Bitter yet Delicious Wine (Georgette)

[The Exodus]

OOC: Title is totes borrowed from TDC. But like I said... "The Frog and the Scorpion" is their fable. BIC:

Santiago Ortiz

Usually, unless he had to meet with a very important client, Santiago avoided city-wide galas the way most people avoided visiting the dentist. There were things he’d rather do than spend time in the company of strangers. Hell, he’d rather visit the dentist than spend an evening rubbing elbows with people he didn’t know and didn’t care for.

But tonight, he was making an exception for the gorgeous woman at his side.

Santiago stole a surreptitious glance at Georgette. They’d arrived to the fete fashionably late. And he was glad to see a semblance of a smile on her face. A little over a week ago, he was certain that he wouldn’t see that smile – much less the woman attached to it – ever again.

But she’d slipped into her role as La Princesa well since then. Not perfectly, but with all the grace one could expect from a medical examiner turned gangster’s moll.

It was for her Santiago had dressed up and come to this Bastille Day celebration. As an attempt to placate her, express his gratitude, be a better… whatever he was to her … than he had been.

She probably still didn’t trust him fully after he’d almost choked her in that dark alleyway. He didn’t quite trust himself. But he trusted her.

“They have an open bar,” he said, shaking any traces of sentimentality from his mind. “I say we start there.”

Neither was drunk enough for dancing just yet. Santiago was never one to make spectacle of himself; a difficult task when he shadowed Georgette tonight. She turned heads.

“You look beautiful, by the way, querida,” he murmured. He wondered if he was still in the doghouse with her. “I might have to keep you extra close so nobody tries to make off with you.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Georgette Duguay

It was ironic that Georgette was wearing all white tonight. She was La Princesa, the leading lady of Las Gardunas, the girl who f*cked el jefe and kept all of his secrets. And here she was, decked in virgin white, the perfect picture of purity. She felt facetious, even with the risk of dirt stains at this fete.

She was here with Santiago, who owed her a serious debt. In the matter of one night, she had watched him threaten a man’s life, he had attempted to strangle her, and put her in a role very few women would cut out for—including her. She had him right where she wanted him: wrapped around her finger, in her bed, and a good enough distance from her neck. Trust was a hard thing to gain, and fortunately for Santiago, he hadn’t yet broken hers, just twisted it until it bruised. It would recover eventually if he kept on her good side. He was a powerful man and she didn’t want to lose him—or the power association gave her.

The fete was packed. Families teemed the tents and couples polluted the dance floor. Realistically, Georgette knew she’d never get Santiago on it, but it was nice to imagine them swaying together to the slow music.

“They have an open bar,” Santiago said eagerly. “I say we start there.”

“Whatever you say, el Jefe she whispered into his ear as he led her towards the dining area. They sat on their respective stools and he looked at her. “You look beautiful, by the way, querida. I might have to keep you extra close so nobody tries to make off with you.”

Georgette smirked at him lightly. “Well aren’t you full of lines tonight.” She turned to the bartender, hoping Santiago heard her silent ‘thank you’ under the sarcasm. “I’ll take a Viñedos de España Cabernet Sauvignon.” To Santiago, “I like it because it’s bitter, but delicious… and Spanish. All of which are things that describe you.” She was silent for a moment, with a content smile on her face. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

When Georgette called him “El Jefe” it made something stir inside of Santiago. He couldn’t unhear those words in that sultry purr. To his shock – and maybe even disgust – he liked hearing her call him that. Even if it was only in jest. If he had known how good the name would sound on her lips, he would have told her much, much sooner.

Together, they trekked to the dining area and bar. Envious eyes swept over Georgette from every side and Santiago pulled himself to full height. He didn’t usually bother striding into parties. Swaggered steps were for bar brawls and back alley deals; not for city-wide celebrations of French independence. But there was no way Santiago was just going to ignore the way strange men were checking out his girlfriend.

Don’t let her hear you call her that…

He came close to it anyways when he spoke and Georgette shot him a shark’s smile.

“Well aren’t you full of lines tonight?” she purred.

“It’s not a line,” Santiago said. “Not if it’s true.”

It was just the two of them tonight. No Gardunas guarded them. And Santiago felt responsible for Georgette’s safety and well-being in scenarios like this one. He sat beside her. The restaurant provided views of the city – perfect for the later fireworks show. But the circular room made them vulnerable. More vulnerable than Santiago liked to be. He could feel his hair stand on edge on the back of his neck.

