Chapter Text
Laden with two dozen pink roses, Theseus returned home to discover his brother sprawled out on the couch. His work boots defiled the coffee table that Theseus meticulously fashioned from recycled timber. Two beer bottles lay at casual angles on the upholstery, spilling liquid onto its surface. He recognised the labels: they were his limited edition craft beer. Sighing, he proceeded to grab a bottle for himself, his irritation growing when he discovered that it was the only one left. Taking a sip as fortification, he resignedly armed himself with cleaning supplies.
‘This is why I chose leather,’ he muttered. By the time he reached the couch, Newt had voluntarily placed his feet on the floor and mopped up the liquid with a handkerchief.
‘It’s only water,’ he revealed, pulling two full beer bottles from behind the couch.
‘What about the zoo dung on my table top?’ Theseus demanded.
‘These aren’t my work boots,’ Newt replied, laughing. The prank had reached its mark: to antagonise his perfectionist older brother. As the joke’s victim, Theseus shut his eyes and sighed in exasperation.
‘If I didn’t need your fashion advice, I’d throw you down the stairs!!!’
‘You’ve never touched me in your life.’
‘You aren’t the first person to torment me today.’
‘You mean Leta? What did she do?’ Newt asked curiously.
‘Called me Sir when I asked her not to, and ganging up with Marianne against me. Then she flirted with a witness in some obscure African language called whoo-leaf; he’s a fucking neurosurgeon.’
‘Is she getting on your control freaky nerves? She sounds awesome!’
‘Thanks for the brotherly support,’ Theseus grumbled sarcastically, grabbing his beer and stomping up the stairs. Trailing behind, Newt heard the sound of descending water emanating from his brother’s bathroom. Entering the impossibly neat closet, Newt surveyed his handiwork. A pale pink shirt hung on the portable rack, surrounded by numerous hangers of separates; the lower shelf contained a pair of hot pink Oxfords. Newt’s mission was to style the aforementioned items into a dinner outfit. He wheeled the rack into the bedroom. Dressed in a towel, Theseus joined him.
‘Pink’s an unusual colour choice,’ Newt parried.
‘I saw them in a window, and had to buy them.’
‘Because they remind you of Leta?’
‘You’ve been talking to Jaco, haven’t you?!!’
‘You didn’t tell me not to!’
‘I shouldn't have to!!!’ Keeping possession of his beer, Theseus disappeared into the closet, reemerging in pink trunks and pink socks.
‘So it’s a full-service date then.’ Beer spewed out of Theseus’s mouth like a fire hose, splattering down his body. He ducked back into the shower to rid himself of the amber liquid. Fantasising that the sponge was Leta’s lips, he pondered whether a “full-service date” would include his imagined pleasure.
Returning to the bedchamber, Theseus haughtily replied, ‘it isn’t a date, full-service or otherwise.’ Newt chuckled at his brother’s emphatic denial. Dropping to his hands and knees and scrubbing the carpet, Theseus caught his towel under his foot when returning to a vertical posture. The lean, muscular form that was exposed was worthy of being portrayed in marble.
‘When you get to that full-service date, she won’t be disappointed,’ his brother quipped. Infuriated by his self-inflicted humiliation, Theseus stormed back to his closet to don new pink undergarments.
‘This better be worth it!!’ He barked. His younger sibling held out the silk shirt, then offered him a pair of indigo jeans. ‘I’m taking her to the Rambling Rose; I want to look like I’m making an effort.’ Newt raised his eyebrows.
‘Pulling out the big guns for your non-date?’ Newt was skewered by the glare that caused junior police ranks to wither; it was an expression he was overfamiliar with from his childhood, delivered by his male parent. Newt wondered how Theseus managed to reproduce it so precisely when he was rarely its target. The optical arrow had its effect; highly motivated to disarm it, Newt reverted to his sartorial consultation. The next fashion offering was grey suit pants with a coordinating tie.
‘She sees me in a suit every day.’
