Red, Almost
“Sister…” Anatole sighed, a small smirk on his lips. Her eyes were focused on someone: they always were; she was always observing, and rarely ever acting unless she didn’t have a choice, society forcing her hand. But this… this was different. And unfortunately, her brother knew her well. He had a glass of champagne in each hand, and didn’t give his sister a chance to decline the one in his right. “Who’s the lucky guy?” he leaned into her ear, now free hand grabbing her shoulder to pull her ear closer to his lips.
“Red dress,” She answered simply, all poise and no emotion. She’d indulge his curiosity, but not his enthusiasm. Anatole had never known a thing about being discreet. That included eyeing the redheaded woman in question, the only one wearing the color, with his brows furrowed.
“I think the guy left,” Anatole explained, turning to look at her. “No one’s around Red Dress,” He pointed out, craning his neck again.
“Mhm,” Helene hummed, smirking and flitting her eyes towards him. She watched the realization hit him in real time, mouth opening and a squeal escaping his lips. His words came out a in British lilted drawl.
“Oh, Sister, you like keeping me on my toes, don’t you?” Anatole now took his time studying the woman as well. A crimson dress with burnt orange trim, a subtle gold glittering the off-the-shoulder sleeves, full length and decently covering. It fit the woman’s rigid posture. She looked a bit uptight for what Helene’s type had a history of being. Far more modest. To be fair, Helene’s type had never been a woman before. “No offense, Lena…” She finally turned to face him fully, one eyebrow arched. “Why this one?”
“She’s intriguing,” Helene didn’t falter. “I like how she carries herself,” Then, almost an afterthought, “Plus, there is something alluring about someone who knows their colors,” Anatole laughed at that, and Helene took it as a sign to look away from him and towards the woman in red, taking a long sip from her champagne flute. “You could learn from her,” Anatole made an offended noise, hand over his heart.
“I look good in white,”
“White indicates purity, innocence…” She disclosed smoothly after a moment. “…things you lack,”
“You’ve grown quite the tongue. Papa’s friends won’t like that, you know,” He pointed out, but the smile indicated there were no hurt feelings. Even if there were, Anatole had no ground to stand on opposing it. He knew what he was, and Helene did as well. “What’s the color red looking like then, Holmes?” He asked her instead, taking a sip of his beverage, seeming to contemplate the taste as Helene spoke with all the confidence in the world.
“Got a little bite to her,” Helene’s eyes found her once more. “I just know it,”
Anatole chuckled softly, but didn’t verbally encourage her. The closest he came was a faint gesture of the head in her general direction.
--
Helene would have to be foolish to think Marya did not notice eyes on her. The redhead, however, had heard plenty about the brunette as a whole, including that the young woman was plenty familiar with how to use her… assets to get what she wanted. Her reputation was certainly not stellar, but that did not mean Marya wasn’t allowed to look, did it?
The Dragon of Millionaire Society decided the answer was no as Helene walked directly up to her. There was no flinching, no hesitation as she very smoothly slid into the narrow passageway Marya had burrowed herself into.
“Ah, I see your father has stopped parading you around for the night?” Marya suggested, elbow resting against the windowsill as her eyes moved over the slightly shorter woman, one eyebrow raised. She expected the brunette to shy away-to give her back the space she’d encroached on, and yet a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.
“So you’ve been watching me?” Marya did not point out the fact she was well aware Helene had been doing the same. Maybe for her own nerves. Maybe because an automatic remark had already begun to fall past her lips.
“Your father is the one hosting this event, so I would indeed say so,” She was curt with her words, though unsuccessful in casting Helene off. To be fair, she was warned; the Kuragins were nothing if not insistent. “You seemed quieter from a distance,”
Helene dismissed the last comment entirely with a noncommittal shrug of her shoulders. Instead, cocked her head to the side, leaning her hip and shoulder into the wall, arms crossed. She was well aware of how Marya’s eyes wandered, but she was always the type to keep her cards close. And if Marya wanted to think she was playing hard to get, if that got her the results and escape she wanted, she’d play by the redhead’s rules. “Where’re yours?” Helene’s voice was something nonchalant.
“My what?” Marya asked in return, brows furrowing. Vague was, as much as she hated to admit it, intriguing.
“Family,”
“They trust me to be alone and not misbehave,” Marya’s voice was flat, lips pressed in a line as her eyes fell on the woman’s lips, and the whiteness of her teeth as she smiled, laughing at the redhead’s comment. “I wasn’t joking,”
“I know,” Helene took a step forward. “You don’t seem like the joking type,” Slender, jeweled fingers wrapped around Marya’s wine glass, pulling it to her lips. Dark amber eyes remained on Marya, watching the woman swallow hard.
