The phone call came, and you were directed up to the room Ms. West has let for the weekend. It is justifiably posh, but genteelly so, not the over-the-top luxury which your nephew has recently had inflicted upon him courtesy of the West family influence; a very modest office suite consisting of sitting room and bedroom off to one side. There are two chairs and a loveseat, a low table and a chandelier, and of all things, a fireplace. Despite it being early to mid spring, a fire has been laid on the grate, crackling merrily. There is a laptop on the table, and a screensaver's running with pictures of the West family at various places doing various things scrolls across it.
     Gillian herself is there, clean and slightly damp and dressed very simply in a tailored white shirt and a pair of black jeans, feet tucked into a pair of white low-heeled slipper pumps trimmed, of all things, with a whimsical crowning of maribou. Her hair is pulled back into a small towel, and she grins at you from over the rims of her glasses as she lets you in. "Sorry I'm not quite ready, professor," she tells you demurely. "Come in and relax, why don't you? Help yourself to what's available from the bar..."

     He's dressed for early spring in London, which is to say he still has a sweater and a scarf and a jacket but they're all of lighter fabrics. The sweater is fitted and black, as is the jacket and the pants. The scarf, however, is a brilliant cardinal red, picking up the red in his hair. He has the requisite satchel of books -- ever prepared -- but in his hands is a bottle of wine, an Italian red. "This is for you. Never come empty handed. It's good to see you," Bran smiles and he turns to close the door behind him. "Help myself to a bar? I believe that's on the family crest. Can I pour anything for you? Would you like to open the Santo Vincenzi? It's a Roman wine. I thought it would be appropriate given our last topic of conversation..."
     He walks in, taking a moment to glance around. "Lovely appointment. I have heard that Claridge's is the place to be when in London. It does not disappoint." Green eyes, edged with a very deep forest, if not black-green color, glimmer when he looks at you. He makes no apologies for the appreciation or the smile. "So... a drink...yes..." And Bran turns toward the bar.

     She laughs at that, closing the door behind you and turning away from you to go to the table, taking a seat in one of the chairs. "A small glass, maybe. I shouldn't drink too much on an empty stomach," Gillian tells you, shaking her hair out as she pulls off the towel. Her hair is drying in little ringlets, already threatening to become unmanageable. "Make yourself comfortable. I've got a few questions for you, if you don't mind..."
     "In fact, some of my questions are going to seem downright strange to you," Gillian muses, cocking up one eyebrow at you as she looks you up and down. She chews on her lower lip, not really aware she is doing so. "So I think I'd better start with bribery first. Because, you see, I very much want you to do me a couple of favors. Possibly even three or four favors. And at least one of them you're not going to want to do. So! Bribery first, right? Or shall we order the food first? Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself."

     He keep the bottle then, heading with it to the bar. And as you make your one of what appear to be several propositions, Bran pivots, twisting to look at you as he peels the foil and starts screwing in the corkscrew. He grins, and it is like a flash of lighting. It brightens is face, and even the air around him a bit. "Really? Bribery? Now I am," pop! "...intrigued."
     The amusement and the interest are palpable as he turns again, pouring two glasses -- both modest. The wine is full-bodied, red, with chocolate and raspberry undertones. A shoulder full of his satchel and hands full of wine, he strolls over to you. "Well, in that case," Bran murmurs, "...we should definitely drink the Roman red. Salut...or as the Romans would say: ave."
     He sets his wine to the side after his toast, just long enough for him to set down his leather satchel and take a seat. "Let's start with the bribes a moment, then we'll get to the food. I'm too intrigued to eat." Bran smiles at the rim of the glass, taking the first sip. Eyebrows leap up a little. Not bad. Needs to breathe a bit.
     "So...Gillian," his mouth twitches with a smile. "What is it that I can, apparently, do for you?"

     "Ave, imperatur," Gillian retorts, lips curving into a mischievous smile as she takes the wine you give her, holding it in both hands beneath her chin. "Ad astra per aspera." She takes a sip of her wine, then sets it aside in favor of jostling the track pad on her laptop. "Bribe first. Then demands."
     She clicks - she's got everything set up. She may not have thought everything through to their fullest possible, but she has thought enough to put the pieces together. "Watch the slideshow."
     The monitor is adjusted. There is the progress bar, showing things loading; and then, as Gillian settles back with the wine lifted again, it begins. Image after image of ruins not seen in living memory slide by, giving you about ten seconds to see each one before it progresses to the next. The villa is half-revealed, thus. The floors. The walls. Inscriptions. The statue's base. And finally, the mosaic, with Apollo and the dolphins. There are about a dozen pictures; two minutes' worth in all. Quietly, in the background, a Chopin etude plays. And while you are watching, she watches you. Intently. Thoughtfully. And, perhaps, just a bit predatorily.     Let's see how you like that, professor. If you will find yourself willing to accede to my every demand...

