Her Wicked Ways [3xR - Rated R] 8/?

[Andrea]

Her Wicked Ways
By Andrea
Rated R / M
Romance
Standard Disclaimers Apply

Author's Note: Long time no see!! Lol! Chapter eight, ya'll!

Warnings: Swearing, angst, not proofread. I'll be posting the new version as soon as I GG sends it back.

Please review!



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<b>Part 8</b>

Too tired to even move, I crashed into bed fully clothed and really not giving a damn about it. It was by some kind of miracle that I managed to squirm out of my clothes and duck under the covers in only my underwear and bra, wishing every single one of tonight?s memories would just vanish and fade away. I was shocked?or perhaps that wasn?t a big enough word to describe my current state of utter disbelief at tonight?s developments.

The worst part was that I couldn?t even find it in my heart to blame Trowa, because I knew he was right. He was right about everything he?d said; every single accusation had hit bull?s eye.

I suppose what they say is true: no matter how big the lies, the truth is always harsher. And it did hurt to have all those truths thrown back at me, it hurt to have my past rubbed in my face?but it was his face, the disappointment and hurt washing across his eyes which hurt the most.

I think I?ve always known?


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Sunday passed by in a blur; I woke up a quarter pass noon, my wrist throbbing painfully from the events of the previous night, the dull pain only further worsening my constant state of guilt and self-consciousness.

By three in the afternoon, after a hectic rush through the hospital halls, I was back at my apartment, sitting on my kitchen?s breakfast table, idly perusing through a magazine, with absolutely nothing to do and no plans for the night. My cell-phone lay discarded somewhere in my purse, probably out of battery; there was nothing good on TV, the magazine sucked, not that I knew much of home d?cor? I was bored. Truly, undeniably bored.

Deciding that if I didn?t go out of this damned apartment I would go nuts, I grabbed my purse and headed out, no actual destination in mind. Imagine my shock when I fling the door open?shorts, flip flops and a white tank top?and come face to face with none other than Quatre Winner. He was, naturally, dressed in utter perfection: khakis, a soft-looking white button-down shirt and brown leather shoes.

I realized then, that even though I had given mostly all access and power to Dorothy, I hadn?t talked to him in over a week, probably since the auction, and I instantly grew nervous.

?Is there something wrong??

He leaned casually against the door frame, crossing his arms over his well-developed chest. He shrugged, a lock of brilliant blond hair falling over his right eye. ?Not really; I was just dying of boredom and decided to go out, wondering if my favorite fisher-woman was available for coffee, and perhaps dinner later on.?

I laughed at him, readjusting my purse on my shoulder. ?Well, I probably should change??

His hand reached out to grab my forearm, bringing me closer to him. ?What happened??

I tried withdrawing my arm from his grasp, but he was holding me firmly, his blue-green eyes studying the white cast. ?Nothing? I just had an accident last night. There?s no need to worry about it.? I smiled for his benefit, and felt relief wash over me when his features loosened and he smiled. ?So, let me go change; I?ll just be a minute.?

?Nah, come on. You look good in anything. Lock up and let?s get going, I?m hungry.?

?Aye, sir!?

Yes, it did feel good to laugh.


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?It?s liberating.? I said, munching on a cream cheese-covered bagel.

We were sitting on an outdoor caf? in the middle of Central Park; it was a little past five in the afternoon, the place crowded with couples and families either eating or striding casually while their kids and pets ran wild.

He laughed, leaning back smoothly in his chair. ?What is??

?I don?t think I?ve ever gone out dressed like this, pigged out on cream cheese and bagels, halfway through a fourth cup of coffee and having no actual destination or plans in mind.?

He chuckled softly, shaking his head at me. ?It?s good to be spontaneous now and then; makes life a little more interesting.?

I leaned my elbows on the table, setting my cup down. ?And you know all about spontaneity, right??

He was silent for a moment or two, idly swishing the remains of his coffee around in his cup. He shrugged one shoulder after a moment, reaching to take my left hand in his, his thumb playing with my engagement ring. His eyes locked with mine, and even if I had wanted to, I couldn?t seem to take my eyes off his. I wanted to take my hand back, but I didn?t want to hurt him; I also didn?t want to give him the wrong impression? Oh, lord?

