Maid to Order [Parts 1-5]
Title: Maid to Order
Author/Artist: Me!
Rating: Right now, probably T. Will get to M eventually.
Character(s) or Pairing(s): LietPol! <3 And Hungary. And Estonia.
Warnings: Gay!Hooker!Poland.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
Summary: Feliks Łukasiewicz runs away to southern France and ends up working as a maid at a famous author's villa. Things get a little crazy when Toris Laurinaitis, aforementioned successful author who doesn't know Feliks is a crossdresser, asks Feliks to pretend to be his trophy wife.
[Kink Meme De-anon because I realized that my part is closed and past part fills... I don't understand... you say not to post but yet to post... I gave up.]
-&-&-
Toris Laurinaitis was one of the most successful men in the entire world. His novels had been translated into over fifty different languages and were well known by all branches of society.
His work had been a science fiction phenomenon. After the success of his first book, Laurinaitis’ subsequent works had ensnared the literary scene. He’d won just about every award on record, been included in almost every top 100 list. His books had all been part of Oprah’s book club.
Laurinaitis’ works were meant to criticize society. They were set in the future, but the important ideals currently emphasized were beyond exaggerated in his books.
Because of his success, Toris Laurinaitis was one of the most sought-after bachelors in the entire world. Not to mention his wealth-Toris was worth more than the Queen of England.
It was all a little overwhelming for a Lithuanian man who simply wanted to share his opinions with the world.
-&-&-
Toris sighed. He was sitting at his desk in his French villa, overlooking the estate he’d purchased during the economic downturn. How had he been supposed to refuse that kind of deal?
The backyard was paradise. The garden was lush with greenery. Flowers of all colors blossomed along the beautiful, red brick walkway. There was a fountain in the middle of the garden-Toris had initially thought that perhaps the fountain doubled as a pool, but his gardener has corrected him.
The heated pool was inside, actually, but one wall was collapsible and could be opened to overlook the garden if he wished it. There was a hot tub, too.
Really, how was he supposed to turn this down? Toris didn’t know what to do with himself. He had a chef and a butler! It was all very odd to a once poor Lithuanian child who had simply dreamed of a bathtub.
Toris liked France. It was very nice-warm and sunny, with a nice breeze rolling into his office when he decided to open the windows.
He paid air conditioning, though. When you were ridiculously wealthy, Toris mused, why not enjoy the breeze and air conditioning at the same time?
Toris turned his attention back to his laptop. He had a Microsoft word document open, and the cursor was blinking steadily at the top of his blank document.
He’d just finished his eighth book tour. It had been an international event, taking him all around the world.
Toris loved the traveling. He loved to meet his readers: he truly enjoyed the book signing and discussing his work with his fans. Sometimes his wrist hurt at the end of the day, but it was a small price to pay for the joy on a single person’s face. He loved how easy it was to make someone so happy.
Sometimes he felt a bit extravagant, what with his heated tile floors (in southern France! It’s not like it got that cold. Maybe in December. For a day.) and oddities that he didn’t even know were important to have until he could afford to have them.
Toris wasn’t really losing money, though. He was fabulously wealthy. His publisher had honestly not expected much from his book, so Toris convinced him to sign a 10-90 contract. Toris had had to pay a ridiculous amount of money initially to get his contract accepted. He’d gone into debt, even. But he believed in his story.
So Toris had made 90% profit from all the sales of his first book-one that was still selling out across bookstores even now. Needless to say his publisher regretted that decision. This first thing he did with his first paycheck was to pay back all his loans.
He probably made 1500 dollars an hour just by sitting around. Interest was a lovely thing.
He was trying to get started on his next book, but he really didn’t feel like it. He didn’t have any deadlines (amazingly!) because he told his editor he needed some personal time.
His editor had given him a full year. Toris still had to go on book signing events and the like, but other than that he had a full year to himself.
Mostly though…
Mostly Toris just wanted to avoid women.
He groaned and let his head hit the table.
Everywhere he went, even book signings, he couldn’t get away from those damn creatures.
Okay, that’s not fair.
They weren’t creatures. They were just creepy.
Toris didn’t want to sign boobs. He was an author, not a rock star! He didn’t want sex advice. He didn’t want offers to go have sex. He didn’t want sex!
At least not with females.
Toris sighed again.
