pillow princess

Marcelo was on edge. Everywhere he looked, vaguely familiar faces appeared out of the crowd of the elite. Killers, mercenaries, mafia men, they were all here that night, baring their teeth at one another and shaking hands with too tight a grip. He knew many of them, whether it had been from serving as a former client or because he had nearly been on the receiving end of their bullets, and it didn’t settle well with him one bit. In every room he went to, the underlying tension between the powerful mafias was unmistakable. It was only a matter of time before someone snapped and turned the overdone soiree into a bloodbath; Marcelo would have bet on it.

And there was Lorelai Degenhardt, oblivious to everything. She was out there now, dancing with some no name trust fund brat who thought he had a snowball’s chance in hell with her. Unlikely, given how she had already gone through two or three other partners in the span of the past hour. Each one, if he was being honest, was marginally worse than the last, and his mood kept souring with each flirtatious smile she shot their way. The first few prospects he had managed to scare away by standing close enough, but with each drink, they were getting bolder, and therefore far more annoying to deal with. It was even worse with the socialite herself. 

When she finally noticed him (though he had been shadowing her for most of the night save a few interruptions), Marcelo scowled, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he stared her down. “You’re not getting rid of me, princesa, we’ve been over this.“ As clever as she thought she was, running away from him into the throngs of drunken guests, Marcelo was an expert at tracking people. Even under the flashing lights and sweat-slicked bodies of the many dancers on the floor, he could have been able to spot her anywhere. There was no other woman more eye-catching, or more fucking irritating than her.

The bodyguard cut through the crowd, deftly avoiding elbows to the gut and heels unintentionally aimed at his feet. She was quick, he would give her that, but he was quicker. Crushed among the guests, he shot a hand out for Lorelai’s wrist, pulling her closer before she could get away again. His other hand went to her waist, knowing fully well she would try to twist away from him if he gave her the opportunity. “Lorelai, enough.” He growled, eyes narrowing dangerously. “You can’t keep running from me forever. You need to stay close.”

“Who said I was running?” Lorelai quipped, a devilish smile curling across her glossed lips. “I’m just dancing. You know, enjoying myself. Not that you would know what that is.” Her green eyes gleamed as evilly as her smile, but as she looked up at him, her expression wavered. No, no -- she was just drunk. One too many shots with Mariana in the hours before she’d been swept away by a no-name what’s his face. But Marcelo’s face -- Lorelai suddenly didn’t feel to keen on slipping away anymore from him as she stared up at him. The light caught him from behind, casting long shadows over the sharp planes of his features. His face itself was dark, but light glimmered past his curls and etched streams of dim light across his cheek bones and the edges of his jaw. It gave him an almost angelic sheen, though he could hardly be described as such.

She had to stop herself from reaching into a bag that wasn’t there to draw out a sketch book she hand’t brought with her. Marcelo’s eyebrows were creased together, and she had an itch to rough out the shape of them with a stick of charcoal. But the thought just made her giggle. Drunk. Yes, that’s what this was -- the wave of heat and the flush to her cheeks was just too much tequila, and as the room spun, she let out a loud crack of laughter and wrapped her fingers around his tie and tugged him closer to her face. “How close? You know, since we’re like, on a first name basis.” She liked the way her name sounded rolling off his tongue, and his hand settled on the curve of her waist wasn’t uncomfortable in the least. Had Lorelai been a touch more sober, she might have twisted away from him once more and vanished into the throng of dancers. She had half a mind to do it, up until the first gun shot rang like thunder in her ears and sent a scream rushing from her throat. 

“What the hell?” She yelped as screams roared louder than the music, and with an unintentional movement, she released his tie and found herself tucking her face into his chest, half-shoved agains him by party guests and half seeking him out -- damnit -- in fear.

Talk to Bunny.

That had been the only text she’d gotten from her father in over a week. Talk to Bunny. Her mother, at least, had the decency to shoot her a call or FaceTime her every few days -- on some tropical island or another -- but her dad? Texts. Text messages. No hi, how are you? No how are classes going? Just a text to make sure she talked to Bunny Golighty, who she’d barley said four words to each other since their families had stopped their summer trips together to Cabo after her parents had divorced.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Bunny. From what she remembered she was pretty cool -- they’d bonded over art when they’d been middle schoolers. It had been fun, but it had been a long time. Like, a long ass time.