     "Bribes and demands? You really know how to throw a dinner," Bran chuckles as he takes a sip. But he doesn't seem to mind. In the slightest. In fact, if anything, it lights a very keen flame of interest. He glances to you and then all eyes are on the slideshow. And the joking is done for now.
     Setting the glass aside, he leans in. His eyes are sharp, quick, and they absorb everything. Details. We are going to have such a good time, you and I. You are a thief, first-rate. "Gillian, Gillian," Bran coos quietly, "...what have you found..."
     Sing song, his voice is like an incantation. It is deep, and the Ls trill with a musicality.
     Bran twists in his seat, looking at you. Your victory. Your beauty in your victory. "Ave, Imperatura," he whispers. "So. Is that a villa you're hiding up your sleeve or are you just happy to see me..."

     She turns pink, tucking a strand of her hair behind one ear. "I never was much of one for settling for one or the other if I could have both," Gillian answers you airily. She leans back to cross her legs, taking a sip of her wine, still watching you from over her glass. "But now that I have your full and undivided attention... shall I list my demands?"

     He glances to the end of the slideshow and then... yes... upon you rests then his undivided attention. His mouth twists in a smile, smooth and heated. "Nor I... in truth." Bran gestures to you. "Please do...exact your price. I think you are going to make me an offer I can't refuse..."
     I wish in this moment I could be honest with you... reveal myself. But you would not understand. You are too important, therefore I must lie a little longer. But one day, Gillian West, you will have the truth from my lips.
     Bran fills the chair that holds him, his hand reaching out to take his glass again. He waits as he sips, and he takes liberty at looking at you. Watching you in your victory, in your conquest, in your discovery, it makes you more than a little desirable.

     "I want a few things," Gillian informs you, taking a sip of her wine, "and not all of them will seem to make sense to you; I assure you that there's logic behind it. First. I'm not an expert on Roman history. It's not my period, it's not my metier, I don't know enough to even begin to know how to tackle this. But it's too valuable for me to just let it go and let someone else get the credit, and too big to let it lie where it is, hidden for another thousand years."
     She kicks off one slipper almost all the way, balancing it on the tips of her toes.
     "So I need your help with this." Gillian lifts a hand to fiddle with her glasses, still watching you steadily, a slight grin curving up the corners of her mouth. She is still a bit flushed, still a bit pink. "For getting my thesis revised, getting it slotted in, getting my advisor to sign off on it, and all the rest. But, there's a catch, and this is where you're going to think I've gone off the rails, and you're probably going to balk. So I'll say right up front that I'm not going to tell you where it is or how to get to it unless you agree to all of my demands."
     Gillian stops to take a sip of wine, and her fidgeting comes to a halt. She lifts her chin casually, giving you a steady scrutiny that anyone familiar with the West girls would recognize and probably want to run from. "I want you to marry me."

     Ex-squeeze me?
     Hello? Come again?
     Dark red eyebrows, like meteors, shoot up in arches over dark aurora eyes. Isn't this a fine howdy-do. You've been played, mate, you have.
     "Ah... well," Bran says finally, "... I will grant you that it is a bit of an odd wager. I've never received a marriage proposal and a villa all on the same night. I think I should have started with the scotch," he notes with a sidelong grin. "Wow. Okay...first of all... I'm flattered. Second of all, you should know that I am, in fact, attracted to you. So that's a good start. But... before I answer yes or no... can I ask you... without casting doubts or aspersions your way... ah... why marriage exactly? There are easier contracts to draw up. I mean, this is a business deal you're proposing. You barely know me. Sure people have gotten married for worse reasons I... just... are you...quite certain..."

