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A swan is on the loose and hell bent on ripping off each and every custom satin seat cover at the ceremony site. As far as pre-wedding fiascos are concerned this is somewhere between The-Bouquets-Never-Arrived and Someone-Dropped-The-Cake. It is not unfixable, but it can certainly get there quickly.The idea had put to put the supposedly docile creatures on the immense tiered fountain just before the guests arrived. They would swim and look majestic just behind the custom altar of grape leaves and peonies. The swans would provide just the right amount of fairytale here during the vineyard ceremony that was coordinated to end with a kiss just as the sun dropped to the most dramatic angle for was the idea, anyway, until one of the fine feathered bastards had figured out how to pull the pin out of the hinge on their cage and is now ruling over a white winged reign of terror.Elsa wipes perspiration from her brow as she attempts to corner the errant bird. It would be a hell of a lot easier if there were actual corners instead of sweeping hills and a gorgeous sandstone courtyard."Come here you idiot." She clenches her teeth as the swan flaps its wings wide and hisses, backed up against the immaculate archway.Where is Kristoff when she needs him? The hulking blonde man is the muscle of the group and he has a way with animals, two things she lacked. Her team is not on their mic system this early in the day which means she is stuck solo on this mission. He is well out of reach behind the grand brick winery setting up the reception tent with her sister, his wife, Anna.Hopefully they are having better luck than she.With a deep breath she lunges forward. The swan retaliates with its sharp beak snapping at her hand and wings beating. Elsa retreats."Where in the hell is the swan guy?" Elsa says to herself as she stares down her feathered foe with frustration mounting.There is a schedule to keep in order for this day to go on without a hitch and wrangling a thirty pound bird is not on any of her agendas, but that is part of being an event planner. Something always went sideways but in the past five years of events and weddings no other bump in the road has ever tried to bite her. The damn thing is in front of her - hissing - and it is clear this is not going to end without a fight.She is about to abandon her station to go find reinforcements when she feels a presence by her left shoulder. She whips her head to the side, half expecting to be attacked by another swan, but instead she is met by the sight of a man she has never seen before.He has a shock of flame red hair, thick and combed back off of his aristocratic brow. His firm, sloping jaw matches the curve of his long nose. Her mind flashes through all of her vendors, of the grounds crew that she had met, but she can not place this man. He must be the swan man and is thus responsible for this mess.She makes a note on her ever running mental to-do list to give him a piece of her mind and a one-star rating on yelp once this is all sorted."If you distract, I will catch." His voice is smooth, low, and honestly she is in no place to bargain."Fine." She is not too sure how to distract a swan, but she will give it a try.She waves her arms above her head. "Woo hoo! Swan! Over here!" She wobbles her head and serpentines her body closer to the bird. The swan looks her way, arches his obscene neck back to strike again, and she was about to jump to safety when a huge white cloth sails through the air and lands atop the confused bird. The swan guy follows the cloth and wraps the bird a bear hug, the giant wings and fierce head smothered beneath the cloth. It is clear, however, that the restraint may not hold for long."Cage?" He struggles with the large animal.Before Elsa can think why it is strange that he is asking her where he put his own cages she points behind the fountain, but realizes he cannot see her. She shakes her head."This way."She scurries ahead to open the cage for the errant bird and his irresponsible keeper. The man wrestles the shrouded bird into the metal box with no little effort. Elsa stands to the side, uncertain what to do but wanting to be there just in case she could help. After a minute of struggling, the swan is finally back in its cage, pin in place and the cage door butted against the stone wall of the fountain to keep any more unwanted escapes in check.The swan guy steps back from the cage, white cloth in hand, and wipes his brow. He is breathing heavily, broad chest rising and falling from exertion beneath the thin white shirt he is wearing, and she is glad that he seems to be in good shape since wrestling that bird was no small task. Still he should have had the animal under control at all times.She crosses her arms over her chest. The clasps of her ratty old overalls dig into her skin, but that is a price you pay when you go into battle."Where exactly have you been? You were supposed to sit with the birds until it was time to put them on the water and instead you are off doing heaven knows what while one of your animals tries to single-handedly ruin the ceremony site."He looks at her like he has absolutely no idea what she is talking about. He cocks his head to the side and quirks a perfect smile that she does not like even one bit. He acts like if he just plays dumb she will forget the entire thing just because he flashes his best Sunday Social smile."Come again?" He says as he turns towards her."Your bird! It is your job to stay with them so they do not get loose. You failed. I want an explanation."He frowns a bit into his smile like he cannot quite sort her out and takes a few steps closer. One of his thumbs hook a belt loop on his fitted jeans. The white t-shirt he wears is new, pristine, and just a little too tight in just the right places. If she weren't so furious she may have been able to acknowledge that he is attractive."My bird?"He is still a few feet away, but his tightened proximity along with whatever game he is playing makes her heart speed up. He is looking at her like he sees all of her and she does not appreciate it. She does not want to be seen and least of all by an incompetent vendor.Her calf cramps as she tries to keep herself from stepping back. "Yes. Your bird."He looks her from the explosion of snow white hair tied up on the top of her head down to her boot covered feet. His eyes wander as if they are taking in every little detail of her appearance. She crosses her arms over her chest tighter. She knows she looks a mess, but she does not need to justify her appearance to anyone - least of all some idiot who cannot keep swans in cages."I don't have any birds." He looks like he is trying to keep from laughing and she has no time for this. She has five thousand dollars worth of coral satin she has to salvage."Fine. You don't have any birds. Great. Well I don't have time to argue moot points, so if you'll excuse me I have a job to do. Just don't expect any referrals or repeat business from me." She turns on a heel, all too eager to get out of there, and nearly runs into someone.It is a middle aged man. His button down shirt has a swan embroidered on the pocket and is tucked into neatly pleated khakis. His head is shaved, his waist soft, and Elsa stumbles back in confusion."Excuse me I just -" She looks the man from head to toe, taking in his utilitarian attire, and instantly realizes her mistake. Her cheeks flame with embarrassment. "You are the swan guy."He does not seem too thrown off by her awkward titling and extends a broad, flat hand. She shakes it with firm, crisp efficiency."Horatio." He introduces himself, but it hardly registers as she feels eyes boring into the back of her head. "I was just parking my van after dropping the birds. Everything all right?""One of your swans escaped and destroyed some of the ceremony site." She normally has no trouble dressing down errant vendors, but she is so flustered that she hears the tremor in her voice.Horatio's eyes bulge and dart around. "Where's the bird now?""Back in its cage which was no small feat I can assure you." She should give credit where it is due, but the idea trips her. She hears him snort behind her, sees Horatio acknowledge him, but she keeps her focus straight ahead."I've been telling the boss for months we need to upgrade the cages or get some locks or something. The birds are too smart for these."Elsa sniffs. She prides herself in picking reputable vendors, had built a reputation around it, and to find that this one had cut corners only adds insult to injury, but she is not the kind of the kill the messenger. "Well when your boss is invoiced for the damaged slipcovers I am sure he may change his mind, but for now please do not let these animals out of your sight.""Of course. Absolutely. I'm so sorry."Elsa does not have time for apologies. She has seat covers to fix. She shakes her head."If you need anything look for me or any of my team and for the love of God, please keep your birds under control.""Yes ma'am. Again, I am sorry. I know my boss -"But Elsa is already moving back to the ceremony site as much from her need to fix what had been broken as it is to escape the teasing grin of that insufferable red-headed man.It isn't professional, she knows, but at this point she has no time for tact. She is too embarrassed for tact. What had he even been doing there? She had it under control. She could have handled it with her team just fine before he had come gallivanting in and -"Are you always this charming or do the swans just bring out the more luminous parts of your personality?" She had been so busy fuming she did not hear him come up the path behind her.She sees him fall into pace with her out of the corner of her eye. Her cheeks are on fire. She may as well eat crow while it is still warm."This is our first event with swans and I had never met the vendor before today although he came highly recommended." She keeps her eyes straight ahead and picks up her pace, but he matches it easily. "So you must understand my natural assumption that you were the bird handler after you managed the bird with such confidence. It was an easy mistake, plus I had everything under control. I'm sorry you felt that you had to get involved."They round the fountain and reach the altar by the end of her rambling. She does not stop her path though. She goes immediately to the chairs that had been plucked at by the swan and stoops to investigate."You know," he leans his forearm on the back of the chair next to the one she is inspecting. "That may be the worst apology I have ever received."Indignance flashes hotter than embarrassment just long enough for her to look up at him and see his wide smile and the teasing glint in his green eyes. He is joking! Her sharp retort dies on her tongue. She looks back down at her work and tugs the fabric back in place a little harder than necessary. She does not know who this man is, but she knows he is not a vendor which means he is most likely a guest and that meant she needs to appease him. People did not score invitations to weddings that cost a cool million by being trailer trash.She sucks in a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I'm a little preoccupied. Events like these are a complicated production and I get a little tunnel focused. It was a misunderstanding and I apologize."She expects a thank you, some sort of snarky comment or indication that she is off the hook, but none come. Instead:"You're tense.""Excuse me?" She scoots over to appraise and straighten the next chair cover, straightening the gaudy contrasting gold satin bow, trying to focus on work instead of how intently she knows he is watching her every move."The muscles in your shoulders look tight enough to snap." He pushes up from his position to come alongside her and straighten askew seat covers as she is doing. She almost snaps at him to stop, but holds her tongue when she sees the care he takes with the posh fabric. His eyes catch hers. "What do you do to relax? Do you ever relax?"It is a presumptive questions for someone who had only known her for five minutes. She normally shuts down any kind of nonprofessional inquiry from strangers, especially of the attractive male variety. She does not have time for that and not just because she was busy running a flourishing event planning company. She just did not have time. She will never have time, but she had been so rude and he is being so kind that she supposes she owes him this."I relax." Her mouth twitches at the playful disbelief she finds in his face."Really?" He flicks one of his eyebrows as thick and red as the hair on his head. "Doing what?""I like to read.""What do you read?"They are moving down the mussed row together now, working around each other to straighten the mess. She tries not to admire the attention he pays to the details of the corners, the crease of the bow, but she finds no flaw in the chair cover when is done with it. She runs a smoothing hand over the seat and gives an extra tug regardless.She finds herself opening up to his questions, his warmth. It feels nice, nicer than she wants to admit, to bask in the attention. It tingles bright and sparkling beneath her skin. She forgets her anger, her embarrassment, in the wake of pleasant conversation with a perfect stranger."Non-fiction mostly. Autobiographies, histories, industry papers - you know - that sort of thing."He gives a low chuckle. "No wonder you are so tense. None of those seem too relaxing."She tries not to become defensive. "They can be.""What about TV?"Elsa thinks of the shows she watches with Anna. They are mostly reality fare revolving around weddings. Or if Kristoff has control of the remote the TV normally finds some sort of sporting match. She, however, never turns on the TV of her own accord.She shrugs."Bubble baths?"She snaps: "Never."He pauses his work to look at her but she keeps going. She had been too emphatic in her denial."Never?"She tries to sound as casual as she can. "They just aren't for me.""Huh. Fair enough." She can hear the curiosity in his agreement. She cannot blame him. What normal person did not enjoy bubble baths? But she is not normal."What about you?" She deflects before he can ask her any follow up questions. "What do you do to relax?""Sailing." He does not hesitate. "It is my favorite thing to go out on a crisp morning and spend the whole day out out on the water. You have never seen a sunset until you see it on the open sea. The sun is so huge it looks like it will come down and set the world on fire, but somehow it slips past us and shows us the stars instead. It takes your breath away."She does not notice that she stops her work to watch him talk. He sounds so - well - human. The conviction in his voice, the life, stirs something in her. He sounds so passionate, so open, so free and she wants - oh. It does not matter what she wants. She will never have it no matter how hard she works.She turns back to straightening."That sounds nice." She offers, upset with herself for allowing her mind to wander to impossible things."Have you ever been sailing?"She shakes her head."You should come out with me then. Next weekend. I'm going out with a group of friends for a day cruise. It is always a great time. You should join us."It does sound like a great time, but she cannot risk it. There are too many ways it can go sour, too many chances for attachment to form where it should not."I have to work.""Ah. Being an event planner probably kills most opportunities for weekend get-togethers.""I don't mind. I love my job.""Killer swans and all?"She smiles at that, appreciating his wit. "Yes. Even then.""You have a nice smile."The compliment catches her off guard. Her hands tighten on the fabric she is adjusting and the smile is gone. She is not one who gets compliments. She does not want them, can not want them. It is too complicated. Her mind races to get in front of the rushing heat she feels at his praise.She deflects, changing the subject. "You really seemed to know what to do with that bird.""I watched a lot of Animal Planet as a kid." He shrugs and she has to make an effort not to smile at that. "Plus I grew up with a lot of brothers so I don't think there was ever a day of my childhood that did not involve wrestling something bigger and meaner than me.""How many brothers did you have?""Twelve."Her mind goes blank for an instant and she looks at him with wide eyes and gaping mouth. He gets a spark of mischief in his eye that tells her he is used to the shock of others at this particular junction."I could say quite a few things about my father, but one thing I will say is that Frederik Westergaard does nothing halfway."Her mind grinds to a halt upon revelation. "Frederik Westergaard. As in Frederik Westergaard the hotel tycoon? He is your father?"He grimaces a bit at her appraisal. "Ah. So you have heard of him."Of course she has. Everyone in Arendelle and probably over the known world has stayed in a Westergaard hotel at some point in their life. His empire is limitless, his wealth unimaginable, and here is his son straightening chair covers next to her. Even worse - she had yelled at him. She is mortified. If he told his friends she could be blackballed from event planning in the upper echelons for the rest of her life - no matter how short it may be."You're a Westergaard." She wants to go under a rock and hide for the rest of the night."I'm also a Gemini and a groomsman in this wedding, but most people call me Hans."She is not most people. She could not even afford the dirt off the bottom of his shoes.Mercifully they finish the straightening then and she is able to stand and put some distance between them. Maybe he will not see how pink she knows her ears are with embarrassment."Well thank you so much for your help." She wipes shaking hands down the front of her overalls (she would meet a Westergaard while wearing overalls) and stares at the ground next to his feet. "But I have to get inside now."No real damage had been done to the seats. A lot had just been knocked askew and needed to be righted. There was a small tear in one seam, but she had a needle and thread in her emergency bag inside the winery that could be used to fix that in no time flat. She just needs to get it, to get away from him and her embarrassment. Wait until Anna hears about this."So do I." He walks towards her and offers his arm. "Let me walk you up."She thinks to refuse. It would not be professional to take the arm of a guest, but that will no doubt offend him and since she has already done that enough for her entire lifetime…. Gingerly she tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow, trying to touch as little of the smooth, firm skin of his bicep as possible. He is warmer than she expected, warmer than she feels like someone should be. He pulls his arm in against his side and sets a leisurely pace up out of the courtyard to the sidewalk leading to the winery.It is only one hundred yards away, but at this pace it will take them the better part of a year to get anywhere. She tries to speed them up, but he does not allow it. They will go at his pace."Do you have a name?" He asks as he frustrates her every attempt to go faster."Elsa. Elsa Agnar." She thinks how funny it is to have introductions this far into the conversation. If only she had known who he was at the start of this mess she would have steered the entire thing a better direction."Well Elsa Agnar, it is my complete and total pleasure to make your acquaintance."She looks up at him them and expects to see the teasing expression that is already becoming so familiar in reference to him, but instead she only finds sincerity, warmth. His green eyes roam her face, his mouth sets a soft smile, and he is close. Too close. She looks back at the path in front of them."Even if I yelled at you?""Especially since you yelled at me." She hears his sincerity and wonders at it. "Once people find out who I am - or rather who I am related to - well let's just say I do not get yelled at very often. It was refreshing."She snorts. "You should go into event planning then. People are always yelling at you or your yelling at someone. There is a lot of yelling.""Ah. If I had known I was getting a professional grade scolding I would have paid closer attention. To be honest I was a little distracted through all of it.""Distracted? How?""I can't tell you." His response is so unexpected, his voice suddenly so solemn, that she is forced to look up at him again. For once, he is not looking back. "It would make you uncomfortable."She does not tell him that she is already as uncomfortable as she has ever been. She looks forward again and tries to smooth her ruffled nerves."Fine. Don't then.""You give up too easily." His voice is teasing again. He changes so quickly it makes her head spin. "It isn't a bad reason. It is a good reason." He leans in a bit and lowers his voice to whisper in her ear. "But I have a feeling that you would prefer a bad reason over a good reason. Now why is that?"He stands back up but not before he lingered a moment longer than he needed to, his nose practically buried in her hair, his breath tickling the sensitive shell of her ear. It seems that blushing is to be her permanent state of being with him around."Criticism, if constructive, is how one grows." She dodges."And compliments?" His voice stays soft. "Can any good can come of those?"They are close to the main building now. Its towering brick structure looming nearer and nearer with each step. If only they could reach it now so she can avoid these questions that make her heart race."I suppose - at the right time and for the right reason.""So, hypothetically, if I told you now that I was distracted because I found you to be incredibly attractive would that pass your test of right time, right reason?"She has no idea how they have gotten here in this conversation. She has no idea how she has gotten here at all. Ten minutes ago she was battling a swan and now she is being charmed by a man who she has no business talking to regardless of rank or station."I don't think there is ever a right time or reason for that." She says, but there is a part of her deep in her chest that wishes those words were not true."Then I suppose we will just have to agree to disagree on that point because I think things of beauty are worthy of praise."They climb the two shallow steps that lead up to a grand wooden door. It is propped open now to allow easy flow as vendors and staff dart in and out at regular intervals. As they reach the threshold she tries to extract her hand from his arm, but he grabs it and turns his body into hers. The heat in his eyes hits her instantly. It echoes the warmth of his skin. How is it possible for one person to be so warm?"Hold on."He keeps hold of her hand with one of his while the other reaches for the top of her head. She flinches back, but he keeps her close. The tips of his finger brush the edge of her hairline and she feels the shiver of it run along her skin before he retracts both of his hands."You had this in your hair." He twirls a single feather between the tips of two long, elegant fingers. "Blow it away and make a wish."She looks at his face, back to the feather, and then back up to his face. She sees his expectancy. She sees his interest. She had felt it in his touch, had felt her reaction to it, and realizes this has gone too far."It doesn't work like that. You can't wish on feathers." She takes a step back. The door frame pushes into her spine as she pulls a fortifying breath."Sure it does." He seems unfazed by her retreat. "You can make a wish whenever you want, this just makes it more fun.""I don't make wishes.""Then I'll make one for you."He closes his eyes for a moment and she thinks of running, but he is where she needs to be. She will have to wait for him to go. Then he puckers the lips of his wide, generous mouth, and blows the feather into the air. It fluttered to the ground between their feet and he look back at her again. His eyes are bright and warm."Do you want to know what I wished for?" His voice takes on a low, silky tone that sends a rumbling through her. Trouble."You aren't supposed to tell me. It won't come true.""You are awfully legalistic about wishes for someone who doesn't make them."She is going to say something when he steps into her again, as close as he was before, and she has nowhere to go. The cool wood of the door frame is unyielding. He makes no move to touch her, but her skin tingles everywhere at the possibility. It is unnerving."I wished for just the right words to get you to say 'yes' to seeing me again after today." He licks his lips, watching her face intently.Her heart hammers against her ribs. She tries to keep it professional. "I'm sure we will run into each other again at other events my team and I plan.""I'm asking for a date." He smiles as he calls her bluff. "We could grab drinks, or dinner. We could take my boat down to Corona for the day. There is a bakery there with pastries that melt in your mouth the second they touch your tongue and an old theater that has been renovated into the most beautiful bookstore you've ever seen. I'd love to show it to you."The potential sings through her. It could happen. It could be amazing. It could be so many things if only she were able to accept. She takes a deep breath, unable to look away from his pleading gaze."I don't go on dates." Her voice comes out soft, unconvincing, and she mentally kicks herself.He cocks his head to one side, face puzzled. "Why not?"There is not enough time for a real explanation, not that she will give it anyway. So she goes for her default. "I like to be alone."He actually laughs at that one. The reaction is so unexpected it startles her. Everything about this man is surprising and that sets her on edge, off balance. He puts one hand above her head and leans in."No one likes to be alone.""I do."His smiles takes on a new edge, like a locksmith enjoying the process of tripping tumblers."You keep telling yourself that, but I'm going to prove you wrong."There is a burst of light and energy from the entry hall and Elsa's eyes tear to the distraction."Elsa! There you are - " It is Anna, red braid swinging around her narrow shoulders, but she stops the moment she processes the tableau in front of her. Her blue eyes go wide. "Uh - I um - Kristoff and I - uh - wow. Okay. We need help with something in the tent. Okay?"Elsa can read every racing thought on her sister's flustered face. They mirror her own. She glances back to Hans to find that he is no longer leaning, but is still too close. His eyes still spark a challenge that tells her that even if she leaves now - this is far from over. She slips past him towards her sister."If you'll excuse me." She forces the words out past the lump in her throat. "The groom's room is down the hall to the right."Her legs shake as she approaches her sister, can feel his eyes on her retreating back, and hears him chuckle. She grabs Anna's arm as she passes and steers her sister around the corner and out of his sight. Still his voice follows her as she tries to make her way to the reception tent and the clean, clear sanity of work."Save a dance for me tonight, will you?"
