#So sorry I gotta post this as a new thread pea!! But from hereon you can just trim it w/ xkit rewritten easily thankfully ;w;

[elise-venturi]

@fjorddeluca

This is the kind of thing he has done before. The kind of thing he will always do. The kind of thing he is known for. This is the kind of thing he’s expected to do. An heir who is searching for his own heir, or so they think. 

He was Fjord De Luca, the son of the Vincent De Luca, a man who has never been able to settle down despite the marriage that was arranged and the son Madeline De Luca bore him. Though they were no royal family, there had always been a precedent set. They were heralded as close to a royal family and to their followers, they were royalty. 

He was their prince and thus, he was treated as such. 

And his reputation proceeded him before he had gotten a chance to explore it himself. Found, by accident, kissing the pretty, young maid who had been a new hire in the supply closet. They had meant for it to be a secret but she had smiled at him and he had been so lonely — so touch starved, so ignored, so lost — that her sweet words had won him over in the end. So, they had gone into that closet — him fifteen and her close to seventeen — and it had lasted six minutes and three seconds before Martina, the head of domestic services in their home, had thrown the door open.

That simple action, that simple incident, had painted him as the Casanova of the De Luca family. He spent years after cultivating that image, taking pretty girls out on the family yacht or on extravagant dates just to dump them a day later or a night later or that very same day. 

He became Vincent De Luca’s son before he ever became himself. 

And so, when he had popped his head into the office he’d been in one too many times in his life, a smirk on his mouth, the annoyed sigh from Matteo was to be expected. His personal bodyguard — the one hired when he’d gone on that impromptu and impulsive and reckless flight to Cagliari and gotten shot because the right person recognised him as Fjord De Luca at the wrong time — knew what was happening. 

(”Another date, bambino?” The older man asked, eyebrow raised.

Smoke billowed from the expensive cigarettes he smoked and that was to be expected. He got paid a hefty sum to look after the De Luca’s only heir but what his parents did not realise they were paying for another parent too.

Naturally, Fjord would deny needing one of those. He didn’t need the ones given to him, what use would a third be?

“This one is different, zio,” he had sighed. “She’s… different.”

“Everyone single one of them is different.” Matteo sat forward, elbows on the table in an act that would have gotten Fjord a hard smack when he was too young to hit back. “The French model, the Greek scholar, the Italian socialite. Is this one going to be left in the dust too?”

And the thing is, Fjord did not like being the De Luca Casanova but he hadn’t outright tried to fight the accusation either. He didn’t seek, his reputation stopped many a smart girl from coming to his door, but they find him. And if they give him attention, then he gave it back to them.

As harsh as Matteo’s words might be, Fjord understood that he was trying to protect another innocent person from being trampled by his actions.

“It’ll just be for a couple of hours, zio,” Fjord grumbled. “I’m taking a car, if you need to follow me.”

“You know I do.” Matteo told him, stubbing out the cigarette. “You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days, bambino.”

“Yeah,” Fjord sighed. “I know.”)

Now, Fjord was making his way out of the estate with Elise and it felt much different than most dates had. For once, this actually did feel like a date. This wasn’t a chance to get away from the estate and his parents. He wasn’t using the curiosity of another to escape his own reality but he was escaping.

Somehow, he was escaping.

With Elise, Apollo could finally escape the title given to him by Zeus. Apollo could finally evade the sky, he could finally escape the dread of ensuring that morning came and everything fell into place perfectly. He was able to come down amongst the flowers and the rivers of the common people and feel alive. 

So, why did he gain a sense of dread from the whole thing? Even as he pulled the gun out from his holster, dropping it into the crafted little space into the door by his thigh, there was an air of wrong. 

Apollo, Apollo, they would cry, we need the sunlight.

A deep ache in his chest as he watched Elise pick her phone up and read something. A text from a friend or a parent or someone who cared enough about her to text her. A person interested in her and her whereabouts. A person who might seek her opinion or her comments. Someone who was speaking to her because they wanted to and not because she could do something for them.

Something he was doing now too.

Apollo, Apollo, they would demand, how could you do this?

