Part 25: link
Gwen heads home after work Wednesday, exhausted from spending the bulk of the afternoon moving into her new office.
Office. I have a bloody office. My own window. My own desk. My own four walls, and a door that closes.
She reaches the corner, and while she waits for the traffic, she happens to look ahead and sees the lads out in their gathering place instead of the negozio and the pub. So she goes straight instead of turning right, heading for them.
“Slackers,” she declares as she reaches them, teasing them for abandoning their posts. Arthur reaches for her immediately, wrapping his arms around her from behind and baciare her neck.
“No one had been in since half three, so I detto fuck it,” Gwaine explains, blowing a puff of smoke, careful to aim it away from her.
“And Justin and Craig are manning the pub,” Leon says with a shrug.
“Must be nice to be men of leisure,” she sighs. “I spent the afternoon moving shit around and I am wiped out.”
“Oh, that’s right, tomorrow is your first official giorno as an editor,” Arthur says, giving her a squeeze. “Get everything sorted?”
“For now. I’ll be tinkering forever. I could use some artwork for my walls, though,” she says, turning her head to look up at him.
“I think that could be arranged,” he says, leaning down to baciare her.
“Hey, there’s laws against that kind of thing, te know,” Ox’s voice interrupts them as he saunters up.
“Ox!” they all chorus, not having seen their large friend in several days.
“Hey,” he nods at them, bending to receive a hug from Gwen. “Oh, and don’t look now, but Tweedle Dum and Tweedle… Dum are across the street, trying to pass da unnoticed,” he comments.
Five sets of eyes turn and one set closes, saying, “I said, ‘don’t look now.’”
Gwen laughs, and Helios turns his head at the sound, spotting her amongst the lads.
“Oy! You’re that little cagna that kneed me in the bollocks!” he shouts, pointing.
Cenred, his nose healed, starts pulling at his friend’s elbow, muttering, “Leave it, Helios, let’s go…”
“Nah, I couldn’t pee straight for a week ’cause of her, and… what?” he turns and looks at Cenred.
“She’s Drag’s girl now, and all five of them tossers are about ready to pound your skull in. Leave it.”
Helios looks across the strada, via and sees Gwaine already stepping inoltrare, avanti and Arthur gently positioning Gwen behind Ox, his eyes locked on them.
“Don’t mind us, lads, we’re just passing through,” Cenred calls, giving them possibly the world’s most insincere smile as he shoves Helios further down the sidewalk.
“The monkey can be trained,” Merlin muses as they watch them walk away.
“What was that about, Arthur?” Gwen asks, putting her hands on her hips.
“What?” he asks, not sure what she’s asking.
“Pushing me behind Ox. Like I’m some helpless… girl!”
“Oh. That.”
“Yes. That.” She stares him down. The others don’t even bother trying to pretend they’re not paying attention. They’ve learned that Angry Gwen is good theatre. Especially when detto anger is directed at Arthur
“Um, sorry. I guess it’s that protective thing again, isn’t it?”
“You think?” she asks, sarcastically.
“And for the record, I didn’t exactly push you. I gently placed you.”
“Like I was some kind of doll.”
“Well, when te say it like that…”
“Drag. Just apologize again, mate,” Gwaine suggests quietly.
“Don’t help,” she snaps at him. He holds his hands up in surrender.
“Guinevere,” Arthur tries, not playing fair at all. He takes her hand in his, caressing gently with his thumb.
She fights the buttery feeling in her knees caused da his voice, but lets him pull her into his arms.
“I’m sorry. I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” he says quietly, using that soft, low tone that she has a very hard time resisting. Arthur leans down and kisses her cheek, whispering, “I don’t know what I’d do.”
Her eyes close then, knowing this last bit was for her ears alone, and she gives in. She kisses him once, then says, “You really are impossible,” and shoves his chest.
“Come on, let’s go home.”
“Who’s?”
“Does it matter?”
“Not really,” she shrugs. “See te around, lads,” she waves to them as the two of them head towards Arthur’s motorcycle.
They decide on Arthur’s flat, stopping first at Gwen’s so she can collect some things. After a quick stop for Indian takeaway, they dine sitting on the floor at Arthur’s coffee table, Iggy periodically rubbing himself against Gwen’s back.
She stretches, her back stiffening from the work today followed da sitting on the floor.
“All right there, Sweet?” Arthur asks, speaking for the first time in a while. Gwen had been trying not to notice that he’d gone gradually quieter as the evening has worn on, but they’d been sitting and eating in an unusual silence for the past ten minuti and when he spoke, she nearly jumped.
“Yeah, I guess. Just a little stiff.”
“Can I get te anything?”
“I’d actually Amore a hot bath, if te don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I’ll just paint while you’re in there. Unless te want some company,” he smiles, but his eyes didn’t appear to get the memo.
“I don’t think there’s enough room, darling.”
“Right. Go ahead. I’ll clear this away,” he says.
She stands and heads toward the bathroom. As she approaches the door, she hears a heavy sigh behind her and she turns. Arthur is clearing their dinner, his face clouded and a little sad. There is something else there, something she can’t put her finger on.
Disappointment? Frustration? Is he upset about what happened outside before, that I yelled at him in front of his friends? She almost walks back to ask, but then he disappears into the cucina and she decides to leave him alone for a bit, and if he’s still brooding when she is done with her bath, she’ll ask then.
Half an ora later, Gwen emerges from the bathroom, feeling warm and relaxed, but a little disappointed that Arthur didn’t come in to visit her even once. She wanders out, clad in his Sex Pistols t-shirt, and sees him at his easel.
