Chapter 175 Aurélie
aurélie
She wore my fingerprints like art, and every time someone else saw them, I felt that primal urge to carve them deeper. –Callum
“We brought the whole boutique,” Marco announced as I opened the door to our suite. He was wearing a long-sleeve black fitted shirt, tailored black trousers, and a gold chain with a cross pendant hanging around his neck.
He was the first face I saw as he barged in like he paid for the place, followed closely by Kimi, who was carrying three shopping bags and a milkshake. Ivy strutted in behind them, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
Kimi wore khaki pants and a maroon dress shirt that did amazing things for his golden eyes and light brown hair.
Ivy had on a trench-style leather jacket over a slinky black romper and platform boots, her oversized sunglasses pushed into her hair and a gloss on her lips so lethal it could qualify as a biohazard.
“What the fuck is this?” I demanded as I re-situated myself on the couch, adjusting the heating pad over my hips. The cramps were dull now, but not completely gone.
“This,” Ivy said, tossing her hair over one shoulder, “is an emergency consultation. You said black and dramatic? Baby, I brought the Vatican.”
“Literally,” Kimi added, dropping the bags on the ground with a thud. “One of these has shoulder pads that could stab someone.”
“Hey!” Ivy lunged forward and scooped them up. “Don’t wrinkle them, you bloody idiot!”
Kimi rolled his eyes. “I carried them all the way up here because this dickhead refused.” He hitched a thumb at Marco.
“My arms were tired. Who fucking knew women’s skimpy clothing weighed so goddamn much?
Especially for this high-maintenance, couture-demanding, drama-drenched fairy princess.
Who, by the way, doesn’t even open any damn door herself if there’s a man nearby. ”
I gasped, my palm flying to my chest. “Say it again, but slower,” I purred.
“You’re really making me feel something.
” I shot a sly glance toward Callum, currently drying his hands at the sink, watching the scene unfold with raised brows and a tense jaw.
My stomach fluttered with something wicked.
I could already feel the punishment brewing.
“Oh please,” Kimi said, rolling his eyes again. “You’re like one croissant short of causing an international incident.”
“She already has, mate,” Marco stated. “Didn’t you see that article about her? That photoshoot broke the internet.”
“Of course I’ve seen the bloody photos, you Italian priss,” Kimi snapped, his accent thickening in irritation. It made it sound a lot like Italian prince, which technically, he was. Marco Bianchi, Italian royalty in everything but title. Poster boy for smirking in sin, parties, and silk shirts.
I glanced toward the kitchenette just in time to catch Callum’s reaction. His smile had vanished, eyes were flat, water bottle gripped a little too tightly in one hand.
Callum’s gaze was fixed on Kimi, posture loose but lethal, like a lion stalking into frame. Casual. Relaxed. Ready to pounce. The kind of energy that made Marco go still and Ivy raise a brow.
“Paying a little too close attention to your teammate who’s like a sister, aren’t you, mate?” Callum said, rounding the small breakfast bar slowly. His voice was calm. Way too calm. That clipped, low timbre that meant danger.
“Incest, Kimi,” Ivy sang. “You’ve said it yourself, she’s like a sister to you.”
“Exactly,” Kimi muttered. “And sisters are the most annoying creatures on earth.” He shot me a pointed look. “Especially the fashion-possessed French ones.”
Marco just grinned nonchalantly and slapped Kimi on the back, then stretched his arms behind his head. I didn’t miss how Ivy’s gaze tracked the movement.
Gotcha.
“Sorry, I would’ve helped, but these hands are insured. Can’t risk damaging the money-makers.”
Kimi scoffed. “Mine are too. They’re just not insured. They’re ensured. To punch you next time you say something that dumb.”
I tucked my hair behind both ears. “Kimi, that’s actually so romantic. See, chivalry isn’t dead. He’s even defending his sister’s honor. Like a valiant little knight!”
Kimi went bright red, ears glowing like brake lights as Ivy howled and Marco looked smug as hell. Callum, meanwhile, froze mid-step, and narrowed his eyes at me like he was debating which wall to press me against for that little stunt.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I said sweetly, resting a hand on my thigh. “You didn’t even carry one bag. My brave chevalier here lugged—” I looked at the pile Ivy draped over an armchair, “—eight.”
“You’re all unwell,” Kimi grumbled, clearly regretting every life choice that led him to this moment.
“Hey,” Ivy cackled. “You volunteered to carry those.”
“I was threatened with emotional manipulation.”
“Oh, come on,” I said, patting the couch cushion next to me. “You know you wanted to. It was…” I paused, blinking. My brain hiccuped. I knew the word, but it had vanished again. “…galloping.”