His editor and publisher had agreed on one thing when he’d told them about his sexuality.
Keep it secret!
Secret. His sexuality, which had only plagued him since who-the-hell-knows-when and he was finally comfortable with, had to be kept under wraps.
Not for his European fanbase, no. For America.
Toris wished they’d hurry up and just legalize gay marriage over there already. It’d save him a lot of grief.
He honestly did not understand his editor’s logic, but his sexuality remaining secret was a part of his contract.
Toris hadn’t known that until his editor had pointed the clause out to him.
What was a gay author to do? He couldn’t just tell the girls he was gay, but he couldn’t bring himself to act like he was interested either. Because he wasn’t. At all.
Boobs were not okay. They were weird, floating things. Toris did not like them.
He’d never had sex with a woman, but he’d seen heterosexual pornography.
Toris did not like the way boobs bounced every which way. It was disgustingly unattractive.
Especially because the breasts were either fake or mostly fat. Bouncing fat… ugh. Just the thought made his stomach twitch.
He sighed dramatically once more, and then a quick ping from his computer alerted him of a new email.
He minimized the Word document (honestly, who was he kidding) and opened his email.
Bonnefoy, Francis. Mon cher, publicity idea! 11:44 AM
Toris rolled his eyes and clicked his agent’s email.
Bonjour, Toris!
I have had a lovely idea! You are big with the ladies, but there’s much mystery about you!
I know you are taking personal time off-I have decided to leak that to the press!
Oui, I am magnifique! They will be buzzing about you, mon cher! Just letting you know, ta!
Toris stared at the email, alarmed. He grabbed his cell phone and dialed Francis immediately.
“You didn’t.”
“I did.” He replied cheekily. “Your name must stay in the headlines!”
“The whole point of personal time is personal time.” Toris stressed. “I just wanted some time to myself-“
“For your lady friend, non?”
“I’m gay.”
“Oui, I know. But that is not allowed, monsieur. We must project the image that you are searching for love! Perhaps you will find it?”
“I won’t,” Toris replied, “because I’m not looking for it.”
“This is very sad.” Francis chastised him. “Never give up on love!”
“I’m not giving up, I just don’t want to be harassed about it!” Toris said. “Besides, what kind of guy is going to allow a serious relationship to stay secret indefinitely?”
“You don’t know if you never look!”
Toris sighed. “I don’t have to look. I’d never allow that kind of thing!”
“Well, you have more morals than most people-“
“Francis! I’m not doing that to someone!” Toris interjected. “I’d never do that to anyone. What if they started to feel insecure? I would if I were in that position. I’d never wish that upon anyone. I’m not going to put them in that situation!”
“Hmm… well, I will find a solution.”
“I don’t want you to find a solution. I want you to let my love life be.”
“Well, the press will run your personal time article tomorrow. You are warned!”
“Thanks, Francis.” Toris said. “But really, I’m okay. This is the way it has to be.”
“I am not so sure. There is someone for everyone.”
“Goodbye, Francis.” Toris hung up. He felt a bit bad, like he was being rude, but Francis’ romantic tangents could grate on his nerves.
He sighed, closing his laptop and pushing away from his desk. He stood up and walked in front of his open window.
He had so much money… so much love and affection to give… and no one to share it with. And so many expectations and responsibilities on top of that-a secret relationship, first of all, and then Toris needing to dedicate so much time to his work-leaving for book tours and the like all times of the year, and spending days holed up in his office when his deadlines were approaching…
Toris frowned. Money really can’t buy you happiness.
-&-&-
Feliks Łukasiewicz was an absolute mess.
He specialized in blowjobs, of course. Being a male and all, vaginal intercourse was right out. And customers didn’t want to pay for sex from a cross dresser, so anal sex was out, too.
Blowjobs did not pay the bills, so Feliks cooked and helped out around the whorehouse, too. He did the laundry, kept the place clean, did all the grunt work, and in his free time sucked cock to save money.
He’d been here as long as he could remember. He life was almost ridiculously simple:
Wake up. Cook breakfast. Do the dishes. Do laundry from last night (all the sheets had to be cleaned-usually they were covered in grime from the previous night’s activities). Replace sheets with clean sheets. Cook lunch. Do the dishes. Clean the entry way and the public bathrooms. The private rooms were left to the whores, so Feliks was only responsible for straightening his own small bedroom. Cook dinner and snacks for the guests. Serve dinner dressed scantily.