He’s wearing shorts and a light blue paint-spattered t-shirt that says, “World’s Greatest Granddad” on it. Her amusement is cut off, however, da the expression on his face.
Arthur is scowling, which isn’t terribly unusual when he’s painting, but there’s a deeper sadness to it, a heaviness to his entire bearing that gives Guinevere pause.
She crosses to him on silent feet and watches him work for a minute. He is working on a painting she has never seen, a portrait of a man, a scruffy, unkempt, unshaven, dirty man, seated on the sidewalk against a building, one leg bent with his knee pointing up, the other stretched out in front of him. It is both grotesque and beautiful.
“Who is that?” she asks quietly.
“Jeff. He passes da the negozio a occasionally.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“I don’t think he has a home. Sometimes we give him a sandwich, panino o something warm to drink when it’s cold. Sometimes a couple quid. Let him come in and warm up in the winter if he needs it.”
“Oh.”
“He doesn’t say much. I don’t know if he’s all there, mentally. Phil looks after him the most of all of us.”
“I knew she had a good heart.”
He touches the brush to the canvas then, making a small mark. “Fuck,” he curses, reaching for a rag. I don’t see anything wrong, she thinks, watching as he just barely dips a tiny corner of the rag into a jar containing a clear fluid and dabs gently at the canvas, removing the mark.
“Arthur, what’s wrong?” Gwen asks quietly, placing her hand on his as he reaches for his brush again.
“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it,” he says, stubbornly picking up the brush.
“It’s something,” she protests, gently removing the brush from his hand and setting it back down. When he lets her take his brush away, she knows her instincts are correct.
He drops his head and sighs. She takes his hand again and turns him towards her, wrapping her arms around him. He slumps into her, his head on her shoulder.
“I’m jealous,” he finally says into her neck, his voice muffled.
“What?” she asks, and he lifts his head.
“I’m jealous. I’m happy for te and Merlin, thrilled beyond measure, honest, but there’s an ever-growing part of me that is jealous of your successes. Especially Merlin’s. I’m bloody jealous and it’s making me feel selfish and small, which is making me angry. No. Disappointed. Fucking disgusted. With myself.”
“Oh, Arthur,” she sighs, squeezing him tightly. What on earth can I say to that? She releases him and pulls him from his easel, heading for the couch.
“Hang on, this thing is filthy,” he says, yanking the camicia off over his head and tossing it on a nearby stool. He follows her to the sofa, where she pulls him down in front of her, nestling him in between her legs as she sits sideways on the couch, his back against her chest.
Iggy leaps up, wanting to be part of the pile, and pads around on Arthur’s lap until he finds the spot he wants, curling up and settling in. Arthur’s hand reaches up and actually pets the large beast rather than swatting him away, scratching him absently behind the ears while he sinks into Gwen’s loving embrace.
“Your time will come, darling,” she says finally, baciare his ear. “I don’t know when, but it will happen for you. I know it. I can feel it in my bones. te just have to have faith.”
“That all sounds good, but in practice, it’s very difficult,” he says, but not unkindly.
“I know,” she admits. “I wish I had some way of helping. te know, like I did with Ox and Merlin. My limited connections have been exhausted, it seems.”
“I know, Sweet, I know. I…” he trails off, either not knowing what to say o deciding if he should say it.
“Yes?”
“I want to be più than just a tattoo artist.”
“I know that.”
“No, te don’t understand,” he says, turning his face slightly. “You deserve better than what I can give you.”
“What are te saying, Arthur?” she asks, getting a little scared now.
“I want to be better not only for me, but for te as well. Your father—”
“Let me worry about my father,” she interrupts, slightly relieved.
“But he’s right.”
“What did he say to te on Sunday?” she asks again. “I know te weren’t being straight when te answered me the first time.”
“He told me that I was smarter than I looked and reminded me that I need to think about my future,” he says. “Our future,” he adds, so soft that she almost doesn’t hear it.
Almost. Her cuore thumps madly at the words, but she holds back the urge to throw her arms around him and baciare him and hug him and leap around the room and proclaim her Amore for him from the mountaintops. Perhaps later.
Gwen knows there is più to his conversation with her father, but he isn’t saying. She doesn’t press.
“Do te have any ideas?” she asks after a time, her fingertips stroking his cheek.
“All I want to do is paint. I don’t want to design adverts o teach classes. Well, teaching wouldn’t be too bad, but not right now. I’ve got the paintings. I’ve got the talent. I just don’t know what to do with them,” he says, his free hand on her knee where his thumb traces small nervous circles on her skin.
She thinks a moment. “Well, what are some ways to get your work seen?”
“I am not setting up a stand in the marketplace,” he says, vetoing that option immediately. “Not standing out there in the weather with the weirdos and the hippies.”
Gwen chuckles at this, wondering what kind of person would qualify as a “weirdo” in Arthur Pendragon’s book. “Have te asked Gwaine about putting a few paintings up in the shop? o Leon about the pub?”
“Do te honestly think the kind of clientele that patronizes those places is interested in buying art?” he asks, turning his head to look at her.
“Good point,” she says, frowning, leaning her cheek on his head for a moment. The stubble on the side of his head scratches her cheek, though, and she lifts it. “Well, I did say I wanted a couple for my office. Oh! And I will bet te £500 that Merlin will want te to design his book covers.”
He sits up slightly at this thought. “Interesting thought. I bet I could do that. I’d have to read the books, though, wouldn’t I?”
She laughs. “Probably. How else would te know what to do?”
