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gothika666faerie · 7 years

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Do I Even Need a Reason?

“Why do you like him?” The first person who asks is Maxwell and she should not have been that surprised when he approached her, open frothing champagne bottle in hand with a pensive expression on his face. He was the younger brother; of course, he would show concern over any intimate developments regarding the elder. Savannah casts her eyes downward, not wanting to meet Maxwell’s questioning blue gaze before averting them towards the him being put on the spot of interrogation.

There he was, in the middle of all his equally important, probably snottier and definitely insincere (save one or two if she was being kind) comrades who were all nodding (or pretending to nod in mock enjoyment) at his amusing anecdote about letting alpacas roam in the ballroom free for all to pet at his last soiree and how one had gone bounding with their tapestry straight from the Orient in its mouth. The small party all broke into modest laughter before lifting their forever abundant flutes for a toast to their benevolent, ostentatious host. The man in the middle in his well-fitting brown suit and his hair perpetually kept in place, never ruffled and for the occasion, smiling, teeth showing and the lines on his face pulling upwards, not tense, not serious and not stony.

Savannah finds it difficult to hide her own smile and once more, she keeps her face down as Maxwell looks from his brother to her and back again. This sweet young tart with a head for timelines, dates and gender theory while still having the capacity to down tequila shots and losing herself on the dance floor would want to be a match with his often surly, rather humourless and high maintenance brother. There was a far commoner sight of Drake outside, having a true good time than that notion teetering on the brink of impossibility. Yet, there was a twinkle in Savannah Walker’s brown eyes as she follows Bertrand’s figure as it moves about the expansive ballroom, gesturing as he speaks animatedly of the weaponry mounted on the wall and his opinion of some of scandals that have erupted lately in Cordonia’s colourful society.

“Maxwell, you know better than to ask a girl that question,” Her answer floats off as her eyes never leave Bertrand, more so now that he is reclining against the stairwell, one hand on the banister and the other in his trousers’ pocket. “Do I even need a reason?”

“It’s just strange, you know. I mean, I love my brother. I truly do and he is the best brother I could ask for but,” Maxwell tries to keep his tone even but it takes him a good swallow before he can force the next few sentences out. “We both know my brother can be totally unlikable at times. He can be so out of humour, snobby and even downright mean. And that’s just what I say about him. Could you imagine someone who hates him?”

Savannah lifts her head and meets Maxwell’s gaze full on, her brown eyes daring him to challenge her after the next statement. “I don’t see why I should care, Maxwell. I understand your concern but I’m confident in my decisions.”

“Just,” He sighs and takes a nervous glug out of the bottle of champagne in his hand before continuing. “Drake will murder the both of us if something bad were to happen and…”

“You think quite lowly of your brother for someone who claims to love him so.” Maxwell cringes at her words but manages a cordial smile before filling up her flute that was slowly being drained to the bottom. “I see him for who he really is and I still love him all the more. However, you are also a dear friend to House Beaumont and I don’t want you to ever feel…uncomfortable.”

Savannah beamed up at him. From the day, she met both the Beaumonts, she found a good friend and confidante in the younger and a growing, solidifying infatuation in the older. They were the height of sophistication, driving about in their stretch limousines and sailing the azure Cordonian sea in their magnificent yacht, leaning over the railing and bidding hello to the dolphins when they got far enough. They had been kind to her, lovely nobles who tossed her a bone and let her mingle in their affairs, walk in their gardens and plantations and peruse their extensive, impressive library of treasured tomes and cherished classics.

Unfortunately, the elder had made her fall in love with him.

As much as she hated to confront it, Maxwell’s question sent her head reeling with wonderment as to exactly why she did. The man truly could be an absolute irritation. He had a temper that rivalled an ornery crocodile, the need to prove that he was superior to everyone and so darn arrogant and bossy, it was trying to attempt to please his extreme standards. She would be reading at a window seat and hear him berating a servant for missing a spot on the silverware or not arranging the chairs at precisely the right position. At that moment, she liked him a little less. The poor servant left with his tail between his legs and he would pace for a bit in the gardens afterwards to let off steam. His lips would be moving rapidly, his mutterings a mystery. That was when he would notice her. He stops his stride. Considers the fountain, the one with the mermaid statue, roses carved into her hair and cradling a vase that provided for the water before he lifts his head up and considers the young woman who looks down at him. Their eyes made contact for a blissful moment before she slams her book, gathers them and deserts her place on the balcony.

