Chapter Text
I’m going to the Hardyng Gala with Harry.” Sansa announces at Sunday brunch. The Stark family is gathered at their usual table at Versailles, sun streaming in through the open windows, illuminating the varied reactions around the table.
Arya speaks first, her mouth half-chewing a piece of bacon. “Harry Hardyng? You mean the absolute idiot that Robb always used to beat in track?” She shares a snicker with Robb, but Sansa ignores it with her lips set in a prim line.
“Sans, Harry, really?” Robb stuff his mouth with a piece of pancake. “The guy’s kind of a tool.”
Rickon perks up. “What’s a tool?”
Bran pinches Rickon’s nose affectionately. “None of your business, Rickon. Eat your eggs.”
Her mother, on the other hand, gasps in pure excitement. “Oh Sansa, that’s wonderful! The Hardyngs are a wonderful family! Have you chosen a gown yet?” The Stark matriarch is all aglow, and Sansa can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. The only person that has fantasized more about Sansa’s marriage, is her mother.
Sansa nods slowly. “I just chose it the other day with Marg, I’ll pick it up soon, so you can see it, mum.” She makes a mental note to actually choose a dress, and takes a sip of her tea.
Catelyn beams, “Oh, I can’t wait. You’re going to look absolutely gorgeous together. Maybe if everything goes well, he can be your date to Robb’s wedding.”
Arya chokes on a scone. “Robb, if he comes, you have to wear your track medals with your wedding tux.” She implores. Catelyn shoots her youngest daughter a dark look. “What?” her sister scoffs. “Have you spoken to him, mum? He’s an absolute dunce.”
“That’s not for you to decide.” Their mother frowns. “The boy is perfectly fine. He’s mannered and quite handsome. Right Sansa?”
Sansa gives a half-hearted nod. The Hardying heir is classically good-looking, but Arya isn’t wrong either. It’s as if the Gods above invested all their time in making sure their creation was appealing physically, and then grew weary and forgot to give him a personality entirely. However, she’d dealt with much worse. So, the past weekend when she had gone clubbing and ran into the tall blonde, she accepted his offer with a shrug. It didn’t matter much. She knew it would irritate Jon, and that made it all the more appealing.
Speaking of her bodyguard, she eyes him in her periphery as he stands at attention, removed from the table, but close enough that he has no doubt heard the past half hour of conversation. It’s not her most mature hour, accepting a date just to make him jealous, but she can’t bring herself to be the bigger person after the conversation that they had the past week.
Sansa turns around in her chair to beckon him over. He looks delicious in his suit, as always, but there’s a sharp annoyance in his eyes as he grudgingly makes his way over.
Jon leans down, and he whispers bitingly in her ear, “I know what you’re doing.”
She shrugs delicately. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” In a louder voice she instructs, “Have the car ready in fifteen.”
He nods, his face smoothing into a neutral expression. “Of course.” The words come out bright and artificial. “Anything, else Miss Stark?”
Sansa suppresses a scowl. She’ll deal with him later. Instead, she throws him back a fake smile of her own. “That’s all.” She replies, stabbing her omelet with unnecessary force. Catelyn raises an eyebrow at the clattering noise, but lets it be.
When brunch is finished, Sansa kisses her father and mother on the cheeks, promising to be back at the house in a couple of hours.
Eddard Stark looks sternly over at Jon, “Keep a close eye on her.” He says, gruffly. Sansa fights back a grin. Jon’s had no problem in the past keeping close to her, alright, her father didn’t need to worry about that.
Jon pales and nods quickly. “Of course, Lord Stark.”
Once they’re in the car, Jon drops all pretenses. “Harry Hardying is an idiot.” He grouses, keeping his stare, straight ahead.
Sansa only laughs. “Jealous, are you?” She leans back in the seat with a smug smile.
“You’re an open book, Sansa.” He makes a turn, his eyes still attentively on the road. “There’s no reason for me to be jealous, when I know the only reason you agreed was to get back at me.”
She shrugs, pulling down the car mirror to re-apply her lipstick. “I don’t know, he is really cute. I hear he’s good in bed too, so that’s a plus if it gets that far.” She watches him carefully now. He nearly grimaces, and his nostrils flare in irritation, much to her own satisfaction.
A heavy pause fills the car, “So, I take it you’re still angry with me about, last week.” He sounds defeated and tired. “It just isn’t right for us to – do what we’ve been doing.”
Sansa is gutted by how ashamed he sounds. “If you never wanted to have that kind of relationship with me, you should have said something before things got complicated.” Her voice sounds composed and icy cool, but her insides feel like she’s being set on fire.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes hard. “You’re not exactly easy to say no to.”
