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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 9 (v.1) - Chapter 9

Submitted: July 26, 2012

Reads: 130

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 26, 2012





Chapter 9

“Your hair looks dazzling, darling,” Sophie giggled as she put the last strand of hair into Irene’s dashing French Braid Twist, something Sophie has mastered.
“Why thank you,” Irene smiled in the mirror. She still felt a little uncomfortable and awkward that she was going to have dinner with a man she is supposed to dislike, but there was something about him that made her like him. The scar on her neck that happened only two weeks ago was fading, and shrinking as time passed. Pain was not really an issue for Irene, she never seemed to find pain, painful.

“Ready to go miss?” Sophie asked.

Irene sighed, “Yes, let’s hope this doesn’t turn out bad.”

“I don’t see how it can,” Sophie smiled, “There’s nothing he can hide really.”

“Will you require some security Ms. Dawes?” Birdy walked in, with her red hair shining, and her bow in her hand.

“I don’t need you to stay inside, but if you want to come with and maybe sneak on the roof, just in case something is to happen,” Irene shrugged, “Whatever you want BlueBird.”

“Haha you know what’s funny?” Sophie cut off Birdy’s speech, “If your name is BlueBird, how come your hair is red, and not blue?”

“Um...because I was born with red hair, and not blue,” Birdy rose a brow, “How is this relevant to Irene’s first date?”

“It’s not a date,” Irene rolled her eyes.

“It is and you know it,” Sophie said and helped her friend out of the chair. They all walked down the stairs to the main room in silence, while Sophie was ahead to get the carriage all set. Birdy jumped in the front seat, smiling, while Irene had a slight frown getting into the carriage itself.

“Cheer up,” Sophie said, “It can’t be that bad.”

Dylan adjusted his brick-red vest and made sure he looked perfect. His hair was a little gelled for some more curls, and his facial hair trimmed perfectly. Everything had to be perfect. For a perfect girl, nothing could be just exceptional, but outstanding. He smiled in the mirror, making he himself looked outstanding. He stopped for a minute, realizing that he looked a little like his father. Sighing and grabbing his coat he headed to the door, only to find one of his father’s co-workers standing there.

She was young, just not as young as Dylan. Her blonde curls looked fake, just as fake as her nails. She wore a big yellow dress that made her look paunchy, but also a little fertile money wise.

“Hey darling,” she said in a very tough Southern accent, “where you off to all dressed nice?”

“Just tell my dad I’m having dinner, it’s nothing really important. I just want a nice, satisfying repast.”

“Well it sounds like you’re having dinner with a girl,” she smiled and held her wine glass.”

“Maybe, what’s it to you?” he sneered.

“I just want to make sure you know who you’re going out with, that’s all. Women are dangerous, scandalous, they’ll do anything to get what they want. Just make sure you aren’t putting yourself in danger.”

Dylan tried to ignore her as he jogged down the flight of stairs, but the more he tried to block it out, the more it bothered him. He knew Irene wouldn’t hurt him, unless he hurt her, which he would never want to do. He was in love with her, and love is a positive emotion, not a negative. If he shows anything negative, it could be noticed by Irene, because Irene is very good at reading someone’s face. He couldn’t risk any doubt to get into Irene’s mind.