Then came the cock sucking.
That was his day, every day. Sometimes no one wanted his services, in which case he was sent to the streets in his best hooker clothes to draw customers in.
There was only so much a down-on-his-luck hooker can do. This job was what he knew-his mother had been a prostitute. He hadn’t known a father. He’d grown up here.
He’d gone to elementary school, but then he’d become too useful as a maid to waste his time in school.
Feliks had been saving up for one thing since he’d turned eighteen-a ticket to southern France.
Customers waxed poetic about France-that was beyond beautiful and the like.
It was Feliks’ dream. It was his escape. He was going to France.
And here he was.
He was nineteen. One pink suitcase and his favorite purse later, he’d run out of that whorehouse in high heels like his life depended on it, all the money he’d saved shoved in his bra, tucked away between his falsies and pink fabric.
Now that he was here, he had no idea what to do. None. The train station was bustling with activity, and Feliks stood frozen in the middle of it all. He needed a job. He didn’t speak French.
Terrified. He was absolutely terrified. He had 2 euros left in his pocket. That wasn’t enough for a taxi anywhere or even a snack.
It wasn’t enough for a ticket back to Poland, either, so he was stuck here.
His pimp wouldn’t care. He couldn’t just call and get a ticket back. Whores were allowed in and allowed to leave whenever-it was a pretty relaxed practice-but once you left you couldn’t just come back in. You had to start from the ground up.
Feliks had a feeling that would mean anal sex with dirty, creepy men. No thank you.
That didn’t make him less of a mess. He was absolutely overwhelmed. He blinked, trying to keep the tears at bay.
And then he felt a tap on his shoulder.
He shrieked, teetering backwards and turning to face what he thought was a threat.
It wasn’t a threat, but a worried looking female.
“Are you all right?” She said.
“I… I ran away from home.” Feliks half-lied. “I’m just a bit scared and stuff. I need to find a job.”
The woman eyed Feliks curiously. “Where have you worked before?”
“I’ve been a maid.” Basically. “And a chef. Laundry, cooking, dishes. Like that sort of thing?”
The woman eyed Feliks pensively. “You’re in luck. I’m in need of an additional maid at the villa.”
Feliks couldn’t believe his luck. “Shut up!”
“Pardon me?”
“Like, shut up! As in, no way!” Feliks attempted to elaborate. “When does this start?”
“I can take you there now.” The woman replied, slightly amused.
“Oh my god.” Feliks said. “You’re a goddess of the earth.”
“Thank you.” The woman looked flattered.
“Is there a place to stay there?” Feliks asked. “Like, an overnight maid?”
The woman chuckled. “Yes, I can arrange that.”
“Did I say goddess of earth? You’re the goddess of the universe.”
“I’m Elizabeta Héderváry, and I’m your new boss.”
-&-&-
Feliks was amazed as Elizabeta drove through the southern countryside.
“Whoa.” Feliks pressed his face against the window, staring at the scene before him. “France is absolutely beautiful.”
“Isn’t it?” Elizabeta said. “Listen up, employee. We’re going to Laurinaitis Villa.”
“A villa?”
“Yes. Mr. Laurinaitis’ villa.” Elizabeta replied. “He might ask you to call him Toris, but you shall always address him as Mr. Laurinaitis. Is that clear?”
“Yes ma’am!” Feliks chirped. “Do I call you goddess?”
“That is acceptable.” Elizabeta said with a smile. “Let me give you a quick rundown of the staff.
“Eduard Von Bock is the butler. He’s in charge of answering the door, taking care of Mr. Laurinaitis’ needs, that sort of thing. Von Bock is my boss, so if he asks something of you, obey him.
“Von Bock delegates work to me, which I’ll split between the two of us. You’re the new maid-sorry, dear, but you’re the bottom of the food chain.”
Elizabeta continued to explain duties and time schedules and the like, but Feliks was kind of bored and tuned her out.
Listen to everyone else. Do what everyone else says when they say to do it. Story of his life, he could handle it.
“…and you’ll have your own bedroom. Only Eduard stays at night-besides the night security, that is-so if there’s an emergency be prepared to work at night and the next morning as well. Eduard will most likely enjoy having additional help. You will most likely be in charge of preparing breakfast.”