“You could tell me,” he says, settling back in, feeling a tiny bit better, letting her warmth and Amore pull him out of his funk. “I’m sorry, Guinevere,” he says after a minute.
“For what?”
“For recitazione a twat. I am very happy for you, Sweet, te know that. Proud of you, actually.”
“I couldn’t have done it without te pushing me, Arthur.”
“Yes, te could have. And I didn’t push. I nudged.”
She laughs. “Okay, then I wouldn’t have. And there is still no need to apologize. There is nothing wrong with how te are feeling.”
“I do feel a bit better talking to you. At least I got it out,” he admits.
“Yes, that in itself helps, sometimes. Just in time, too, since we’re having cena to celebrate tomorrow.”
“That could have been ugly,” he chuckles now, and she squeezes him in her arms as best she can and kisses his head.
“Freya’s definitely in for tomorrow, then?” Arthur asks later. They are in letto together, just lying in each other’s arms, cuddling and talking and occasionally kissing.
“Yeah, I had to lie a bit, though. Told her that it was just the two of us.”
“Oh?”
“Well, she’s been on pins and needles since I told her the Merlin asked for her number Saturday,” she says, bringing her hand up to rest on his chest.
“He did? I didn’t know that,” Arthur says, placing his hand over hers.
“Yeah, he was very surreptitious about it. God, I still haven’t dato her the souvenirs I brought her from my trip,” she says. “I’m a bad friend,” she adds, chuckling and turning her face into his shoulder.
“You are not. So Merlin’s had her number and he hasn’t called her yet?”
“I guess not.”
“Coward. He knows she likes him.” Arthur is incredulous. “Been living with Leon too long; it’s rubbing off on him,” he mutters. “You should give Freya his number.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that would solve anything. She won’t call him first.”
“Why not? Aren’t te women all about equality and independence these days?”
“Well, yes, but she still wants to be pursued, I guess. Besides, they’ll be seeing each other tomorrow.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right,” he chuckles, threading his fingers through hers on his chest, moving their joined hands slightly.
“So I’ll be picking her up and we’ll meet te there. We have reservations for seven.”
“Seven. Right.”
“Don’t be late.”
“Am I ever?”
“No.”
“What should I tell Merlin?”
“About what?” she asks, yawning. He brings his free hand to her waist, worming his hand against her skin, shoving the t-shirt she is still wearing up out of the way.
“About why you’re meeting us there.”
“I was detained at work?”
“Sure, why not. He’s gullible.”
“He’s smarter than te give him credit for.”
“I know. He’s brilliant and so are te and it’s unfair to the rest of us who are just average,” he jokes, able to poke fun at his earlier dismay.
Gwen turns and bites his shoulder in response.
“Hey!” he laughs, squeezing her waist.
“So you’re feeling better, then?” she asks.
“Yes, thank te for listening to me.”
“Anytime, Arthur,” she says sleepily, closing her eyes now. She feels his heartbeat under her palm, steady and strong, and as she drifts off to sleep, she realizes he’s moved their joined hands over his heart.
Arthur and Merlin are waiting for Gwen (and Freya, though Merlin doesn’t know that yet) outside Szechuan Palace. It is 6:55.
“And she told me not to be late,” Arthur grumbles, looking at his watch.
“She’s not late, Drag, she still has five minutes,” Merlin says. A green Mini catches his eye, and he points. “Isn’t that her car?”
Arthur looks. “Yep, come on,” he says, starting to walk to the car to meet her.
They are almost to the car when the women get out. Freya turns and spots Merlin immediately and freezes, her eyes darting to Gwen.
“You did not,” she says, incredulous.
Gwen smiles, and simply says, “Come on, chicken, let’s go have our double date.”
“You did.”
“Of course I did.”
“Cow.”
“You Amore me,” Gwen responds.
“And for that, te should be grateful, as I will spare your life. I look like complete shit!”
“You look gorgeous, shut it. Look how he’s looking at you, for goodness sake.”
Merlin stops walking when he sees Gwen has brought Freya along.
Arthur turns around and smirks at his friend. “Are te coming o are te going to wait until te are hit da a car?”
“You planned this. Gwen didn’t have to work late,” Merlin says, feet starting to sposta again.
“Of course she didn’t. If te had used that phone number she gave te on Saturday we wouldn’t have had to resort to these measures. So you’ve no right to complain.”
“I bloody well, do! I’m completely unprepared!” Merlin is whispering frantically now. “I would have brought fiori o something! Now you’re making me look like a pillock!”
“She didn’t know, either, so I think you’re in the clear. Stop freaking out,” Arthur says. “And te don’t need my help in looking like a pillock,” he adds, just as they reach Gwen and Freya.
“Hi,” Gwen says, throwing her arms around Arthur’s neck and giving him a quick kiss.
“Hi, yourself,” he purrs back at her. A still-irritated Merlin clears his throat noisily behind him.
“Ah, Merlin, te remember Freya,” Gwen smiles, pulling away from Arthur.
“Of course,” he says, stepping inoltrare, avanti to grasp her hand. Remember? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.
“Hi, Merlin,” Freya says, smiling and then looking away bashfully as he continues to hold her hand.
That little flirt, Gwen thinks, smiling.
“Oh, sorry,” Merlin says, and gently releases her hand.
“Is anyone hungry? I’m hungry,” Arthur announces and starts walking back toward the restaurant, Gwen’s hand in his. Gwen nabs Freya’s elbow with her other arm, pulling her along with them. Merlin stands there blinking for a moment, then jogs to catch them up.