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The sisters work their way down through the long hallway, feet clapping on the hardwood floor, towards the large catering kitchen that led to the reception tent. Elsa keeps hold of Anna's as much to keep her on task as to keep herself upright. It takes every bit of her concentration to do anything but think about Hans Westergaard and Anna is not helping."So - uh - who was that?" she asks as soon as they are out of earshot.Elsa needs to get through this day then maybe tomorrow over that anticipated bottle of chardonnay she can tell her sister about the bizarre ten minutes. So she says: "A groomsman.""Wow. If the rest of the bridal party is that good looking then this wedding is basically going to be a GQ shoot.""Anna!""What? I'm married, not dead. What'd the super hot groomsman want? Why was he all leany?"They pass through the kitchen. Pots, pans, trays, bodies, and food fill the space with infectious energy. The chef, Tiana Chase, flits like a butterfly from station to station. Her voice is disproportionately large for her small body and it resonates off of the marble and stainless steel that makes up the room."I said mince not dice! Let me taste the broth…! More parsley…!"E&A Events has worked with Tiana dozens of times. Elsa has complete confidence in the chef's ability to deliver exactly what the client desires. She normally stays out of the way and lets Tiana work her kitchen voodoo but normally she is not trying to get out of a conversation she would rather not have."Chef Tiana!" Elsa breaks away from her sister. "How is everything? Is the kitchen space sufficient? Do you need anything?"Tiana honey-brown eyes blink at the interruption and looks Elsa from head to toe and back again. She puts one hand on her slim hip."Now I'm doing just fine, but you look like you swallowed a frog."Elsa feels her eyes go wide. "No I'm fine. I'm fine, fine, fine. Just checking on you."Tiana looks from Elsa to where Anna stands behind her shoulder. "Get Miss Queen Bee outta my kitchen and get her some water or something before she faints clean away."And with a pivot so graceful a ballerina would swoon, Tiana twirls back to her work leaving Elsa high and dry. This time Anna catches Elsa's arm and leads her away."What was that about?" Anna asks as she pushes open the door to the door that feeds immediately into the reception tent."I was just checking on the food.""But you never check on the food when it is Tiana. That is why we recommend her so highly." Anna leads then out from behind where the bar is carefully situated to hide the service door."Well maybe we should start checking on her, just in case. It is our business on the line and if she starts turning out low quality food -" they cross the immense dance floor towards heading to where Kristoff waits past a sea of tables."Tiana isn't going to do that. It is her name at stake, too." Anna pauses for a moment and Elsa offers nothing. "We are seriously not going to talk about it?""Talk about what?" she feigns an air of indifference even as her heart races."Oh I don't know. Maybe how tall, red, and handsome had you backed into a door and looked like he was going to eat you alive."Anna's description brings fresh fire to her cheeks. "You're delusional."They weave through between tables. Elsa checks each centerpiece along the way."Oh really? Because I think the last time I saw someone lean like that I was watching The Notebook." "You're being ridiculous.""Then why is your face bright red?"They are close enough to Kristoff now that he comes over to meet them. His broad shoulders strain under the worn, work t-shirt. His thick blonde hair falls shaggy over deep set brown eyes. Elsa suppresses a motherly instinct to sweep it back off of his forehead."What's going on? I send you to get Elsa and you take the scenic route?" His voice holds a hint of annoyance as he loops his arm around Anna's waist and drops a kiss on her forehead.Anna nestles into her husband's side. It is easy, natural, comfortable - everything that her conversation with Hans hadn't been. If ever there comes a chance where she could consider looking for someone to share her life, she wants what Anna has with Kristoff. She has had enough unpredictability and drama for her entire life, and will have more but not by her choice."Sorry." Anna cranes her neck back to look up at her giant of a husband. "Elsa was waylaid by a hungry groomsman."Kristoff's eyebrows shoot up. He catches every nuance of his wife's voice like code, but so does Elsa. This day is going to be interminable."You okay? You need me to talk to the guy?" His posture takes on that of a protective older brother, but Elsa shakes her head."Anna's exaggerating. There is nothing to talk about." She gives her sister a pointed look. "We have work to do. What's up?"Kristoff settles back on his heels, but Elsa knows he will jump into action if the need ever arose. She, however, is good at fighting her own battles. She has to be."We need your opinion on how to run the cables for the lights." He gestures to the hundreds of strands of edison bulbs that run up to the highest point of the pitched canopy. When they are lit they will make the tent glow in golden relief. "We've come up on a bit of roadblock.""Then let's unblock it, shall we?"Kristoff led the way, Anna at his side, and the three of them went to the edge of the tent. For the moment all conversation revolving around Hans is forgotten and she is glad of it. She is never happier than when her mind has a puzzle to solve, a problem to resolve, and she zeroes in on it.Much of the remaining hours leading up to the ceremony is much of the same. She helps and organizes and fixes. She mends the ripped seat cover with a neat whipstitch. She measures the distance between the each table and place setting in the reception tent, ordering correction when she found fault. She greets and directs vendors. She whisks the bride and her entourage back to the bride's room (down the opposite hall of the groom's room) and fetches them chilled champagne as they dress. She gives laminated, duplicate copies of the requested shot list to the photographer and her assistants. She orders and organizes until it is one hour before the ceremony and everything is flawless.She is watching from the landing of winery as Horatio releases the swans onto the fountain when Anna finds her again."The ice sculpture is in the walk-in. Kristoff and Olaf will set it on your signal. We found the mother-of-the-bride's missing earring in the bottom of a champagne flute and are we really not going to talk about it?"Elsa has barely managed to go about her work today without constantly looking over her shoulder for Hans to pop back up and insert himself into whatever task she found herself immersed in at the moment. She counts it a victory. She is not about to compromise that victory by talking about it.Elsa says: "We need to get dressed."She turns on her heel and heads inside. She hears her sister follow with a groan. They both go to a small office that the winery director occupies during the week where their changes of clothes await. Elsa cannot get out of her overalls and sweat drenched t-shirt fast enough. They peel off of her like a second skin. She goes to the bag that Anna affectionately named The Portable Drugstore and digs out her clean underwear and her industrial size pack of body refreshing wipes. Anna and Elsa work in tandem to clean up and redress. A quarter of the wipes are gone by the time they are ready to don fresh underware."I could kiss the person who invented these things." Anna said as she tossed her last wipe into the desk waste basket and reaches for her simple emerald green cocktail dress. "They are almost as genius as sandwiches."Elsa smiles at that. Her sister's outlook on life never fails to amuse her. She grabs a hairbrush and dry shampoo from The Portable Drugstore and sets to work on the mess of her hair. Anna grabs the deodorant. Elsa tugs through tangles. Anna zips her dress. Elsa hands Anna the hairbrush and they switch roles. Now Elsa dresses and Anna dresses her own hair. They have done this so many times now it runs like a clock.Elsa slips her navy tunic over her head and lets its boxy shape fall down over her hips to hit just below her knees. She pulls her snow white hair over her shoulder and works it into a quick braid before twisting it at the nape of her neck and pinning it tight. She puts her work boots aside to don more delicate silver ballet slippers. She finishes her outfit with a delicate silver locket on a plain silver chain around her slender throat.Anna finishes pinning her two braids across the top of her head just as Elsa clasps her necklace."How do I look?" Anna twirls. Her full skirt fans out around her knees in a playful fashion from its anchored spot at the tailored waist. The yoke neckline is demure and professional."You look wonderful." Elsa reaches out and smooths a stray hair back from her forehead."You look wonderful-er." Anna giggles. "I know - that is not a word. You don't have to tell me.""Thank you. Let's get everyone on the system and do our precheck then."Elsa goes to a black roller bag separate from The Portable Drugstore and opens it. Inside are six radio headsets and transmitter packs all tucked neatly into their own foam- lined crevice. She pulls out one for herself and her sister. Elsa hands the mic set to Anna and goes about hooking up, turning on, checking, rechecking, and dropping the mic into the tunic's pocket. Anna should be doing the same, but instead fiddles with the head piece and looks at her hands."What is it? Did we forget something?" Elsa feels her heart drop. What could they have forgotten?"No it's just -" Anna pauses and takes a deep breath."What is it?" Elsa sees words hanging silent on her sister's lips. "Anna?"Anna looks at her, blue eyes meeting, and bites her lip. "It's just - I know you don't like talking about this and I know you've made your choices because of your - uh - your thing," she makes a nervous, fluttering gesture towards her head. "And I respect that. I do. But you know can always make a new choice, right?"Elsa's spine goes stiff. "Of course I know that.""Okay it's just sometimes I think because of…" Anna stops herself and looks back at her hands. "I just want you to be as happy as possible and if that means a change then I want you to know I support that."Elsa feels the pang sadness that accompanies Anna's affection. Every part of her life is tinged with that sadness. It's insidious nature creeps into each corner and paints her edges blue."Thank you," Elsa keeps her voice even despite the tremor inside of her. "But nothing has changed. Nothing is ever going to change."She cannot say she has made peace with that fact, but she has accepted it.Anna nods and turns her transmitter on and off. "But if you wanted to -""I don't."Anna sniffles and Elsa knows she is trying not to cry. This is why she hates talking about this,"Hey now. None of that." Elsa reaches out and takes her sister's hands in her own. "I'm here and I have more than enough happiness in my life." Anna nods. Elsa squeezes her hands. "Now enough of this. We have work to do."Elsa helps Anna with her mic and fetches another from the bag. She hands it to her sister. "For Kristoff."Then she collects the other three and sets off to find the rest of her team partially out of need to keep this day on track but also because she cannot have that conversation again. Every time Anna senses that someone may be sniffing around Elsa, trying to feel her out, Anna gives the same awkward line about choices and change. Elsa knows she is only trying to help, but it does not. All it does is remind her of the things that she will never have (as if weddings did not do that already).She starts down the hall towards the bride's room where she knows she will find Rapunzel. Besides having an absolutely unforgettable name, Rapunzel Fitzherbert is a graphics and web design whiz and general Jane-of-all-trades at the A&E Events offices, but on the day of weddings like this Rapunzel is the handler of all things bride and bridesmaid. Her bubbly, empathetic personality makes her the perfect fit for the role.Elsa knocks on the heavy mahogany wood door to the bride's room before turning the handle and letting herself in. The room is an explosion of bags, beautiful equipment, and tulle. The bride is being laced into an elaborate mermaid-cut gown by her six bridesmaids, mother, in the center of it all - Rapunzel."How's that Ariel?" Rapunzel ask as she works her way down the back "Too tight?""We should make it tighter. You don't want it slipping all night." A bridesmaid with dark hair says."No. She has to breathe! You want her passing out during the ceremony?" A blonde bridesmaid replies."Ariel is the one in the dress. Let's let her make the decision." It's the bride's mother, Athena. Elsa had met her during the planning process and spent quite a bit of time with her. The resemblance between her and her youngest daughter is mind boggling. "Ariel sweetheart, how does the dress feel?"Ariel runs her hands down the front of the dress, fingertips tracing delicate lace and sparkle, and looks at herself in the full length mirror in front of her. Her blue eyes are luminous in the reflection. Her red hair is curled and styled to spill over her right shoulder like a firey waterfall. Every inch of her petite body radiates excitement, warmth, and joy."It feels wonderful." She is a bit breathless, but everyone can tell it is not from the laces being too tight.Rapunzel has kept working through all of this and is at the bottom of the dress by the time Ariel has the chance to chime in. "All right then." She says as she ties and tucks the remaining laces. "Then you, Miss Bride, are all dressed and ready to get hitched."Rapunzel stands from where she had knelt behind the bride and gets out of the way as the bride is attacked by squealing bridesmaids and selfie requests. She comes over to Elsa grinning ear to ear in a way that makes her look ten years old. Her cropped brown hair flips out at strange angles but Elsa knows better than to try to smooth it. Rapunzel is weird about her hair."Is it that time already?" Rapunzel quips as she takes her mic and clips the transmitter to the belt of her lavender sundress."It is." Elsa smiles as Rapunzel clicks the battery pack on and off exactly three times. Rapunzel is the only member of the team even close to being as OCD as Elsa is and she feels kinship in that. "You have everything under control here?"The infectiously huge smile is back. "Absolutely.""All right then. Stay live. I just have to find your husband and Olaf and to mic up and then this ship is ready to sail. The first guests should be arriving any minute."Elsa was going to wish Ariel the best of everything before slipping out to finish her mission with Rapunzel intercepts her. The tiny brunette steps in close and lowers her voice."Eugene is in the groom's room with you-know-who."Oh Elsa knows exactly who Rapunzel means. Anna is not one for keeping her mouth shut."Thank you." Elsa leaves without another word.Of course he is in the groom's room. He is a groomsman. She knows that. She does not need a committee directing her in regards to who is where and when. She already knows that. It is her job to know that and she is excellent at her job.Besides, whatever Anna thinks she saw earlier is no doubt a gross exaggeration of what actually happened. Honestly she is fairly certain her own mind has embellished those ten minutes exponentially. By now he has probably forgotten all about her and they are both better for it. After all he is nothing but a complication and complications waste time. Time is valuable and she will not throw away whatever amount she has to someone who probably has models on speed dial while she - well. That is entirely different matter.It is only a minute walk from the bride's room to the groom's, but by the time she gets there is she steaming and simmer with anger, anxiety, and anticipation. She stands in front of the door just as she had at the bride's room. She does not allow herself to hesitate. There is no reason to hesitate. He is not a reason to hesitate.She raps her knuckles on the wood and waits."What's the password?" She hears muffled laughter from behind the door. The carefree sound of it would normally please her - the happiness a sign that the event is going smoothly - but now it just grates."Eugene, it's me." She barely has the words out when the door snaps open but it is not Eugene standing there. It is him.If she had ever even maybe considered that he could have been attractive in the jeans and t-shirt he wore earlier then he is absolutely staggering in his classic tuxedo. He is a vision of tailored lines and attention to detail. He auburn hair, worn longer on top than the sides, is combed back to follow its natural wave. The green of his eyes sparkle at the sight of her."Are you here to make my wish come true?" He tucks his shoulder into the doorframe and crosses his arms with a smirk.Her cheeks flame instantly, heart goes into overdrive, but she keeps her eyes and voice cool. "I'm here to give Eugene his mic. Will you have him come out please?""He actually just stepped out. Seems that he makes the best old fashioned in town and is going to prove it." He is doing that thing again that makes her feel like he sees all of her. She feels her body warm under his attention. "It could be fun. You should stick around."Elsa knows all about Eugene's exceptional drink mixing skills. She also knows that drinking with this man in front of her will be nothing less than dangerous. She needs all of her wits about her."Thank you, but no." She needs to take evasive action. "I need to find Eugene. If you'll excuse me."She turns to leave but he slips out into the hall and blocks her path."Stay." There is something so deeply male in the way he stands, the way he looks at her, that sets her on edge.She squares her shoulders. "I can't.""You can. You should." He says. "Haven't you ever heard that the best way to find someone who is missing is to stay in one spot?"She has heard that. She knows the most efficient thing to do is to stay and wait for Eugene. Eugene will not abandon his post for long. He will return and she will give him what he needs and it will be simple, but she cannot stay because Hans gives her a smile that makes her mouth go dry and efficiency is the last thing on her mind.She can hear the men in the groom's room laughing, can smell the scent of expensive cigars. The door is still open. She wonders if any of them are spying on this hallway rendezvous and her embarrassment heightens."Then I'll just give this to you and you can make sure he gets it when he returns. Problem solved." She extends the pack in his direction and he sobers."But that doesn't solve my problem." He inches closer and she stiffens but stays rooted to her spot."And what is that?" She asks before she can stop herself."I still haven't come up with a way to convince you to go on a date with me."He rocks forward on his toes, hand in his pockets, and it should have felt scammy. She has been hit on by men at events before. She knows how this should go, but this is different. He seems sincere, and that is disarming."I already told you. I don't date." It comes out about as convincing as it did the first time."Why?" He tilts his head to the side."I just don't.""Are you seeing someone?" He asks and she knows she should not answer. She has no reason to answer. It is none of his business, but she shakes her head anyway."No.""Married?""No.""I'm not barking up the wrong tree, am I?" He grins and she blushes."Mister Westergaard -" The questions are coming too quickly, flustering her."Hans. Please." His voice is soft, melting, and she cannot help the chill that runs down her spine at the familiarity.She shakes her head once more, but this time she cannot get the word out. The way he is looking at her makes her heart jump into her throat. He reaches out one hand slowly as if she is an animal who might spook. His eyes drop to her neck as his finger hooks the delicate chain at her throat and runs it till he catches her locket between his thumb and forefinger. She stands perfectly still, not even daring to breathe as he fingers her most cherished piece of jewelry."This is beautiful." His voice stays low as he brings unblinking eyes back up to hers. "It makes me want to know what's on the inside."She gets the distinct impression that he is not referring to the locket anymore. She needs to say something, do something, before this meeting spirals even further from her control but she is paralyzed."Elsa. Please."He runs his finger back up along the chain, the backs of his knuckles brushing the thin skin of her throat just above where her pulse thrums painfully. The touch sends a shudder through her entire body and she steps back with a gasp. She is horrified at how her body responds to his. She is one second away from running in terror when they are interrupted."Is everything all right here?" It is Eugene.His hands are full of a tray of all the accoutrements needed to make a ridiculous amount of Old Fashioneds. His hazel eyes are watchful as he comes to put himself between Elsa and Hans in a way that could have been ostensive, but as with everything he does it is tempered with smooth charm. Elsa can tell by the way he looks at her that either Anna or Rapunzel had filled him in all on the sordid details of whatever Anna thought she saw. This is only going to add more fuel to a fire Elsa is willing to do anything to put out."Everything is fine." Elsa grabs any remaining part of her dignity that lays shredded at her feet. "Here is your mic. It is time to go live." She puts Eugene's set on his tray, careful to not upset any of the contents, and gives him a tight smile.Then without another word she spins on her heel and walks away. She does not look back once, but she knows that his eyes stay on her back until she is out of sight.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The ceremony is underway before she sees him again.He stands as the fourth of six in the line of groomsmen. His red hair matches the bride's better than the groom's jet black coif. It catches the light of the setting sun like a flame and she remembers the warmth of his skin. Even at twenty yards away she can still feel the burn of her skin at the brush of his fingers at her temple, her throat. The burn intensifies when he finds her eyes across the distance and holds them until she forces herself to look away and doesn't dare look at him for the rest of the ceremony which, thankfully, goes off without a hitch. Even the swans behave and before Elsa knows it - it is over.Ten months of stressful planning, obsessing over details, of consults and vendor negotiations is released in a sigh at the moment the officiant pronounces the couple man and wife. Even though there is the entire reception and after-party to get through the fact that the ceremony went well is a good omen and she needs that. She needs something to get her through the rest of the night with him prowling in the background."Ceremony is over. Where are we with the ice sculpture?" Elsa presses a button on her mic wire and speaks low but clear into the device."Set and ready. Everything's a go back here." Kristoff responds over the wire."Fantastic. We're moving guests over now. Tell the MC it is forty-five minutes till we announce the bridal party, please. We have pictures. Rapunzel?""On it!" The spunky brunette comes over the channel. "Just grabbing lipstick and mascara."Along with web design Rapunzel was a whiz when it came to makeup and always did touch ups after the emotions of the ceremony did their damage. She can have a ten bridesmaids ready to go in as many minutes."Thanks Rapunzel. Anna is everything set for cocktail hour?""Of course. Calm down."Elsa would normally smile at her sister's teasing and remember that calming down is actually an excellent idea, but not today. She cannot let her guard down even for an instant. She has already made that mistake today and she is still scrambling to pick up the defenses Hans had managed to topple with the slightest bit of attention.She forces her mind off of him however and brings her thoughts to the task at hand. The recessional is underway and she need to whisk the bride and groom off to sign their marriage license before the photographer can snag them for pictures. She heads back up to the winery doors and reaches into the smaller version of The Portable Drugstore that hangs over one shoulder. She withdraws a manilla envelope just as she reaches the beaming bride and groom."May I be the first to congratulate you both." Elsa greets them with a sincere smile, but she can tell the couple cannot see anything but each other. She turns to the short officiant who comes up behind them and hands over the envelope. "Let's make this thing legal, shall we?"She leads them all into the four story brick building and into one of the lavishly decorated parlors the winery had furnished as one of many little hideaways on the massive estate. The dark wood and white walls that run through the entire place offer the parlor an antique feel that is only heightened by the inlaid wooden furniture and lush fabrics. Daguerreotype photos of stoic couples hang on the walls in ornate gold frames as if to emphasize the solemnity of the event.The officiant sits in a straight backed wooden chair padded with scarlet cushions at a low table and gestures for the bride and groom to join him in matching seats. He pulls the marriage certificate from the folder in withered old hands and surveys the room."Where are the witnesses?" He blinks up at Elsa from behind round spectacles and Elsa is horrified.In her hurry to avoid Hans she had forgotten to bring the witnesses."Of course. Absolutely. I'll be right back." Elsa drops the mini-Portable Drugstore and is already halfway out the door, gripping at her mic. The second she is out in the hall and out of earshot of the trio inside she clicks her feed on live. "I need witnesses. Rapunzel please send in Max and Andrina STAT. Tell them to look for me."The three seconds of silence before Rapunzel responds stretches for eternity."You got it! Two are on their way." Elsa can practically hear the tube of mascara clenched in Rapunzel's teeth, but knows the small woman will not let her down.She darts out to the foyer, doing her best to not charge the door and drag whoever is closest in to sign the marriage license. She is furious that she allowed herself to become so frazzled.She sees movement at the door and look in that direction. It is not the witnesses as she hoped. It is him.The setting sun hits him from behind outlining him with a fiery glow. It makes her realize the breadth of his shoulders, the slimness of his waist and hips. Even though his front is in deep shadow she can tell he is smiling."We really must keep meeting like this." He says the opposite of what she is thinking."Have you seen Max? Andrina?" She blurts as he walks in her direction. She pulls herself tall as he approaches."They're heading this way. Might be a second, though." As he comes closer the harsh relief of the setting sun lessens and she can see his smirk more clearly. "It seems if Max has his way you may be planning his and Andrina's wedding next."He is teasing. She knows this. She could laugh or smile. She could respond with a witty comeback, but his proximity take up almost her entire power of thought so she gives a curt nod."Yes. Well. Could you send them this way when you have a chance?" She gestures down the hall with one hand, edging that direction herself in a way she hopes is subtle."I wish I could, but I am fetching a comb for the groom." He cocks his head to the side. "But I could be persuaded to be your errand boy instead."She can sense where this is going and tries to deflect. "I don't think we could afford you on payroll."He laughs at this, deep and real, and the sound of it shakes through her like thunder."The promise of your company would be more than enough compensation." His smile turns from jovial to something wolfish and she realizes then that he is moving in counterpoint to her slow evasion. "So how about it? Two witnesses for the price of one date?""I already told you." She matches his steady gaze, hoping against hope that he will not see how her defenses are trembling. "I don't go on dates."His smile widens. "Well that's a shame." He does not move in but she swears he is closer now somehow. "Because if going on a date with you is one bit as fun as trying to get you to go on one then I think I could die happy."Then he winks at her - winks at her - turns and goes down the opposite hall towards the groom's room. The abruptness of it makes her head spin. She presses one hand flat against the fluttering in her stomach and tries to breathe. Had he really winked at her? Did people do that? Why would he do that? For one instant she forgets everything about herself and why she is here and wants to charge after him and demand - well - she does not know what exactly, but the fire in her stomach balks at his cheekiness.She does not like the burn that settles in the base of her belly. The raging pool of conflicting emotions are destroying her focus and she will not have it. They make her feel like she is spiraling out of control, and she cannot abide that. Not today, not ever. She is stronger than this.She sets like a shot outside, grasping for something concrete to wrap her fingers around. She sees Andrina and Max giggling and walking up the pathway at a pace that suggests they have nowhere to be. Elsa goes down the path to meet them and has to remind herself to smile and be polite as she fetches the shaggy haired best man and the blonde maid of honor. It is not their fault that she cannot seem to keep the butterflies out of her stomach.She is already feeling more normal at having a task to complete. Each step she takes towards the witnesses and then back to the parlor with them is stabilizing. Watching them sign the marriage certificate and then returned the four of them to Rapunzel and the photographer is stabilizing. Going back to the kitchen and seeing Tiana's kitchen work with a frantic but efficient measure is stabilizing. The world is how it should be in these moment. The earth stops spinning beneath her and she can almost take her sister's advice to calm down.Elsa dives into that feeling. She throws every ounce of herself into it and with every flash she catches of him hovering in the corner of her mind she is able to press him aside with whatever task she has at hand. Time flies this way. The sun slips entirely past the horizon and the suspended ropes of Edison bulbs illuminate the space and wash her in a sense of serenity. The reception tent is otherworldly with its soft glow and towering peony centerpieces. The scents of Tiana's amazing food wafts through the space as impeccably dressed guests mingle sipping signature cocktails designed by Eugene to honor the happy couple.When the bridal party is announced, however, the calm is gone. She steps off to the side of the tent as he enters and tries not to watch him. When it is the bride and groom's turn and the guests applauds madly she can hardly hear it. Her mind is too busy creating strategy, grappling for control. She busies herself with going over the timeline she has committed to memory and making certain that the waitstaff know to serve the bride and groom first. She goes to the kitchen and make sure Tiana remembers that the courses need to be served at specific intervals for optimal experience.If her herb crusted pheasants had not been a work of art, Elsa is fairly certain Tiana would have hurled one at her."I don't know what has gotten into that pretty head of yours," Tiana says while stirring a simmering pot of something that smells delicious. "But you better get it out and get yourself out of my kitchen till you remember which way is up."Elsa knows she is right. Her internal compass is spinning as if someone holds a magnet next to her. She excuses herself with an apology and slips back out into the tent where she belongs. She needs to be watching over everything to ensure that there are no problems. She is not sure, however, what to do when the problem is herself.She steers clear of the head table and all those sitting there. Instead she sends Anna, Rapunzel, and Eugene all in turn to make sure that everything is running smoothly. It is cowardly, she knows, but she also knows her limits. Perhaps the wink had been his way of saying he will not bother her anymore. She hopes - though she is uncertain for exactly what.The dinner is served at perfect intervals. Elsa makes a mental note to apologize profusely to Tiana when this is all over. Elsa watches over the fringes as her team works seamlessly around her.Sometimes in quiet moments like this amidst the storm of activity Anna will find her and they will laugh and bolster each other to make it through the rest of the long hours stretching ahead. Today though, Elsa avoids that. Anna knows her better than anyone. She will see the anxious thoughts,will push till Elsa gives a satisfactory answer, but Elsa does not want that. She does not want to acknowledge the affect this man - this virtual stranger - has over her.After the meal is cleared and the toasts given the MC announces the first dance. The band strikes up a jazzy take on The Way You Look Tonight and the singer's raspy voice croons out the melody and the bride and groom take the floor.Elsa stands at the edge of the tent in the shadows. She watches Eric and Ariel from the deep folds of the tent wall with the same bittersweet taste in her mouth that she watches every happy couple. While she finds fulfillment and happiness in her family and work - she cannot help but feel that old familiar sting of never quite being just like everyone else.Someone sidles up next to her in the shadows. She expects to find one of her team, perhaps Anna with a cup of food to force Elsa to eat because she always forgets to do that, but it isn't. It is Hans. He meets her attention with a grin like he is about to speak, but she does not want to hear it. She looks away, takes a step to the side, and hopes he gets the message.He doesn't.He follows her evasion with liquid ease. The sleeve of his tux jacket brushes her bare arm and she cannot cross her arms fast enough to pull them out of his proximity. She mentally reprimanded herself. Maybe he is one of those who likes the chase and she is making it all too easy."Did you save a dance for me?" He does not have to raise his voice. The band is mellow and the crowd is hushed to watch the beautiful couple's first dance. Regardless she feel his voice like he shouted in her ear."It's not professional for me to dance at events I plan." It is a practiced answer she has given drunk event attendees for years, but Hans is not drunk. He is not even tipsy, but when he stands next to her like this her insides feel like she has been sipping one of Eugene's cocktails."No one here will mind. Trust me." He turns his body in towards hers but she stays facing forward, arms tight over her chest. "I am friends with the groom afterall.""I -" she falters as he traces the tip of one finger along her bicep leaving sparks in its wake. "There are plenty of women here, including half a dozen bridesmaids, who would all love to dance with you." She looks everywhere but him."But I'm asking you." His voice rings with a sincerity that makes her mouth go dry. She tries to swallow the feeling away to no avail.Her mind goes to what it could mean to dance with someone like this man. She does not think of money, or status, or power. She thinks of kindness, and curiosity, and heat. She thinks of feverish skin and strong arms. She thinks of eyes that see too much and a tongue so silver it could charm its way out of (or into) anything. She knows she needs to think of anything but.Butterflies the size of pterodactyls beat in her stomach, her chest. His fingertip lingers in the crook of her elbow where her hand tucks so firmly. He will hold that hand if they dance and she idea of that simple gesture is enough to unhinge her. Panic, deep and fervent, rises in her throat."Don't." Is all she manages to choke out before she turns from him and walks as quickly as she can without attracting attention.The event is running smoothly enough that she rationalizes her path to the door behind the bar. The night air is suddenly too hot, the tent too crowded, and she knows if she can just be alone for a few moment and clear her head she will be fine. She is always fine until she isn't, but today, right now, she is fine. She has been fine for three years, a span of time almost long enough for her to forget why she chooses to be alone. It is easier this way - for everyone.Anyway she does not want to dance with him, or anyone for that matter.He caught her in a sentimental moment. That is all. How couldn't someone feel something while watching Eric and Ariel dance together? Their love filled the tent as tangibly as the glow from the suspended strands of lights. The entire event is set up to be a romantic spectacle. It is enough to seduce even the most level headed of people into considering the world through rose-tinted glasses. She is fine.She is totally fine.She just needs a moment.She cuts behind the bar to where the service door is propped open into the kitchen. She slips inside unnoticed.She presses through the crowd of Tiana's crew and waitstaff doing a mental tally as she goes. It helps. The thrum of energy and effort does a lot to calm her nerves, but not quite enough. She needs to be alone to collect her thoughts.She moves out of the kitchen into the desolate hallway. The glow of a light left on in the bride's room draws her like a moth to the flame. Her ballet flats are silent on the hardwood floor as she wraps her arms around herself to ward off the chill that only she feels.When she enters the room she is impressed by the mess. The littering of clothes, cosmetics, and purses over every surface makes her itch to organize. It is what she needs. She always thinks best when she is sorting something, but first she goes to the window and unlatches it. It sticks a bit as pushes, but the window gives up and slides up without too much complaint. The late spring breeze carries the scent of roses and removes the lingering scent of perfume and hairspray. It is refreshing.The sounds of the band wafts through the open window. It is faint, but she listens for it. She wants to hear it. The length of a song is the perfect interval to check on something and be back before anyone notices. It is just the right amount of time to regather her senses.She closes compacts and lines them up along the vanity countertop. She folds clothes and puts them in a neat pile on the ottoman. She collects stray bobby pins and puts them in an empty soap dish. She zips up sprawling bags and purses and organizes on the floor and hooks according to size and color.The process does not take her long, but still her pulse races.Why is her pulse racing? Everything is going as smoothly as an event of this caliber can go. So why does she feel like her insides are melting?She goes to the ornate, porcelain sink at the vanity and turns the tap on cold. She runs the thin skin of her wrists under the water for a minute before before moving cool, damp palms to the back of her neck. The action is refreshing, calming, and she breathes. She had forgotten to do that earlier. That must have been why she felt so piqued. She had forgotten to breathe. She must not forget that again.Between the breathing and the running tap she almost misses the soft clapping of feet on the hallway floor. Almost. Her nerves prick in anticipation. She kills the tap before she turns to see the source of the noise. The instant she lays eyes on him she stops breathing again."What are you doing in here? The party is outside." She keeps it cool and professional though she feels anything but."I could ask you the same question." He approaches all hip-shot and bravado. His confidence is as effortless as it is annoying."I am just checking on a few things.""Funny," he scans the tidied room as he continues to close the space between them. "Because it feels like you're avoiding me."His toothy grin sets her on edge. She crosses her arms over her chest, mindful to tuck her damp wrists into her elbows."I know this may seem like a game to you - but some people take their jobs seriously and I am one of them.""So seriously that you have to run away and hide because one guest wants to dance with you?""I am not running away! There are things here that need my attention. When you run an event of this size you do not have time for dancing. There are dozens of things that can go wrong -" he reaches out one hand and skims it around her waist. She had not realized he had gotten that close. The heat of it through the thin fabric of her shift takes her breath for an instant. "- and I can't be dancing during one of them."She tries to retreat but her back presses into the hard edge of the vanity. She has nowhere to go."And yet you have spent more time telling me why you won't dance with me than it would have taken to let me just have one dance instead." He is even closer now, too close, and she looks down at his shoes just as his toes