6Chapter 1: The scent of lilies
He first saw her when she was six years old.
She was chubby, her face sprinkled with freckles, her grey eyes sparkling like his dad's Mercedes and her golden hair shone red in the sunlight. She threw jam at his face, giggling.
To him, her sweet laugh sounded like bells at Christmas time.
He was in love.
Smack.
"Oww.." complained Alexander, the son of the Duke of Devonshire.
"Get up Your Royal High-butt, it's time for school," his maid, Georgina, was not a gentle woman.
She was short, comically so, her hair always pulled back in a tight bun, only loose strands of white hair falling forward. Georgina must have been a beautiful woman in her day, for her face, though marred by the sands of time, held the kind of grace and loveliness that Alexander associated with her goddess daughter. Alexander's face split into a wide grin at the thought of her, sinking his face into the pillow.
SMACK.
"Get up! Or the Lord have mercy on your poor soul when your father finds out you've been suspended for being late yet again," Georgina's face split into an evil grin, her dimples evident.
Alexander glanced up, raising one perfect dark eyebrow at his maid. Clearly, she forgot who was in charge in this household. Not that it mattered to her. She pulled the sheets from his bed, causing him to fall to the floor unceremoniously, his jet black hair sticking up like individual duck butts.
Glaring at his maid, Alexander made his way to his bathroom, slamming the door and sulking in usual teenage manner. Grumbling to himself about maids and sleeping, he stripped himself of his pyjamas and stepped into the shower. A gush of warm water greeted his pale skin, as he washed himself from head to toe, smiling as he did so. Alexander liked being clean. Turning off the golden taps, Alex made his way out of the shower, black hair flopping as he dried his hair, and the rest of him too.
You may be wondering why it was necessary to describe Alex washing himself. It wasn't necessary, Alex just likes being clean.
Moving back into his room, the son of the Duke of Devonshire found his uniform neatly pressed on his bed. Alexander promptly scrunched up his uniform, before slipping into it and making his way to school. By limo. Of course.
Pulling up to the manicured lawns of Saint Andrew's School for the Rich and Spoiled, would have been an almost awing experience, had it not be ruined by the plague of torrential rain and black clouds that seems to stay in Scotland 364 days of the year. Alexander frowned. He needed a better nickname for his beloved school. Sighing, he pushed the door open before his driver could, and sprinted to the large doors at the end of the lawns; getting so soaked even his underwear was wet.
His footsteps echoed along the great marble fools of the school, squelching as he pulled up to his first class; physical education. His friends' faces split into wide smirks as they saw the state of Alexander, who at that moment, was making puddles on the floor.
"Your Royal Highness, at last you grace with your most... wet presence," his teacher had sarcasm down to an art.
"Forgive me, I thought it would be appropriate to shower with all my clothes on," Alexanders' mouth quirked, not wanting to back down from the subconscious challenge his teacher had presented.
"Do inform us if you plan to do so again, Alexander, so that we may find a bucket for you to stand in," a large hand indicated for the soaked student to join the rest of the class, who at that point, were snickering at that point.
"Yes sir," Alexander saluted, no witty retort in his brain.
The rest of the day was much the same for our protagonist.
Upon arriving home, Alex heard laughing from the main dining room. Dropping his bag onto the cream marble floor, he loosed his black tie and rolled up his sleeves, the image of casual. Pushing his hair back from his forehead, Alex made his way into the century old dining room to which his father's stuffy friends sat. Smoking cigars. Wearing thousand-dollar suits. Making him feel nauseous in general.
Then he caught the familiar sent of lilies.
I am colour blind.
His breath caught in his throat, all his vision blurred but for the sight of her.
Coffee black and egg white.
Her hair, normally wild and free, was tied up in a simple pony tail, crimson red ringlets bouncing as she served his father's friends. Her maids uniform, clinging to every curve, moved with her like a second skin.
Pull me out from inside.
He couldn't move, spell-bound by her doing the most ordinary of things, pouring coffee.
I am ready, I am ready, I am..
She glanced up, warm storm-cloud grey eyes meeting navy. A smile. She smiled for him.
Tongue tied.
Her lips parted as if to greet him, only for her to blush and continue serving his father's friends. A blush crawled up her neck to her cheeks, pink and stunning. A lazy smile spread across his thin lips, for no man would ever know that blush better than he.
Stuttered shook and uptight.
She trembled a little under the intensity of his gaze, knowing he tease her for such nervousness.
"Father," Alexander broke eye contact with her, meeting his father's own navy blues.
"Alexander my boy, come to have some intelligent conversation at last?" A crinkled smile from his father, a rare thing unless he was in company.
"You know me father, anything for food," old chuckles.
"Well, I'm sure you could find something in the kitchen," Alexander had wondered when his father would dismiss him.
Nodding his head as way of acknowledging his father's subtle goodbye, Alexander made his way to the kitchen, in search of a certain redhead.
The kitchen was state of the art, from the touch screens on the fridge to the non-fog windows. The tiles were cream, like the rest of the house, were cold and marble. But the smell of tomatoes over whelmed him, and he glanced to the source of the smell.
And there she was, a paper in one hand, stirring a soup in the other.
"O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet," her floaty voice almost took his breath away.
He could almost see the little frown of concentration on her forehead.
"Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?" Alexander grinned, leaning against the doorway.
"BOLLOCKS!" She swore, turning around and knocking her hand against the pot.
Ouch. Looks like it's time for Romeo to save his Juliet.
Alexander promptly found a towel, and moved beside her, running the towel under the taps. Placing the towel over the abused hand, he gave her one of his most genuine smiles.
"Well that's dedication if I've ever seen it," Dimples.
"Oh shush, I wasn't expecting you, much less for you to know Shakespeare," she was so pretty when she was embarrassed.
"It's your line," He simply said, by way of distracting her from the pain.
"Shit. Right. 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.. Oh titties," she frowned, trying to remember her lines.
"A true Juliet would never swear," he teased.
"Well.. bollocks that it's only a high school play," she rolled her silver eyes, catching all the light in the room in that one, smooth motion.
"Your eyes match the fridge," Alex indicated to the stainless steel fridge on his right.
"If that's your way of trying to get into my knickers, you're not doing a very good job," she snapped, trying to pull her hand away from his rather large one.
His hand closed firmly around her small, delicate one and raised an eyebrow.
"You should go," she whispered, lowering her eyes to the ground.
"But I don't want to," his navy eyes pleaded for her to agree with him.
"I don't want you to either, but you should go," she couldn't even look him in the eye.
He pressed her against the counter, placing one hand around her waist, the other still holding her burnt hand. He pressed his lips softly against hers, biting her full, bottom lip gently, like an ice cream to sensitive teeth. A soft meow from her ebbed away at his willpower, his strength to leave her again.
But he left any way. It was better than being pushed away.
AN: My first story, so please be kind! [x Chapter 2 will be uploaded soon. If I get any reviews. Or a read. Or.. any form of attention haha.