“I’ll take a Viñedos de España Cabernet Sauvignon,” Georgette said to the bartender. To Santiago, “I like it because it’s bitter, but delicious… and Spanish. All of which are things that describe you.”

Impressed with her knowledge of Spanish wine, Santiago smiled and raised his eyebrows.

“Make it a bottle, senor,” he told the bartender. “We’re in no rush.”

Silence enveloped them. Georgette was a rare person who could actually be quiet for longer than twenty seconds. Santiago appreciated that about her. He’d never been one for chatty chicas. It drove him to the brink of his patience when a woman – or man, for that matter – didn’t know when to shut their mouth and just enjoy the moment.

But silence, like all things, was temporary.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” Georgette said.

“For you, anything,” Santiago told her, meeting her gaze seriously. Then, a smirk quirked his lips. “Even if it means going to the occasional formal party.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Georgette Duguay

“For you, anything,” Santiago said and for a moment, Georgette wondered which role he was playing: el Jefe or her lover. But then he smirked and she knew. “Even if it means going to the occasional formal party.”

“Formal?” Georgette laughed, signaling to a family in shorts and tourist button-downs. “Hardly. I just thought as La Princesa, I might as well dress the part. Besides, I don’t really get to dress up at work. Wouldn’t want to get a man’s brain juice all over my nice dancing dress.”

She looked at him, meeting his serious gaze. She felt open, physically vulnerable like a deer in an open field. She glanced around. There was no expensive black car parked within sight, no familiar-looking man watching her every move. Tonight, she was unwatched, unguarded by one of Santiago’s boys. And yet, she had never felt safer. She smiled. It was the most romantic thing Santiago had ever done for her, allowing them a date night, neglecting his gang duties without neglecting her. At the moment, they weren’t filling the roles of The Boss and His Girl. At the moment, he was just Santiago, and she was just Georgette. It was a relief to know that normalcy could be found even past the point of no return and that though her contract was written in blood, her life wasn’t as fundamentally changed as she thought.

She picked up her glass and swished the wine around a moment before putting it to her lips and sipping. This bar was nice, and she didn’t feel the need to prove herself with hard liquor and shots. For tonight, she could enjoy her wine without being an oddity in a place too darkly lit to know exactly what you were drinking.

She wanted to thank him again for the night, knowing that when she woke up at his place tomorrow, he would return to being el Jefe and she as the ever-watched medical examiner trying to fill shoes that felt much to large as La Princesa.

“You seem awful quiet tonight, even for you. What’s on your mind?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Georgette Duguay

“For you, anything,” Santiago said and for a moment, Georgette wondered which role he was playing: el Jefe or her lover. But then he smirked and she knew. “Even if it means going to the occasional formal party.”

“Formal?” Georgette laughed, signaling to a family in shorts and tourist button-downs. “Hardly. I just thought as La Princesa, I might as well dress the part. Besides, I don’t really get to dress up at work. Wouldn’t want to get a man’s brain juice all over my nice dancing dress.”

She looked at him, meeting his serious gaze. She felt open, physically vulnerable like a deer in an open field. She glanced around. There was no expensive black car parked within sight, no familiar-looking man watching her every move. Tonight, she was unwatched, unguarded by one of Santiago’s boys. And yet, she had never felt safer. She smiled. It was the most romantic thing Santiago had ever done for her, allowing them a date night, neglecting his gang duties without neglecting her. At the moment, they weren’t filling the roles of The Boss and His Girl. At the moment, he was just Santiago, and she was just Georgette. It was a relief to know that normalcy could be found even past the point of no return and that though her contract was written in blood, her life wasn’t as fundamentally changed as she thought.

She picked up her glass and swished the wine around a moment before putting it to her lips and sipping. This bar was nice, and she didn’t feel the need to prove herself with hard liquor and shots. For tonight, she could enjoy her wine without being an oddity in a place too darkly lit to know exactly what you were drinking.

She wanted to thank him again for the night, knowing that when she woke up at his place tomorrow, he would return to being el Jefe and she as the ever-watched medical examiner trying to fill shoes that felt much to large as La Princesa.

“You seem awful quiet tonight. What’s on your mind?”

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

The bartender placed wine glasses in front of them and a bottle, which Santiago neglected to examine. Usually, he was the first to double check any food or drink put in front of him. Paranoid habit. But he was too distracted tonight. On edge. In a different way than a man who walked around the city with a perpetual target on his back.