bump against hers.His proximity is intoxicating. "It doesn't matter anyway. I don't dance.""Everybody dances.""I don't.""Why not?""I just don't. Please. I'm working.""Take a break."His hand is burning her waist. She should slap it off. She should sue him for harassment (though she can only imagine how well suing a Westergaard would go in the end). She should run as fast as she could in the other direction. She should do a great many things, but she stays rooted in place.Instead: "It would be unprofessional.""We're well out of sight.""You're a Westergaard.""You say that like is a bad thing."It is though. It no doubt is contributing to his persistence. He does not strike her as a man who is often refused, but she needs to be delicate. He is a guest of her employer and allowed respect accordingly.Instead: "I did not, but it is a thing. We are very different people.""Everyone is very different people. It keeps things interesting." His other hand slips along her side and settles on her hip.Her eyes fly to his, only inches above hers. "You keep touching me.""You're observant." He shifts closer.Blood rushes to her cheeks, burning. "You shouldn't.""Why not?" His hands move to drag up her arms, feather light and slow.She fights to keep her breathing even. "I already told you. ""No. You told me my family name, a few lame excuses and a boring platitude." His hands go back to her waist."Mister Westergaard -"He cuts her off."Call me Hans."He tugs her away from the fortification of the counter. She stumbles up against him, hands landing on his wide chest. She tries to right herself, to pull back, but his left hand spreads across the middle of her back with gentle tension and keeps her in place. His right hand finds hers at his lapel and wraps it in his own before drawing it to the side. He uses his left forearm to nudge the elbow of her free hand so it slides up to his shoulder. The entire time her eyes stay fixed on the wilting rose of his boutonniere and tries to remember to breathe."Mister Westergaard -""Hans."She ignores it. "I have work -" she starts but he drops his head down by her ear and interrupts."Shhh… I love this song."He pulls her that much closer. Their bodies do not touch other than where their hands press, but she can feel the heat rolling off of him in waves. She can smell the thick spice of cloves and cedar clinging to his tux, his skin. It make her head swim. Over the pounding of her heart she can hear the muted strains of What a Wonderful World circling in the air as he pulls her along to begin a sedate waltz.She should have known he can dance properly. People like the Westergaards always are trained in the more refined social graces, but the effortlessness with which he moves them around the hardwood floor of the bride's room catches her off guard. He keeps their steps small, not showy. The hand on her back stays firm, guiding her. She does not have to think. He does it all for her. The rhythmic motion of their steps is hypnotizing.His breath ruffles the hair at her temple. She forgets to keep time. She almost forgets to breathe again, but forces herself to draw breath after breath. It is the only thing that keeps her calm, keeps her centered, as he draws her just that much closer.His hand is dry and firm around hers. Aristocratic fingers, long and able, wrap hers in uncompromising confidence. It is the kind of arrogance of someone who has never been out-of-control, she realizes. She wonders what that would be like. What could it possibly be like to be so completely in control of one's own destiny?She will never know.Her body, her brain, had made sure of that.The song slows to a stop and so do they, but he does not release her. She tries to step back, but his arms tighten."Stay." His voice is rough on the edges, and she knows that means trouble. She knows she should do anything but stay, but he is so warm. She had never been so close to someone this warm, almost feverish, and she is drawn to it.She stares at his chest paralyzed by indecision.Another song starts. She is too distracted to pick out the melody as he pulls hands up around his neck. She lets them rest there as his hand settle low on her hips and they begin to sway.It is nothing like the formal structure of the previous dance. The lack of refinement makes it more personal somehow and she should not allow it. She should pull away now, she knows. She has danced with him and his hold is not substantial. It will not be difficult. She can do it at any moment, and yet she stays. A foreign gravity keeps her close.His jaw brushes her temple, his cheek against her cheek, as he drops his head down alongside hers. His breath lingers on the slim column of her neck. One of his hands slip up between her shoulder blades, spanning almost the entire breadth of her back, as he draws her against him.Her eyes slide closed. Beads of perspiration gather along her hairline. She grips the firm line of his neck. She has never held someone like this, been held like this, before ever. It is terrifying, but she does not feel threatened. She feels safe, safer than she has felt in a long time but she cannot get her mind to work well enough to place how that can be.There is no sense of time anymore. She cannot hear the music. The faint melodies are crushed beneath the weight of her breath, the thundering of her heart. She has no idea how long she stays in that room barely swaying in the embrace of a virtual stranger. It could have been instants. It may be lifetimes. All she knows is that the damage has already been done. She can feel her walls tumbling down like Jericho.There is a crackle in her ear. Anna's voice buzzes along the intercom. "Drunk at table one harassing the bridesmaids. Kristoff - you on this?"The electronic call is like ice water down her spine. What is she doing? She is supposed to be working! Instead she is knee deep in a mess of feelings for a guest who is guaranteed bad news.She blinks, breaking the spell, and steps back. Her arms drop from his shoulders but his stay fastened on her waist"I have to go.""Stay." He does not ask why. He probably heard Anna over the mic at any rate."I can't."She tries to back up again but his hands tighten. "Please."He will let her go if she wants. He is not that kind of guy, but still the idea of staying is one hundred times more frightening than the idea of going."I have to work." She is breathless though she shouldn't be.He steps into her before she can pull back further, his fingers tightening on her hips."Dinner.""Excuse me?""Dinner." He repeats, his breath is hot on her cheek. "With me. Tomorrow.""Tomorrow?" She cannot think with him so close and tries to pull back. He allows her a few inches. It is enough to bring his face into focus but not enough to escape his heat, his smell. He looks so earnest."Tomorrow." His hands are burning through her dress so hotly she expects to find scorched skin when she undresses later. "I will be a complete gentleman, the total opposite of how I am right now, I promise. I will have you home by ten and I will keep my hands to myself but I can already assure you that you will not make it easy."He grins then and she feels her own smile bubbling up in return. She fights against it. She does not want to smile. She wants to get back to work. She wants him to leave her alone.She puts her hands on his chest and pushes. He releases her, but does not retreat. She gains only a few inches before she is back against the unyielded edges of the vanity."I'm busy tomorrow." She tries to slow the rapid beat of her heart. "And every day after.""Doing what?"She does not meet his gaze. If she does she is sure he will be able to tell that all she has planned for tomorrow is what she has planned after any huge event: a long, hot shower and a QuickBooks marathon with a bottle chardonnay. He will not be able to see the real reason for her reticence lurking behind her eyes, growing and insidious."I run a company, Mister Westergaard. There is a lot of follow up after an event like this." She keeps her eyes on toes of his wing tipped shoes."I'll bring takeout to your office." He slips one hand back onto her waist and that gets her attention.Her eyes shoot back up to his and she instantly regrets it. "You wouldn't.""I would. What'll it be? Chinese? Italian? Sushi?" He is drawing her in again, pulling her off the comfortable fortress of the vanity, but she looks away and steps to the side this time and pushes past him."None of it. I am very flattered by the attention, but I'm not interested." She turns to face him. Somehow now with three feet of space between them and infinite room to retreat behind she feels much less safe than she did when he held her."Not interested in dinner or not interested in me?"There is that tone again, that human, vulnerable tone. The tone that makes her think for just one second that this could possibly work. That feeling, that hope, scares her. She does not have room for hope in her world, does not have room for anyone who may encourage that folly. The only thing that scares her more is the realization that she anything but uninterested in dinner and his company. She needs to get out of here. Now.She all but runs from the room, through the hall, the kitchen, to the reception tent and does not dare look back.….She sees him a few minutes later when he reappears in the reception tent from their unscripted rendezvous. She tries not to notice him, but it is unavoidable. Besides the hair that flashes like a beacon in the night, he has that kind of presence that just draws attention. He spots her too and she knows this isn't over."Anna where are you?" she pages her sister over the mic."Table twelve. We have a champagne spill. I'm on it. You need me?"Did she? She is a grown woman in a public place surrounded by people. Plus if she calls Anna over then Anna will want to know why and Elsa will have to explain about the everything and oh there is a bus she would rather step in front of. Or maybe the explanation is worth it because he is moving in towards her like a shark in the water, cutting lazily through the current of guests, and she is trapped.She turns and starts towards table twelve and the protective buffer of her sister. She will find some work to do and everything will be fine. He will find someone else to chase and she will be fine. This night will end and everything will be fine.She beelines towards table twelve, ignoring decorum to cut across the dance floor. She sees her Anna ten feet from her when a hand rests on her shoulder. She whirls, stepping back at the same time, and there he is. His face is less jovial this time. No. Now he looks at her as a man sorting out some sort of puzzle.The dancing couples sway around them just as they had only minutes ago. The memory makes her ears heat. "You never answered my question."She knows which question he means and her heart goes into overdrive. She is not as good of a liar as she would like to be in a situation like this because the truth is she is interested, but she cannot be. For oh so many reasons she cannot be for both their sakes."I'm working."She turns but he catches her arm and brings her gaze back to his. His hold is gentle, but the touch puts her heart in a vice."I know what it feels like to want someone who doesn't want you back but I have the distinct impression that is not what is happening between us." He is close enough that she see the gold ring around his pupils, can see the copper shadow of his beard coming in along his jaw. "What's going on here?"Her eyes dart around the crowd. Are they making a scene? She will die if they make a scene. "Nothing.""You're avoiding this, avoiding me. Why?"She feels the panic rising again. She is not used to this persistence, to her own response to his perusal. It is like someone else has slipped inside her skin and undone everything she has worked so hard to achieve, the distance she clings to in order to protect everyone she meets."I told you. I don't date.""You don't dance either, but you did that beautifully."She feels her cheeks flame at that. This whole thing is a mistake. She never should have allowed it to get this far."There is more to it - but please understand this a personal decision."He cocks his head to the side and frowns a bit. She can see the questions mounting on his tongue but before he can formulate a response the blonde maid-of-honor appears at Elsa's side."Oh there you are!"Hans drops Elsa's arm immediately, face pulling into austere lines as Andrina interrupts their conversation."No one can find Ariel's toss bouquet." The frantic blonde does not even try to pull a calm facade. "The toss is in ten minutes and Ariel asked me to be the one in charge of it but now it is nowhere to be found."Her body surges with relief at the idea of being presented with a problem that she can fix. That is what she is here to do. She is here to work, not give her life story to a stranger who cannot take 'no' for an answer."Don't worry. We'll find it. Ariel never needs to know." She gives Andrina a reassuring smile and reaches out for her arm to lead the panicked woman off the dance floor. "Let's start in the kitchen."She does not give him another look. She does not dare.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
He leaves her alone after that and somehow that is worse. Somehow the fact that he never catches her glances or the way she can hear him laugh when she passes by but never so much as acknowledges her sets her off balance even more.She has to convince herself that this is not some ploy, some sort of reverse psychology to get her to chase him instead.He probably just realized that she is not worth the trouble, that there are plenty of other eligible young women who can actually give him what he wants, or might want, or - whateverShe has a headache.For most humans the only thing that means is that they should drink some more water, take a pain reliever, and wait for the pain subside. She, however, is not most humans. Tonight though she will chalk it up to the late hour (it is three in the morning, after all) and the fact that on top of all of her other duties she has been battling with keeping her focus anywhere but where he lingers in her periphery. Her headache could just be from working twenty hours straight with four more to go.It could.It is what she chooses to believe. She does not have the space or strength to acknowledge her other option.She focused beyond all that, needing every fiber of will power to stay on task for this final push.Tiana and her crew are long gone as are the band that has been replaced by a mellow DJ. The bride and groom exited at midnight beneath a Technicolor display of fireworks The bar had been replaced with a boozy smoothie and doughnuts truck for those party goers who were still going strong but even that has packed up and left. The last of the guests mill about the tent, sit scattered between tables, as Elsa and crew finish tying up the final details.Rentals have been organized for pickup.The crew hired to dismantle the tent and get it offsite would arrive at six AM to make way for the next day's event.Gifts and cards had already been catalogued, packed up, and shuttled to the specified location courtesy of Rapunzel and Eugene along with sentimental items including Ariel's dress.Final checks had been provided to all vendors for their services.The videographer and photographers left when the bride and groom had.The leftover cake had been boxed and sent home with guests along with bottles of Dom Pérignon.The florals are being donated to a local hospital and all but the centerpieces have been dismantled accordingly.The list continues and Elsa's mind mechanically checks and rechecks the boxes. She has done this so many times it is like clockwork. She hardly has to think anymore when it comes to the operations side of things. At least she normally does not, but tonight she runs through the list again and again until she is dizzy from it. She allowed her focus to slip and now she pays the price.He is among the chosen few that still huddle in groups, laughing and chatting. He has lost his tie and suit jacket, his hair is not quite as perfectly placed as it had been as he relaxes back in his chair across the way. He seems happy, fully engaged in whatever the giggly brunette next to him was saying, and she isn't jealous. She is glad, relieved in many ways, but there is a strange twinge of sadness that twists in unbidden in her chest. It is a funny kind of mourning for something that died before it has a chance to live and it is a feeling she knows all too well and she hates it.She will not pity herself.She will not give into grief for all the things she will never have.She looks away and goes over her list again.….The last of the guests finally throw in the towel half an hour before the tent crew shows up. They have rooms here in the winery where they stumble to, laughing and smiling, and that is all Elsa needs. These days are long, grueling, and relentless but to see smiles on the faces of the guests is enough to let the stresses fall away to nothing.That feeling is just enough of a boost to finish the last few tasks before she goes home and falls into bed for the next few hours.The men start the process of unstringing lights as the women dismantle the centerpieces. They blow out the few candles left burning and start separating out the flowers into respective types for the donation. It is a large tent and there are so many tables that they spread out into sections, all exhausted and ready to be done, but working dutifully. She moves robotically just trying to get this all done as quickly as possible and does not hear him approach."Let me help you."His voice catches her off guard and she squeaks. A thorn in the bunch of roses she is bundling stabs the soft skin of her palm and she drops the flowers to the table.She had thought he had gone up with the others and maybe he had. Her head whips to the side to see him standing there, rumpled but eyes still bright, as she rubs the stinging place on her hand."I don't need help."It is quick, a knee jerk response, and he tilts his head to look at where she is tending her sore spot."Looks like you might."She forces her hands down and chin up. "Is there something you need, Mister Westergaard? Problems with your room?"He looks at her like he hasn't quite figured her out but cannot wait to."If I didn't know better I'd think you were offering to come up with me," They both get the implication. "But I have the feeling that any kind of proposal of the sort would mortify you."He is right. Her ears heat even at the thought, at the idea that anything she said could have been construed in a way that could give him an inch. He lets it go, however, and nods towards the hand she has clenched at her side."That okay? I could find a bandaid or something."He is so sincere and she almost buys it."It's nothing," and it is. She is used to being poked and prodded. This is nothing new. "If there is nothing I can do to assist you -""I want to help you."He cuts her off and she looks for the lie. She looks for the bravado, for the arrogance she knew came with this class. She looks for the price, but she doesn't find it. All she sees is the same earnest expression he gave when he helped her straighten the chair covers all those many hours before."I really don't -""Please."And she wants to refuse. She wants to turn her back and return to her work and forget she had ever seen him before but she knows that is impossible. She knows that he will not relent until she gives in and what scares her more than anything is that she wants to. She wants to let him help. She wants to let him in, and that cannot happen.She must keep her distance, but she knows he won't let her go far.There is only a few hours longer, and then he will be gone for good and she won't have to worry about this again.She can do this."Sort the flowers by type. If they are too wilted we trash them. Greenery gets sorted, too. Leave the piles on the table and we'll get them where they need to go." She keeps it simple, direct. "You can finish this table and I'll move to another. Feel free to stop at any time."She doesn't mean that last sentence as much as she wants to, her heart beating into her ears till she can hardly hear."Sounds good, boss." He smiles and she hates how bright and wide it cuts across his face. He smiles like he doesn't have a care in the world, and she wonders what that is like.She doesn't trust her voice, trust the words that might trip out of her mouth, so she gives a terse nod and turns on an aching heel. With trembling hands she begins to dismantle another centerpiece. She isn't sure if she can feel him staring or if that is just her exhausted paranoia. She can hardly get her mind to focus on the task at hand and she takes a deep breath.Just a few more hours, maybe less, and he will be gone.She doesn't know why that makes her feel so sad, but she chalks it up to exhaustion. It is easy to confuse feelings or feel things that you normally wouldn't when you are overwrought. She has seen this many times, felt it too, in all aspects of life.You don't spend collective years of your life waiting on tests and scans and results, uncertainty ringing like an alarm in your head at all times, without knowing a thing or two about emotions creeping in where logic would better serve. She will sleep soon and the world will make more sense then. She will shower and wash every trace of his touch against her neck, his breath on her cheek, his scalding palm on her waist down the drain and forget she ever felt a thing.She has done it before, and she will do it again.She does not have time to feel sad for an impossibility. That road has never helped her before and she refuses to take it now, but she cannot ignore how close he is. She cannot pretend she does not notice him working in the periphery, and maintain her focus.She grabs and armful of peonies and marches behind the bar. There are dozens of buckets set up waiting for the florals and she starts the unloading process. The rest of the crew have been creating piles on the bar according to type as instructed and this is the perfect place for her: secluded and protected behind the solid wood and marble of the outdoor bar.She is busy assigning buckets to their floral counterparts when he approaches with an arm full of greens.He drops them on the bar top across from her and shifts his weight. She nods in acknowledgement, hoping to keep him at a safe distance. He does not approach but he does not retreat either.Not yet.Not until: "I'm sorry if I came on too strong."Her hands falter just for a moment. Of all the things she had expected - an apology is not one of them.She shakes her head, not looking at him as she reaches for another pile. "Let's just forget it and move on."He pauses before stepping away, not pressing the issue, and again that is unexpected. She does not try to deduce anything from it. Her mind too exhausted from running in circles to go any further down this spiral. Whatever game he may or may not be playing - she is done trying to determine the rules.He is back before she has too much time to decide she isn't going to spend any more time thinking about him. This time he brings arms full of white roses and she remembers feels like a lifetime ago already."What if I don't want to forget it?"Her mind blanks at his question, already moved on from her flippant statement and stuck firmly sixteen hours before."Excuse me?""You said we should just forget it, but what if I don't want to?" He shakes his head, looking the closest thing to flustered she has seen on him yet. Her heart skips when he brings her eyes back to hers. "I mean, I don't want to forget you or any part of this the time I spent with you. So what should I do about that?"There is something deep, secret, and hidden in the way he asks - the way he looks at her. It strikes a familiar chord within her that she cannot place, does not want to try. She is too exhausted."I thought you were sorry for coming on too strong." She can only recycle his words, cannot dare come up with ones of her own, cannot begin to tell the truth and bare the look of pity or disgust that comes with it.He huffs a smile."You're right. I am sorry. It is something I apologize for a lot - and not just where beautiful women are concerned."She hums under her breath, a non-committal half answer in hopes to hide the fact that his flattery irks her. She is aware of her appearance. She knows that in many ways she is objectively beautiful which is why she takes measures to downplay it. She does not want to be noticed or appreciated and his attention only serves to show she has failed. She hates failure.He leans into the bar, elbows resting dangerously close to the gardenias she is grabbing when he says:"I may come on too strong, competitive nature - I guess, but I have to say you are possibly the most cagey and confusing and honestly the most frustrating human I have ever met."And she can't ignore him then. Blue eyes flash to green to find them watching her with that locksmith precision that leaves her breathless."And despite all that I swear I have never wanted to get to know someone more than you."His voice deepens to a whispered rush of air as if he is just as affected by her gaze as she is his.She sucks in as much air as she can, chest rattling with effort, and she lies: "There is nothing to know. I'm just like any other girl."He laughs out loud at that, a deep chuckle that brightens his eyes and softens his face an errant thought wonders what it would be like to rest in that expression, in his presence, instead of fighting."Not any girl I've met." He meets her blow for blow.She fights back, is always fighting, is never allowed to stop fighting. "My work is my focus." The flowers she grabs are her punctuation. "Girls like me don't have time for distractions which is probably why you don't meet us."He studies her a moment, head cocked to the side just so.She pulls her focus, uncertain if she had just been too hard. He may have apologized but she won't. She drops a bunch of baby's breath into a bucket and reaches for more, trying to do anything but look at him. She already knows what she will see if she does: that seeking, searching human gaze that let's her in as much as it asks to be let in.She sees him shift back off the bar and stand up straight."Okay," he says.It catches her off guard. Everything about him catches her off guard."Okay?" She cannot stop the question in her voice, not sure what exactly she is agreeing to."Okay," he says. "I won't distract you."She waits a breath for the catch, for the other shoe to drop, but it doesn't come."Okay," she replies before she can stop herself.He looks back over his shoulder and shoves hands into his tux pants pockets. "My table is done. Anything else you want me to do, boss?"The way he says 'boss' really makes her feel like he means it, like he takes this seriously - her seriously, and she appreciates that. She wishes she didn't appreciate that.She straightens and meets his eyes. His hair is a mess, shirt and pants wrinkled. His vest, jacket, and bow tie are long gone. There is something young, hopeful in the way he looks at her. He looks like someone who has time to live his life and while she envies him she also respects that her journey is hers alone. In a day's time he will have forgotten her and go on without a second thought. She will go back to her work as long as she is able. It will all be as it should be.So she gives him a soft smile of understanding, nods her head, and says, "That will be all, Mister Westergaard."He gives her a cocked smile in return, kicking his shoe against the dance floor Kristoff and Sven are dismantling for pick up. "It's Hans."He doesn't give her a chance to respond as he walks away, whistling as he goes.It is only a few moments later she realizes the tune he chose.What a Wonderful World sticks in her mind for the rest of the job.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Her alarm goes off after three hours of sleep and she can hardly move enough to turn it off. Sun peeks in around the edges of her curtains. She needs to get up and go about her day and force herself back into a regular rhythm. Normally she is quite good at it but this time it seems impossible.
It isn't that she is unused to this routine. After a thirty hour event she often takes a long nap to reset her mind and push her through to the next night and a normal bedtime. While never easy she is typically able to roll out of bed in her studio apartment and get started on whatever task is at the top of her list, but today….
She swings her feet over the edge and sits up, head swimming, and she can feel every inch of her body. She knows if she stretches her spine will snap, muscles releasing, but she can hardly find the energy. She tilts her head side to side, neck cracking, and there is laundry to do. There is laundry to do and errands to run. There is laundry to do and errands to run and things to return and clean and this is her only day off this week and she has so much to catch up on and -
She can feel it.
When she is more awake, more lucid, she can convince herself that she is making things up. She tells herself that whatever symptoms she thinks she is having is just stress, exhaustion, dehydration…. But here in that funny place between being asleep and awake she knows.
This is not just something she is imagining.
She bends over her bedside trashcan and vomits.
When she is done she wipes her eyes and mouth with a tissue. She takes a deep, shuddering breath.
She has today.
She will take it.
Sleep is for the dead, and she isn't there yet.
She stands up and starts her day by cleaning her mess.
….
Dinner that night is at Anna and Kristoff's modest home. The team gathers around takeout and discusses the event, what went well, what didn't, where improvements can be made, and how they can grow. It is informal, less structured than Elsa likes, but she knows that the community of her team is just as important as the efficiency especially considering this is supposed to be their day off. Also none of them brought up Hans Westergaard for which she would be eternally grateful.
They are past the business point of the evening now. Elsa is in the kitchen putting dishes in the washer as Anna and Kristoff split the leftovers into plastic containers for everyone to take home. Rapunzel and Eugene always take home whatever anyone else doesn't want because Rapunzel will eat anything. The rest goes in the Bjorgman’s fridge to share later. Anna always saves aside a portion of something sweet for her sister, but she doesn’t need much.
She isn’t ever that hungry. Even less so recently.
By the time it is all said and done it is just the three of them: Anna, Kristoff, and Elsa.
She remembers when Kristoff had first come on the scene, how she had been unimpressed but quickly won over by his devotion to her sister. Now she can hardly picture Anna without Kristoff by her side and for that she is thankful. Anna thrives when she has someone steady beside her. Kristoff is definitely steady.
They stand around the kitchen island cleaning up the last of the mess and Kristoff grabs a leash and harness off a hook on a nearby wall.
“You ladies seem to have this under control. Sven needs his walk.” He clasps the contraption onto a mutt big enough to be a horse. “We’ll be back soon.”
He is off before there can be any discussion and Elsa gets that tingling feeling down her spine that this was not a spontaneous idea on Kristoff's part, no matter how much he loves the gigantic Sven. She pauses wiping the counter to see Anna all too diligently avoiding her gaze.
This has happened enough that Elsa knows it is best to just get to the point. It is almost always the same point anyway, but this time she does not feel as prepared.
“All right. What is it?” She pops a hip and lands her hand upon it.
“What is what?” Anna straightens a towel on the oven handle for the thirtieth time.
“Whatever it is you aren't saying. That’s what.” Elsa steels herself, ready to deflect any foolish accusation Anna might throw her way - especially if it had to do with one particular groomsman.
Anna bites her lip, still not meeting her sister's eyes, and Elsa knows now what is coming. She wishes she hadn’t asked, but now:
“It's happening. Isn't it?”
Anna’s voice is small, as if she can hide the question while asking, but it hits Elsa like a freight train. She remembers the look on Anna's face after they had changed yesterday, remembers the look in her eyes as she had tested the waters of this conversation. How long has she suspected…?
Elsa doesn't want to lie but she is also not ready to admit the truth. Anna has bared her fair share of Elsa’s troubles. Elsa does not want to burden her with more than she needs to carry now.
“Anna. If there was something to know - you will be the first to know it.”
Anna looks at her then, blue eyes sharp and clear. “What are your symptoms?”
She thinks of the headaches, the vomit this morning, and tells a bald-faced lie: “I’m not having any.”
Anna's eyes narrow. “Are you sure?”
“It is my body. I am pretty sure I would know. This isn't exactly my first go at this.”
“Yeah, but… this time is different."
Elsa sighs. Her sister sound so bleak and she supposed she understands. The situation is grim at best, but it is all she has known. It is all she will ever know. She supposes it is all Anna will ever know of her sister as well. That thought stings. She will do her best to protect Anna as long as she can.
"What was it that mom said? Today has enough trouble. Don’t take tomorrow’s.”
Anna doesn’t smile, not distracted by Elsa’s attempt.
"But you will tell me, right? You will tell me when it is today?”
Elsa is good at lying. She has to be, but Anna is the hardest one to fool. She puts on her best poker face and meets her sister's eyes.
"I will tell you."
Anna smiles.
Elsa has to decide if it if fake or not and suddenly the tables are turned.
They don’t mention it again when Anna drives her home.
….
She sleeps through her alarm.
In all of her adult life that has only ever happened once and it was from a power failure and the alarm itself didn’t go off.
She pops up ten minutes after she is already supposed to be at work to her phone buzzing with text messages from Anna, Rapunzel, Kristoff, Eugene….
And they probably all think she is dead. She can’t blame them, but she also doesn’t have a single second to waste in replying to their messages.
She also hardly has time to register that today, as opposed to yesterday, she feels fine. She has no nausea, no headache - nothing.
Her symptoms could have just been fatigue and stress from the wedding. There is no way to know for sure, but she really doesn’t have time to think about it.
The days that actually count against her are so far and few between at this point that she just moves forward. Elsa does not like dramatics and she will not indulge in them.
The weather, however, has a different idea.
The world outside her window is a deluge. Everything outside of her window is gray and bleak, but that happens. She has a plan for it. Her umbrella sits in its proper place by her door in its own small stand. She will be fine.
There is no time for breakfast which is fine because she usually skips it anyway. She grabs a granola bar just in case and will get her coffee at the office.
She does her hair and makeup in a flurry (a low braided bun with just enough mascara and blush to pop her features) because there are no meetings today (which is good because if she was late to a meeting with a client - she shudders). All she has to do today is show up and answer questions (hopefully through email) but she would deal with it either way. She opts for a shapeless navy blue dress that hits just below her knee to combat dealing with a wet hem all day and secures her locket in place around her neck.
The beauty of her job and living space is that it is only three blocks from each other.
She always walks.
No matter the weather.
But right now, when she is running late, she sure wishes it was only one block. Or maybe she could convert her office to her bedroom. She is there enough.
She puts on her trusty rain boots as thunder crashes outside.
It will be a soggy walk but she has done it before. She will do it again and again and again for as long as she is able.
When she isn’t so rushed she feels lucky to be able to walk to work since she cannot drive. Whenever she needs to meet a client she catches a cab or (depending on the client) orders a car service. More often than not Anna picks her up and takes her where they need to go. It keeps things simple. She likes the predictability of it all, the reliability. It makes everything else that much more manageable.
She grabs her purse and stuffs a pair of sensible flats in to change into once she reaches the office. Then with her lunchbox and umbrella in tow she dashes out into the hallway. When she gets outside she pops up her black umbrella and starts down the sidewalk at as brisk a pace as her boots will allow.
It is gusty. She hadn’t realized, but about half way in to her walk a strong swoop of wind catches her umbrella and pulls. Elsa does her best to fight it while juggling her purse and lunch and trying to down a granola bar and respond to the distressed texts and calls to let them know she is on her way but it is a losing battle.
The umbrella flips inside out just as the rain picks up from torrential to basically a waterfall. It takes all of five seconds before she is soaked to the bone. Unfortunately it takes about ten seconds to fix her traitorous umbrella so by the time she gets herself sorted it is rather a moot point.
If she wasn't already nearly half an hour late she would turn back around and change, but she will just have to make due at this point. From the outpouring of texts from her family and colleagues she does not have time to do anything but show up.
So with rain dripping down her nose, pooling in her boots, and making her shift dress cling to her skin she finally makes it to the steps of E&A Events. It is a modest brick building that shares a foyer with several other local businesses. In the heart of the city it is a sleek mix of chrome and brick that has been arranged in a way that is both modern and welcoming. She bee lines to the frosted glass door with their logo etched into it and slogs inside soaked and humiliated.
She is met by a frantic, yet enthusiastic, Rapunzel.
“Elsa! Hi! Let me take your umbrella.” The springy brunette grabs the handle right from Elsa’s hand. Elsa blinks - stunned. Even for Rapunzel this greeting is over the top.
She bends to pull off her water-logged boots as Rapunzel shakes her traitorous umbrella onto the hardwood entry hall floor.
“Pascal’s gonna be living in this hall mopping up messes if this rain doesn’t stop.” Rapunzel laughed. “It’s a miracle Mister Westergaard didn’t slip and crack his head open the second he came in. You didn’t update the calendar so I didn’t know he was coming and -”
Elsa nearly loses her balance as she pulls off her second boot, the last shred of her dignity saved only by the thought that there are thirteen possible opportunities for who it could be other than the one she dreads the most.
“Mister Westergaard?” Her stomach flips back and forth, but she manages to keep her tone even. “He was here?”
Rapunzel rolled her eyes. “Not was. Is here. What? Did you forget about your appointment?”
Elsa stares at Rapunzel for a long moment, mind not computing what she is being told. Surely Rapunzel is not telling her that Hans Westergaard is there, in their office, at that very moment except the look on Rapunzel’s face says that is exactly what is being said. Elsa almost runs back out in the rain, but instead she rolls back her shoulders and places her boots neatly by the door. No one needs to know how fast her mind is racing beneath her professional exterior.
“I must have gotten my days mixed up.” She buys herself a bit of time as she presses a soaked tendril behind one ear. “Has he been waiting long?”
Rapunzel looks at her watch. “Twenty two minutes.”
Elsa groans inwardly. “Who is with him?”
“Well it was me and Eugene - but then Anna and Kristoff got here and they took over. Hans is really insistent about talking to you specifically.”
And although Elsa has never breathed a word about anything that happened that night to anyone - not even Anna - she knows that everyone knows at least the bare bones of the situation. Her cheeks heat.
If she had ever suspected he actually would show up at her office she never would have -
“I need to talk to Anna.”
“But she’s with -”
“Yes. I know.” Elsa cuts in. “Could you please go in and tell her she has an urgent call that she needs to take in private?”
A wash of understanding floods Rapunzel’s face. She nods, razored bob slashing across her cheeks at the motion.
“Yes. Yeah. Okay. Got it.” She puts Elsa’s traitorous umbrella in the stand and gives her a thumbs up. “I got this.”
Elsa forces a smile, too distracted to even consider mustering a real one, and watches as Rapunzel goes to the wide frosted double doors that lead to the client meeting room. She tucks herself into the shadowed corner as Rapunzel goes in and waits there until she and Anna return a moment later.
“There you are! I’ve been texting you!” Anna says as she reaches out to hug Elsa but stops when she touches her shoulders. “And you’re soaked. What happened?”
