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Crescent Smiles: Fic

Helena swallowed, quickly trying to think of what to say now that the ball was in her court. She knew she wasn't great at making conversation, something that mentors throughout her life had told her that she needed to make improvements on if she was to one day run the company. (Was it her fault if she was bad at socialising when there was no one around for her to socialise with?)

"What's your name?"

The man's brows furrowed, clearly taken aback by the question, but he also seemed amused too.

"Mark. Mark Scout. I'm the new chef." He tilted his head to the side, reassessing his answer, "Well, I've been here about six weeks? Still new compared to everyone else, I guess. Seems like people that work here stay for ages."

"I'm Helena." She replied, giving a polite nod. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Mark is a chef at the Lumon Estate and notices that the CEO's daughter has an inadequate breakfast every morning, so he gives her extra food (and passes her notes too)

Written for MarkHelly Week 2026 Day Five - 'Forbidden Love'

(Is MarkHelly Week 2026 over? Yes. Am I going to keep posting my fics because I'm still attached to the ideas? Also Yes.)

Also available to read on AO3!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Helena dutifully cut her hard boiled egg into equal segments, even as she wasn't under her Father's watchful gaze that morning.

Ever since he'd announced the severance procedure to the world the previous week, Helena had seen less of her Father than she ever had in her twenty-five years of life, save for when he would swing open the door of her bedroom late at night when he returned home from wherever he'd been. The first few times, she would stay awake just for him, even as it caused her headaches and to have much less energy the following day. In recent days, she'd instead already turned her lamp off and been curled up in bed when he'd arrived, but he'd still press a wet kiss to her exposed cheek.

It took Helena a lot of effort to keep her breathing steady and her eyes from squeezing tighter at the intrusion.

It wasn't that she disliked her Father - she would of course be eternally grateful to him for all of the opportunities he'd provided her - but these days she felt more trapped than ever at the Lumon estate. All of the people around her came and went as they pleased, but the daughter of the CEO wasn't allowed off the property without at least two bodyguards (all of whom often seemed to dislike their job detail anyway, so she rarely bothered to request them).

She was stuck in this limbo of being the age of what she considered a 'real adult' but had not hit any of the milestones that she assumed others her age had done: graduated college, moved out of their parents' house, had their first relationship, even learned how to do laundry on their own.

The one time Helena asked if she could do some of her own laundry, her Father had scowled at her, saying that they had hired help for a reason and that Kier would object to her using her precious time to do such meaningless and trivial tasks herself. She'd left his office with her tail between her legs, her cheeks burning at being scolded for just wanting to do something with her days besides pushing her body through exercise, studying her family's texts and 'preparing for the next phase in her life's plan', whenever that was meant to happen.

She startled from her thoughts as a plate was placed to her left, the sound of porcelain hitting the glass table breaking the silence.

Her head spun to look at the man next to her dressed in chef whites and black trousers, his hands already folded in front of him as he stood ramrod straight, which seemed incredibly uncomfortable for him.

"I know you swim every morning," he began, his voice lacking confidence as his brown eyes focused on the plate he'd brought instead of her, "so I thought you might want more than just the egg."

Helena looked at the food he'd brought, assessing each item: a plain croissant with a red jam in the middle, a banana cut into slices, and a pink yogurt in a small bowl, with raspberries and blueberries dotted across the top.

"Sorry," he said, moving one hand to rub the back of his neck, the hair there moving, "Did I overstep? I just thought-"

"Thank you." Helena cut him off, instantly regretting how cold the words sounded as soon as they were out. Her main worry was that the longer he was here, the higher the risk that someone would see him. All of the staff that worked on the estate were loyal to Jame Eagan to a fault, and would definitely report back that they'd seen his daughter eat more than her necessary fill.

"Yeah, no worries," the man replied, the tiniest hint of a smile beginning to form on his face. He took the reply as a dismissal, turning on his heel and making his way to the door.

"Wait," the word tumbled out before Helena's brain could catch up.

He did as he was told, turning back to face her as his hand halted on the heavy doorknob. He stayed silent, just a questioning look on your face.

Helena swallowed, quickly trying to think of what to say now that the ball was in her court. She knew she wasn't great at making conversation, something that mentors throughout her life had told her that she needed to make improvements on if she was to one day run the company. (Was it her fault if she was bad at socialising when there was no one around for her to socialise with?)

"What's your name?"

The man's brows furrowed, clearly taken aback by the question, but he also seemed amused too.

"Mark. Mark Scout. I'm the new chef." He tilted his head to the side, reassessing his answer, "Well, I've been here about six weeks? Still new compared to everyone else, I guess. Seems like people that work here stay for ages."

Jame Eagan wasn't keen on letting people leave once they'd seen inside the belly of the beast.

"I'm Helena." She replied, giving a polite nod.

"Yeah, I'm aware." The phrase could've sounded dismissive, or even plain mean, but somehow it didn't coming from him. Perhaps it was something to do with the genuine smile on his face, combined with a curious gaze, like he was trying to figure out why she was going through with his interaction.

Helena was wondering that herself too.

She smiled back, internally admonishing how her cheeks began to burn at her stupidity, "Right. Apologies. That was… foolish."

"Yeah, you should apologise." He agreed instantly.

Helena's mouth opened in shock as she floundered for a response. She'd only spoken a few words to this man - a man who seemed genuinely kind and friendly and normal (which wasn't the case for most of the people Helena saw daily) - and somehow she'd already offended him, ruining what could've become a friendship before it even started-

"Sorry," he apologised instead, "I'm just joking around."

She let out a sigh of relief, trying her best to smile earnestly even as her heart was still racing in her chest.

"Yes, of course," she said, giving a weak chuckle, "Thank you, Mark, for the… food. It looks wonderful."

"You're welcome," he smiled, almost puffing out his chest in pride, "I've been told I make great croissants. Practically world famous. Much nicer than a boiled egg, if I do say so myself."

Helena supposed that it wasn't much of a bar to clear, but she didn't say that, worried that she wouldn't be able to master the joking manner as he clearly had.

"Thank you," she said again, wincing as she did so, "I'll… let you know how I find it."

Mark's eyebrows raised behind his hair, "I look forward to hearing your detailed review, Miss Eagan."

The mention of her last name pulled her back from whatever bubble she had been in, swallowing harshly. She had indulged in whatever this was for far too long, was lucky that no one had entered and caught her in this… frivolity. She only hoped that her Father was too busy to review the camera footage from every room that night, she didn't even want to think about what he would say to her.

"That'll be all." She said, sitting up straight and turning back towards the table.

She didn't watch as she heard Mark's steps retreat, his dress shoes harsh and loud with his thundering footsteps.