‘Semi-formal with no jeans; chinos then,’ Newt remarked, already prepared for this eventuality. He gave Theseus a choice between khaki and beige; the khaki was undoubtedly the frontrunner. ‘Try them with the shoes.’ Newt smiled at the result. Still annoyed, Theseus preferred the opinion of the mirror. His reflection convinced him that his younger sibling was right; Theseus duly acknowledged this with a nod.
Encouraged, Newt passed his elder a bright tan belt, explaining,’ the similar tone balances the shoes.’
‘Huh,’ his brother sounded. Newt interpreted the monosyllable as equivalent to high praise.
‘Now for the piece de resistance.’ Unconvinced of the merits of a tan bomber jacket pulled from Newt’s own wardrobe, Theseus advocated for his blue leather covering. His fashion credentials firmly established, Newt insisted he try both. Theseus did as he was bidden, eyeing his reflection as he shifted through various poses.
‘Yours jacket’s better. I understand what you mean about balancing the shoes.’
‘See how it accentuates your shoulders and emphasises your skinny hips?’
Standing back to critique his handiwork, Newt handed his brother a floral belt. Theseus took one look at it and passed it straight back.
‘Just try it.’ Theseus cooperated.
‘I can’t believe it works!’
‘The unexpected touch adds individual flair.’
After a final appraisal in the mirror, Theseus announced, ‘I wanted to impress her, but this is fucking incredible!!!’ Opening a box of aftershave recommended by his barber, he patted the peppery concoction onto his freshly mown cheeks, undoing a third button on his shirt.
Newt was unable to resist. ‘So it’s not a date then.’
Blinking like he was transmitting Morse code, Theseus replied, ‘of course not. I’m her boss.’
‘Whatever you say, little brother,’ Newt replied, patting Theseus on the back.
In a demonstration of fraternal affection, he gave his younger sibling a thankful hug, picked up the roses and raced out the door.
Removing his boots and helping himself to another beer, Newt messaged Jaco.
‘Where r you?’
‘Hiding in gardens.’
‘How’d u get key?’
‘Picked lock.’ She arrived in a rush of purple gothic tracksuit and platform skull crocs. With Theseus absent, the siblings made plans for the evening…
Leta was monitoring the street for Theseus’s arrival, except this time she delayed her emergence until he rang the doorbell. Studying her from his position on the front step, he was captivated by her soft, doe-like eyes.
Her hip-length locks fell in glossy waves that attracted every available lumen of light. Far too engrossed to offer a traditional greeting, he instead blurted, ‘I’ve never seen your hair down before.’
‘I had to grow it long enough for the extensions to be taped on,’ she explained. When his jaw inevitably stiffened at the reminder of Cole’s assault, he silently directed himself to bury his anger until the evening was concluded. ‘Can you tell that I’ve had them attached?’
He tilted his neck to inspect the crown of her head, becoming intoxicated by the sweet frangipani scent of her freshly washed hair. Disinclined to withdraw from the heavenly aroma, he lingered over his examination of her scalp, belatedly telling her, ‘they’re completely invisible. I’m glad you ignored my advice to shave it all off.’ Her laughter was like a spoon tapping on the side of a glass. ‘Your mini fringe is new.’
‘My hairdresser calls them micro bangs. She’s from America.’
Noting the deeper shade of her lips, he asked, ‘is that a new lipstick?’
‘It’s the first time I’ve worn it. You always notice the changes in my appearance.’
‘I can’t help looking at you,’ he confessed, without meaning to. Perturbed, he removed the enormous bouquet of roses from behind his back, hoping it would change the conversation. It did. Leta gasped, expressing her surprise by lifting her hands to her mouth.
‘I’ve never been given flowers by a guy before.’ She dipped her head, breathing in their lovely perfume. ‘These are the most perfect roses I’ve ever seen in my entire life!’ He grinned like he’d won the lottery.
‘They’re my apology for nearly pushing you over.’
