Pocket Pickers #projectwomanup

Pillow Talks

A/N: I CHANGED MY CAST MUCHACHOS. LOGAN LERMAN *Gaga eyes* Thank drives_ for the beautiful cover above! Check out her book too, It's amazing af

C H A P T E R 6

Okay, so maybe I was a little scared.

And maybe, as I stood in the same room, with Pierre (who felt seemingly close to me at the moment) I was a little put off. I wasn't an expert at getting married to a complete stranger. Hell, I never even had a boyfriend (not like I would ever tell that to him).

"Look," I whined, "I don't know what's the deal with your father, but he's gone off the rail. Why, might I ask, are we being forced to share a room?"

I motioned with my hands to the lavish room Ralph ever so discreetly pushed us into, and locked. Pierre uncomfortably shrugged, inching away from me.

"I don't know," Pierre grumbled, "My dad doesn't tell me anything."

At that moment, I felt slightly bad for Pierre. I mean, it's not like I wanted to be married to the idiot, but I'm pretty sure the feeling was mutual. And even though his dad was sober, his dad and mine both had something in common: Callousness.

I hid my short burst of sympathy, scowling at Pierre before walking around the room. I peered out through the vast window and almost fainted. The bright sunlight that I saw when I entered the building had faded away to a shady blackness, and stars dusted the sky like freckles. The view was quite extraordinary as I looked at the passing traffic and lit buildings. But, I would have actually enjoyed this moment if I was in my own house, and not with my unknown husband. Well, kind of husband. Soon to be husband. Whatever.

My mind drifted back to my father. What was he doing at this time? Was he worried that I hadn't come home yet? Was he drunk off his ass, or watching television? Was he crying because of mom, or me? Involuntarily, my heart deflated as my mind chose the obvious latter. I could almost picture my dad downing glass after glass, wasting away his breath and money, drowning himself in forgetfulness, unwilling to let go of his past.

I snapped out of my thoughts, and pried my eyes away from the window as if it were hyptonizing me.

"So," I started awkwardly, "Should we divide the room?" I lamely looked at my feet, feeling my cheeks betray me as they flushed with color.

"Divide?" Pierre laughed, "Woman, we're getting married. Get used to me, because you're going to be seeing this sexy beast a whole lot more than you've expected."

I cringed when he said it out loud. Sure, I could cope and mentally grieve when I thought about it, but when he forced it out into the tense air like that...

"Well, I'm hungry," I complained, ignoring what Pierre said and walking into the built-in kitchen I had just discovered a few seconds ago. I grabbed a packet of chips from inside the well-stocked pantry, and entered the bedroom once again, only to choke on the crunchy piece of potato as I inhaled sharply.

Pierre had nonchalantly taken his shirt off and was rustling through a drawer.

"Pierre..." I said weakly, instantly closing my eyes and turning around, "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm changing," Pierre grumbled. To my relief, when I turned back around, Pierre was wearing a comfortable looking tshirt on, contradicting the expensive suit he was wearing earlier.

"Well change somewhere else," I snapped, "like perhaps, another room."

Pierre looked like he was about to crack up as he looked at me. I suppressed the fluttering sensation in my guts.

"Remi dear," Pierre cooed, "This is my room."

. . . . .

"Remi, I think you're being ridiculous."

"I'm not going on that bed," I complained, eyeing the mattress as if it were the devil itself. What did he do on that? I shivered at the possibilities.

"If you're wondering," Pierre sighed exasperated, "I didn't do anything on my bed. You have my word."

I snorted. "Like I believe what you're saying, bimbo."

Pierre glared at me before shrugging and sauntering off towards the kitchen to probably look for some fatty snacks to eat. My mind unconsciously wandered to his shirtless self, where his lean abdomen was on full display. I felt quite proud of myself, I didn't react as bad as I could have.

Once, I walked into Henry changing and I refused to go anywhere with him without a stick.

"What are you thinking about?" Pierre entered the room again, but this time with a packet of chips in his hand. He continued to happily munch away as he eyed me.

"Ways to kill you," I said sweetly. Pierre chuckled, and I smothered a horrific cackle-like laugh.

"That's nice," Pierre casually sat on his bed, discreetly leaving an empty space for someone. Like hell I was going on that bed.

As if my body disagreed, my butt started to ache. Sitting on the floor for a good thirty minutes was taking a toll on my butt cheeks.

But I persevered.

Thirty more minutes later, I was crawling onto his bed, wincing at the shooting pain coming from my rear end.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to resist my charm for long," Pierre smirked.

"Nope," I gasped, "just my ass."

He gave me a weird glance before shrugging again. "I'm learning to not question your weirdness."

I gasped. "How dare you-" With lightning quick reflexes, I grabbed a soft pillow in my hand and whacked him square on the head.

Pierre coughed for a good two seconds before grabbing another pillow from his side and throwing it towards me.

The pillow almost looked angelic as it sailed towards me like a torpedo. However, it was anything but rainbows when it hit me on the face, full speed. One second I was upright, and the next, I was on the floor, struggling to get up.

"You bastar-" I started, quickly eyeing a lone water bottle. I grabbed it in my hands and squeezed the bottle's water onto his face.

The look of utter surprise on his face made me want to pee my pants.

"I'm-" sputter, sputter, "done!"

"Okay," I gasped, relishing in my tiny victory.

Pierre grunted and sulked into the large bathroom, muttering obscenities under his breath.

I fell into the bed, letting the bedding caress my cheeks and the silk pillows massage my ringing head. That man knew how to throw a pillow.

If I wasn't so dazed, I'm pretty sure I would've noticed Pierre slinking out of the bathroom with a bucket in his hands, eyes glinting with mischief.

But, I didn't. I was to busy laughing to myself (probably looking like a complete idiot while at it) as Pierre grinned ear to ear at his plan.

With a mighty heave, Pierre tilted the bucket of cold water at me. I was a second too late, staring at the oncoming water. And then, it engulfed me.

I froze at the coldness, and shot upright, coughing. Gasping for air. I probably looked like a flailing fish out of water. Fuck.

I was at a loss for words. My mouth opened and closed repeatedly as I stared dumbly at Pierre, who was having quite a moment. The cool water dripped over my eyelashes, into my ears, making my hair feel like a block of ice.

"That's what you get-" he let out a fit of chuckles, "for messing with me."

"Fuck you!" I yelled, and shook my hair. Pierre let out a yelp as freezing droplets of water hit him.

We ended up sleeping on the floor.