She glanced around the expansive room, as if someone could've been there the whole time, silently observing her. Once she was sure she was alone, she pushed away the plate that had once held the egg and moved the other one onto her placemat.

Helena had accompanied her Father to Paris once as a young teenager. She had been absolutely ecstatic at the idea of travelling to a new country, at all of the new potential experiences. Her luggage had been packed for her by one of the maids a whole week before the departure date, but she'd opened the suitcase the night before and added her sketchpad and pencils that she barely had a chance to use anymore, imagining herself being able to sit next to all of the famous landmarks and draw them herself in the morning sunlight, eating delicious pastries that she'd buy from independent bakeries.

In reality, she had been a shadow of her Father, always behind him but soundless and dark.

She ran a finger atop the croissant, the pastry flaking beneath her touch. The jam inside glistened, with small pieces of fruit running throughout. She wondered if they were strawberries or raspberries, then decided that she would like either, already thinking about the way the sugars would burst on her tongue.

Her shaking hands picked up the croissant as if it were a prized possession. Helena had been fortunate enough to be surrounded by expensive items her whole life, and yet this felt more exotic than most.

She nibbled at one end of the croissant, bringing a hand to her mouth to stop the flakes falling from her lips.

She hadn't taken a big enough bite to even reach the filling, but she was almost grateful for that as it meant she could savour the flavour of the pastry on its own. It was buttery and light and perfect, immediately becoming her new favourite food before she'd swallowed the first bite.

As she chewed with her mouth closed, she noticed that her mouth had pulled into a smile.

She forced the corners of her lips to return to their normal place as she swallowed, looking around again for any onlookers.

Without a second thought, her hands grasped the unused napkin on her right, quickly unfolding the intricate design. She placed the rest of the croissant and the banana on one side then folded it up like a present. With her other hand, she picked up the small bowl and a dessert spoon.

Holding everything in trembling hands, she walked to the door, opening it awkwardly with her full hands then poking her head out first, making sure the corridor was clear.

Once she was satisfied that she couldn't hear any footsteps, Helena hurried out and made her way to her bedroom as quickly as she could. She walked and turned countless times before arriving at her destination, opening her door then closing it firmly behind her.

She placed the two items on her empty desk, sitting down on her mahogany chair and willing her heart to stop racing, feeling as if she'd fled from a crime scene like she was the guilty party.

Which, she supposed, she was.

Helena opened the napkin, relieved to see everything was still intact except for one slice of banana that was slightly crushed from being against her palm.

She took a deep breath, ready to dive into the food once more, this time feeling more relaxed as she tucked into it, savouring each bite and cataloguing the different flavours. By the time she'd eaten the last spoon of yogurt, she felt more full than she could remember feeling in recent memory, both satisfied and shameful (though the former was more prominent).

In the dining room, the two plates remained on the table, the one Mark had given her hidden underneath the egg plate, both empty.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Helena arrived to the dining room after her swimming session to find that there was the expected breakfast of a boiled egg, and another plate obscured by a silver cloche.

She sat down at her assigned seat, her reflection staring back at her from the cloche, hazel eyes wide.

She lifted it up, forgoing the egg completely. Underneath was a larger bowl than yesterday's, this time with granola, sliced strawberries and banana, and a drizzle of honey covering it all. There was also a sliced apple with a small dipping pot of peanut butter next to it, and, what caught Helena's interest the most, a Danish pastry with a purple jam centre.

She ate the egg first, at a faster pace than she could ever recall doing previously, chewing and swallowing without even registering the taste.

When it was finished, she pushed the plate to the side almost gleefully, quick to copy what she had done the day prior. She again held everything and rushed through the blank corridors until she was in the solace of her own room, ready to explore the new tastes.

She began with the apple, eating the first slice on its own, which was already a treat in itself. She had remembered apples as being tart and slightly sour, but this one was perfectly sweet, a droplet of juice dripping down her chin after her third piece.

It was made even better by dipping the slices in the peanut butter, creating a perfect harmony of refreshing and comforting. She almost relished in the feeling of the paste sticking to the roof of her mouth, moving her tongue around to dislodge it.

The granola had surprised her with how crunchy it was even after it had been soaking in milk for a while, but she again loved the point of difference compared to the usual bland food she ate.

Despite how wonderful the breakfast had been, she couldn't help but feel a bit crestfallen that Mark hadn't made an appearance. She ate another bite before she could ruminate on why that was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The morning after that, she had hurried to the dining room straight after her swim instead of showering immediately after like she always did. She hated the stench of chlorine wafting up into her nose with every move, but it was made bearable knowing that she'd soon have other smells to focus on instead.

Again, she was greeted with the standard egg and another plate with a cloche. She lifted it quickly to find a stack of three small pancakes with syrup oozing off the sides, a bowl filled to the brim with various sliced fruits and a pastry that she didn't recognise.

Different from the other times, there was a white piece of paper in front of the plate, with haphazard black writing scrawled it.

She gingerly picked it up, reading the scrawled handwriting.

"Morning.

I tried something new, it's called trigona panoramatos. Be grateful that's written down so I didn't butcher the pronunciation. Saw it online while doomscrolling last night and thought it looked cool. Don't know if it's turned out how it's meant to but I think it's pretty fucking good. Hope you like it.

Mark ☺"

She traced her index finger over the smile he'd drawn at the end, the sight making her grin.

Helena ate the breakfast whilst rereading the note over and over, almost getting to the point where she could imagine his voice saying each word as if he was sitting right next to her so she didn't have to spend her breakfasts alone. The mere idea of that made something in her chest leap.

She always spent so much of her day in solitude - which was usually how she preferred it - but she had an inkling that she would like spending time with Mark. That he would actually treat her like a conversational partner, instead of either talking at her, not with her, or being too afraid to say what he felt.

Imagining them having a conversation prompted Helena to find an expensive fountain pen in one of her Father's drawers, flipping over the paper Mark had written on as she started her reply.

"Mark,

I liked the trigona panoramatos, but to be completely sincere with you, it's not my favourite. I would rate it a seven out of ten. However, I must ask, what is 'doomscrolling' and why were you doing it? The word doesn't particularly invoke good ideas.

Thank you again for the breakfast. I've thoroughly enjoyed each one, and I feel like they're truly sustaining me throughout the day."

Helena signed her name at the bottom, then scoffed as soon as she finished the final loop. He'd made his note seem so friendly and personal, and she'd ended hers like it was a business proposal.

To hopefully remedy the tone, she drew a smile next to her name like he had, frowning when one side of the mouth got too close to an eye. She couldn't even draw a silly little doodle properly.

Before she could overthink her reply any more, Helena stood up from the table, leaving the paper where he had, and hoping that it would be him that found it. (Though even the thought of another staff member coming across it doesn't make her think twice about leaving it there).