“It’s been a long morning.”
“It’s only 9:30.”
“Still.” She does not need to say more. Elsa knows Anna understands in the way she does not press the matter.
Instead she skips forward. “Hans Westergaard is here.”
“So Rapunzel said.” She keeps her voice even “What does he want?”
“Well…” Anna spreads her hands in front of herself. “I don’t really know? An event of some kind to be sure, but he is not exactly forthcoming. He says he wants to talk to you about it first.”
Elsa’s mind goes a thousand directions.
“But - I don't have a vision board.” She can hardly think over the pounding of her heart. “I - I haven’t had time to put together an intake package and what about the Clemmons wedding? I don’t know how we could possibly take on another project when - he has to go. There is just no way - ”
Anna catches Elsa’s emphatic hands in her and cuts her off with a worried stare.
“Okay. Slow down. Elsa - what exactly is going on here?”
Elsa feels her defenses rising in the midst of her unprofessional behavior. “I just think we should think twice before even considering taking this on. It could be beyond our capability, our scope. And if we can’t meet and exceed expectations then think of the liabilities.”
Anna’s face scrunches. “I think what you meant to say there is that this is the break we have been working for! It could mean the biggest leap of clientele in the history of our lives with one event. Elsa - this is the
Westergaards
. We may as well plan something for the governor - or the president - but they don’t have nearly as much money.”
Elsa knows Anna is right but she cannot stop the riot rhythm of her heart at the idea of spending any kind of extended period of time working with Hans Westergaard. She thinks of all the meetings, the phone calls, the shopping trips and vendor consults that they would complete side-by-side as she did with all her clients. She thinks of the intimacy that accompanies her role guiding people through the planning process and seeing their tastes and preferences under a magnifying glass. She cannot do that with him. She will not. It will break her.
“Anna.” Her head throbs. She struggles for a way to put what she feels into words without saying too much. “This just isn’t going to work.”
Anna releases Elsa’s hands to grip her shoulders, fabric squelching under her fingers, face softening as she picks up on her sister’s distress. “You’ve gotta help me understand this one sis. Did something happen at the wedding that you aren’t telling me?”
Elsa is in a corner and she knows it. If there is even a chance of getting Anna in that corner with her she is going to have to come clean. She looks down and presses clenched fists to her eyes.
“He asked me out.”
Anna is quiet for a long moment and Elsa is not sure if she heard her, but she will be damned if she repeats herself.
Then, tentatively: “You have been asked out before…?”
Anna phrases it as a question even though she knows the answer. Elsa has been asked out, but it had been a non-issue. She had never had difficulty turning away the attention of men who were often all too happy to move on to the next thing that caught their eye when they realized she was not worth the effort. Never, however, had she been so relentlessly pursued by someone she finds so frustrating and attractive in equal measure. Never has it come at such an inopportune time.
“Not like this.” Elsa replies.
“Oh - oh - !” This time Anna is all too quick to respond and Elsa rips her hands from her eyes and glares at her sister.
“No. Don’t.” She will not have her weakness spoken aloud.
“But Elsa -”
“Stop.”
“Did you say ‘yes’?”
“
Anna
.”
“Oh crap - you did. Didn’t you? Or you didn’t but you wanted to?”
“What I don’t want to do is talk about it.”
“Elsa.”
“Anna.”
“Elsa. This is Hans
Westergaard
. Do I need to remind you again what that means?” Anna’s eyebrow quirks.
“I
know
what it means.”
Anna purses her lips. “Look. I’m going to be you for a second, because I think you need it and I don’t want to seem mean but you’re talking crazy.”
Anna pauses for a second to gather her thoughts, takes a deep breath, and then launches her attack.
“We need this, Elsa. Everyone at E&A Events needs this to happen so you are going to have to suck it up and put on your big girl pants because
we
need this. Not you,
we.
This company is more than you and we need you to not screw this one up, okay? We need you to be calm and collected and professional and to do this event no matter how much it twists your personal panties, okay?”
Elsa blinks, mascara smearing into her eyes and stinging but that burn is nothing compared to Anna’s words. She is normally the rational one, her business sense always winning out, and a taste of her own medicine is bitter. Anna is right. If Elsa truly wants to set up E&A Events for long lasting success then she has to approach this the same as she would any other client.
Elsa takes a shaky breath.
Anna rubs the clammy skin on Elsa’s arms, as close to a hug as they can get with Elsa soaked the way she is.
“Remember when we started this business you said you wanted to live a normal life as long as you were able?”
It is an odd question, one Elsa had not anticipated, and she frowns. There had been so many discussions over the years. Each one had hinged on the fact that Elsa was not like the rest of them. Each one had tried to navigate the careful balance of the inevitable and the ignoring of it. The application of these conversations and plans however had never made her heart pound in her chest like she had just sprinted a mile.
Elsa shakes her head.
“You’re right,” she holds her hands up in surrender. “You know you’re right. Of course you’re right. Mister Westergaard is just like any other client.”
Anna casts her sister a knowing look. “That is not what I meant and you know it.”
Except Elsa didn’t. She blinks, wide eyed and confused.
“Elsa. If you want to date the guy, just date him. Dating doesn’t have to mean getting attached. It can just be fun. That is what normal people do. Normal people have fun.” She plants her hands on her hips. “Plus he is loaded so you know he can probably take you on some pretty amazing dates.”
Elsa’s defenses fly up. “Not going to happen.”
“But you know it would be okay if it did.” Anna goes soft in almost perfect opposition to Elsa’s rigidity. “All I’m saying is we all only get one shot at this life thing. I could get hit by a bus tomorrow or Kristoff could get struck by lightning. I get that you are trying to protect yourself and whoever else might come along but don’t you think that maybe you’re just hurting yourself more by not even trying?”
The words hit Elsa like a fist to the chest.
She is absolutely dizzy with them.
Of all the ways she thought this Monday would go.
She bears down.
“We’re doing this.”
She pushes past a surprised Anna and heads to the doors to where Hans Westergaard is waiting. If he is going to lay down a challenge she will be damned if she shrinks down from it.
She will meet him just as she is, streaming mascara, skin soaked dress hot mess, and she will not back down.
She cannot.
She pushes past her sister towards those ominous frosted doors knowing that she looks a mess and accepting every bit of it. There may have been objections, but with the way Anna put it she knows that this is something she must face.
This isn’t about dating or a relationship.
This isn’t about love.
Hans Westergaard has the nerve to come to into her territory then it can only be one this.
This is war.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The multi-function table is loaded with pastries, fruit, and more bagels than Elsa remembers being in existence. Kristoff, Eugene, and Rapunzel all have their plates in front of them - Rapunzel's somehow the most full - and are conversing amicably with
him.
The space is not large but it was designed to give an open, inviting feel. She had created it to make everyone feel welcome the second they entered the room and it seems her design has done just exactly that. She never once considered that could be a detriment until now.
“Elsa!” Rapunzel jumps up like she hadn't talked to her just moments before in the atrium. The rest of the eyes in the room track to her immediately. She does her best to ignore him.
“I don't recall having a meeting scheduled this morning.” She feels that she is dripping on the stone-tile floor. “You will have to excuse my tardiness.”
She doesn’t flinch meeting his gaze even as mascara stings her eyes. She bets it is running down her cheeks, too. To his credit he keeps his composure despite her rain-soaked appearance. Except not to his credit, because shouldn’t even be here. Of all the entitled bullshit she has ever encountered…
She crosses her arms and looks at her employees.
“Thank you all for entertaining our guest at the expense of your other tasks, but you may go now. I will take it from here.”
They get the point.
The trio are all gracious as they take their plates and leave (all of them grabbing a bit more from the generous spread before ducking out sheepishly). Elsa gives them her best facsimile of a smile as they exit. She shuts the door behind them with a definitive thud (though she knows that will do little to keep them from eavesdropping) before turning back to the root of this entire problem. The idea of her staff listening in makes her even more irritable. She hates being the center of attention.
Still, she turns and meets his gaze. “Mister Westergaard.”
He smiles. “Hans.”
He is seated on a cushioned bench that was custom built for the space. She half expects him to rest his elbows on the table and cradle his chin in his hands with his patronizing tone. She stiffens a bit, but tries not to acknowledge it.
She is a professional. She will at least see what he wants.
“I wasn’t expecting you.”
“You wouldn't let me take you to dinner so I brought you breakfast.”
She remembers their conversation after the dance, the granola bar she grabbed on the run, but also remembers her most ultimate truth and speaks the lie that must come from it: “I don't eat breakfast.”
“Everyone eats breakfast.”
“Well I don't.”
He scoffs, smile tugging at his wide mouth.
“Doesn't take bubble baths. Doesn’t dance. Doesn't date. Doesn't eat breakfast.” He rattles off the list and she feels her ears turning pink. Had he really listened that closely? “I know for a fact that at least twenty five percent of those statements is patently untrue. It makes me wonder about the other seventy-five percent." He dangles the bait but she doesn't take it. He shifts. "So if you don't do all of those things, what
do
you do?”
“I run this company.”
He nods his head slowly, keeping his clever eyes trained on hers. “And you are in charge of planning all of the events put together by this company?”
It is a leading question. She knows it. Doesn't want to feed into it, but is uncertain how exactly to skate around it.
“Anna and I are partners. Which of us take the lead on projects depends on what best fit our client's needs.”
He leans forward then, just enough that she can smell ulterior intent even as he assumes a professional posture.
“So your clients pick their point of contact. Interesting.”
She can feel him circling, and realization snaps his intent into place. She knows where this is leading, and a chill runs down her spine. If she had known he would be this persistent…
She presses forward, trying to correct her misstep.
“In part. The team at E & A Events all have a say as well. It is a team operation. We all have different, but equally important, roles.” She doesn’t like where this conversation is going, but she won’t surrender even as she drips on the floor. Even if she wants to shove him out the door and force him out of her mind and life.
“Equal but different roles, fascinating. I’d love to know more.”
She had practically gift wrapped that segue for him. Instead of getting him out the door she was helping him dig trenches. She could kick herself for it.
“The inner workings really aren’t that important or interesting to most.”
“Try me. Let's start with the big blonde guy. Christopher.”
“Kristoff,” she is just a little too quick, enjoying correcting him just a bit too much, and his eyebrow flicks in amusement. “Just Kristoff.”
“My sincerest apologies. Kristoff. What does he do?”
“He supervises and creates special builds for our events. Stages, tables, altars, set pieces… he also coordinates event set-up and tear down logistics and coordinates all parties involved in that.”
“Fascinating,” he says and she believes him. He seems to hang off of her every word and that makes her nervous. “What else? What about that Rapunzel girl?”
“IT, admin, and graphic design. She can build you an event website with sign up funnels all customized around a graphics suite she creates from your concepts as well as facilitate any paper needs you may have from invitations to menus.”
He hardly lets her breathe: “And Eugene?”
“Vendor liaison and customer service. He is excellent at negotiating with vendors to get you exactly what you want at a price that is fair for everyone as well as day-of coordinating.”
He had already gotten a front row seat of Eugene’s flair for customer service two days ago at Eric and Ariel’s wedding. She is certain he will pick up how far she is underselling each team member and the extent of what they do just because of that, but he doesn’t mention it. He keeps right on with his line of questioning.
“Anna?” He keeps it short, like not letting her pause for even a moment, like he is quizzing her.
Two can play that game. “As Creative Director she does whatever I don't do.”
He smiles then like he knows something she doesn't, “and you. What is it that you do?”
She has given these answers ten thousand times, has recited them all from rote already, knows exactly how to answer his questions but the words catch in her throat. She cannot help but feel she is walking into some sort of trap and she does not want to be caught. She cannot afford to, for either of their sakes.
She takes a breath. “I am Director of Operations and work closely with the designated point of contact to an event that is both seamless and completely authentic to the person or organization putting it on as well as manage several day-to-day operations.”
He leans back and rubs a hand across his chin. He smiles: “I like listening to you talk.”
Her brain scrambles. She does not understand what any of that has to do with anything. She stays professional.
“Thank you.”
“Tell me something else. Anything. Anything at all...”
The sensation of just being a specimen, like a bug under a microscope, makes her anxious. His eyes skate the length of her body and she is suddenly hyper aware of how her once shapeless dress now clings to each curve, how her eyes sting with the mascara leaking into them, how each inch of her body is still dripping on the floor. He seems to notice her discomfort with a sardonic glee, the fight she is waging to
not
tighten her arms over her chest and hide, to
seem
relaxed.
“I have told you all I can possibly think to tell you, Mister Westergaard. Why don’t you enlighten me about the specifics of what brought you here this morning?” She turns the table, done beating around the bush. She won’t be made to stand trial, barefoot, with clammy skin, in her own office. "Because if conversation is why you are here I can guarantee you there are much easier and better places you can find it."
His smile falls a bit, but he catches himself. That all too human crack bleeds through and she thinks she has hurt him. She steels her insides against remorse as his cool and controlled exterior snaps back in place.
His smile now wolfish.
“I am launching an initiative," he makes a broad sweeping gesture with his arms. "And I wasn't going to make too much of a fuss, but you all changed my mind.”
She expects him to continue but he doesn't. Instead he just watches her. She frowns.
"Mister Westergaard I don't know if I quite understand. We plan events - not initiatives. Perhaps you would be better served with a Public Relations firm or -"
"Those pieces are already in place." He smiles, just a bit crooked as if he has anticipated this rejection and has a counter prepared. “What I need is a party, and a good one, to draw the proper attention.”
She cannot help but wonder just what a man like this considered to be proper attention, but pushing against him isn’t getting her what she wants. So she leans in.
“Do you have a prospective date for this event?”
Normally these questions would be answered before she ever saw the client in person. Normally there would be boards and sketches and swatches of color and timelines and menus all laid out in coordinating binders for the initial presentation - drawn up from the initial phone consult. Her clients didn’t like wasting time. Neither does she, but here she is.
He tells her and it is all she can do not to choke on her own disbelief.
“That is only five weeks from now!”
“Thirty nine days to be exact.”
“Mister Westergaard - we have other clients, other events, that is hardly enough time to properly plan something of any size or scale.
“Please. It’s Hans,” he stands, smoothing the front of his tailored slacks as he goes and her mouth goes dry. "And you're starting to make me think you aren't interested in taking this on."
There is something a little too casual about how he stands, too relaxed, the drift of his eyes too lazy to be anything but sharply calculated. She can see it. She may not know him well, but she knows he isn’t one to leave something to chance. She didn’t bow to his charm so now he will prod her pride. It irks her to admit that it is working.
“It isn’t that at all.”
“Then what is it?”
She meets his gaze. The crisp lavender button down he wears brings out the green of his eyes and she knows if she was closer she would see the gold ring around his iris. Even with several feet between them she knows just how warm he would feel if she touched him, probably even warmer than she remembers with her rain chilled skin. She knows how he smells. The memory alone is enough to make her heart pound so hard that she is sure he can see her pulse in her throat.
He steps around the decadence-covered table and her calf cramps as she steels herself to not retreat.
“This is my job, Mister Westergaard.”
He comes closer, hands tucked into pockets. She stays, chin lifting.
“I’m aware.”
He stops a few feet in front of her, close enough now that all he would have to do is reach out.
Her words come out on a gust of breath. “I am not a challenge. This is not some sort of game.”
He cocks his head. “I’m not playing any game.”
She searches his face, warning bells screaming that there must be a lie, but all she finds is that blindingly sincere humanity that scrambles her thoughts.
“I have other events, other clients -”
“So is it a ‘no’”?
She swears he doesn’t move but he feels closer. The light in his eyes shifts and she cannot think. She cannot breathe.
She remembers what Anna said.
This is bigger than what she wants.
A client like Hans Westergaard could establish their company for life - and even if she has disconnected from the length of that concept she knows what it means for others. She knows the firm needs this as impossible and inconceivable as it seems.
“There will be some ground rules.” The fact she keeps the shake out of her voice is a moral victory.
His brow quirks. “You want to set rules for something that isn’t a game? Interesting.”
She feels his humor like a contagious warmth spreading through her chest and nearly chokes at the weight. This was not what she wanted, what she expected from today...
“Any relationship we have will be business only. I cannot take you on as a client if you do not agree to that.”
His wide mouth pulls to the side enough to be just shy of a smile: “Are you implying that I would engage your services for anything other than professional reasons?”
His words sends heat flooding up her neck despite her soggy state.
The same heat she sees in his cunning eyes, the same she knows she will feel if she touches him.
He is trying to fluster her and she knows it.
He is succeeding and
he
knows it.
She forces her calm: a skill she has mastered over the years.
"I am not implying anything. If we are to work together it is important we both handle ourselves in the appropriate manner."
“Of course. Absolutely.” He smiles, shifting his weight into a casual posture.
She knows she should ask about budget, about the theme, about the twenty five thousand things she clarifies with clients before even thinking about accepting them for their services - but she knows that this point none of that matters. At this point - all that matters is getting him out of her offices so she can think, work,
breathe
.
So she agrees, “absolutely.”
She takes the lead and extends a hand and he glances at it with a dark twinkle in his eye. He takes it is his and just as she expects his touch
burns
.
It is all she can do to not catch her breath as they shake on an agreement she can hardly understand.
She releases his hand as soon as she can, letting it sink back to her side as naturally as possible when all she wants is to yank it back and rub her palm on the cool damp fabric of her thigh.
But they need this.
This is something bigger than herself and her own comfort.
She has said ‘no’ to men before, has built those walls she has contrived to protect them from herself, but still those warning bells ring. Anna knows. She knows. This one is different.
But it is only thirty-nine days. What could happen?
The way he smiles at her across the space between them answers that question even if she chooses to ignore it.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
She leaves him with Rapunzel to get more of the particulars, to fill out the client intake sheet, and assemble the base data that will be crucial to planning whatever event it is that Hans Westergaard could want. She takes her sopping bag into her office and shuts the door. She slumps back against it, breathing for the first time since she woke up. This whole day has been a nightmare. She hopes that she is hallucinating, dreaming, something besides actually living in a reality where she has just agreed to spend over a month working side by side with Hans Westergaard. The very thought makes her stomach clench and this time it has nothing to do with her - A tap comes on the door behind her and she chokes on a breath, stumbling forward. It it is him she swears…“Who is it?” She presses a trembling hand back against her errant hair. The door opens and she steps back. Her body screaming just in case but she is not sure exactly what she is bracing against. She was clear with him. He knows she is not interested, that she will not cross her self-imposed boundaries, except has felt his heat now and it is burning through her defenses in a way that makes her feel like this could actually be something. Like they could actually, somehow, have a shot. Her fingers twist into her stomach, clenching at the wet fabric of her test against the sensations mounting without her bidding.The door clicks open and she is about ready to send him packing - to cancel the agreement - to burn this entire operation to the ground - when her sister’s concerned head pops around the corner. “Hey,” she slips in as if she is afraid to open the door to wide, as if she might let in something unwanted after herself if she doesn’t enter quickly enough. She has a bundle under one arm and grimace on her face. “I ran to your apartment while you were in with Hans and grabbed you some dry clothes and a towel.” She extends the package. Elsa knows her sister tucked the underwear inside an equally drab and shapeless shift. One time she had not been so discreet when passing sister her change of clothes at an event and her bra had fallen on the floor in front of Kristoff and Eugene and they may be like brothers but still. It is the principle of the thing. Whatever modesty she felt in front of her other business partners, she does not feel in front of her sister. Still Anna turns to give her privacy and shuts the door firmly as Elsa sheds her soaked clothes for their dry alternative. “So….” Anna leads with the tact of a bulldozer. “Rapunzel is working on an event intake flow.” Elsa’s underwear sticks to her skin as she peels it off, shivering for more than just the cold, and towels off the remaining moisture.“I would hope so,” Elsa cannot help but being glib. “It is her job.”She can see Anna’s spine tighten. Her body reacting to Elsa’s tone. “So we’re doing this?” Anna pushes on despite. Elsa sighs. “We’re doing this.” Elsa undoes her bun and shakes out her hair. It is a mess of damp and wet patches that promises to dry into a total mess. Everything is a mess. How has less than seventy two hours passed and everything she has worked to set up for the last decade is coming unraveled? “Rapunzel says it is a tight timeline.”“Thirty nine days.”Anna whistles under her breath. Elsa agrees mentally. “What about the Clemmons wedding and -”“We’re ahead on the Clemmons wedding. Most of their big deadlines aren’t for another two months.” Elsa tries to convince herself as much as Anna.“Sure - there’s that - but then there’s all the others. The Red Rose Appreciation Dinner and the -”Elsa listens to her sister list off all their spinning plates while she fits the soft cotton undergarments over her goose-pimpled skin. The easy fit of her shift is a comfort in the middle of what she knows is about the be the biggest mistake of her life. “ - and I know I told you to listen to him, that we needed this, but this timeline - Elsa - can we do it?” Elsa doesn’t even have to see to know Anna is wringing her hands, second guessing herself.Now dressed, Elsa touches her sister’s shoulder to signal she can turn. “I’ll take it on.” Elsa meets her sister’s wide blue eyes. “I’ll need help here or there, and of course on the day, but this will be my project.” Anna’s brow pinches and Elsa cannot stand beneath the scrutiny of her gaze. She turns back to where she discarded the towel earlier. She grabs it and pats her hair to give her shaking hands something to do. “After all, you said we needed this. And maybe we do.” Anna shifts her weight from side to side. “I did say that.”They both know what isn’t being said.After an eternity Elsa sighs. “This will be fine,” she gave up on praying awhile ago, but she does it now. “This will all be fine.” Something in Anna’s eye sparks and Elsa knows she isn’t fooling her, but she also knows that Anna isn’t sure enough yet to call it out. She had pressed yesterday. She is smart enough to leave it alone today.Elsa wonders how long it will be until Anna forces the truth out of her. Her head hurts, but she convinces herself it is psychosomatic. Thirty nine days. She can do this. She can keep it together for thirty nine days. She can make this her final act and set them up for the success she knows they all deserve. “This will be a great time to updatie the standard operating procedures for clients processes. Really trim them up,” Elsa’s voice was just a bit too cheerful. She does not need to hide here, but she is anyway. It is easier. The more she convinces herself everything is normal the less she has to consider that she isn’t. Anna gives her the side eye. That sisterly intuition firing, but not willing to admit what she fears the most. “Yeah. We should update that.” Is all she says, hands still twisting in front, and Elsa needs to change the subject.She scrubs at her face: “Do I still has mascara all over my cheeks?”Anna laughs and shakes her head. “No. You’re good.” They share a small laugh as Anna steps towards her.“I meant what I said. If you ever want to change your mind, go a different direction, make a different choice - we will support you. And not just me and Kristoff. Everyone.” Elsa meets her gaze, knowing exactly what she is prompting, but not ready to meet it. She smiles, instead, an over practiced smile. The one she uses when she wants to run and hopes Anna doesn’t notice. Elsa isn’t sure it works, but Anna smiles in return. “So we’re doing this?”Elsa nods, regretting each motion. “We’re doing this.”Anna’s smile widens as Elsa continues to pat her hair. She will have to braid it and hope for the best at this point. At least now she isn’t expecting anyone else to bust in with a buffet of breakfast goods and - “Hey!” Anna was just about to call it good and duck out when Elsa caught her at the door. “Did Mister Westergaard leave his spread?”“Yeah, I think so?” Anna nods.“Can you have Pascal bring me a cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese?” She tries to look like she doesn’t care as she strides around her desk to her seat. “If there are any?” Elsa had seen the spread. She knows they are there. This is a desperate attempt to seem uninterested. She knows it probably doesn’t work, but all Anna does is nod.“Of course,” her hand lingers on the door handle and looks back at her sister once more. “Is there anything else?”Elsa knows what she is asking. She knows exactly what she asks which is why she sinks down into her seat with a shake of her head and a sigh. “Just tell Rapunzel to get me the specifics as soon as she can so we can make this happen.”Elsa is good at giving tasks, and Anna is good at taking them. That is why they make such a great team. That is why this work means so much to them.“I’ll have her report in ASAP!” Anna salutes and Elsa reciprocates with an honest smile. Anna has been with her through it all .And that has been a lot. When she shuts the doors Elsa sinks back in her chair for one moment, thinking. The only reason E&A Events exists the way it does is because of the insurance settlement from their parents untimely death. It had been the cash infusion they needed to make things happen and they had. At first it has been lower budget, but as their reputation and expertise grew- so had their pricing. Now they were here planning an event for an internationally known business man's son.Butterflies erupt in her stomach at the thought. Elsa's mind whirs through all the work she will need to get done today on top of her regular responsibilities. She knows needs to start drawing up an extensive budget to submit to Hans Westergaard to have him approve and submit his deposit before she even allows herself to get any more flustered than she already is. She cannot do anything though until Rapunzel gets the information into the pipeline.She takes two deep breaths in her stylish, ergonomic, yet cost effective desk chair. All the air sucks in through her nose and then exhales through her mouth. That is the way to relax, or so her coaches and medical professionals had told her. She is about to call bullshit when the phone on her desk rings.She frowns. She isn’t expecting a call now but only her clients had her direct line. No one would be calling if it wasn’t important. Before she has another thought she reaches out, picks up the receiver and:“This is Elsa of E&A Events.” “Hello Elsa,” she can practically hear his smile across the line. “I know I should have waited - given you enough time to miss me - but we are keeping things professional.” Even as he keeps his tone light she picks up on a purring resonance tickling her ear down the line. Her cheeks heat as she tries to push past the embarrassment she feels at how her body responds even to just the sound of his voice.Any idea she had about relaxing is long gone. “Yes. Hello. What do you need for your event ?” She emphasizes the last element because she knows she needs to. She has swam with enough fish to know when she meets a shark. “I just wanted to confirm with you what I discussed with Rapunzel. Charming girl, by the way. Quite savvy.”Elsa has barely had time to get dry clothes on and this man assumed she had her itinerary in front of her. Of course he did. Of course she should. “Mister Westergaard - ““Hans.”“Mister Westergaard we just met less than half an hour ago and while I completely satisfied with Rapunzel’s capabilities there is a certain wait time that is specific to -” a knock comes at Elsa’s door with a quick open after. Rapunzel’s spikey bobbed head pops around the corner and Elsa nearly chokes. “- to - to - well - any event. We have agreed to assess you offer and give you an answer A.S.A.P.” She waves for Rapunzel to come in. “Ah, so you haven’t spoken with Rapunzel yet.”And the way he said it, they way it feels like he knows more about her own company than she does presses around her like a vice and she cannot allow it. She cannot allow this stranger to define who she is, what she is, what she services. She will not let him condescend her in general conversation. “As expressed before, Mister Westergaard, the services we provide are deeply specific. Rapunzel just came in with your information." She waves her hand to bring Rapunzel and her tightly clutched file into her space. Rapunzel's eyes are wide and watchful as she helps Elsa spread out the official intake documents. "I will review it and have a full proposal set for you by end of day.” Elsa scans the pages. There are numbers for expenses she is sure must be typos. There are zeros where she feels there shouldn’t be. Her mouth goes dry as her gaze darts to Rapunzel with a questioning gaze. Rapunzel, as if she knew it was coming, just nods and spreads her hands with a big smile. This has always been the goal of E&A Events. To access to affluent. To land the big fish. So why does Elsa's stomach hurt?“So have you had enough time?” He almost seems to sense it her mental jaw drop over the line.Elsa scanned the numbers for the budget first and mentally plugs in vendors. Availability will be the most challenging part of this event. It is summer and peak of wedding season. Many of her more popular, trusted vendors were sure to be booked, but she is fairly certain she can make it all work. It will be a challenge but not impossible. Still - “You left my office less than half an hour ago, Mister Westergaard,” she buys time as she sorts through more paperwork and ideas and agenda never before seen in a standard client. "But I will keep you informed of the viability of this project."“But you already know. I know you do. That is why I chose you. I know you want this.” he doesn’t wait for her to give a definitive answer. He doesn’t need it. That is what his lawyers are for.She chokes back the instinct to see if he is recording, if this is a Pranked episode, if she really is the biggest loser in town. “I learned long ago to never let myself want anything, Mister Westergaard.”She can only count her blessings that he is not right in front of her when he responds, that he cannot see her discomforted flush. She is already figuring out how to not lean into his bait, to let his words sweep over her. Or at least that is what she tells herself.He is silent more than she expects. She looks up to see Rapunzel clutching a file to her chest looking about ready to pop and she knows this is it. The shoe is about to drop. Hans’ voice come over the line, low and mellow:“So did Rapunzel ask you about tomorrow’s schedule?”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It had not exactly been World War Three, but it had not gone over lightly when Elsa realized exactly what Hans had managed to negotiate Rapunzel into allowing. Or not so much allowing as thinking it was the best idea - the only idea - Elsa’s idea - and that somehow she had authorized Rapunzel to clear Tuesday’s entire schedule.Each appointment, call, and workflow had been reassigned to appropriate corresponding dates leaving the entire day clear for - well - him. What he wants, what his event calls for, and she more than slightly miffed that he still failed to truly explain just what his event - initiative - whatever - entails. But whatever the result - Elsa should have known better than to leave the trusting Rapunzel in the room with someone with the charisma and bravado of Hans Westergaard. Looking at the paperwork before her she is wondering just how much - well - bravado one man could have.Staring at the zeros, written with Rapunzel’s trademark flair, on the intake form for the proposed budget is the only thing keeping Elsa from calling the entire thing off. That and the niggling curiosity in her chest that scares her as much as it intrigues her.She is only just now starting to realize that it has been years since she really felt - well - anything. This has been by design, and she is entirely certain that it is a mistake to indulge this, but something in her just cannot walk away. Perhaps it is because she knows she is nearing the end of any kind of semblance of normal. That soon her life will be nothing more than phasing out of it between medical exams and palliative care. That when Anna gently presses her towards a different choice - though impossible - she secretly wishes for it. She looks at the forms, facts, and figures on her desk and wonders if somehow this is the silver lining in this entire thing.Thirty-nine days. She has already started gradually removing herself from all main client contact roles, not wanting anyone to feel jilted if she needs to stop attending to their every call. Anna and even Rapunzel have stepped up to every other occasion, but this is her project. This one is on her. Well - that is if she is to get them to where the company needs to be before she - well - leaves. She pinches the bridge of her nose. Everything about this is wrong.Everything about this is right.Both realities cannot exist without shades of gray and it has been over a decade since she has thought in such muddied terms. Black and white is easier. It makes the inevitable easier to swallow. Things either are yes or no; up or down; simple or complicated; living or dying; but never both. That is, apparently, unless Hans Westergaard is involved. Her heart gives an unsettling, queer beat as she reviews the calendar and the schedule Rapunzel had built for them. She has read and re-read it for what feels like the eleventh time before she finally gives up.No.This will not be easy. This will not be ideal, but it will hopefully be what the company needs. She does not have time to give a second thought about what she needs. This is not the time or place. Especially when it is everything they have worked for. Especially when she will not be here much longer. She lets her damp head rest back against her very practical office chair and almost laughs at the ridiculousness of it all. She wonders if her condition is what is making her want to be reckless in this moment. The doctors had not mentioned that as a possibility, but then she is an anomaly.She has already broken all the rules. Maybe that is why she has tried to follow them so strictly outside of her diagnosis. That is what one of her therapists had suggested anyway. She fired them before their third meeting. Or really she had just stopped going to prove a point.She had ignored the calls from the office to reschedule missed appointments. She did not have time. She was not someone who was called to evolve into her highest self. She didn’t need to make peace with her diagnosis. It wouldn’t change it. So she chose to focus instead on what was right in front of her, on the here and now, while never really being in the moment. It is easier to ignore the inevitable if she doesn’t have it shoved in her face for an hour every week. She does not have time for that. She was not going to make it that far enough to make time for that.So she moved on to a therapist who just listens, nods, and gives her what she needs for her nerves - her lack of sleep - her restlessness. She is not looking to be healed. She knows she is beyond that . Still: she opens her eyes and looks at the project before her and feels - for the first time in forever - a spark of something. She will never admit it, not even to herself, but the feeling in her chest is something all too similar to hope and she cannot have any of that. She pushes that sensation down and focuses on what she always has: the practical.Like how in the hell is she supposed to prepare for a meeting she doesn’t want with a man she cannot afford to get close to when that is exactly what she must do?She crosses her arms on the desk in front of her and plops her forehead down with a groan. She is going to regret this - already does. She supposes the only unanswered thing about this that matters is just how much she will regret this in the end.….She does not lose sleep over the event, the meeting. At least no more than she normally would before a big meeting. No.She is too sensible for that (plus she took a sleeping pill at the absolute last minute before it would leave her sick and groggy the next day). She knows she needs to be sharp, well rested, and on high alert through this entire day. You don’t go into a battle without your wits fully in tact and she has been mentally girding herself ever since she gave Rapunzel the okay to send over the approval of terms and preliminary proposal with room for addendum. He sends back an address and a time, but not to Rapunzel’s email. He texts it to her personal phone again and Elsa is quickly realizing that fighting this particular part of this game will be a loss. She needs to laser focused on the battles that matter - the battle at hand. She is holding her armor tight as they all pull into the marina’s general parking lot in Anna’s car, trying to convince herself that her stomach is not in knots. Even though it is.Her mind races with possibilities of what this day could entail, trying to plan for any outcome, but there are too many trajectories and not enough information. She can figure most likely scenarios but nothing so far has been most likely when it came to this entire situation so she must keep herself vigilant. She cannot let herself slip even a fraction of an inch or she knows she will regret it.She had briefed her staff on the seriousness of this meeting - even though she did not need to. She knew they would exhibit absolute professionalism like they always did, but she also knows that Hans Westergaard is a different type of beast than their usual. Only the main staff comes: herself, Kristoff, Anna, Rapunzel, and Eugene. Pascal and Sven, interns, had stayed behind to man the office. Her trust in them was the only reason that she even considered leaving the office today with other projects on the line. She trusts them, but….Still there were so many ways this could go wrong. Not because of her trust in them but more so the need to prove that she is not afraid of anything this Hans Westergaard can bring against her. She has the mounting dread of a feeling that she is not only building her own coffin, but nailing it shut.Rapunzel could not elaborate on what may be considered appropriate for this all day meeting so she had the perky brunette call his contact number for clarification. He did not answer, but Elsa listened to the message - but a single text from him to her personal phone (she really needs to get Rapunzel to stop giving out her personal number) gives her just enough foresight to warn them all to be prepared.
