced her wicked methodology."

"You?re just defending Elphaba because you enjoy being wicked." Quatre cut in teasingly, succeeding in adding a light tone to the conversation and thus ending the debate.

Quatre had suggested dinner at Veritas since the long musical dosing had left us quite hungry, strung up and in dire need of some alcohol in our systems. It wasn?t long after our arrival, the Maitre showing us to seats even without any prior reservations?the great assets of being Quatre Winner?that Scott Bryan, the chef and co-owner of Veritas showed up to our table, smiling and warmly clapping Quatre on the back.

"Bryan, you remember my sister, Giselle?"

Scott smiled a disarmingly charming smile, one that pulled at the edges of his rugged, sexy lips. What?s up with handsome men, lately? It seems they?re everywhere! "It would be hard to forget such a lovely face."

Giselle smiled calmly, nodding her head demurely as she shook hands with the chef. "Charmer."

"And this is a friend of mine, Relena Peacecraft." It wasn?t even a second later when Quatre, half-laughing, half-seriously, added, "Hands off."

Scott pulled his hands up as if saying ?no harm intended?, laughing as he bent down to kiss the back of my hand. "But of course I know who she is. It isn?t the first time I?ve seen you here."

"It?s quite a place you?ve got here; it would be a waste and a crime not to treat one?s self to such delicious food on a regular basis." Bring the charm a notch up when you meet important people; it always repays you a thousand fold; you never know when you might need a favor.

"Ah, damn it to Hell!" He pulled back, a look of mock-pain on his face, a fist to his heart. "It?s hard to find a woman who is not only beautiful, but has a great sense of humor and has no qualms complimenting my cooking skills." I could only laugh when he dropped to one knee, taking my right hand and pressing it to his chest, just over his heart. "Please, don?t be cruel and say you?ll marry me. I promise to cook you anything you wish for as long as we both shall live."

"I thought food was the means to get to a man?s heart. I don?t think it works quite the same for women, Mr. Bryan. Perhaps new tactic maneuvers should be implemented."

He looked thoughtful for a moment, before he was up on his feet, crossing his wide arms over his equally broad chest. "It?s Scott, first of all; and as for my proposal? I think I?ll have to get back to you. I need to regroup and re-strategize. As for now," he looked disappointed as he slightly bowed his head at us, pointing somewhere behind him. "I have to go back to work. Can?t take the risk of my kitchen blowing up in flames because then, with what would I coerce you into marriage?"


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I yawned as I leaned back on the limousine?s leather seat, exhausted and feeling languorous after such a delightful meal. Scott Bryan really was an excellent chef; his version of seared fois gras, crisp sweetbreads, seared diver scallops and lobster bathed in a thick sherry sauce was something short of bliss. Add to this several glasses of a 1999 bottle of Chateau d?Quem sweet wine. We also had the pleasure of meeting Amelia Charpentier, the pastry chef, who was more than delighted in ordering for us, serving a peanut butter and chocolate tart for Giselle, cherry and vanilla compote for Quatre, and a ricotta tart with fresh raspberries and lime sherbet for me.

I groaned as I moved to reach for my handbag, too full after such a meal. It was perhaps the fifth or sixth time my cell-phone had rung during the evening; the first two and only times I checked, it was my mother, probably wanting to bleed some opinion or information out of me, or to throw in an invitation?which in reality are always obligatory?to some society bash or to a small, quiet private dinner which always involved over 10 couples.

I frowned when I saw the caller ID registered ?private number?. I didn?t know too many people with restricted numbers; as opposed to common opinion, most people, unless they wanted to hide something, didn?t go through the trouble of making private their cell phone numbers?for example, my mother, as well as every other single society matron, didn?t like to restrict access to their numbers since it?s sort of a free publicity. I mean, who wouldn?t jump with the thrill of receiving a call from the all-mighty Ericka Peacecraft?

"Relena Peacecraft here," I said once I flipped the top lid of my cell-phone off.

"Relena?" God, even his voice exuded sex appeal. I could feel the all too familiar tingles crawl from my toes into my stomach, feeling the heat surge into my chest and face to what I knew was a very deep, embarrassing blush. "Good evening."

I laughed. "My, who would?ve thought you were such a polite gentleman under all that chauvinistic bravado? You had me fooled; congrats on a job well done."