“Bunny, hey!” Lorelai said with a slightly drunken chirp, waving her over to the small hightop she perched at near the desert table. “Happy Birthday! Daddy Degenhardt sends his good wishes and all that. He’s off doing who knows what at some embassy... Mom, too. She’s sorry she couldn’t make it.” She patted the seat next to her. “Great party -- your parents really went all out. Totally going to be front page.”

“Ah! Dios mio - don’t you understand how long it takes to get my lashes to do this!?” Mariana pointed at her face, a pout on her face as she tried - and failed, to snatch her mascara back. “A long time!” Still, Lorelai had a point, especially if her new babysitter was ready to show up and ruin their good time. “Okay okay, let’s go. My brother’s are here and if they catch me getting drunk they’ll kill me!” She complained, carefully looking around as they entered the hustle and bustle of the Gala. 

“If your babysitter ruins my night too, I’m going to be quite upset,” Mariana warned, pulling on her friends arm to get to the bar. No terrible brothers in sight, and she had made sure their makeup would at least make them look older. But that might have been a little overkill, the poor bartenders looked stressed and overworked. Poor things. 

“Come, are you ready for the shots I promised you?”

“Your lashes touch the fucking ceiling without it! I was ready for them like, four hours ago. We should have pregamed more. I’m already loosing my buzz from earlier. Seriously screwed up.” Lorelai clapped her hands together excitedly, a delighted laugh bubbling up in her throat as she was tugged into the crowd. “They’ve seen you drunk before, right? Push comes to shove, just blame it on me. You’ve got to keep up that perfect princess look. Just tell them I’m a bad influence -- oh, let’s get tequila shots instead.” 

Lorelai certinley was a bad influence, but she knew Mariana didn’t mind. Two peas in a pod, two party girls in their element. Though, hopefully they wouldn’t end up dancing on tables too soon. That was always saved for the later hours, when nobody really cared about who was doing what. “Are all of your brothers here? Eesh. We might want to look out for them more than Mr. Buzzkill... You’d think he’d have a better personality with a face like that.”

The boy she was dancing with, was definitely, for sure, not her date. To be perfectly honest, she wasn’t even really sure who her date was -- or, for that matter, where he’d gone. They’d color coordinated, shown up together, and a minute later, they’d been drinking. And Lorelai had probably stayed at the bar longer than he had, and he’d vanished. Probably off with some chick that wasn’t her. And Lorelai Degenhardt did not mind one bit, because she was having the absolute time of her life. The Garden had been completely transformed. The various ballrooms all seemed to have a different kind of music, each for a different sort of age group. There was ballroom dancing for the classical snobs, and more upbeat music for the younger generation like Bunny Golighty’s friends. Lorelai wasn’t exactly Bunny Golighty’s friend -- they’d kind of sort of grown together, in that weird my dad knows your dad way -- but she was certainly grateful that the girl had managed to get some decent music playing throughout the otherwise selective playlists available for the night. 

Lorelai could waltz, and salsa, and all of that -- but it wasn’t exactly drunk off your ass kind of dancing. This dance, on the other hand, was. The strangers arms were wrapped around her waist, and as he twirled her and they ground -- the classy kind, of course -- on each other, he’d been sneaking kisses on her neck and trailing his fingers lower and lower as the beat thrummed. It was exhilarating -- Lorelai turned to press her chest against his, but when she did so, she caught sight of unmistakable hair. 

“Oh, hell no.” Her partner looked a bit puzzled. She didn’t bother apologizing as she slipped from his hold, pausing only to take a champagne fluke from a waiter’s trey. Locking eyes with her body gaurd, she knocked it back, set it down, and promptly shot him a bird. A second later, and she was thrusting herself farther into the crowd, a devious, drunken giggle bubbling in her throat. 

That’s right. Screw the man. She was damn tired of burly men dealing out her father’s orders. If he was going to try to drag her out of here, he was going to have to work for it. She didn’t look this good to go home before it was even midnight. 