I hate spoiling surprises but come prepared to get wet.
He had texted with the address to the marina and a berth number. She had blushed at what she hoped was unintentional innuendo.
In order to best serve you and keep your event professional please contact me on my office line only.
She had replied with the contact that she knows he already has. But he had not used it and she has a feeling that he probably never will outside of that first call he made to her office, not when he knows where to find her in a way that feels just a little too close. A little too intimate. A little too raw. Just like that dance that never should have happen, never should have become two, never - She shakes her head, ears burning in embarrassment of how far she had let that go. She will not be making that mistake again. She can run this event, elevate her company, and stay unattached even if the butterflies in her stomach are working hard enough to lift her up off the ground at the moment. Her group does not seem to notice, however. Nor had any of them lifted an eyebrow when she had instructed them to dress expensive business casual but to also pack swim attire and accouterments. Perhaps it is because their destination includes the marina and a berth. She prefers to entertain that idea as opposed to the concept that they are placating her, giving her space, not asking questions because she seems fragile in any way. That is something she simply cannot abide. She should have had Rapunzel call, ask clarifying questions, taken control like she would have with any other client, but she had not. She had not and she is not prepared to follow through the logic that if she had failed to respond to this like she would for any other client that perhaps he is not just another - Elsa’s thoughts and steps slow as they approach their destination. She has been on boats. She has been on yachts. But if what she is looking at is the boat they will sail on that day - it takes everything within herself to not drop her jaw to the floor.It does not look quite like any other ship she has seen. There are no sails or anything of the like, but there are three levels of windows curving along an immaculate white bough. The bow is almost needle shaped, long and contoured to an exact point beyond any cabin that gives it the looks of a swordfish, or dolphin, or any of those more majestic water bound creatures. The shape, the arch of the body, the way it rises from the water - it is exceptional from stem to stern. She can tell from the design that it is built to be large, and to show it.This, she knows, is a ship built to impress people.Did that mean Mister Westergaard was trying to impress them? Or maybe just intimidate.Her sweaty palm tightens on the attache case containing their more formal documents, her heavy duty tablet.She had finished them the day before after devoting the whole of her energy to them. She had them sent over by three but had not heard anything about the few gaps she needed filled before she felt comfortable moving forward formally. Perhaps he wants to negotiate in person. For the money he is willing to pay she is more than happy to go over everything in person, or at least she would be if he wasn’t completely capable of robbing her of almost every shred of common sense she possessed. But even if he had not signed anything yet, neither had she - her company. If this day proved too much, too disagreeable, there was nothing to keep up the facade.Still she is sure that if she just focuses she can get what she needs from him and nothing else. The challenge of drawing up the proposition she had sent him, of rustling vendors and calling in favors, orchestrating a careful network of details and factors and creating the perfect documents for this event had given her a thrill. She knew he would not understand, appreciate, all it took to put together a proposal like this. How could he? He was a privileged son of a man of unimaginable wealth. He had no need to work, to strive, to fear. The initiative, or so he called it, seemed a pet project that the wealthy elite all had. His was ocean related and that made sense considering his love of sailing. Though Mister Westergaard had been short on details of exactly what this all entailed Elsa had still managed to come up with what she felt was a perfect framework for a successful soiree. It was fluid, adaptable, and when she got the rest of the details down in writing, allowing her to draw up the final paperwork and followed by his signature… well. Just focusing on what that meant for her sister, their friends, the company was enough to put aside the tight braid of apprehension winding down her spine at the logistics of what that meant from a practical perspective. Once the ink dried that meant she would be bound to him for thirty eight days. Thirty eight days of closely working alongside him, communicating with him. If she is lucky he will be uninterested in attending vendor meetings, that he will trust her judgement and simply allow her to select what she feels is best as many of her clients do. After all - that is why they pay. They don't want to invest the time or effort into each minutia that came with an event of any size, but she thrived within it. Would she be able to do so with Hans Westergaard thrown into the mix?But she'll think about that tomorrow. Right now all she can think about is putting one foot in front of the other until they are at the gangplank.She isn’t sure when Anna comes up alongside her and loops an arm through hers, but she realizes it is there when Anna squeezes it with her own.“You okay?” Her sister’s voice is low and Elsa gives a tense nod. “Of course,” she replies. “I’m - I’m just fine.” She stumbles a bit as Mister Westergaard appears at the top of the gangplank. He is in fitted khakis and boat shoes with a navy sweater pulled over a crisp collared shirt. His hair styled back with its natural wave and his smile broad as he waves them up from his place at the top of the long, metal-railed ramp. Anna’s grip tightens. “Come aboard!” He calls, keen green eyes flashing to each person in their party. Though she could not prove it she feels like his gaze lingers on her just a fraction longer than the others.She quickly shakes the thought. Paranoia will not help her focus on her mission. She shrugs off Anna’s supporting arm. It will not do to seem like she needs help, that she is weak in any way. She pulls her shoulders up and back as she strides up the gangplank to meet their host.“Mister Westergaard,” she crosses her attache case in front of her body, lasering into his gaze with more force than necessary. “Thank you for having us. We have many aspects of the event to cover. Should we get started?” His smile does not falter. “Of course we should,” he cradles her elbow (thankfully covered by the extra billowing length of her sleeve) to pivot her so the rest of her party can finish their ascent. “But first we need to attend the briefing from the crew. We will be pushing off soon.” He drops his touch as soon as he had started it, attention moving to Anna and the rest and leaving her flummoxed. Pushing off? She knows they are on a boat but that meant…He continues without dropping a beat, addressing the whole of his guests. “We will be setting sail in the next ten minutes. The crew will brief you on the safety functions of the vessel on the aft.”The group hesitates, at least slightly perplexed, and Elsa knows she is not the only one who not as apt at ship terminology as she might be. They weren’t the types to sail regularly, but Mister Westergaard seems to note his mistake with equal speed. His smile broadens as he gestures behind himself to the sleek walkway that edges the ship.“You will have to excuse me. I’ve spent more time on ship than on land lately and developed certain habits. This way place,” and there is a silent, collective breath of relief at his gracious response.Somewhere in the depth of her heart she cannot help but wonder if this was some sort of test that she had failed. Or if he had staged the entire thing to make himself seem like some sort of savior, like somehow he would deliver these creteans to their designated location by his own benevolence and - “May I have the honor of escorting you?” he offers his arm and she flashes to the deeply slow stroll up the walk to the wedding venue. She remembers the heat of his touch, the conversation, and while she is not interested in actively offending him:“The passageway is a bit narrow, don’t you think?” She keeps her tone professional, the butterflies in her stomach pressed down. “Why don’t you go ahead and lead us?”His eyes flash and she is not quite sure what it means but he makes no moves to press the issue. Instead he lifts his gaze from her and addresses the entire group:“Of course,“ his smile wolfish, like she just set the tone for the day - like he anticipated it. "This way. Follow me!”They do.Elsa lags a bit, letting Anna and Kristoff take the lead and falling back with Rapunzel and Eugene. In the middle of the pack she feels a bit more secure, a bit less like she is walking into a trap, but then he looks over his shoulder and winks at her and she is back to the wedding with sweating palms and shaking knees. She considers his smile, his heat, the curve of his brow and - no.That was not why she was here. This is business, just business. She had made that clear, but as they reach where the walkway opens to a spectacular seating area complete with firepit all those zeroes on the proposal invoice she knows this is nothing like the business they have done up to this point. It doesn’t even feel like she is on a boat. There is plush furniture, all royal blue with stainless steel and arranged in a horseshoe that takes advantage of the ocean view. A marble and metal coffee table that she swears is as big as the kitchen in her studio apartment is decorated with a planter holding a dozen white iris in perfect bloom and a spread of finger foods that rival Tiana’s inventions. Her stomach cramps even as her mouth waters. She has hardly eaten, but given her inexperience on a boat she hardly thinks it prudent to indulge in case sea voyage doesn’t agree with her. She looks past the food and the seating arrangement she is certain they will fill briefly, out beyond the shadowed overhang of the upper deck they are beneath, and there are half a dozen white loungers surrounding a sunken pool. The railing alongside the ship falls off beyond the pool and at this angle she knows when they are at sea that it will seem as if the pool could continue right into the ocean, an endless pool of blue. The sight rattles something inside of her. The visual somehow mirrors an intangible understanding she has for what is about to happen. The idea that this may seem like it can go on forever but she knows that cannot be true. Nothing lasts forever.Mister Westergaard ushers them to sit. She goes, noting the finely polished blonde wood planks beneath her feet. She positions herself at the end of one of the furniture pieces facing away from the unsettling infinity pool and looks up for her sister in hopes to have her sit beside her but she is not quick enough.Mister Westergaard settles himself next to her just close enough to be disconcerting, but clearly with no room for anyone to sit between them. He isn’t touching, not even in the slightest. He doesn’t even look her way when he sits and that somehow makes it worse. His legs spread wide, his back straight as he leans forward onto his elbows as if he is ready to pounce on any unsuspecting passer, but not giving her the slightest attention.She knows he is playing some sort of game, but he keeps changing the rules. She does not appreciate it and she pulls her case up onto her lap to insure the forced distance. Whatever he is playing she will not join. But she will set some rules of her own. She tries to not sit too straight, to lean too hard against her armrest away from him, to too obviously look anywhere but him as she takes in the surroundings. She tries to focus on the expectation that if this is the informal lounge area on his yacht just how lavish the expectations will be on this event. How there are only thirty eight days to pull off something even grander than this. How there cannot be any mistake. It simultaneously excites and terrifies her.She thinks of all the connections this will yield, how it will catapult E&A Events into the stratosphere if they do it right. An event for people of this caliber is not a challenge to take on lightly but she knows she is up to the task. She is built for things like this, has set up E&A events for success long after she is gone if they decide to go on. This is simply the next step. Hans Westergaard is the next step.It is easier to think of him in this way, so she does. Not more than a few seconds have passed since they say before a trim crew member appears from what she assumes to be a luxurious space inside, but is denied a glance by the reflective glass. The crewmember starts going through the basics of the ship’s safety protocol. Elsa remembers one of the few times she had been on a plane where the flight attendant had pointed with two fingers towards doors that Elsa hoped she would never use, but she had memorized every step regardless. It never hurt to be prepared.As the crew demonstrates proper life vest procedures and what to do in case of some unprecedented catastrophe she feels him lean in closer. “If the ship went down, why do I feel like you wouldn’t flinch?” She can feel his breath tickling the shell of her ear.She keeps her gaze focused on the crew, but turns just enough to send her words directly to him and not the rest of the group. “I won’t have to flinch. I’ll know what to do because I was able to pay attention to this presentation.”He breathes a laugh. She feels it down her neck, entire body heating without objection. She doesn’t dare look to see if the others notice, if he is nearly as close as she thinks he may be. When he is silent for a moment she thinks that he might be done, that he has returned to an appropriate distance and she almost chances a glance. She is glad she does not because she feels it almost as much as she hears it:“But what if you needed saving? Who would you want to come to your rescue?”She is certain he is even closer than before now, the heat of his body bleeding into her side without even touching and she remembers what it is to touch him. She remembers how the very touch of him burns down her defenses, but what she hadn’t counted on were his words, the probing questions that always caught her off guard. Even though she hardly knows him she knows if she looks his way she will see that same heartfelt sincerity that has undone her from the start. She watches as a robotic crew member straps a lifesaver onto their chest. There is a flirtatious way to approach this, to stroke his ego, to make things go more smoothly but the stage has been set. She has no time to spare for such frivolity and honestly no idea how to even go about it. So instead she tightens her spine, pulls her jaw tight, and never once diverts her eyes towards him.“I'm not the type to get saved,” she speaks the language of strange half-truths she has grown accustomed to in her condition before letting the darkness bleed through. “I go down with the ship.”She senses the change in him at that statement, the distance increasing between them even if he had not moved an inch, but there is no victory in it. There is only an all too familiar hollow feeling that she fights all too often.Then, strangely despite the distance, she feels him closer still.His shoulder touches hers and even through their respective clothes the heat of him creeps through. Her heart rate accelerates. She thought she had done her job but apparently… “I’d save you,” his voice is low, tight and tickling. “I’d save you if it was the last thing I did.” Her mouth goes dry at the conviction of his short speech, at the way her heart races at his words, but not because she is uncomfortable. No. It is worse than that. It is because she believes him - this near stranger. The crew member is saying something she is sure is important, but she cannot hear it. She cannot focus beyond her own breath filling her chest, rasping in her ear. She wants to trust those words, to lean into them, but she cannot. It would be unfair for them both. So with every last ounce of will that hadn’t been scorched by his proximity she musters her courage and:“You cannot save me, Mister Westergaard.” The words taste bitter in her mouth without context, but she is certain the surprise she senses is real. It feels good to catch him off guard, to let him be off balance for once. She revels in it, but not for long.He does not move a fraction. She would have felt it, known it, all of her senses heightened towards him. Still his next words break upon the shore of her mind with relentless regularity. “Hans,” there is something raw, secret, in the way he speaks that nearly hurts. “My name is Hans, and when I save you that is what you will call me.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
They have been out to sea for twenty minutes now, Arendelle’s coast disappearing in the distance the same way Elsa’s hope for this day to go any way even close to how she hoped vanished before her eyes.
After the safety briefing from the crew (which she barely heard) she had attempted to direct the conversation towards the contract, the parts and pieces that needed to still be negotiated and finalized, but Mister Westergaard had other ideas.
Eat first
. He had said.
We have all day.
Bits of polite conversation had floated around her. Hans Westergaard entertained the group with intentional questions, occasionally including her but in some ways almost purposefully excluding her. She is simultaneously thrilled and annoyed, but she is not prepared to deal with either emotion.
So she had picked at the sumptuous fare: cold roasted squash wrapped in hickory smoked bacon, miniature parfait cups with berry compote and tangy greek yogurt topped with a sprig of mint, delicate quiche bites that even served cold are still creamy and without a hint of the rubbery texture she always achieves when cooking eggs. There is mixed fruit salad with a lime reduction glaze, brown sugar crusted salmon delicately seated on lemon buttered crostini, and single waffle quarters served with ten dozen options for toppings including jalapeno infused maple syrup. The list goes on.
Elsa is accustomed to tastings and decadence when it comes to food but nearly always when planning it for someone else, some other occasion. She had little experience being the recipient of such gourmet assortments and has never bothered to learn to cook. Still knowing they will sail she does not feel a great need to indulge as she is not sure she will handle the sea well. Her stomach is already a mess.
Her team dives in, filling actual china plates with their choice delicacies as the crew comes to take drink orders. They are each handed a menu printed on thick cardstock that feels like silk. The drink options are embossed into the surface of the luxe paper. The feel of it in her hand along with the weight of her plate in the other and the heat of Hans Westergaard at her side is a sensory overload she never imagined having.
“Coffee,” she does hesitate, “with just a splash of cream.”
The crew member nods and takes her drink menu for her. She notices later that a smattering of those menus were artistically mounted on stainless steel stands just in case she wants to indulge in a mango-passion-fruit mimosa or a mint lemonade slush infused with vodka. While both sound tempting she needs to stay alert. Especially with
him
sitting so close.
His plate is balanced on one thigh with an assortment of the fare that errs on the sweeter side. She notes the same way she would for any client. Hans Westergaard likes dessert.
She does not consider why knowing that makes her uncomfortable.
He also orders the same coffee as she.
Again she cannot be certain if this is intentional or just another ploy to generate a doomed connection. She will always lean towards the latter.
He is still close, but at least she had the sense to extend his arm over the empty seat away from Elsa instead of behind her back. There is a limit even to her control and if he touched her she may explode right out of her skin.
Her team seems to be enjoying the royal food treatment. Rapunzel feeds Eugene her favorite flavor combination, something unusual certainly, and slaps his chest at the grimace. Kristoff loads up on the protein while Anna selects sweeter alternatives. Elsa takes a single quiche, vegetable options, and crostini. She does not want to seem ungrateful but she also does not want to appear over eager or succumb to sea sickness and never be able to eat salmon again.
She nibbles the barest tip of the roasted summer squash and tries to not notice his plate while also engaging him.
“This is lovely. Thank you,” her team was watching, nodding and eating politely in agreement.
“Of course. I want you to get a sense for what I want.”
He now has retreated even further, inches between their bodies, an appropriate distance but still somehow feels too close. She is thankful and suspicious all at once. He leans in again, but just his head. The rest of him is conspicuously distant. His eyes had been green at the wedding but now they almost appeared gold. Were they hazel?
“That is my team and I would love to talk with you about. We know so little about this initiative, what we are creating, and while this is lovely -”
He cuts her off by pressing two fingers on her mouth.
She had not seen it coming and the feel of it shoots heat previously unknown through her body. She can practically hear the collective gasp from the watching four and her embarrassment is palpable. His fingers are gone as quickly as they had arrived. She didn’t even have the chance to pull back. The heat and pressure of his touch lingers and it takes every bit of self control to not pressed her lips together to try to erase the electric tingling dancing there.
If she had not been so caught off guard by the sensations racing through her body at the contact she would have had the sense to be furious.
“All in good time.” He leans back and puts the hand on his knee, the other gripping his plate. “But first a tour perhaps?”
He is already standing and Elsa can just barely catch a breath.
Her team all stand, albeit cautiously, watching her while she attempts to mentally reboot. Hans Westergaard offers her his hand, the same hand that had pressed her lips just moments before in a facsimile of a kiss. What would it be like to kiss him?
That inquisitive thought is enough to launch her to her feet without assistance. She sets her plate and attache case down with more force than necessary, straightens, and steps away from him. It takes all of her mortal strength to meet his gaze.
It is soft and warm but also fearful. That disconcerting humanness there again like he never did anything to upset her. Like he is afraid of rebuttal for his forwardness, like he knows he oversteps but couldn’t help himself just like she cannot bring herself to truly be upset by the touch. Like maybe it undid him the same way it undid her.
That idea is just as bad, if not worse, than his action.
She needs to put it behind them. Now. No. Sooner than now.
She lifts her chin and clears her throat. “I think it is best if we stick to business.”
She is responding to his offer for a tour and hopes that is how her team takes it, how he takes it. Clearly she does not need to invite trouble when he is more than willing to produce it on his own. His expression rearranges itself to something more polished, but no less intense. She can practically see his strategy shifting behind those color changing eyes and she steels herself against it.
Whatever he dishes out she can take. She has overcome more than most and there is not much that can throw her, but the way he looks at her makes her realize she has met her match.
This is not an arm’s length situation.
But to be close to him?
Close to anyone?
“I agree.” The sound of his voice snaps her back. “Which is why I absolutely insist on a tour of the vessel. It is integral to the process.”
She does not understand. Her mind reels, but she acknowledges that a tour could give her time to regroup and she needs that.
“Then by all means, lead the way.” She takes several steps away from his projected footpath putting the ornate seat they had shared well between them.
If there is any hesitation she cannot be certain. Instead he sweeps to the front of the ship where more chrome and glass greet them. “This way then.”
Thus begins a tour of a yacht that is more ornately equipped and furnished than most homes. Right of the main bow deck there is a leisure room filled with plush royal blue and rich chocolate furniture, stainless steel fixtures along with cream carpets and accents. There are florals, books, and staggering decor pieces that would be excessive and gaudy in any other context but here they all flow together seamlessly. The streamlined design of the furniture and the ship is accentuated with the extravagant accents. No. It this the height of refinement, elegance.
And this is just the first room.
There is more.
There is a board room with a massive white oak table and yellow leather swivel chairs that scream their cush. There is a movie theater complete with leather reclining seat, popcorn maker, and a custom bar. The floors are either lush carpet, marble, or white oak that gleamed so brightly she swore it was covered in glass. There is a large bathroom that is all Italian marble with fixtures that may actually be gold plated.
The second level bow mirrors the first but without the infinity pool. Instead it boasts more seating and several marble top cocktail tables that almost seem to grow out of the pristine deck. He takes them back then through the main bar, the library, and the gaming room complete with a billiard table that was once Marlon Brando’s.
“There is more above, but those are the private quarters. We have capacity for up to twenty guests to stay comfortably. Plus the sauna.” He says. “But since those are not strictly business I doubt they will interest you.”
He is teasing, directing his attention at her specifically for the first time in this tour, but she will not take the bait. She is almost ruffled by the sudden attention, by the lack of it beforehand, but the majesty of the ship had distracted her.
She had never conceived a vessel could be as luxurious as anything she had seen in the last twenty minutes.
She thought she had understood wealth, had worked with her share of affluent clientele, but nothing like this. Outside the challenge of Hans Westergaard she is quickly realizing just how out of their depth they may be. The challenge of it looms like an insurmountable cliff face. Thirty eight days to meet the highest standards she has ever faced professionally all while tiptoeing through the minefield of working with a man that clearly lacked any sort of boundaries. If she even had a chance of scaling that rock wall it they needed to start immediately.
“As curious as I am sure we all are I think it best we maximize what little time we have, Mister Westergaard, and begin discussing how we can help your initiative.” Elsa responds diplomatically.
“Your every wish is my command.”
He smiles at her then, teeth impossibly straight and white. The look in his eye seems to say he only sees her. Like somehow the whole world melts to nothing and she is the sole light of his entire universe. The intensity of it is staggering and she sways a bit under the weight. His hand is on her elbow immediately, close and hot.
“Whoa there. You’ll get your sea legs before long.” His breath hits her burning cheek as she extracts herself from his hold as quickly as possible.
She steps away, careful to not make eye contact with any of the group, and gives a sharp nod. “I’m sure I will.”
There is the slightest pause before and she can feel him staring, willing her to meet his gaze, but she doesn’t. “Right then,” he says. “Let’s return below board and we can discuss what comes next.”
Elsa is careful to fall behind, and Anna matches suit with Rapunzel.
“So you weren’t kidding about him coming on strong. Is this okay? Are we okay? Do we need to call this off?” Anna rattles off her questions on a quiet breath as Kristoff and Eugene engage Hans about some of the more technical aspects of the ship.
“Yeah. Or do we need to get you two a room?” Rapunzel asks, green eyes wide. “When Eugene looks at me like Hans looked at you I know we are about to have a really good time.” Typically her innocent honesty is one of her more endearing characteristics but now the implication of her sentence makes her grit her teeth.
“He’s a flirt. That’s all. We’ve all dealt with his kind before.” She tries to keep her whisper lighthearted, but she can sense how little her companions believe her. “I’ve got this under control.”
She gives them both a pointed look at Anna lifts a brow and purses her lips. “Do you? Because you really don’t have to.”
Elsa gapes, nearly stopping in her tracks at Anna’s presumptuous question.
And just like that she swears the ship rolls and she nearly loses her balance only to be caught by her sister and friend.
“Look. All I’m saying is the guy clearly likes you and isn’t afraid to show it.” Anna forces her to keep pace with the men ahead of them as they venture through one well appointed room after another. “And to be honest - you could use a little fun.”
“Yeah,” Rapunzel nods emphatically. “You literally have nothing to lose anyway since you’re totally into him too.”
Elsa stops in her tracks, red from head to toe. “I am not!”
Anna rolls her eyes and grabs Elsa’s wrist to drag her along. “Okay fine. You’re not, but you could be. I know you want to keep your professional distance or whatever, but why not just tell him the truth about everything and let him make up his own mind?”
Elsa’s mind goes blank for a moment at the possibility she had never considered.