?Valentine?s coming up.? He said slowly, his left dimple pronounced by his half smile. ?I want you to go out with me. Just the two of us.?

?You really are spontaneous.? Relena, you twit! What are you saying! ?I mean? what??

He laughed, his thumb now caressing my knuckles. ?You heard me.?

?I can?t. You know I?m engaged.? This time, I did remove my hand from his entrancing touch, fighting the urge to rub the spot where he had been idly running his finger across. ?Mr. Winner??

?Come on, Relena? Just Quatre, please; I?m begging you to call me Quatre.?

?I can?t. I?m sorry? But you know I can?t.?

One blond eyebrow up, his lips furrowing into a grim line. ?You can?t call me Quatre, or you can?t accept my proposal??

?Neither.? I rose to my feet, reaching for my purse. ?I?m sorry? But you know I can?t.?

He didn?t rise with me, he didn?t do anything; instead he just leaned back in his chair, gazing up at me with a look I couldn?t distinguish. ?If the circumstances had been any different, would you have given me the chance??

I was frozen in my place, neither wanting to leave nor wanting to stay. ?I honestly don?t know.? My hand was throbbing, and the pain instantly brought the stupid man-whore to my mind. ?Things are the way they are, that?s all I can say, Mr. Winner. I can?t promise you anything, and I can?t give you what you want.?

?How do you know what I want? What do I want, Relena??

Dazedly, I realized he was turning the tables around, endlessly bouncing the ball back to my side of the court. ?What do you want? What do I want? I don?t know? I just know that I can?t give you what you?re asking. It wouldn?t??

<i>He</i> was sitting a few tables down from us, Krista McKenzie looking every ounce the sophisticated beauty that she was. What was going on?!

?I have to go.? I said quickly before Quatre followed my gaze. I could only imagine the humiliation if he ever saw my ?fianc?? idly drinking coffee and laughing to his heart?s content with his arm slung around his former girlfriend.

?Relena?? Quatre stood up, his hand reaching out as if to stop my hasty escape.

?My hand hurts? And I?m tired. If you?ll excuse me.?

What a moronic excuse. What a moron I was.


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That Monday morning I reached the office forty five minutes after my usual time; hailing a cab had been a pain, and the morning drizzle hadn?t helped a bit. My hair was starting to frizz, my coat was hanging limply around me, and my make-up, I could feel, was starting to cake. Simply perfect.

I yearned for a cup of very strong coffee, but I soon learned that Meredith had decided to skip work due to some cold she had caught during the weekend. That left me with two options: go to the common room where the coffee maker was stored and make myself my own coffee and thus risking the chance of running into Trowa, or simply suck it up and stay in the safety of my office, where I would definitely be kept from seeing, hearing or even smelling Trowa Barton.

Option two sounded awfully good.

I tidied myself up as best I could in my adjoining bathroom, pulling my hair up in a ponytail to try to keep the wild locks in check. I fixed my make up with some fumbling; smudged mascara is a bitch, especially if it?s waterproof.

There was a knock on my door a quarter to noon and I seriously considered not answering. The downside of not having your assistant was that there wasn?t anyone to screen your calls or visits. Loyal proof of this was the countless times my phone had rang in a span of three hours.

Logically, Trowa would never have the decency to knock on anyone?s door, he?d simply barge in and settle himself in whichever available place he?d find in his path, uninvited and unwanted. Logically, it couldn?t be Trowa at the door. I realized how stupid I was acting, hiding in my office, afraid of the phone and the door. What the hell was going on with me? I was acting like a schizophrenic lunatic.

I promptly reached for the door.

White tulips and baby pink gardenias. A dozen each. No card. Not a single card. The delivery man was all smiles and giddiness as he handed me the colossal arrangement, stating what a lucky girl I was. I eyed his purple-pink shirt with baby blue flowers imprint and his tight, bell-bottomed jeans with amusement, but didn?t say anything, tipping him generously and sending him on his merry way.

Twenty minutes and another knock later, I received a dozen sterling roses, their silvery-purple coloring meshing beautifully with the white and pink of the tulips and gardenias. No card, either.

By a quarter to one, my office resembled more a flower shop than an actual office; Hilde had sent a beautiful arrangement of baby blooms, apparently of every single flower available; the card reading: ?To the greatest love of my life, you know ?friend? just doesn?t cut it. Love, Hilde.?

