Winter our discontent (RP)

"Your mother liked that dress too!" She protested, a hint of a smile on her lips "She was genuinely worried I might catch a chill in this weather, that’s all" she obviously knew better, but didn’t want waste time talking about it. She did welcome the shift in the conversation, though his invitation didn’t stir her the way she needed it to.

She didn’t want to be asked. She wanted to be taken. Pressed against the wall like he was starving. Pushed down. Hair yanked. She wanted him to lose control a little. To need her that badly. Not invite her into bed like he was offering her tea and blanket.

Still, she stepped closer, resting her hand on his chest. Her voice dropped into a soft, almost teasing hum, the ‘t’ mispronounced slightly, almost like a different letter of the alphabet. "Are you going to tuck me in, then?"

She didn’t care about the bruises. She had a plausible story about them (all absolutely true, from her point of view). Besides, she was sure David wouldn’t give them a second thought once the clothes came off...

Persephone continues to people watch, and her curiosity about Zhiyu grows. She watches him serve as a translator for an old woman dealing with government paperwork. She hears him speak in English, Cantonese, Mandarin, and even French at one point. When she gets near the front, she even eavesdrops on two men having a surprisingly complex debate about import laws, jurisdiction, and international investment, which he seems to settle to both men's satisfaction.

When she arrives at the front of the line, She smiles and says, "Hello! This is the right time, yes? You seem so busy! We can reschedule if that's more convenient for you..." She gestures at the line of people behind her, but adds, "I'd like to talk, but I don't want to be a burden."

Emma’s gaze softened when she looked into his eyes. She stepped in, closer, close enough that he could feel her soft breaths. She was always the one to add the spice to their bedroom. The mischief to their routines. Her husband was tired. Defeated, maybe, after the kind of week he had. Maybe he, too, needed to feel desired. And she knew exactly how to stoke that fire.

L’appétit vient en mangeant.
Desire grows with action.

The hand resting on his chest began to slide lower...

*****

Emma lay still for a moment, her hand resting on her husband's chest, rising and falling in time with his breath. She smiled faintly and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, then slipped out from under the warm sheets with a satisfied grace, her fingers drifting through her tousled hair as she padded toward the bathroom.

She closed the door behind her and paused in front of the mirror, gazing at her reflection with a pleased, private, curved smile.

She liked what she saw.

She turned slightly, admiring the lines of her curves. She didn't consider herself to be vain. She did win the genetic lottery, but that wasn't enough. She worked for that body. Maintained it. Watched what she ate. Skincare. Workouts. Posture. Keeping hydrated. It required discipline, more than some would realize.

Why shouldn’t she be proud?

With a little grin, she reached for her phone on the counter, and snapped a couple of photos of herself. Nothing she would ever post, of course. But maybe something to send David one morning when he was stuck at the office. A reminder of what waited for him at home.

Just as she was about to set the phone down, a stray thought surfaced, completely absurd in contrast.

"Oh, shit" she quickly thumbed through her contact list

"Thanks for covering the takeout tonight" she quickly typed to Bev
"You really shouldn’t have. How much do I owe you?"

Emma hummed to herself as she finished tidying up. She sent David off to work with a kiss, and the lunch she packed for him - leftovers from dinner from the night before, with a sizable portion of vegies. It was healthier than anything he could get from the cafeteria at his office, and more importantly, cheaper.

He seemed lighter when he left, and she liked to think she had something to do with that. She was in better spirits as well, and with the last of the dishes done, she hung the towel over the handle of the over and turned toward the hallway.

It was time to start her day in earnest. She walked back to her bedroom, still in her nightrobe, and closed the door behind her. Sarah was still asleep, but she locked the door anyway. She didn’t want any interruptions this morning.

Easing herself on the bed, leaning backward against the pillows, she reached for her phone, already knowing who she was going to call first. She was going to ask Henry for some details about the weekend, but it was only as a pretext. What she really wanted was to soften him up, before nudging the conversation toward getting him to pay for her new outfits...

Persephone betrays a moment of hesitation and discomfort at the prospect of talking in this public place. but she replies, "I won't ask you to send all these people away, not for my account. I'll leave that decision to you; we may discuss some very personal matters of your brother, however."

She sits in the chair at the side of his table, a look of empathy on her face. She feels deep guilt about her oblique role in Howard's death, combined with a surprising affection for this strange, kind man. She leans forward, speaking in a low voice, so that only Zhiyu can hear her. Persephone says, "I want to be here for whatever you need from me about your brother. I can tell you about his last hours if that is what you would like, but I should also tell you, he was involved in some matters that were dangerous and, frankly, difficult to believe."

Persephone had suspected that Zhiyu might know more than he was letting on about Wuhao's demonic contract and she is actually relieved to hear that suspicion confirmed. She had dreaded trying to explain to Zhiyu what had really been going on with Wuhao, so this simplifies things considerably. She had already planned to come clean with him, to some extent, about her involvement, so she does not try to her hide her response. Instead, she simply meets his eyes and nods when he makes reference to selling his soul.

Persephone looks down at the ground and sighs deeply. So many feelings fight for attention within her; a survival instinct telling her not to admit wrongdoing or even involvement; an empathy for Zhiyu's loss; guilt for not doing more to prevent Wuhao's death; and a curiosity about what else Zhiyu might know. She opts for honesty; she had been living nothing but lies until very recently, and found such a life excessively isolating.

She raises her eyes to meet his and says, "I don't know Wuhao, not really. But I am like he was. I am someone who made a foolish deal with a demon and now must life with the consequences. My 'contract holder' sent me to the club that night to find Wuhao, to make sure he upholds his end of the bargain, which included doing what he eventually did. When I arrived, he was trying to enjoy himself, with drugs and women in a private room. But he was miserable. I sat with him and listened, tried to be a friend to him when he so desperately needed one."

She looks away now, wincing in pain and tears threatening to flow. She shakes her head in disgust at herself and continues. "I... I wasn't a good friend to him. Not at all. I listened, yes, and tried to help him. But ultimately, when he talked about upholding the bargain and ending it all, I didn't argue with him. I didn't try to stop him. So I ... I have to apologize to you, Zhiyu, for my weakness. I was--and am--scared of what happens if I don't uphold my contract. And mine demanded I be there that night, to make sure he did it. I don't ask for your understanding, sympathy, or forgiveness; I don't deserve any of that. I came here today to tell you the truth, no matter how ugly. Because you deserve it. And of no other reason than that."

She should have done this in person. It would’ve been so much easier if he could see her. She would smile a little. Wear something suggestive.. It would have been easier to get him into an agreeable state if he was looking at her, rather than just hearing her. But she also knew how busy he was, and she didn’t want to wait until later in the afternoon, or the evening, to get her answers.

"Hey" she said one the call connected "How’s it going?"

Her free hand drifted lazily along the silk trim of her robe as she spoke. "I won’t take up too much of your time, she added with just the right amount of deference in her voice, which, knowing Henry wasn't just appreciated - but expected.

"But, do you know what’s planned for the gathering this weekend? And...why I was invited?"

They both knew she didn’t belong in that crowd. She wasn’t rich. Or powerful. Or influential. She wasn’t a member of the gentlemen's club, and no one was inviting her for her dazzling intellect. He must have wondered about it too. Maybe even enough to ask Sin about it?