Chapter 125 - Buried The Hatchet

Lots of creases were found on Nathalie's face as she scrunched from the sudden beam of light, which struck her, mainly her closed eyes. It got to the point she squirmed from the bed, rustling beneath the sheets with a bit of stretch before she sat upright.

Her eyelids bore so heavy that she ought to sink deeper to sleep, but the white brilliance sweltered hers, and by far, it was the worst time she had to force herself and broke free from the good rest.

'Damn, this light is…. Morning already?'

Still, in droopy eyes, she dozed her head—from side to side—then to the ebony wood headboard with a subtle thud.

'I felt so good last night…' she thought groggily; her mind was still rocking back and forth, clearly surprised how contrasted to her body with every pain bored to her vanished without any trace.

Anchoring her palm on the soft, cozy bed, she then reached one of her shoulders with a little knead, moaning, from the sudden relief that befell her at the moment. After having a slight stretch of her limbs from here and there, her hands scratched her head, raking a couple of hair locks downwards as she wanted to get out of the bed.

But only then she realized, with eyes now wide open, as the bed was not only hers to take. To the side, a toned and chiseled back of a man carved with perfection under the morning's light. From torso up, just above his pale, lean neck found ebony-riched hair.

Nathalie almost gouged her eyes out of the sockets as she recalled the moments she shared with him.

Not once…

Not twice…

Not even thrice…

She cupped her cheeks; beet-red hues flushed her cheeks from thinking about how she lost count of their actions in one steamy, stormy night.

'What the hell did I just get myself into?' She raked her hair again, with the frustration she got. 

Her mind already had a sense of foreboding chill spreading through her body, but just a part of her remained resilient, and with her beating heart resonated well with his, seizing the moment like she wanted it for a long time.

'This isn't good. I hate this—why did I even write Mystique?! I'm regretting my decision so hard—'

At the moment, Nathalie flinched when Athan started to rustle against the quilt, groaning, and the tight ridges on his back shifted in subtlety every time he moved. She held her breath for as long as she could and breathed out when he went back to relax and fell back to sleep.

'I have to be careful; I need to move out of here—Oh no! Keith!' 

When it was time for her to make haste, she got out of the bed safely, and as she reached for her dress, the sides had already large slits with jarred edges on it, clearly ripped from his sheer strength.

Even her purple lace lingeries weren't spared.

She was beyond glad she was born to stay ready; from her pouch, she grabbed her pair of undergarments, white and seamless, for her to use after she pulled out a floral print sunday dress, draping right to her shins. 

In one swift move of donning them, she grabbed the last one—a double-breasted beige trench coat for her to use.

To the side was a large window, overlooking the expanse of lush green hues that rolled several times with several houses seen from afar. Then her gaze went back to the room.

'A large-sized bed, a small wardrobe, and a nightstand….' With narrowed eyes, she kept on looking around the room; as the light graced from a high ceiling, the bland walls, and to several accents and furniture, she realized it was Athan's secret abode. 

'Just as what I described with the stark light grey with a touch of earthy color palettes.'

Nathalie prowled her way towards the door as there was no need for her to stay any longer.

Opening it slowly, ever-so-surely, not a creaking sound made with it now ajar, she stepped out. 

'Look at him, sleeping soundly…' With a soft clink, she sighed. 'That's never happened, for he would be so alert throughout his life. Was that night really effective for him—'

"You're here."

Her heart skipped a beat when a voice echoed behind her. Upon turning around, Marianne, who had a solemn gaze, was clearly not bothered with what happened.

For she was a sweet, caring lady, she would usually become different when it came to Athan.

Worse, Mystique, at this point, had just buried the hatchet, which made the already awkward situation rather stifling and suffocating.

Though, as much as Nathalie wanted to defend when her lips parted, the Lady of Salvatore went at it once more, muttering, "That would be very rude of you to think I'm no different from a ghost." 

Thus her words were left unspoken.

'Is she serious?'

It was weird. 

"Although, before you go, do you want to have some tea?"

Nathalie blinked her eyes, pulling herself together out of her train of thoughts, and wrote, [I'd love to.]

"I shall lead you the way…."

Through the alley, their steps clacking against the polished floor turned out enough to break the silence, and she had her glance roam around, being skeptical of the very foundation she was in, and not long after, they were at the kitchen.

Marianne went to the white marbled countertop with a tray with a ceramic teapot and several teacups. Her nose caught the aromatic scent of black honey tea adrift in the air. 

"Please," She gestured her hand on one of the seats on the wide ebony wood dining table while she lifted the tray. 

After tea was served, both took a seat, and the tea was piping hot, but through a touch of her hands rushed a tinge of cold, making a little fizzle.

'Much better…'

"I apologize as we only have brewed—"

[Many thanks.]

On the other hand, Marianne dropped a sugar cube on her cup, stirring it for a while. 

Just when Nathalie thought she could somehow unwind taking a sip, even though her drink, she almost spilled it from her mouth.

"So, you've finally slept with him?"