Chapter Text
Lucanis's Log Book - Harvestmere 9:50 Dragon
The Venatori Job - Minrathous - Day 3
Fallon de Riva puts cream and sugar in her coffee.
Cream. And. Sugar.
So much cream that her coffee turns the color of the sand on the beaches of Rialto Bay. I checked her empty cup after she left the table this morning. Fallon added so much sugar to her coffee that not all of it dissolved, leaving a fine layer at the bottom of her cup, like silt.
I have never been more horrified by something in my entire life, and yet all I could focus on when I looked at the damned cup was the dark remnants of the lip stain she wears every day.
It is the color of a deep, rich Antivan red wine. I am ashamed to admit how often I have wondered if her lips taste like red wine as well. For nearly eleven years, I have wondered.
When Viago told me not to pursue Fallon all those years ago, it angered me. I thought, how dare Viago de Riva tell me, Lucanis Alejandro Santiago Miguel Dellamorte, what to do? To tell me who I am or am not allowed to court, if I so choose?
I listened, though. I did not pursue Fallon, just as Viago instructed. I let the opportunity pass me by, convincing myself that Viago was right: I would be a fool to try and pursue someone like Fallon— someone who could charm an entire room of people, including my own grandmother, into adoring her after one singular party. Someone with a smile so enchanting that it could bring any man or woman to their knees.
Dellamortes kneel for no one. That is, and always has been, Caterina's cardinal rule.
But by the Maker, Andraste, and the gods-damned Divine, I would kneel for Fallon de Riva.
It is very possible that Viago was simply ensuring that I do not make a fool of myself or my family name by pursuing Fallon.
It is more likely that he was simply protecting his own investment, the paranoid fuck. Surely he thinks that I would have been a distraction from her training and growth as an assassin.
I should not have listened to Viago de Riva.
Perhaps, if I had not listened, Fallon would have let me explain that I was trying to save her life ten years ago when I pushed her from that scaffolding, not trying to kill her.
Perhaps, if I had not listened, Fallon would have given me an ounce of grace and understanding, instead of jumping to conclusions.
Perhaps, if I had not listened, I would not live in this cursed reality where I find myself staring at coffee cups, considering placing my lips where hers were on the rim. Perhaps I would not be considering tastingthe remnants of the insidious way she takes her coffee, just for a glimpse of what she might taste like if I am ever so lucky as to be given a second chance to ignore Viago's commands.
Not that any of this would change the abhorrent way that Fallon de Riva takes her coffee.
Cream and fucking sugar. Heaps of it.
Mierda.
I cannot stand this woman.
Or her damned coffee preferences.
Fallon de Riva is the bane of my existence.
And yet, she is also the object of my every desire.
The sooner we get this job done, the better. Then I can go back to my peaceful existence where Fallon de Riva barely acknowledges that I exist.