They order several dishes and all share, discovering one another’s likes and dislikes as they end up redistributing key ingredients. Gwen cannot stomach bamboo shoots. Merlin collects all the mushrooms he can. Arthur hoards snow pisello pods like they were candy, and Freya will not touch onions o water chestnuts, claiming their crunchiness is off-putting.
“So what’s wrong with bamboo shoots?” Merlin asks, happily popping one in his mouth.
Gwen laughs. “I used to play saxophone when I was a kid. Badly, I might add. The bamboo shoots taste too much like saxophone reeds.”
Merlin and Arthur both give her puzzled looks. “That has got to be the oddest reason I’ve ever heard for someone not liking a food,” Merlin says.
“What, and Freya’s ‘off-putting crunchiness’ reason is just fine?” Gwen protests, pointing.
“Yes, I can support that reason,” Merlin says with a nod, purposely eating another bamboo shoot.
“Of course te can,” Arthur teases knowingly, and Merlin shoots him a quick glare across the table.
“So Merlin, Gwen tells me that you’re going to be a published novelist?” Freya changes the subject, reaching for the teapot to superiore, in alto up her cup.
“Yes, that’s what we’re celebrating tonight,” he smiles. “That, and Gwen’s promotion,” he nods to Gwen, who salutes him with a piece of sesame chicken on the end of her fork.
“And now what happens? She’s read your novel and edited it. What’s the successivo step?”
Merlin is thrilled she is so interested in his work. “Well, I have to make the corrections and edits to my manuscript, and then she has to read it again.”
“Wow, that’s a lot of work,” she says, touching his hand very briefly.
“Not when it’s something te enjoy,” he smiles. “Oh, Gwen, I wanted to tell you, I’m going to make one small change. Nothing that will alter the course of the complessivamente, generale story, I promise. I’m just changing how one of the characters looks physically.”
“Oh? Which one? Not Rylan o Prince Drake, I hope,” she smiles.
“You caught that, huh?” he grins sheepishly.
“What?” Freya and Arthur both ask.
“Rylan is Merlin and Prince drake is Arthur,” Gwen explains.
“Interesting,” Freya says. “I’m going to have to read this book when it comes out.”
“I’ll make sure te get a first-edition, autographed copy,” Merlin says, and is rewarded with a smile from Freya that lights up his face.
“So who are te changing?” Gwen asks.
“Evelyn.”
“The maid?”
“Yep. I’m changing her from a tall, fair-skinned beauty with auburn hair to a petite brown-skinned beauty with long dark curls.”
“What?” But doesn’t she have a crush on Rylan?
“Don’t panic, it’ll all make sense. You’ll have to read the secondo book.”
“Wait, so she and Rylan don’t end up together? But it’s so obvious they fancy one another. And she kissed him!”
Merlin laughs; Arthur chokes on his tea. “Misdirection, my dear. And she only kissed him because he just woke up from being almost dead for like a whole day.”
“Yeah, that’s what she said, but…”
“Gwen. Read the secondo book.”
“I have to finish Marcus’ piece of shit first,” she pouts. “Can te give me a tiny hint?”
“Okay: It’s appropriate that I’m changing how Evelyn looks.”
“You are a gigantic pain.”
“Don’t listen to her, I’m very sweet,” Merlin tells Freya, who has been laughing quietly at their conversation for a few minuti now.
“Where do te work, Freya?” Merlin asks, realizing he knows almost nothing about her.
“Albion Bank,” she says, frowning. “I’m a teller.”
“For now,” Gwen adds.
“Oh, are te looking for something different?”
“Kind of. My boss is a wanker, and this is going to sound bad, but I didn’t bust my culo to get my Finance degree—”
“With honors,” Gwen interjects.
“To be working as a bloody bank teller,” she finishes with a sigh.
“Finance, eh?” Merlin asks, giving Arthur a sideways look.
“Freya is amazing with numbers. She’s like a calculator. Give her two numbers to multiply,” Gwen prompts.
“Okay, 312 times 47,” Merlin says.
“14,664,” Freya risposte immediately.
“Shit,” Arthur chuckles, impressed.
“Wow,” Merlin comments. “You know, it’s really too bad…”
“Don’t even, Merlin,” Arthur warns.
“What?” Freya asks, confused.
“Arthur’s dad is Uther Pendragon,” Merlin explains. “I was just lamenting that if Arthur were on better terms with his father, he could perhaps get te an interview o something.”
“Oh,” Freya blinks in surprise.
“Not really much te can say to that, is there?” Gwen says with a sympathetic smile.
“Well, there is Morgana; she’d listen to me,” Arthur says. “But that’s the Glasgow office.”
“Not moving to Glasgow. Who’s Morgana?” Freya asks.
“His sister. o his motorcycle, but I’m assuming he means his sister in this case,” Merlin says. “She runs the Glasgow office of Pendragon Financial.”
“Maybe te could talk to Morgana and have her talk to your father?” Gwen suggests.
“Whoa, whoa, let’s not plan my life for me, okay?” Freya holds her hands up, but she is laughing.
“Sorry, Fray, I just hate that te hate your job,” Gwen says.
“I know, I know. But this evening is not about fixing my lousy job, remember?”
After fortune biscotti, cookie are forced into their already-full bellies, they head outside.
“Pub?” Arthur asks.
“What pub?” Freya asks in response.
“The Dragon’s Head. It’s where I work. For now,” Merlin says.
“I’d Amore to see it,” she says.
“Fray, why don’t te ride with Merlin,” Gwen suggests, handing her car keys to Arthur as she pulls him to her Mini, giggling as they head quickly away, leaving Merlin and Freya standing alone in the parking lot with no other option.
