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Unknown blood by Chika

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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks again to Python, who reminded me of a few things. Hopefully, I've made the mistakes a little smaller here. This chapter's dedicated to her, with my thanks!
David rose from his bed before his parents and left their hotel room. He only just remembered to change his clothes before leaving, but proceeded to change and went outside and sat on a bench. His eyes were closed, hunched over as his arms rested on his knees. The roar of the distant waves was soothing; relaxing. If he opened his eyes, he could see its beauty. It would make a nice picture. If his parents owned a camera-though they were large and expensive-he’d have taken a picture. The bench squeaked as someone sat beside him. He didn’t have to guess who.

“Good morning,” Emily said.


“Did you sleep well?”


Emily frowned. David seemed to have his mind on something important, or he was just unresponsive. “My father was quite impressed by you.”

No response.

Emily sighed. “David, why won’t you talk to me?”

Still nothing.

“Is it your parents?”


“Your mother doesn’t like me, does she?”

“No.” The block in David’s mouth opened. He leaned back and said, “She thinks we’ll elope and she doesn’t approve.”

Emily blushed, the pink tinge bright on her fair cheeks. “I guessed as much.”

“I don’t want her to hate you, Emily.” He continued, half in his thoughts and half telling her. “If she gave you a chance, she would love you. Possibly begging for a wedding date. Not that, you know,” he added quickly, when that particular thought escaped his lips, “That we would get married. Or be more than friends. Not that I don’t want to, but-“

David faltered as she took his hand. “I know, David. Maybe she thinks that we’re becoming close a little too quickly?”

That wasn’t how David saw it; he figured that things weren’t moving fast enough. And judging by Emily’s words, he guessed that she felt the same way.

“Maybe if we got our parents to sit down and explain why we were friendly, they would understand a little better.”

“Perhaps.” She said, having pondered for a moment. “My dad is an artistic man, he can sketch beautiful pictures. Maybe bringing one would help calm the tension?”

“Well, my mother is an art lover…” he responded. His hand rose to her chin, and he stroked it. “ You know, our parents might be the answer.”

“What about sports?” she asked, having remembered something. “ Do they like tennis? My dad’s booked one of the hotel’s tennis court for an hour this afternoon.”

“I think my mother was trying to reserve a court for this afternoon.” David replied. “We could just watch, but my mother in particular loves it.”

“Then we’ll see if my father wants to play with them. But David,” Emily cautioned, “This has to work if we want to see each other again.”

“I know.”


Mrs. Laurent rose from her bed. Her husband was already up for the day, and, soon, she would be ready to visit the plot of land. Her husband had already seen it, and seemed pleased. Perhaps this small town would be the next place with a Laurent’s Jewelery store.

It was not long before she had received and eaten her breakfast, and she was soon checking that her clothes were impeccable, as her servant-one that had worked for her loyally since David’s birth- added the finishing touches to her hat’s placement. She regarded herself as high-class, and no one would end that. Not even if her son tried.

Ah, poor David. Mrs. Laurent could tell that the boy liked the girl-Emily, wasn’t it? - that he had brought to dinner the night before. She had been shocked at that, but the girl had seemed nice and polite. It hadn’t been until the main course when she had noticed the girl looked at David the same way he looked at her. Child’s love. She had no business with child’s love; David was growing older and still had no wife. And the girl’s father! Mrs. Laurent clicked her tongue in disapproval when she thought of him. To let his daughter-possibly his only child, from what the girl had said at the table-go without meeting the escort’s parents, and hardly meeting David, for that matter, was incredibly foolish.

Shaking her head, she moved to the writing desk in the corner of the bedroom, and sat to write a letter to her sister.

Arielle, she started, I’m amazed by the gall of the people here in Santa Carla. David has fallen quite obviously for a local girl-but it’s just child’s love, as if for a sister or close friend, I imagine. The girl seems to feel similarly. Gazing into one another’s eyes and whatnot. He invited her to dinner last night, and she didn’t even have her father! The audacity amazes me. Next, David will probably speak of true love and that foolishness. Poor Suzanna, she will be so disappointed to learn of his rudeness.

She continued on, telling her sister of the town and the news. But I will see you soon, Arielle, for we leave in three days-oh, if only the days could fly faster!


Mrs. Laurent loved writing letters to her sister, for they were close and the gossip between them was a wonderful break from her monotonous husband. It was a delightful part of her week.

The letter was sealed and she left the hotel room. The elevator was manned by a young gentleman, and the gold grille opened in the grand lobby. The hotel, she had to admit, was lovely. Like the one in New York, very modern and rich. The tall pillars gave a touch of London, and the trickling fountain added a youthful touch. She didn’t much like youthfulness, but she quite liked the fountain.

The young man at the front desk was looking at a file under the main counter, but looked up when she approached. Her lip curled in slight disgust. He had black hair, which was in need of a trim. It was a full half-inch too long to be acceptable to her standards. His dark eyes seemed to miss her distaste.

“I would like this mailed to the address in San Francisco, please.” She said, sliding the envelope across the counter with a gloved hand.

His hand picked the envelope up. “Yes, ma’am. It will be my pleasure,” he said. “Will that be all you require?”

“No, I would like to book the tennis court for this afternoon.”

The clerk checked a schedule under the desk. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the courts are booked for today. Would tomorrow be fine?”