He chuckled deeply as his breath fanned the line. "I aim to please. Especially when it?s such a sexy beauty I?m aiming to impress."

We hadn?t really talked much after the incident in my office Monday morning; he still came over to my apartment every morning to pick me up, but we had managed, quite successfully, to keep our conversations impersonal and almost professional.

"To what do I owe this unexpected call of yours?"

"Well, we haven?t really discussed how we?re going to go about this ?engagement?," he made the last word sound funny, and I could only smile at the mirth in his voice. "But, according to societal protocol, we do need to attend to some events together, you know."

He was right? I had been so worried about trying to keep myself safe from him I had not paid any attention to all the social functions we both attended. Being now engaged, it was proper?not to add, expected?of us to go to these things as a couple. As an official couple. "Well? So far I don?t have any function scheduled, except for Saturday?s fundraiser; but since we?re both obliged to go, I kind of thought it went beyond mentioning."

"That?s why I was calling? Look, my sister?s back from France and she?s having this small gathering at her house on Saturday morning and since she caught wind of the news of our engagement, courtesy of my mother, of course, she explicitly required your presence. Now, I was thinking we could go, spend two or three hours there? Then I could meet you at your apartment and head together to the hotel."

I smiled at his tittering. "Wow, all these plans and on such a short notice? I?ll have to check my agenda. I?m a busy woman, Trowa."

He sighed heavily; however, his voice was still light and amused. "Just be ready. I?ll pick you up at 10."

"I?ll be ready."

We hung up just as Quatre kissed his sister goodnight and came through the crystal doors of her apartment building. He said a goodnight to the doorman before he crept inside the limousine, sitting beside me with a heavy and tired sigh.

"Jesus? What a day?" He muttered under his breath, running artistic fingers through his fair hair; his masculine jaw?chiseled and perfect?twitched with a perceptible tic, denoting his stress and exhaustion. He jerked forward, suddenly, readying two shots of whiskey and then handing me one glass. "So, you ready for Saturday?s auction?"

I frowned. "Auction?"

He nodded, a small smile turning the corners of his lips in a cute, yet disarmingly sexy smirk. He sipped a long drink from the amber-colored elixir. "Yes. They?re auctioning several female employees from different publishing, marketing and financial firms around the block to the highest bidder to raise funds for the St. John?s Queens? new obstetrics ward. I hear it?s this year?s newest buzz. Apparently they wanted to bring it up a notch." He shrugged.

Well, it?s not like I made it a point to be up-to-date with the company?s gossip column. I just get the invitations. "Well, I was aware this was a charity function, I just wasn?t aware there was an auctioning to boot?I had no idea."

"I imagined."

I frowned; was there something I didn?t know? But it was of no point asking since the stealthy-looking limousine came to a stop in front of my apartment building, the driver coming around to open the door for us.

Quatre stepped out first, holding out a hand to help me. He bent my arm gently and nestled my hand in the crook of his elbow, leading me into the brightly lit lobby.

"I had a really great time, Mr. Winner."

He shook his head, a small smile gracing his lips. His eyes held mischief, the mirth in them making them sparkle brilliantly like ocean gems. "I still can?t understand why you can?t call me ?Quatre?; am I really that unattractive?"

I laughed at the mocked confusion in his voice. "Let?s just say it?s my way of self-preservation and leave it at that, shall we?"

"Plus, I wouldn?t want any jealous fianc?s knocking on my door in the middle of the night, wanting to punch my face while calling me all the hell-bound adjectives one could possibly find in the dictionary, right?"

Ah, I had been wondering when he was going to bring that one up. "See? It?s a way-around self-preservation instinct. Quite worldly, might I add."

He laughed. "You truly are unique, Ms. Peacecraft; it?s such a shame you?re already taken." He shook his head as we came to a stop somewhere near the elevators. "Serves me right for stalling. Now I?ll just have to wait around and see what happens; it?s amazing the things one can find out through the media. Those newspaper robots sure do their job."

I nodded, smiling at his obvious flirting. "Well, you should know; they wouldn?t waste their breaths and time on someone so little and unimportant as me, when there are such thrilling stories about the all-powerful Winner Ltd mogul. Quite the catch, I?ve heard."

His eyes turned smoldering in a second, his voice dropping a few decibels to whisper huskily, "just waiting, quite patiently, for the right fisherman? or in this case, fisher-woman."