Part 27: link
Gwen heads home after work Wednesday, exhausted from spending the bulk of the afternoon moving into her new office.
Office. I have a bloody office. My own window. My own desk. My own four walls, and a door that closes.
She reaches the corner, and while she waits for the traffic, she happens to look ahead and sees the lads out in their gathering place instead of the negozio and the pub. So she goes straight instead of turning right, heading for them.
“Slackers,” she declares as she reaches them, teasing them for abandoning their posts. Arthur reaches for her immediately, wrapping his arms around her from behind and baciare her neck.
“No one had been in since half three, so I detto fuck it,” Gwaine explains, blowing a puff of smoke, careful to aim it away from her.
“And Justin and Craig are manning the pub,” Leon says with a shrug.
“Must be nice to be men of leisure,” she sighs. “I spent the afternoon moving shit around and I am wiped out.”
“Oh, that’s right, tomorrow is your first official giorno as an editor,” Arthur says, giving her a squeeze. “Get everything sorted?”
“For now. I’ll be tinkering forever. I could use some artwork for my walls, though,” she says, turning her head to look up at him.
“I think that could be arranged,” he says, leaning down to baciare her.
“Hey, there’s laws against that kind of thing, te know,” Ox’s voice interrupts them as he saunters up.
“Ox!” they all chorus, not having seen their large friend in several days.
“Hey,” he nods at them, bending to receive a hug from Gwen. “Oh, and don’t look now, but Tweedle Dum and Tweedle… Dum are across the street, trying to pass da unnoticed,” he comments.
Five sets of eyes turn and one set closes, saying, “I said, ‘don’t look now.’”
Gwen laughs, and Helios turns his head at the sound, spotting her amongst the lads.
“Oy! You’re that little cagna that kneed me in the bollocks!” he shouts, pointing.
Cenred, his nose healed, starts pulling at his friend’s elbow, muttering, “Leave it, Helios, let’s go…”
“Nah, I couldn’t pee straight for a week ’cause of her, and… what?” he turns and looks at Cenred.
“She’s Drag’s girl now, and all five of them tossers are about ready to pound your skull in. Leave it.”
Helios looks across the strada, via and sees Gwaine already stepping inoltrare, avanti and Arthur gently positioning Gwen behind Ox, his eyes locked on them.
“Don’t mind us, lads, we’re just passing through,” Cenred calls, giving them possibly the world’s most insincere smile as he shoves Helios further down the sidewalk.
“The monkey can be trained,” Merlin muses as they watch them walk away.
“What was that about, Arthur?” Gwen asks, putting her hands on her hips.
“What?” he asks, not sure what she’s asking.
“Pushing me behind Ox. Like I’m some helpless… girl!”
“Oh. That.”
“Yes. That.” She stares him down. The others don’t even bother trying to pretend they’re not paying attention. They’ve learned that Angry Gwen is good theatre. Especially when detto anger is directed at Arthur
“Um, sorry. I guess it’s that protective thing again, isn’t it?”
“You think?” she asks, sarcastically.
“And for the record, I didn’t exactly push you. I gently placed you.”
“Like I was some kind of doll.”
“Well, when te say it like that…”
“Drag. Just apologize again, mate,” Gwaine suggests quietly.
“Don’t help,” she snaps at him. He holds his hands up in surrender.
“Guinevere,” Arthur tries, not playing fair at all. He takes her hand in his, caressing gently with his thumb.
She fights the buttery feeling in her knees caused da his voice, but lets him pull her into his arms.
“I’m sorry. I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” he says quietly, using that soft, low tone that she has a very hard time resisting. Arthur leans down and kisses her cheek, whispering, “I don’t know what I’d do.”
Her eyes close then, knowing this last bit was for her ears alone, and she gives in. She kisses him once, then says, “You really are impossible,” and shoves his chest.
“Come on, let’s go home.”
“Who’s?”
“Does it matter?”
“Not really,” she shrugs. “See te around, lads,” she waves to them as the two of them head towards Arthur’s motorcycle.
They decide on Arthur’s flat, stopping first at Gwen’s so she can collect some things. After a quick stop for Indian takeaway, they dine sitting on the floor at Arthur’s coffee table, Iggy periodically rubbing himself against Gwen’s back.
She stretches, her back stiffening from the work today followed da sitting on the floor.
“All right there, Sweet?” Arthur asks, speaking for the first time in a while. Gwen had been trying not to notice that he’d gone gradually quieter as the evening has worn on, but they’d been sitting and eating in an unusual silence for the past ten minuti and when he spoke, she nearly jumped.
“Yeah, I guess. Just a little stiff.”
“Can I get te anything?”
“I’d actually Amore a hot bath, if te don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I’ll just paint while you’re in there. Unless te want some company,” he smiles, but his eyes didn’t appear to get the memo.
“I don’t think there’s enough room, darling.”
“Right. Go ahead. I’ll clear this away,” he says.
She stands and heads toward the bathroom. As she approaches the door, she hears a heavy sigh behind her and she turns. Arthur is clearing their dinner, his face clouded and a little sad. There is something else there, something she can’t put her finger on.
Disappointment? Frustration? Is he upset about what happened outside before, that I yelled at him in front of his friends? She almost walks back to ask, but then he disappears into the cucina and she decides to leave him alone for a bit, and if he’s still brooding when she is done with her bath, she’ll ask then.
Half an ora later, Gwen emerges from the bathroom, feeling warm and relaxed, but a little disappointed that Arthur didn’t come in to visit her even once. She wanders out, clad in his Sex Pistols t-shirt, and sees him at his easel.