     She attempts to look nonchalant. "Oh, quite a few reasons," Gillian answers you readily. "But part of the reason is that to get to the villa involves a few things which are ... well ... just a tad questionable. In fact, one or two of them are downright illegal. Nobody is getting hurt by it, and no money's changing hands, but I've found that the law tends not to really care about that. But one thing that they do care about is that a husband and wife cannot testify against one another in a court of law."
     She settles back with her wine, watching you the way a cat might watch a particularly plump and tasty mouse. "So, yes, I want a partnership, and I don't know enough about this to protect myself, and I don't know enough about this - or the right people, or the right things, or anything - to really get this done right. And I could try to seduce you, but honestly, that isn't my style - I'm pretty honest, mostly, when it comes right down to it. So the best thing I can do is lay my cards on the table, point out the legalities, and moreover, give you reason to want to see me succeed on my own merits, not just yours."
     Gillian kicks her slippers off, shifting to tuck one leg up underneath her as she continues to watch you steadily. "As for sure - I'm quite sure. I know what I want, Doctor Bran Davies. In more ways than one. People don't need to know one another's deepest, darkest secrets in order to get married, and as far as reasons to marry go, professional ones make an awful lot more sense to me than just we're so in love. But, just in case that doesn't convince you... here."
     She is prepared. She takes a sheet of paper from under the laptop, turning it so that it is face-up, and presents you with it. On it is a listing, in detail, of her pedigree, her health, her wealth, her education, and even the results of her last psychiatric evaluation. (The words driven and perfectionist and workaholic tendencies do turn up.) "I'm free, white, and almost twenty-one," Gillian tells you, chin lifting with a brave air of defiance. "And when I turn twenty-one, I come into my trust fund, professor. I can't promise rose gardens, but on the whole, I think I'm considered quite a catch. What do you say?"

     You are a brave, bold thing. And prepared, coo, look at that paperwork...
     Bran glances over it and looks to you. And as he sits back, he is less shocked and more...brimming with his own secrets and confidences. "I'm going to call your bet, Gillian West," Bran notes, sitting forward. He grins quickly. "I bet you weren't expecting that." With a wink, he reaches for not just one of your hands but both of them. "I have .... one or two things up my own sleeves," he murrs. "You will have your villa, your thesis, your degree. I have the power to make all of that come true. And more. What more? Hmm... I can't say that until we're legally binding," he grins at that. "Consider it... my wedding gift to you..."
     His fingers move in the center of your palm, drawing spirals. "So, Gillian," he murmurs, a low sound, "... tell me... does this... marriage come with conjugal visits?" Your hand is lifted to his mouth, his emerald eyes, rimmed with blackness, lifted to you between a veil of red lashes. He grins as he kisses your palm.
     Seduction might not be your style, but it definitely is his. He seems less professor more accomplice in theft now. "The world is about to get a great deal more interesting..."
     Bran grins at you, his mouth parting at your skin. And the spiral is drawn again, only this time with the flick of his tongue.

     She is surprised in turn, and her eyes widen, cheeks going flushed as you take her hands in your own, and as you ... well. Are seductive and changed. She looks to the side, then at you again. "I won't deny that I'm attracted to you," Gillian admits, voice a little lower, now, quieter and with an edge of uncertainty that had not been there before. "And if we marry, then - yes, I'll do my duty as a wife. And - conjugal visits."
     "But," Gillian adds, chin coming back up with asperity as she attempts to jerk her hands back from yours, "not until we're married. I haven't stayed a virgin this long just to throw it away now."

     He lets your hands go easily; they glide from his fingertips with the last brush of his lips. "I will make it worth the wait and worth your while," he says. "I don't know how it will compare to discovering lost villas and achieving fame and glory," Bran grins, and in that grin you know straight away there is no comparison...
     Villas and fame and glory don't stand a chance...
     "But I shall... endeavor to do my best. Now," he takes up his glass and takes a swallow once more. He tips the last of it to you. "What shall we have for dinner, my darling?"

     She eyes you warily, with an element of what have I gotten myself into. She lifts her wine and answers you primly, "We'll have room service sent up and then we can delve into how we're going to organize this." If you think of it as her attempting to regain control, well, you wouldn't be far off the mark. She rises to her feet and finishes her wine.
     "I'm going to get changed," Gillian tells you as she hurries into the bedroom. "You'll find the menu on the desk. Order whatever you like. Just a salad for me..."
     Let the battle of wits and wills commence...

Posted by rowan at April 13, 2009 08:49 PM