He walked to the French Quarter’s front desk, where a French man stood, touching his mustache.
“Bonjour Monsieur, do you have a reservation at hand?” he spoke his his gruff French accent.
“I do, I have an eight o’clock dinner in the back room for two,” he said.
“Ah Monsieur Marshal, you’re lucky girl is already there,” he smiled and led him behind a group of curtains. Dylan bought out the back room so they could be alone, and have a little music as they talked, and maybe they could dance.
He found her sitting in the booth, smiling as she drank water. Dylan thanked the Monsieur as he gave them both menus. Unfortunately the booth was only one-sided, so they didn’t sit opposite of each other, which might cause Irene to be uncomfortable.
“Would you like to sit at the edge of the table if anything happens?” he asked her.
“Oh, no thank you,” she smiled, “Thank you for asking though.”
“You like dashing,” he grinned.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she grinned back and took another sip of water.”
“Monsieur, the wine you asked. This is the Chapelle Wine, the best wine we have, and made in the Vineyards of Mr. Maroni himself,” the man smiled.
“Oh thank you,” he gulped, knowing that Irene wouldn’t have a wine from her arch nemesis.
“What would you and the lovely Mademoiselle like for dinner?” He asked, pulling out his pen and paper.
“S'il vous plaît monsieur, puis-je avoir le poulet recouvert de sauce à l'orange?” Irene asked.
“Excellent choice madam,” the man smiled, “And for you Monsieur?”
“Uh...” Dylan paused, a little shocked at what Irene said, “I’ll just have what she is having.”
“Oh,” he had a slight smile, “I’ll get your orders as soon as possible.”
“I did not know you could speak French,” Dylan laughed, still a little dazed at her speech.
“I speak many languages: Spanish, French, German, Latin, Italian, and Irish, and all of them I can speak fluently,” she smiled.
“Oh,” he looked shocked, “How does a twenty-one old woman know how to speak seven languages so fluently?”
“I picked up French, Italian, and Latin as a young kid. My tutor made sure I could speak all three fluently. As for German, Spanish, and Irish, I read books on their language and eventually picked it up for myself. I always thought if I learned the most spoken languages around, I would be the wisest, and get to learn the cultures of others easier. Possibly after I’m done in Tomoha, I could move to one of those countries, and just live like one of them.”
“Well, whatever you do, don’t live in France. They smell,” Dylan laughed.
“Shh! Do you want them to hear you?” she gently slapped his shoulder, “they could poison your food!”
“Anyways, what did ‘we’ order for dinner?” his smile never faded.
“Well, I ordered a chicken with orange sauce on top, and you just happened to copy me.”
“Did not,” he sighed, “I was planning to order that anyways!”
“Uh-huh, sure,” Irene giggled.
Dylan grabbed the wine, “Want some?”
“Oh, no. One, I don’t drink any alcohol, because it really makes me not myself, and two, I won’t drink or use anything made by Maroni, I just can’t trust the guy.”
“No, no. I understand,” he smiled.
“Okay good. I hope you like chicken anyways.”
“Chicken is fine with me, I prefer steak better, but I have never tried a chicken covered with orange flavor.”
“Me neither,” she shrugged, “I guess we are both trying something new.”
“Well I hope dinner comes before nine...” Dylan said.
“Why?” Irene asked slowly.
“I paid a band to come down here and play. I was hoping if you’d want to dance, if you even like dancing, or maybe just listen to soothing music...”
“You’re talking too fast,” Irene smiled.
“Am I? I’m sorry I’m just a little nervous,” he chuckled nervously and rubbed his sweaty neck.
“Nervous of what?” she asked and put her hand on his leg, and moved a little closer to him.
“Well, it’s my real first date I guess with a girl, er uh, woman, and I just don’t want to say the wrong thing so I don’t hurt your feelings or-” he was interrupted as Irene kissed him on the lips.
“Nothing you say can hurt my feelings,” she whispered.
“Oh...” he said as he was about to kiss her again.
“Dinner is served!” The Frenchman walked into their little romantic moment, and brought the two plates of stripped chicken covered in orange sauce.
“Way to ruin the moment,” Irene muttered under her breath.
“Is there something you would like madam?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing,” she faked a smile.
“Good,” he smiled and walked away.
Dylan was about to eat a small piece of chicken when Irene stopped him, “Wait! We have to say the blessing before we eat!” Dylan rose a brow and watched her mutter to herself in silence.
“There, now you can eat,” she smiled.
“I didn’t know you were a religious woman Irene,” Dylan smiled.
Irene just shrugged.
“I was never raised on religion so I never understood it, but if you like religion, I’m all for it,” he grinned. She ate her chicken and cracked a slight smile.

Dinner went by a little slow, but they talked for most of the part. Dylan talked about how he was reading a lot of Shakespeare lately and Irene just talked about Sophie and Carter, since she really had nothing else to talk about.
After the man took away their food, a trio of men came in, one went to the stage, the other walked to a piano, and the last man went to a harp in the back corner.
“Is this the band?” Irene asked and smiled.
“Yes ma’am,” Dylan smiled and got up, holding his hand out, “Would you care to dance?”
“I’d love to,” Irene blushed and grabbed his hand. He pulled her in immediately to his chest. She smiled. He put his left hand on her waist and his right to her hand, while she put her right hand on his shoulder, and her left to his hand. She then rested her head on his chest, closing her eyes.
“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he whispered.
“I won’t” she said and looked up into his eyes. He then let go of her hand and held her face, and kissed her gently. Her hand grabbed his neck and pulled him in closer.
“If anyone were to see us, we’d be in huge trouble,” she whispered.
“Yes, but I wouldn’t care,” he smiled and kissed her again, but Irene’s face went from happy to a little nervous.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Maroni, he’s here,” she said. Dylan turned and saw Maroni with the same woman he talked to about an hour and a half ago. He quickly grabbed Irene and headed out the back exit.
“What’s my dad doing here?” he asked himself out loud.
“Your dad?” she asked and took a step back.
“What?” he asked and suddenly forgot. He had never told her Maroni was his dad... oops.
“W-what?” she asked, almost as if she was about to cry.
“Irene don’t cry, I was going to tell you, just not at this moment...”
“For all I know you could just be working for him, trying to use me to get information out of me,” she burst into tears. Dylan took a step closer and touched her hand, but she thrust his arm away.
“Listen! Irene, I love you, I don’t like my dad! I know that you know something that I don’t know! I know you know that my dad is bad! I just want to know why, and once I know I want to help you! That’s all, I do care about you. I care about you than I do my own job. All I want is you!”
“You’re just saying that because you want to,” she sighed.
“Irene, don’t go outside, it’s pouring rain! Let me just take you home and talk about this!”
“No!” she yelled, “You lied to me!”
“Oh like you’ve never lied to me?!” he yelled, and he soon regretted it too.
“What have I lied to you about!?” she yelled and got closer.
Dylan thought for a moment about kissing her...
“Don’t you dare think about kissing me, it’ll be the last thing you’ll do before you rot in Hell.”
“I wasn’t,” he lied, “I just want to apologize, for everything, I didn’t mean it.”
“Apologize for what? Loving me? Or lying to me?” she asked.
“Both-wait, I mean for lying to you!”
“See, you can’t even hide the truth from me now that I have exposed your secret!”
“Irene!” he yelled and grabbed her, “I love you, just say that you love me back and everything will be alright... I promise.”
Irene thought for a moment, and hesitated, “I... don’t love you.”
Dylan actually was so shocked that he almost fell over into the road, he couldn’t believe what she had said.
“Now leave me alone,” Irene said and walked off.
“You’ll regret this Ms. Dawes,” Dylan now yelled, heartbroken, but yet angry.
“We’ll see about that!” Irene yelled back, now at her new enemy.

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