13: History Lesson

"I didn't think fairy tales were real…"

Standing in the doorway, dumbstruck, Clyde can't tear his eyes from an agitated Harper whose eyes tell him everything about her unknown beauty.

He drinks in the sight of his wife's gold dress, hiked up one thigh with a red bow to showcase lace-trim thigh highs secured by a matching, black garter belt.

A blood-red, hooded cape that pairs with his crushed velvet vest accentuates small shoulders on its way to ankles wrapped in strappy, red and gold heels.

A black corset with red straps, crossing from under her breasts to her hips, lifts her pert bosom into a deepening cleavage under low-cut, lacy fabric.

Loose, chestnut coils frame a face studded with gold lines in the shape of a lace, eye mask above bold, pouty red lips.

Feathering black eyelashes with streaks of red outline hazel eyes that stare at him suspiciously the longer he remains frozen.

"You coming in, or what?"

She turns her back to him, crossing furry, white carpet in heeled tiptoes to stare at herself in the stand-up, trifold mirror.

Laughing at himself quietly, he tosses the cane on the bed to hurry behind her. Sliding his hands around the front of her waist, Clyde moves in to brush his mask's muzzle along the nape of her delicate neck, catching her off guard.

Petting his arms, hesitating pushing him away, she stares at his wolf mask through the reflection, "That must've cost a fortune…"

Gliding her fingers along the grooved nose, "I've never seen one so detailed."

Harper stands up straight against his torso before sliding her hands under his to hold her stomach.

Pushing the mask up his face to peck along vulnerable, dewy skin, "What's wrong sug'?"

His eyes meet hers in the mirror when she grumbles.

"You don't think this is -too- tight?" She steps away and turns to her side-view, switching between standing up straight with a deep breath then slouching.

"She told me if it was any looser the bow wouldn't look right but," Harper grumbles again before sighing in discontent.

"I mean, I gave the shop your measurements," he walks around her, cupping his chin, "And if you ask me they delivered."

Stepping behind her, caressing her shoulders and whispering into her ear, "You look like you just walked out a movie screen."

Running hot hands down her naked forearms, he takes her hands and guides her into a slow spin, "But if you say so."

Leading her into a light dance to the sound of distant music knocking on the balcony windows, "It was human error or you–."

He bites his tongue, shifting the mask back to sit perfectly on his face.

"Or what?" she glares daggers, crossing her arms and looking him up and down.

It doesn't matter if she -thinks- she might've put on a few pounds, but he damn well better not say such a thing to her. After all, it's -his- fault she's been so stressed out she hasn't been able to focus on her daily workout.

Running his hand along her forearm, "O-or," bringing a manicured hand with red nails and black tips to his lips, "Your make-up bitch lied," he successfully recovered while concealing his lips.

Kissing each knuckle, "Either way, you look good enough to eat."

With a horny growl, he kisses up her arm until her giggle is silenced by a light peck.

Cupping the side of Harper's neck, guiding her head back with his thumb along her jaw, Clyde's southern charm makes her forget all woes, "If we didn't have a party waitin' on us, I'd take my time tearin' this costume apart to see where the problem is." His breath tickles her collarbone as he inspects her visible curves, his free hand roaming the outside of her skirted butt until she nestles into him with a quiet shriek.

"I won't forgive you if you mess up this makeup before I take -any- shots," pushing him back gently, "I don't think I've ever looked THIS sexy."

Distracted by the glitter in Clyde's hands, she turns to face him, "Nice costume piece," she steps closer to run gentle fingertips along the scroll-work.

Shaking his head, in a soft whisper, "This been in the family for years," he closes the face with a "click" before tucking it into his vest pocket.

"Only one like it in the world," he readjusts his bow-tie before checking his mask and hair in the mirror, "Many a men have tried to get their hands on it, so it's my job to keep it safe until it's my first born's duty."

Holding up a bent arm, "Shall we?"

"Right! Let me just grab my–."

Grabbing her hand, "Your purse? Darlin' there ain't nothin' you're gonna need that for here."

She shrugs and carries on without it, joining his side as they make their way to the in-house, stainless steel elevator that lets them off in the dated, earth tone kitchen filled with oak cabinets and brushed nickel hardware.

Getting another look on the way out than she did on the way in, "I can't believe this is the house you grew up in," her heels tap against sage, ceramic tiles as they cut through to the patio doors. "Well," he opens one of the double doors and guides her through, "This land's belonged to the Rusks for quite some time. And one that owned this here watch," he pats his pocket while pulling the door shut behind him.

"When the prohibition hit," he guides her arm around his as they follow amber path-lights along smooth concrete, "They sold raisin cakes and grape juice as a front; never stopped supplying the surrounding towns with wine."

Shaking his head with a cocky grin, their shoes tapping gray stone under a starlit sky along the quarter-mile trek, "His son's the one that had the third story added on, and my dad went from there to make this mom's dream home."

Clyde kisses Harper's cheek, "And I plan on doing the same for you."

Hugging his arm tighter, she tries her best not to smile so much that her makeup creases.

Chuckling under her breath, "I guess rebel runs in your bloodline," she holds the front of her dress up higher when they come upon three steps carved into a short hill.

Kissing her temple before escorting her up with the cane in hand, "You have no idea."