There was something in those eyes.

Savannah took a long sip and purred as the bubbly, sweet wine with its fruity undertones soothed her drying throat like a necessary balm. Bertrand was still preoccupied with his circle and Maxwell, noticing this, shoots her a sympathetic look.

“I don’t know how or why this happened, Savvy but,” He reaches out a hand to touch her arm. “Just be careful.” He had to leave then. His own friends were anticipating him to bust his signature moves now that he was sufficiently liquored up. Savannah had to deal with her own devices and matters of her foolish, naïve heart alone. Ungluing herself from her vantage point, she journeyed through the moshing, snogging and passed out partygoers to find herself enough space to lose herself to the sensuous beats pounding out of the subwoofers Bertrand had erected for the occasion. The booze was getting to her and she needed to let loose.

For those blissful moments, there was nothing but the music and her wild gyrations. Maxwell was executing smooth, skilful head spins and the crowd was cheering him on with bellows and vociferous applause. The noblewomen were cackling and chattering in alcoves, over sugary drinks, about their potential bed mates they would sequester away by the end of this hedonistic night. Savannah, her wild brown hair tossed about her tanned, bare shoulders, supple, full and round breasts straining against her lilac off shoulder bandage dress was in her element. She could hit the books tomorrow after sleeping off the massive hangover as she always did. Concealer and a meticulous skincare routine will stave off the dark circles and fatigue. That and strong, black coffee.

Before her heart beat could pound any more violently from all the raucous movements, there was a literal change in the air. Pulse quickening, groin grinding dance music was replaced with the ethereal winking beginnings of a familiar song, a song for the ages and a song that would cement the true blue feeling of love and amour in a couple’s hearts. Savannah slowed down and came to a full stop, looking about her and seeing the few conscious and not nauseous inhabitants pairing off with people they would never dare to dance so intimately with. She could go find Maxwell who had miraculously disappear and demand he relinquish that champagne bottle. Yes, that was the perfect plan.

She was unprepared for the warm, strong palm that enveloped her hand and was now pulling her out onto the marble floor where the other couples swayed in time to the melodious tinkling. Stopping in the centre, she was spun till she was face to face with him.

“Your Grace? What…what is the meaning of…?” She has no chance to finish her question for her has taken her left hand in his and slid his right hand upon her waist, tugging her against him. His face is unreadable, stoic and his grey eyes are boring into hers. They are frozen for the first initial contact, eye contact unbroken. The lyrics come on and that is when they start to spin.

There's such a sad love

Deep in your eyes

A kind of pale jewel

Open and closed

Within your eyes

I'll place the sky

Within your eyes

She bites at her lip, her tongue darting out to moisten them as her left hand grips his and her right slides up his arm, shuddering at the strength she discovers. Bertrand’s eyes seem to roam all over her face, from the sloping expanse of her forehead to her cherry blossom lips, the hollow of her throat that pulses and ending at the sensuous bounty of her bosom. They return to her eyes and Savannah feels drowned, overwhelmed in those pools of grey. Icy on the surface but if she could just break the surface.

There's such a fooled heart

Beating so fast

In search of new dreams

A love that will last

Within your heart

I'll place the moon

Within your heart

“How are you enjoying the party, Miss. Walker?” His polite enquiry came out in a cool whisper as he takes her through the motions. His right hand neither rises nor drops. His face not once looks away from hers. Savannah clears her throat before stammering out a non-committal answer. His fingers twine with hers and his grip intensifies in purpose. Yet, there is not a flicker of emotion upon his face.

“It is as wonderful a party as all the one’s you threw before, your Grace.”

“Good.”

As the pain sweeps through,

Makes no sense for you

Every thrill is gone

Wasn't too much fun at all,

But I'll be there for you

As the world falls down

Falling

Falling down

Falling in love

She gasps as he pulls her close against him, his face so close to hers she can smell the redolence of sweet wine on his breath mingled with his musky cologne. The hand on her waist is now splayed out on the small of her back and she attempts not to show any modest, feminine signs that she knew full well she was pressing up a little too intimately against the Duke of Ramsford. His face however never betrayed a hint of emotion. His lips were still set in that straight line, his eyes stony as their colour and the gaze in them purposefully unreadable.

His hand on her back however, recited sonnets of what he was feeling for her as they continued to spin slowly, everyone around them diminishing into unnecessary and insignificant blurs.