He and Georgette hadn’t been on a proper date in months. Usually, it was dinner and a quick f*ck when they could pencil each other in. Sometimes, they skipped dinner so they could prolong foreplay. Seldom did either spend a full night at the other’s apartment. Most often, they texted each other from work. He, sitting sentinel in his car watching either rival gangsters or suspects in an investigation; she in the chilly morgue. Each pretended not to be so alone when texting fantasies of what they’d rather be doing to and with each other.

But to sit with her in the flesh, in public, on a date…

Santiago had forgotten how a date was supposed to feel.

And Georgette was diametrically opposed to the term “girlfriend”.

Cognitive dissonance was what had him on edge. And Santiago was aware of the conundrum he faced in Georgette’s company. He’d placed her above all other women in the world. And yet, there were times he wondered if they even really knew each other.

“You seem awful quiet tonight, even for you. What’s on your mind?”

“I’m just thinking.”

Santiago picked up his wine glass and studied it. Light refracted off of the red surface of the wine. He ran his tongue over the scar on the inside of his right cheek. Spanish wines were, admittedly, bitter. It was a fault in the soil. That was why sangria had been invented; to sweeten the otherwise undrinkable. He’d never been much one for wine. Especially not wine without other fruits soaking in it.

And yet, when Georgette thought of him, this was how she thought of him. As a bitter grape tonic so acidic, most people spent their time desperately trying to sweeten it. Santiago didn’t know how to take that.

Nobody tried to sweeten him up anymore. Not really. It was a Sisyphean task, anyways. A fool’s errand.

“If you were a drink, Georgette,” he said. “You’d be absinthe. Fiery. A little poisonous. And after it goes down, you’re left burning for more.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Georgette Duguay

Santiago was quiet, suspiciously so. He was never particularly verbose, preferring to listen and observe than share. But tonight, he looked around the circular room, occasionally scanning it for God-knows-what. But something else about him seemed off and Georgette couldn’t put her finger on it.

“I’m just thinking.” He aid at last, picking up his wine.

“Uh-oh,” Georgette said jokingly. But she meant it. He was going to give her some task that involved red, unwashable hands, or he was going to cut her out of the deal. This dinner was not a romantic one at all, but one of business. Suddenly, Georgette couldn’t breathe. She sucked in her breath as if it were her last.

“If you were a drink, Georgette,” he said. “You’d be absinthe. Fiery. A little poisonous. And after it goes down, you’re left burning for more.”

Georgette relaxed and smiled. It had been foolish to of been so worried, but she had been on edge since he had tried to strangle her. But his description of her was spot on—albeit drenched in poetry—and she licked her lips, imagining that they tasted of absinthe. Green was her favourite colour, afterall.

“Burning for more, you say?” She asked, pulling his face close to hers. “How much more, exactly… El Jefe?”

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

At Georgette’s touch, Santiago’s skin burned. At her words, a soft growl – something more like a purr than any hardened gangster would care to admit – welled up in the back of his throat.

“You have no idea,” he whispered, leaning in closer to claim her lips.

He crushed his to hers in a kiss that fell somewhere between rough and tender. Drank her in, tasted her under the bitterness of the wine and the tang of cigarette smoke they both brought to the kiss. His tongue parted her lips for entrance, delving deeper and taking her breath into his lungs.

His hand slid up her leg and to his delight, Georgette had opted to come to the celebration without tights or pantyhose. Her bare skin was dewy from the heat of summer. He gripped her thigh just hard enough to surprise; not quite hard enough to bruise.

Gentle was not a word in Santiago’s vocabulary. Not a skill in his repertoire.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Georgette Duguay

“You have no idea,” Santiago growled with alcohol tainted breath, dominating her lips like a piece of land to be ruled. La Princessa had power over everyone, except her prince. And as he slipped his tongue between her lips, she bit playfully, intertwining his hair with her fingers until the follicles threated to uproot themselves.

His hand traced her bare thigh until it disappeared under the pure white cotton of her dress and Georgette let out a whimper that bubbled from the back of her throat and landed on Santiago’s lips. She drank him in, slow, steady sips the way a lady drank wine as to remind herself that as strong as she was, Santiago still owned her.

She gripped his shirt and pinned him to the bar, dismounting her barstool in exchange her his lap, her dress bunching around her waist as she entangled her legs around his back. “Oh, believe me. I think I have some idea,” she purred into his ear, sliding her tongue down his neck, her teeth nicking the skin just enough to sting, to excite, but not to bleed, her hands finding his belt loops and gripping tight, pulling him as closely to her as she could. It had been months since they had been like this. Instead of bed sheets, they were both tied up in work. “F*ck me, Santiago,” she said. “It’s been a long time.”