After all the push and shove, finally you’ve given him the chance…with some obstacles to hurdle, of course. But Ralph would happily tackle them with the energy of a trained show dog if it meant you were the prize.

Maybe he’s not the best at running but at least the outdoor skills he’s learned from his boy scouting days should give him some advantage. It’s too bad you failed to disclose that you, too, were once both a girl scout and an active member of your high school and college sports teams.

Ralph pats a handkerchief over his reddening sweaty face before wringing out the cloth and placing it back into his shirt pocket. He raises the aluminum round water canteen to his dry lips, shaking it above his tongue when no liquid produces. Frustrated, he tosses it to the ground before moving on to something else that would replenish his energy.

Removing his backpack, he rummages through it for a snack bar. A quick bite should boost his morale and strength. He sits on a nearby tree stump, munching away. Some pesky mosquitoes begin to buzz around him, the honey scent within the snack bar attracting them. Bloody hell…he wishes he hadn’t worn these shorts but he wanted to look the part of a hunter and you, the innocent deer.

But this was only just the beginning of his problems. The food had now attracted a curious squirrel, scurrying its way up to him. Ralph puffs his chest, recalling an animal fact about potential dangerous squirrel encounters: make yourself look bigger.

Or…was that for bears?

The squirrel screeches at him and Ralph raises his hands in caution, trying to reason with the animal. Instead the furry fiend lunges forward in attack, prompting Ralph to yelp and make for an exit.

Ralph’s going in the complete opposite direction from where he’d believe to have seen you and, according to his pocket-watch, he’s only got 5 minutes left. After a couple of circles around the area, he finally makes the smart decision to throw the snack far enough for the squirrel to head in its direction. He takes the time to catch his breath, desperately gasping for air.

“Oh, lover boy,” You call over his shoulder, stepping away once he’s turning to face you. “You’ve still got 10 seconds left on the clock. Catch me.”

“Coming, darling.” Ralph rasps weakly but he’s immediately tripped up by one shoe he’d removed and thrown at the creature. Now he lies on his back, hyperventilating and defeated. It is officially…

Game. Over.

“I win.” You gloat.

“That you did, darling. Good show.” Ralph praises exhaustively, attempting to sit up. With your foot on his shoulder, you push him back into the dirt.

He glances up at you in both confusion and awe as you lower yourself onto his lap, sitting directly on his hardening member. You look absolutely stunning in your thin tulle-like night dress that clings to your perspired body like a second skin. The image is reminiscent to gazing upon a greek sculpture with a thin veil of fabric wrapped around your voluptuous frame that leaves little to the imagination, breasts and warm core silhouetted by the sheer cloth. You don fluffy deer ears above your head along with a matching tail that fit nicely inside your ass.

Such a sinful sight yet so heavenly that it burns his eyes as if he’s staring directly at a celestial being. Ralph doesn’t think he deserves to witness such beauty but you wanted him to gaze upon the unholiness so he’d be exposed to the kinkiest of things people of his time had not yet seen before.

You lower, hovering your face over his before your tongue traces along his jaw, collecting the sweat streaming down it. “I really like seeing the lengths you’d go through for me. So uncoordinated, pathetic, shameful…and yet you make me so wet. I want to see that look on your face all of the time, I think.”

Before he can speak, your lips are planted on his cracked lips. Your hot mouth and your eager tongue is a devilish combination. You lap wildly against his tongue, ensuring you exchange saliva.

He’s inexperienced; an untouched virgin ready to be defiled and sullied. His heart pounds in his chest at an alarmingly fast rate, not believing that this could be happening to him.

And yet your hands interlocking with his ground him—literally ground him as you pin his hands down to the dirt. Your hips undulate, finding the perfect position to capture his clothed mushroom tip between your sopping folds.

Ralph can hardly breathe from both the overwhelming sensation of your kisses and the exhaustion of today’s hunt. You are anything but merciful to his plight, however, as you give him no room to catch his breath. All he can do is find some moments to gasp in between devouring kisses before your tongue shoves back down his throat. This was a kind of hunger he didn’t think to be possible but it’s better than he could have ever dreamed.

“Want your cock.” You whine against his eager tongue that returned your feverish licking in kind.

“You can have it,” He rasps just as desperately, a cry bubbling in his throat when you offer sloppy kisses onto his thick neck. “It has always been yours to own.”

You moan at his response. Regardless of his inexperience, the man had a way with words and knew exactly the kind of things to say to satisfy you. Such a good boy.

“Just one request?” He asks hotly in your ear, pulling you close against him; chest to chest, with his large gorgeous hands once you release them.

“Go on, Ralphie.” You coo, rolling your hips even harder against him and eliciting yet another high-pitched whine.

“I wish to taste you,” He says, begging. “I’ve dreamt of your taste for so many lonely nights. Delusions of you in the empty space in my bed as if you were really mine. With just a taste, if i never get to have you again, I think savoring you will be just enough to keep me sane.”

Overcome with emotion by his words, you kiss him passionately once more, sucking on his tongue as if you, too, wished to savor his taste.

“What an eager little virgin you are,” You cruelly tease. “I’m not entirely convinced you’ll handle yourself fine between my legs. A woman’s pleasure is quite difficult to master and to be honest…when I first met you, I didn’t think you liked women.”

He’s flustered and tripping over his words but you place a finger against his lips, soothingly hushing him.

“It’s alright, Ralphie,” You say before placing a quick kiss on his pouty lips. “I don’t mind a man that’s a little effeminate. I find it exhilarating when a man is in touch with his feminine side. That shows to me that you’ll be willing to learn. So…I suppose I’ll humour you.”

You slide off his lap, allowing him the chance to see the mess you’ve made of his khaki explorer shorts. A tortured groan escapes his parted kiss-swollen lips when he sees the slick trail you’d left on the crotch area. The thought of his painfully erect cock soon being coated in your creamy release nearly has him coming on the spot. He palms his hardened member, squeezing to keep its erratic jumping at bay.

“Will you please undress me, Ralphie?” You ask sweetly, lying back on your elbows against the soft moss.

“As you wish.” He says, reaching towards you with trembling hands.

You stare up at him, anticipating; fawn-like eyes carrying a hint of mischief in them. You drag your bottom lip between your teeth once he begins to unravel the bow around your waistline. His breathing picks up when the bow slips off and gently falls behind you. With his fingers hooked on either sides of your dress, he cautiously parts it.

Ralph’s breath hitches once your breasts come to view, perky nipples calling for his tongue to travel them. He separates the dress oh so slowly and calculated so that the thin fabric could caress your skin as if it were his lips tracing along it instead. You whine, head thrown back when a cool breeze passes by; a gently brush felt on your sensitive peaks.

Unable to contain himself, he leans forward above you to train his long and thick tongue from your tummy, between the valley of your breasts, to your perky nubs. He teases you with his talented mouth in earnest, moaning when your hands weave into his hair to keep him in place.

His teeth lightly nibble earning a surprise squeal and giggle from you. When his tongue glides back up your neck, you tug on his hair forcing him to capture your lips once more. The kiss is sloppy—again a result of his inexperience—but still you find yourself moaning into the kiss, curling your arms around his neck so he doesn’t part for air longer than you can wait.