‘Perhaps you should do it to me more often.’ His plus-size vocal cords produced deep laughter. ‘I’d better pop them in some water,’ she said, turning back down the hallway. Following, Theseus crossed her threshold and took a few steps into the domicile. Entering her home was a momentous occasion. Yusef manifested at the end of the hallway, putting an end to their procession. He took custody of the blooms, glaring at Theseus in an unfriendly manner.
With the flowers relocated, Leta’s field of vision cleared, enabling her to view the street. A luxury black sedan was parked directly in front of her house.
‘What happened to Pirithous?’ A gentleman in a dark suit emerged and opened the back door for her.
‘This is Ron.’
‘Bonsoir, Miss Lestrange.’
‘Bonsoir, Monsieur Ron.’ Entering the vehicle by the opposite door, her dinner companion shuffled himself into the middle seat beside her, oblivious to his lack of legroom.
‘Ron was my Dad's old sergeant. After doing his thirty, he started with one car. How many is it now, Ron?’
‘Twenty. And five limousines. Young Scamander used to drive for me, Miss Lestrange.’
When they were underway, she said, ‘I’m so impressed that you arranged a chauffeur for us.’ With his objective for the evening achieved, Theseus’s entire body unfurled into a state of relaxation.
‘After this morning, I thought it was safer.’ His eyes swept over her face in the half light; she was beyond beautiful. ‘And I was right.’ She smiled at his compliment, drinking in his flattery like it was water in a desert. During the journey, she watched the lights of the city traversing across her window, excitedly clasping Theseus's arm at the evocative sights, while Ron supplied a running commentary.
‘I've never seen the city lights from a car before. It's magical!’ Theseus was overjoyed by her unabashed delight, pleased that relinquishing the steering allowed him to witness her joy.
They stopped outside a glass Tower in Southbank; it was circuited by organic curves that jutted out of the building, reminiscent of rose petals. The floor levels span leisurely in a staggered pattern. After negotiating the revolving doors, the brightly lit foyer enabled Leta to properly appreciate his attire.
‘You’re wearing pink,’ she said.
‘I thought I’d give it a try.’ His answer was pre-prepared.
‘You look marvellous.’ Seeking a compliment, she twirled gracefully in her gold stilettos with her fuchsia lace coat billowing around her.
‘You look seductive…sexy…’ Attempting to cover his slip-up, he quickly followed with, ‘sophisticated.’ She giggled. It was an enormous compliment for the twenty-two-year-old.
‘No one’s ever called me sophisticated before.’ Theseus directed her to the nearest elevator, which deposited them at the neck of a cavernous space ranging over half of the floor level. Given the option to shed their outer layers, Theseus assisted Leta to remove her coat, his gallantry rewarded by the view of her in a close-fitting navy off-the-shoulder top, paired with a pink ruffled mini.
The only word he could find was: ‘wow.’ She watched intently as he removed his jacket, admiring his masculine figure. Her eyes located his open third button, attracted by the skin that hinted of the powerful form lying beneath.
‘I’m loving your flowery belt.’
‘It’s my brother’s idea. He assisted me with my outfit.’
‘He knows precisely what he’s doing.’
‘In terms of fashion.’
‘You obviously have a different relationship with your siblings than Yusef and I do.’
‘The friction is good humoured with Newt.’
‘But not with Jaco?’
‘Definitely not Jaco.’
She took in the elegant restaurant and the other diners.
‘This is super boujee. I’m grateful you dropped me home to change.’
‘You look absolutely lovely. Fine dining perfection.’
‘So are you, Sir.
‘Leta, please don’t call me Sir.’ Her grin told him it was deliberate.
As they progressed deeper into the restaurant, the only light source was from the candlesticks topping each table. Each dining surface was wearing a pristinely white starched tablecloth.
Looking about, Leta was stunned by their elegant surroundings. The waiter beckoned them up a short staircase to their table; they were situated in an arced petal, sandwiched adjacent to the glass. Other tables floated above and below them in sub-levels. Theseus pulled her chair out for her.