It was the first time she left any of the egg on the plate in years.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Helena found herself eager to get out of bed as soon as her alarm sounded, ready to get the day started.

She had no idea whether it was due to the extra food giving her more energy, the anticipation of seeing what Mark would concoct for her that day, excitement about the possibility of another note, or a mix of all three.

She had just finished tying her wet hair up in a bun as she walked into the dining room, delighted to see not just one but two pieces of paper next to the cloche.

She sat down, hands grasping the notes, the promise of his delicious food temporarily forgotten.

"Morning Helena,

I'm glad you like the food. Honestly, it's a fun challenge to make something different every day, so this is as much for me as it is for you. I'm really just a selfish dickhead.

I agree, that new pastry (forgot the name now the recipe isn't in front of me) was nice but not my best. I'll keep practising at home.

So, doomscrolling. You know when you're lying in bed but you can't sleep, so you reach for your phone to put on some ASMR whale fucking or whatever (my brother in law swears that it helps him sleep better, but my sister hates it and makes him wear earbuds) but then you just keep scrolling and scrolling and suddenly it's 4am and you've just watched sixty videos about creepy sea-life creatures? Yeah, that's doomscrolling. Happy to educate you on a hip new term!"

Helena moved onto the next page, a wide grin already plastered on her face.

"My turn to ask a question - what's up with the boiled egg? I've wondered this since my first day on the job and they briefed me about your breakfast. Is it a calorie deficit thing? A habit you've had for decades? Do you actually just chuck the egg out of the window at nearby birds for target practice? Also, does it have to be hard boiled? It makes me sad whenever I have to boil it for that long (I'm being sarcastic. Mostly.) but I swear I have mastered the art of the perfect slightly jammy yolk if you ever want to branch out.

Hope you have a good day.

Mark ☺"

Helena took her pen out of her trouser pocket (using her Father's for talking to Mark had made her stomach churn afterwards) and began writing her response in between spoonfuls of cereal.

"Hello Mark,

I'm glad you like making new foods too, I'd feel guilty if you were putting in all this extra work just for me. I highly doubt you are, as you so eloquently put it, a selfish dickhead. In fact, I see you as quite the opposite.

Thank you for introducing me to the term 'doomscrolling'. I can't say I've ever done it as I'm not permitted to have my phone in my bedroom, but I dare say I'm not missing out. Perhaps I could find a record of whale mating sounds though, if your brother in law recommends it so highly. I must admit that I am envious that you have a sister, I always wanted one growing up. I used to pretend that I had a twin sister called Helly who was a better version of me. She would have real friends at school, would stand up for herself, would escape from her room at night to go on adventures. Do everything I wanted to but was too afraid to, really."

Helena moved onto the other side of the second note quickly before she talked herself into crossing out everything vulnerable she had written about her past, already knowing she was going to spend the rest of the day wondering what compelled her to confess that to Mark.

"I'm surprised you weren't taught about Kier Eagan's breakfast during your orientation. He would have three raw eggs every morning, so that's what all the Eagans are persuaded to eat. I, much to Father's dismay, could not stomach the raw egg, so instead he told the kitchen that I should have it boiled instead, but only have one. It definitely isn't for avian target practice, I feel it is especially cruel to hit an innocent bird with something one of its distant brethren made.

I am happy to try a 'jammy yolk' whatever that entails.

Thank you again for your kindness, your friendship, and your breakfasts. This is quickly becoming the highlight of my day.

Helena ☺

P.S. Can I request the world famous croissant again? I like everything you bake but that's my favourite so far."

Helena spent extra time folding the notes carefully, running her nail across the fold line then caressing the smooth paper with her fingertip. As ridiculous as she knew it was, she hoped that Mark would still be able to feel her touch when he picked up the papers, and could sense the things that she was too afraid to commit to writing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Helena's jaw dropped as she lifted the cloche on the next morning's breakfast.

She had expected to have to wait a few days before her request was fulfilled, assuming that Mark had to adhere to a strict planned schedule for what he cooked each day.

Instead, he had made her four croissants and accompanied them with a whole range of small pots, including fillings like different flavours of jams, chocolate spread, honey, and even sliced ham and grated cheese.

Despite the croissants being her absolute favourite - especially when they were still slightly warm from the oven - Helena focused on his writing instead.

"Good morning Helena,

I really hope your Dad doesn't see this note (where has he been recently anyway? Haven't had to bring him his gross raw eggs in about two weeks) but he sounds like an absolute fucking dickweed. You're not allowed your own phone in your bedroom? You're a grown-ass woman who can choose to doomscroll if she damn pleases. And him deciding what you eat for breakfast too? When I first applied for this job, Devon (that's my sister) said that the Eagans 'gave off culty vibes' but I said she was being an idiot. I think she was right, your Dad gives definite culty vibes. But without the nice parts of a cult, like the familial sense of belonging and getting high in a field."

Helena had felt her chest tighten with each word he'd said against her Father, each of them affirming hidden views that she'd had for years but had never dared to say aloud to anyone. Then the end made her smile again, letting her release a breath that she didn't realise she was holding.

She grabbed the next page with a shaking hand.

"I'm glad you love the croissants, they were one of the first things I learnt how to make. My Mom would buy ready made pastry for me and Devon as kids and we'd love adding weird fillings to see if they still tasted nice. My favourite discovery was cheddar cheese and squares of chocolate in the same one (I can sense your judging face but I swear it's good)"

Helena felt her scowl then let out a chuckle at being caught out, something in her stomach fluttering at being known so well, especially by him.

"Speaking of Devon, I do like having her around now, but I can't say that I always did. We'd sometimes go weeks without speaking to each other and then one of us would just walk into the other's room and be like 'wanna go steal a VHS from the store' and then we'd be friends again like nothing happened. Even now, I can be a real fucking asshole to her and she still shows up when I need her. It's weird but I think that's what siblings are like.

Fuck, sorry for writing so much (my hand is cramping so I think that's a sign to stop) I hope you like the smorgas smoregus array of croissant fillings. I also made you a boiled egg as I would like it, a little runny in the centre. I look forward to hearing your review on both (that sounds sarcastic but I mean it)

Mark ☺

P.S. I've never met Imaginary Helly but I think I'd prefer you you're the better version anyway."

Helena's breath caught in her throat as she read the last sentence, her eyes scanning it over and over again as if she'd imagined it. Her finger ran across the three words he'd crossed out, multiple layers of scribbles over the top to try and make it illegible.

I'd prefer you.

She spent so long ruminating over those words that the croissants and egg had both gone cold by the time she ate them.

He was right - a soft boiled egg was much nicer.