Tell him the truth? She never told her clients the truth. Hell, she hadn’t told Eugene or Rapunzel until they had been on board long enough to get suspicious after her second unexplained, prolonged absence. And she definitely never told any of the dates she has had the truth. She just gave them enough time to get bored, to move on, and enjoyed a few less lonely nights. She never looked for long term because she wasn’t going to last long term. So why couldn’t she just approach Hans Westergaard with the same fatalist sensibility?
Why did the idea of telling him everything seem appealing?
She knows why, but she is not ready to admit it, never will be. That niggling
What If
that has haunted her since that first insanely frustrating day: what if this could work?
What if he wouldn’t be afraid, would be down for the ride as long as it lasted? What if she had the luxury of considering the possibilities?
But she doesn’t. She made her choices two years ago and she is not going to put herself through that again. She is not going to put anyone else through that. She is just going to enjoy what time she has left and leave it at that. And she is going to do it in the familiar comfort of solitude.
“The truth isn’t relevant to the job, and that is all this is. This is a job and it is a bitch of a job. If we are going to pull this off I need to focus on what is important, and dating my client is not one of those things.”
Anna and Rapunzel share a meaningful glance.
“Don’t do that.” Elsa shakes her head. “This is professional. Nothing more.”
“Okay,” Anna rolls her eyes again.
“Okay,” Rapunzel echos with a gallic shrug.
And somehow even though they are agreeing with her Elsa feels like she lost this conversation at some point.
She knows what they want and she doesn’t suppose she can blame them. They want to give her a reason to stay, to fight, to try. They want to give her a reason to change her mind as if it was that simple. She cannot blame them for not understanding but she cannot make this harder on herself than it already is. She has enough goodbyes to say without adding one more.
They are back to where they started now. The original spread is still in place but their requested drinks are waiting, all just the right temperature, wait in addition.
She stays close to Anna as she takes her coffee and conspicuously jams herself between her sister and an armrest. Between Anna, Kristoff, and herself the new seating arrangement is a bit tight but she has a point to make not only to her crew and Hans Westergaard, but to herself. She is a professional adult and is perfectly capable of acting like one.
So there.
He seems to take it all in stride, not batting an eye when he takes his coffee in hand and sits comfortably spread out on the couch that Elsa had strategically vacated. As they all settle in, Mister Westergaard reaches for a few more treats for his plate and the rest follow suit. Elsa carefully balances her coffee as she selects one or two choice morsels. The sea hadn’t caught her yet but she couldn’t be too careful. Her stomach is already in knots.
He leans back, thick auburn hair catching just the smallest corner of light and setting aflame. His high cheekbones cut with highlight and shadow of the mid morning light. She remembers the feel of his cheek sliding along her own, the slightest brush of the silk fringe of his hair against her fingers as she had clung to him, and her eyes jerk back to her coffee.
“This is a lovely ship, Mister Westergaard,” she breaks the strange silence. “I assume you have a purpose for showing her off?”
It is not the most graceful entrance to a negotiation, but it is all she can muster. She lifts her gaze to his and sees the calculation, the wants - feels it.
“It’s my father’s. My ship - well - it won’t do for what I have in mind but I think this ship will do nicely.” He sips his coffee as Elsa sets hers aside to reach for her attache case and open it.
She withdraws her multi-function tablet. “And what exactly do you have in mind?”
They have loaded his client file with offline capability for which she is glad as she cannot bring herself to ask for a wi-fi password. She notes that the rest of her team are also bringing out their matching tablets and she hopes that they will not have too many corrections and overlaps when they finally get back to the mainframe.
He settles further into his seat with a smirk and it almost feels like he is building fortification, bracing himself for a fight he is all too sure to enjoy.
“Your company primarily plans weddings,” he does not ask as he pops a berry into his mouth. “According to your online portfolio your business is about seventy-two percent wedding related, a few baby shower, a quinceanera, and a few corporate events. Would you say this is a fair assessment?”
So he had done his homework. Or had someone else do it for him. Had he known all of this before he came in yesterday and asked her to recite job titles and functions that were all available on their website? Was this a test the way she had felt yesterday had been a test?
She sits a bit straighter: “I don’t have the precise statistics in front of me but the majority of our clients have been wedding related, yes.”
Her mind goes to the contract, unsigned and un-amended. Had he not signed it because he didn’t want them anymore? Did he want someone with more experience outside of the wedding industry? Would she have to go to battle to prove to him that weddings were just as demanding, if not moreso, than a standard corporate event? Would she have to fight for this client she wasn’t even sure she wanted?
It takes all of her self control not to fidget.
“Why is that? Why the wedding specialty?”
It is a good question. Most would assume it is the money, but there is much more money to be had planning outside of weddings and for less stress. She has a prepared answer, the standard line, but she nearly chokes on it.
She holds his gaze, levels the barrel, fires, “We believe love is worth it.”
The corners of his eyes tighten in - amusement? She cannot quite be sure yet.
“Has that been your professional experience?” His eyebrow quirks and it appears he takes a bite of his mini-berry tart to keep from smiling. It irks her just how much he irks her.
Anna clears her throat and Elsa realizes she has leaned forward, gripping her tablet between her hands like her life depends on it, and dear gods she might as well be foaming at the mouth for how crazy she is acting. She straightens, squares her shoulders, and meets his gaze.
“Our professional experience has been delivering exactly what our clients ask of us to create their ideal atmosphere and execution.”
She mentally pats herself on the back.
He nods as if to agree with her hidden sentiment. “Good. I don’t want something cold and corporate. I want something beautiful and intimate. I want what you did with Eric and Ariel’s wedding. There was - what? Two hundred people there, three?”
“Two hundred and eighty eight,” Rapunzel offers with a grin and Eugene squeezes her knee.
Hans looks to Elsa with raised brows as if asking for confirmation. Elsa nods her head. “Rapunzel is never off on numbers.”
“It never felt like that. It was a big event but it felt like having the most amazing dinner party with your closest friends. I don’t know how you did it, but you did.” He addresses the entire group and Elsa feels her insides warm involuntarily at his praise. She doesn’t want his approval to matter, but apparently it does. Then he meets her eyes and everything runs cold, hot, frigid, scalding. The look in his eye sends her heart soaring and stomach plummeting all at once, “It is a night I will never forget.”
And then they are the only two in the world again and her only saving grace is that she is sitting down. She looks down at her tablet screen but her eyes will not focus.
“We are happy to hear you enjoyed the event,” Anna jumps in this time. “We thought it was a smash. What stood out to you as being a highlight?”
Elsa’s head jerks up at that question. His gaze catches her with an easy smile that she can feel all the way to her toes, but it isn’t self-congratulatory. He is not commending himself. He smiles as if he is savoring something sweet, something secret.
“There were too many to single out just one, but I remember the dancing being outstanding,” he speaks as if the words are for everyone, but when his gaze settles on her she knows they aren’t. They are for her.
“So you want dancing at your event, Mister. Westergaard?” She uses his proper name as always, instating her distance the same way she had by forcing her seat next to Anna.
He shrugs. “To tell the truth I am not a big dancer. It all depends on the partner.”
Elsa’s ears burn and she nearly chokes on a swallow. No one else knew about their rendezvous. There was no way they could pull the subtext from what he said, but she stills feels it creeping across their conversation like steaming lava.
She forces a laugh to offset the tension she feels and is relieved when it comes off sounding halfway natural. “Well that does not give us much to go off of, Mister Westergaard. While we are thrilled that Ariel and Eric’s wedding left such a positive impression on you that does not particularly give us a trajectory for
your
event.”
“I understand.” He nods and turns his head towards the horizon off the bow before bringing his gaze right back to hers. “So why don’t I show you?”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
She cannot help but be wary. She has seen what happens when Hans Westergaard shows what he wants and she is all too familiar with that heat and tension. Her body tightens in anticipation of what he means, and does her best to hide her apprehension behind professionalism."While I am sure we all are thrilled with the mystery of your offer, it really is critical that we establish exactly what you want as quickly as we can as our timeline is so limited." She has never had a client be so withdrawn about their event or purpose before. Most clients could not wait to throw ideas and concepts and colors in her direction or instead all the things they didn’t want. So far she knows he liked the wedding because they danced and that he likes the ocean. She is in no way prepared for an event where that is the center. His lack of forthcoming throws her off balance and makes her irritable. She is not sure if it is just the Hans Westergaard way or if she is actually losing control of the situation. Whatever it is, she does not like it, but she hides her discomfort behind a Mona Lisa smile."Of course. Which is why I am going to show it to you as soon as I can. But it will require the wearing of swimsuits and the ability to swim. Are you all up to the occasion?” He is in full showman now, the elegant host, and while she feels more at ease when he is in this space she also likes it less. The conflict leaves her with feelings she promptly ignores and shoves down beneath the mental checklists ticking through her mind. “Per your vague instructions I believe we are all prepared for a swim,” she looks around at her team to get their confirmation even though she knows they all packed accordingly. “But really we have so much to cover. I think it will be best if we work through a few more steps before we get distracted.”“Oh this is not a distraction. I promise.” He peers out over the ocean, shielding his eyes to make out something. “We have ten minutes before we need to get suited up so let’s talk until then.” He leans back and sips his coffee. “I would love to hear more from the team personally. Why do you all do what you do? What part of the events you manage is your favorite?” It is an unconventional question, but what other kind can she expect from Hans Westergaard? She watches as the team all look at each other with puzzled expressions and she is glad that at least this time she is not the only one befuddled by what Hans Westergaard has to say. “I mean - I guess my favorite thing is that I get to work with my family.” Anna chimes in first, smiling at Elsa and Kristoff. “We make a great team and I don’t know many families that can say that!” She turns to Rapunzel and Eugene as well. “And I’ve gained new family members I never knew before. So it is a win all around.”“As someone deeply acquainted with the complications of family - I appreciate that Anna.” It is strange to hear her sister’s name on his lips, to see him smile at her and smile in return. Anna nudges Kristoff with her elbow and he grunts before offering:“I get to work with my hands and make my wife happy. Not much better than that.” He chuckles when Anna throws her arm across his stomach and side hugs him. “Plus there is something awesome when a client sees you build the thing they wanted just like they wanted. Makes you feel like Santa or something.”“The tables and altar at Eric’s weddings were incredible. You made those?”Kristoff tilts his head, not one to enjoy outright praise, and then nods. Hans returns his nod with a smile. “Excellent work. Truly. I have ideas for you.”Elsa sees an opportunity and cuts in: “We would love to hear more about those ideas so we can really talk them over and -”“Hold on,” Mister Westergaard holds up his hand and focuses on the petite brunette across from him. “What is your favorite part of planning events?”“Oh. I love weddings and I know you aren’t planning a wedding, but they are my favorite.” Rapunzel’s eyes widen. “But my favorite part of my favorite weddings is the kiss. You can totally tell who is going to make it and who isn’t by the kiss. When the groom really kisses the bride - or bride kisses the bride - or groom and groom - oh you get it. When they kiss them in the way that you can almost feel it from the back row… yeah. That’s my favorite part because I know we did something to give them their happily ever after.”Leave it to Rapunzel would say something fantastical. Never mind that it has absolutely nothing to do with her role in the company or what is at the heart of their events, but it is water under the bridge. Elsa sniffs.“Is everything okay?” It is Mister Westergaard. He is arching his brow in the most annoying fashion because it makes her stomach flutter and her mouth go dry and she screwed up. She drew attention to herself at the worst time possible.“Don’t mind her.” Rapunzel interjects before Elsa can even force a smile. “It’s just that Elsa has never really been kissed.” She smiles a little too broadly at her boss before looking at Eugene (who is honestly at a loss). Elsa is flummoxed by the comment and she can practically see the mischief dancing across Rapunzel’s features. She is living for this, needling her like the second younger sister she never had. Anna is hiding laughter behind her strawberry lemonade where Kristoff’s eyes are wider than she has ever seen them. She cannot even look at Hans Westergaard. Eugene clears his throat and swoops in while Elsa’s mind sputters at Rapunzel’s brazenness.“Well to be completely honest I had a bit of a rough start. I didn’t exactly use my super negotiation skills for good, but Elsa gave me an opportunity to do what I do in a productive way and that is what I enjoy the most. I like knowing I can con a deal for my client,” it is a joke and they all force a laugh. “Plus I like parties.”Even Hans Westergaard manages a smirking chuckle without all of Eugene’s history. Chances are he has files on all them from some sort of private detective or something invasive like that anyway. There is no need for elaboration.“So what about you, Hans?” Anna says, sipping her drink, deflecting from what was to inevitably be Elsa’s turn to share. “Why E&A Events? What do we bring to the table that you want for your event?”Elsa could hug her sister for the segway. Anything to focus past the horrendous mess Rapunzel insisted on introducing and keep Elsa from having to answer Hans’ time wasting question.Hans looks at them all and smiles. It is wide and easy, like he has never had any other job besides smiling at them and his response makes her boil. She hates his smile, his calm, that he had somehow gotten her on this ship where her insides are being flipped and churned and turned upside down. “I want you because you are unexpected,” he says matter-of-factly. “You aren’t what I thought I would want but somehow you are exactly, wholly, and perfectly what I need right now.” Elsa does not need to look up from her tablet to know he is speaking directly to her. She can feel his gaze as sure as she can feel the hammering pulse in her throat. It takes her best efforts to take rein of her stampeding thoughts and draw a deep breath.“That is very nice of you to say Mister Westergaard,” she pretends to be very busy taking notes on her tablet. “We are excited to dive into the particulars about why you chose us but right now I think the question we all have is just what exactly we are endeavoring to initiate.” He nods and looks again at the horizon just as the ship’s pace slows dramatically. His smile spreads. He looks back at them.“You’re about to find out. It is time to suit up.”….Elsa put on her incredibly conservative one piece in the stark privacy of a marble and gold bathroom. The couples were given other rooms and while she knows the lighting is not flattering all she can do is look at flaws in the mirror. The suit had been specifically chosen because it did not show any of her scars. The navy suit had no cut outs, barely scooped below her collarbones and shoulder blades. The suit is made out the same fabric that swim athletes use. It compresses every inch it encases but it covers everything and is not flashy in the slightest. She had told Anna and Rapunzel to leave the bikinis at home.She hopes they had or else her suit is going to look impossibly old fashioned.She turns sideways in the mirror and sucks in. She is not certain why. Her shape is her shape. There is little much she can do about that now. Her swim wrap is her saving grace. It looks much like any of the other dresses she might wear throughout the week though is slightly sheer. The almost black is burned out with floral patterns and wraps at the waist with a feminine sensibility she normally eschews, but she had nothing else that would serve on such short notice. She looks at herself once more, feels her bare feet on the cool tile and breathes. This is fine. She is simply winning over a client that her company needs to impress. That is all. She presses her hands against her stomach and breathes. She does not tell herself it will be okay. She has not done that in years. Instead she tells herself it will all be managed. It will happen and she will handle it, whatever it is. This is a test and she intends on passing it. There are risks to swimming with her condition, but she knows her team has her back. They will watch her. It will be okay.She tosses her braid over her shoulder, makes sure her personal items are stacked tidily in the corner, forces herself out of the bathroom.The rest of them are already waiting on the aft desk. She hopes she hadn’t taken too long, not wanting to raise suspicion by her lengthy change. She assesses everyone’s dress as she approaches. The expression of personalities under the instruction of ‘dress appropriately’ is not lost on her with Anna’s tankini beneath a loosely tied robe, Kristoff’s rash guard and the longest possible swimmers available. Eugene trends towards more fashionable Bermuda cuts and loose linen top while Rapunzel’s lavender suit is a one piece that hardly qualifies with all of the crazy cut outs. That leaves Hans Westergaard who stands in shorts similar to Eugene’s and a plain white t-shirt that is too tight to be decent.She tries to not notice the shape of his calves, the size and shape of his feet, but it is a lost cause. Her rebellious mind grabs onto these facts before she can convince it not to. He smiles as he sees her and it is the same earth shattering power that leaves her shaky and uncertain where the rest of the world went.“Shall we?” he says to the group before leading them out of the shaded part of the deck out into the bright sun. She squints and pulls her sunglasses down over her eyes as he leads them out past the infinity pool. There are wide steps beyond it railed with stainless steel grips and she clings to them as they descend to what appears to be a small launching platform.. At the base there is a large white space where three crew members wait. They demonstrate general snorkeling protocol that she vaguely remembers from when she was six, before this all began. They offer up equipment. They fit it to them. Then the worst comes.
Every swimmer must have one buddy. Pick your buddy and know you are responsible for them out in the water.
And the lines are so clearly drawn. She stands fidgeting with her mask and flippers knowing she is now responsible for Hans Westergaard. Anna casts her a knowing glance, but Elsa knows that damage that would be done if she let Anna be her partner. The affront will be obvious, personal, and honestly this is the least of worst case scenarios. It is just swimming. They won’t have to touch or speak. All she has to do is make sure that Hans Westergaard does not die. Easy peasy. With a return glance she calms her sister’s concerns. It will be okay. This is okay. She is okay. Then the crew is distributing sturdy plastic bottles to everyone named with only the words BODY and FACE This time though Mr Westergaard steps up to explain the reasons.“This is just a little project I’ve been working on - a new line of sunblock. If you don’t mind using this instead of the kind you brought I would love to know what you think.”Elsa holds both bottles in her hands thinking it is a bit strange, but she would rather have him be strange than charming. She had applied sunblock that morning in her apartment just in case, but the sun is bright and she is not interested in burning. She opens the bottle labeled BODY and starts with her legs and feet. The scent and feel of a lotion is pleasing. The texture is not oily or thick but actually absorbs into the skin easily. The scent is not overwhelmingly tropical but instead has the essence of eucalyptus. It is refreshing. She hates to admit how much she enjoys it.They are all standing fairly close together but the couples have sectioned off into their own little bubbles. She and Hans are on the outside, reasonably spaced. Anna has lost her robe as has Rapunzel. She is next and the idea of him seeing her in something so opposite of what she normally wears makes her heart race. What if he was cataloguing her traits the way she inadvertently was his? What if he liked what he saw? What if he didn’t? She reprimands herself. None of that matters. This is a job just like any other job and she needs to stop losing her mind over things that don’t matter.Her fingers work the tie at her side, thankful now more than ever that they all were wearing sunglasses. If he did look at her she wouldn’t know. She shrugs and the wrap falls to her elbows and then slips all the way to her hands. She carefully draws it in front of her and folds it neatly before setting it next to her snorkel gear and hopes it is bright enough that no one can tell she is blushing. She retrieves her sunblock and works her way over all the parts she had missed before until she arrives at the exposed part of her back that she cannot reach. She is struggling to bend her arms to cover stubborn spots between her shoulder blades, head bent down, and a pair of feet comes into her field of vision. She looks up and Hans Westergaard stands there with his sanctioned sunblock in his hand. He looks at her with a smile that is nothing but warm, sincere, and if he wasn’t wearing sunglasses she is sure that his eyes would hold that defenseless, human look that always rattles her.. “Need some help?” He offers. “The back is always the first place to burn.”Her decline is on the tip of her tongue but she hesitates. She can always just ask Anna for help but how will that look? No matter how infuriating and unsettling this man is he is still her client and she is trying to make a point. She can handle his flirting and still maintain a professional nature.“Okay.” She gives a stiff nod. He circles around her and that is worse. She is standing there in a garment that shows every lump, bump, and irregularity. It is not cut for flattery and she should be glad of that at this moment, but she finds herself wishing she wore the more daring choices of her counterparts. Or at least something that doesn’t look like she is about to take a water aerobics class at senior citizens center.No. She mentally reprimands herself. This is for the best. She is here to be professional, and he cannot create ideas about her interest in enticing him in any way when she is wearing the equivalent of a nuns habit in modern swimwear. She hears him open the bottle, make the necessary squirt, and she waits then for the first touch. It takes longer than expected to come, but when it does her entire body stiffens. She had expected cold but there is none of that. The lotion and his touch are warm. He spreads the cream over the available skin before he begins the process of massaging it in. She stays perfectly still, not daring to move, and does everything in her power to not consider that he is touching her, she is allowing it, and that the strength of his fingers is enjoyable.His thumbs trace the fragile wings of her shoulder blades. The slick of the lotion gives his touch a silky glide as his hands work across her skin, tracing the delicate bulbs of her spine. He comes up to where her braid hangs across her neck and pushes it to the side before she can stop him. She knows exactly when he sees it. She can sense it in his hesitation. The scar creeping from the base of her neck up under her hairline is a wide pink line, made wider and more noticeable with every cut, and is something she hides with low lying hairstyles and high collars but now… She can practically hear his breath catch at the sight. His thumbs run in tandem up along the length of her scar in impossible reverence. She is sure that he can feel the rapid rhythm of her heart against his fingertips where they rest on her throat before she pulls away. “I'm sure that's good. Thank you.” she flips her braids back over her neck in an attempt to not rub the spot his thumbs had branded and looks at him with a dare to ask her.It would be a relief in so many ways if he would just ask. If she could just tell him and scare him away before they get any further in this unnamed dance. Behind his sunglasses it is nearly impossible to tell what his intent is until a smile spreads over his face. Instead of probing he hands her the bottle of sunscreen.“Return the favor?” It is a question as much as it isn't and she can hardly keep from blushing when he strips off his t-shirt. He winks as he turns his back to her and she recognizes a challenge when she sees one.But that isn’t all she sees.Her eyes trace the ropes of his muscles as they bunch and pull as he adjusts his posture to do his own application on the front of his torso. A wide smattering of freckles swaths his broad shoulders in frenetic clusters. Despite his fair complexion there is a tawny glow that speaks of his love of being outdoors. For a long moment she stands there frozen just staring as he worked his hands down the length of his arms. She watches his hand slip over the enticingly sharp cuts and swells of his shoulder and then down lower. He turns his head a bit to cast a look in her direction with a smirking grin. “If you need more lotion, just let me know.” Then he is back to it. His short phrase jerks her out of whatever spell she had been under and now it feels like all eyes are on her. Is her sister watching, is Kristoff? Eugene definitely would be and Rapunzel probably was brokering some sort of wager about what is actually happening and what will happen. She grits her teeth. She knows if she looks to see if any of that is true she will not be able to do this, which is exactly why she doesn’t. She’s spent the better part of today convincing everyone that this is nothing more than a harmless flirtation and that she can handle it. Running away screaming because he needs help applying sunscreen is not going to do much for her case, but she knows she is going to hear about this later.So she might as well put on a show.She grabs a nearby bottle and squares her shoulders. The cap opens with a snap. She focuses on each motion as she squirts a generous amount into the palm of her opposite hand. It is too much, she knows, but it is the only shield she has. She rubs her hands together to coat them thoroughly and then, before she can lose her nerve, reaches out to touch. Even with the thick creamy coat of sunblock she can feel the heat of him rising to her touch. The broad lines of his back are long with foreign trenches and cords of muscle telling their story of use. His body is not exaggerated in size like her brother-in-law’s, but it is well formed, athletically cut. There is a kind of feline grace about him and the way he moves, the way his calculating eyes watch her move in this game she can hardly remember starting.She is more rough than she needs to be, pressing hard enough that she feels him brace. She does not take the care he did to make sure that every inch of skin is absolutely slathered and rubbed in. She works from the center of his back up over his shoulder blades and then down close to the line of his swim trunks.She stares at her own hands moving across his skin and she tries to think of anything but the idea that she is just inches away from dangerous territory. As if this entire exercise isn’t dangerous territory. She lets out a breath she did not know she was holding and steps away."There. All set." She holds her hands down at her sides, palms still tingling with his heat.He turns and faces her. "So," he sets his sunscreen on the deck and straightens. "Snorkel buddies? What do you say?"She has to respect that he is actually asking instead of just assuming. It gives her the opportunity to negotiate."We could always triple up. No sense in creating a superfluous twosome.""There is no possible way that any group you are a part of could be superfluous," he grins. "But it's statistically safer in pairs. Trust me one we get out there you will have so much to see that I promise you will be glad you only have to keep track of one other person."She is not going to ask for his source on those stats, but instead she asks: “What exactly are we going to look at?” She had not thought it possible, but his smile grew three sizes at her question.“My initiative,” he run a strong hand through his hair and fits his mask over the top of his head. “Ready to see?” She looks over to the others and they all have their gear ready to go and are watching them. How long had they been watching them? She looks back at Hans and nods. He leads them to the edge of the platform. It is a few feet above the water with a plastic and metal ladder on the side. Hans sits, pulls his flippers onto his dangling feet, and then slides off into the blue water. He pops up only an instant later and swims back a few feet to look up at them. “Water’s great!” He treads, powerful shoulder muscles rolling. “Come on in.” They all follow suit. Elsa is the last to slip from the safe edge of the boat into the water below. It is cold, not freezing, but definitely not bathtub water. The temperature is jarring at first. Her body cramps and hesitates as she stays submerged, but she manages to kick to the surface. She pops up on a sputtering gasp, reorients herself, and swims to the others. “We’re swimming to that buoy over there.” He points to a yellow speck a few hundred yards away. I recommend using one of these to help with the swim.” He raises his arm out of the water and gestures. Several life preserver belts fly over the edge from a helpful crew member and they all grab one. “Also once we are out there it is a strict look but don’t touch policy. Ready?” “When will we know we are seeing what we are supposed to be seeing?” Rapunzel asks, her intrepid curiosity shining through.“I have a feeling you will know.” He smiles and pulls his mask over his eyes. “Follow me!”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