Tristan had sent a basket of <i>Bomboniere</i> sweets, and Belgian and Swiss chocolates, with confetti and streamers that resembled more a Mardi Gras gift than a Valentine?s one.

I tried to keep myself from feeling disappointed when by a quarter to six, I hadn?t heard from Trowa. I knew it wasn?t okay to feel sad and down over the fact, but I couldn?t help it when looking at my presents, not a single one of them had his name. Perhaps the gardenias or the sterling roses were his doing?

Never before had I felt like this over Valentine?s Day; I?ve never had a date, a real boyfriend to take me out to dinner and a movie, and I?d never thought much of it, seeing as I considered Valentine?s Day to be too personal to take just anybody out. Yet?

Deciding to leave the flowers behind, I took my basket of candies and left my office, hailing a cab, trying my best to ignore the random couples making out or holding hands. Another February 14th to greet me by my lonely self, in my equally lonely apartment as I stuff my mouth with ridiculously fattening food. Just lovely.

I stopped by the nearest movie rental store just a block from my apartment, looking at the large selection of titles in stock. In the past it would have been Hilde and me, laughing and joking as we took four films each, never able to decide what to watch. I stopped myself from sighing pathetically at my morose thoughts.

<i>Two Weeks Notice, While You Were Sleeping,</i> and <i>28 Days</i>. Sandra Bullock was just my kind of girl when I was feeling down. Not to mention that I harbored a secret crush for Bill Pullman.

I juggled my rentals? bag, my purse and basket as the elevator chimed its arrival at my floor, balancing my baggage as I surfed through my purse for my apartment?s keys?only to stop short at the sight of Trowa standing before my door, a somber expression lining his features. A thousands thoughts crossed my mind, not a single one of them coherent enough to be uttered, leaving me to simply stand there and stare at him numbly.

He didn?t speak either?for long seconds we stood there, a few feet?s distance between us, staring at each other, unable to process thought, unusual guilt and angry accusations slamming against my insides.

?I didn?t come here to fight.? He offered as a pacifier, I imagined, lifting his hands up as if to guard me off.

Opening the door turned out to be a harder task than I imagined and he reached to take the basket from me, looking at the candies with critical, narrowed eyes.

I finally managed to open the door, throwing my keys onto the little table nearby, trying to ignore his distinctive presence, as usual, overpowering the suddenly miniscule apartment. My hand was throbbing painfully when I reached to drop the rental?s bag on the living room couch, the small cast making my skin itch like crazy. I?ve been on half a mind all day long trying to ignore the annoying sensation, but now, with nothing to distract me, the pain was all the more severe.

It also didn?t help that the reason I was experiencing this in the first place was standing right behind me.

Turning around to fix a glare on the silent man, I crossed my arms over my chest as I waited for him to say something. Relativity in its primetime, it seemed we?d been standing in the same position for over an hour, and I was ready to snap at him to get the hell out of my apartment when his gaze dropped to my chest, or more exactly, to my crossed arms. The white cast was hard to ignore, and I suddenly felt bad when a sudden rush of pleasure shot through me at the guilt written all over his face.

Honest to god, I didn?t think about, it was as involuntary as breathing, but when he stepped forward, his hand outstretched as if to comfort me, I took an equal step back, away from him. Call it fear, anger, rejection, whatever you want, but I stepped back, and suddenly the guilt turned to pain and I could have slapped myself across the face.

It was obvious he was not going to break the silence, it seemed he was too clogged with emotions to form any rational sentence, I know by the look on his face. I?m pleased to realize that I?ve learned to somehow read this enigma of a man, this man who?s always eluded me in the most essential of elements.

?Happy Valentine?s Day.? I offered when the silence had been stretched too thin, the void in sound starting to drive me insane.

A whisper of a smile echoed on his lips, but before he could reply, I beat him to the race and killed any sentiment from his would-be-words. ?I saw you with Krista yesterday.?

Somehow, I don?t know how or when it happened, the lines bordering our arrangement had been deluded to such a point I was unable to tell what was real and what not. The boundaries had been breached, feelings had been added where there should have been none at all; but most importantly, it was a two-way train wreck that apparently had been doomed to collide since the very beginning.