Helly reread the note again and again before committing pen to paper, trying to ensure that she replied to everything he'd included.

"Good morning Mark,"

She hesitated immediately, raising the pen and fiddling with it in her hand for a long stretch of time.

"I can't say much regarding my Father. I fear that someone could find this and show this to him upon his return. Underneath it all, I am truly thankful for him and have no possible idea what I'd do without him. But I would be lying if I didn't say there was some truth to your view."

She wiped at her stinging eyes, surprised to find them welling up with tears. Part of her couldn't believe that she was even feeling this way, let alone confiding in it to someone else. She moved on quickly, desperate to change the subject before she spilled even more.

"Unfortunately no truth to the recreational drug use in a field. I've never indulged in marijuana but from what I understand, it's a successful way of turning your brain off, and I would absolutely adore to do that sometimes. Perhaps that's where this doomscrolling of yours would be beneficial. I've never slept particularly well - even as a young child - but now I find myself staring at the ceiling for hours on end, especially about these new plans my Father has been unveiling. Something that's helped me is thinking about you"

Helena flinched as if she'd been speaking aloud to him, unable to take the words back. She poised her pen over the sentence to cross it out, then wondered if that would look too suspicious.

She quickly added to the last word instead.

"r notes and what you're going to write next. Along with the delicious food, obviously. I've never been someone who particularly enjoys food, but you've changed me, Mark. For the better, I'm sure.

And I definitely enjoyed the smorgasbord (wrote that without checking, perks of private education) of croissant fillings. My favourite combination was raspberry jam and honey. Also you were right, the soft boiled egg is preferable.

Thank you again for your companionship.

Helena ☺"

She hurried on stockinged feet back to the dining room to leave her note, hiding it between the two plates and hoping that he'd still find it before loading them into the dishwasher.

She ducked back into the room multiple times for the rest of the morning, her heart somehow simultaneously leaping and dropping when she saw the table was empty after her fourth visit. There was nothing to do now but wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Helena tossed and turned in her king sized bed, kicking at the thin white sheet that had tangled around her bare legs.

Summer in Kier was always an incredibly brief affair, the weather only committing to a few days of heat and sunshine before the temperature would plummet again, returning to dreary and uninspiring.

She loved feeling the sun rays that beamed through her bedroom window in the afternoon, blinking slowly whenever they hit her face as she worked diligently at her desk. An unfortunate side effect to this, however, was that her room stayed disgustingly humid well into the evening.

Her sleep had been broken for the whole night, and she could already see the sky lightening behind her dark curtains, meaning that the room wasn't going to get cooler anytime soon.

Helena resolutely kicked the sheet off the bed with a force, grunting in an unladylike manner that would offend her ancestors as she sat up.

She grasped the alarm clock, reading the hands as the ticking seemed to mock her. 4:36am.

She crept towards the window and lifted one side of the curtain, squinting as the bright light came through, burning her retinas. The grounds were blissfully empty at this time, no members of staff moving like dedicated worker bees, walking so fast that they were close to colliding with one another.

Helena knew that this was her best chance at getting some cool air, so she made the decision to venture outside, hoping that it would give her brain the respite it needed and let her sleep for just a while longer before her daily routine began anew.

She walked towards her closed bedroom door, halting at the sight of her body in the full-length mirror.

She was only wearing a rose-coloured silk night dress, the white lace trim on the hem reaching her lower thigh. She despised the colour - chosen by her Father, as everything was - but the material was perfect for cooling her down the hot evenings (just evidently not well enough that night).

Helena briefly considered donning her robe, but decided against it, the mere idea of putting on more clothing abhorrent to her when there was already sweat collecting at her temples.

She opened her door as slowly and quietly as possible, poking her head out as soon as the gap was wide enough. As predicted, there was not a single soul around, so she tiptoed out and along the corridor, her bare feet barely making a sound.

She kept walking until she came across a bright light shining out from a room unexpectedly.

Her heart skipped a beat when she realised it was the kitchen.

Helena made her way over, peering around the doorframe just enough to look inside.

She hadn't needed to be so discreet as the person inside was in a world of his own.

Mark had a pair of black headphones on as he effortlessly moved across the kitchen, mumbling what Helena assumed were song lyrics to himself as he moved a handful of apples to the sink, washing them carefully.

Helena felt her lips tug into a smile as she watched him in his natural habitat, wondering if he always looked like this when he was making breakfast for her. He flowed around the area like it was second nature to him, none of the rigidity and professionalism that any of the other staff employed by the estate showed as he dried the fruit on a clean towel, turning around to-

"Christ on a bike-" Mark exclaimed loudly, dropping all of the apples, making them roll in different directions along the linoleum floor.

Helena jumped out of her skin at him jumping at her, clasping her hands over her chest.

The two stared at each other in mutual shock for a split second, both unsure what to say.

Until Mark began to chuckle, wiping his hands on his Lumon branded apron and placing his headphones on a white counter top.

"Fucking hell, you're lucky I wasn't holding one of the chef's knives. You would've been to blame if I'd chopped a body part off." He said, smiling now that the initial surprise had faded.

Helena took a step into the room, feeling comforted by his joking, "I'm sure my Father could give you handsome compensation."

He grinned at how she was playing along with him, then folded his arms to look serious even as the smile stayed, "I'm not sure compensation is enough if I lose one of the important ones."

"And which body parts count as the important ones?" She asked.

Mark's mouth opened slightly at the question, his eyebrows raising.

It was only then that Helena realised the other possible meaning of what she'd said, her cheeks flushing to match the colour of her nightgown. (God, she thought, cursing internally, she was only in her fucking nightgown).

"So," she said quickly, walking further into the kitchen and closely inspecting all of the small piles of prepared ingredients instead of looking at Mark, "do you usually start this early?"

"No," Mark answered from behind her, watching as she surveilled the new environment, "There's a lunch planned for today. Something about announcing the roll-out of the severance procedure across the country?"

Helena nodded mutely, remembering how that had been written in her calendar for weeks, and how she'd been dreading its arrival, "Of course."

"Plus," Mark continued, "if I get here this early, I can go stand in the industrial fridge for a few minutes every so often."

Helena whirled around at the mention of this, eyes lighting up at the prospect of feeling less hot and sticky, "That's something you do?"

Mark squinted at her response, "Yeah? You can join me if you promise not to tell your Dad that I abuse the equipment in that way."

She scoffed quietly, "As if I would tell my Father anything about you." She winced as soon as the words were out, hoping they didn't sound harsh. She had meant that she wanted to keep any and all parts of him all to herself, terrified that her Father would see just how distracted she had been from all other aspects of her life because of Mark, even when he hadn't meant to draw her away.