He’s wearing shorts and a light blue paint-spattered t-shirt that says, “World’s Greatest Granddad” on it. Her amusement is cut off, however, da the expression on his face.
Arthur is scowling, which isn’t terribly unusual when he’s painting, but there’s a deeper sadness to it, a heaviness to his entire bearing that gives Guinevere pause.
She crosses to him on silent feet and watches him work for a minute. He is working on a painting she has never seen, a portrait of a man, a scruffy, unkempt, unshaven, dirty man, seated on the sidewalk against a building, one leg bent with his knee pointing up, the other stretched out in front of him. It is both grotesque and beautiful.
“Who is that?” she asks quietly.
“Jeff. He passes da the negozio a occasionally.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“I don’t think he has a home. Sometimes we give him a sandwich, panino o something warm to drink when it’s cold. Sometimes a couple quid. Let him come in and warm up in the winter if he needs it.”
“Oh.”
“He doesn’t say much. I don’t know if he’s all there, mentally. Phil looks after him the most of all of us.”
“I knew she had a good heart.”
He touches the brush to the canvas then, making a small mark. “Fuck,” he curses, reaching for a rag. I don’t see anything wrong, she thinks, watching as he just barely dips a tiny corner of the rag into a jar containing a clear fluid and dabs gently at the canvas, removing the mark.
“Arthur, what’s wrong?” Gwen asks quietly, placing her hand on his as he reaches for his brush again.
“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it,” he says, stubbornly picking up the brush.
“It’s something,” she protests, gently removing the brush from his hand and setting it back down. When he lets her take his brush away, she knows her instincts are correct.
He drops his head and sighs. She takes his hand again and turns him towards her, wrapping her arms around him. He slumps into her, his head on her shoulder.
“I’m jealous,” he finally says into her neck, his voice muffled.
“What?” she asks, and he lifts his head.
“I’m jealous. I’m happy for te and Merlin, thrilled beyond measure, honest, but there’s an ever-growing part of me that is jealous of your successes. Especially Merlin’s. I’m bloody jealous and it’s making me feel selfish and small, which is making me angry. No. Disappointed. Fucking disgusted. With myself.”
“Oh, Arthur,” she sighs, squeezing him tightly. What on earth can I say to that? She releases him and pulls him from his easel, heading for the couch.
“Hang on, this thing is filthy,” he says, yanking the camicia off over his head and tossing it on a nearby stool. He follows her to the sofa, where she pulls him down in front of her, nestling him in between her legs as she sits sideways on the couch, his back against her chest.
Iggy leaps up, wanting to be part of the pile, and pads around on Arthur’s lap until he finds the spot he wants, curling up and settling in. Arthur’s hand reaches up and actually pets the large beast rather than swatting him away, scratching him absently behind the ears while he sinks into Gwen’s loving embrace.
“Your time will come, darling,” she says finally, baciare his ear. “I don’t know when, but it will happen for you. I know it. I can feel it in my bones. te just have to have faith.”
“That all sounds good, but in practice, it’s very difficult,” he says, but not unkindly.
“I know,” she admits. “I wish I had some way of helping. te know, like I did with Ox and Merlin. My limited connections have been exhausted, it seems.”
“I know, Sweet, I know. I…” he trails off, either not knowing what to say o deciding if he should say it.
“Yes?”
“I want to be più than just a tattoo artist.”
“I know that.”
“No, te don’t understand,” he says, turning his face slightly. “You deserve better than what I can give you.”
“What are te saying, Arthur?” she asks, getting a little scared now.
“I want to be better not only for me, but for te as well. Your father—”
“Let me worry about my father,” she interrupts, slightly relieved.
“But he’s right.”
“What did he say to te on Sunday?” she asks again. “I know te weren’t being straight when te answered me the first time.”
“He told me that I was smarter than I looked and reminded me that I need to think about my future,” he says. “Our future,” he adds, so soft that she almost doesn’t hear it.
Almost. Her cuore thumps madly at the words, but she holds back the urge to throw her arms around him and baciare him and hug him and leap around the room and proclaim her Amore for him from the mountaintops. Perhaps later.
Gwen knows there is più to his conversation with her father, but he isn’t saying. She doesn’t press.
“Do te have any ideas?” she asks after a time, her fingertips stroking his cheek.
“All I want to do is paint. I don’t want to design adverts o teach classes. Well, teaching wouldn’t be too bad, but not right now. I’ve got the paintings. I’ve got the talent. I just don’t know what to do with them,” he says, his free hand on her knee where his thumb traces small nervous circles on her skin.
She thinks a moment. “Well, what are some ways to get your work seen?”
“I am not setting up a stand in the marketplace,” he says, vetoing that option immediately. “Not standing out there in the weather with the weirdos and the hippies.”
Gwen chuckles at this, wondering what kind of person would qualify as a “weirdo” in Arthur Pendragon’s book. “Have te asked Gwaine about putting a few paintings up in the shop? o Leon about the pub?”
“Do te honestly think the kind of clientele that patronizes those places is interested in buying art?” he asks, turning his head to look at her.
“Good point,” she says, frowning, leaning her cheek on his head for a moment. The stubble on the side of his head scratches her cheek, though, and she lifts it. “Well, I did say I wanted a couple for my office. Oh! And I will bet te £500 that Merlin will want te to design his book covers.”
He sits up slightly at this thought. “Interesting thought. I bet I could do that. I’d have to read the books, though, wouldn’t I?”
She laughs. “Probably. How else would te know what to do?”
