Post by CATO JULIUS KAINE on Mar 6, 2013 16:54:50 GMT -5
those that entertain and those that observe
Dumping his suitcase on the floor of the expansive hotel suite, Cato growled in irritation. It was bad enough that he had to carry his own bags to the room, now he was stuck here with a woman he didn't even want to be married to. He needed to start drinking, and quickly.
Now that they were alone, he had no reason to pretend he cared about her, and he was restless. However, he had strict orders from his father that he wasn't to leave the hotel room until the press had a reasonable belief that they were happily spending their days together in bed. Scowling across the room as he abandoned his suitcase inside the door, he walked to the window and peeked out discreetly. The vultures were out there somewhere, he knew it. He knew how they were. They loved to hide in the cleverest perches, snapping shots once a person walked out on the balcony or spent an afternoon on the beach. Leaning against the wall of windows that led to the balcony overlooking the Caribbean, Cato sighed to himself and stood silently for a moment. He'd complained enough the entire way here, when he wasn't smiling for the sake of the pretty stewardesses on the jet, and he was tired.
Hearing the bellboy accept his tip from Cato's new wife, he stood and glanced over his shoulder at her as the door closed. He couldn't get over that brief moment they'd shared, that moment of charged sexual tension that had blossomed between them on the dancefloor at the reception following their wedding. It was undeniable, although he wished he could forget it altogether, and it irked him. He didn't want to be attracted to her, but he was. He wondered how her porcelain skin tasted and whether her skin was as soft to the touch as it looked.
Glowering handsomely against the wall of windows, he leaned back against them and pulled his hands from his pockets, crossing his shaped arms over his chest. Tossing his brown hair out of his dark eyes, he watched her like a hawk as she advanced in to the room.
"I would suggest ordering room service, my dear," he spoke to her, his tone soft and poisonous as it always was when they were alone. "We're on house arrest for at least the first night." It wasn't his choice, it was merely a protocol they were required to follow. With her connection, however tenuous it may be with the passing of her father and brother, to the Irish mafia, she was as required to follow procedure as he was. It was their duty in these initial days together: to look like a unit when neither of them cared to do so.
Standing from the wall, he walked to the refrigerator in the suite and pulled the menu from its face, examining it for the best option. Deciding he could settle for a steak and some appetizers - not to forget the wine and other alcohol he would be inhaling from the mini bar - he slid the menu toward Charlotte and reached up to loosen the tie tied around his neck. Undoing the Eldritch knot at the base of his throat, he pulled the tie out length-wise and tossed it to the side as he undid the cuff-links he still wore, a gift from his mother-in-law.
Placing them with care in the jewelry box designated for them, careful that Charlotte wouldn't notice that he actually gave a shit, he stowed them in the outer pocket of his suitcase. Undoing the top button of his shirt, he removed his blazer jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows. Walking to the phone included in the room, he dialed room service and accepted the menu and Charlotte's order, giving their requirements to the server on the other end of the line. He ordered extras of everything all the way down to whipped cream just to be an ass since his father was footing the bill for this entire honeymoon.
Hanging up the phone, he meandered toward the bedroom and glanced inside, appreciating the massive bed within although he highly doubted he would be enjoying its luxury at any time soon. Charlotte hated him. She had no reason to sleep with him other than the inevitable pregnancy the public would expect if they stayed married longer than a week. He cringed at the thought, but sex was sex, wasn't it? He could man up and muster his way through it. Hopefully he wouldn't have to coach her the entire time. He hated virgins. They were so...inexperienced.
Leaving the bedroom behind for a moment, he walked to his suitcase, scooped it up easily and carried it back into the room to begin unpacking. He only emerged when he heard room service arrive in the room beyond, and he hastened outside to accept the meal and to tip the waiter profusely (more of his father's money, of course). Opening the first dish, he sniffed it and withdrew a fried mushroom (who knew they had those in the Caribbean too?), popping it into his mouth after smothering it in Ranch dressing. Glancing up at Charlotte with his dark eyes, he smirked at her. "Aren't you hungry, dear?"
