I stared at his laughter in surprise, a smile of admiration forming on my face as I thought, "Lucifer… what is this?"
After he finally stifled his laughter, he said, "Hormones? Huh… I love your words, you kids."
My smile immediately disappeared, and I was annoyed by the word "kids." I replied firmly, "I'm not a kid."
He replied sarcastically, "Yes, you're not a kid…"
I decided to ignore his words, as I knew he wanted to annoy me, and the more I showed my annoyance, the more he felt like he won. So, I tried not to give in.
I said quietly, "Sorry… for what my father did this morning."
He sighed and said in a grumbling tone, "Brother, where did that talk come from now? You ruined my mood, kid."
I lowered my head in embarrassment and said sincerely, "I mean it… I'm really sorry, and thank you for what you did for me at dinner."
My eyes were fixed on his shiny shoes, waiting silently for his response. I heard nothing but the sound of his breathing, which carried a faint scent of musk. Moments of tension passed, so I decided to slowly raise my eyes, to find him still looking at me sternly.
My heart suddenly fluttered, as that serious look that covered his face all day returned, and I realized that I had indeed annoyed him.
He took a cigarette out of his pocket, put it in his mouth without lighting it, and approached me, saying: "I have several questions, and I want honest answers from you."
All the joy that was in my heart dissipated; my heartbeat began to accelerate, and fear took over every part of my body.
I said in a low voice: "Ask..."
He replied in a calm but cold tone, as if it were winter: "I will not begin until these deafening beats stop... I cannot concentrate when they are singing like this."
"The beats of what..?"
"The beats of your heart..."
When he said that my heartbeats bothered him, I felt that he had revealed everything inside me. My heart rate increased, and my eyes began to blink nervously.
He said calmly, "Waiting for you..."
I tried to regain my composure, my heartbeats began to calm down a little, I looked at him and nodded for him to start.
He asked, "Why is he so cruel to you?"
But before he could continue, I started coughing violently, as if his question had stirred something deep inside me that made me choke.
He whispered gently, "Take it easy, little one..."
I stammered and said, "Um... He's not cruel... He's... He's... Kind... to me."
He raised his eyebrow and looked at me sharply, "This is not something that needs to be hidden, little one... As if I didn't see with my eyes and hear with my ears."
I felt nervousness creep into my words, and my hands began to shake, so I stammered, "I know... I know... You see with your ears and hear with your eyes... Sir, but..."
He sighed in annoyance and hit his head lightly, and suddenly I realized what I had said. My nervousness made me stumble strangely over my words.
Damn ..
He said to me in a calm tone: "I changed my mind, I don't want to ask you. Just relax, I don't want to be the reason for your fainting."
I looked at him with a provocative look, and I was about to respond, but suddenly I heard Ramsay's voice calling me from the palace door, and I got nervous. Before I left the room, I smiled at him and said: "Don't forget... I love Daemon Targaryen too."
He smiled and said with a sly smile: "The coffee I made for you is about to freeze."
I looked towards the coffee and said in a low voice: "Sorry... Sir."
He snapped his fingers as if correcting me: "Daddy."
I froze in place for a moment and asked in astonishment: "D-Daddy?"
He nodded with a slight smile and said: "I didn't like the way your father treated you... So you will become my second daughter, and it's okay for you to call me Daddy."
I grabbed the doorknob and asked hesitantly: "Is everything going your way?"
He answered me with a confident smile: "Hmm... little one... it goes as I want." I gave him a small smile and said: "Okay... Daddy."
I opened the door, then ran quickly towards Ramsay, dancing and jumping happily, an unfamiliar feeling overwhelmed me. This was the first time I had dealt with someone in a comfortable way, and not just anyone, but the person I thought was dangerous, and I still think so.
I reached Ramsay, who was standing in front of the stairs next to the palace door, her hand extended for me to hold.
I took her hand and we entered her large room, which was breathtaking. Her house looked like it was from the Middle Ages, with its grandeur and charm, while her room was another world, full of colors that hurt the eye. I contemplated the green and red walls, as if they were struggling with themselves in the chaos, while the pop pictures were spread everywhere, reflecting her distinctive taste.
"Wow, your room is beautiful!" I said with a smile.
"I know!" She replied confidently, as if she had been waiting for this compliment.
As I was browsing the things around me, I sat on her desk chair. She was changing her clothes in front of me quickly, as if she was running the affairs of state.
"I want to show you something..." she said as she walked around the room.
"Wait a minute... I'm here," I replied, looking at her.
---
I wasn't really interested in what Ramsay was going to show me, all I was thinking about was what had happened a moment ago. I was thinking about the way he smiled, and how he told me to call him "Daddy."