Luckily, Mark didn't seem to think anything of the sort, and instead just raised an eyebrow at her, "Not even about my incredible croissants?"

Helena shook her head quickly, some strands of hair falling from her updo, tickling her bare neck, "Especially the croissants. Those are just for me."

"Yeah, they are." His voice took on a slightly deeper tone, and Helena instantly felt her stomach flip.

Mark took a step closer, his eyes practically twinkling as he looked down at her, their height difference emphasised by the fact that she was barefoot. The two stared at each other, standing toe to toe. Helena hadn't had a chance to really look at him the first time they'd met, and, if she was completely honest, she hadn't had a reason to.

But after getting to know the person he was - the kind that would bring her her favourite foods just to make her happy, that wrote long rambling notes with jokes and bizarre stories, that ended every one of those notes with a fucking smiley face doodle - she would be lying if she said she wasn't much more interested in him now than she had been then.

Mark's lips turned up into a smirk as he watched her, as if her thoughts were displayed across her forehead for him to see. She'd never felt so thoroughly bare in front of anyone before, both emotionally and physically. Despite this being only the second time they'd met, he already knew about her childhood, her habits, even the secrets she'd never shared before.

The fact that he knew all of these things and was still there with her both excited and scared her, the two emotions amalgamating in her chest to make her heart beat faster and her hands start to sweat.

"So," Helena finally said, hoping that he didn't notice the catch in her throat, "this fridge, then?"

Mark stayed silent for a moment, as if deliberating what to reply, then let out a breathy chuckle, lifting an arm towards a silver door, "Right. Follow me, princess."

Helena scowled at the nickname but still followed him, powerless not to.

As soon as he opened the door to the walk in fridge, Helena gasped at the blissful feeling of cool air blasting towards her, the beads of sweat along her hairline seeming to instantly dry. She wrapped her arms around herself as she stepped in, her feet almost burning as they made contact with the ice cold floor.

"Pretty great, right?" Mark said, smiling with pride as if he'd installed the fridge himself, "I'm not looking forward to coming in here in the winter, but it's a godsend on nights like tonight."

Helena nodded, walking further into the cold and letting out a sigh, "I couldn't sleep at all tonight because of how disgustingly hot my room is."

Mark tilted his head at her, "Daddy Eagan doesn't believe in AC?"

Helena grimaced at the moniker, feeling a chill go through her that had nothing to do with the cool air.

Mark laughed at her expression, holding up his hands in apology.

She focused on answering his question, "He says unnecessary and frivolous means to diminish the everyday trials of life will always eventually lead to causing frolic."

From the look on Mark's face, it seemed like she might as well have spoken in a foreign language. After a few seconds of trying to decipher what that meant and failing, Mark just shrugged, "Well, when you move out, you can have an AC unit that's as powerful as this in every room in your house. I'm sure you'd be good for it."

Helena looked down at the floor, only inches separating her nude painted toes from the front of his dress shoes, saying her next words quietly, barely audible under the whirring of the mechanics around them, "I don't know if I ever can."

"Afford AC?" Mark said, not following, "I know it's expensive but-"

"Move out." Helena corrected, feeling her face flush even in the cold.

"What?" He sounded genuinely confused, and when she finally met his eyes, he looked it too.

Helena let out a humourless laugh, feeling her chest crack, "This is my life, Mark. I accepted that a long time ago."

He shook his head slowly, as if he refused to believe it, "It's not much of a life at all."

"I know that-" Helena rebutted harshly, trying to remind herself that it wasn't his fault that she was tied to this company without a single person ever asking if she wanted to be.

"What if you have something you want? Like using your own phone at any time or having a lie in for once or eating a fucking pastry without hiding in your room?" Mark asked, his voice raised yet sincere.

Helena swallowed thickly, looking over his shoulder instead at a rack filled with bottles of wine, probably more expensive than most peoples' entire month's rent. "Then I recalibrate my tempers-"

"What does that even mean?"

"Kier Eagan-" she began to explain, recalling what she had been taught.

"Fuck Kier Eagan!" Mark shouted in exasperation.

Helena felt her jaw drop and her heart begin to beat wildly in her chest.

Mark continued, taking a step closer, keeping his dark eyes trained on hers. "What do you want, Helena?"

She swallowed thickly, her breaths slightly shallow. She remained silent, terrified of the answer, even if she assumed it was written all over her face as she looked at his eyes, his nose, his lips-

"Oh." Mark said, Helena watching as his mouth opened in surprise.

"Sorry." She said automatically, using all her willpower to tear her gaze away.

"For what?"

"For… wanting." She admitted quietly, staring down at the ground.

"If that's something to be sorry for," Mark said, his voice matching her volume, "then I need to apologise too."

Helena's head snapped up to look at him, her eyes wide when they met his.

He looked a bit sheepish but still had an air of confidence about him as he stood before her, not backing down.

"Really?" Helena's voice was tiny, not fathoming that her feelings could ever be requited. She half expected him to start laughing in her face, saying that all of the notes were some elaborate ruse concocted by her Father to test her loyalties whilst he'd been preoccupied elsewhere.

He ducked his head forward as he kept his eyes trained on her, giving her ample time to retreat if she wanted to.

Helena responded by tilting her chin upwards but remaining in place, watching as he crept closer and closer, full of anticipation but still too apprehensive to do anything, feeling completely out of her depth.

His warm breath against her lips was a stark contrast to the cold air that surrounded them, making it all the more impactful.

Mark stopped just a hair's breadth away from her, her eyes unable to focus properly on his anymore.

"Yes?" He breathed more than said.

Helena, finally, for the first time in her life, threw caution to the wind.

She lifted up onto her tiptoes to close the remaining distance between them, relishing in the surprised intake of breath from Mark. She placed her slim hands softly on each of his shoulders to steady herself, feeling her legs shake not just from the cold.

Aiding her balance, Mark wrapped his arms around her waist, bringing her closer to him, their bodies touching.

Helena's breath stuttered as she felt the hard plane of his chest against hers, almost able to feel each individual button of his chef whites against her due to the thin fabric of her nightdress.

One of Mark's hands spanned across her side, thumb brushing across the soft material, making Helena gasp at the sensation, which allowed Mark's tongue to flick against her open mouth. She accidentally let out a moan, unaware that she was able to make such a noise, her body flinching in surprise.

Mark pulled away just enough to look at her properly, his eyes even darker than usual as he regarded her, searching her expression carefully, "Okay?"

She could only nod fervently, reattaching their mouths with even more enthusiasm.

Mark chuckled against her, the sensation making her heart swell.

He moved his hands down her body as he kissed her, grazing down the sides of her hips then to her outer thighs, grasping them and lifting her up into his arms.