You’re the one to break the kiss, standing on your feet and towering over him on his knees. Ralph gets the picture, eyes fluttering shut as he places wet kisses along your inner thighs and bask in your fingers weaving in his hair.

He pulls you closer by your legs, slotting your creamy pussy over his drooling tongue. You let out another gasp that morphs into a moan when the rough texture of his dry lips clamp around your clit, suckling lightly.

Sweet Ralph, so determined and devoted to you; his one goal is to satisfy your every desire. Your biting words and insults have only ever served as a form of encouragement for him. He’ll handle your mean behavior any day for as long as he gets to call you his or gets to have your sobbing cunt over his face again.

You lean against the nearest tree, mouth open and brows furrowed almost as if your pain. In a way, you are because this man knew how to take your fucking breath away and now you’re struggling to let out some relief of the cries bubbling within your throat.

Then, his eyes fly open at the same time his tongue thrusts into your tight core and speech finds you again.

“Fuuuck, Ralph! Please! Oh god,” You whimper, hand cupping the back of his head while the other lays against the tree behind you for support.

He hums moans and forces out groans from the back of his throat with your every plea, eyes staring intensely as you fall apart on his tongue.

He’s doing this to you with absolutely no coaching on your part?!

“Oh, darling,” He whispers against your flesh, making out with your puffy pussy between words. “Tell me this isn’t a dream. Please I must know.”

You answer his plea by tugging on his hair roughly. He lowly growls at this, pretty lips turned up an a lust-filled feral snarl before he dives back into you. He raises you completely off the ground now, using the tree as leverage as he drapes your legs over his shoulders.

“So fucking good,” You pant, hand moving away from the tree to glide down your body as if you could feel the pleasure traveling through it. Then, your eyes widen as the sensation settles at the pits of tummy. As it tightens, you begin to hyperventilate, riding his face. “Ralph, fu—ohmygodohmygodohmygod!”

With expert precision, he circles your clit with his tongue while his big brown eyes shine up at you like a lovesick puppy. Finally, he slips a finger into you and immediately the flood gates open, soaking his hands, the lower half of his face—practically everything in sight—with your wetness. Your eyes roll back, lids twitching as it shoots out of you like a geyser surprising the both of you as you squeal in delight.

Though, he doesn’t understand what he’d done he continues to lap away at whatever you gave him until you forcibly pull him away.

You tremble, shaky legs unable to remain rigid enough to rest on his shoulders. You find yourself weakly sliding down into his lap, folded in half, legs still raise in the air where your feet and anklet dangle beside his ears.

Ralph pulls you away from resting on the tree so he can kiss you once more, making you taste yourself in the process.

“I hope I gave you the pleasure you deserved, my love.” He says.

He hopes?! That man made you see God and he’s still unconvinced of his skills?!

You being teasingly mean as always, you respond in a way that one would call…’nonchalant’.

“It was satisfactory.” You reply, expecting him to throw a fit but instead he beams with pride.

Ralph was once told by his papa in a man to man conversation regarding women that, irregardless of a man’s size, as long as a man knew how to pleasure their women with their tongue then they shall remain happy. It’s a sentiment Ralph held dear, honing in on learning the art of cunnilingus through saucy literature reads he’d ‘stumble’ upon in his maid’s room.

And you would come to appreciate him for this as you will soon find out that he lacks in the key department you seek.

“I want you inside me. Please take me.” You beg, kissing his neck feverishly. Your eager hands tear open his explorer button down shirt, buttons scattering in between your bodies and onto the dirt. But your concerns lie with feeling his bare frame flushed against yours, ferverently canting your hips downward.

Ralph nervously searches his mind for an explanation or a way out of giving you his cock. When you made the offer to surrender yourself, he didn’t think that meant getting to fuck you. Hell, he didn’t even win your little game to expect such a blessing to begin with. And although he is grateful, he’d rather you be in love with him enough that seeing his tiny cock and unathletic frame wouldn’t resort to you fleeing from him again. He’s already got some work to do regarding your perception of him as is.

“Could I take you…from behind?” He loathes himself for being such a coward. The first time he gets to make love to you and he won’t even get to see your pretty faces.

“Is it to punish me for escape you, Ralphie?”

“No, darling!”

“I wouldn’t mind if it were my punishment,” You whisper, fingers looping around the waistband of his shorts. “I was rather cruel to you. I knew you’d lose. That there was a chance you’d never get me. I watched on close by—you, a sweltering fool—you were none the wiser.”

Your words to provoke had done enough.

“Turn around.” He growls and you rush to comply, climbing off his lap to eagerly get into position.

Meanwhile, he’s frantically removing articles of clothing; tossing his explorer vest, his now ruined dress shirt, his undershirt, then his hat, then focusing on loosening the ascot around his neck—fuck, it’s amazingly frustrating how many layers of clothing he wore.

Impatience takes over once you notice that his pants still clung to his waist with the support of a heavy duty belt. You turn over for a moment, fumbling with the zipper and buttons of his pants. You’d completely forgotten to unbuckle his belt, whimpering and whining when his pants didn’t seem to budge. Ralph finally assists you, guiding your hands to his belt’s buckle until his pants pool around his knees.

You take in his almost bare form. He’s pale, thin but surprisingly lean. If you wanted to, you could easily overpower him. How…exhilarating.

Ralph squirms under your gaze, feeling self-conscious. He never had any issue with himself but of course he just wants to be perfect for you.

He’s seconds from asking if you want to stop but your hands find the last barrier of clothing separating him from you. You gage his reaction, not once tearing your eyes from his face, while your hands lower his white briefs. His cock springs upward and you observe it in its glory. It’s two-toned schlong with the base being slightly darker than the tip. It’s curvy with a fat girth size though it’s smaller in the length department.

His cock is so goddamn pretty to look at, you have a hard time being mean and cheeky at his expense. All you want to do is worship it, suck his fat breeding balls into your mouth.

With one deliberate finger, you feather touch along his length, riding the smooth pattern of his veins and collecting his sticky essence.

He breathes unevenly, heart pounding as you rub precum over his lips like lipgloss. It should humiliate him but instead this makes his cock jump even more. You suck the slick essence off, starting with his upper lip then swirling your tongue to capture his lower lip.

It’s in the heat of this exchange that you realize even if he had the world’s smallest cock, you’d still fuck him stupid. You’ve dropped suitors for much less reasons yet here you are offering yourself on a silver platter to a man who’d been annoyingly infatuated with you.

Where you could’ve easily take advantage of his money and never return your affections, you latterly chose to be have his virgin ‘coke can’ cock penetrate you with no certainty you’ll even get off! Yet still it’s so fucking worth it.

You go on all fours. Your furry tail is still lodged tightly in your puckered hole, the length of it is draped between your legs.

With one hand off the ground, you hold onto the cosplay piece, allowing him a view of your glistening core from behind. He sees it contracting in a prominent visual that says if he were to stick himself in you, he’d have trouble pulling out ever again; a cushy vortex ready to suck in anything it latches onto.

Dear god, he’ll be lucky if he makes it past a minute…

“Give it to me, baby, please!” You plead him, rocking backward and forward.

