#it smells like love poems and delicate lingerie

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I love you Blackberry Rose Oud soy candle 💋🖤🌹

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The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 13

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle.  It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes.  With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays.  Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3  |  Masterlist

—

Friday - the wedding, pt 1/2

“Rose.  Rose?  Rose!”

“Hmm?”  Rose looked up, blinking, at the sound of her name.  She’d been engrossed in examining her fresh manicure, and by the exasperation in her mother’s voice, it wasn’t the first time she’d been called.  “What?”

Scowl firmly in place, Jackie huffed.  “What’s wrong with you? You look like you’re in space, and not on Cloud 9.  It’s your wedding day- why aren’t you happier?”

“I am happy,” Rose forced a smile, conscious of the woman behind her doing her hair.  “Everything’s lovely, it’s a gorgeous day.  I’m fine.”

Her mother narrowed her eyes, and Rose calmly returned the gaze; she’d learned long ago how to deal with Jackie when she got like this, and refused to flinch.  Eventually the other woman nodded, though she still didn’t look satisfied. “Fine.  Now, I was thinking-”

-

Wrapping her dressing gown tighter around herself, Rose wandered down the stairs to the first floor.  With the reception only a few hours away the floor was a bustle of activity, as the catering company’s waitstaff finished setting out tables and placing settings in anticipation of the dinner to come.  Trying to keep out of the way she crept into the room, standing in the corner to observe the goings-on.  One long table was set for thirty in an L shape, the longer section by the windows. A DJ booth was set up in the corner near her, with a fabricated dance floor set up to avoid scratching the original wood flooring.

Keeping to the wall she made her way closer to the table, stopping behind the chair designated for her after the ceremony.  When I sit there, it will be as Mrs. Malcolm Tucker, she thought.  Viscountess Gallifrey.

She felt nothing.

Even standing here, the morning of their wedding, looking at their reception space, it didn’t feel real, tangible.

Her heart hurt.

“Ma’am?”

Startled, she turned to find a nervous waiter next to her, a tray of teacups in hand, clearly setting them at the places.  “Sorry,” she mumbled, and they did an awkward half-dance moving around each other.

Suddenly overwhelmed by the seemingly-loud sounds of the setup, she fled.

-

Trailing her fingers along the shelves Rose breathed deeply, letting the quiet air of the library soothe her nervous energy.  It smelled of smoke from a wood-burning burning fire, fine whisky, old books – and Malcolm.

From her very first visit to the room, way back in her first year at uni, it had been one of her favorite spots on Earth.  She’s spent countless hours in the library at her parents’ mansion, but it hadn’t been until she arrived here, in a room that had served that purpose for literally hundreds of years, that it brought her the joy and comfort she’d always instinctively known she would find amongst books.  Each one promised an adventure, travels through space and time, without having to leave a cosy chair.

Nothing changed; no telltale creak of the door, no footsteps on the carpet, nothing to inform her senses, but all the same, she knew suddenly that he was there, from the spark of electricity that raced across her skin.

“It’s bad luck for you to see me before the ceremony,” she murmured, not lifting her eyes from the copy of Sherlock Holmes in front of her.

“I don’t believe in luck,” Malcolm murmured, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.  “Besides, I’m reasonably certain that only applies to the dress, not the bride.  After all, I saw Missy the morning of our wedding.”

Rose’s lips twitched, and she arched an eyebrow at the shelf.  “You’re divorced.”

“Exactly.  If the bad luck bit was true, we would’ve been married for much, much longer than only five years.”

She laughed at that, reluctantly turning around to find him grinning just behind her, looking inordinately pleased with himself.  “I suppose that’s fair.  If you’re not careful, though, you’ll get a reputation as a five-year husband.  What will the next Mrs. Tucker think?”  The idea of him remarrying was enough to make her breath catch, her heart physically aching.  But she kept her smile, not wanting to go there with him in front of her.

“Oh, there won’t be another Mrs. Tucker,” he said breezily, momentarily freezing before clearing his throat.  “I mean, I wouldn’t- not again. Twice is enough for me.  I doubt I would ever meet anyone who could change my mind.”

It was just wishful thinking, a projection of what she wanted that to mean, but for a single heartbeat she heard a soft, wistful tone in his voice, one that said I’m not letting you go, I love you, promise me forever.  “I suppose we’ll see,” she sighed.  “Why’re you here, anyway?”

His brow furrowed, and she waited as he searched his memory.  “Oh! Apparently you’re worrying everyone; Clara thought you might’ve done a runner.”

“I’m right here,” she shrugged, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, painfully conscious that under her dressing gown, she wore only a slip and lacy lingerie.  (A girl could hope – she wanted to be prepared just in case the wedding night turned into a wedding night.)  “Not even wearing my trainers.”  She held a foot out for inspection, earning herself a chuckle when he saw her fluffy slippers.

“I see that.  Can we…”

Rose let him guide her to the plush sofa in front of the fireplace, delicately curling her legs under her and adjusting the hem of her robe for decency, though it didn’t help when his eyes lingered on her bare thigh for a moment.  “What’s up?”

Malcolm sighed, leaning back and running his hands over his face.  “You don’t have to go through with this,” he said, bluntly but not unkindly.  “I’m asking far too much of you, and would absolutely understand if you want to back out.  You haven’t been yourself these last few weeks, and I can’t bear to be the cause of your unhappiness.  Truly.”