They pull on their masks, bite their snorkels, and follow after their intrepid leader.Elsa takes the buddy system into consideration but it has been years since she has been swimming of any kind. It has been even longer since she has been in the ocean, the risk too great to warrant any casual adventures, and she can feel the movement of the water around her as she does her best to keep up. She has forgotten just what it feels like to be both buoyant and sinkable. Her preserver rests below her armpits as she kicks flippered feet and submerges her face. A quick look underwater shows little more than a cavernous blue depth at first, but as they swim the ground comes clearer. With remarkable quickness the deep comes shallow enough for her to make out the sandy bottom. A few fish dart around below as the ground seems to rise up to meet them with each stroke. Then she sees it. At first it is just a few splotches of color too far below her to really make out. Then as she gets closer, closer, those few splotches grow and spread until there is nothing but textures and color and movement of dozens of different creatures swimming in the space just below her. The coral blooming beneath her is just as stunning as the scores of multicolored fish swirl and dart amongst the crack and crevices not twenty feet below her.She understands now why the large vessel had stayed so far behind. There was no way it would be able to clear this elevated paradise. She feels a tap on her shoulder and she jerks up out of the water. It is Anna. Elsa is about to ask her what is so important when her sister points to where Hans is just a few feet away. She realizes then she was the last to have her head pop up and fights against feeling embarrassed. Their host however doesn’t seem to mind. His entire body is smiling as he pulls his mask up to his forehead and looks at each of them individually. “Welcome to the initiative.” He throws one arm in the air, the other supporting himself on his life preserver, and does not even seem to need applause. The joy of being here, of showing them this place, is enough for him. “What is this?” Rapunzel asks, her giant green eyes looking even larger in the mask she wears. “This is an ecosystem unlike any other in the world. Sorry for the mystery but there is no way to describe it. You have to see it for yourself.” His smile could burn entire civilizations to the ground by its fire, its sheer enthusiasm, and she is glad for the cool water around her. “You can stay as long as you like but please remember to not touch anything. No rocks, no fish, no coral. Whenever you are ready you can swim back to the boat.”That is all it takes for her group to begin exploring in earnest. She is about to join them, but she makes the mistake of meeting his gaze. He is a few feet away but it is as if he is right on top of her. His face is so vulnerable that she cannot understand it. She does not know what he is trying to tell her, if he is trying to tell her anything, if she is just imagining things. He looks at her like he knows her, like he wants her to know him, like somehow by bringing her here he is showing her a part of his soul. Just the idea of that is so unnerving that she clamps her lips over her mouthpiece and escapes him by exploring the wonders below. She is not disappointed. After only a few moments she was able to almost entirely forget the moment above the water.Every stroke she takes reveals a new wonder, something she has never imagined. It really is unlike anything she had ever seen. She is not one to be transcendental but she can only describe it as otherworldly. It goes on and on and on. She did not know there could be beauty like this in the world - especially so close to where she has always lived. To imagine that these impossibly incredible sights were simply hidden by a few feet of water rattles her. She knows all too well about things hidden beneath the surface. But she doesn’t want to think about that. She doesn’t want to think about any of that. She just wants to enjoy this and she does.She forgets about everything outside of this space. She has never been sick. The world has never been unfair. Here there is only beauty and splendorous surprises. She abandons her life preserver more than once to dive down and get a closer look. The pressure coupled with the freedom is something she has never felt. She stays low as long as she can before she makes it to the surface, lungs heaving but she feels alive. She cannot remember the last time she felt this alive. She blows the water out of her snorkel and gets back to her investigating. They all go their own ways over the vast expanse of reef.Eugene follows Rapunzel and Anna follows Kristoff, and it makes sense. This reef is enormous and this is a limited time opportunity. The fact that they all go with their partner to explore whatever catches their eye is fine. Still when an eel peeks out of its hiding spot or an octopus crawls across the seabed she feels the smallest twist of disappointment that she has no one to tell.She only half keeps watch for Hans Westergaard. and not because he is her buddy but because she finds herself developing a strange sixth sense in regards to him. Almost as if she needs to know where he is so her mind can rest, but her priority is this magical place. To his credit, he gives her space. Occasionally she will see a flick of his flippers in her distant periphery but he lets her explore on her own for which she is grateful. She is uncertain how long she has been swimming over this majesty, diving, exploring without prejudice when she feels a hand on arm. She comes up out of the water, sputtering. It is him. His red hair floppy and wet over the band of his mask."I want to show you something. Just hold your breath and trust me." His voice is urgent. "Okay?" Stupefied, she nods. “All right.” He pulls the snorkel out of her mouth. “Deep breath.” She fills her lungs and then she is underwater with Hans Westergaard. He pulls them down and then points into the distance, beyond the edge of the reef. Though the water is clear it casts a shadow over the space between where they are and the subject he is highlighted. It takes a moment for her eyes to pick out the massive, flat silhouette. It’s enormous body waved and flapped as if it were flying beneath the water. She watches, entranced, until her lungs cannot take it anymore.She swims up and he joins her.“What is that?” She gasps on the surface.“An oceanic manta ray,” his smile so wide it could span a mile. “I’ve seen them off the Southern Aisle but never here. Come on!”He grabs her hand and starts swimming in the direction of the creature. Elsa has no time to think, to complain and does her best to keep up with his insistent pull. When they have swam several dozen yards he stops, drops her hand, and dives under again before popping back up. “A bit further,” he says as she lifts her head in question. The swim until he stops once more and goes under. He is up before she can even join him.“It’s incredible. It is using the reef as a cleaning station.” He is back under before she has the chance to ask what he means, but since he does insist on getting closer this time she joins him beneath the water.They are much closer now and the creature that was impressive at a distance is now awe striking. Its body is twice the length of hers with wings that stretch out wide and a tail that extends behind its flat body like an arrow. It hovers in front of them by only a dozen feet almost completely still. Dozens of fish swarm its black and white back and belly biting and pecking at the ray’s skin. A cleaning station . She recalls. The fish are cleaning the ray. She watches until her lungs are on fire and kicks to the surface to breathe for a bit. He is up after her by a good measure. His capacity for staying under water is clearly much more developed that hers. He gulps down greedy breaths and leans on his life preserver. “Unbelievable. I should have brought my camera. They’re never going to believe this.”Again there is no time for questions as he sucks in several quick, deep breaths before disappearing. When she finally catches her breath enough to go under again she is amazed to see that he has moved even closer to the resting ray. He is circling close, seeming to investigate every detail of the astonishing creature. When he sees her he waves her over, but she is afraid and not just of the manta ray. She is afraid of the joy he is showing, of letting it connect to her, of giving him the wrong impression through shared experience. This day has already gotten wildly out of hand and she does not want to feed into it any more. So she shakes her head and hangs back. She lets him explore, coming up and staying down for impressive intervals as she mostly watches now from the surface as the distance. After several minutes the ray seems to have enough of the fishes feasting and with a mighty wave of its fins it propels itself forward. Its motion is mesmerizing, the flourish of a master magician coupled with the grace of a prima ballerina, as it swims off into the ocean. He follows it, but she stays still and watches it go. She is always watching things move past her and she thinks that maybe soon she will be the one to go first - to move while the rest of the world stays still. A taste more bitter than the ocean salt stings her tongue at the thought and she forces it away as she surfaces.She pulls her mask up to her forehead and rests her arms on her life preserver. Hans Westergaard’s preserver floats only a few feet from hers, unoccupied, and wonders how long it will be before he returns to claim it. She sees Anna and Kristoff's snorkels bobbing in the water to her distant right, Eugene and Rapunzel to her far off left. She thinks she can hear the occasional muffled cry through Rapunzel's snorkel and while she is not thrilled with her youngest team member's earlier comments she cannot help but smile at her enthusiasm. She wishes they had seen what she had just seen, had experienced this unexplained magic, and wonders if they have seen anything they wish that she had been with them to see. Had they even noticed her rapid trek with their employer to a remote corner of the reef? Had they thought anything of it besides the consideration of Hans Westergaard’s persistent attention? The thought prickles her conscience and she chooses to ignore it.She looks up at the sun and squints. It beats down warm on her face but still her teeth chatter. She supposes her body is not used to prolonged exposure to the cold water, knows she has not eaten enough today to justify this level of exercise, and glances back towards the ship in the distance as he swims up alongside her.He moves his life preserver under him as if it is a chair and tears off his mask."That was incredible.” He shakes his head, droplets flying, and laughs. “I never thought I’d see that here.” When he looks at her his eyes are luminous and focused. “I may have to call on you to be a witness when my friends don’t believe me.”The way he sits makes it so she can only see his shoulders, the heavy rise and fall of his chest. Drops of water cling to his jaw, his cheeks, his collarbones and glisten in the high sun like dozens of luminous jewels. There is an energy, an excitement, radiating off of him that is warmer than the ray of the sun. She can almost feel his heat from where they sit, can almost feel it melt something inside of her chest that has been frozen for too long. “Of course,” she keeps it neutral, not wanting to learn more even though she is curious who these friends are that he would need to tell and that would not believe him. Her voice seems to draw him back from whatever planet he had ventured to in his supposed discovery. He looks back to her with eyes that focus in on her with an intensity that she is certain she will never grow accustomed to: like he sees all of her faults and all and is still excited that she just exists."Your lips are blue," he reaches out and brushes his fingertips across her cheek, tucking a stray wet strand behind her ear. Heat tingles down the side of her face at his touch, so casually intimate it takes all her strength to not swim backwards and put more distance between them."I'm fine," her response is quick, biting in her discomfort, and she can tell he doesn't buy it. "Of course you are," he grins and playfully tugs at the end of her life preserver so she floats closer to him. "But I'm headed back to the boat. I have some people that need to know about what we just saw and as your buddy that means you have to go with me." She frowns, both at the increased proximity and the idea of leaving without her team. "But the others -""One of the crew followed us out on a kayak. See?" He points and she sees. She hadn't noticed them before now, had been too preoccupied with the beauty beneath the water. "If any of them need help they have a highly trained and certified lifeguard watching them like a hawk." It does make her feel better knowing that someone was there to look out for her people but going back to the boat alone with Hans Westergaard just seems like she is asking for trouble. Then again, going hypothermic on the account of pride also isn’t her finest idea. She looks around once more to find her team. They were scattered now, too far to call out to and while she is tempted to swim over to them she knows she should save her energy for the long swim back to the ship. “Hey,” he is talking again, voice low. “I won’t let anything happen to them.” She blinks as she looks at him. The sun is so bright off the ocean surface it throws strange shadows on his face that only accent the creased left from the pressure of his mask. She chooses to focus on that instead of the fact that he is so close right now, half naked, and reading her mind. “You mean your life guard isn’t going to let anything happen to them.” She does not mean to be cruel, but he frowns just enough at her comment to know the barb landed. “No one person can be all things to everyone,” he tips his head to the side. “But rest assured that I have personally been saved by Jameson and trust him to do the same for anyone else under my care.” Now she feels like a jerk, but is not ready to admit it.She looks off towards her team, “Okay, but - “ “Hey,” he reaches out with his voice and draws her back to him. “They will be fine without you. I promise.”Her mind explodes in a thousand directions. They will be fine without her. Would they? Her shivering intensifies and it has nothing to do with the cold water. She looks out and tracks for her friends, her family. She does not see them. Where had they gone? She should look for them. She is an instant away from swimming to discover them amongst the swells and sea when a warm hand touches his shoulder. Her eyes draw back to him and she swears he is only a breath away. The feel of his gentle treading waves against her legs through the water and she wonders if he feels her the same way, if the intangible contact makes her heart race and his mind fog.She swims back just enough that his hand falls from her shoulder. “They’re safe. You’ve made sure.” It is less of a question and more of a confirmation. “Yes,” he is solemn as a prayer and, even though it takes a moment, she believes him. “Okay.” She says and he fixes his mask over his face, she does the same. “Follow me, he says before turning and swimming away. She follows, mask down to take in the last of the beauty she will probably ever see. Part of her mourns the fact that she had not allowed herself to get closer to the ray while the other part congratulates herself. It was the right thing to do. She could not entangle herself with this man or his memories when she would so soon be gone from them, from all of them. When the reef fades to the abyss she lifts her head above and remembers that the world is not all color and magic. It is hard sun and salt stained lips and exhausted muscles. He is ahead of her, but not by too much. She thinks he is most likely curbing his speed for her. She is simultaneously irritated and glad for the gesture. When they do make it to the ship he grips the side of the ladder and pulls up his mask. “Take off your flippers first and then climb.” He instructs, clearly waiting for her to go first.If she was not wearing the least flattering swimsuit in the history of the world she probably would feel like he was using the opportunity to ogle her as she ascended. As it stands however she would consider it a miracle if anyone found the slightest bit of attraction to her backside in this suit. While she is glad of that in many ways - she also mourns the smallest bit of lost feminine pride. Then before she knows it they are both on the textured fiberglass platform where this all began. The sun has shifted so she knows that considerable time has passed but she has no idea how much. After beholding what was just in front of her the world around her suddenly seems less impressive. How could anything rival the majesty she just beheld? The colors, the life, the energy, the sense of endlessness and connectivity…. She is not one for sentiment but this place was beyond her sensibilities. So she stands at the deck looking at the vast blue beyond and just stares.Her limbs are heavy. Her skin tightens with the lingering salt. Each muscle seems to separate from the bone as she considers collapsing to the floor of the ship and letting every concept, every thought fall to nothing. That will not be, however. He catches her attention with a quick wave of his life preserver. She turns to see him standing a few feet away. His sleek body is obscenely relaxed beneath the punishing sun and now she knows where he got those freckles. He nods his head to the left and she notices a rain style shower head. “It’s good to wash the salt off so your skin doesn’t dry out.” When she doesn’t move he takes her hand just as he had in the ocean and leads her over. It isn’t sexual, but the level of sparks that fly from this simple contact makes her want to sprint back into the ocean and not look back. Once they are at the shower he drops her hand and turns the nozzles. He sticks his hand beneath the flow and makes adjustments.He turns to her, “There is soap in those dispensers if you want.” Her eyes go to clear plastic containers attached to the fiberglass wall of the ship. She crosses her arms over her chest suddenly very aware that while he is most likely being courteous - he is essentially asking her to shower in front of him. She is frozen for a moment and his brow furrows. “Unless you don’t want to?” His head tips to the side, eyes watching her every shift. “Because if you won’t then I will.” When she does not respond immediately, makes no move, he gives her a smile she feels down to her toes and steps under the stream. The water runs off the hard planes of his body, drips from the ends of his hair as he closes his eyes and lets it pour over him. After a few moments he brings his head forward just enough to flip back his hand and wipes down his face. In a practiced movement he dispenses the soap at the same time and lathers it between his hands. It isn’t until he catches her gaze and he begins soaping up his torso that she realizes she is staring. She turns around instantly, mortified, and looks absolutely anywhere but where she is certain there is an all too interesting display of lean muscle performing something so intimate that she blushes even thinking about it. A few moments later she hears a few footsteps and he steps past her. He doesn’t look behind himself as he passes, water running in rivulets down his well defined back, and goes to a locker mounted to the ship.“It’s all yours. The water is warm.” He pulls a towel out and begins drying his hair.The length of his ribs, the side of his abs, stretch even as his arm bunches in the vigorous motion. Her stomach clenches at the sight and she will never understand why she thought coming back here alone with him was a good idea. She turns and escapes under the water. He is right. It is much warmer than the ocean and she stands under the flow for several seconds letting it warm her, dilute the crusting of salt in her hair and on her skin. She opens her mouth and just breathes, allows her crossed arms to fall to her sides, and tries to force everything else away.After several deep breaths she steps from the stream and wipes her face with her hands. She is tempted to soap up, but decides to call it a day. There is no chance her makeup has survived all of this, but this is not her primary concern. The disconcerting heat growing in her body, the way his own feverish skin seems to be infecting her, is what has her worried. She kills the tap and stands to gather her thoughts for one extra moment. Before she can turn and face him she feels the weight of luxurious cotton settle over her shoulders and he wraps a towel around her. She jerks around in surprise, to find him there smiling. She pulls the towel tight around her shoulders and somehow remembers her manners through the raging emotions inspired by the tender gesture.“Thank you.” She says without smiling and she shivers but not because she is cold.“You’re welcome.” He smiles and steps so close to her that their toes almost touch. He is backlit, the light around his face a halo and she can only just catch the glint of his eyes as his face hovers above hers. “Now I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” ....They sit on the edge where they had dropped into the ocean earlier in the day. Their feet dangle off the edge well above the water. Elsa can almost make out the figures of her companions still enjoying the sites of the reef. The bright orange kayak stands out along with the buoy and she is sure her people are safe. He made sure of that and she tells herself it is just a liability prevention. It is one of those rich people tricks to keep from being sued, but it doesn’t feel like that.Nothing feels like it should with him and that is what leaves her the most unsettled. She wraps the plush, white cotton towel tighter around her shoulders as they look out onto the great blue beyond. “So now you’ve seen it.” He says. He’s leaning back on his palms, his torso creating the most intriguing pattern of muscle and sinew that she does her best not to notice. “Seen what?” She can hardly focus. “The reef. Its inhabitants.” She remembers his proclamation after they had finally made it to their destination. Welcome to the initiative! She remembers his unbridled enthusiasm, the breadth of his smile, his uninhibited response to their interaction with the manta ray, and though she has seen what he had dubbed his initiative she is not sure she understands. “It is remarkable, Mister Westergaard.”“Hans.”She purses her lips. “I am still not entirely certain how E&A Events plays into this.” He looks towards her and squints. She is not sure why but the sight makes her heart clench. Maybe it is the humanness of it. Not even the infinitely self assured are immune from the brightness of the sun. He does not give her time to wax poetic. “There are over five hundred unique species on that reef. More if you count what we saw with that ray. Each one is integral to the health of Arendelle’s bay, our local fishing industry, and the future of our planet and yet it remains completely unprotected by the government. You saw it happen. An oceanic manta actually came to this reef for cleaning! It is a hub for all kinds of oceanic creatures!” His tone is so full of passion, such a departure from his normally casual cadence, that she cannot help but be stirred by it. “Our initiative sets out to preserve this irreplaceable element of our ecosystem before it disappears. A sixteenth of the reef is already dead or dying. The rate is only increasing. Without intervention the entire thing will be bleached before the time we have grandchildren.” She watches him as he speaks, the expressions on his face and how they match the intent in his voice. This is not just another rich boy’s pet project, she realizes. He actually cares, perhaps more than cares, and she was not prepared for that. She also was unprepared for the mention of grandchildren. It was an idea she had never entertained even under the best circumstances. She may never have to endure the challenges of growing old, but she will never have the joys of age either. The thought of it now is bittersweet. She pulls herself away from that destructive train of thought and refocuses.“And how are you exactly planning on doing this?” Her voice has more challenge in it than she meant, flustered not only by her train of thought but also his passion.“By throwing a kick-ass party, of course.” He smiles and the world melts a bit. His irreverence mixed with his sincerity is a potent cocktail. She cannot help but feel a smile pull at her lips. “Of course,” she agrees and allows herself that because it will benefit her, the business. “So we are talking about a fundraiser?” He nods, but his expression floats back out towards the reef. “Yes, but not just a fundraiser. I want everyone to see what you saw somehow. I want them to know how important this is, how incredible. I can talk for hours about a reef and the ecosystems and their global implications but nothing compares to letting them spend time there, get to know her.” His voice is far away, but focused, as if he is letting her in on an internal dialogue previously unspoken. It feels deeply personal, like he is sharing more than he should for a professional relationship. She tries not to tense up and considers what Anna or Rapunzel would do to diffuse this situation. The sun has warmed her enough now that she is comfortable dropping her towel to her waist and resting her hands next to her thighs. “So you want to save the world.” She kicks her legs off the edge to keep that blood flowing as she warms up again. “That is what your initiative is.”His mouth cracks a crooked line. “More or less.”She looks at her lap and smiles before she can stop herself. “And here I thought the time limit on planning the event would be the most challenging part.”He laughs and she likes the low, sincere rumble of it more than she should. His hand slides over hers as they grip the edge of the boat and her smile drops just like her stomach. The touch of his hand explodes up the length of her arm, electrifying her so she cannot withdraw. “I want a lot of impossible things.” His voice is softer now, as if trying to soothe the nerves he frayed with his touch. “I suppose you could say I am a glutton for punishment.” His eyes catch hers, vulnerable and bright. The world fades around the edges and she is not sure but she thinks he is leaning in. Her breath catches in her throat when his eyes dip to her mouth for a fraction of an instant. His fingers tighten and yes he is closer now. The tip of his tongue darts out to wet his full bottom lip as his eyes lower once more and - There is a flash in the water, the sun sparkling in a new way as the surface is disrupted. Elsa blinks and straightens (had she leaned in too?). The world comes back into focus and she sees Anna swimming back to the boat with Kristoff. Their heads and still down taking in the sites, snorkels high, and Elsa jerks her hand out from under his. Her heart hammers in her chest.Had he just tried to kiss her?Had she almost let him?It had happened so quickly she hadn’t had time to react much less process what happened. Had anything happened? Surely she imagined it all. If it wasn’t for the slight head left on the skin of her hand from the weight of his she could have easily written off the entire thing.But she cannot. She can still feel his heat, the tingling sensation of where he touched her and the way it awakened every other memory of his touch and this has to stop. This has to stop now. She is quickly realizing how powerless she is against him and his constant attention. Her defenses are crumbling around her ears. She needs to get out now, call this off, get back to the shore and her sanity, and her safe, sterile life. She needs to -Anna’s head pops up. Her freckles are somehow both masked and magnified behind the enormous snorkel goggles. She spits out the mouthpiece and smiles at them. “That thing is incredible! I’ve lived here my entire life and had no idea this was here.” Mister Westergaard’s face breaks into a smile that she can only describe as boyish. He seems so genuinely pleased by the observation that she can almost feel his satisfaction at the comment. “Exactly, and you have only seen part of it. When the sun sets you will see the whole of why this reef is not only beautiful, but unique and in need of all the protection we can offer it.” The intensity in his voice winds a taut rope of conviction in her gut. Had she really just been thinking of calling off the event because she was nervous that he might have tried to kiss her? Is she really that selfish? Is she still trying to somehow make this all about her instead of where her focus should be?Her paranoia was getting the better of her. She needs to relax and quickly. She isn’t quite sure how, but she knows it isn’t going to happen when she is sitting right next to him creating realities that simply are not there. “I’m feeling a bit thirsty. I’m going to go get some water.” She moves back from the edge and stands. “Excuse me.” She does not wait for any comment or request. She just goes. She grabs her swim wrap where she had left it, pulls it on, and ties it in place without missing a step. Her hands shake on the polished metal railing as she climbs up to deck with the swimming pool. The thin dark cotton does little to ward off the chill she feels entering the shade and then into the air conditioned interior.There is no crew or staff about, but she supposes that isn’t too strange. They probably anticipated this as a time for preparation or a break before the rest of their service. She might actually be alone for the moment and the idea is a relief until a young attractive brunette in an all white service uniform appears from around a corner. “May I help you, Miss?” It is professional, perfunctory, and Elsa normally would appreciate such service but right now it makes her prickle. “Is there a place I could collect my thoughts... alone?” She needs this, to reacquaint herself with logic and process and reason.The brunette nods, her smile glowing against olive skin and Elsa wonders if Hans has smiled at her the way he smiles at her. She wonders why it matters so much to her. She notes to breathe or else she really will go entirely crazy. “Of course, Miss. If you just go up those stairs to the left I think you will find the Sunset Parlor the perfect spot.”She is all smiles and professional courtesy. Not a single strand of her dark hair is out of place and her uniform is spotless. Normally this would be the time Elsa would enquire about work history and if her employer hired her out for events or who her employer was and got to the bottom of how to make sure she had such an excellent contact - but not now. Not when her insides were quaking and nothing made sense. Instead she smiles as much as she can, gives a nod, and heads towards the stairs. When she arrives at the top she can see why this is called the Sunset Parlor. There is a single, enormous, curved pane of glass that spans two entire sides of the room. She is not entirely sure how that is possible, but it is certainly incredible. The elevation of the second deck with the panoramic view would be sure to grant the most incredible view of any sunset as long as the boat was positioned correctly and the weather cooperated (did the weather ever not corporate for people rich enough to bribe the gods?). The rest of the decor is simple by the rest of the ship’s standards. White leather furniture is framed by white walls atop plush white rugs and abstract white marble artwork standing over six feet high in waving wonder around the room. It is a space that seems made for anything other than viewing the endless horizon and sky. Her eyes go to the corner where a discreet mini fridge lives. It is one of those with the glass door, but the interior and frame are white so she hadn’t noticed it initially. She sees bottles of water inside, remembers the excuse she had given to leave the group, and decides to keep herself honest.She is half way across the exquisite room when she hears footfall that is not her own. She turns and there he is.It is Ariel and Eric’s wedding all over again.Except this time they are on a boat in the middle of the ocean. This time she might be working, but she is working for him. This time she is standing in only a swimsuit and thin cover while he is only in his trunks - the fascinating cut of his shoulders, chest, and stomach on full display. His body is lean but well muscled. The cuts and shadows of his frame are distracting at the very least. When he had come into the bridal suite she had felt in control, her armor in place, him shrouded under multiple layers of fabric. This time, this very different time, she is not certain she has the high ground.“Hey,” he starts, tilting his head down and keeping his distance. “Hello,” she backs up to where her thighs hit the edge of a couch. She stops and grips the edge for balance. The leather is like butter against her skin.He nods towards the window, "it's pretty spectacular. The view at sunset, that is." He is still approaching, but slowly. "My father has made a lot of mistakes but this ship is not one of them."It's a loaded statement, one she is sure she could find most answers to on the internet, but she is not going to do that. She is not going to figure out anything about this man besides what she must to do her job. "I am sure it is. Incredible that is," she glances over to the window then back at him. He is closer than before, only a few feet away, but he has stopped his approach. She notices his shirt hanging from his hand as he rocks onto his toes. She wishes he would put it on, but also - not. He has the lock pick expression on again. "Do I make you nervous?" The bluntness of the question catches her off guard."Excuse me?""Do I make you nervous? Because I don't want to but every time I am close to you you tense up."And she is straightening golden satin seat covers ravaged by swan attack next to an infuriating stranger all over again. "I am not tense," her fingers clench. "I am focused. I am a focused person and that is not to my detriment."She has more she could say, wants to say, but stops herself. The less she says on the matter the less chance there is of him being able to use it against her .“I bet if I rubbed your neck right now it would be in knots.” She doesn’t want to agree with him, but she is certain he is right. He, however, has had plenty of access to her neck already today and she is not ready to broach that conversation. Probably never will be ready despite the urging from Rapunzel and Anna. He doesn’t need to know.“I’m fine. Thank you.” Her mind races. So much for solitude and collecting her thoughts. “Was there something you needed? Something you wanted to discuss - the event perhaps?” “Oh. There is at least one thing.” He notices her eyeing his shirt and holds it up in front of him. “Would it make you more comfortable if I put this on?”The unexpected courtesy offs her balance once again. She is loathe to admit the sight of him shirtless is distracting in ways she does not want to confess so she attempts ambivalence. “It’s up to you.” He grins that toothy smile that makes her heart skip a beat as he arranges the shirt and pulls it over his head. He shrugs it down his torso and she feels a twinge watching the shift and bunch as his lean muscles work to get the shirt in place. She does her best to look uninterested and hopes it works. His smirk seems to say otherwise. “So what do you think?” he asks and she blinks, not following.“I’m sorry. What do I think about what?” He jerks his head towards the window. “The reef. The initiative. What do you think?”“Oh,” she crosses her arms over her chest. “If we are going to talk about this we should get the others - I should get my tablet - “ she starts walking, trying to create space, intending to get around him and to the stairs but he has other plans. He steps in and grabs her arm just as she was about to pass him. His grip is gentle but it stops her in her tracks. Her eyes go automatically where he holds her. “I don’t want to know what they think. I want to know what you think.” His voice is earnest as if her opinion really matters, as if it is all he can think about. She looks up and he is close. His eyes wide and watchful and completely without artifice. He looks like an eager child awaiting the approval for his project, like he is trusting her with a small secret corner of himself. It is too much, he is too close. She steps back and he lets her go, but she doesn’t move further away as he turns his body to face her. His expression compels her to stay, to answer. “I think it is going to do a lot of good.” She tries to keep it positive and neutral all at once. His eyes scan her face, scavenging. “Tell me what else you think.” She thinks to balk at his request, a companion to what she has been asking of him the entire day, but she can see the difference in shades between their words. He wants more than neutral, more than polite. She swallows hard, warning bells sounding in her head telling her to run but she stays.“It’s wonderful. The whole thing,” she says and she means it. “You’re building something that will outlive us all and you should be incredibly proud.” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them and her ears heat at the pleasure she sees in his expression. This is too personal and she attempts to correct the course. “E&A Events will use all the resources at our disposal to capture your vision in its entirety. Now if you are ready we can go find the others and start in on this.” She nods her head and tries to get past him but he doesn’t let her.“One more thing,” his gaze is too intense, his breathing as deep as it had been out on the reef, and she knows she is in for it now. “What did Rapunzel mean when she said you’d never really been kissed?”Her stomach drops. The last thing she wants to discuss with this man is her romantic history, but perhaps she can manage it. Perhaps she can cover the fact that every time he touches her her skin catches fire and burns. Perhaps she can convince herself that she really does not crave his touch. She feigned nonchalance with a shrug. “She really doesn’t know what she is talking about.” He hums and steps closer.“Because of the all important corporate hierarchy? Can’t let your subordinates know anything about your personal life?”It is a fair question and she remembers how Rapunzel had cried when she told her the truth after an extended hospital stay when a surgery had complications. She has known the couple for four years before they officially knew anything and she is struck by the thought that they may know her most intimate information - they also are missing large chunks. She keeps them in the dark about doctor’s appointments, psych visits, the literal pharmacy on her side table…. So he is not that far off, but she cannot let him know that. She lifts her chin. “If all you are going to do is comment on my interpersonal relationships then perhaps we should take this back to the rest of the group.” He steps in closer still and she looks down.“That isn’t all I came here to do.” His voice is low and smooth and sends chills down her spine. She hadn’t known a voice could do that.His hand catches her cheek and it is a surprise. She had not known he had gotten so close. Was this man part panther?Her gaze startles up to his.“I’m going to kiss you now - really kiss you.” His eyes search hers with an earnest desire that she has never seen before. “I’m going to kiss you like I may never get another chance. Okay?”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