“Yes, I’ll give you exactly what you need, darlin’,”He whispers, failing to sound as confident as he planned to fake. “J-Just a moment.”

He settles behind you, lining himself with your entrance while he tries focusing on not coming. The tip sinks in first. A stretch that has both your mouths falling open and eyes rolling back.

Inch by inch he feeds more of himself to you before finding an awkward and shallow rhythm to follow that leaves little to be desired.

The problem is… it feels good. Too good. But the feeling’s fleeting. Almost as if you’re imagining it. He’s so scared to stay in too deep; to allow your hungry pussy to entrap him for too long. He’ll cum immediately the longer he allows himself to stay buried, so he hits into you with quick thrusts that has him whining and gripping your waist while you burn hotter and hotter with an unquenchable heat.

“You feel absolutely wonderful, darling,” Ralph breathes, a timid sliding down your arching back. “The best feeling in the world.”

Pent-up frustration takes over once more as you begin to impatiently rock back against him, forcing him in deeper and keeping him in longer. You understood that the further you pull away, the more annoyed you’ll get with his cock slipping out of you. So again, you find yourself taking the reins from him as you hooked your legs over his to keep him locked in you. You press your face and the lower half of your body into the cold dirt before you’re crashing your hips harshly back against him.

“Ooo, fuuuuck. Your little cock is actually so fucking good when you’re not being stingy with it.” You tease, hardened nipples grazing the tiny abrasive rocks embedded in the soil.

He’s hopeless against your thrusts, his nails now digging into the soft flesh of your inner thighs as you force him to pound into you. The leverage with your legs lets you push and pull his body as you please, setting the pace. The force of the hammering thrusts causes the anal plug to knock against a sensitive point that falls in sync with his fat tip bullying your g-spot.

“Unh, oh my…g-god,” Ralph is on the verge of tears by this point, overwhelmed by the sensation. There is nothing on this earth comparable to a feeling like this. Not even the feeling of being high on the purest of cocaine. Slowly, he finds himself losing the words to better articulate his pleasure in you, babbling and whimpering nonsensical pleas. “Oh, sh-shit. Please…i’m can’t —mmm.”

You force yourself up on your hands again, looking back at him with a devilish smirk and siren eyes as you continue to puppet him; forcing him to wreck your walls over and over.

“You’re so pretty,” You whisper before sinking your teeth into his inner arm that rested beside your head. “I kinda regret not riding you. Would have loved watching every little stupid face you make…but this’ll do.”

The thrusts become more erratic as Ralph shouts the approach of his impending release. You almost would have considered him a shameless virgin until you felt a scarily ascending feeling stirring in the pit of your belly. The less you allow Ralph to withdraw from you, the more it grew until he’s not pulling out at all; only rocking into you.

“Talk me through it, baby. Wanna hear your pretty voice whilst I take this pretty cock.”

“It’s so good, love,” He sobs, hands grabbing your shoulders to force you onto his cock. He feels delirious. Like a wild animal taking over. Maybe it’s the fact that the two of you are alone in the forest with only the distance sounds of the jungle that’s making him become a feral beast but he soon cracks under the same frustrations you found yourself in; desperate to be closer until he’s falling onto your proned body. His thrusts continue to grind you into the dirt, your swollen clit tickled by the soft greenery beaneath you until you’re surprised by your mutual orgasms. Your pussy contracts and gushes around him, creaming his wild pubes and thick base. “That’s right take my cock. Let me mold myself to fit inside you forever.”

“God, yes. Please mold me, Ralphie. My pussy’s made for you. Now give me all your come. Please, pretty please…I’ll be so good. Just breed me.” You mewl, tears escaping your eyes at the power of your orgasm.

He shoots his hot cum into you, pulling you back by your hair and turning your face so he can properly french kiss you.

You bite his bottom lip holding him there until he spurts the last of his semen into you

He laid on top of you, not yet pulling out even after he’d finished. The two of you continue making out for a few minutes before he reluctantly pulls out of you. The two of you groan at the sudden loss of each other but he doesn’t part from you for long, lying on his back beside you before pull you into his perspired chest.

“That was…beyond human comprehension.” Ralph chuckles.

“You said it,” You say, panting softly against him. “I really do love you, Ralph Penbury. I hope you know this is true.”

“I do know this, love,” He whispers, placing a chaste kiss on your sweaty temple. “But I’ll gladly chase you into the darkest, grimiest parts of the jungle for you. I love you, too.”

The two of you rest together in perfect harmony, staring up at the sky when a startled Lauren stumbles upon your entangled naked frames, screaming and covering her eyes.

“We’re all over by the lake roasting hotdogs while you two play ‘hide the wiener’?!” She tosses her jacket onto the ground then blindly reaches for a nearby tree to guide her back to the site. “Hurry up and dress or I’m sending your coke-frenzied party attendees right this way to see this ungodly spectacle.”

You were not one of the glittering society girls who flitted through the Penbury twins’ orbit like moths around a chandelier.

You had slipped in quietly, a friend of a friend, with a sharp wit, an insatiable appetite for novels, and a habit of listening—really listening—when Ralph spoke. Where others saw exaggeration and theatricality,

you saw enthusiasm.

Where they rolled their eyes at his improvised rhymes, you smiled softly and asked him to repeat your favourite lines.

You never laughed at him, not once.

Ralph noticed immediately.

How could he not?

It was as though someone had finally tuned the gramophone to the correct speed after years of scratchy, off-key warbling.

He found himself watching you across parlours, memorising the way your brow furrowed when you read, the bright laugh that escaped when one of his more absurd stories landed just right. He catalogued these details the way a miser hoards gold: privately, obsessively, terrified that if he spoke too soon, you would vanish like the others.

For the first time in his life, Ralph Penbury felt the weight of real love and real fear.

Not the dramatic, operatic sort he was accustomed to performing, but something quieter, more vicious: the cold terror that this time, if he got it wrong, the loss would matter. Truly matter.

So he said nothing.

He hovered instead—bringing you extra cushions during long afternoons at the Penburys’ with a warm smile on his face, fetching books he thought you might enjoy from the library before you even asked, lingering just a beat too long when your fingers brushed his while passing a teacup.

Eventually Victoria noticed, of course; she always did.

“You’re being suspiciously quiet lately, brother dear,” she teased one evening over sherry. “No romantic ballads this time? No exaggerated gallant gestures? Have you finally run out of steam?”

Ralph had flushed crimson and muttered something about summer not being the right season for poetry.

Victoria had laughed, amused, assuming it was another fleeting fancy soon to burn itself out.

But it hadn’t.

Days had stretched into weeks and weeks into months, but the feeling had only grown steady, stubborn, terrifying in its quietness.

Ralph no longer wanted to shout his love from rooftops or compose acrostics in your honour (though the temptation remained).

He wanted something smaller. Something true.

Something only yours.

Something that proved he could be more than the court jester.

And so, on this sweltering afternoon in late August, with the sun beating mercilessly against the tall windows of the Penbury townhouse, Ralph had hatched his plan.