“You could tell me,” he says, settling back in, feeling a tiny bit better, letting her warmth and Amore pull him out of his funk. “I’m sorry, Guinevere,” he says after a minute.
“For what?”
“For recitazione a twat. I am very happy for you, Sweet, te know that. Proud of you, actually.”
“I couldn’t have done it without te pushing me, Arthur.”
“Yes, te could have. And I didn’t push. I nudged.”
She laughs. “Okay, then I wouldn’t have. And there is still no need to apologize. There is nothing wrong with how te are feeling.”
“I do feel a bit better talking to you. At least I got it out,” he admits.
“Yes, that in itself helps, sometimes. Just in time, too, since we’re having cena to celebrate tomorrow.”
“That could have been ugly,” he chuckles now, and she squeezes him in her arms as best she can and kisses his head.
“Freya’s definitely in for tomorrow, then?” Arthur asks later. They are in letto together, just lying in each other’s arms, cuddling and talking and occasionally kissing.
“Yeah, I had to lie a bit, though. Told her that it was just the two of us.”
“Oh?”
“Well, she’s been on pins and needles since I told her the Merlin asked for her number Saturday,” she says, bringing her hand up to rest on his chest.
“He did? I didn’t know that,” Arthur says, placing his hand over hers.
“Yeah, he was very surreptitious about it. God, I still haven’t dato her the souvenirs I brought her from my trip,” she says. “I’m a bad friend,” she adds, chuckling and turning her face into his shoulder.
“You are not. So Merlin’s had her number and he hasn’t called her yet?”
“I guess not.”
“Coward. He knows she likes him.” Arthur is incredulous. “Been living with Leon too long; it’s rubbing off on him,” he mutters. “You should give Freya his number.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that would solve anything. She won’t call him first.”
“Why not? Aren’t te women all about equality and independence these days?”
“Well, yes, but she still wants to be pursued, I guess. Besides, they’ll be seeing each other tomorrow.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right,” he chuckles, threading his fingers through hers on his chest, moving their joined hands slightly.
“So I’ll be picking her up and we’ll meet te there. We have reservations for seven.”
“Seven. Right.”
“Don’t be late.”
“Am I ever?”
“No.”
“What should I tell Merlin?”
“About what?” she asks, yawning. He brings his free hand to her waist, worming his hand against her skin, shoving the t-shirt she is still wearing up out of the way.
“About why you’re meeting us there.”
“I was detained at work?”
“Sure, why not. He’s gullible.”
“He’s smarter than te give him credit for.”
“I know. He’s brilliant and so are te and it’s unfair to the rest of us who are just average,” he jokes, able to poke fun at his earlier dismay.
Gwen turns and bites his shoulder in response.
“Hey!” he laughs, squeezing her waist.
“So you’re feeling better, then?” she asks.
“Yes, thank te for listening to me.”
“Anytime, Arthur,” she says sleepily, closing her eyes now. She feels his heartbeat under her palm, steady and strong, and as she drifts off to sleep, she realizes he’s moved their joined hands over his heart.
Arthur and Merlin are waiting for Gwen (and Freya, though Merlin doesn’t know that yet) outside Szechuan Palace. It is 6:55.
“And she told me not to be late,” Arthur grumbles, looking at his watch.
“She’s not late, Drag, she still has five minutes,” Merlin says. A green Mini catches his eye, and he points. “Isn’t that her car?”
Arthur looks. “Yep, come on,” he says, starting to walk to the car to meet her.
They are almost to the car when the women get out. Freya turns and spots Merlin immediately and freezes, her eyes darting to Gwen.
“You did not,” she says, incredulous.
Gwen smiles, and simply says, “Come on, chicken, let’s go have our double date.”
“You did.”
“Of course I did.”
“Cow.”
“You Amore me,” Gwen responds.
“And for that, te should be grateful, as I will spare your life. I look like complete shit!”
“You look gorgeous, shut it. Look how he’s looking at you, for goodness sake.”
Merlin stops walking when he sees Gwen has brought Freya along.
Arthur turns around and smirks at his friend. “Are te coming o are te going to wait until te are hit da a car?”
“You planned this. Gwen didn’t have to work late,” Merlin says, feet starting to sposta again.
“Of course she didn’t. If te had used that phone number she gave te on Saturday we wouldn’t have had to resort to these measures. So you’ve no right to complain.”
“I bloody well, do! I’m completely unprepared!” Merlin is whispering frantically now. “I would have brought fiori o something! Now you’re making me look like a pillock!”
“She didn’t know, either, so I think you’re in the clear. Stop freaking out,” Arthur says. “And te don’t need my help in looking like a pillock,” he adds, just as they reach Gwen and Freya.
“Hi,” Gwen says, throwing her arms around Arthur’s neck and giving him a quick kiss.
“Hi, yourself,” he purrs back at her. A still-irritated Merlin clears his throat noisily behind him.
“Ah, Merlin, te remember Freya,” Gwen smiles, pulling away from Arthur.
“Of course,” he says, stepping inoltrare, avanti to grasp her hand. Remember? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.
“Hi, Merlin,” Freya says, smiling and then looking away bashfully as he continues to hold her hand.
That little flirt, Gwen thinks, smiling.
“Oh, sorry,” Merlin says, and gently releases her hand.
“Is anyone hungry? I’m hungry,” Arthur announces and starts walking back toward the restaurant, Gwen’s hand in his. Gwen nabs Freya’s elbow with her other arm, pulling her along with them. Merlin stands there blinking for a moment, then jogs to catch them up.