The word "Daddy" had always been present in my novels, and now I was living it in reality.
I started to wonder: did he really mean for me to say it to him? And what if Ramsay didn't like it or felt jealous?
Suddenly, Ramsay pointed at me with a picture on her phone, of her with a guy in a cafe.
"Who is this?" I asked curiously.
"My love..."
"What...!!!" I shouted in surprise.
"Shhh, lower your voice... My father walks around here at night."
"Batman?.." I asked curiously, inquiring about the picture.
Ramsay smiled playfully, then pinched my arm lightly and continued in a low voice: "Look… Handsome, isn't he?"
I looked at the young man in the picture, and I couldn't deny that he was attractive, with brown hair and brown eyes, wearing a tight black shirt that showed off his muscles. But from his confident smile, it was clear that part of his "mission" in life was to seduce girls.
I nodded and asked, "How long have you been together?"
"Six months."
I smiled sarcastically and said, "So, it's a new relationship."
Ramsay said seriously, "Raquela… It doesn't matter, we liked each other from the first meeting."
"Meeting?…" I asked in surprise.
"Yes, I met him on a dating app… Then we met at a coffee shop."
I didn't trust relationships that developed through social media or arranged meetings, especially teenage relationships. But I couldn't advise her directly; Maybe she's annoyed with me or thinks I'm envious.
"Great... So what's his name?" I said quietly.
"Jaime..." she replied proudly.
I laughed out loud, mocking his name.
"What's wrong? It's just a normal name!" Ramsay whispered, trying to silence me.
"Haha, Jaime Lannister... Don't trust anyone named Jaime," I said, laughing.
She raised her eyebrow questioningly. "Lannister...???"
I waved my hand at her and said in a sarcastic tone, "Forget it... and stop talking in a low voice like Gabriel is listening at the door."
"Listen, Jaime asked me to meet," Ramsay said, ignoring my words.
I raised my eyebrow in surprise. "Well?"
I continued, "And I told him that you and I met today..."
"Well?" I asked in surprise.
"And he asked me to meet... and for you to be with me."
I quickly pulled away from her, smiling nervously: "Wooohoohoo… Nooooo, wait! Did you ask for my permission?" Ramsay rolled her eyes in frustration and said: "I was going to ask for your permission when we were on our way home, but when I went back to get my mom, Jamie called me on the way and told me that he had arranged a meeting at a coffee shop, and that he would come with his friend, so I told him that we would come."
I slapped my forehead and said, "First, we've only been friends for a day and you want me to go on a date with four people? My love?! Second, if my father agrees to this, he'll cut me into pieces and send you a piece of my ass to fill the fourth chair at your table."
Ramsay leaned back on the bed and sighed, and I wished she would change her mind. I've always disliked these teenage adventures, and honestly, I didn't want to be the reason for breaking my promise to my father.
I suggested a serious solution: "Tell them I got sick or… or was kidnapped."
Ramsay smiled sarcastically and said, "Are you afraid your father will scold you? Don't worry, I'll handle it."
I replied sarcastically, "Scrimp me? If he gives me time to breathe before he decapitates me, I'll be lucky."
Ramsay's gaze was filled with disappointment, as if I'd disappointed her and ruined her excitement for the upcoming date.
I asked her in a questioning tone: "Does your father know about this lover?"
She shook her head, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, and said calmly: "I thought he knew."
Then she gave me a complaining look, and asked: "What about you? Don't you think about anyone?"
I laughed lightly and replied indifferently: "What about me? I don't have a lover, and I don't want one."
She smiled wickedly, and began to wonder lightly: "And what is your taste then?"
She stepped back and sat on the chair, and said confidently: "I bet you won't like my taste."
She waved her hand in the air and said in an indifferent tone: "People have tastes."
I replied calmly: "My taste is different from others' taste."
She insisted, raising her eyebrows defiantly: "Tell me, then?"
When she asked me about my taste, the first person that came to my mind was Gabriel. I had never experienced true love before, and all I knew about it was what I imagined in my novels. Usually, my fictional characters looked alike, but for the first time I felt like I was seeing the features of these characters in a real person.
I asked myself how Gabriel would react if he knew what was going on in my mind, and what his reaction would be if he knew that I saw him in my mind as an ideal person.
I mumbled, trying to evade the subject: "Forget it..."
I had a great time with Ramsay; she played me guitar, we danced to Billie Eilish songs, and we shared stories and situations. Although she was never my type, I felt something special about her; perhaps because she had a really good heart, despite her strange and sometimes scary appearance.
As time went on, I realized that it was getting late at night, and I needed to sleep. I asked her where I could sleep, and she smiled and said, "There are several guest rooms in the second wing… but please, stay here with me."