It was simple, quite embarrassingly so, but if the enthusiastic words he’d overheard at Victoria's latest party—coming from nothing less than the mouth of one of her most demanding friends—meant what he thought it did… perhaps, just perhaps, he could finally be on the right track.

“Who loves you will peel your fruit, my dear.” She had declared, holding court upon her return from a honeymoon that had cost an arm and a leg (from what was rumored, not that Ralph cared). “There's nothing more boring and annoying in the world. If there's someone who takes care of it for you—without getting paid, I mean—well... that someone really loves you to bits.”

You were certainly not as snobbish and superficial as she was, but you had still nodded to that statement, small but firm.

So, now he sat in the shaded corner of the garden room, a small knife in one trembling hand and a mountain of fruit before him, waiting for you to arrive.

His cream shirt clung to his sweating back, a mutinous curl kept on sticking to his forehead, but he scarcely noticed.

His heart hammered louder than the heat—and it was bloody damned hot that day.

Just before tea time the garden room door opened with a soft creak, admitting a rush of women’s chatter from the foyer and the faint scent of fresh baked biscuits that someone had bravely prepared despite the scorching heat.

You stepped in alone, a well worn volume tucked under one arm (of course) and a soft, easy expression on your clean face.

A few strands of hair—that you continued to wear long despite the current fashion—had escaped their pins to curl against your neck.

Ralph’s heart executed a perfect somersault and landed somewhere near his throat.

You moved through the world with the quiet confidence of someone who had long since decided that propriety was a suggestion rather than a commandment.

He loved your unconventional, independent side.

You were unlike any other girl he'd ever met.

You were unique and irreplaceable, absolutely wonderful.

“Oh—hello miss!” He said, far too surprised, as though he had not spent the last forty minutes rehearsing this exact moment in his head. “Splendid timing. I was just preparing… a little something. For the heat, you know. One must combat this beastly weather with… fresh fruit.” He gestured grandly at the coffee table before him, as if unveiling a priceless artefact rather than a teetering pyramid of peaches, apricots, pears and a single defiant mango that had cost him an embarrassing amount of pocket money at the greengrocer’s.

You paused just inside the threshold, taking in the peculiar scene: Ralph Penbury, posh scion of London high society, with his sleeves rolled to the elbows, collar carefully unbuttoned, a single bead of sweat tracing a slow but determined path down his temple.

Your lips curved and eyes sparkled—soft, knowing, affectionate.

You did not laugh—you’d never laugh at him.

“How thoughtful, Ralph!” You beamed, voice cheerful but threaded with that gentle mischief that always made him feel simultaneously exposed and cherished. “You’ve turned this ordinary space into a sort of… fruit operating room, I see.”

Ralph flushed from collarbone to hairline, brown gaze darting away from you for a brief moment.

“Well—yes. Precisely. One does the best to survive.” He cleared his throat, picked up a peach with the solemnity of a doctor selecting a scalpel, and began to peel. “I thought perhaps you might appreciate not having to wrestle with the wretched things yourself. Fruit can be so… uncooperative.”

The small knife slipped from his trembling fingers, but he managed to catch it just in time, narrowly avoiding an impromptu performance of amateur surgery.

You settled into the wicker chair opposite him, setting your book on the table with deliberate care. It was Virginia Woolf’s ‘A Room of One’s Own’—the copy with your pencil notes in the margins, the one you had confessed made you want to weep and throw things at once.

Ralph remembered, of course.

He remembered every single thing about you.

“I do hate peeling fruit indeed,” you admitted, watching his hands work. “It’s sticky and fiddly and always ends bad with juice dripping everywhere,” you stopped, looking at his concentrated grimace, the tip of his tongue just peeking out between his lips.

Clearly he had never peeled anything in his life before that day, and the thought gave your stomach a languid tug downwards because he was trying so hard to be good at what he was doing.

“I confess this is the first time I have someone volunteer to do battle on my behalf,” you continued in an intimate whisper between the two of you, even though you were still alone—thankfully.

Ralph’s hand paused mid-stroke. He glanced up, eyes wide and earnest under the damp curls that refused to stay in place today. “Then allow me to be the first, dearest. And, er—the only… if you’ll permit it.”

The words hung between you for a heartbeat—too honest, too hurried, too Ralph.

He cursed himself mentally and busied himself back with the peach, slicing it into neat crescents and sliding the gold-rimmed porcelain plate with floral motifs toward you.

You took a piece, bit into it slowly, and let the sweetness burst against your taste buds.

Your gaze never left his reddening face.

“Mmm, delicious.” You smiled. “You’re surprisingly eclectic in your secret talents—but I expected nothing less from a gentleman who once arrived at his own birthday party wearing tap shoes.”

Ralph made a small, strangled sound that was half laugh, half mortified groan. “Ah… You heard about that, too?”

“Victoria is an excellent storyteller.” Your smile was wickedly gentle. “She said you were magnificent in them.”

He grabbed the mango with some urgency, turning it over in his fingers without really knowing where to start the operation.

“Yes… They were quite… wizard,” he muttered without looking at you, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

You watched him wrestle with the unfamiliar, prickly skin; the knife slipping once… twice…

“I can imagine. Do you think I could have the honor of dancing with you at the next party, while you wear them?”

Ralph gasped loudly and fixed his big, soft eyes on yours—distracting himself from the treacherous mission he was trying to complete.

The blade slipped, barely touching the side of his thumb, and a tiny drop of blood appeared on his skin.

He stared at it as though it were a personal betrayal.

“Good Lord,” he squeaked, “I’ve wounded myself in the line of duty.”

Before he could launch into full theatrical despair or faint, you reached across the table, caught his hand gently and pressed your clean handkerchief to the minuscule cut.

“It was a difficult duel, Ralphie,” you said, voice low and fond. “I really appreciate your valor.”

He froze, staring at your fingers curled around his hand.

The blood had already stained the thin white cotton.

You had just called him ‘Ralphie’.

It was the first time.

Suddenly the garden room seemed hotter and smaller, the air thicker, the distant hum of London traffic miles away.

His pulse thundered in his ears and throat.

“I—I’m sorry. I… only wanted—” he swallowed on nothing and tried again. “I only wanted to do something nice and sweet—for you. Only for you. Something that wasn’t… ridiculous… But apparently I'm just not capable of not being a complete mess—”

Your thumb slowly brushed over the back of his hand, trying to comfort him.

“It isn’t ridiculous,” you said quietly. “You are not ridiculous, or a mess. You’re kind, tender… Absolutely perfect.”

Ralph looked at you then—really looked—eyes shining with something fragile and hopeful and utterly unguarded.

For once, he had no words.

No quip, no flourish, no improvised rhyme—just himself, distraught and flushed and trembling—only a breath away from you.

It would have taken very little—for you to lean forward just a little more, for him to slide further just a little onto the leather sofa—and your mouths would have touched.

That would have been enough for Ralph to die happy—finally kissing you, gently holding your face as though you were the most precious thing in the world.

To him, you truly were.

You smiled at him like you knew exactly what he was thinking about, as though you had been waiting for this exact moment all summer.

The moment stretched for long seconds, dainty and electric, with only the low table between you and the ticking of his pocket watch.