She looked ruffled. “No, it would not be. Good day.”

Turning around, she saw David walk confidently into the lobby, his eyes scanning for someone. When he saw his mother, he hurried over. “Can you believe it, David? Every single tennis court booked for today, how infuriating…”

“Mother, Emily’s invited us to play tennis with her and her father this afternoon.” David replied. “Lucky, isn’t it?”

“Yes, quite.” She had to wonder if that had been done on purpose.

“We’ll meet them at the courts at one o’clock. Will that be fine?”

“I see no problem. And remember: The girl is not your betrothed.”

Mrs. Laurent could almost see her son become irritated. “Yes, mother.”

Mollified, the woman left to take a stroll through the gardens.

David meanwhile, was mentally cheering. The simple fact that his mother agreed was heartening, since she wasn’t prone to do so normally. He gave the desk clerk a small smile, before turning and going up to the family room.

The remainder of the morning and lunch passed without further incident. David was taken by his parents to visit the plot of land, which Mrs. Laurent declared ‘Passable’, and Mr. Laurent said was, ‘Perfect.’ David, on the other, hand, thought something closer to the metropolitan area of the city would be better for business-after all, good necklaces and stones were great, but who wanted to go so far out of the way to get them? He knew that voicing this opinion was not what his mother wanted, so when asked what he thought of the location, he said it was, ‘Nice.’

Lunch was spent in the hotel’s small restaurant. It was small and cozy, and the food was lovely. It was, considering his mother, low-key, and a little relaxed. Then, they had to get ready to meet Emily and her father.

The sun shone brightly on the tennis court as the Laurent trio arrived. David blinked, holding his hand over his eyes to protect them from the strong light. The Willows were already waiting there for them, perched comfortably under an umbrella poking through the middle of a small table. A pair of rackets rested next to the table.

Emily stood up with their approach. She was wearing the same outfit she had when he first saw her, a pale yellow tennis dress with cream coloured touches. Her boot heels were very small, to help her move a little faster on the court. The hem swished around her ankles as she moved.

David raised her hand and kissed the back, making the girl blush. He didn’t have to look behind him to know his mother disapproved of his greeting.

While he and Emily chatted about the day, their parents met for the first time. “A pleasure to meet you both. I am Adam Willows.” Mr. Willows said, giving a small, formal bow.

“A delight. I’m George Laurent, and this is my wife, Alice. You know David, of course.”

Mrs. Laurent listened impatiently as the gentleman discussed business in the town. The pair seemed to get along nicely, which was well enough, but there was something she wanted to know. And if she wanted to know, then she usually knew soon. “Mr. Willows-“ she began.

“Please, call me Adam.”

“Very well then, Adam. Your daughter accompanied us to our dinner last night at David’s invitation. I was surprised that you didn’t come as her father, if not to meet us.”

Mr. Willows gave a deep chuckle. “My dear woman, my understanding was that she would be with the lad’s family, including two responsible parents-Forgive me if I was mistaken.”

Mrs. Laurent’s face flushed. She seemed to be having difficulty coming up with words. “Er-No, you weren’t.”

Sensing an awkward moment, her husband piped up. “Well, shall we start our match?”

David and Emily turned to look at their parents when they heard that. “There’s an odd number of people, so who’ll sit out in the first match?” David asked.

“I will.” His mother said. “I wouldn’t mind a drink while I watch, either.”

Mr. Willows nodded and gestured to the small table. “There’s plenty of iced tea on the table, if you would like it.”

“Thank you, sir.” She responded, moving to sit.

The teams-David and his father, Emily and her father- were fairly evenly matched, but in the end, the Willows won. They played another set with David and his father winning, before taking a break.

“You know,” Mr. Willows began, “I don’t know if David has told you, but I’m quite good at art. Would you like to sit for a group sketch? I shouldn’t take a terribly long time to finish it. And you would look so lovely, madam,” he told Mrs. Laurent.

She gave him a smile and pondered it for a moment. “Perhaps, that does sound like a wonderful memento. “

“Excellent! Why not join Emily and myself at five in our room? We can have some dinner brought up, and get to know one another better.”

“That will be fine,” Mrs. Laurent nodded in response. “George, dear, let’s go to the room and get ourselves ready, shall we?”
As David’s parents left, Emily grasped David’s arm. “Let’s have another match.”

“You and your father have one, I’ll sit out this time,” he responded, with a smile.

With a nod, Emily left his side and went onto the court, her father on the other.

The match continued for quite sometime. He could plainly see that she was good at the game, with a powerful backstroke. She actually beat her father.

It was three-thirty before the game was finished. David stood up, and dusted off his pants legs.

“That was impressive,” he said to both. “You two play very well.”

Emily’s cheeks had a pink tinge from the exertion. “Thank you.” She said, a little breathlessly.

Mr. Willows joined the pair and put his arm over Emily’s shoulders protectively. “Thank you, David,” he said, before looking down at his daughter. “I think its time we go up and get ready for our company, eh, Emily?”

“Yes, father.” She gave David one last smile, and the pair left, leaving David alone on the tennis court. The sun was still high and bright in the sky overhead, and he drank the last glass of the iced tea.

David picked up his racket, giving it a few small swings as he began to follow the Willows back into the hotel.
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