Helena let out an undignified yelp as she instinctively wrapped her legs around his middle, covering her mouth as if she could stop the noise after it was out. She averted her gaze downwards, confronted with the sight of their chests both breathing heavily.

"Adorable," Mark complimented, as if he could tell how embarrassed she was.

Helena scoffed, "I don't want to be adorable-"

"Too bad, you are." Mark said teasingly.

"I want to be…" she paused, deliberating the right word, boring her teeth into her lower lip as she thought, "alluring. Enticing. Enchanting."

Mark let out a low hum, "You're those too."

Even if it was empty flattery, it still felt good. Helena plucked up the courage to look up at him again, faltering when she found him already staring at her, his eyes slightly unfocused.

"You're-" His own confidence seemed to waver a bit, but he persisted, "You're all I've been thinking about recently."

"Tell me." She said as she ran a hand along his shoulder blades, not caring if it sounded like she was fishing for compliments. Hell, she kind of was. She had been starved of affection her whole life, and she hungered for it.

Mark grinned at her request, more than happy to fulfil it, "Every night, I start obsessing over what I'm going to make you the next morning. When I write the notes, I imagine how you'll react to them, what you'll smile at, if I'll manage to make you laugh. I just… want to make you happy. I feel like you don't have enough happiness."

Helena simply stared as he talked, absolutely entranced. No one had ever spoken to her like he did, and she was already becoming addicted to his praise.

He continued, "And I love reading the notes you write me too. You're so eloquent and smart and brave, and your dry sense of humour is perfec-"

Helena pressed her lips against his mouth, catching it as it was still slightly open, the awkwardness making him chuckle.

He pulled away just enough to look at her face again, his own looking smug, "You like me complimenting you?"

She clenched her jaw at being caught out, a blush creeping up her neck and chest, "Be quiet and kiss me."

"Yes, ma'am," Mark said, doing as he was told.

Helena had the vague sense that they were moving, but couldn't bring herself to focus on anything other than kissing him, relishing in how his mouth matched her rhythm perfectly.

Until she felt herself land on a cold surface.

She hissed loudly as she was placed sitting down on the counter top, only half of her thighs protected from it (and even then, the parts that weren't covered still felt just as cold thanks to the thin silk).

Mark looked down in alarm, almost worried, "Did I hurt you?"

Helena shook her head resolutely, "Cold."

He looked down at the granite surface, as if just then registering it, "Oh, shit, yeah. I can move-"

Another shake of her head. "I'm good right here."

Mark's face split into a grin, "Yeah?"

Helena brought a hand to the nape of his neck, bringing him down to her, capturing his lips again as confirmation.

He immediately got the hint, moving one hand up her thigh as her legs wrapped around him once again, linking her feet and trapping him there even though she knew that he had no intention of leaving.

The left strap of Helena's nightgown fell off her shoulder as she moved a hand across his clothed chest, her manicured nails making Mark shiver even as the shirt was between them.

He pulled away to look at her, whatever words he was about to say vanishing from his mind as he saw the white strap, using a shaking hand to put it back up in its rightful place.

Helena raised an eyebrow at him, maintaining eye contact as she lifted her right hand to the same strap and pulled it back down.

Mark made a noise halfway between a laugh and a moan at the sight, staring at her bare shoulder, as if the thin strap had obscured anything in the first place.

Distantly, Helena wondered if Mark was thinking about the hygiene implications of her barely covered ass being on a surface that was usually used for food preparation.

As she ducked his head down to press a soft kiss against her shoulder, she concluded that he definitely wasn't.

Her hips surged closer to his as he trailed kisses towards her neck, Helena tilting her head to the left so he had access to more of her. She closed her eyes at the sensation, her whole body positively buzzing. She ran a hand through Mark's hair, gently tugging at the roots, delighted when he let out a deep moan and instantly doing it again.

"Helena-" He whispered against her jawline, voice laced with lust, "You need to stop-"

"Or what?" She replied, barely recognising her own voice, the tone low and sultry.

Mark let out another groan, this time sounding frustrated, even though Helena could tell he was anything but. He moved his mouth down her neck again, his teeth gently grazing just before he nipped her there, making her let out a whimper at the new sensation.

"Fuck, Mark-" she threw her head back, not caring as it thudded against the wall.

Without looking, he moved a hand to the back of her head just above where her hair was tied, his thumb brushing against it in a soothing motion, as if worried that she'd hurt herself.

Helena felt her heart beat faster for a completely different reason, hardly believing how sweet this man could be even as he bit down hard on her neck, no doubt leaving a mark. The idea of being covered by reminders of this for days to come absolutely thrilled her, paying no mind to whether it would be a pain to cover up later.

Suddenly, a loud beeping noise sounded from their left, making them both spring apart, Mark almost falling over his own feet.

"Fuck," Mark said, running a hand over his face, his cheeks redder than they had been previously from the heat of the kitchen, "My mille-fueille."

Helena frowned in confusion, then remembered why Mark was on the estate in the first place.

"Shit, sorry, I need to-" Mark hurried out of the fridge, trying to smooth out his hair as he did so.

She hopped off the counter to follow him, her arms folded across her chest as she took steadying breaths. She watched as he opened the oven, taking out two baking sheets without any gloves, quickly putting them on the hob, one finger gently pressing on the top of one of the pastries.

He turned around, giving Helena a playful smile, "That was a close one-"

"I need to go."

Mark frowned at her tone, suddenly cold and harsh. "What?"

Helena offered no further explanation, clenching her jaw as she fought to keep any other words coming out.

Mark stepped forward, his eyes almost pleading, "No, you don't. Look, I know we shouldn't have done that here but-"

"You are employed by my Father."

If the timer wasn't enough of a douse of cold water, this was like a bucket of it being poured over both of them.

Mark moved away, his face crumpled in hurt, "I'm sorry-"

"Nothing to apologise for," Helena said, her voice monotone and professional as she looked away, unable to see him like this, especially knowing she was the cause, "It just can't happen again."

She turned on her heel before he could say anything to change her mind - knowing how easily she would - when her eye caught on something partially hidden behind some sort of kitchen gadget.

She recognised her own handwriting on the edge of the paper, all neat loops and cursive letters.

Her hand moved out behind the item, finding all of the notes that they'd written to each other.

He'd saved them.

"Don't go." she heard Mark say behind her, the words verging on desperate, "Let's talk about this-"

Helena bit down on her lip to stop the words from coming out and the tears from falling as she fled without looking back, not taking a full breath until she was in her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

She laid down on her bed and pressed her face into her pillow, feeling the tears soak into the fabric underneath.

She was still crying when her alarm sounded not long later.

It was the first time she skipped breakfast in a long time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Helena swallowed thickly as she took her designated seat at the main table in the expansive hall, wincing at how the movement made the thin belt of her navy blue dress dig into her waist even more.