For a moment, I didn?t know what to say. So, I opted for making light of the argument. "The ball?s still rolling? It hasn?t decided yet on a courtside, Mr. Winner. Plus, it?s quite a great sea, out there, I?m sure there?s quite a number of fisher-women at the ready for the championship. The winner takes it all, we?ll just have to wait and see who turns out victor."

He reached for my hand, caressing his lips over my knuckles, never breaking eye contact. "Patience is a virtue, I?ve heard, and I?m the patient among the patient, Relena. Besides, remember balls tend to bounce and eventually drop? Let?s see whose side of the court it decides to stop on. Life is a casualty, I?ve always believed. Coincidence is overrated, patience is gold, and the most perseverant survives?and wins the prize, of course."


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Trowa did not come to pick me up the next Friday morning as he usually did, so I left on my own, stopping by the newspaper stand as I returned to the routine before Trowa had?against my will?barged into it. I stopped for coffee and then flagged a cab, giving the driver the address as I flipped mindlessly through the paper.

Since the scandalous news of our engagement, I had made it a point to always check the local/social announcements, not wanting whatever incongruence the ?media? could come up to catch me unawares.

I stared blankly at the picture before me, not knowing for sure what it really meant.

<i>"Trouble in Paradise? Peacecraft takes a dive into ?business?"</i>

What?s up with these reporters and stupid, nonsense headlines? I made it a point to ignore the relevance of the ?dive? part, from my conversation with Quatre last night I could not take the whole nautical idea from my mind. Are coincidences really overrated?

Below the artless, not-really-creative, and absurdly unoriginal headline was a picture of Quatre and I coming out from the theatre, and I noticed, to my utter dismay, that they had conveniently cut Giselle out from the picture. Vultures. I snapped the paper shut in my disgust, not really in the mood to read the article and what lies it spurred about our alleged ?romance?.

Another thought, one that came to my mind late last night at Quatre?s rather cryptic words and that had been bothering me incessantly, jumped to the front of my consciousness as I entered the office building. I greeted Rob distractedly as I made my way to the executive floor, going directly to the bulleting board, intent on finding anything that would describe something about tomorrow night?s gala. I hadn?t heard of any auction when they delivered the invitation to my desk, some weeks ago, and neither had I heard any rumors of who was being auctioned off to spend a night with some stranger.

Imagine my surprise, ladies and gentlemen, when I settled my eyes on the rather small, almost invisible list of names clipped to the bottom left corner, as if wanting to disappear in the myriad of memos, flyers and miscellaneous announcements.

<center>Kate Borrows
Dorothy Catalonia
Amanda Madison
Stephanie Mayer
Delia Peters
Anna Sedelmeier
Linda Winslow
Relena Peacecraft</center>

Now, if one followed the pattern, one would notice the list was supposed to be in an alphabetical order? Not to mention my name was scribbled by hand, as opposed to the neat computer font the memo was typed and printed into? And what if I mention I can clearly recognize the cynic scrawl?

So, the bastard had nominated me as a proffering to auction off without my permission? Stabbing in the back was his style; I don?t know why I?m so surprised. I should have expected this from him.

The funny thing was that Quatre knew. Perhaps they had sent a list attached to the invitations and mine conveniently got lost? But I wasn?t one to sit and wait for doom to sweep over my remains?

I kept to myself all day, trying my damnedest to stay in my office and not have to look at the cocky, arrogant, self-centered, handsome, and yet, cynic face of my ?fianc??. Let him enjoy this moment, it was, after all, the calm before the storm. Never had an adage sounded more profitable and real before in my life. Except the one that said people get turned on when angry; that one is absolutely, remorsefully true.

I reached for my phone, calling Tristan Barton?s extension. I could only smile as I waited, patiently, for him to pick up.


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Saturday rolled around sooner than I expected; the wonder of relativity at its best.

Hilde had called me mid-afternoon yesterday, half in hysterics, announcing she had run out of dresses to wear. She also mentioned having met some guy and that she was bound on making him piss his pants at the merciless strike of her beauty once he laid eyes upon her. Her words, not mine. So, we had jumped head-first into the ruthless traffic and commotion that is 5th Avenue at five o?clock on a Friday afternoon, spending hours upon hours perusing racks, trying on clothes, driving salesclerks stark mad, drinking coffee and still managing it all with stilettos and unscathed pantyhose. Quite an accomplishment, if I do say so myself.