The mild accusation hung heavily in the space between us, the soft-spoken words hiding a meaning too harsh for simplicities.

He was shaking his head even before any words could spill from his lips, and I was suddenly angry all over again at the vulnerability in his gaze. What was he trying to do? Win me over by playing the victim?

?What happened that night??

How many times had I contemplated that same question? Over and over, trying to decide, trying to find a way out and still manage to leave unscathed. I had debated on whether telling him about my father?s ultimatum would be a bad idea or not, but right now, I couldn?t muster the strength to care.

?I had a nice little chat with my father.?

Suddenly too tired for my legs to keep me upright for much longer, I reached for the nearest place to sit, locating a soft, plush stool beside the loveseat. I massaged the space between my brows, the long absent pounding returning full force, and I had to squint a bit at the not-so-harsh lights coming from the foyer.

?What happened?? Soft, so soft his voice, almost melodic as if he wanted to merge with my furniture.

Shrugging, I dropped my head into my hands, fighting the outrageous urge to cry. Cry because I was drained and tired and pathetic and so, so utterly lonely. ?It doesn?t really matter; it?s of no importance anymore.?

It?s his turn to shake his head, unconsciously running a hand through his unkempt hair. ?Why do you always do that? Pretend it isn?t important when you?re obviously fucking upset??

I smiled?I couldn?t help it really. He?d always been so rough and crude, but somehow, someway, he always managed to be sweet and caring and comforting.

?It wouldn?t be fair.? I replied without really giving him the answer. ?Just as it isn?t fair I ask you about Krista when I??

?Don?t bring that up.? He snapped harshly, and I could see his right hand pressed into a tight fist.

Suddenly, I remembered right at the beginning when I said I would give us a six-month?s time to pull this off before the ?break-up?? Now it all just sounded laughable. I was so na?ve. Ever since the beginning, we both knew this would be dangerous. And it was just a little over a month into this and looking at where we stood, with me sitting on the verge of tears and he with his fists clenched so tight I feared he?d snap his bones, I wanted to laugh so hard at the irony of it all? Laugh so hard I choked.

How could I accuse him of cheating when I?d slept with a complete stranger not even a week ago? And what right did I have to feel this way when we agreed it was allowed to see other people on the side?

The touch of his rough hand on my cheek startled me and I looked up to see him kneeling before me. For a crazy second I pictured him holding my hand, somewhere in a different scenario under different circumstances, placing a velvet box on my upturned hand, a promise in his eyes and smile.

But he wasn?t holding my hand, and I wasn?t holding his ring, and we weren?t smiling either.

And suddenly, like a lightning flash so bright I?d have to shut my eyes to keep the light from hurting me, I realized I love him.

As easy as that. Well, not as easy, but the point was there.

And I knew, oh, god I knew, what I had to do.

Leaning forward, I closed the gap between us just like that night at the seafood restaurant?had that really been two weeks ago??and pressed my lips to his, trying to savor his taste and memorize it so I would never forget.

I took pleasure at the surprise written across his boyishly handsome features, running my fingers through his soft hair to settle my hands around his neck, my thumbs placed right over his pulse. His heartbeat was strong and fast, and I found comfort in the steady rhythm? enough to gather my guts.

?I?m announcing the break-up tomorrow.?

My tone was final, and so were my words.



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I fell asleep to the sound of Hugh Grant telling Sandra Bullock about how they were going to keep the community center because it was something he?d promised her he?d do? I?d always loved that movie. It was so simplistic and romantic? So unlike everything in my life.

Sighing, I reached for the remote on the coffee table and turned the DVD player off; those blue screens had always made me dizzy. I tried to ignore Trowa?s scent still lingering in the air, aftershave and cologne, permeating my very existence, the urge to curse the wretched man tapping at my skull.

The phone rang? It was so weird hearing it ring since it rarely ever did; I?m usually never home. I debated on whether answering or not, gazing at the clock to notice that it was almost four in the morning. No wonder I was tired; it has been six hours since Trowa left. Before I even had the chance to move, the ringing died, and just when I was about cuddle up to sleep again, my cell phone started ringing instead.

With a growl of frustration, I shoved myself out of the couch, stepping and tripping unceremoniously over the remote control I had previously discarded, and answering the phone with a curse.

?What??