Lorelai was bussing. Five feet of pure, uncontrollable excitement. One part of it was that her father’s call that morning had been very clear -- she was by no means allowed to go to the Golighty Gala, and neither was her brother. Despite the fact that they’d been invited. It was because of the last big party she’d gone to involving some of her father’s associates -- even the Germans knew who the Golightys were, who didn’t -- had resulted in some unorthodox photos of herself. And Daddy Degenhardt wanted to keep the Golighty Gala clear of her tyranny. But sneaking out was Lorelai’s specialty. Especially when it meant getting drunk with Mariana. 

“Okay, okay -- you said shots when we got here. I am shotless. Like, this is a crime, Mari. There’s an open bar, and you’re still stuck on your makeup. Which, looks great -- and I want booze before my baby sitter shows up. Move it, move it!” She grinned evilly, snatching Mariana’s tube from her fingers, and pushed her into the gala once more. “It’s like you didn’t see open bar -- here, I’ll say it three times, open bar -- on the invitation!”

The bodyguard felt the way she wobbled on impractically high heels as he stopped her in her tracks, but if her profile was any indication, his fight was far from over with her. He would have smiled at her outrage, had he not felt the telltale signs of a migraine already forming.  “And that’s where you’re incorrect, princessa. I got specific instructions from your father to make sure you stay out of trouble, and last time I checked, I’m not on your payroll.” It was rude, excessively sarcastic even, but she hadn’t given him any reason for politeness since he had arrived. 

“Look, if you have a problem with this, take it up with him. I don’t get paid to deal with your daddy issues. I’ll carry you back if I have to.” It was far from an empty threat. Marcelo had faced far worse horrors than some sorority princess type from the big city. “I can hear just fine, thank you very much. I just don’t speak colonizer. Now are you going to behave like a proper adult or are we going to have to do this the hard way?”

“Oh, colonizer? Real original. So it’s not just romance novels -- it’s super hero movies! Why don’t you go jump back in your Captain America jammies and we can both get on with our lives?” Carry her? Oh, that was rich -- and completely, utterly unbelievable. Elias Degenhardt wouldn’t have dared to hire someone who would grab his kid against their will. She’d learned that quickly -- no touching, unless she invited it in with a sultry smile and flutter of her doll eyes. And those who did touch her -- even with her permission -- were on the curb before they could blink.

She turned to him sharply, Louboutin heels making a skirsh on the pavement. She craned her head again, taking a step forward so that her chest was nearly flush against him, blue-green eyes lit with an unmistakable challenge. “Bite me.”

“What did you do to end on house arrest this time?” She asked amused, maybe she shouldn’t encourage her by asking and being amused by her antics. Alexandra did worry about Lorelai after all. “Well I’d hope not, I’d be very hurt if he thought I wasn’t a good person for you to have brunch with.” She chuckled and nodded “The Garden sounds lovely, and regardless you’re with me, i’ll be like hey I’m an adult it’s fine.” Though she already suspected they wouldn’t be bothered anyway.

“I like, didn’t even do anything that bad. Dad just has a stick up his foreign ass. It was a dress that showed some cleavage and it ended up on that gossip blog again... You know, that black, sheer Dolce and Gabbana dress that has the corset stuff all underneath. And I was wearing a slip! The chick pointed out I was underaged, dad found out, blah, blah, blah...” 

She trailed off, slipping her arm through Alexandra’s and tugging her in the direction of the hotel. “You’re the only adult I can stand. Ugh. You know he hired another bodyguard? That’s who has me so under lock and key. He’s such a dick.” She paused, looking over at the taller girl. “Eesh. I’m totally rambling about me a little too much. Whatcha been up to? Any juicy details you haven’t told me about? Oh, and should we do the rooftop bar or one of the restaurants?”

Marcelo resisted the urge to roll his eyes just barely, rather affronted that he was being compared to a melodramatic hero from some ridiculous harlequin romance novel. It hadn’t been more than a full hour into the job and he could already feel his temper flaring, nerves wearing thin with the sass she was giving him. At least he was only assigned to the one sibling and not both, otherwise he would have booked a one-way ticket back to Brazil. 

