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Felicity stared; her gaze trained on the shiny tube of metal resting against the toe of her magenta high heel. Her favorite pair. She remembered sliding them on earlier that night, checking her matching lipstick one last time, spritzing on her favorite perfume and slipping in her sparkling, dangle earrings. She’d been so excited. Nervous but excited. Who wouldn’t be nervous about a date with Oliver Queen. The Oliver Queen. Billionaire, playboy, lost-heir-miraculously-returned, CEO, and if the rumors were true part of the criminal underworld. After the previous week Felicity had believed the rumors. She just hadn’t cared. One night she’d told herself. One night to pretend she wasn’t just one of a thousand plus cocktails waitresses working in one of the many bars, clubs and casinos lining the Strip. One night to play Cinderella - even if she’d stopped believing in fairy tales before she was old enough to read them to herself. One night to pretend a girl like her would ever have any business with a guy like him. Just a few stolen hours where she could forget she was living a dead end life she’d sworn she never would. One night with no worries, or regrets come morning.
She should have known better. Things never worked out her way. Life had ruthlessly taught her that lesson.
A truth belied by her current situation - staring at a stray bullet casing on the floorboards of Oliver’s Bentley. A bullet casing that most likely came from Oliver’s gun. The gun he’d pulled out of nowhere and started firing at their attackers, even as he’d shoved her into the car, ordering her to stay down. Because people had been shooting. At them. People had shot at them. One minute they’d been leaving the restaurant, Oliver’s driver opened the car door, Oliver had taken her hand to help her in. The next bullets were flying, Oliver was shoving her, and she was huddling on the surprisingly soft, grey carpet of the floorboards. Then Oliver had jumped in slammed the door and the car peeled out. He’d pulled her up onto the seat, eyes and hands checking her over. His hand had been surprisingly gentle as he caressed her cheek, asking if she was alright. She hadn’t known, but she she’d nodded her head anyway. He’s given her that intense look of his a moment longer, as if he could find the truth that way. Good luck, she’d thought. You’re guess is as good as mine. Then his hand was gone and she was left staring at a bullet casing; unable to process the last few minutes of her life.
She could hear him speaking loudly in a language she assumed was Russian. He sounded angry, but in control. Very in control. His voice tight and ice cold. She felt a shiver down her spine. This was not a man to be trifled with. She should be afraid, but something about the controlled chill of his voice had the opposite effect. She felt safe. Protected. She had no reason to believe in him but she did. He would protect her. He and his man already had. But for how long? And what about him? He’d just shot at and possibly injured (she refused to think past that) someone. The police would have been called. The restaurant they’d been at would definitely have security cameras. Would it matter that it was self defense? She had the feeling his weapon was not registered with the State. He wasn’t even from Nevada. They would see her too. Would she have to talk to the police? She didn’t want to deal with them. She didn’t need that again.
She jumped. Oliver’s large warm hand squeezed down on the shoulder where it now lay. Felicity took a deep breath. Then another. Finding comfort in the weight of his hand and slide of his thumb. She locked eyes with his, blue gray meeting deep blue like they seemed to do every time she came in contact with him. There was just something mesmerising about his eyes. They drew her in like nothing had before. He drew her in and it both thrilled and terrified her.
He spoke a few words to the driver and the partition between them rose. Oliver’s eyes grew unbelievably more intense.
Felicity swallowed; her mouth had long since gone dry.
“Felicity, we need to talk.”
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Felicity stared; her gaze trained on her turquoise tipped toes sunk into the plush cream colored carpet. She remembered painting them earlier that day; thinking the color would contrast prettily against the magenta of her favorite strappy heels. Her matching fingernails a nice pop of color against the black of her dress. Did they count as her something blue?
She shook her head. No. She wasn’t ready to process where that train of thought led. She might not ever be ready. How did a girl even begin to process the chain of events that culminated in her marrying a man she’d only known for a week? A man she’d only gone on one date with. A date interrupted by a shootout, that ended with a wedding. Her wedding. Her wedding to Oliver Queen. Oliver Queen who is apparently a Captain in the Bratva. As in the Russian mafia. Yeah...there wasn’t enough mint choc chip in the world.
Felicity hadn’t been sure what to expect when Oliver asked her to dinner. She’d decided to treat the night as a break from the depressing monotony of her life. What she hadn’t expected was a quickie wedding at the Silver Bells Wedding Chapel. Because how was that a thing that could happen? It wasn’t. But it had, and now she had to deal with that, but she didn’t know how.
A soft knock announced the opening of the double doors across the room. Felicity looked up from her toes, to watch Oliver enter the large bedroom. A quick glance at the clock showed it’d been about an hour since he’d left her in there, after they’d returned to his penthouse suite. It wasn’t until she saw the furrow in his brow that she realized she’d never changed out of her dress, as she’d excused herself to do. The one he’d produced out of nowhere - right before he married her. Nope. Still not ready to go there. Her eyes went back to her toes. She heard Oliver sigh.
The bed dipped and she couldn’t help but glance over, perking up as her eyes landed on a silver bowl cupped in Oliver’s large hands.
“Is that ice cream?”
His mouth twitched on one side, “someone once told me mint choc chip was the best way to process.”
“You remembered that? Seriously? I didn’t even think you were paying attention. Most people don’t. Especially once I start to ramble.”
“I always pay attention to you, Felicity.” His eyes were intense again, not that they ever weren’t, but they were that extra serious they got sometimes. It made her uncomfortable in the best ways. So not ready to go there either. She cleared her throat.
“So you decided to feed me ice cream in bed. Not feed me, like put it in my mouth.” she cringed. I meant bring me ice cream, like deliver it so I can feed it to myself.”
She pretended to not to hear Oliver chuckle under his breath, as he handed the the dish over.
Felicity shoveled a spoonful in as quick as she could, hoping to avoid more embarrassing word vomit. She didn’t hold out a lot of hope. But it was worth a try.
The corner of Oliver’s mouth twitched again, like he knew exactly what she was thinking. He probably did. She knew she was pretty transparent most of the time, and Oliver didn’t seem to miss much.
They sat in mostly comfortable silence as Felicity attacked her ice cream with a little more gusto than she’d like to admit. But it was delicious and she stress ate. Besides, what better way to avoid the ring wearing elephant in the room.
Finally the spoon was licked clean, and Felicity looked up to see Oliver’s eyes dark and focused on her. She bit her lip.
Oliver took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them they were calm, serious and intently focused on her.
“Felicity, we need to talk.”