“You’re not!  You’re not.”  The idea was so absurd that Rose couldn’t help but blurt it out, hurt but not entirely surprised that he’d drawn that conclusion; hadn’t Clara warned her he thought just that last weekend?  “It’s just… this isn’t what I had pictured.  Not that I’ve ever spent that much time planning my wedding, or my future, but…”

“I know.”  He smiled wryly.  “I never considered marrying again- I thought, after the divorce, that I would spend the rest of my life alone.  And that… was okay.”  His eyes softened, and he reached out, fingertips barely grazing over her knee before his hand settled firmly on the couch next to her, not quite touching.  “I realize this isn’t ideal.  I don’t want you to regret doing this.  But… I promise you, I am a good husband.  We’ve always enjoyed each other’s company, and… we make each other laugh, and smile, and at the end of the day, that’s what makes a marriage work.  It’s not necessarily about the- the physical.  They say ‘marry your best friend’ for a reason.”

Rose bit her lip to keep from smirking.  “And how’d that work out for you?”

“I got Clara, so, brilliant.  Come on- it can’t be any worse than your current situation,” he pointed out.  “Besides, blokes seem to love married women, maybe this is just what you need.  So, what do you say?”

She gave into the laughter, settling her hand on his and running her thumb over his knuckles.

“I suppose I say… I do.”

-

Malcolm stared critically at the reflection in front of him, tugging on the hem of the waistcoat before smoothing it down.  The clock he could just see out of the corner of his eye told him he had twenty more minutes until it was time to go down for the ceremony, and the longer he was left alone with his thoughts, the more jittery he became.  It was almost as if by soothing Rose’s fears he’d absorbed then, making him doubt everything.

This is the right thing, he told himself once again, narrowing his eyes at the glass.  She agreed to it, and I believe her – Rose Tyler does nothing she doesn’t want to do.  This will make both of our lives better- easier- and won’t change all that much.  It’s a signature on the line and that’s it.

His romantic heart, usually kept buried deep inside him, locked away since before his divorce, continued to bleed all over his sleeve.  Why doesn’t she love me?  It was a ridiculous question, of course, his rational mind knew that- the greater question would be why she would- if she did- but at the end of the day a small boy with taped-up glasses who was a bit too much of an odd duck for the popular kids still lived in his chest, wishing people would like him while doing everything possible to keep them at arm’s length, or further.  That was part of why he and Missy had gotten so deeply entrenched in each other – they’d spent most of their childhood each other’s only friend, and they’d mistaken that for love.

Sometimes he wished he could go back to his teenage self, awkward and gangly at fifteen and overly devoted to Missy, and tell him that what he felt wasn’t love, not real love, not the kind the songs and poems and books and movies were about.  That he’d know it when he found it, mid-forties and utterly enchanted with his assistant.  But, of course, if he did that, if he saved himself the heartbreak of an ill-fated relationship and marriage with Missy, he wouldn’t have his daughter.  His beautiful, precious, wonderful, awe-inspiring little girl, who pushed him to be better just by believing that he was.

And without her, he wouldn’t have met Rose.

“Dad?”

Startling violently he spun on his heel, nearly falling over in his surprise at being yanked so thoroughly from his thoughts.  “Yes?”

“All right there?” Clara asked, unable to full mask her smirk as she watched him from the door.  “You should be more comfortable.”

“I’m fine.”  Brushing his hands down along his coat, he crossed his arms.  “What do you want?”

“Nice.”  She moved inside, rearranging her expression to appear more sympathetic, but unable to fool him – her eyes still sparkled.  “Now, I need to talk to you, it’s serious.”

Sitting himself down on the bench at the end of his bed, he watched her arrange herself on the loveseat across from him.  “I’m all ears.”

“So, I was talking to the reverend about the ceremony,” Clara started, smoothing the skirt of her dress over her knees.  “And he said there’s this rule- it’s really stupid, and it really sucks.”

Malcolm’s brow furrowed, confused.  Despite her attempts at appearing severe and serious, her tells of lying gave her away- what she was lying about he wasn’t quite sure, but the way she covered her elbow confirmed it.  (Once of his great accomplishments as a father, in his own humble opinion, was convincing her as a little girl that when she lied, her elbow would turn green.  Somehow, despite becoming a teacher, she’d never realized the truth; it was a foolproof way of fact-checking any story, which frustrated her to no end as a teenager, unable to tell how he always knew she was lying.)

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“Okay, so, he said that the best man isn’t supposed to really know the bride, or at least, not be close to her.  You know, for perspective, so he can properly advise the groom, that sort of thing.”

What?  “I don’t follow,” he said honestly.  Clearly she had a reason for this, but he couldn’t see the point – it made no sense.  Why not just say you would rather stand up for Rose?  That, he could understand- he was Clara’s father, but after more than a decade of friendship, she and Rose were the sisters the other had never had.  But why string him along like this, until ten minutes before the ceremony?

“I’m sorry, Daddy, I just… don’t know what to do.”  Her eyes sparkled, bottom lip clamped firmly between her teeth, and when her gaze trailed behind him, he frowned, though it was the voice that made him turn to look himself.

“I may be able to help with that.”

Without thinking Malcolm rose to his feet, staring at the doorway with his mouth open wide, unable to believe his eyes.

“Brigadier?”