I had never shared a bed with a friend before, but I had read in a book that sleeping with a friend meant you trusted her and became close. I felt a slight desire to stay, but I wondered if it was appropriate.
I thought for a moment before answering, "I think I'll sleep in one of the guest rooms."
She looked at me with obvious frustration and said with a grumble, "Oh girl… why do you always go the other way?"
I finally agreed to her request, although I was hesitant, but I felt her sincere desire to spend more time with me. We started to tidy up the mess that was in the bed, and then she gave me one of her pajamas. When I put it on, I discovered that it was shorter than I expected, more like a party dress, but I didn't care, we are two girls and that's okay.
We finally lay down on the bed, and I found her putting her arm around me, hugging me tightly, while I lay on my back, looking at the foggy ceiling with its decorations that were barely lit by the dim light next to us. Her hug was warm, but a little strange; I felt like she was afraid that I would run away from her. Maybe because I had no experience with these friendships, or because it was the first time I had a friend this close.
I whispered, "Ramsay..."
I murmured sleepily, "Hmm?"
I smiled mischievously and said quietly, "I'm not your Jamie's boyfriend, you know that, right?"
"Shut up...!!"
He pinched my stomach gently, and our laughter erupted together in the darkness of the room, drowning in a moment of simple happiness.
I didn't understand my feelings at the time, why was my heart beating so strongly in front of him? His rough voice was pulling me in, his big hands were intriguing me, and his eyes, his glances, and his slight smile, all of them were igniting something strange inside me.
While I was lost in my thoughts, I slapped my cheek hard and said out loud: "Raquela, what are you thinking about... He's like your father!"
I felt very thirsty, so I looked around for a bottle of water, but I didn't find anything. I muttered to myself: "What is this girl, doesn't she drink at night?" I tried to get away from Ramsay quietly so as not to wake her, and got out of bed carefully. I opened the door without any idea of where I was going in this spacious mansion. The second wing we were staying in was the smallest, but there might have been a small kitchen in it.
My steps were slow, the cold air seeping between my legs; Ramsay had given me short pajamas that didn't provide much warmth. Finally, I found an entrance that looked like a kitchen. It was a smart red color, and looked more luxurious than our home kitchen. I started looking for a cold water bottle, until I found a glass one.
I tried to open it, but it was tightly sealed. I tried again, then again, until I lost hope. I sat on the floor in frustration, hugging the bottle in a clumsy attempt to open it, until suddenly I heard a rough voice from above me saying:
"I wasn't wrong when I said you were a child."
I raised my head towards him, a hot flush covering my face. I felt like a little girl in front of him, my mouth agape and my eyes wide in shock.
He was wearing a white shirt and red pajama pants, with black flip-flops, and he stood in front of me with his hands in his pockets and his eyebrows raised in a stern look.
I tried to mutter: "The bottle... it's... opened... cold..." but I couldn't finish my words, sometimes I act clumsily.
He said in a stern voice: "Get up!"
That angry voice was back again, his rough voice increasing my fear.
I muttered in confusion: "Huh...?"
He said even more sharply: "Don't make me do it again."
I got up quickly, but clumsily, until the bottle slipped from my hand and broke under my feet. I screamed in fright, the glass and cold water covered the floor, and the cold water reached my feet, which made me shiver and jump and writhe from the cold.
"Cold... oh... cold... cold..."
He shouted at me: "Stop...!!" His voice made me shiver and freeze in place, standing on the cold glass, drops of water slipping between my trembling fingers.
He sighed as he looked at me and wiped his face, as if trying to control his nerves.
I got used to being afraid; When he said "Stop" in that way, my heart trembled at the memory of my father's voice. My life had been a series of fears, where I felt like a worthless slave. And now I was living the same moment.
I felt the glass shards pierce my feet, tears welling up in my eyes as I closed my eyes tightly.
I heard him say in a sarcastic tone, "What's wrong? Is he that cold?"
A rage flared up inside me, I wished I could slap him; he looked just like my father, as if he didn't feel my pain or ignored it.
His eyes saw my feet covered in blood mixed with cold water, and he noticed the wound.
I saw shock in his eyes before he quickly carried me in his arms, his hand firmly on my waist, as if he was carrying a little girl.
He muttered in an annoyed tone, "Damn...!!!"
He gently placed me on the stove top, then looked at me with clear concern in his eyes.
He said in a low but questioning voice, "Why didn't you tell me?"
But I couldn't respond. I looked at the ground sadly and thoughtfully, remaining silent, leaving all the words hanging between us.