Ralph was still holding the offending mango in his free hand—the other still wrapped in your handkerchief—and your fingers were holding it with such care his chest ached in the best way.

His eyes, wide and shining, left yours just for a moment, landing on your mouth.

“Darling…” His breath came shallow and quick, caressing your hot cheeks.

You tilted your head slightly and he did the same, both parting your lips and finally—

The door burst open.

Victoria swept in like a shimmering storm—all sequins and beads and feathers—followed by three of her closest, most giggling friends. They carried a tray of biscuits and a bottle of lemonade that sloshed dangerously to their unexpected halt.

“Oh, Ralphie!” Victoria crowed the instant she saw you both frozen in place, hands still touching across the table. “What on earth is this? A fruit massacre? And you, brother dear, are looking like a man who’s just been caught proposing to the poor mango!”

The girls dissolved into delighted laughter, clustering around like curious birds.

One fanned herself dramatically. “Look at him—positively scarlet! Did we interrupt a tender moment, Ralphie? Or were you simply demonstrating your legendary dexterity with a weapon?”

Ralph’s face went from pink to puce.

He tried to speak, but only managed a strangled “V-Victoria—! Please!” before the words vanished into a mortified silence.

He let go of your hand (but not of the mango), bouncing to his feet like a spring.

You stood up too, but with measured calm, your patience dangerously thinning like ice under that scorching August sun.

You felt the shame rise from his body in bitter waves.

His shoulders hunched as bracing himself for another round of good-natured ridicule—the same ridicule that had followed him in every enthusiastic, spontaneous gesture of affection or excitement.

Many people had laughed at him—not with him—laughed at his hasty declarations of admiration, at his serenades out of tune, at his wizard tap shoes…

But this time it would be different.

This time, on the other side, there was you—in love with him from the very first moment you had seen him, awkward and adorable at the last Christmas party.

So you did not wait anymore.

With a soft, determined exhale, you leaned across the table, fists closing around the fine fabric of his shirt.

“Enough,” you said—quiet but steady, clear enough to cut through the giggles like a bell.

The room stilled.

Victoria’s mouth opened, then closed again.

The girls exchanged bewildered glances.

You tugged him gently, but firm.

Ralph’s eyes flew impossibly wider as you pulled him forward—across the table, over scattered peach slices and the mango that finally rolled forgotten to the floor—and kissed him.

It was not tentative, or shy.

It was sweet, final, peach-flavoured.

He froze for one stunned second before closing his eyelids and melting into you.

His uninjured hand rose instinctively to cradle the back of your neck—uncertain at first, then firmer—as though afraid you might run for the hills if he held on too loosely.

The kiss lasted only a handful of heartbeats, but when you drew back, Ralph’s face was a masterpiece of dazed wonder: lips swollen, cheeks flaming, curls in disarray, eyes glassy with something happier than tears.

The silence in the garden room was deafening.

Then Victoria let out a delighted whoop.

“Well, I never!” She exclaimed, clapping her hands in ecstasy. “My beloved brother, finally getting the girl for whom he had lost his mind—and without a single ballad! Miracles do happen, now I know it!”

Her friends burst into a new wave of cheerful giggles, taking her under arms and turning back the way they had come.

Ralph blinked slowly, like he was waking from the most perfect dream ever.

His voice, when it came out, was hoarse and reverent.

“You… you had just kissed me, darling.”

You smiled, thumb brushing once more over the back of his bandaged hand.

“Yes, Ralphie,” you said softly.

He looked at you as if you'd just grown a new head.

"Why did you do that? In front of Victoria and her friends, no less! In ten minutes, all of London will know and they won't leave you alone!”

You frowned just a moment before walking around the small table, approaching him from his side and placing your fingers on his cheeks.

In addition to the second head, you had also just sprouted wings and a dragon's tail.

“So? What do you want me to care about?!” You were fierce as you caressed his cheekbones with your thumbs. “I would do it again now. Then tomorrow. And the day after. And every day you want to peel fruit for me—or sing off-key, or wear those wizard tap shoes. I would do it as long as you want me to.”

He stared at you, utterly undone.

Then, with a shaky, radiant smile that lit the entire room brighter than the damned sun, Ralph Penbury leaned in and kissed you back—properly this time, with all his clumsy, tender longing.

When you pulled apart for air, you rested your forehead on his, smiling and adjusting his collar. "So... Mrs. Fletpad was right after all: those who truly love you peel your fruit..."

So, he came home. That was not something he wished to do, but, luckily, Lauren was gone by the time he arrived back. And despite Victoria being her usual snotty self, things were fine. Not good. Not great. Just fine.

Although, after his brief stint away from her, Ralph now found it harder to deal with her. Every time she interrupted him, every time she said something rude or even downright insulting about him, he had to take a moment to calm himself.

The best way to do that was to get out of the house and walk around the park that was a few streets across. He could sit on a bench, preferably one that was far from the swans as they had taken a strong dislike to him and now he'd developed a deep seated fear of their attacks, and read in peace.

Being without his family was nice. It was a breath of fresh air. Ralph liked it so much that he had a long winded talk with his father about moving out. He wanted to leave the nest, not too far as the apartment he'd been eyeing was only a half an hour drive away from their home, and he was more than thrilled when his father agreed.

This new found freedom was exhilarating. It brought him so much joy. And yet, there was one thing that bothered him more than anything else right now. His new life was not fulfilling in the slightest. All he did was read, sleep and go to the very frequent parties that Victoria would host. It was exactly like his old one, but he could set his own curfew.

There had to be something else that life had to offer?

When Lauren was around, it was as if he could forget about his pure boredom because there were new, unconventional people around so he could focus on them instead of looking inward. Now it was just him and his lack of achievements, his lack of life.

Getting a job was beneath him. Why would he do that? His father made sure that every single thing he'd ever wanted was paid for without a fuss and then some, yet it seemed that having access to money didn't make him happy. He was fed and sheltered and pampered, but not happy. He never felt satisfied.

Was he doomed to live his life as a bored posh dandy? Did his parents expect this, too? If that was true, he wasn’t sure how he was going to manage without going absolutely batty. The thought terrified him. He needed a goal in order to function well, an object in which he could set his gaze upon. The world seemed empty and meaningless otherwise.

Soon he'd get that goal. That goal lived two doors down from his new apartment.

Y/N knew that people were still warming up to female writers. Agatha Christie was really helping the whole thing, yet she still heard some men at the publisher call her Arthur Conan Doyle with tits. Progress is slow. She needed to keep her head up and roll with the punches.

Admittedly, her ride was a lot easier than others as her father owned the newspaper she had a column in. Sure, she went under a pseudonym, but she still had a foot in the door from the get go. There was a hundred percent certainty that she was only employed because of who her father was, but nepotism aside, she had the talent to back it up.

Like most writers, part of Y/N's process was to spiral into a patch of self doubt and profess that what she'd written was absolute hog shit so she always took a step back and stepped outside for a breather.

On one fateful day, the two had planned a little walk at the same time. Almost in synchrony, both Ralph and Y/N swung open their respective front doors and made their way to the pavement. Ralph, however, happened to glance to his right.