She'd barely said a word to any of the guests attending the lunch and just plastered on what she hoped passed for a convincing smile as she wandered around beside her Father, listening as he prattled on about all of the achievements that Lumon had made in recent weeks.

A small plate of food was put in front of her: three scallops with tiny pieces of onion, leek and carrot, decorated with dots of green sauce around the rim.

Helena simply stared at what she had no doubt was absolutely delicious, finding that for the first time in days, she had no appetite whatsoever, her stomach churning at the sight of something Mark had touched.

She didn't even complain when her Father hissed for a nearby waiter to 'take hers away', her plate vanishing as if it were never there.

She didn't get another plate for the rest of the event.

The next morning, Helena walked into the dining room to see the sight she had become accustomed to.

With immense willpower, she forced herself to only eat the boiled egg, knowing that she didn't deserve to eat whatever else Mark had made for her. She didn't even look under the cloche even as the smell escaped, making her mouth water.

She glanced down at the note. There was much less writing than usual, reminding her of the first one he'd left her.

"Helena,

I'm really sorry. I really didn't mean to make you uncomfortable and I wish I didn't

I shouldn't have

Fuck it, no, I'm not sorry I kissed you. I'm just sorry it happened like that. You deserve better. I should've asked you out on a date first. Not dinner, but something we could've done together. Bowling. A movie. Croquet? I don't know what you do in your free time. Do you even have free time

Please, if you let me, we can do it right this time. I still

I can't stop think

I'm sorry.

Mark"

Despite her heart pounding during the whole reading, it was the lack of usual smiley face that really made her upset.

She hadn't brought a pen in her pocket this time, trying to remove the temptation of replying. She never should've written to him at all.

Still, she itched to reply to him. To clarify that he hadn't done anything wrong. To apologise for her own actions. To accept his offer of a second chance.

Instead, she forced herself to leave the dining room before she could write anything at all.

His food lay untouched.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Helena fought to do the same.

Eat only the boiled egg. Leave the other plate exactly where it was. Don't reply to the note.

She couldn't help but read it though, eyes skimming it quickly as if that would make it less painful.

"Please don't leave the food. You need to eat I don't want to tell you what to do or anything obviously, but don't leave it just because of me. You still deserve

I'm sorry. I'll give you space, but please message me. I hate not hearing

I still like

Let me know what I can do."

There was a phone number written underneath the last line in lieu of his name.

In a moment of impulsivity that she would regret later, Helena tore off the bottom of the page, crumbling it in her hand and taking it to her bedroom.

She shoved it into her bottom desk drawer before she could do anything else she regretted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, there was no cloche covering the food.

One plate with a boiled egg, and another with a plain croissant and a small pot of raspberry jam.

No note.

Helena pushed the more favourable plate to the side and ate the egg as quickly as she possibly could, her jaw almost hurting as she chewed the rubbery texture.

She left the room as she was still eating the last mouthful, desperate to be out of the space that reminded her of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first morning that there was only a boiled egg again, Helena felt tears prickle in her eyes and a dull pain in her chest.

Even as she sat at the table for almost an hour, she couldn't make herself finish it, leaving just under half behind on the plate.

She couldn't help but wonder if he'd been disappointed in her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ever since the breakfasts went back to the usual, the days began to blur together.

The first day that she saw her Father back at the table, she almost stumbled as she entered the room.

He greeted her with a nod, not even a semblance of a smile.

Helena sat down in front of him, her hands trembling as she started the process that used to be second nature to her. Sectioning her egg into equal parts, cutting the pieces even smaller, swallowing without a grimace.

Every morning, she ate in silence as her Father watched on. Sometimes he spoke about progress made towards the severance procedure. Sometimes he reminded her about upcoming events that she was to attend, and exactly how she was meant to act. Sometimes, he didn't speak at all.

Helena preferred those days.

One day, she nodded along in silence, disassociating until she heard the word 'chef'.

"What?" She said without meaning to, a part of egg white still in her mouth.

Jame looked at her, his features unreadable. "Excuse me?"

Helena swallowed, folding her hands together under the table to stop them shaking, "Apologies, Father. What did you say about a chef?"

"The new chef will be planning the menu for the luncheon next Friday." He said slowly, his white eyebrows furrowed together.

Helena's heart lurched, "There's… a new chef?"

Jame nodded, "I do not know her name, but she joined the day after the previous chef resigned. The fact that you did not notice that your breakfast was different fills me with confidence regarding her skills."

She jumped up from the table, chair legs screeching against the hard floor. "I-"

He only stared at her, daring her to say anything more.

She didn't.

Helena instead ran back to her room, barely closing the door before the tears fell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Helena looked up at the unknown house, she felt for the umpteenth time that what she was about to do was a terrible idea.

It had taken her the better part of a week to pluck up the courage to even look for the phone number, only to find that it was no longer in her desk. She'd emptied every single drawer in a frenzy, afterwards coming to the conclusion that one of the maids must've thrown out the crumpled piece of paper when they'd cleaned.

The previous night - just as hot as the night that would forever be cemented in her brain - she crept down to one of the security offices and searched for the employee records, silently thankful that they hadn't gotten around to disposing of his yet.

Which was how she found herself standing across the road from his house on a Tuesday evening.

She flinched as a car drove on an adjacent road, narrowly avoiding the instinct to duck behind a nearby hedge.

She had asked for a chauffeur to drop her off at the nearest building that seemed plausible for her to want to visit - a local library - then paid an employee an undetermined amount of cash to let her sneak out of the back door, leaving her two bodyguards to think that she was trying to find a specific book on the third floor.

She'd never once been so reckless, even as she'd wished she could run away so many times.

She supposed that Mark made her brave, even without meaning to.

Summoning up said bravery, she strode across the road, taking small, hesitant steps until she was at his door.

The curtains were all closed, but the two cars in the driveway gave her hope that someone would be in.

She lifted a clenched fist and knocked on the door three times, shifting from foot to foot as she waited for what seemed to her like a torturous amount of time.

When the door finally opened, her heart sank down to her stomach.

A dark haired woman smiled politely at her, her hand remaining on the doorknob.

"I'm sorry," Helena said quickly, abandoning the script she'd rehearsed in her head, "I shouldn't have come here-"

"What?" The other woman said.

Helena turned around, quickly walking down the path, cursing herself for even hoping.

"Wait!" The woman called out.

"Wrong house." Helena replied, not stopping.

"Are you Helena?"

She stopped in her tracks, but still refused to turn around, her eyes welling up.