Their view was stupendous; initially, it sailed over the Thames. The reflections of the Westminster landmarks on the river were prettily distorted by the waves, like the brushstrokes of a Monet painting. Next door was the London Eye, giving the vista a carnival atmosphere. As the floor swung around three hundred and sixty degrees, their outlook was gradually overtaken by the next landmark. The imposing presence of their view made it an extra guest at their table.
‘I thought you were taking me to the Chelsea Curry House.’ Theseus was hit with the sudden realisation that his restaurant choice was inappropriate. So Crammed with thoughts of her, there was insufficient room left in his brain for rational thought.
‘I’m sorry if it’s too much…’ He admitted. Fuck! <\em> ‘I…I…’ Ah! ‘I’…He took a breath. ‘I just wanted to thank you…For…For your outstanding work?’ It was a white lie; what he really wanted to do was to captivate her with romance. Gazing at her across the candlelit table was an additional benefit. Of course, Leta didn’t believe him. When he wasn’t employing his frozen expression, he was undeniably the worst liar she had ever met. Combined with her intuition, pink clothing, help from his brother, the chauffeur and the setting, there was no doubt; he intended this to be a date. Cat-like, she decided to take advantage of his awkwardness by teasing him.
‘Thank you, Sir. You’re the best boss I’ve ever had.’
‘What happened to calling me Boss?’
‘This is a refined place you’ve brought me to. Surely Sir is vastly more appropriate?’ He huffed, rolling his eyes under his brow.
‘Leta, I already asked you not to call me Sir. I even asked you nicely.’ She giggled.
The sommelier appeared with two glasses of Cristal.
‘Would Sir care to sample the champagne?’ Leta burst out laughing.
‘Dave, this is Leta. Leta, Dave.’
‘Delighted to make your acquaintance,’ he said, in a serious manner. ‘May I enquire as to the source of your amusement, Madam?’ Leta broke into loud howls of laughter, garnering stares from the other diners.
‘Leta won’t stop calling me Sir!’ Theseus said, exasperated, yet secretly enjoying their frisson. Dave looked at them sideways, his professional senses picking up on the energy between them. ‘Is this some sort of Posh and Beck’s game?’ He asked, suddenly adopting a Cockney accent.
After he had gone, Leta asked her companion, ‘what’s a Posh and Beck’s game?’ Theseus closed his eyes. He was going to have to say it.
With a complexion ruddy enough to be visible in candlelight, he explained, ‘a sex game.’ She burst into hysterics.
‘Dave and I used to work in a wine bar together. In Oxford.’
‘Who got the most tips?’
‘Dave did; he’s much better at flirting than I am…’
‘I wouldn't say that,’ she said. He looked at her in disbelief.
With Pandora’s box slung off its hinges, Theseus judged that it was a suitable time to bring up his afternoon transgression.
In a serious tone, he ventured, ‘I’m so unearthly sorry for what I said this afternoon.’
‘Are you apologising again?’ He nodded, solemnly.
‘I haven’t laughed so much since the story about the middle-aged woman chasing you around the interview room.’
‘So, the things you find the funniest involve my humiliation.’ She grinned.
‘Your uptight nature makes them additionally funny.’
‘Have you been conferring with my brother?’
‘Why? I’ve never met your brother.’
‘I returned home to find he’d spilled beer all over my couch.’
‘Your beautiful blue leather couch?’
‘Yep. Until I went to clean it up and he admitted it was water.’ She responded by giggling. ‘And he had his boots on my coffee table. He works at the zoo. I went to a lot of trouble to make that coffee table, and he had his dung-encrusted boots on it. Then he admitted that they were new boots.’ Her giggles turned into peals of laughter.
Dave looked on, conferring with their waiter, who was overready to supply their menus.
‘He’s my mate. I’ve never seen him with a hot woman before. And she’s laughing at his pathetic jokes.’
‘More time then?’