It might not be overt, but there's signs of attraction at least. The way he doesn't quite make eye contact, shy tendencies that would only be noticed by those who know his usual demeanor intimately.
"You're talking with me, surely that's important to business."
Yet Paloma, with whatever empathetic nuance-picking she's been praised for, is a stranger. The eye contact is written off as a responsible brother's guilt, given what he'd walked in on.
God. If he hadn't... better not imagine.
The snacks he's brought help bring her blood sugar up just by ogling them. His reply brings her glance straight back up to Jekyll's face. "Yeah? What should I tell her we talked about, d'you think?" Was that a, a, a flirtatious note? Um?
"Hmm, expenses sounds formal and important, right? Wheelchair accessibility?" He shrugs and gives a small laugh, since he's just throwing things out there. "Although I'm not sure where you would go from there, on details."
Paloma is so relieved he didn't pick up on the sly undercurrent that she feels a tad light-headed. Or it could be the champagne. Best watch her tongue.
"I could say you're considering funding future exhibitions, acquisitions, or, oh, oh my God, I'm so sorry! I wasn't--!" Fishing in his pockets. Her cheeks are scorching.
"Oh- no not at all, it's true, I would be interested! I think the arts are very important, and too often the overhead costs are too much to make the ticket price accessible, when it should practically be a human right to engage in arts and culture!" So they need people with money to write cheques to keep the prices down. It's a very lordly thing to do.
Without the context of what modern English bluebloods are expected to contribute, the sheer magnitude of his olive branch renders her mute. Her eyes go huge, luminous in the lamplight.
"Yes," she starts, once her head catches up, "yes, exactly! We have a right to understand where and how the art of now comes from art of then, or what's the point of sharing anything!?" Excitement puts a quiver into her voice.
"Ah, I can see you feel very passionately about it!" He beams, because he doesn't want to laugh or blush, but it's endearing. "Besides which art is inherently entwined with history, the events of the time shape it and appear within it, it's incredibly educational."
Too engrossed to care about how it looks, Paloma grabs two of the little appetizers at once and shoves them into her mouth as he speaks, nodding vigorously. They've vanished by the time he's at 'appear within'.
"The history is why I'm here in the first place! Galleries aren't meant to just flaunt the same classics over and over again when we have so many neglected works and stories!"
It hits her that her volume has risen enough to stop the conversation nearest the balcony archway. She blushes, quiets, clutches her empty glass. "... I'll tell the curator you're thinking about it, if you want."
"Please do, you can tell her you spent all night working on me." He smiles, like a dummy, because he doesn't notice his double entendre. And because she's cute.
She might not have gotten intimate with anyone for oh, most of her adult life, but prolonged celibacy isn't the same thing as naivete. Even the tips of her ears burn up. Dark skin shows it less-- but nothing hides the color completely.
"Yeah, um, all night," she chokes out. Her eyes dart everywhere but directly at Jekyll. God, did he even realize? "Does that mean we get to stay here?"
"Yes, away from the crowd and forced interactions, if you like. If my company is more favourable than that, that is." Because if it's still forced interactions and uncomfortable then he can leave her alone!
She rubs her arm, helpless against the urge to smile at his bizarre lack of confidence. Some arrogance is to be expected of nobility, but to not even trust his company?
"I think I do," she admits shyly. "Do you want to sit?" A couple of chairs beckon.
The tray needs to rest eventually, and why not the fancy table made from... marble? Jesus, she thinks. Must be nice.
After she's sat, at a loss for what to say or any cleverness, she peers through her lashes. Edward has to be wrong about his motivations. But what if he isn't and she's treading dangerously new waters?
"I think we are! Veronica likes the fish and chips, even if she complains about the weather." Champagne loosening her lips. That's all. Paloma leans further over the table as part of her interest in staying right here with him. "Afterward it'll be home. Suppose our next stop depends on which booking doesn't fall through."
And either way, they probably won't see each other. The thought dampens her rising curiosity.
"Any chance something might keep you in England? If the show is a success, there could be another..." He tries not to sound like he's hoping for something, that there isn't any sense of desperation. But there most certainly is.
Got to be the bubbly. She's hearing a note of pleading which isn't there. This isn't a Kate Middleton star-crossed crush story, and Edward was full of shit. She thinks. Their brotherly love hadn't seemed... smooth.
She sets her glass down, hands moving below the table to knot up her filmy skirt overlay. The silky fabric of the borrowed dress feels sinful. Also the bubbly talking?
Paloma shakes her head, tripping over her words. "No, I don't know? I'm just an assistant. Veronica makes those decisions." She stares intently at nothing but the table's edge.
Who said anything about marriage, Edward only said he wants to fuck her--
"I would certainly like it if you were to extend your stay, or at least to return soon if you do go." Why? They hardly know eachother, it's probably one of the few times they've spoken outside of business sorts of talks with her boss involved.
Who says Kate didn't screw her prince before they talked nuptials??
"Oh," she replies, mystified.