There was a loud music booming in the background, but Trowa?s voice was unmistakable. Particularly the state of his not-so-articulate words.

<i>?I can?t accept that!?</i>

I sighed, rubbing my temple when my migraine blossomed to full throttle. ?Trowa, we discussed this already.?

<i>?No!</i>You<i> discussed it! I?m coming over.? </i>

?Trowa??

But there was nothing there except a dial tone.


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So pathetic? It was all I could think as I stood before my door, four-twenty in the morning, debating on whether I should surrender to the pounding or simply let the dreaded man knock himself into a stupor, thus risking the chance of alerting Mrs. Stiles and having her call the cops. It also didn?t help that he was yelling at the top of his lungs for me to open the ?goddamned door?.

I was surprised though, when suddenly he stopped the yelling and knocking simultaneously, only to hear a noise when he settled his weight against the door, probably sitting on the floor.

?It?s funny, you know?? His voice was muffled by the thick paneling, but it was still clear enough to hear.

How did he know I was standing here? ?What is??

?I am.? He stopped for a moment, as if he was taking some time to consider his words before he started again. ?I don?t know what?s come over me; I?m not usually like this.?

?And how are you usually??

He chuckled huskily, a sudden thump on the door that I imagined was his head and I knew for sure he was sitting on the carpeted hallway floor. ?An ass. A selfish bastard. A chauvinist. Arrogant??

I couldn?t help but smile at his self-analysis. ?And how are you now??

?Still an ass; still a selfish bastard; still a chauvinistic, arrogant fool.?

And this time, I did laugh. I settled on the floor, my back to the door, feeling happy and at ease? for once.

?Funny, ah?? He asked after a moment.

?Very? But what?s the difference now??

?The difference now is that I care? and I don?t like it.?

I closed my eyes at his words; part of me wanting him to continue, part of my wanting him stop.

?When you first proposed we should date just to keep our mothers off our backs? I?ll be honest and tell you I was pleased.? He chuckled softly, his words low and smooth through the wood. ?I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to finally get you.?

?Get inside my pants; that?s what you mean!? The asshole! That was his?

?Yes? I wanted to fuck you so badly it hurt. I couldn?t stand knowing I could get close to you and not have you.? He laughed, and the sound was so frivolous, so heart wrenching it left me cold. ?You were always that goal for me, Relena? The only person I couldn?t have. Everyday I went to work? And all I could think of was to crush your body to mine and fuck you against the wall. I think you?re the only woman I?ve fucked on my desk, against the window, on my office chair, on the carpet floor? every single space in my office, available or not??

His crude words were starting to get to me, setting my blood on fire and I found myself to be sexually aroused by them. But I stayed quiet, letting him continue to see where he was getting at?

?And then? my mother tells me she has this wonderful person I should meet and whatnot, and I know it?s another of her matchmaking attempts? I always stop her cold before she can arrange anything?? He stopped and laughed, and I could so imagine him shaking his head at his thoughts. ?Imagine my shock when my new girlfriend-to-be was you??

But for the love of? ?You knew from the beginning she was planning this?!?

?No? I knew she wanted me to date you? the whole engagement thing was your mother?s own doing. I had nothing to do with it.?

Whatever I was feeling before had, by now, dissipated into full-blown anger. For a crazy moment I realized we were having this very overdue conversation through a door between us, with him sitting in a public hallway for the entire world to overhear? But for the moment, I really couldn?t give a shit. ?And now you?re going to tell me you?re just the victim in this whole fiasco.?

He was silent for such a long moment that I thought he?d just up and left. I was just about to get up and open the door to see for myself when he spoke up again.

?I never expected this.?

I waited? waited for him to elaborate, but he didn?t. I swear I wanted to wring his neck and just demand he tell me everything at once! Not bits and pieces now and then that drove me fucking insane with impatience. ?Never expected what?!? I couldn?t help but snap.

?I never expected to care? To actually care about things??

He wasn?t making any sense. ?I?m sorry, Trowa, but this time you?re going to have to elaborate.?

I hated his silence, hated this space between words and revelations, hated this impatience and curiosity? Hated the way he made me feel. Hated knowing I loved him. God? I loved him. Maybe I?ve always loved him, maybe that?s why I?ve always been so?afraid of letting him get near me. Bastard.