We both ended up buying more than we had originally anticipated, because not only did you buy a dress, or <i>the</i> dress in this case, but also the shoes, purse, and other accessories that have to go with it. I was determined to rock Trowa?s socks; it was Hurricane Relena on a vendetta rampage. Long gone the calm, Saturday night Trowa will know not to mess with me.

It had been almost 10 o?clock when we finally emerged from some store?I had stopped looking at the names, having lost track of location and time, and honestly, not really caring?and, with growling stomachs, headed to the nearest fast-food joint, eager to dive into all the glory of burgers and fries.

We felt accomplished at our selections, as each of us had gushed with humor and with an almost evil, mean-spirited jest at the other?s dress, knowing full well they more than met the highest of standards and were more than capable of fulfilling their purpose of rocking some few dwellers into kingdom come. Oh, the fun of our calamitous, wicked streaks.

Hilde had almost choked on a fry as it was making its way down her throat when I mentioned I was being auctioned off to the highest bidder at tomorrow?s gala courtesy of one Trowa Barton, a.k.a. The Fianc? from the Pits of Hell. She had then laughed at my expense, shaking her head as if she couldn?t believe the turns my life had been subjected to. It was like some sort of cheesy soap opera; a nightmare that was giving me a hard time, and I was dying to wake up from.

I also retold the unbelievable conversation I had with my mother, as she called me over the phone to demand information regarding the ?scandalous? and ?filthy? trash she found in the newspaper that morning. She couldn?t believe how I allowed those ?blood-suckers? to prostitute me over every single publicity spam and still be happy with it. Well, the only time I had been upset about anything they posted about me had been her doing. Of course, I wasn?t about to tell her that, even if I was dying to.

She hadn?t even finished droning about family reputation when she did a complete 180? to gush excitedly about my ?date? with ?that Quatre, he?s such a handsome boy? Winner. And of course she would be pleased if I decided to start dating Quatre Winner, he was, after all, way over the Barton?s in the social ladder, and my mother was hardbound on climbing it beyond the stratosphere.

I could only laugh now, as I waited for the aforementioned devil to pick me up as ten o?clock loomed even closer. I stopped the incessant tapping of my boot?s heel on the hardwood floor, feeling fidgety and self-conscious of my attire. Trowa hadn?t really disclosed the nature of this jaunt, so I had opted for jeans?you can?t really go wrong with jeans?topping it with a sleeveless turtleneck made of thick, intricately woven soft cream yarn. It was casual and yet, elegant at the same time, but I wasn?t really sure what was the purpose of this rather spontaneous shindig, and I, for some unknown reason, wanted to cause a good impression on Trowa?s sister.

I knew very little of the woman, only aware of general facts about her. She was Trowa?s only sibling, older by around 4 or 5 years; she had gone to Marseilles to live and study culinary arts almost from the time I met Trowa for the first time. She was referred to as the black sheep in the Barton family?a paradox in itself seeing how Trowa is; imagine if Trowa is considered a menace to his family, I could only imagine her sister?reason why she wasn?t mentioned often in conversations. Apparently she had fallen in love with a bad boy when she was in high-school, where she had opted, against everyone?s will, especially her mother?s, to assist to a public school. That?s where she met this boy, but Kara had sent her off to live with some relative she had in Europe, to salvage what little pride? according to the oft misguided matron?and to learn the ways a society lady should master.

What a dark and cruel little world we live in.

Three sharp knocks on the door made me jump almost three feet high in surprise as I was abruptly jolted from my musings.

"I?ll be right out." I called as I scrambled around the living room for my purse and keys, wrenching open the door when he insisted on pounding?probably to drive me crazy?and I was stopped cold at the sight of Trowa, standing nonchalantly on my doorstep, looking as if the world would stop dead-tracked to worship him on their knees.

I refused to give him the pleasure of having my eyes travel down his body to check him out, opting for rolling my eyes in annoyance as I turned to lock the door behind me. "You?re such a nuisance. Didn?t you hear me? There was no need to keep up with the knocking."

He shrugged, smirking boyishly. "I like to rile you up; you?re hot when you?re riled up. Angry really works for you."

I glared at him as we made our way to the elevator, hitting the button harshly. "You?re disgusting."