He had avoided his family as he left today. Ducked past their rooms and their dining room and he’d snuck down to the car. He’d taken the keys and he’d taken a gun and he’d taken his black card. He could do anything he wanted and they wouldn’t be angry at him but this — this was wrong. 

Because a French model or Greek scholar or Italian socialite were acceptable but ever since Martina dragged him out of that closet, his parents had made one thing clear. Nothing like this. No one like Elise. Pick someone worthy. Pick someone rich. Pick someone who, if things blow up, you can marry and bring more wealth and power to our family.

Do not date someone we would be embarrassed of. Do not date someone who would ruin our family name. Do not date someone you might fall in love with. 

Apollo, Apollo, they would laugh, you’re going to destroy your family.

In a week’s time, they had the private event. He hadn’t listened too much as his parents spoke about it over dinner but he knew it’d be important. A private event but they were inviting important business partners and their families. A private event but they had selected a few potential business partners to attend. 

Owners of news firms, owners of manufacturing companies, owners of TV networks and even a few non-Italian potentials. All important to expand their world. All needed if his transition from prince to king is to go smoothly.

The whole thing made him feel sick. He wants to run away.

Apollo, Apollo, they would scream, you’re going to burn away their wings.

His light brown eyes settled on Elise, watching her as she pushed her phone away. He listened to her words, the talk of an overly worried mother, and felt a deep pull in his gut. The longing of a child who had only ever been weaned on resentment. A worried mother, what a novel concept. A mother who cared about her child’s whereabouts instead of letting inebriated words remind him of one simple thing.

You are only here because I cannot create another.

“I would hope you don’t tell her about this,” Fjord smirked, playfully. “There is a lot of things I can fight but a resentful mother — that has always been my biggest weakness.” And that isn’t a lie, not really. In a sense, Fjord has grown to accept that his father would always be painful hits and mocking words. But his mother, she was supposed to be more.

His hands turned tightly around the steering wheel and his foot pressed against the pedal. The car peeled away from the big house, down the driveway, and he only half glanced in the rear view mirror. At any moment, Matteo would make his presence known. “I would tell you,” Fjord spoke casually, signalling to the formally dressed guard at the gate to open them, before he gripped the wheel again. “But that’d be no fun, yeah? It wouldn’t be a secret anymore.”

And maybe, he would’ve added, the car is bugged.

Still, he offered Elise a gentle smile as the gates pulled open, giving way to the beautiful countryside that lay out before them. They had miles to go before they got out of De Luca property and that was good for him. “Don’t be scared, yah?” He reached over, deciding he was too late to back out, and gently touched her shoulder. It burned him to the bone. “I won’t take you anywhere dangerous or scary. Trust me, I don’t want to get into trouble today. I want it to be about us.”

Us. The word lingered on his tongue, burning it too. There wasn’t a single thing about Elise that didn’t make him feel like he was burning — or, perhaps, he was finally allowing himself to give in. To stop pretending like the flames had always hurt him. Even Apollo couldn’t bear the weight of the sun.

“But right now,” he grinned and held the wheel tightly in one hand. “We’re being followed.”

The words might scare her but he doubted it. Elise seemed strong and she seemed like she would be more curious than worried. She worked for them, after all, she would know that security was tight. 

“And I don’t want that.” 

His fingers trailed down her arm, until he could almost touch her hand, and then he pulled it away. He gripped the steering wheel tightly and looked ahead, at that open gate. “Hold on tight, cara mia.”

Pressing his foot down tightly on the gas pedal, Fjord sped out of the estate and down the road. If Matteo or anyone else were going to follow them, then they would need to do a great deal to catch up with them. 

And the fall out from that, Fjord was willing to take.

@elise-venturi

It was a funny thing, really. The longing to tell her mother everything and yet, having a reality where something as simple as that was near nonexistent. It was as if simplicity was an idea that the Venturi Household could not comprehend, could not grasp in their minds filled with webs and complexities. 

She remembered being fifteen and laying eyes on her first crush, the boy at her school. He was the epitome of what she did not know and did not have; a loving family, the humble home with a white picket fence, a spotless future devoid of any taint. She was fascinated by him, to say the least. Wanted to know the ins and outs of his life, how much it differed from the one she knew so well and, perhaps, if a world like his would be so kind as to make room for someone from a world like hers (dirty, corrupt. everything she pretended not to be). 