?After that day on the boat? after our argument? I was so angry? You?ve always managed to make me feel like a jerk and so fucking vulnerable... I went out and got drunk. I was so pissed off at you, because I knew I was getting too attached and you?ve always been such a bitch??

?Now, wait a minute, you piece of??

?And then I come here to tell you all these thoughts that were driving me half mad, wanting? I don?t know? to punish you, to make you hurt? And I see you with that fucking prick all over you? kissing you, touching you??

I could only close my eyes at his words. I knew it; I knew he had somehow found out, that was why he was acting so cold at my mother?s party. I wanted to tell him it had all been a mistake, a foolish mistake I wanted to take back? But I couldn?t muster the words.

?And somewhere between that day I first saw you standing behind my father and now, I fell for you bad? and that hurts even worse than imagining you fucking some asshole after one too many glasses of whiskey.?

<i>?You?re still in business or are you planning on going back to business after all this is over??

?Neither.?</i>

His words haunted me, and for some reason I?ve always known. I?ve always known the way he felt about me, almost since this whole fiasco started.

<i>?Why? Why the fuck don?t you like me? You can screw half the guys living on this damned island, yet you can?t even like me??</i>

And I liked him, even back them. And it was mutual.

All the more reason for me to keep quiet. I suddenly felt like I was living in a Shakespearean tragedy, the classic romance story of two lovers who are destined to be apart.

If it had been a day sooner, I would have taken the risk and given it my all. But I couldn?t use him as my father had succinctly ordered me to. I realized then, the true meaning of loving too much, loving enough to let them go.

I felt sick and tired and I wanted to cry so hard? I made a mental note of crying myself into my pillow as soon as he left. Yes, that would help.

?I can?t, Trowa. Whatever you?re asking of me, I just can?t.? I heard the same noise again, his head hitting the wood, but this time it was in quick succession, one, two, three, four times until he stopped.

?Don?t do it, Relena.?

I couldn?t help but smile at the irony of it all. It hurt? it really did hurt. ?Go back to Krista, Trowa. Just? leave me alone.?

I heard a rustling sound and I knew he was gone.

It really did hurt.


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The sun was already out, but I hadn?t slept a bit. It was almost seven and I couldn?t bring myself to stand up and get ready for work. I was tired, exhausted after such an extremely emotional night?.

I wanted to scream when my phone started ringing, and I almost let it ring, but I?ve never been able to ignore it, not knowing if the person on the other side has an emergency of some sort. Then again, who would call me for any kind of emergency?

?Hello??

?Relena Peacecraft, what have you done?!?

I groaned. Perfect, just what I needed. ?What, mother? Isn?t it too early to be harassing me??

?You broke up. Why did you break up? What did you do??

Why did she automatically deduce it was my fault? And how the fuck did she know? ?Who told you??

?Who told me?!? She was getting pretty hysterical. ?The entire nation knows! David Letterman knows, Oprah knows, Jay Leno, Dr Phil? everybody knows!!?

That brought me up cold. ?H-how??

?Read the damned paper.? And she slammed the phone on me.

He did it. And this time, I did cry.


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To be continued...

[pilot03]

Thank you! Thank you!!! Thank you!!! Whatever you desire I will produce! *huggles*

[Lady Saffir]

*sigh* Bad Relena, and bad Trowa...get over your pride and just go with your feelings. And while I'm at it...bad Quatre, hitting on an engaged woman.

Wonderful chapter, can't wait to see how they resolve everything!

LS

[takisha16]

SON OF A BITCH!!!!
I can't believ he did that to her!!!
Relena should just not consider taking him back at all!
I hate her mother! jajaja
Trowa is the prick here! He is such a pompous jerk!
I don't like how he feels so high and mighty.
Poor Relena she must be so broken now!
I hope Trowa gets what's coming to him very soon!

[The Angry Angel]

I have poked you and prodded you about this fic for how many months, now? A long wait makes the finally-arrived 'taste' of it all the more sweet, and I was mildly anticipating what would happen, but you never cease to surprise and bedezzle.