Dead silence.
Marco made a strange wheezing sound.
“Galloping?” Ivy gasped. “Is that what you think chivalrous men do—gallop?”
“What is he, your white horse?” Marco croaked, holding his stomach. “Kimi the Trotting Hero!”
“I meant gallant!” I shrieked, throwing a pillow at her. “Read between the fucking lines for once!”
“It was heavy,” Kimi grumbled. “Next time I’m making Marco do it, precious hands or not.”
“Come sit, chevalier,” I said, patting the couch beside me. “You’ve earned a rest. And possibly a knighthood. But only if you stay and witness the outfit trials.”
Kimi groaned. Marco looked intrigued. Ivy rubbed her hands together like she was about to summon a demon.
“Besides,” I continued casually, shrugging, “this request wasn’t because I’m une princesse de haute couture.” I shot them all a knowing look. “It’s because of these.” I pulled the sleeves of Callum’s lucky hoodie up so they could see the bruising. They didn’t need to know the specifics.
Marco plopped down beside me and lifted my wrist delicately. “Jesus Christ, Dubois,” he murmured. “You look like someone tried to exorcise you.”
I yanked it back. “I’m fine.”
“Fine, mon amie?” Ivy protested, rushing over and grabbing both of my hands to inspect the damage. “What the fuck? They were not this bad yesterday.”
“The second day is sometimes worse,” I bluffed, meeting her green gaze without flinching.
She dropped hers to look at my lap, where my bunny heating pad was. Concern flickered across her face when she lifted her eyes to mine again, silently questioning. I lifted one shoulder, just enough to say, I don’t know.
“You say that, but also,” Kimi stepped around Ivy, squinting down like he was scrutinizing every detail about me, “...is that a handprint on your thigh?”
“Kimi,” I chastised, pulling my hands out of Ivy’s to cover myself more.
“I’m not judging.” He held his palms up. “I’m just saying that Callum might be feral, but the man’s consistent. Possessive as fuck. Makes sense if he wanted to cover Morel’s marks.”
I jumped when Callum’s hands landed on my shoulders from behind the couch. Mon Dieu, I hadn’t even seen him move. “I’m right here, asshole.”
Ivy waved them off like they were vultures.
“Enough from all of you. You know nothing.” She pulled me to my feet.
“And nobody touch her face. Especially you, Scottie.” She threw Callum a skeptical glance.
“She’ll need a full contour to cover that bruise, and we need to make sure it’s barely noticeable unless you’re under direct lighting. ”
“Already tried that,” I groaned, annoyed that my three attempts to cover it had been unsuccessful.
Kimi was unzipping the garment bags and pawing through the dresses now, holding each up with all the interest of a man choosing the design for his next helmet. “This one says corporate murder. This one says I own a vineyard and a yacht. This one screams Morticia Addams. I like it.”
I sighed. “God help me.”
I could make fake dramatic complaints all day long, but truthfully? It felt like the first real exhale I’d taken all week.
The longer I cramped without bleeding, the more certain I became that this was just a bad endo flare-up.
Not the worst-case scenario that my anxiety had whispered into my ear at 4 a.m. Just pain.
My old, familiar enemy. The kind that lingered like an unpaid debt and only let up when it felt like it.
When I took the Vicodin earlier, Callum had practically tucked me into his arms like a glass figurine.
But I snuck another not too long ago when I wasn’t quite comfortable enough to sit through a dinner without flinching.
And now, the throbbing in my womb had dulled to a manageable thrum.
Still present, but not unbearable. I could breathe again.
The lavender bunny heating pad was still curled around my waist, tucked into the waistband of Callum’s hoodie. The air in the bedroom was warm, scented faintly with Ivy’s perfume and something heady that lingered on my skin—him.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Ivy muttered, dragging a blending sponge down my cheekbone, “but you need more blush. You’ve got the painkiller glow. All soft and innocent and dewy.”
I glowered up at her. “I am soft and innocent.”
She scowled.
“Okay,” I amended. “Soft and devious.”
“That’s more like it.” She pressed the sponge to my skin again.
My lips curled into a smile I couldn’t contain. “For the record, it’s not from the painkillers.”
“What’s not—”
“The glow,” I cut her off.
Her mouth snapped shut as she jerked upright and gaped at me. “Excuse me, ma’am?”
I gave her a pointed look. “I mean, sure, the Vicodin took the edge off. But the real reason I look like I’m halfway to sainthood?” I leaned in conspiratorially and dropped my voice a few octaves. “I had sex twenty minutes before you guys got here.”
Ivy froze, then tilted her head slowly. “Wait. Seriously?”
“On the bed you’re sitting on,” I added helpfully.