“I’m shocked your father turned you loose,” Marya scoffed.
“Why? He knows I’ll ‘behave’,” She air-quoted, nose crinkled mockingly as she took a long, drawn out sip from the glass that was- at one point not long ago-in Marya’s hands.
“Based on how close you are to me, I don’t think he’s correct,” The redhead commented, but did not step away when Helene took another step into her. Close enough Marya could smell alcohol a lot stronger than what was in either of their glasses on her breath, mixing with the aroma of jasmine that lingered over dark ringlets tucked for the most part behind her shoulders.
“Is that a problem for you, Miss…?” Helene purred, placing Marya’s glass very slowly next to hers.
Marya’s body was telling her a very, very troubling thing. A very troubling desire she was trying to stomach with excuses she didn’t know or have. “I think if your father found out what we-“
“I’m glad we are on the same page,” Helene didn’t allow her to finish, smirking but shockingly enough taking a step back. It was weird, Marya decided, to wish she had gotten closer a second time. It took several stunned moments to conclude Helene was well aware what both of them were thinking-what both of them knew was bound to happen. And what Marya was trying to combat. No woman should have been able to look this good, nevertheless stand in front of her in a velvet green dress with a slit that was far too high to be modest, lined on the inside with black satin.
The audacity Miss Kuragin had.
Then again, Marya didn’t mind bold.
“Perhaps we should get to know each other better,” Marya suggested, and Helene made quite a dramatic sigh, glancing up at the chandelier overhead.
“Now where’s the fun in that? There’s no surprises,” Marya learned the woman’s skin was as soft as her lips looked when her fingers trailed over her collarbone. Helene’s head cocked to the side, humming in contemplation. It was a tune Marya recognized, though from where she didn’t know.
“What is that?” Marya asked, feeling chills run up her spine when their eyes met once more. Maybe it was the way the chandeliers glistened in Helene’s eyes, or perhaps it was the mischief written on her face that Marya had never known before. Maybe it was-
“Hm?” Helene didn’t hear the question completely, too focused on wondering what Marya’s skin would look like covered in teeth marks. How beautiful the bruises would look knowing she made them.
“You were humming something,” Marya told her, voice beginning to tremor slightly as Helene stepped even closer, not as gently as she expected pushing her against the wall.
“You mean Jazz Suite Number 2,” She answered, but seemed more preoccupied in how one hand found the redhead’s hips, the other reaching through Marya’s hair, giving it a small tug to test the waters. “The Waltz,”
Marya nodded, her own hand sliding to the small of Helene’s back. There were a lot of things Marya expected from Helene, and being a tease was not one of them, however her lips went to her jaw, almost curiously. Carefully. Marya thought she had control, and it was a bit jarring how quickly she lost it. Only seconds, and her patience was wearing thin. “Kiss,” Marya growled impatiently, not willing to wait with her so close. She stuck her thigh between the girl’s legs unable to control a small smile and Helene’s melodious laughter.
“You know what you want, don’t you?” Marya nodded, but Helene didn’t untangle her hand from fiery red hair, curling her fingers and running them up to her scalp. Marya knew what she wanted, but it was not what she got.
What hurt even worse was she would have. She would have if there was not the quiet sound of a wolf whistle. The words “Oh for fuck’s sake,” ghosted over Marya’s throat before she felt hands slide off of her, cold air now where she didn’t want it to be.
“As much fun as I’m sure you are both having…” The male with a snow white suit jacket leaned his back against the wall, raising his glass in a cheers to their circumstance. “Papa is requesting you,” Blue eyes locked on Helene’s face, quite beautiful up close by the way, and the rolling of her eyes.
“He can wait,” The brunette opposed with a small huff.
“You know Vasily does not do waiting,” He told her slowly, walking closer to them. The unabashed nature of the way he approached brushed Marya the wrong way. He held out an elegant hand for Helene to take, flashing Marya an apologetic, knowing smile. “Shall we?”
Helene half outstretched her hand towards her brother, abruptly stopping halfway through the motion to turn her head back towards Marya. “What’s your name, darling?”
“Marya,” Helene gave a small bow of her head, meek and shy and completely unlike how the brunette had just been.
“All the reason to come to our family’s next gala, yes?” Lip between her teeth, Marya found it was unfair to look at her like that and walk away leaving Marya to wonder still what her lips tasted like.