Foto bij 814 - Emma

The door slamming shut isn't a good sign, though the sound does its job of drowning out the thoughts I had been lost in ever since I got home.
There's a box of the Griffin's homemade apple and blueberry muffins on the counter, untouched, next to my glass of wine which definitely has been touched multiple times over the past hour.
"I'm in the kitchen," I call out, staring at the ingredients also laid out in front of me. I hear the pitter patter of animal feet and the sturdy steps of Lucien's feet, then the glass dangling of our whiskey decanter, then his sigh when he steps into the kitchen. From the look on his face, I can tell that something has happened. Something other than Callum annoying him, or belittling him. This must have been something big, because the frown is back and it looks like it's here to stay. I push all of my own thoughts and worries to the back of my head, where they now form a depressing image of a job-less and child-less future.
"What happened?" I ask, watching as Frank walks in circles around Lucien's feet to ask for food.
"Callum...," he lets out, taking a big sip from his glass. "He's..." Silence, then a cold laugh. "Engaged. To no one other than Maximillian Douglas' sister."
I bite down on my lip hard to hold back the frustrated scream I'd like to let out. Of course it can only get more and more difficult. It can't just be a case against a powerful family, it has to be a case in which my abusive ex is somehow involved.
"He rubbed it in my face, said that he himself had convinced Leopold to file the complaint. That he'd made it his twisted life mission to..." He doesn't finish the sentence, because we both know where this is going. Callum wants to see us break, he won't stop until we lose. I thought winning the lawsuit against him would get him off of our back, but his stunt with Piper and now apparently the Douglas family has proven quite the oposite.
"I'm not cooking dinner," I groan, a frustrating buzz now in my head from the few glasses of wine and the anger that the mere mention of Callum's involvement in this case. "I don't care what we have for dinner, as long as it comes in delivery form."
"We can still run away to Iceland together," he offers, placing his hands flat on the counter. "Live off of the land, hang out in the hot springs, make a few babies so they can take care of us when we're old and grey..."
There come the worries, pushed back to a corner of my thoughts, like a painful ping. I pull my phone out of my pocket, reaching it out in his direction. "How about you order something, and I'll feed the animals, deal? We can watch that new reality show during dinner."
      Dinner consists out of greasy pizza and lava cakes that are far from the way Lucien makes them, but they're good enough.
Though it has been sunny for the past few days, rain has started pouring and it adds to the ambience and the storm raging in both of our heads.
Not only is the hearing looming over us like a dark cloud, now we have Callum's involvement to deal with as well, and the infertility bomb Selene dropped on me today adds a nice bit of spice to every single scenario my brain can come up with.
Lucien dozes off for a while with his head on my chest, though I can't imagine he has a peaceful sleep knowing how fast my heart is pounding, only inches away from a panic attack. It's good to see him calm enough to nap, though, so I let him sleep, even when my arm falls asleep and he presses down on my bladder.
He wakes up when Frank jumps up on the couch, swinging his tail in Lucien's face. With the sleep still in his eyes, he nuzzles his face into my chest more, then presses a kiss to that one spot in my neck that borders between sexual and loving.
"All I dreamt of was murder," he then sighs. "And I know that's not the solution, but my dreams sure made it seem like it is. I think I could get away with it, too."
I smile, taking the fact that he's lifted his head up as an opportunity to shake my arm until blood reaches it again, then taking a sip from my glass of wine.
"Like I said," I smile, "I'll help you, and then we'll run away together."
He nods, pressing a kiss to my lips and letting his hands wander down my body, stopping in certain places for a longer amount of time than others. "How will we do it?"
"Poison," I chuckle, trying to distract my mind from the obvious hints he's giving me that immediately remind me of the worries in my head. "It's the least messy way."
"It also isn't quite as satisfying as, say, watching the light in his eyes disappear," his lips find that spot in my neck once more, "but you're probably right."
"Luce," I say when his hands, now on my back, toy with the clasp of my bra through the material of my shirt. "I'm not really in the mood."
His hands stop dead in their tracks and his lips leave my skin as he leans back. "Is it the murder talk?" he chuckles. "I understand, that isn't too sexy, now is it? But we can talk about something else to get you in the mood, like..."
"It's not the murder talk," I smile weakly, interrupting him, "I'm just not feeling it right now. Greasy pizza and chocolate, and... I'm sorry."
He presses a kiss to my lips delicately. "No need to apologise, my love. That's alright. How about I run us a hot bath?"

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