Chapter 108: The Sweetest Negotiation
Chapter 108: The Sweetest Negotiation
She suppressed a smile before looking back at him.
"Your tea is getting cold." She nodded toward his untouched cup. "Don’t make me enjoy all of this by myself."
Grateful to finally have something useful to do, Lucien immediately reached for the porcelain cup.
The warm tea soothed him the moment it touched his lips. The spices lingered pleasantly.
With a quiet clink, he returned the cup to its saucer.
"All of this..." He gestured around the garden.
"...would be the perfect setting for receiving political guests."
His gaze swept across the table.
"The atmosphere feels exclusive.
Exquisite. And yet..." He smiled faintly. "...effortless.
It encourages people to lower their guard.
They relax.
They begin to associate negotiations with comfort."
His eyes returned to hers.
"And then...
...you dismantle every one of their arguments while serving pastries."
Mirabelle burst into laughter. The bright sound echoed between the rose hedges, startling a pair of birds into flight.
"So..." She rested her chin on one hand.
"Did you feel dismantled?"
Lucien swallowed.
"...A little."
Mirabelle’s grin widened.
"That’s a very diplomatic way of putting it."
"It seemed appropriate."
She reached toward the nearest cake stand.
Her fingers closed around a still-warm blueberry muffin before extending it across the table toward him.
At that exact moment the breeze shifted. It carried her scent straight toward him.
Lucien froze.
His fox tail immediately began wagging behind his chair.
"...You smell good."
His voice had dropped to a whisper. Those emerald eyes had grown noticeably brighter.
Almost glowing.
Mirabelle slowly licked her lower lip.
Then she smiled.
"I taste even better."
Lucien’s emerald eyes remained fixed on her.
The afternoon breeze wandered lazily through the rose garden, carrying with it the perfume of the thousands of blossoms.
Somewhere high above them, birds continued their cheerful conversation as though nothing in the world had changed.
The rabbit was still eating.
Completely oblivious.
Mirabelle smiled.
"...You’re staring."
Lucien blinked.
"...I am."
Mirabelle: "You should probably stop."
Lucien: "I’ve been trying."
Mirabelle: "...And?"
Lucien: "It isn’t going particularly well."
She laughed quietly.
"You really are hopeless."
"I’m beginning to suspect so."
Mirabelle reached for another sip of tea.
When she lowered the porcelain cup again, she caught Lucien still watching her.
Not impatiently.
Simply...
Captivated.
And a little bit hungrily.
His expression softened.
"I’ve been thinking."
Mirabelle: "Oh?"
"I believe Lord Lucien owes the heiress considerably more than a simple apology."
Mirabelle rested her elbow on the table:
"I’m listening."
"He should probably spend a great deal of time making sure she smiles again."
"Hm." She pretended to consider his proposal. "Reasonable."
Another comfortable silence settled between them.
The fountain continued its quiet melody.
A bee investigated the blueberries before deciding against them.
The sunlight filtering through the climbing roses painted shifting patches of gold across the white tablecloth.
Mirabelle absentmindedly brushed a rose petal away from one of the plates.
"You know..." She looked around the carefully prepared tea table. "...it’s almost a shame to eat any of this."
Lucien followed her gaze.
"It almost feels like an exhibition."
Mirabelle: "Exactly."
"And yet..." His eyes drifted back to her.
"...the best part of the afternoon isn’t on the table."
She looked up.
Their eyes met.
The smile slowly disappeared from both of their faces.
Not because anything was wrong.
Because suddenly...
Neither of them was pretending anymore.
The bond hummed quietly between them.
Gentle.
Warm.
Comforting.
Mirabelle became acutely aware of every tiny detail.
The soft rustle of leaves overhead.
The distant splash of the fountain.
The fragrance of roses.
The warmth of the afternoon sun against her shoulders.
Flowers bloomed inside her chest. Slowely opening their buds and unfolding a sparkling sensation.
Lucien slowly rose from his chair.
Not abruptly.
Not with urgency.
Simply following an instinct that neither of them questioned. He walked around the table. His footsteps barely disturbed the gravel.
He stopped beside her.
Close enough that she could smell cedarwood, leaves, and the faint freshness that somehow always clung to him.
Neither spoke.
Mirabelle tilted her head back to look at him.
"So..." A teasing smile returned to her lips.
"Does Ryan always invade other people’s personal space?"
Lucien smiled.
"Only when invited."
Mirabelle: "And were you invited?"
Lucien: "I was handed a blueberry muffin."
Mirabelle snorted.
"That’s a surprisingly fox-like interpretation."
"I prefer to think of it as optimism."
She shook her head, laughing under her breath.
"You really are impossible."
"So I’ve been told."
He offered her his hand. Mirabelle looked at it for a long moment before placing her own into his. Warm fingers closed gently around hers.
With surprising softness, Lucien helped her to her feet.
They stood only inches apart.
The world beyond the rose hedges seemed impossibly far away.