I'll paint you mornings of gold

I'll spin you Valentine evenings

Though we're strangers 'til now,

We're choosing the path

Between the stars

I'll leave my love

Between the stars

“You look…” He starts to comment on her appearance and Savannah can only stare at his stern façade as he suddenly tears his eyes away, thinking of the right word. Lovely? Beautiful? Sublime? Elegant? So perfect that it adds to how undeserving he was of her? Her brown eyes were absorbing him, prying upon the many layers he had swaddled himself in. He needed to avert his gaze lest he fall helpless and Duke Bertrand Beaumont is anything but. Her hand on his arm however and the other, so soft, so delicate, so deserving of penitent kisses before being washed in a rose bath and towelled dry. Did the commoner not know of how deeply she could affect him?

“Nice.”

“Oh. Thank you, your Grace. That means a lot coming from you.” Disappointment is tucked away, blankets of avoidance drowning it out along with the soothing croon of David Bowie.

As the pain sweeps through,

Makes no sense for you

Every thrill is gone

Wasn't too much fun at all,

But I'll be there for you-ou-ou

As the world falls down

Oh, but what’s this? The hand that cradles hers raises it until it was resting, languidly, rather anxious too upon his shoulder and he gently shrugs off her other hand from his arm. This was a silent command; put it where its companion is waiting. Savannah soon had her hands twined behind Bertrand’s neck and his hands had found its home on the tops of her shapely hips. He wanted to seize them and pull her closely, tight against him but the moment was too pure, too pristine and too precious to be ruined. The only thing that parted them was their commingled breaths and how badly did he want to be her air supply. Too soon. Too fucking soon.

He settles for leaning in close enough so that his forehead rests against hers and she inhales, the sound so dulcet and innocent at the contact. What was happening was unexplained and perhaps it should remain so. Putting it under a lens would ruin its simplicity.

“I lied. You look amazing.” His voice is barely a whisper.

“I know. I still thank you all the same.” She smiles up to him, shuddering at how their noses could very nearly brush against one another. Watching the corners of his lips quirk up just slightly cements the moment as totally unforgettable.

Falling

As the world falls down

Falling

As the world falls down

Falling

Falling in love

As the world falls down, falling

Falling

Falling in love

“Why me?” He asks the question this time. She lifts her head up from the pillow, a lazy, giddy with contentment smile on her face when she notices his arm still wrapped tightly, protectively, fearfully around her waist before she manoeuvres herself to face him. The index finger of her right hand gently caressing underneath his eye before he leans in to press a worshipping kiss to her forehead, the bridge of her nose and stopping just before her lips for she had started to speak and who was he to silence his angel?

“You’re a prize and yet, you’re not. You have flaws, glaring ones to by the way but,” She sighs and reclines as he shifts upon her to gaze into her beautiful, pensive face. Her hand slides up his bare chest to rest against where his love lays contained, restrained and yet beating effortfully. “Maybe there does not need to be a reason. Maybe, it is just right. Just perfect. Just that you know this is the person you want, you want to love and want to be with.”

It is so dark that she cannot tell that his eyes are glistening before he takes her hand and presses his lips to it, letting the warmth linger, wanting it to flow up her arm and take residence in her heart.

“You are too amazing a woman. There is nothing common about you, my love,” His lips journey to kiss the diamond ring that she wears with pride every moment, every second. “My duchess.” He starts a line, a journey of hot, butterfly kisses from where her heart lies, secure forever for him, beating for him, for them. Onwards and upwards, bypassing her collarbone, snaking up her neck and catching her jawline before her puckered lips received their blessed offering.

“My wife. My reason to try, as hard as I can, to be deserving of you.” His words tickle her mouth and she surrenders into his passionate embrace once more but as she opens her mouth to accept his love, he pulls back and leaves her wanting for just one blissful moment.

He scrounges on the bedside table for his handphone and, befuddled, she watches him with her head tilted until she hears that familiar crooning. Her heart beats just that little bit faster as her husband engulfs her once more with his heat, his comfort, his desire and his unwavering ardour.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

As the world falls down, falling

Falling

Makes no sense at all

Makes no sense to fall

Falling

As the world falls down

Falling

Falling in love

As the world falls down

Falling

Falling in love

(( @smartlillian @mrskaidanalenko @pixelbirb-choices @chelseareferenced @dopecatcollins @mochimicho))

#more pointless bertvannah fluff #bertrand beaumont #savannah walker #trr #the royal romance book 2 #david bowie #as the world falls down #i am such trash #help me

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