Page 62 of Petite Fleur

Leon Aldon

I help Maeve into her apartment, and that alone tells me how wasted she is.

She hasn't questioned how I knew which apartment or bedroom was hers; she just lets me lead her into her room until I sit her on the edge of her bed.

“Get into your pajamas, ma fleur. I'll grab you some acetaminophen to help with your hangover.” I insist as I hand her the flimsy silk pajamas at the foot of her bed.

Soon, she won't hide anything from me, but for now, I'll give her the privacy she thinks she deserves.

We parted ways, me going to the kitchen to grab some water and medicine and her stripping out of her dress.

Fuck, I should've stayed and watched. I want to see all of her, but that's a task for another time.

Maeve stumbles into me as soon as she walks into her bedroom, freshly changed, with her hair in a messy bun at the top of her head.

I can't tell if it's intentionally messy or if she's so drunk that she can't manage a hairstyle, but it's adorable either way.

“That was a new dress.” She slurs as she flops down onto her bed so roughly that her bun already starts to fail her.

I give a small laugh at her drunk rambling and tuck a few hairs behind her ear and out of her face. “What?” I ask.

She sighs heavily and stares down at her pajamas with a look of pure disgust, like the fact that she's no longer in her dress is criminal. “I just bought that for my birthday! My grandma sent me the money.” She says with a huff.

“I even paid full price.” She whines a moment later.

I listen intently and nod as she whines about her dress, mostly just thrilled that I'm this close to her. “That's okay, just put a little stain remover on it. It's not that big of a deal.” I reassure her.

She rolls her eyes, huffing loudly and shaking her head so dramatically that what little of her bun was still intact simply falls apart. “I can't afford protein with every meal; most days, my dinner is a potato; what makes you think I can afford a stain remover?” She asks.

I stroke my knuckles down her cheek; feeling her warmth on my skin is an event of its own, but her knowing that I'm here is even better. “How about you get a little rest, petite fleur?” I ask.

“I don't know what that means, but you sure sound hot saying it.” She slurs heavily.

Yep, she's almost out.

Frankly, I'm surprised she's made it this long for her first time drinking.

“Little flower, it’s French, my love.” I say with a quiet laugh.

“I want to be precious like a flower.” She whines.

Oh, my sweet girl, you already are.

Little does she know that she's already more precious, beautiful, and sought after than any flower.

The botanical gardens themselves don't hold a candle to my girl.

“You already are, my love.” I reassure her.

Even half asleep and drunk off her ass, my girl smiles. “My hero.” She mumbles as she passes out.

Yes, ma fleur, I'm your hero, and I'll be back for you very soon.

Chapter 23

Maeve Henderson

My mouth tastes like it's full of cotton.

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