Now that they were alone, he had no reason to pretend he cared about her, and he was restless. However, he had strict orders from his father that he wasn't to leave the hotel room until the press had a reasonable belief that they were happily spending their days together in bed. Scowling across the room as he abandoned his suitcase inside the door, he walked to the window and peeked out discreetly. The vultures were out there somewhere, he knew it. He knew how they were. They loved to hide in the cleverest perches, snapping shots once a person walked out on the balcony or spent an afternoon on the beach. Leaning against the wall of windows that led to the balcony overlooking the Caribbean, Cato sighed to himself and stood silently for a moment. He'd complained enough the entire way here, when he wasn't smiling for the sake of the pretty stewardesses on the jet, and he was tired.
Hearing the bellboy accept his tip from Cato's new wife, he stood and glanced over his shoulder at her as the door closed. He couldn't get over that brief moment they'd shared, that moment of charged sexual tension that had blossomed between them on the dancefloor at the reception following their wedding. It was undeniable, although he wished he could forget it altogether, and it irked him. He didn't want to be attracted to her, but he was. He wondered how her porcelain skin tasted and whether her skin was as soft to the touch as it looked.
Glowering handsomely against the wall of windows, he leaned back against them and pulled his hands from his pockets, crossing his shaped arms over his chest. Tossing his brown hair out of his dark eyes, he watched her like a hawk as she advanced in to the room.
"I would suggest ordering room service, my dear," he spoke to her, his tone soft and poisonous as it always was when they were alone. "We're on house arrest for at least the first night." It wasn't his choice, it was merely a protocol they were required to follow. With her connection, however tenuous it may be with the passing of her father and brother, to the Irish mafia, she was as required to follow procedure as he was. It was their duty in these initial days together: to look like a unit when neither of them cared to do so.
Standing from the wall, he walked to the refrigerator in the suite and pulled the menu from its face, examining it for the best option. Deciding he could settle for a steak and some appetizers - not to forget the wine and other alcohol he would be inhaling from the mini bar - he slid the menu toward Charlotte and reached up to loosen the tie tied around his neck. Undoing the Eldritch knot at the base of his throat, he pulled the tie out length-wise and tossed it to the side as he undid the cuff-links he still wore, a gift from his mother-in-law.
Placing them with care in the jewelry box designated for them, careful that Charlotte wouldn't notice that he actually gave a shit, he stowed them in the outer pocket of his suitcase. Undoing the top button of his shirt, he removed his blazer jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows. Walking to the phone included in the room, he dialed room service and accepted the menu and Charlotte's order, giving their requirements to the server on the other end of the line. He ordered extras of everything all the way down to whipped cream just to be an ass since his father was footing the bill for this entire honeymoon.
Hanging up the phone, he meandered toward the bedroom and glanced inside, appreciating the massive bed within although he highly doubted he would be enjoying its luxury at any time soon. Charlotte hated him. She had no reason to sleep with him other than the inevitable pregnancy the public would expect if they stayed married longer than a week. He cringed at the thought, but sex was sex, wasn't it? He could man up and muster his way through it. Hopefully he wouldn't have to coach her the entire time. He hated virgins. They were so...inexperienced.
Leaving the bedroom behind for a moment, he walked to his suitcase, scooped it up easily and carried it back into the room to begin unpacking. He only emerged when he heard room service arrive in the room beyond, and he hastened outside to accept the meal and to tip the waiter profusely (more of his father's money, of course). Opening the first dish, he sniffed it and withdrew a fried mushroom (who knew they had those in the Caribbean too?), popping it into his mouth after smothering it in Ranch dressing. Glancing up at Charlotte with his dark eyes, he smirked at her. "Aren't you hungry, dear?"
CHARLOTTE | HERE COMES THE O