A hand immediately shot out as she tried to pass him, catching her by the arm. “Very funny, princessa, but that isn’t going to fly with me.“ Did she honestly think that he’d let her just waltz away without any consequence? How incompetent were her previous guards, to let such a small woman walk all over them? “I don’t know how your past guards treated you, but if your father says no, then you’re not doing it. Which means you’re going to go right back inside and do whatever the fuck it is you want. But you are not going. Understood?”  

Feeling quite proud of herself for that creative little insult, the man immediately moved to the back of her mind. If he did his job like the rest of them did, he would just follow behind her and end up where ever she wanted to go. Not -- and she wouldn’t stress that word enough -- where she was told. Where she wanted to go. So when his thuggish hand closed around her arm and stopped her in her tracks? She could only blink. She had to hand it to her dad. This guy -- as pretty as he was -- was by far the boldest of her guards so far. They hadn’t dared touch her. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She’d slept with two of them. But that was because she’d given them the OK. As brutish -- and tall, and dark, and handsome -- as this guy was, he didn’t get special privileges just because he thought he was hot shit. 

The motion has caused her to jerk slightly, the heel of her bootie wobbling ever so slightly as she steadied herself. Her eyebrows knitted together, because, well -- she was generally stumped for a moment. Who the hell was this guy? Who did he think he was? She had to hand it to her dad. As pretty as he was, he was by far the boldest of her guards so far. The others  hadn’t dared touch her. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She’d slept with two of them. But that was because she’d given them the OK. Not the other way around. As brutish -- and tall, and dark, and handsome -- as this guy was, he didn’t get special privileges just because he thought he was hot shit. 

“Um, paws off, creep.” She told him, finally blinking out of her momentary lapse. She jerked her arm free, a stubborn hand moving to her hip. “My father doesn’t get a say in what I do, or where I go, m’kay? He’s across the world. Grüße aus Deutschland! Or is your hair too thick for you to hear properly? Get with the picture, or get lost. I have things to do.”

He was in such a deep sleep that neither the shuffle of feet, nor the calling of his name had woken him. What did was the feel of someone jumping on him. It could only be one person, considering who he was with last night must’ve left instead of daring to wake him like this. No, this was like being seven again. Old habits seemed to die hard when it came to Degenhardts. An inaudible groan finally sounded, a sign that he wasn’t dead.

Though he groaned again as he turned over enough to crack an eye open at his sister, her proposal was enough to get him thinking. “You had me at mimosas.” Levi began to sit up, taking the pillow he’d been using to lightly smack her back. “Next time maybe wake me up with one of those, yeah?” 

“You were sleeping way to peacefully to not fuck with,” Lorelai quipped with a shrug of her shoulders, a devious smile curling across her lips. She faked a moan of pain when the pillow hit her, before rolling her eyes and drawing her knees up to her chest. “Where’d your girlfriend go? I mean, girl that’s a friend who snuck out of here at four in the morning. Not that I was just getting in. You know, you really need to try the club in that Garden place. Totally worth the hang over -- but you look like death.”

The petit blonde jumped off her brother’s bed, stretching and turning on her toes toward the door. “Lass uns gehen! Or whatever dad says. Like, before his new hire shows up with my child leash. Why don’t you get one?”

“Ouch, tough choices, tough choices.... Off the bat, yellow is like, my favorite color. So that’s super easy. Probably Chanel over Dior. I like how Moschino looks more, but Givenchy is way more pratical when you think about it. And laptops, all the way.”

“Let me get this straight,” Lorelai planted her hands on her hips, hovering in the doorway of her and her brother’s apartment. She had to crane her neck to look at him. Up, up, up. As big as her personality was, she was barley five feet tall. What did he make, ten? Eleven? All she knew was that they were a dime a dozen – bodyguards. More like babysitters.  “Daddy Degenhardt thinks you’re going to be able to keep me off Celebrity News? Like, seriously? You looked like you walked off the cover of some fifty year olds romance novel…” She stepped out of the door way, lifting a hand to pat him on the chest.

“Good luck, Fabio.” With that, she strode past him, sticking her headphones in her ears.