"Fuck, he's talked about you, hold on," the woman sounded almost panicked, talking quickly, "Don't go, just stay there, I'm gonna-"

Helena heard footsteps retreating back into the house, and only turned around when she was sure that the woman was gone. The front door was still wide open, and she greedily took a peek into the house from where she was stood.

The living room was quite bare, but she couldn't help but smile when she saw a small tank with two fish swimming around each other.

Her concentration was broken when she heard the woman from before practically shouting.

"She's here! ...Yes, now, asshole! Come on!"

Helena frowned, almost about to leave when she heard steps thundering down the stairs.

And then he appeared.

Mark's stubble had grown out to cover most of his lower face, and he was dressed in a black shorts and a red t-shirt with a small stain on the bottom. He stared at her with wide eyes, like he couldn't believe she was there.

"Helena." He breathed, rushing to his front door.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come," she said quickly, tearing her gaze away from him, "I didn't know you were-"

Married? Engaged? In a long term relationship? Just… not single?

"…With someone." She settled on, the words bitter in her mouth.

"With-?" Mark looked confused for a moment until the penny dropped, "God, no, that's my sister."

Helena looked back at him, feeling relieved before she realised that she had no reason to, instead sticking with the reason she came.

"I wanted to apologise." She said, internally wincing at how corporate she sounded, "I'm sorry that you felt like you had to quit after what we did-"

"No, that's not why I quit," Mark took a step closer, but still left a good amount of space between them, the barrier of the door in the middle.

Helena wanted to ask why, but she knew it didn't matter.

He explained anyway, "I thought that you wanted the space. You stopped replying, stopped eating-"

"I didn't want to." She confessed, her voice small.

Mark took a second to let that land, then continued, "Then why did you?"

Helena pulled her mouth to the side as she thought, fiddling with her fingers, "I… I was scared."

His face dropped, "Of me?"

"No," she took a step forward, holding out her hands for a moment before dropping them again, "Never of you. Of… everything else."

Mark waited for her to elaborate.

"Of my Father finding out about what happened. Of him punishing you-"

"'Punishing'?" Mark cut off, voice incredulous, "Does he punish you?"

Helena ploughed on, "I thought that I didn't deserve your kindness. No one has ever cared for me like you do. Ever purposefully taken note of what I like. Listened to my stories. Fuck, even the way you stroked my head after I hit it on the wall when you-"

She trailed off, feeling a flush creep up her neck as she remembered that moment, hoping the make up concealing the pink marks on her neck weren't visible from the colour change.

"But I realised that I'm not even giving us a chance. I'm deciding our future before it even begins. And that's not fair on you."

She looked at Mark for the first time since she'd started her speech. He simply looked at her, a slight smile blossoming on his face.

"So," Helena continued, taking a breath, "I'm here to discuss the 'doing it right' thing you mentioned. If that's what you want."

Mark's smile turned into a full grin as he stepped outside to meet her, his bare feet on the gravel.

He narrowed his eyes at her playfully, "You sure you're not just here to ask for the croissant recipe? Because that's a closely guarded secret."

Helena mirrored his smile, feeling a pull at her cheeks that she hadn't felt in weeks. "I think I know how to get you to give it up." She teased, folding her arms.

"Oh, really?" Mark raised his eyebrows.

Helena hummed, eyes sparkling, "I seem to remember that tugging your hair did something-"

Mark tried to keep his face straight, but she could see the way the apples of his cheeks began to flush, "I think you're imagining things, Miss Eagan."

Helena let the teasing rest, scared of taking it too far, and instead changed the subject back to something safer.

"Besides, I don't want the recipe." She said firmly, "I want you to make them for me."

Mark briefly glanced at her lips, then back up, "That can be arranged."

"But not when you're a chef for Lumon."

His expression turned to one of confusion, "What?"

"If you want your previous job back, I'm sure I can assist in that process, but I was thinking that if you don't work for my Father, we won't be forbidden anymore-"

"'Forbidden'?" Mark echoed the word, his voice deliberately low, "You make it sound so hot-"

Another voice piped up from behind him, a figure emerging from the stairs.

"Right, that's my cue to leave." Devon said, holding a black handbag in one hand and a clear Tupperware container filled with food in the other.

Helena felt her cheeks blaze as she realised his sister had been there the whole time, whereas Mark just puffed out a frustrated breath.

"You were listening?" He turned around to glare at her.

"Duh," she said almost gleefully, giving him a shove with her elbow as she passed him, then grinned at Helena, "Nice to meet you, hopefully see you soon?"

"Likewise," Helena managed to stutter, giving Devon a reserved smile as she strode past.

Devon opened her car door, throwing the two items she was holding onto the passenger seat, Mark wincing as the container bounced. "Oh, I'd say the whole 'hurt my brother and I'll fuck you up' thing, but I'm sure that if I did that, your family would have me killed and chop up the pieces and spread them all over Kier so I'd never fully be found so… just don't hurt him even without the threat?"

Mark rubbed his eyes as he looked down, "Jesus Christ, Dev-"

Helena was slightly shocked, but still found her amusing, "I'll do my best."

Devon nodded, seemingly placated by the response, and the other two watched as she reversed from the driveway at an alarming speed, waiting until her car had turned the corner before facing each other again.

"She seems nice." Helena said finally, not even being facetious.

Mark chuckled, "She's fucking weird, but she's family."

The word 'family' made something in Helena's stomach churn, knowing that she'd never have that kind of bond with anyone in her home, despite the sheer amount of people there. She'd never even known what she was missing out on until meeting Mark, but he'd opened her eyes in a number of ways.

"So," he began, reaching out to hold her hands, lacing their fingers together, "what does the 'doing it right thing' look like?"

"I…" Helena looked at their joined hands as she felt herself blush, "I've imagined part of it." She forced herself to say, even as her heart rate sped up anxiously.

"Let's hear it." Mark encouraged, rubbing his thumbs against her skin.

It gave her the confidence to go on, "You make breakfast every morning, but I get to help this time."

"That sounds nice, I'd like a sous-chef."

"Oh, no, I'm awful at it." Helena clarified, "I'm always burning food and ruining measurements, and I set off the fire alarm bi-weekly-"

Mark let out a laugh, prompting Helena to look up at him, wanting to see his smile.

She couldn't help but smile too, "You're always incredibly patient with me though."

He nodded, then tilted his head as he pretended to think, "I'm into that future, under one condition."

Helena echoed his previous words, "Let's hear it."

"Every morning, I can put you on the counter and kiss you like I did for our first kiss."

Helena pulled her hands away from his - Mark worrying for a split second that he'd said something wrong - then she immediately held out a hand for him to shake, "You've got yourself a deal."

He took her hand in his, giving it one firm shake before pulling her into a kiss, his other hand going around her waist as he walked them both back into his house, kicking the door closed behind them.

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