"Now, come on; you know it?s true. You have to be aware of the effect you have in men; you can?t be that na?ve." He stopped for a moment, at the same time as the elevator chimed with its arrival. He continued as we stepped into our lift. "I take that back?entirely. You?re not na?ve." He snorted, shaking his head. "You?re everything but na?ve; a bad girl in disguise is more like it."

"Can we please move on onto more interesting, rational and intellectual topics of conversation? And preferably, one that has nothing to do with me."

He chuckled. "You?re no fun."

"I never said I was." I fired back, impatient as the elevator took forever to reach the foyer. Why did I have to live in the highest freaking floor?

"Perhaps, fun not in humor? Fun? in other situations?" He said huskily, quite clearly prostrating his devious meaning.

Finally, the thing chimed again and I was out in a flash but not before retaliating. Oh, the quirks of a fast tongue. "Pity you?ll never be able to find out."

I was a few steps away from him, but his words easily traveled the air. "Don?t be so sure about that, ?honey?."

Wisely deciding to ignore his comment, I stepped out onto the chilly street, waiting for him to join me. He pulled my arm and placed my hand on the crook of his elbow as he walked me to his parked Cayenne, opening the passenger door for me with a funny and rather out-of-character flourish.

One would think a man with Trowa Barton?s profile would own an amazingly small, exotic and expensive sports car? Well, expensive it was? I loved his car. It was the second time I had been in it, and I savored, against my will, the scent of aftershave and pure male prowess that was infused into the leather seats?a scent that was distinctively Trowa?s.

It was almost an hour later when we finally made it to Long Island. Fortunately enough, I had brought a hair band with me, as the chilly wind had been merciless as it whipped harshly against our faces and hair on the ferry.

That feeling of self-consciousness came back full force as we stood before a beautiful two-story house on Glen Clove, waiting patiently for someone to open the door. It wasn?t even two minutes later when a man pulled the door open quite abruptly and unexpectedly, a huge grin adorning his chubby face.

He spread his arms wide open and pulled Trowa into his embrace, lifting him clearly off the floor as Trowa laughed and slapped his hands in a familiar, comfortable manner on the other man?s broad back.

"Gerard, man!" Trowa laughed as he was finally let down. "It?s been ages!"

"Eons, my friend. Eons. Is it just me, or are you taller than the last time I saw you?" The man countered back in thick English, an accent very prominent.

Trowa laughed. "I don?t think so; you?re the one who?s shrinking."

"That must be it, then." The man, Gerard, laughed before he settled his friendly green eyes on me. "Ah, you must be the lovely mademoiselle that has my equally lovely Amelia up in an uproar. She?s been sprouting recipes since she found out this lad was getting married. Relena, right? I?m Gerard, Amelia?s husband and this lad?s brother-in-low to my complete disgrace, I assure you."

I laughed, completely taken off guard at their merry banter. The smile was still etched on my lips, and it was probably going to stay there for the rest of the day; this man was truly endearing. "It?s a pleasure."

"I have to say, though, you deserve an ovation, lady, you?ve managed the impossible." He smiled sweetly, casting a long side-glance at Trowa. "Getting this one married?" He snorted before he motioned for us to follow him into the house, all the way as he whistled the Mission Impossible tune.

I could only laugh. This man had managed to set me at ease effortlessly with his witty humor, and his ability to interact with Trowa in such a manner they seemed like brothers was quite a pleasing surprise. I had never before seen Trowa so at ease, so relaxed, like he had no care in the world. It was refreshing to say the least.

We passed the living room which opened to a huge terrace with swings and a small sandbox; toys were scattered everywhere, from small, red wagons to plastic shovels and beach balls. There were boxes everywhere, some were halfway unpacked, others, still wrapped in plastic and tape.

"Where is she?" A woman?s voice squealed from somewhere in the back of the house; most likely Trowa?s sister after just finding out I was here. I swear I felt like a celebrity. If they only knew just how ?real? our engagement was.

Imagine my surprise when Trowa?s sister, Amelia, barged through the doors, only to come to a shocked halt.

I recognized her immediately as the Verit?s pastry chef I met two nights ago, Amelia Charpentier. She had been all charm and smiles then, but now, as she assessed me with narrowed eyes, all warmth had been swept away only leaving the cold skeleton of a woman.