Boom. He'd always been one to be transfixed by pretty girls, but he'd never fainted before at the mere sight of one. It was pitiful really, and he couldn't believe he'd fallen under the spell so quickly. His feet moved too quickly for his body and next thing he knew, he was on the floor.

Hearing the sound of something roughly falling to the ground to the left of her, Y/N quickly found the dazed Ralph laying flat on the ground, his hand resting gently on heart as he stared into thin air. She hurried to check if he was okay, crouching down next to him and putting two fingers against his neck.

He had a pulse. A quick one.

"Hello, sir? Sir? Are you alright?" She asked, leaning over and tapping him lightly on the cheek to wake him up. But all he did was mumble incoherently, staring off into space and clutching at his chest like he'd run a marathon.

With more force than she intended to, she slapped him across the face, causing him to jump in surprise and blink at her, finally focusing his gaze upon her. "I'm sorry for striking you, sir. You were too far up in the clouds," Y/N apologised sheepishly, "Is everything okay?"

Her question was met with silence for a second before Ralph responded, slowly but surely becoming more aware of his surroundings. "No, no, I must apologise. I haven't the foggiest why such a thing happened."

Lie. Total lie.

"I apologise if I frightened you, ma'am."

Despite the fact he was responding, she kept her hand on his cheek and gently caressed where she'd struck him, feeling embarrassed that such a thing might happen on a peaceful outing of all places. Still, she was worried about him.

"It was quite a fall," she told him, trying her best to smile while she checked him for any injuries. "You're not zozzled, are you, sir?"

His eyes widened and shook his head, claiming that, "No, nothing like that. I can assure you I haven't had a drop since last night," as she helped him sit upright properly. Once he was situated, Ralph smiled gratefully at her. "Thank you, miss…"

"Y/N. My name is Y/N. And you are?"

"Ralph, Ralph Penbury."

Politely, he offered his hand to shake hers and she obliged, surprised by the firm handshake he gave her. He certainly wasn't as delicate as a girl might assume.

Then, to her surprise, he didn't let go of her hand straight away and brought her knuckles to his lips, lightly brushing his mouth against each of them in a manner that was entirely unexpected. His lips lingered for a few seconds longer than acceptable in polite society and his eyes bore into hers the entire time.

"Thank you for your care, Y/N," he breathed, his voice a bit thick when he pulled his hand away. Ralph cleared his throat and looked away from her, clearly embarrassed that he had done such a thing in such a public setting. "Please, forgive my rudeness. I should return home immediately."

"Oh. Goodbye then. I do hope you're okay," Y/N told him as she helped him up to his feet and watched him open the door, awkwardly wave goodbye then quickly rush inside before he could embarrass himself further. What sort of gentleman acts in such a way?! Fainting? In public? How uncouth could he be?

Yet, it wasn't as if he had any control over the matter. Y/N, without a single doubt in his head, was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. No, scratch that, he was sure she had to be the most beautiful girl ever in the history of the world. Because there were girls out there that he'd never seen before and never will be able to see, and Ralph was sure she beat them all.

Nobody could compare. Nobody could even come close. Was there another person in the world that looked so effortless as she walked through her front door? Someone whose hair looked enough like silk that Ralph knew he'd die in the most pleasant way if he ran his hair through it?

Although he'd be hesitant to admit it to Victoria, he was rather transfixed by the fact she wore wide legged trousers - which, if he took the time to recall, as did Lauren (so he could have a type) - and nowhere in his mind did he think that she was odd in any way. They suited her. Maybe everything suited her, he assumed as such.

"Ralph, you're back already?" his servant Michael asked in surprise when he heard the door close. In his time away from his family, Ralph had become rather lonely. His sister was the one with all the friends, and here he was, free and totally alone. So, he did something really out there.

He made friends with the help.

I know, I know, it's crazy. While he'd always tried to be polite to those in his father's employ, they were never friends until now. Ralph had come to realise that, not only did his servants have lives outside the Penbury's, but they had families and friends and goals and emotions just like he did.

Michael was certainly a friend. Perhaps the closest friend he ever had.

Yet, that didn't stop Ralph from ignoring the question and hurrying to the nearest window so he could get one more glance at his inamorata before she carried on with her business. He couldn't resist. He needed to see those delicately painted red lips again.

"She's rather beautiful, isn't she?" Michael said, looking over Ralph's shoulder. Of course he'd noticed that Ralph wasn't focused on anything else other than the woman in question. "She always says hello when I pass her with the shopping. She's quite nice for someone so unconventional."

"Unconventional how?"

"The trousers are a start."

As she made it down the street and out of his view, Ralph let out a sigh and rested his forehead against the cool glass pane. "Other than the obvious, Michael," he huffed, creating a patch of condensation that was swiftly wiped away.

"Apparently, Anna -" The only other servant he allowed himself to have. "-Spoke to her when she moved in a week or so back, and she lives there all by herself."

That caught Ralph's attention. He spun around in his spot to stare at Michael with wide eyes, his mouth gaping slightly. "She's not married? Now that is a relief!"

Looking back to his very recent memories, he didn't see a ring on her left hand so this was amazing news.

"Her father's Mr L/N."

"He owns The Shoehorn Press, right?"

"Correct."

The gears were turning in his little head. Not only was she perfect for him, their families were compatible too. Wasn't that a relief. It was fate. The Penbury's owned a batch of high class theatres (which could be why the twins were dramatic all the time) and the L/N owned the most reliable paper. Perfection in every way.

"And Mr L/N let's her write an article every week to go in it."

"She's a working girl? Oh, I like that."

Was there any part of her that he didn't like?

"I heard from Elizabeth down the street that Mr L/N keeps setting her up with potential suitors but they never work out. She refuses to marry."

Shit. There it was. That piece of information was disheartening for Ralph to hear. Usually, he was fond of hearing all the gossip Michael had managed to gather from the other servants on the street, but this bit, well, it's safe to say his shoulders slouched as he heard it.

From the moment he understood what a husband was, he knew that's what he wanted to be. A life where he gets to be married to a beautiful lady who he could worship and love and cherish. There was no job out there that suited Ralph better. The thought of taking up an occupation filled him with dread, but loving his wife forever? That could be easily done.

A small, happy grin crossed his lips as he contemplated the notion, allowing his mind to imagine what it would be like to spend every day by her side, to wake up next to her every morning, to hold her in his arms at night and feel her warm breath fanning across his neck whenever she snuggled up closer… There was nothing in the world that sounded more desirable than being her husband.

Alas, it seemed that she didn't want one. She wouldn't want him. His smile faded as quickly as it had appeared.

"Oh Michael, why is the world so cruel to me? Why can't happiness be within reach?" Ralph whined dramatically, resting his hands against his face, his elbows propped up on the windowsill. He closed his eyes tightly, feeling the warmth of his own sadness seeping into him and infecting everything he held dear.

What did love even mean to him anyway? Was he meant to settle down someday? Was that even possible anymore? He knew most of the ladies in town thought he was far too much of a dandy for them to ever be interested in him. And it bothered him to no end, because even though he was thoughtful and sensitive and open, he was a man that had his own unique brand of masculinity.