Then Mirabelle glanced toward the elaborate arrangement covering most of the tabletop.
An idea flickered across her face.
Slowly...
A decidedly mischievous smile spread across her lips.
Lucien recognized that smile immediately.
"...I’m suddenly concerned."
"You should be."
She looked at the immaculate display of porcelain, flowers, and pastries.
Then at the broad stretch of white tablecloth still visible between the towering cake stands.
"Ryan..." Her golden eyes sparkled.
"I have a little challenge for you."
Lucien’s ears twitched forward.
"...Should I be worried?"
Mirabelle only smiled.
"Oh... Definitely.
Do you think you could... move the tablecloth a little? You know... without destroying the ensemble that’s on it?"
She tested the wording on her tongue as she pressed the two hanging ends of the tablecloth into the thoroughly bewildered fox Beastman’s hands.
Lucien looked from the cloth...to Mirabelle.
Back to the cloth.
"...May I ask why?"
"No."
"...Should I be concerned?"
"Probably."
He studied her for another second.
Those golden eyes sparkled with unmistakable mischief.
He still had absolutely no idea what she was planning.
Which, strangely enough...
Only made him more curious.
"...Very well."
Lucien carefully wrapped the fabric around his fingers.
Slowly...
Very slowly...
He pulled.
The lace tablecloth slid across the polished tabletop with barely any resistance.
CLINK.
Every porcelain cup shifted at once.
The silver spoons rattled softly against their saucers. The towering cake stands swayed ever so slightly.
Mirabelle instinctively held her breath.
Lucien immediately froze.
"...Keep going," she encouraged.
"...Are you sure?"
"No." she laughed. The sound was like music in his ears.
"...Comforting."
He continued.
Another careful tug.
CLINK... CLINK...
The entire tea service crept several more inches toward them.
One of the crystal fruit bowls trembled.
A peach rolled lazily against the rim before settling again.
The blueberry muffins wobbled.
Then everything fell into place.
Mirabelle moved.
The skirt of her peach-colored dress swayed gently around her legs as she stepped around the table. Sunlight filtered through the roses overhead, scattering shifting patches of gold across the white lace tablecloth.
She circled the arrangement once.
Studying it from every angle.
"Hm..."
She nudged one of the teacups a finger’s width to the left. Adjusted a folded napkin.
Turned a fruit tart ever so slightly.
Then stepped back.
"No..." Another step closer. "The cake stand."
Lucien obediently moved it half an inch.
"There?"
"A little more."
He did.
"...Perfect."
The fox Beastman folded his arms.
"I feel less like a diplomat...
...and more like an interior decorator."
Mirabelle nodded approvingly.
"You have remarkable potential."
"I shall add it to my résumé."
A breeze wandered through the garden.
The lace tablecloth fluttered softly.
Rose petals danced across the tabletop before settling among the porcelain cups.
Mirabelle looked over the arrangement one final time.
Everything was exactly where she wanted it.
Or...
Almost.
"What was that for?" Lucien asked curiously.
The entire arrangement now looked subtly... off.
The carefully composed centerpiece had shifted several inches toward one edge of the table. The cake stands, porcelain, crystal bowls, and pastries no longer occupied the middle but seemed to lean ever so slightly to one side, as though the whole tea party had tilted without actually falling apart.
Mirabelle, however, didn’t answer.
She simply stared at the chair Lucien had occupied only moments ago.
Then her gaze wandered to the empty stretch of lace-covered tabletop that now separated his place from the carefully arranged desserts.
Lucien followed her eyes.
Only then did he notice the broad strip of untouched tablecloth running between the cake stands, porcelain, fruit bowls, and pastries.
His brow furrowed.
Then he understood.
A grin slowly spread across Lucien’s lips.
Without warning he moved. So fast that only a cultivator of his level could have crossed the distance so effortlessly.
Had Mirabelle’s senses still been those of an ordinary human, she probably would’ve yelped in surprise.
Instead, she understood his intention almost the moment he did. She instinctively turned toward him.
Strong hands settled gently around her waist. The warmth of his palms seeped effortlessly through the fabric of her dress.
Then the ground disappeared beneath her feet.
It was so natural...
So impossibly easy...
As though she weighed nothing at all.
The afternoon breeze caught the wide skirt of her peach-colored dress, billowing the fabric around her legs as sunlight flickered through its folds.
Lucien carried her only three long strides.
The world seemed to blur for the briefest moment before he reached the opposite side of the table.
With almost absurd care, he lowered her onto the sturdy table edge.
The furniture didn’t so much as creak.
Beneath her, she could feel the cool metal reinforcement hidden beneath the tabletop.
Solid.
Unmoving.
Built to withstand considerably more than afternoon tea.
Her legs dangled comfortably over the edge as she looked up at him.
Through the bond, satisfaction washed over her.
Warm.
Quiet.
Accompanied by unmistakable anticipation.
Lucien’s smile deepened.
"There."
He took a small step back to admire his work.
"...Now the best part of the afternoon is finally on the table."