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Caroline wakes slowly to the sunshine spilling over the tangle of limbs in her bed. Caroline loves her bed; its big, white, fluffy and sturdy at the same time. The two things Caroline had splurged on when she and Enzo had moved into their new apartment – the third since college – was this monster bed or ‘Caroline’s Pit’ as Enzo refers to it and her desk. Organisation and Sleep are the two masters of Caroline’s life.
As the sunlight spreads onto her bare shoulder-blade like a good morning kiss, Caroline sleepily rolls over, refusing to open her eyes. It’s a beautifully rumpled Sunday morning and Caroline has no intention of breaking this perfect start by opening her eyes. Snuggling deeper into the mattress unleashes a gorgeous soreness in all the right places, a reminder of last night. Another reason Caroline refuses to move too much is because doing so might jostle the legs entwined with her own. Klaus Mikaelson’s legs. The international artist who Caroline’s been trying to pick the brains of for at least a year for an interview. As a travel writer, she’d proposed a piece to her editor about travelling artists and inspirations, the places they go, the people they see, their favourite mediums. Klaus Mikaelson had been the top of her list, as one of the most popular, most travelled. There was also the fact that he was a Mikaelson, the foremost family of New Orleans who’d shed his family expectations to become an artist. Whatever it was, there was a hell of a story there. And Caroline had intended on getting it.
She’d steeled herself against the attractiveness of her target; tall, chiselled features and body (his penchant for tight Henley’s wasn’t fucking helping her professionalism) as well as honest to god dimples. What she hadn’t been prepared for was his disarming charm. It was the overall genuine nature of Klaus’ interest, the way he’d immediately asked that she call him ‘Klaus’ rather than Niklaus or Mr. Mikaelson. How he’d provided full answers to all her questions but then easily steered the conversation away from himself and onto her instead. Wanted to know why a travel writer was interested in art beyond where the typical masterpieces; Da Vinci, Caravaggio, Michelangelo, Van Dyck, Dobson, Artemisia Gentileschi were located. How a girl from a small town had ended up in the Big Apple hadn’t travelled there for love. Caroline had been infinitely grateful that for someone who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, whose world famous had called her a girl from a small town rather than a Small Town Girl. As the evening had worn on, it had dissolved more and more into general conversation with more and more alcohol. Hence the present state of affairs where Klaus had ended up in Caroline’s bed after what had ended up being a highly productive evening after all. And if Caroline had her way, she just might get the morning off to a productive start too.
What she had completely forgotten about however was Enzo St. John.
“Good morning Gorgeous! Miss me?” he asks with his traditional endearment and it’s the question that follows it that has Caroline bolting up in bed, Klaus’ legs be damned because she knows what comes next and she has to stop him.
“OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? OR MORE APPROPRIATELY WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? I’M GONE FOR TWO WEEKS AND YOU’RE EASY LIKE SUNDAY MORNING?!”
Too late.
See she and Enzo have this beautiful arrangement ever which is as old as Caroline’s bed and desk which allows them to focus on their respective careers. They pretend to be each other’s wronged spouses in order get rid of one night stands with the effective ruthlessness that has made them experts in their respective fields of employment.
Although calling her as easy as Sunday Morning’s a new one. She might steal that for next time, if she hasn’t murdered Enzo for his shitty timing. Caroline’s about to jump up and push Enzo back into the hallway before Klaus wakes up and hears any more before she realises she’s naked as Botticelli’s Venus. Casting around for last night’s clothes, her robe, hell she’d settle for a pillow at this point with which to preserve her modesty it’s then that she sees her bedfellow is very much conscious and glaring at her looking very hurt. Given the promiscuous reputation that is almost as world renowned as his artistic talent, which includes sleeping with his brother’s now ex-girlfriend Tatia Petrova and his current wife Hayley Marshall-Jenner-Mikaelson, he looks far more hurt than she’d anticipated. Granted both of these rumours are exceptionally untrue but Klaus had said it being something about water off a duck’s back so she’d have thought he handled this with a more blasé approach.
Shit, shit, tits, motherfucking merde.
“You’re married?!” he growls looking almost betrayed beside her in the bed, sheets pooling round his waist in a deliciously tempting manner, tanned chest marred by faded red marks of Caroline’s fingernails the night before.
This was so not how Caroline envisioned her Sunday morning going.
“No, no, I swear Klaus, I’m sorry, this is my roommate Enzo St. John” she grabs his arm with one hand to keep him from storming out while the other is busy keeping the sheets around her chest. Enzo might be her best friend but hard as he might have tried when they first met, they are most assuredly not friends-with-benefits.
“As in The Augustines Enzo St. John?” Klaus asks, looking at Enzo with new eyes. Of course that’s what he’d take from it.
“Look, Enzo will you get the fuck out and make some coffee so we can dressed and I can explain why I need a new best friend please?”
Having evidently realised his error when Caroline hadn’t played along and looking suitably abashed Enzo exits as swiftly as possible. She really does love him, even if he’s got the survival instincts of a lemming.
****
“So, let me get this straight” Klaus begins immediately as soon as Caroline’s exposed their little scheme, getting up and reaching for his shirt “The two of you burst in upon your friend in order to rid them of unwanted guests by pretending to be the wronged spouse?”
“Pretty much” Caroline winces from where she’s now sitting in her easy chair in a pair of silky PJ’s. She suddenly realises how that sounds and practically jumps out of her seat “Except normally we text each other that we want rid of a particular someone. Otherwise we stay out of each other’s bedrooms. He must’ve seen my um – bra out in the hall and assumed. I think it must’ve fell off the doorknob” she blushes, infuriated by the turn of events. She’s going to have words with Enzo about a new series of signals for each other because she’s pretty sure Klaus is going to walk out that door and refuse to see her again. So long to any prospect of a new relationship after the failure that was Tyler Lockwood or the photoshoot and column following Klaus in his artistic exploits around Europe.
“Remind me never to introduce you to my brother, Kol” he says by way of reply and though his words seem curt there’s a warmth kindling in his eyes. “You are far more diabolical than I ever imagined” he seems absurdly pleased by the notion and leans across the bed to snatch a kiss from Caroline’s astonished lips.
“You’re not mad?” she can’t help but prod the issue with a stick. Caroline never was very good at leaving things well enough alone. The old anxiety from high school, that she’ll never be good enough, that the guys she want never want her flaring up again. How can it not? This is Klaus Mikaelson, who is not only exceptionally hot, English and talented but also good in bed. It’s like a gift from the Gods and she can’t believe that despite the awkward start to their morning he’s actually still here and hasn’t bolted.
“That you’re not married? Love, I’m ecstatic” he chuckles, hand sliding across the bed to capture her hand and press a kiss to the back of her lips. “I was intending to keep you in bed till an indecent hour but given the interruption of your roommate, I figured breakfast was the next best thing yes?”
Caroline nods a little too fast to be the cool as a cucumber goddess she was shooting for but she’s too relieved to care.
Besides Klaus gets his own back seven months later when he and Caroline stumble in late from their flight back from Rome to find a lady’s purple dress and two empty beer bottles alongside Enzo’s shirt on the couch. Bursting into Enzo’s room as the jilted husband shocks Enzo’s paramour for about seven seconds before Gia insists they at least call her a cab.
Enzo manages to explains the situation inbetween threatening Caroline with moving out and asking what she wants for Christmas after he murders her boyfriend.