It wasn't like he was unattractive or unapproachable. Quite the opposite actually. People would often compliment him for his style or his manners, but his personality was not something people seemed to enjoy. Was he too excitable? Too outspoken? Too loud? Too annoying?

Or simply, was he too Ralph?

He sighed deeply before opening his eyes and looking up to the ceiling; letting out a long, low groan. There was absolutely no way around this. No matter how hard he tried to convince his heart that it was hopeless, it was still stuck on her.

Michael gave him a reassuring pat on the back and couldn't stop himself from chuckling at how dramatic Ralph was being. He did look a tad pathetic standing there with his nose pressed against the glass, so, with a light yet supportive smile, Michael spoke.

"Perhaps, you should get to know her before you make these assumptions. Take it slow, Ralph, and try your best. If she doesn't feel the same about you, then maybe you shouldn't be so persistent about the whole thing..."

"No, Michael. She must. I need her to love me." He paused for a moment to take a deep breath, before continuing with a confident tone of voice. "But, I think taking it slow is a good idea. I've rushed proposals before and that did not turn out well for either me or my past lady love…"

That was an understatement.

"Why don't you try to get to know her before you start planning how many kids you'll have -"

"Three. Two girls. One boy."

Sighing, Michael turned Ralph around to face him and placed his hands on his employer's shoulders. "Listen to the words coming out of my mouth, Ralph," he scolded gently. "This lady is not going to wake up tomorrow and suddenly want to marry you."

"Why not?"

"Because she doesn't know you."

"I'm well aware of that, Michael," Ralph insisted determinedly, his gaze intense as he stared at his friend. It faltered as dipped his head and, almost inaudibly, whispered, "What if she gets to know me and doesn't like.. what if she doesn't like the real me?"

What if she decided she didn't care for his quirky, eccentric personality? What if she found another gentleman worthy enough to love and marry her after all? What if... what if... what if...! Ralph couldn't even bring himself to finish thinking about all the possible consequences that might await him if his hopes weren't realised.

"That's a gamble you're going to have to take."

Shit, that wasn't something he wanted to hear. He wanted things to be easy. He wanted her to swoon and blush and fall for him as easily as he did for her. He wanted her to be his. He wanted her to smile and call him her darling and kiss him like he was the only thing in the entire world that mattered.

Not a risk. Not a chance. Not a possibility. A certainty.

Ralph nodded his head slowly, trying to ignore the pain that settled in his chest as Michael released his shoulders and pulled away.

"Start small. Say hello. Ask how she's doing. Tell her about yourself. Try to make her laugh. Be friendly before you try to woo her."

Michael's words brought out some optimism in Ralph and lifted his spirits considerably. Even though it was a big risk, he would do it no matter how much his heart ached to take it slow. It wouldn't hurt to try.

Okay, okay...he could do this. He could act normal around a woman.

The next day, he got his chance to try. Ralph exited at the exact same time as he had the day previous and hoped she followed a similar routine each day. He stood half in, half out of his front door and waited patiently until he heard her door open.

"Good mornin', Miss!" Ralph called brightly and, despite the fact he had caused her to jump and her bag to slip down her shoulder, she turned to give him a smile.

"Morning, Mr Penbury."

"Please, call me Ralph."

He closed his door and tried to hide his excitement when she walked to lean against the fence that was opposite his house. He practically skipped to stand next to her, trying his hardest not to appear too eager but failing miserably.

"How are you today? You're not going to faint on me, are you?" She asked playfully, raising an eyebrow in amusement. Her lips curled upwards just slightly at the corners when he shook his head violently.

"No, no, no. I'm fine! How are you?" He asked in return, smiling shyly at her and ignoring his nerves that threatened to consume him.

"I'm, uh... a bit of a mess, if you want the honest answer." She chuckled nervously.

"I'm a writer, you see, and I seem to be running low on stories as of late... but you don't want to hear me ramble all-"

"I do!" He cut in excitedly. "I really do. Tell me."

And she did. The pair began walking towards the park and chatted away, talking about anything that came to their minds. From food to the weather, to books they enjoyed to art they had seen, the two talked endlessly about everything and nothing at the same time. All Ralph could think was that this was possibly one of the happiest days of his life so far.

Y/N soon found out that Ralph was a great listener and that their lively conversation was getting the ideas in her head to float to the top of her brain in a dizzy rush of inspiration. By the time they got to the park, she'd completely forgotten about her little problem and was able to focus solely on enjoying herself and learning about the man next to her.

In a sudden moment of confidence, Ralph offered his arm for her to link hers through and she complied, allowing him to lead her off to walk along the path leading to the pond. With ease, he made his way through the paths and led her over to where the water flowed lazily and without worry.

"You're so easy to talk to," he confessed quietly, leaning in a bit close so that she could hear him clearly. "Talking to you is like breathing fresh, unpolluted air."

"You flatter me," Y/N giggled bashfully as she brushed her fingers lightly against the fabric covering his bicep. She could feel his muscles flex underneath the touch. The heat that radiated from him was almost unbearable in the most pleasant way.

"I simply speak the truth." He grinned as he gazed across up at her, gazing intently into her eyes. "I hope we can do this more often…if you'd like us to."

"I would like that very much, Ralph."

To say that he looked like a puppy would be an understatement. As he gazed up at her, his eyes were wide filled with so much wonder and joy that it was almost impossible not to smile. Even when he happened to walk into a tree branch and, in doing so, messed up his perfectly styled hair.

"Oh shit," he cursed as he made contact with the rough bark, wincing in discomfort at the sting at the twigs poking at his head. He swatted them away whilst trying desperately to straighten his messy hair, and Y/N couldn't help but to let out a hearty laughter at his reaction.

She held her hand out and only attempted to help tame his hair when he nodded, commenting, "I actually think you look quite nice with the messy hair look."

"Thank you…" He muttered quietly, staring down at the ground, blushing under her praise. Then his head shot up again and he flashed her an incredibly goofy smile. "...Honestly, I don't really like how all the gel feels on my head. It makes it feel stiff and dry."

With a snort, Y/N replied by ruffling his hair even more than it already was. "Why'd you wear it like that then?" she inquired curiously. He shrugged his shoulders and gave her a sheepish grin, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Victoria tells me to. Says that it looks better and I'm not one to argue with her."

"Ah, I see," she murmured at the mention of a woman in his life. She glanced sideways at him and forced a smile. "Is Victoria your girlfriend?"

"Gross, no. She's my sister. Twin sister, non-identical."

In relief, her smile grew wider at the news and somehow got happier when he added, "I don't have a girlfriend. Do you?"

"No, I don't have a girlfriend."

"Oh, oh, I meant... I meant like a boyfriend, you know, like a boyfriend." His brows furrowed briefly as he tried to decipher how she'd reacted to the fact he just implied that she was a lesbian. A lesbian in 1927, no less.

Yet, she didn't seem to mind. In fact, the way she smiled at him told him that the whole situation hadn't seemed to phase her all that much.

"Uh... no. I don't have a boyfriend."

He sighed deeply relieved that there had been absolutely no indication whatsoever that she'd thought he had been strange or inappropriate in his questioning, and on top of that, she was single and ready to mingle.

