Chapter 181 Drama queens
Chapter 181 Drama queens
Elara's POV,
A police officer walks toward us, and I immediately smile the most innocent smile I can manage. Lucien, however, looks as relaxed as if he’d been pulled over on his way home from grocery shopping.
“Evening,” the officer says, eyeing the pathetic Beetle.
“Evening,” Lucien replies pleasantly.
“Car trouble?”
“Yes.”
“Is it yours?”
Lucien doesn't even hesitate.
“No. A friend’s.”
“Lucien,” I whisper. “Remember when I said I’d jump out the window if we were caught?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, now’s the time.”
“Relax. I got this.”
The officer straightens, holding his belt.
“I’d love to see your license and registration, please.”
I close my eyes.
Yeah, we’re going to prison.
Somehow, after fifteen minutes of paperwork, two phone calls, one very confused tow truck driver, and an extremely generous “donation” from Lucien that somehow smooths everything over without technically being called a bribe, the Beetle is finally lifted onto the back of the tow truck.
I watch it disappear down the road like a fallen soldier.
Beside me, Lucien has both hands shoved into his pockets as we stand on the pavement under the streetlights.
He watches the tow truck vanish into the distance. Then he exhales.
“Well…” I glance sideways. “This can’t possibly get any worse.”
Right on cue, something warm splats onto the shoulder of his black jacket.
We both look up as a pigeon flutters away into the night. I bite my lip, and his eyes slowly close. Then, without opening them, he mutters in the flattest voice imaginable,
“…I stand corrected.”
I burst into laughter so hard I nearly double over. Even Lucien can’t hold the expression for long before he starts laughing too.
“Lucien,” I sigh, and he stiffens. “This isn’t working out.”
“No, Elara—”
“I’m sorry, but maybe this isn’t for us,” I say, and turn around. “Let’s go home. We can try another day.”
He’s completely silent as I throw my hand into the air, trying to flag down the next taxi that slows beside the curb.
“Excuse me!”
Before the driver can even lower the window, a hand wraps around my waist.
“No.”
The grip tightens, and I look down. Lucien Kórvac—head of one of the most feared organizations in Europe—is currently attached to me like a distraught koala.
“Lucien,” I hiss, giving some passersby a weird smile for them to look the other way, as it is none of their business.
“I’m vetoing this decision.”
I look down at him.
“You don’t get veto power.”
“I do tonight.”
“Lucien…”
The taxi driver watches us for a second, decides we are both clinically insane, and drives away. I sigh.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to hail a taxi by this time of the day, and here?”
“I don’t care.”
“You’re impossible,” I say. “We have to go home.”
“We can’t. We haven’t even gotten to the bridge.”
What bridge?
“It started with the clothes. Viktor said they were cool and I wanted to impress you. He said you have a thing for Kallian’s shirts.”
“Viktor’s stupid,” I roll my eyes.
“Then the car, then the pigeon.” His shoulders slump dramatically. “...I left the itinerary in the Beetle.”
He slowly lifts his head toward the sky as though demanding answers from God Himself.
“I left…” He closes his eyes. “...the itinerary.” I can’t help it so I laugh, and he opens one eye. “This isn’t funny. I spent three nights planning this.”
That makes me pause. He rubs both hands over his face before letting them fall uselessly to his sides. “I had the timing. You know, there was supposed to be fireworks as we drove over the bridge, right about now.” He sounds devastated. “I had reservations, and I even watched dating videos.”
“...What?”
“I had to research. Hell, I even asked Kallian,” he nods miserably. “There were charts.”
My lips twitch.
“Of course they were. Colour-coded, I guess.”
“Yes, there were colour-coded charts.”
I press my lips together so hard they hurt, and he keeps going.
“I had backup plans, and I even had cards of conversation starters."
“You had—”
“But don’t worry, I memorized them.” I just stare at him. “I just…” He runs both hands through his hair. “I wanted it to be perfect.”
Something inside me softens.
Before I realize what he’s doing, he steps closer, slips both arms around my waist and... kneels right there on the sidewalk.
“Lucien!”
“Please don’t go home.”
Several pedestrians slow down, and one woman actually gasps. A teenager pulls out his phone.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “Get up. You are humiliating yourself.”
“I planned the perfect date.” He looks up at me with those ridiculous, beautiful blue eyes. “I’ve been trying so hard to stay optimistic, but nothing is working already.”
“Holy shi…”
“I lost the fucking itinerary,” he whispers in shame. “And now you’re leaving. It’s all gone horribly wrong.”
People are openly watching us now, and I cover my face.
“Lucien, baby…” I sigh and crouch in front of him. “I don’t care about your stupid itinerary.”
“You don’t understand. I wanted to be prepared.”
Honestly, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. So I reach out instead, and my hands find his face. He’s still kneeling and looking at me like tonight is already ruined.
“Remember Yvette?” I tilt my head. “The party I had without you? I didn’t have half as much fun there as I had sitting in that ridiculous stolen Beetle playing twenty questions with you. No matter how short it was.”
“You’re just being generous.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” I smile. “I am.”
He lets out a quiet huff.
“But I wasn’t with you that night.” The words settle between us. “You wanted us to have the perfect memory.” I brush my thumb over his cheek. “But my favourite memories have never been perfect; they’ve just been honest.”
His shoulders finally loosen.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I really wanted tonight to go well. I wanted you to remember it.”
“You stole an 80s car,” I say pointedly. “And it broke down. Then I watched you break down. Nothing in the world would make me forget this night.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “You witch.”
I laugh and stand, taking both his hands and pulling him to his feet. He comes willingly.
“Hey,” I say with a smile. “Let’s stop trying to find the date you planned…” I gently slide his stained jacket off his shoulders before flinging it on the sidewalk. “...and see what kind of date we accidentally stumble into.”
He looks at me for a long second, then his mouth curves into the smallest smile.
“Where are we going?”
I slip my fingers through his.
“I don’t know.” I give his hand a gentle tug, leading him down the pavement. “But we’ll find out soon enough.”
And I hope he stops trying to control where the night is taking us.
“Oh, darling, wait.” I stop as he walks back and picks up the jacket. “As much as I appreciate the gesture, this jacket is fucking expensive.”
“And they call us women the drama queens.”
As we walk, none of us comment on how naturally Lucien slipped his hand back in mine.