Paloma has to drag her eyes off the marble to search his out, then. They're strangely frightened, even though he's the least threatening male she's ever met. She seems to be looking for something in his face, but cannot find it. At last she looks back down into her lap, lips pressed into a line.
She wishes she hadn't drunk the champagne so fast. "Then- I wish I knew what to say."
"Ah-- you don't need to say anything!" Suddenly he almost regrets saying anything for the embarrassment it's caused. He flushes, eyes darting to the table as hers were fixed onlya moment ago.
Still refusing to look up and catch his downturned gaze, the fear in his voice still reaches her. Maybe he's gotten the wrong impression.
"It's just, I want to, but I don't know how or what or what I could say to Veronica. I," her throat closes. "I wouldn't mind it if we saw you again." Lame finish.
"I wouldn't mind either." For someone who's as reserved and shy as him, it's as good as a love confession or asking her out. "I wouldn't mind seeing you more before you have to go, too..."
Wait, this isn't asking her out? Because that's how she takes it. After all, what other interpretation is there?
The product keeping her wild curls in check doesn't perform miracles. There are stray locks to tuck away, ones that bounce back for her to try again and again in nervous persistence. "U-umm."
Her head feels light and airy. "Me... and the curator? Or just...?"
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"You're talking with me, surely that's important to business."
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God. If he hadn't... better not imagine.
The snacks he's brought help bring her blood sugar up just by ogling them. His reply brings her glance straight back up to Jekyll's face. "Yeah? What should I tell her we talked about, d'you think?" Was that a, a, a flirtatious note? Um?
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Paloma is so relieved he didn't pick up on the sly undercurrent that she feels a tad light-headed. Or it could be the champagne. Best watch her tongue.
"I could say you're considering funding future exhibitions, acquisitions, or, oh, oh my God, I'm so sorry! I wasn't--!" Fishing in his pockets. Her cheeks are scorching.
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Without the context of what modern English bluebloods are expected to contribute, the sheer magnitude of his olive branch renders her mute. Her eyes go huge, luminous in the lamplight.
"Yes," she starts, once her head catches up, "yes, exactly! We have a right to understand where and how the art of now comes from art of then, or what's the point of sharing anything!?" Excitement puts a quiver into her voice.
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"The history is why I'm here in the first place! Galleries aren't meant to just flaunt the same classics over and over again when we have so many neglected works and stories!"
It hits her that her volume has risen enough to stop the conversation nearest the balcony archway. She blushes, quiets, clutches her empty glass. "... I'll tell the curator you're thinking about it, if you want."
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She might not have gotten intimate with anyone for oh, most of her adult life, but prolonged celibacy isn't the same thing as naivete. Even the tips of her ears burn up. Dark skin shows it less-- but nothing hides the color completely.
"Yeah, um, all night," she chokes out. Her eyes dart everywhere but directly at Jekyll. God, did he even realize? "Does that mean we get to stay here?"
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But gee what's she blushing for??
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"I think I do," she admits shyly. "Do you want to sit?" A couple of chairs beckon.
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Hyde, in the background, screaming GET TO THE FUCKING ALREADY
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After she's sat, at a loss for what to say or any cleverness, she peers through her lashes. Edward has to be wrong about his motivations. But what if he isn't and she's treading dangerously new waters?
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"...Will you be staying in London long? At least through to the end of the run?" Just out of curiosity! Not for any reason!
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"I think we are! Veronica likes the fish and chips, even if she complains about the weather." Champagne loosening her lips. That's all. Paloma leans further over the table as part of her interest in staying right here with him. "Afterward it'll be home. Suppose our next stop depends on which booking doesn't fall through."
And either way, they probably won't see each other. The thought dampens her rising curiosity.
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She sets her glass down, hands moving below the table to knot up her filmy skirt overlay. The silky fabric of the borrowed dress feels sinful. Also the bubbly talking?
Paloma shakes her head, tripping over her words. "No, I don't know? I'm just an assistant. Veronica makes those decisions." She stares intently at nothing but the table's edge.
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"I would certainly like it if you were to extend your stay, or at least to return soon if you do go." Why? They hardly know eachother, it's probably one of the few times they've spoken outside of business sorts of talks with her boss involved.
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"Oh," she replies, mystified.
Paloma has to drag her eyes off the marble to search his out, then. They're strangely frightened, even though he's the least threatening male she's ever met. She seems to be looking for something in his face, but cannot find it. At last she looks back down into her lap, lips pressed into a line.
She wishes she hadn't drunk the champagne so fast. "Then- I wish I knew what to say."
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"It's just, I want to, but I don't know how or what or what I could say to Veronica. I," her throat closes. "I wouldn't mind it if we saw you again." Lame finish.
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The product keeping her wild curls in check doesn't perform miracles. There are stray locks to tuck away, ones that bounce back for her to try again and again in nervous persistence. "U-umm."
Her head feels light and airy. "Me... and the curator? Or just...?"
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