She tries to speak but no words come. Her body flashes hot and cold. Her heart hammers. Her feet are nailed to the floor as her head wars with her heart and she does not have time to reason this thing through to completion. All she can do is stare at his lips and that is all the permission he needs. He leans in. All the air goes from her lungs at his approach and he chases the sound. The pressure of his mouth is pure heat and friction . He makes her keep pace, demanding and unshakeable, molding her mouth to fit his own. His free hand loops to the small of her back, and pulls her tighter against him, the other stays on her cheek to steady her - steer her - but the whole event sets her off balance. Her hands grab at his sides to steady herself. He takes this as encouragement. She cannot blame him. Her traitorous body bows into his.He buries his fingers into the thick of her hair and tips her head back so that her mouth opens under his. She thinks to protest at the gentle pressure of his tugging, at the way he commands her mouth to do his bidding, but the thought is swept away in the rushing warmth of sensation. This must be what Rapunzel meant when she said there was a difference between kissing and being kissed. Elsa can feel the difference tingling up and down her spine as Hans grazes her bottom lip with his teeth. She can feel it in the pooling heat at the base of her stomach. She can feel the weight and size of the difference as if it were a tangible thing. He is everywhere. His heat pours into her from his fevered skin and it is like she is falling into the sun. By the time he eases his mouth off of hers, she can hardly breathe. Her body feels tight, overstimulated, like a clock wound too far. He gathers her tightly against his chest and holds her there. She trembles, or he trembles, or perhaps they tremble. Pressed together like this, with her ear resting heavy over his thundering heart, she cannot deduce the origin of the tremors but can only accept them as they race through her entire body. This is bad. “Don’t.” He pulls back enough to peer down at her face, finger crooked under her chin.“What?” She does not recognize her own voice.“Don’t start thinking about all the reasons I shouldn’t be kissing you.” She almost smiles at that, but she doesn’t have time. He takes her lips again, softer this time, but insistent nonetheless. Her mouth plies beneath his request, caught off guard, and he groans low in his throat at her response. The sound frightens her. Everything about this frightens her and she breaks away on a gasp. Her eyes land on his chest.“I’m thirsty.” She says like it matters, like she came up here for any other reason than to see if he would follow. “Mmmm.” He hums softly, like he is agreeing, but he doesn’t move. He stays pressed against her like this is business as usual, but it isn’t. She does not just go around kissing clients - or anyone for that matter. He does not seem to understand that however as he leans in again to take up her mouth. Her hands brace against his chest, panic rising at how hard she must fight her every instinct to just melt into him. She cannot do that to him - to herself. “I need some water.” The words bubble up in a frantic breath just before his lips meet hers.He freezes. Each muscle of his body tightens at her words. Whatever he had expected in this moment - clearly that was not it. She keeps her eyes on his chest, not trusting herself to meet his eyes just yet as he pulls back, hands lingering at her waist. He steps to the side and walks to the minifridge she spotted earlier. It is only a few steps away but it gives her space enough to breathe. He returns and hands her a bottle of water, the fancy glass kind she stocks for clients in her own office but would never purchase for herself, and she does everything in her power to keep her hands from touching his because she is quickly learning that touching this man in any capacity is dangerous. She unscrews the metal cap and drinks. She hadn’t realized how dry her mouth, her throat, had become and she takes long, deep swallows to slake her need. It is the ocean water, she is sure, and not the inferno burning inside of her. She breaks off for a breath and finds him watching her with a calculating expression. She does her best to keep her calm.“Thank you.” She says and he huffs half a grin as he crosses his arms. “It’s no problem.” His brow furrows and he cocks his head to the side to inspect her, always gauging something with those keen green eyes.“Well, I think I’ll head below and see if the others are back yet.” Her tone is overly light, and she manages to get halfway to the stairs before he slips around in front of her, blocking the path. “Mister Westergaard, please.” “Hans. My name is Hans.” He steps closer and she clutches the glass bottle at her chest like a shield. “There is work to be done. They might be back. They might be wondering where we are,” Trying to change the subject, to avoid the inevitable outcome she sees barreling towards her like a freight train and wondering if she really wants it to stop.“Let them wonder.” He hooks one hand around her waist and cups her jaw with the other. "There's still more we need to discuss.” He stops any reply or protest by ducking down and clamping his mouth over hers with a speed previously unseen. Her entire body tightens under the onslaught. The water bottle slips from her hands and falls to a plush white rug with a thud that dully echoes her surprised gasp. He is merciless now - as if answering a challenge she had unwittingly laid down. Her insides quiver and pull at the relentless power of him - at her own weakness to turn him away. Her mind spins trying to find a way out of this, to find a way to want to stop kissing him, but fails. All she can feel is the heat of him, the faint rasp of stubble against her chin, the slick of his tongue dipping past the boundaries of her mouth. All she can hear is the syllables of his kisses, his serrated breath. All she can smell is the thick scent of sunscreen and the increasingly familiar combination of musk and man. All she can taste is the flavor of the insides of his cheeks, the tang of the ocean on demanding lips. If she opens her eyes she knows she will see him - only him - as an inescapable entity and the idea makes her dizzy. Her hands slip into the heavy salt-laden silk of his hair, clinging to him for balance. He pulls her closer. The thin swim cover she wears, his shirt, does little to conceal the hard lines of his body and even less the truth of how well she fits against him. She does not know how she got here, does not know how to stop it, as she is swept along in the hot, rushing tide of desire. Someone clears their throat. It takes a moment to register that the sound comes from a third person, her mind scorched beyond reason, but they pull apart on a mutual breath. Hans’ face lingers above hers for a just a moment, eyes dark and starstruck as if he had anticipated several different ways this scenario could have gone but none of them quite like this - none of them quite this devastating. His expression is that one of complete humanity, no pretense, that always catches her off guard. The intensity of it, his honesty, his need, is enough to make her forget their company for just one more breath.Then it is gone, whatever mask he had let drop in the moment is back in place as he pulls a smile from the corners of his mouth and turns towards the intruder. The turn of his body releases her and she stumbles back a few steps, trying to regain her bearings. She braces herself the plush back of a smooth leather couch, clutching it like a lifeline, the nearly imperceptible pitch and roll of the boat having nothing to do with her unsteady feet. As reality takes hold once more she meets the familiar brown eyes of her brother-in-law across the room where he stands on the stairs and her cheeks light aflame. “Anna was - uh -” It is Kristoff, his voice cautious - taking in and assessing the entire situation before jumping to any conclusions. A voice of practical reason when there was nothing practical or reasonable happening. “Anna was wondering if Elsa was okay.”Even steps away and with his back to her Elsa can practically feel Hans’ grin at that. “We were just coming to meet you all. Are you okay, Elsa?”He does not mean it to humiliate in the way he tosses the words over his shoulder towards her, in most cases with most girls it would not, but she is not most girls and it does. The words sting of defeat. What had meant to tease instead taunts. She had been so weak. Every inch of her body burns with embarrassment until she can hardly breathe. She stares at the water bottle on the floor. The lid hadn't been properly tightened and there is a water stain spreading on the carpet worth more money than she will ever see in her life - no matter how long it is - and she is going to be sick. Still she manages: “Yes.” What she does not manage is to make it convincing. Hans cheats towards her then, brow furrowed, and gives her a look that rocks her to her core. He looks at her like he sees her, like he caught the single frantic note in her voice that most would have missed, like he wants to check in - apologize - do something but cannot and she never expected that. She is coming to realize that she never expected most of what has come with Hans Westergaard, at least not the parts that really count. She looks back to Kristoff, back to safe territory, heart rebelling at the idea. In her periphery she sees Hans slowly turn away. The look in Kristoff’s eyes is similar and she wonders if she is actually unraveling. If she looked in a mirror right now would she see the thread of her calm, reasonable exterior being pulled from her body row after carefully crafted row?“Well we’ll see you down there.” Kristoff is not exactly close but the way he steps to the side is a clear message. Hans hesitates just an instant, clearly weighing options, then with a nod crosses and heads up the steep staircase into the sunshine.Elsa’s gaze goes to where her hand white knuckled at her sides. She is fairly certain it is the only part of her body that is not bright red with humiliation. She does not look at her brother-in-law, but she knows he is shuffling his weight between his feet - as awkward and uncertain as she is. “You - uh - you okay?” He asks, but there is so much more to that question than meets the ear. “I’ll tell Anna you’re seasick and we need to head back.”It will be that easy. He will do just that. No one will know what he has seen. No one will be the wiser, and she loves Kristoff for that. For as much as he protects her sister, he protects her as well. Part of her very much wishes she could take up his offer. The need she has to run is strong enough to leave her head muddled, to lose track of exactly why they are there, of what they have all just seen at the reef."No," she bends down and retrieves her water with shaking hands. "I'm fine. I just - I need a minute."There is a long pause and then, "You want me to drown him? Make it look like an accident?"Elsa chokes out a laugh that almost tips into a sob and looks at her brother-in-law. He is smiling too, his dorky half smile that he saves only for those who know him best. He is a good man. She is glad Anna will have him in the end. She shakes her head. "No, nothing like that.""If you say so," he rubs the back of his neck. "But Elsa, if he hurts you -"She holds up her hands and shakes her head, knowing where this is going but Hans Westergaard is not that type of guy. "He didn’t. He won’t," she is not sure why she knows this so certainly but she does. If she is honest she knows that between the two she will be the one doing the hurting. He has no idea what he is asking of her, and that is by her design.They are going to break each other in two if given the chance, but it will be by no fault of his. “What do you want me to do?” Kristoff asks and she appreciates that. Her sister (and Rapunzel even moreso) just barge forward without concern which is not always a bad thing, but this situation has her frazzled enough as it is. “Don’t say anything to anyone. I will handle Mister Westergaard,”He nods. She is not certain if he agrees with her but that is not the point. She knows she doesn’t need Kristoff to agree with her in order for him to respect her wishes, but just to smooth things over a bit in the wake of this awkward tidal wave:“But if I ever need a mysterious disappearance, you will be my first call.” The dorky grin is back and she laughs down towards her feet. They are bare. She hadn’t grabbed her sandals. She just realizes that now. She had kissed Hans Westergaard more than once while barefoot and she is not sure why that makes it feel that much more intimate but it does. She just needs a few moments to collect her thoughts. Those few moments should have already been hers. If she had just had them then she may not be in this position right now, this place where she knows just how Hans Westergaard tastes and she is going to need another one of these bottles of water STAT. “I’ll be down in a second,” she says, mind racing. “Just tell Anna I’m making some notes or something. She’ll understand.”She looks up and Kristoff nods. “Okay.”He goes to the same staircase where Hans had disappeared a few minutes before and if it was anyone but Kristoff she would reiterate the need to discretion, but she trusts him. It isn’t that he is intentionally reticent, it is just that Kristoff knew how to be economical with his speech.“Oh - and Elsa?” He stops at the top of the stairs. “Whatever you decide with - well, all of it - I’m in your corner.”She smiles and she is thankful for her brother in law. She appreciates his steadiness, his ability to differentiate his choices from others while still wanting the best for them. It is a trait that neither she or her sister had mastered. “Thank you.” Kristoff nods and is gone.It takes several breaths for her to understand her solitary state, that she does not have to wonder if Hans Westergaard is going to burst into her space and crowd her with his overwhelming presence again. Instead all she has to do is stand and breathe. She squeezes her eyes closed and tries to remember the resolve she felt when they had pulled into the parking lot. This has all been business then. She had been prepared to shoot him down at every turn but step by step, touch by touch, he had broken her down. How? How had she let that happen?She considers each contact with academic precision but her own emotions cloud the results. The heat of her reaction burns away everything else and makes her question her own reason. She shakes her head. That is nonsense. She is drawn to him, yes, but that does not mean that she cannot control herself. She knows she needs to control himself because this is a professional relationship, because she is personally unavailable. He may not understand the personal aspect but surely he can latch onto the professional one. If they sign this contract then he will effectively be her boss. There will be ways she can terminate the contract, and she is tempted to phone their lawyer right now to update their sexual harassment clause even if she is not sure what that is. Despite Rapunzel’s claim she has kissed enough men to know she can pull away when she wants, but that hadn’t been the case with him. With him she could not pull away and not because of his own force but the strange electricity that dances, joining them the second they connect.And that is the danger.She cannot go down this road where she does not have control. She cannot even chance the idea that he may feel the same shocking heat and intensity that she endures with every brush of his fingers. She knows that she only has thirty eight days left with him in theory but if he can do this much damage in only four she hates to think what he can do in over a month.Another deep breath and she unscrews her water bottle and chugs the rest. She is not sure what to do with the canister and then remembers the stunning brunette below. Surely someone like he will fix her mess on the carpet and pick up her discarded bottle. That is their job after all. She has had that job for years and it feels strange to assign it to another, but something breaks loose in her chest at the idea. Maybe someone else can be in control for once? It is dangerous. The very idea shakes her to the core. She has not been ready to cross that bridge, to fully admit that she is not going to be here much longer, but it is a reality she must face now. This is her final event.If they sign this contract they will make their annual revenue goal in one month. Their company will be set during her departure in a way that will make reorganization less stressful. They will be able to hire and train and rearrange as needed. She lets out a single, caustic laugh. She has worked for almost a decade to bring them to this point. She has strategized and fought and battled this goal along with her illness. She has hired and fired and strived through each and every goal. She just never imagined someone like Hans Westergaard would be part of the process. It is poetic somehow that this final challenge will be met with an ultimate stressor, that all that she has so carefully suppressed would be awakened in his vibrance and joy. It makes sense that the universe would continue to laugh at her with how he looks at her with unsettling focus, touches her with unscrupulous casualness, and stirs something deep inside her just by proximity.Life has never been fair to her. So why start now? She sets the glass bottle on an end table made of marble and stares at it.Someone else will see it.Someone else will clean it up.Someone else will make sure it is taken care of.Someone else.She needs to start removing herself from the equation. She needs to remember that she is not long for this world. She needs to consider just what she wants to leave behind. She needs to forget how her lips still burn from his kiss.She clenches every muscle in her body just to feel the pressure of it. She breathes into it and holds it until she cannot anymore. The tension melts from her and she is ready. She can move past whatever hold Hans Westergaard has supposed to claim over her. She will. She knows her motive, her purpose. She is ready.With that Elsa heads downstairs to face whatever the rest of this day held for her.She leaves the empty water bottle behind.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
She goes to the bathroom where she had changed originally. By some mercy all of her things are still there. She does not know why she thought they might not be, but this day is quickly showing her just how unexpected things can be. Her mouth still tingles from the pressure of his and if she is honest she cannot say it was entirely unwanted. Still: this precedent cannot stand. If this event is to go forward she absolutely cannot abide this kind of behavior.It is distracting. It is unprofessional. More than that it hints at the one thing she has not allowed herself to consider for over two years: a future. Hans Westergaard may not want anything from her more than a fling, but she cannot know that for sure. She cannot entertain anything that may have staying power and if his reaction to her is even a fraction of what she has felt when he touches her then they are in trouble.The first thing she does is breaths. She knows she tends to not do that and that is no good. She must breathe. Breath is crucial to brain function and clearly she needs as much of that as she can get. She needs to breathe.She needs to think.She needs to move forward.Her first step of moving forwards is to go to the miniature version of her traveling drugstore in the corner of the gold and marble bathroom, and she immediately starts setting herself right. She cannot get out of her wrap and suit fast enough. Even with the rinse down below she still feels sticky. She pulls out her face and body wipes and gets to work, then the lotion. It is not the type that drenched her skin with cloying scent, but instead offered a delicate perfume that she hopes will remove all traces of the reef and everything after. As she works the cream into her skin she feels her body relax. The familiarity, the sense of routine, slows the spinning world enough that she finally feels like she stands on solid ground.Her body is hers. Her mind is hers. Her spirit is hers. She focuses on that.She tells herself this routine has nothing to do with erasing his touch, covering it with additional sensation so she can forget the heat he poured into every inch of her. She tells herself that caressing her body with her own hands has nothing to do with forgetting the imprints he left on her. She reasons that gargling sharp minty mouthwash is to take the tang of ocean salt from her tongue and not the memory of his own intimate flavor. She tells herself that she hadn’t kissed him back.She wishes she believed herself, but the last point is a lie and she knows it.Still she comforts herself knowing that if nothing else it reminds her that there is life off of this boat, outside of his initiative . These steps, routines, exist outside of him. The vast majority of her world exists outside of him and would continue to be so for as long as she is alive. It is a victory, she tells herself, to not need him. All she wants is to plan a great event. All she wants is to elevate her company to the next level so when she leaves she will know they are set. All she wants is to make peace with her fate and leave her family with the resources they need for success. She dresses, glad for the shapeless way her shift floats around her body revealing nothing. She untangles the mess of her hair and combs her fingers through the white blonde mass. The salt from the ocean brings out its fullness and body. Without a blowdryer and a round brush there was no hope of taming it to lay around her shoulders and down her back without it exploding into a frizzy mess. Her fingers deftly create a braid that she curls and pins at the nape of her neck, hiding her scar.Finally she finds her silver locket and clasps it behind her neck. She may have been tempting fate wearing this specific piece of jewelry. Hans Westergaard had taken a special interest in it at the wedding after all, but she knows she cannot simply stop wearing it. It is her most precious belonging and she is not about to allow one over-inflated playboy keep her from exercising what little control she has over her life. She straightens her shoulder and swipes on just enough makeup to make her feel like she isn’t a ghost: a bit of mascara, concealer, brow fill, blush, and a swipe of nude lipstick. She has never been a gloss girl. Her fair complexion already makes her look younger than she is. She does not need help in that department, especially since she will never grow old.The thought slips in before she can stop it but it still catches her breath. It has been easy to ignore for the last two years, but she knows she is chasing the end. Time and fate do not just stop because you turn your eye. She feels them both biting her heels. In an act she hopes is fortifying she looks herself in the eye in the mirror. She says what she has said for many other days to remind herself of her position, her focus, whenever she felt lost:“The end is coming.” The words bend in a strange way in this space. She has grown used to how they unfurled in the small bath off of her studio apartment where she has often found macabre comfort in her single affirmation. What use has she for self-help mantras and manifestation when science has told her the truth? The end is coming, and it is coming soon. She has felt it. It is not constant, but just enough that she recognizes its impending presence. This is when she must bow out and relinquish herself to fate - no matter how cruel. She did not choose this, but it seems the universe did. Who is she to argue with the universe?Her shoulder rolls back, eyes catching in the mirror, and she cannot delay further. If she does it will result in her heaving herself off the deck into the depths of the ocean and not coming back up and that is not becoming for PR regarding an up-and-coming event planning business.She must face this.She considers what she has faced to this point and in many ways is able to convince herself that anything she has encountered between herself and Mister Westergaard is quite small. Perhaps, in many ways, it is. Perhaps this ephemeral chemistry has left them grasping at things that do not exist. There is no future and she is fine with that. Yes she may have reacted and even enjoyed the attention of his kisses but that does not mean she must succumb to the succulent pleasure he offers. After all he does not know what he is asking.She does not have a future. She does not know how to tell him that.So she looks at herself in the mirror and decides that after this event she is done. Of course she will do her best at finishing out what she needs to contractually, but she will not accept any more events. From here on in her purpose will be to transfer whatever authority she has to a new trainee. It is the most she can hope to do for a company that was founded on the fact that she is dying.Her head shakes, hand gripping pure stone counters veined with what she can only assume is actual gold, and this is her purpose. This is why she is here. If she can keep this event under the guise of E&A Events without ever giving away her position as she has done with everything they have done. Then their business will catapult to the stratosphere of society.They are ready. She knows they are. They all have the skill and capability to reach the heights she never will, but she hesitates. Hiring. The one thing they have never really done. Kristoff was acquired through dating Anna. Rapunzel and Eugene were acquired through Kristoff and Anna drinking at a bar and forcing Elsa to realize they were the perfect fit for their expanding needs. The intern Sven, Kristoff’s friend, fit in well enough to warrant a staff position if available, but he definitely could not fill her shoes. They needed someone who was focused on delivering perfection, someone who would balance out her obsession with black and white solutions, someone who could move them forward when her own desire for being more kept them from actually accomplishing anything. Someone like Hans . Her own mind betrays her and she takes a breath.She had not lingered in this bathroom to have her own motivational mirror time accost her so she knows it is time to go. Turning towards the door she sucks a serrated breath and reminds herself of the truth.All that matters is the deal, the zeros on the bottom line, the chance to upscale the business. At least that is what she tells herself as she tries to settle an errant, romantic heart.Romance. The very word simultaneously makes her laugh and cringe. Of course she had wanted someone to share her life with, someone who didn’t judge or query or laugh. Someone sober-minded, driven, responsible, kind… but she shoves aside that narrative. Even at Camp for Those Who Probably Weren’t Going to Make It (not the official name but the name given by her and her best camp friend in the summers spent there) she knows how unrealistic this is.Love can heal, it does heal, but not when it comes to cases like her.This is no simple saga of a single broken heart that could be bandaged if the right pair of hands came along. This is her own body declaring war on itself while requiring her to be inside of it but also sit back and watch. The cruelty is not lost on her, but she is prepared. This has been her end for a long time. She will watch until the bitter end.So she looks in the mirror. She squares her shoulders. She tightens the muscles in her back. Though not the tallest woman in the room she is above average and feels that is very much to her advantage. She will take every advantage she can during this negotiation for more than one reason.After all: what is negotiation other than having the best side of a deal? Little does she know that she is about to find out.….The rest of the party is back and dressed in their original clothes when she emerges onto the deck where they had first started. She takes stock and if she was not wound as tightly as a child’s music box she may have found the mix of mussed and professional endearing. Well, at least where her team was concerned. Her sister especially struck a chord in her disheveled pigtail braids, freckles shining on her cheeks and nose from their time in the sun, and her negligence to reapply any kind of makeup. Even in her casual professional outfit Elsa could not help but see her sister as they had been as children. As they had been before - That thought is dangerous territory in current company and she reigns it in hoping no one noticed the flicker of sentiment (and by no one she means Hans Westergaard). The situation has made it clear that she cannot afford any emotional weakness, no chinks in the armor, and she whips and beats her consciousness to submit to meet what she is so sure they need. With an effort she is chagrin to admit she meets Mister Westergaard’s eyes to find them carefully resigned, as if he had to muster a similar effort to meet her gaze. Still the moment her eyes meet his she is struck with a heat she cannot explain - especially considering the distance. She swallows nothing, throat working around the promise of relief that cannot be found in such a simple action. “Sorry to have kept you waiting,” she says around the lump in her throat, gaze scanning everything. The elaborate spread of food and drink menus have been removed and she feels a pang of hunger that makes this discovery a regrettable one. Simultaneously she is surprised she is even interested in food at this moment. Not just because of her racing heart but she hasn’t been hungry in weeks, not genuinely anyway. She knows what that signals, but has been ignoring it. Perhaps this is a good sign?She tightens her core against the burgeoning hope. She is beyond trusting herself. If her condition has gone far enough she really cannot trust her own mind. The idea sends a spiteful chill through her gut, coiling and venomous. Who was she if she could not trust herself, her judgement? She pushes at the hunger and levels her gaze somewhere in the middle of the group: “What did I miss?”Anna smiles in a way that betrays nothing. She is either getting better at masking her feelings or Kristoff really hasn’t divulged anything.“We all just got here,” her sister smiles. “We were waiting for you.”Elsa does not dare look at Hans for his response to that comment. “Well I’m here now,” Elsa squares her shoulders and shifts her attache case in her hands. “Shall we discuss the initiative?” The words themselves rest a tang on her tongue, bright as blood, and she is just glad it does not taste like him. “Of course,” it is he, his voice smooth and calm as she hoped she had sounded before. “But you all must be hungry. I have taken the liberty to make sure lunch was provided today so we can spend the afternoon discussing details.” It is only then that she allows herself to realize that he has lost his sweater from the morning and only wears the crisp white button down that had been hidden beneath. The long white sleeves are rolled to the elbows. His forearms are lean, roped with purposeful strength, and sprinkled with both freckles and thick copper hair. The sight of even part of him reminds her of how much she had seen before and unease descends upon her like a guillotine.“Certainly,” Elsa nods, aware everyone is watching for her cue. “Thank you for the consideration, but we cannot presume to take so much of your time. I am sure after a working lunch my team and I will have enough to get started on your project. After all we want to provide you with the absolute best services and we are best prepared to do that in our offices.”“Of course,” Hans Westergaard steps nearer and even at the distance of several feet she feels her calf cramp against the impulse to step back in response. “But you see I plan on being involved through this entire process. It is crucial that I work alongside you and make sure you understand everything you need to know so you can deliver exactly what I want.”She levels her gaze, steadies her breath, and sees exactly what he is doing. Just as he clearly saw her own tactic a few moments before and she has never met someone to challenge her like this. “That is the beauty of hiring E&A Events,” she smiles instead of screaming. “We can accomplish things for you in less time and with less supervision things that many other event planners cannot. That is why we hope you trust us and our recommendations. Once we outline your expectations we will only have to check in periodically to make sure we are on track.”A shadow of a smile pulls at his lips as his gaze darkens. “And if I want to have a more hands on approach?”Her breath catches against her will. Her body heats with each memory of exactly what his hands felt like across her frame and that is not part of the deal. It never will be, but she can feel the tension in the air. She can sense her crew’s suspicion rising at this exchange, inferring indiscretion, and she raises an imperious brow in counterpoint. “There are no contracts signed, Mister Westergaard. Let’s sort through the particulars and see if we are a good fit.” It is the best she can do to diffuse and redirect a conversation she can only describe as wildly out of hand. Still the look in his eye at her phrasing does nothing to settle the rolling feeling in her stomach. His enigmatic gaze tells her nothing but that she is in trouble.“Lunch sounds great,” it is Kristoff who breaks in. His voice is just a little too eager.“Yeah,” Anna chimes in too and Elsa cannot help but wonder just what she has gotten out of Kristoff explicitly and what she has read between the lines. “After all of that swimming I am starved!”Rapunzel and Eugene seem all too happy to acquiesce and she can see Hans Westergaard slip into his perfect host skin. His smile broadens, his eyes get less focused, and he moves his attention from lasering in on her to directing the party as a whole. At least he can read a room - but maybe that is what makes him so dangerous. Hans introduces the impeccable brunette that had directed her to the Sunset Parlor. Janet, her name is Janet. Elsa fixes onto that, on the humanness of this woman and how she could clearly care less about Hans Westergaard and his charm and his influence and whatever else he brings to the table as she offers the most gracious of smiles and gestures to Elsa’s crew to follow her. The group all goes ahead of them.Elsa had thought Hans Westergaard would go first but all he does is rock on his toes like a dare as the rest push into the interior of the boat. Elsa’s mind flashes to creamy yellow leather and lush mahogany wood and how if the lunch options were anything like the brunch options she may actually have to indulge (slightly). If this is the challenge he wants to lay down she will meet it. She turns and follows the group. In no less than three steps she stopped by a strong hand on her shoulder turning her to meet his watching eyes. They have not quite left the main deck and she has watched carefully enough to know that the reflective glass is keeping them from further chatter of indiscretion. That does not mean she is thrilled to be stopped before she is coupled with the relative safety of going into lunch with her team. Still she turns with razor eyes: “Stop it. This is not the right time.”“Oh? Why do I feel like it will never be the right time with you?” he pulls the easy smile she knows is not his and her stomach turns.“Stop,” she steps back and his hand drops. “You really have to stop.”Her spine tightens as she tries to not lean away even though he has not moved closer. The kisses between them still sing. She may not be the most experienced girl at the bar but she knows a player when she sees one and there is no way she is letting him get closer in any way. He cocks his head to the side, “why?”“I understand you are an influential man,” she stares at the third button down his chest, ignoring that the first two are undone, and trying her best to not remember… “But we are, well I am not in the habit of pawning off favors for the sake of business. If I gave you the wrong impression or insinuated what you might expect…”Her blush cuts her off and swallows. His voice is low and soft, “I don’t expect anything.”That rips her eyes to his. She does not know him, but she knows enough to never trust that sentiment. “Everyone expects something,” she replies before she can catch herself and her mind goes double time to make up for her misstep, for showing her authentic feelings.Even if it is true - even if he is born to an entire line that expects something - that does not give her permission to spew all over him. Still she is not about to allow her company to become the laughing stock of higher society because this man can adapt to any circumstance. There are no stakes for him here as far as she can see.So she straightens her shoulders and does not back down. His chin lowers, slow grin melting across his face. All he does is shift his weight and she has to keep herself from jumping. What if Anna - ?“What is it that you think I expect that has you so on edge?”His eyes are hooded, lips soft, and the heat of their kiss is so near to her memory it would only take the slightest effort to pull it to the front of her mind and make a terrible decision, but she reins it in.“Honestly I don’t want to patronize you with what we were both privy to,” they hold each others gaze for an uncomfortable breath then: “Before we move forward I need you to be honest about your potential contracting of E&A Events. It must have no ulterior motive beyond your event creation and completion. Tell me that you are hiring us for our collective merit, the event we could plan for you, and not for any other reason.” He tilts his head to the side with a smirk, “What other reason could I have?”She flushes, but not of embarrassment. This time the flush rises from - she hates to admit - agitation. She had though they had been on the same page, that he was actually listening to her, but that seems to be untrue. “Are you asking me to suppose that you kissed me - repeatedly - was simply out of some sort of goodwill?”His grin blossoms in full at that and it fills the room to where her whole body tense to stop a step back though he does not move. Even with feet separating them she can feel the heat of him against her and it is not fair. He rests so easy across the space from her that she cannot help but cross her arms over her chest in resistance to him.“No. I am fully supposing you understand I kissed you because I find you wildly attractive,” his smile stretches so wide she wonders if it hurts even as it stops her lungs.“Then this cannot go on,” it is a hard rush of the only air left in her body. The exhalation of this truth gives her space to suck in new air and continue, “while I am flattered there is no version of this story that ends the way you want unless that story ends with my company planning you an unforgettable event and us not getting involved in any way.”The moment the words are out of her mouth she second guesses them. Her mind goes wild with everything she said wrong or could have said better but she is glad that the truth is at least out there. When expectations are set, she has learned, most parties end up happy. Still as she watches him she cannot quite be sure that rule applies here. His hands tuck into his pocket and he rocks onto his toes. It isn’t disappointment, but there are shades of that along with other things beneath the surface that she tries to not dissect too closely. Her mind comforts herself with the black and white of the situation. These kinds of boundaries are good and what they need to be professional. She had felt unsettled before because she had allowed gray to shade them. If he couldn’t accept her terms then -“Well,” his tongue wets his full bottom lip and she can feel the gray slipping back in. “I told you I would kiss you like I would never get another chance. If that is all we get, I’ll learn to live with it.”He smiles, not his mega-watt-light-the-night-sky-smile, but something softer and more secret. It sends a thread of anticipation up her spine that she cannot unravel. Still she takes his words to heart.
I’ll learn to live with it.
He would have to.After all. She had.