He looked at me with clear regret, as if he was apologizing for what had happened. He quickly took the first aid kit out of the drawer, then carefully took my feet in his hands. With every touch of his fingers, my face became redder with embarrassment. Despite the pain and distress I felt towards him at that moment, his attractiveness in my eyes did not disappear.
The wounds were not deep; just superficial scratches on my right foot, and two small wounds on my left. He applied the cream gently, and the touch hurt me, so I let out a soft groan, and the expression of a child in pain appeared on my lips.
He looked at me with his tender eyes, and said in a low voice: "I'm sorry... I'm really sorry."
Oh, look who apologizes! Of course, I won't forgive him easily. I might curse him on the Night of Power, but I pretended to forgive and nodded my head gently.
He continued to gently apply the cream to the deep wound on my left foot. This time I groaned in a voice that reflected my pain, so he gently held my foot to ease the pain, then surprised me with a warm kiss on its surface.
I looked at him in astonishment, and our eyes met. He said apologetically, "Sorry... I didn't know that the glass penetrated your little feet."
I whispered in frustration, "It's okay."
I looked at him, and he was surprised by my response, but he continued to carefully bandage the wounds, then wrapped my foot with a clean bandage.
After he finished, he gathered the glass with his hands and cleaned the floor, while I was still sitting playing with the tips of my feet as if they were unharmed.
He gave me a cup of cold water and said, "Here... drink, it's cold."
I took the cup and drank a large sip from it, then let out a loud sigh, saying, "What's wrong with you... how many faces do you have?"
He looked at me with a sarcastic smile and said, "Shut up, you're the last one to talk about multiple faces."
My gaze shifted to his arm as he threw the remnants of glass into the basket. He turned to lean his back against the stove, and his hands quickly intertwined as he asked, "Why aren't you asleep yet?"
I simply replied, "I don't usually sleep early."
He raised an eyebrow sarcastically, "That's why you're short then."
I smiled shyly and couldn't find anything to say.
He looked at me again and said, "What's so funny? What keeps you up so late? ... Do you have a boyfriend?"
I smiled, and when he mentioned the word "boyfriend," I let out a light childish laugh and said, "Boyfriend? ... That's the last thing on my mind."
He looked back at me inquisitively, "So what keeps you up so late?"
I sighed and said, "I used to stay up late writing... I write until I fall asleep on the computer."
A look of surprise appeared on his face and he said, "You write?"
I nodded, "Yes, I write novels... I love writing novels."
He looked at me and asked curiously, "Why do you write then?"
I rolled my eyes in frustration and said, "I told you, I love writing."
But he didn't stop there, and added in a calm tone, "And why do you love it?... Those who write, write for a reason. Those who write, write to escape."
I felt like he had revealed my little secret, so I remained silent and embarrassed, unable to respond.
He smiled sarcastically and said, "It's strange to see a child like you attached to books."
I frowned gently, and said with annoyance, "First of all..! Stop calling me a child, it's provocative... I'm not a child... Secondly, books are for everyone."
I nodded, and he spread his arms and asked me sternly, "Can you stand on them?"
I answered him confidently: "Of course, my feet are not torn as you can see, I can stand, it's just a puppy..."
But he interrupted me angrily: "Yes... or not?"
I whispered in a low voice: "Yes."
Despite his violent and strict nature, I found myself strangely attracted to his dominance, I couldn't quite understand why.
He walked towards me, put his hands on my waist gently, then lowered me to the ground. I slowly raised my head, and felt my heart beating strongly, as if its beats were violently hitting the walls of my chest. He was standing close to me, and my forehead almost collided with his broad chest. He put his hand under my chin to lift my head slightly, our eyes met, and I couldn't control the tension of my rapid breathing.
He whispered in a low voice: "Are you as tall as me?"
I answered him in a low whisper: "No..."
He gently grabbed my hand, his large palm embracing my entire hand, then asked in a lower tone, as if he was enjoying these moments of confusion: "Is your hand bigger than mine?"
I whispered shyly as I lowered my head: "No..."
He ordered me in a calm but firm voice: "Raise your head..."
I slowly raised my head, feeling as if I was tied up, like a doll he was playing with. I couldn't move, as if I was completely under his command, and strangely enough, I liked that.
He said to me in a calm tone: "So, you're a child to me... a little girl... right?"
My voice came out in a shy whisper: "Yes..." Even my voice sounded more feminine than I've ever known, I could hardly believe that I was the one talking like that.
"Good girl..." he said with a slight smile then moved away a little, wiping his nose trying to regain control of himself, then suddenly leaned over and carried me in his arms. I couldn't do anything but smile, as this was an unexpected move from him. I was moving my feet in the air and grabbing his neck with a playful smile.
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