The day that he asked her out for the school dance was the day she ran back home; her exhausted, weary legs from training the night before being supported by pure adrenaline alone. She was happy, excited even, to go home. A feeling she could never quite equate with the idea of going back to her household ever since she became exposed to the outside world - one where civil hands stayed civilly clean. But that day... It was different; something wonderful (something beautiful) had happened, and she needed to tell someone. And who better than her very own mother? Surely she would be happy for her daughter, wouldn’t she? For all the steel and ice that her mother had fashioned herself out of, Elise had hoped— no, believed that there was still, at the very least, some humanity left in her. That she would still have the heart to congratulate her. Tell her how happy she was that her dearest daughter had finally found the light at the end of a tunnel she was so desperately trying to climb out of. 

Looking back, Elise now saw the naivety in her actions and ideas. 

It was naive of her to hope that she could join the likes of her first crush, but it was even more naive of her to think for a second that her mother (beautiful yet cold, dignified yet ruthless) would be glad that her daughter -the one whom for years she had tried to change to be more like them-  would even consider the idea of having a simple life. 

The life of simplicity is only but a fool’s dream. Her mother had said, disdain and befuddlement written all across her face. It was obvious that Gulia Venturi could not (would not) understand her child and though for years she’d hoped Elise would grow out of her delusions, this very act itself was enough to tell her that her daughter would not (could not) let this go. And thus, on the night where she was supposed to be Cinderella, dancing the night away with her prince, she was forced to stay home and learn the ins and outs of their family, her tears and heartbreak brushed away like dirt.  So even if Fjord had told her she could tell her mother about their little getaway, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Not when this was her savoring what could have been nine years ago.

 "You don't have to worry about that," she smiled, looking at Fjord. “She will never know about this.” And this being my heart, Elise thought. This being your heart, and the words we share just between us. Because that was the least she could do, afterall. Keep any of the pieces that Fjord chose to share with her -be it his heart or his words- tucked safely away. Her life had always been an open book but she’d like to think that even books had hidden words somewhere. The ones that people skimmed over, passing them by, assuming they weren’t important when in reality, they were far more valuable, more paramount, than the ones readily shown.

“Mm yes, I suppose that's true.” She laughed softly. “In all honesty, secrets make me queasy but, perhaps, it would be best not to know.”  It would give me an excuse to not answer Romilda too, she mused quietly.

As the gates pulled open, Fjord began speaking, and for a moment she was listening; her perfected smile in place, hands politely placed in her lap like the good principessa she was taught to be; but it was when he touched her ever so gently, hand gripping her shoulder before lithe fingers trailed down her arm so sweetly, that his words were lost on her.

Soft touches and lingering moments were naught in a household such as hers. For what use were they in a place where fists spoke louder than words and shrapnels were enough to get the point across? To build an empire carved out of stone is to have hands calloused from touching sharp edges and jagged pieces. Hands that were soft and supple, delicate and cared for with love, were reserved for the ones born in civilized families. The one who walked the streets without fear, blissfully unaware of the undertakings that occur in the very heart of the city they so loved and adored.

Verona was a city of love, but Verona was a city that bled and wrung its victims dry just the same. It spared no one, Elise knew that much,  and so, when Fjord touched her so dangerously kind and spoke to her about wanting this to just be about them, as if what they had were so much more than a first date going who knows where, she was ultimately at a loss at what to do, what to say, how to react.

Because though she was still the fifteen year old girl silently praying for a change, she was now the twenty four year old principessa with a terrible weight on her shoulder. 

And his utterance about them being followed was another searing reminder of that. 

“Being followed... What on earth did I get myself into?" She shook her head with a chuckle, feigning disbelief. "But... I suppose that is the life of a boy-king, huh?" A subtle hint of empathy laced her words, as she silently pitied Fjord for sharing the same fate as her.

Holding onto the door handle tightly, Elise turned to Fjord just before he sped off, whispering a quiet,

"Okay, I trust you."

@fjorddeluca