This chapter was way introspective, and it revealed a lot about the ever enigmatic Trowa, and that was heart-wrenching and relieving at the same time *is relieved* He's just like us after all! ...well sort of ^^

Poor, dear Quatre, he's has been trying so hard. But maybe he brings the better out of Relena because she refuses to violate professional/ethical guidelines beyond the client/patron relationship. Or maybe that's not quite the case, and she isn't even tempted or curious enough about Quatre to become involved with him or...sample him.

But she loves Trowa! And...Trowa loves her...? To destructive-ness, practically! Oh, my what did he do?! You're only pushing her further away, man! Yay for mutual love, you poor, unfortunate, foolish souls!! * super glomps relena and trowa*

Andrea, you never fail to deliver, this chapter was so...meaningful! Now it's more important than ever to find out what these big-city sharks of sorts, will do next!

Choose love, I say! Love!!

[Andrea]

Thank you! Thank you!!! Thank you!!! Whatever you desire I will produce! *huggles*

You're welcome! You're welcome! You're welcome!

I want a nice Christmas present, wrapped in shiny paper-wrap and a big bow. Handmade. Delivered to my home address.

[Andrea]

*sigh* Bad Relena, and bad Trowa...get over your pride and just go with your feelings. And while I'm at it...bad Quatre, hitting on an engaged woman.

Wonderful chapter, can't wait to see how they resolve everything!

LS

Oh, gosh! I'm so torn over Quatre! He's such a sweet, sexy guy, and he so obviously dotes on Relena... I'm so confused. Maybe I'll just make this 4xR and have it over with.

Thanks for the comments, LS!

[Andrea]

SON OF A BITCH!!!!
I can't believ he did that to her!!!
Relena should just not consider taking him back at all!
I hate her mother! jajaja
Trowa is the prick here! He is such a pompous jerk!
I don't like how he feels so high and mighty.
Poor Relena she must be so broken now!
I hope Trowa gets what's coming to him very soon!

Takisha! My sweet! There you are!! Hahaha! You always make me laugh. But you know, I don't think Trowa's that much of an asshole... at least not that bad in this chapter... He did go for it and got shot down... The poor thing makes me feel pitty for him. Tsk, tsk. And yes, Mama Peacecraft is so particularly special. You'd have to be made out of iron to not be affected by her stunts.

I appreciate your enthusiasm and prompting, hon! I'll try to post sooner than last time... I hope.

[Andrea]

I have poked you and prodded you about this fic for how many months, now? A long wait makes the finally-arrived 'taste' of it all the more sweet, and I was mildly anticipating what would happen, but you never cease to surprise and bedezzle.

This chapter was way introspective, and it revealed a lot about the ever enigmatic Trowa, and that was heart-wrenching and relieving at the same time *is relieved* He's just like us after all! ...well sort of ^^

Poor, dear Quatre, he's has been trying so hard. But maybe he brings the better out of Relena because she refuses to violate professional/ethical guidelines beyond the client/patron relationship. Or maybe that's not quite the case, and she isn't even tempted or curious enough about Quatre to become involved with him or...sample him.

But she loves Trowa! And...Trowa loves her...? To destructive-ness, practically! Oh, my what did he do?! You're only pushing her further away, man! Yay for mutual love, you poor, unfortunate, foolish souls!! * super glomps relena and trowa*

Andrea, you never fail to deliver, this chapter was so...meaningful! Now it's more important than ever to find out what these big-city sharks of sorts, will do next!

Choose love, I say! Love!!

I almost choked on my sandwich when you kindly suggested Relena should 'sample' Quatre... Lol!

*Hold out banner: LOVE! CHOOSE ME!* Yes, yes... it's all so terribly dramatic and so soap-opera-like.... but it works for me. There are a lot of things I have planned for this fic, yet I know there'll only be a few chapters left. Unless I turn a complete U and stretch it somewhat... I have thought of a sub-plot.... Hmm... so many ideas, so many ideas... Who knows.

Neeway! Thankies for the lovely words, Lucy! You're always such a sweetie! And also thanks for all the help you gave me when I was working on it. It was such a pain getting it done. Didn't break my word mark, seeing as this one's such a short chapter compared to all the others... yet, it was so packed up with emotion that I just couldn't let it go much further...

*sigh*

[Kanya Barton]

This is absolutely amazing! I am loving your plot! I hope that this all turns out good...it's a lot like "Gone With the Wind," isn't it?...Well, I look forward to your next installment!
Peace out! ///_-