"I don't have a boyfriend either, just in case you wanted to know," he added with an almost teasing lilt to his voice, earning a chuckle from her as they found a bench and sat down comfortably together side by side.

As soon as she placed her bag down, the ducks came running and caused Ralph to yelp at their sudden appearance. Y/N cackled at his startled expression. She reached into her bag and pulled out what at first looked like a stack of newspapers, but once she peeled back the paper, it was very clearly a few pieces of bread that she'd wrapped up so the crumbs wouldn't get anywhere.

Tearing pieces off and throwing it for the ducks, she turned to explain, "I do this a lot. They probably recognise the bag and know they're going to be fed."

"You feed these beasts?"

Again, she laughed. She held out a slice to him, which he took cautiously, and gestured for him to break off a bit and toss it. When he complied, a duckling waddled over to it and gobbled it up greedily.

"That's quite cute actually..." he commented, watching the animal enjoy itself before turning his attention back to her as she continued feeding the ducks. He couldn't help but stare at her as she did so, taking in every detail. She was such a beautiful sight and, although he felt the need to hold himself back in fear that he might embarrass himself, he knew he should make sure to commit her beauty to memory.

The sun filtered through the branches above, illuminating her soft hair beautifully and bathing her in warm and incredibly rare British sunlight. She glowed, he realised with a smile. Her eyes shone and sparkled with so much happiness; her face flushed and rosy; a small, crooked smile tugged the corner of her mouth upward in a way that made him believe there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

Oh, how he wished he'd brought his sketchpad. Maybe then he could capture her in all its splendour. But he couldn't bring himself to take his eyes off of her.

Interrupting his daze, one of the bigger duck's got impatient as he still had half a slice in his hand and hadn't thrown it so it nipped at his fingers. He jumped with a very high pitched squeal and flung the bread far away from him, where it hit a nearby tree and flopped to the ground with a soft thump.

"Ow." He cradled his finger in his other hand gently, frowning at the pain that pulsated through his digit.

"Are you okay? Let me see."

Placing his hand in hers, he watched her inspect the damage - the bird's bite hadn't even broken skin but would be a purplish colour by the evening - and deadpanned, "I'm surprised it didn't bite your hand off," only to immediately drop the facade when he seemed genuinely concerned. "I'm kidding. The worst you could get from a duck would be an infection and your nip didn't draw blood so you're perfectly fine."

Ralph let out a sigh of relief. "Oh thank god…" He smiled weakly at her and then glanced towards the duck who seemed pretty contented now. The simple act of holding her hand made him forget about any smidgeon of pain.

From the other side of the pond, Ralph felt a pair of eyes on him and turned his head to find that they belonged to none other than Sonia, one of Victoria's friends. He slowly took his hand out of Y/N grip and shifted so Y/N was blocked from view by his body.

"Do you know her?" she questioned in a quiet voice, peering around Ralph's shoulder in order to see behind him.

"She's one of my sister's friends, yes. And not one of the nice ones."

"Ah. I see. She's coming this way."

"She is?"

Noticing how uncomfortable he was, Y/N had to offer, "Shall we make a quick getaway?" He considered her suggestion for a moment and nodded his head before standing up hastily and offering his hands out to pull her up. She accepted his help gratefully and they both briskly walked away without looking back at the scene.

They were going the wrong way to get home and had stumbled into a street market full of vendors selling all kinds of foods and trinkets and knick knacks. Ralph had never been to a market before as he usually got his servants to gather anything he wanted. Clothes shopping was the only time he went out for himself.

"Hungry?" She asked with a grin, eyeing him with amusement as his eyes darted from stall to stall.

"Yes… Yes, please!"

Y/N giggled, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him forward, "Alright, come on then, big guy. Let's go find something."

While Ralph followed behind her blindly, he couldn't help but admire how elegant and graceful her movements were as she weaved through the crowd effortlessly. With her locks bouncing along with her footsteps, and her lips curved up at the corners in joy, he just couldn't tear his gaze away.

"I'm in the mood for some hot soup, you?" she queried, glancing back over her shoulder at him. Smiling brightly at her request, Ralph nodded his head enthusiastically as they started walking in the direction of a particular stand, where steam filled the air and wafted the scent of homemade broth towards them.

Still holding onto him, she ordered and paid for their food before he'd even realised what she was doing. Upon returning, they found a seat outside under a large oak tree that provided shade and privacy from all other people and occupied themselves by chatting for the remainder of their meal.

Despite having just met Y/N, he quickly grew accustomed to her presence and was able to keep himself entertained with her conversation during their lunchtime. Maybe all of his conquests were this interesting and he'd been so blinded by his infatuation to realise it, or maybe she was the most interesting of them all - that was the most likely in his head.

Once they were done, they stood and started the journey back home. As they passed more stalls, the pair got to the end and Ralph happened to notice a flower stall.

"Wait here," he told her before rushing up to the florist's stand while she stood awkwardly to the side waiting for him. He soon returned with a single yellow tulip in his hand, smiling sheepishly and holding it up for her to see. "For you."

Her eyes widened at his gesture, her cheeks reddening slightly as she gazed at the flower in wonder. "Thank you, Ralph," she murmured softly as she gently took it from him and tucked it behind her ear for safe keeping.

"I tried to buy more but I don't think that lady liked me," he confessed, laughing before clearing his throat and continuing, "My mother taught me that yellow tulips mean 'there's sunshine in your smile' and I never had use for that information until now."

Y/N shook her head fondly at his adorable confession, knowing that this boy was a genuine treasure inside and out. And that, combined with his sweet words of gratitude, were making her heart soar. It was a feeling she could get used to. It was a wonderful feeling.

So she gave his arm a squeeze, urging, "Let's get home, I need to put this in a vase before it wilts," and then led him back the way they came, leaving behind the hustle and bustle of the market.

As they neared their homes, however, she noticed that he was slowing down his pace. Not stopping, but slowing considerably. And not because he was tired, but because he wanted to stretch out their time together as long as possible.

Because he wanted to savour everything about this day. Because he wasn't ready to part ways yet and he wasn't sure if he'd ever have another chance like this again.

Then he did stop.

"Are you doing anything tomorrow? I'm in need of some new clothes and I was hoping for a second opinion." He came up with that on the spot, unsure of whether or not she would accept or not. "My sister usually helps but she's busy. Would you?"

"Of course I'll help. Just tell me when and where and I shall make myself available for you."

That was a better response than he'd ever imagined he could've received. Perhaps gaining her love really wasn't as hopeless as he may have previously believed.

They continued onwards and once they reached the entrance to her house, she hesitated slightly as though she wanted to say something. Before either of them could, however, she placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Goodbye," she whispered and hurried off up the steps.

He watched her leave until she disappeared behind her door, his mind wandering into a fantasy, a world where the woman he loved lived in the same house as him. And they spent everyday together like they had today, eating meals and enjoying each others' company and being together whenever they pleased.

A world where the only thing they needed was each other - no matter how many times they argued, no matter how many misunderstandings they had; nothing else would matter because they loved each other.

Yet, a pang of disappointment ran through him as reality sank in. She didn't love him. No, not yet.

Next Chapter -> Chapter 2

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