I couldn?t help but feel put off by her sudden change in attitude as her stare was downright hostile, and I was left wondering why. I smiled either way as the oblivious Gerard walked to his wife, wounding an arm around her waist as he gestured towards me.

"Amelia, I hereby present to you our prodigy, Relena Peacecraft, the woman who has succeeded the impossible." He smiled as Amelia stepped forward, extending her hand to shake it formally with mine.

"A pleasure," she said coolly, smiling briefly before she turned to look at Trowa, her smile widening in happiness. "And look at you!"

Trowa smiled fondly, drawing her into a bear hug, lifting her off the floor as he laughed. "Look at you! You are looking even more stunning than ever." He caressed her face tenderly, laying a hand on her cheek. "It?s good to see you again, Ames. When did you get back?"

"Oh, about a week ago. It?s been pretty hectic, but thankfully, everything has been going smoothly."

"She found a job already!" Gerard beamed proudly, kissing Amelia?s temple warmly.
Trowa smiled again. "That?s great. I hope something in the restaurant industry; you didn?t go all the way to France for nothing."

Amelia laughed as she started towards the crystal doors that led to the outdoor terrace and pulled them opened, letting the warm breeze in. It was a breathtaking sight; the lawn was awash in a healthy Japanese grass as it surrounded the 15 meter pool. Beyond the patio, a white pickle fence marked the end of their property into a magnificent view of the Hempstead Harbor.

"Would you have expected any less from me?" She shook her head, her eyes meeting mine for a second before she settled her gaze on Trowa once again. "I?m working at this small restaurant, Verit?s. I was referred to the chef, Mr. Bryan, and well? I started just last Wednesday, but I like it a lot. It?s pretty exclusive and is in very high demand. We?re always swamped to the hilt with customers."

Trowa nodded. "Yes, I?ve been there a few times. It?s havoc trying to get reservations, though I?m a good friend of Scott, so it counts when you?re in a rush to make reservations and everything?s been booked."

I raised my eyebrows at that; such a small world; isn?t it?

Amelia nodded before she changed the subject. "Well, you guys stay here while I go check the food." She then turned to look at me, the coolness back in her eyes. "Relena, why don?t you join me so we can get better acquainted. There are many things that I?d like to ask you."

I wanted to frown at her invitation, but gave a cool smile in turn.

I nodded as I went to follow, but Trowa?s voice stopped us. "Amelia, be nice. Don?t go scaring her away."

I smiled at him and spoke up before Amelia could say anything. "Like I scare easily." The double-entendre met my expectations as Trowa smiled at my quip, but Amelia?s eyes narrowed as she got the challenge in my words and eyes.

She did not hesitate once we entered the kitchen and she closed the swinging door behind us. She crossed her arms over her chest, her green eyes?frighteningly similar to Trowa?s?narrowed as she looked at me.

"I don?t take lightly when people play with my family?s feelings." She paused for a beat before a malicious smile spread over her lips. "Especially when it?s between my brother on the line and some bitch on fire."

First Krista, and now this? I laughed as I reached for a stool, hefting myself up on it. Oh, the humor of it all. "Please, there?s no need to be crude."

"I?m only stating the truth." She glared once more before she turned her back on me as she began working on lunch. "You know what I?m talking about."

I shrugged even though she couldn?t see me. I spoke out instead. "Clearly, I don?t."

She snorted unladylike, shaking her head as she reached for a head of lettuce and started chopping. "Please, don?t insult my intelligence. You very well know I saw you two nights ago at Verit?s."

I still didn?t get it; perhaps I was being thickheaded and didn?t notice? "Yeah, so? I recognized you immediately when I saw you earlier, but clearly something?s wrong as your attitude is completely opposite from that of two nights ago. Or maybe you?re just bipolar and I haven?t noticed?"

I couldn?t just sit here and let her insult me while I just took the brunt with open arms.

"You know I saw you with Quatre Winner, and let me say you two looked quite cozy."

Oh, so that?s what this is about. I laughed as I couldn?t help the humor and stupidity of this entire argument. "Quatre Winner?"

"Relena, please, don?t play dumb; I know well how very clever you are. I got to say, I?m quite impressed at your nonchalance about it all; going out in public with your lover when everyone knows you?re engaged to my brother? Quite impressed, indeed."