“Why?” She snaps. “You didn’t want to lose your job? It wasn’t blackmail, Jon. That first time I kissed you, I asked you. I said we could pretend it never happened.” She throws her hands up in exasperation. “You kissed me back!”
“I know.” He grits out, tersely, refusing to look at her. “And for that, I hate myself. Your father doesn’t hire me to make out with you in dark corners of the club, Sansa. He hires me to protect you.”
“Well, you managed juggling both, perfectly. I don’t know what you’re saying.” She sniffs petulantly.
Jon continues driving, ignoring her words, though he can’t hide the slight quirk in his lips.
On the night of the Hardyng gala, Sansa is dressed resplendently in a lavish Elie Saab, olive green gown that flutters around her with every step she takes in the ballroom.
Hardyng takes one look at her, and though there is definite lust in his eyes, all his brain manages to conjure is, “Wow. Looking good.” She’s pretty sure she hears Jon give a loud snort of derision behind her, but she ignores him and instead smiles brightly, offering to dance with her date.
After one dance, though, she tires of her partner. He steps gracefully enough, but he can’t hold a conversation and Sansa finds herself suppressing a yawn mid-way through a story of how Harry managed to invest in a start-up company from the Bay area. She grits her teeth together, and breaks her gaze with Harry to eye Jon across the room, who is staring, steadily back at her.
Sansa is all sorts of relieved when the strings cease, and she claps politely and pecks a quick kiss on Harry’s cheek and tells him that she needs the Lady’s room. Instead she makes a bee-line for Jon.
“God, I need a drink.” She mutters, as she moves past him. He follows dutifully, and they move out to one of the empty balconies. She hails down one of the waiters passing by, and grabs two flutes of champagne. Downing the first, and then handing the second one to Jon.
“That’s for you.” Sansa breathes, relaxing against the marble railing.
Jon eyes the champagne, “Tempting, but no. No drinking on the job remember?” He fixes the sleeves of his suit, before crossing his arms. God, he wears a suit so well, it’s terribly distracting, because that’s all he ever wears around her. It was fun when they were messing around, but now that he’s broken things off, it’s become just plain infuriating.
She rolls her eyes. “Always such a boy scout. Do you ever have fun, Jon Snow?”
His lips press tightly together. “Not all of us find stringing along random heirs, fun, Sansa.” He says, wryly, nodding towards Harry who is already preoccupied with another girl. It doesn’t bother her, she’s basically doing the same thing, right now, standing here with Jon, and wishing she could be under him instead.
“Point taken.” She goes ahead and downs the second flute of champagne. “I only did it to make you jealous.” She confesses, already a bit tipsy from the alcohol. She was always such a lightweight. “But you knew that.”
“I did.” He chuckles.
“Did it work?” She teases, drawing closer towards Jon now. He hesitates, at her touch, and regret goes through her now. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. Jon has made it clear he wants nothing more to do with her romantically. But she’s oh-so-deprived of him. He makes her feel secure, and warm, and happy, something none of her boyfriends before ever made her feel even half of. She wants to let go of him, but the fact that he spends nearly every waking moment with her makes it terribly hard to even contemplate forgetting his touches.
“It did.” Jon admits.
She blinks twice, registering his words. He definitely hasn’t had anything to drink, so his word choice is definitely not impaired. “So you still care about me?” Sansa’s words come out, near accusingly.
“I do.”
“Can you stop giving me 2-word responses?”
Jon scrubs at his beard. “I care about you.” He sighs deeply. “But it’s wrong to have feelings for you when I’m on your detail, Sansa. You know your father would hate it, he’d think I’d taken advantage of you, and sometimes, it feels like that’s exactly what I’ve done.”
“Well,” Sansa smiles wickedly. “I have a solution.” Jon only looks confused, so she continues with a cat-like grin. “I had father move you to Robb’s detail, since the two of you get along so well. Starting Monday, you’re not my guard.”
“What?” Jon splutters. “Who will replace me?”
“Brienne!” She says cheerily. “Robb doesn’t appreciate her nearly enough. So I thought I’d take her for myself.” Sansa grabs Jon’s hand and pulls him to the side of the balcony, so they’re partly hidden by the heavy curtains. “What do you say to that, Jon Snow?”
“I say,” Jon smirks. “I guess, there’s no issue now in making out with you in dark corners, then.” He declares, his lips already mouthing little kisses down the column of her neck.
“Agreed.” Sansa sighs, happily.