They order several dishes and all share, discovering one another’s likes and dislikes as they end up redistributing key ingredients. Gwen cannot stomach bamboo shoots. Merlin collects all the mushrooms he can. Arthur hoards snow pisello pods like they were candy, and Freya will not touch onions o water chestnuts, claiming their crunchiness is off-putting.
“So what’s wrong with bamboo shoots?” Merlin asks, happily popping one in his mouth.
Gwen laughs. “I used to play saxophone when I was a kid. Badly, I might add. The bamboo shoots taste too much like saxophone reeds.”
Merlin and Arthur both give her puzzled looks. “That has got to be the oddest reason I’ve ever heard for someone not liking a food,” Merlin says.
“What, and Freya’s ‘off-putting crunchiness’ reason is just fine?” Gwen protests, pointing.
“Yes, I can support that reason,” Merlin says with a nod, purposely eating another bamboo shoot.
“Of course te can,” Arthur teases knowingly, and Merlin shoots him a quick glare across the table.
“So Merlin, Gwen tells me that you’re going to be a published novelist?” Freya changes the subject, reaching for the teapot to superiore, in alto up her cup.
“Yes, that’s what we’re celebrating tonight,” he smiles. “That, and Gwen’s promotion,” he nods to Gwen, who salutes him with a piece of sesame chicken on the end of her fork.
“And now what happens? She’s read your novel and edited it. What’s the successivo step?”
Merlin is thrilled she is so interested in his work. “Well, I have to make the corrections and edits to my manuscript, and then she has to read it again.”
“Wow, that’s a lot of work,” she says, touching his hand very briefly.
“Not when it’s something te enjoy,” he smiles. “Oh, Gwen, I wanted to tell you, I’m going to make one small change. Nothing that will alter the course of the complessivamente, generale story, I promise. I’m just changing how one of the characters looks physically.”
“Oh? Which one? Not Rylan o Prince Drake, I hope,” she smiles.
“You caught that, huh?” he grins sheepishly.
“What?” Freya and Arthur both ask.
“Rylan is Merlin and Prince drake is Arthur,” Gwen explains.
“Interesting,” Freya says. “I’m going to have to read this book when it comes out.”
“I’ll make sure te get a first-edition, autographed copy,” Merlin says, and is rewarded with a smile from Freya that lights up his face.
“So who are te changing?” Gwen asks.
“Evelyn.”
“The maid?”
“Yep. I’m changing her from a tall, fair-skinned beauty with auburn hair to a petite brown-skinned beauty with long dark curls.”
“What?” But doesn’t she have a crush on Rylan?
“Don’t panic, it’ll all make sense. You’ll have to read the secondo book.”
“Wait, so she and Rylan don’t end up together? But it’s so obvious they fancy one another. And she kissed him!”
Merlin laughs; Arthur chokes on his tea. “Misdirection, my dear. And she only kissed him because he just woke up from being almost dead for like a whole day.”
“Yeah, that’s what she said, but…”
“Gwen. Read the secondo book.”
“I have to finish Marcus’ piece of shit first,” she pouts. “Can te give me a tiny hint?”
“Okay: It’s appropriate that I’m changing how Evelyn looks.”
“You are a gigantic pain.”
“Don’t listen to her, I’m very sweet,” Merlin tells Freya, who has been laughing quietly at their conversation for a few minuti now.
“Where do te work, Freya?” Merlin asks, realizing he knows almost nothing about her.
“Albion Bank,” she says, frowning. “I’m a teller.”
“For now,” Gwen adds.
“Oh, are te looking for something different?”
“Kind of. My boss is a wanker, and this is going to sound bad, but I didn’t bust my culo to get my Finance degree—”
“With honors,” Gwen interjects.
“To be working as a bloody bank teller,” she finishes with a sigh.
“Finance, eh?” Merlin asks, giving Arthur a sideways look.
“Freya is amazing with numbers. She’s like a calculator. Give her two numbers to multiply,” Gwen prompts.
“Okay, 312 times 47,” Merlin says.
“14,664,” Freya risposte immediately.
“Shit,” Arthur chuckles, impressed.
“Wow,” Merlin comments. “You know, it’s really too bad…”
“Don’t even, Merlin,” Arthur warns.
“What?” Freya asks, confused.
“Arthur’s dad is Uther Pendragon,” Merlin explains. “I was just lamenting that if Arthur were on better terms with his father, he could perhaps get te an interview o something.”
“Oh,” Freya blinks in surprise.
“Not really much te can say to that, is there?” Gwen says with a sympathetic smile.
“Well, there is Morgana; she’d listen to me,” Arthur says. “But that’s the Glasgow office.”
“Not moving to Glasgow. Who’s Morgana?” Freya asks.
“His sister. o his motorcycle, but I’m assuming he means his sister in this case,” Merlin says. “She runs the Glasgow office of Pendragon Financial.”
“Maybe te could talk to Morgana and have her talk to your father?” Gwen suggests.
“Whoa, whoa, let’s not plan my life for me, okay?” Freya holds her hands up, but she is laughing.
“Sorry, Fray, I just hate that te hate your job,” Gwen says.
“I know, I know. But this evening is not about fixing my lousy job, remember?”
After fortune biscotti, cookie are forced into their already-full bellies, they head outside.
“Pub?” Arthur asks.
“What pub?” Freya asks in response.
“The Dragon’s Head. It’s where I work. For now,” Merlin says.
“I’d Amore to see it,” she says.
“Fray, why don’t te ride with Merlin,” Gwen suggests, handing her car keys to Arthur as she pulls him to her Mini, giggling as they head quickly away, leaving Merlin and Freya standing alone in the parking lot with no other option.
Part 27: link