"Well, not that I wouldn?t jump at the chance of being Quatre Winner?s lover, don?t you think Trowa would have mentioned to you something about this, seeing as my ?rendezvous? hit the newspaper?or didn?t you see it?" I continued, not being able to keep the laughter from my voice.

She whirled around, a knife in hand. I raised my eyebrows at that, the picture of her stabbing me to death was almost comical as it played across my mind?s eye. "Oh, please, now you?re going to tell me you?re just friends? No woman is just friends with a man like Quatre Winner."

"The same could be said about your brother, don?t you think?"

She relented easily, nodding. "True."

I laughed. I slid off the stool to go stand beside her, grabbing a knife and a tomato. I really had no intention of creating enmity between the two of us; for some reason, I liked her. Perhaps it was because of her past and the things she had to endure, or maybe because she really was just looking after her brother?even though he didn?t deserve it?so I tried for some common ground. "We?re just friends."

I could feel her gaze on me for a few seconds before she turned and moved to pick up an onion, chopping it into perfect round slides.

"Okay then." She said, obviously pleased with herself.

A beat later, we both burst out laughing at the hilarity of our conversation, shaking our heads in synchronicity as we continued to laugh while chopping vegetables.

"See?" We turned around at Gerard?s voice; he was standing beside Trowa as they both peered at us from the doorway. "I told you they would hit it off right away."

Trowa?s green gaze locked with mine and held it before a beautiful, sexy smile broke over his very tempting lips. "I never had a doubt."



To be continued...



Now, as for the poll... I'm just curious. I know how this story's gonna go, but I want to know how you guys feel about my two favorite, sexy boys...

Be honest!

[The Angry Angel]

Hasn't there been a pole before when another authoress has requested we vie for Trowa or another????

Somewhere......

:-? :-? :-? :-? :-? :-?

HOW IS THERE ANY COMPARISON????!!!!!!!!!!!! This IS Trowa Barton we're talking about!! Although you do make Quatre sound just alittle yummy.....okay, VERY yummy, no other can ever hope to match Trowa's allur *swoon* Ah.....!!

This was a pleasant surprise so early in the morning, but since there wasn't much R x T action, you'll have to make up for it fairly quickly, and with A LOT more action (hint-hint ).

Oh, won't you please???????

Thanks, Andrea!

[Andrea]

Aw! But Quatre is hot, too! I hate it how some people make him out to be stupid and too timid... he's got so much potential!

I like to build up my stories slowly and concisely; I don't like to rush into things and ruining everything. I have so many things planned for this fic, twists and turns and shocking developments, so the 'no action' thing will soon be corrected. As soon as in the next chapter.

But I'm not saying anything else.

Thank you, Angry Angel, for reviewing my story and for being so enthusiastic and nice.

[AnShino]

Hard.. choice. Trowa v. Quatre in this story? *whimpers and backs away* Can't choose..

But anyway, I just love this story and how everything is unfolding and God you better update soon woman or I may have to prod you! ^^ Ehh, who am I kidding? Don't rush the next chapter, take your time.. I don't have it in me to prod authors for another chapter since I've been stuck in a rut myself..

[Andrea]

*laughs* Don't prod, please! I'm working on it! I'm already halfway through chapter six... I having too much fun with it.

Thanks, An, for reviewing!!! *huggles An to near-death*

[lilac310]

Yay!....I'm back again....the late-reviewer as always..not that I'm a backslider or anything but I've been SUPER busy lately..seeing that this is my first semester in college...still adjusting, I might add...but doing pretty good..just gotta work more on time management....hehehe....and 1xR fics are always my priority.....but here I am, I've finally got some FREE TIME at 2:00 in the morning...

Anyways, I vote for TROWA all the way...Quatre seems hot and suave just as you portrayed him but for some reason, Trowa just has more edge to be the 'leading man' in this story....So, GO TROWA! GO TROWA!...

[Andrea]

Yeah, I know how busy life can get. So I appreciate it a lot your taking your time to review my story.

And about Trowa vs. Quatre... I didn't know there were so many Quat-lovers out there! I'm you prefer Trowa since he's HWW leading male role, but I think Quatre is such a dear, hot, suave, sexu gentleman, you couldn't possibly ignore him...

Decisions, decisions....

[darky]

It is very hard to choose between these two. They are both so sexy in this story. I personally prefered Quatre in the last chapters, but now Trowa seems to be warming up a bit. It?s hard, so hard.

Darky