Feliks smiled. He actually enjoyed making breakfast.
“Thank you.” He said sincerely. “I’d still be in that train station without your help.”
“Honestly?” Elizabeta replied, “I was taking the train north to go interview potentials. You saved me quite a chunk of time.”
“We lucked out.” Feliks said.
“We did.”
-&-&-
Feliks was soon happily settled in his new routine: Wake up. Prepare breakfast. Arrange breakfast artistically on Mr. Laurinaitis’ morning tray. Give tray to Eduard for delivery. Clean the kitchen and empty the dishwasher. If prompted by Eduard, run Mr. Laurinaitis’ a bath.
Put away all the ingredients from Elizabeta’s morning grocery trip in town. Once Mr. Laurinaitis was out of his room, go make the bed. Straighten. Empty his hamper and do laundry. If it was a Tuesday, Thursday, or Saturday-strip the sheets from the bed, put new ones on, other sheets get washed. Whenever you have free time, clean.
Sometimes Feliks thought he did a lot for just one maid, but he soon realized that Elizabeta didn’t have other maids.
In fact, the household staff consisted of three people: Eduard, Elizabeta, and now himself. There was a gardener, but he dropped by three times a week. Elizabeta fancied herself a cook and had convinced Toris to hire another maid so she didn’t have to clean.
Feliks wasn’t sure why such a large mansion only had one maid. He worked very efficiently, sure, but still. It just seemed a bit odd that Elizabeta would pick him for such a specific job. Such a well-paying job, at that.
Hell if Feliks understood females. Whatever. He wasn’t going to bite a gift horse in the mouth. Or something like that.
Feliks did get to wear the most adorable uniform ever, though. It was the traditional French maid uniform. Authentic and everything! It made him squeal for joy, sometimes. In the privacy of his own room. And whenever he looked into mirrors.
Feliks had only seen Mr. Laurinaitis a few times since he started working. Once when he had been introduced (but Mr. Laurinaitis was working and hadn’t even looked up) and when Feliks ended up dusting in the hallway.
Mr. Laurinaitis wasn’t bad looking, but he wasn’t especially good looking either. He looked kind of boring. Lifeless. Feliks thought it was a bit sad. He owned a beautiful villa, but lived alone in it.
-&-&-
Toris had had enough.
Laurinaitis Looking for Love!
World-Renowned Author Looking for Happy Ending
Just two of many, many irritating tabloid titles. It was enough to make anyone scream.
“Just knock it off, Francis! Quit giving them comments-“
“Any publicity is good publicity!”
“I’m an author, not an actor!”
“Well, just tell the public you’re taken!”
“Fine! Tell them I’m taken! Heck, at this rate, why not make it engaged?!”
The next day, Toris was horrified.
Secret Engagement! When, Where, How, WHO?
TORIS LAURINAITIS ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED
Author Bids Bachelorhood Goodbye
“Francis, I was joking!”
“Ah, too late! Now they are abuzz with the mystery of it all! My work here is done.”
Toris moaned, letting his head drop into his hands. “My life is miserable.”
-&-&-
“Can you take Mr. Laurinaitis his lunch?” Eduard interrupted Feliks’ usual routine with a raspy voice. “I’d like to run to the pharmacy and get some cough drops.”
“Of course, Eddy!” Feliks chirped happily. Eduard couldn’t help but smile at Feliks’ enthusiasm.
Eduard had been beyond skeptical when he’d heard Elizabeta’s story, but Feliks was a very diligent worker. Eduard had no complaints. Feliks was simply fun to be around, even if he was working.
Eduard cringed at the nickname, though. Feliks had a habit with nicknames. Bad ones.
“Thank you.”
“No prob, where’s the boss man?” Feliks said, hand on his hip.
“In his office, I believe. I don’t think he’s has a good day, though.”
“When does he ever?” Eduard heard Feliks mumble as the maid carried the tray up the stairs.
-&-&-
Toris looked up when he heard a knock on the door. He glanced down at the tabloids on the table and shoved them to the side of the desk.
“Come in, Eduard!”
“Sorry,” he heard from the other side of the door, “not Eduard.”
Toris blinked as a maid entered with his lunch. Another maid? When had he gotten a new maid?
Elizabeta would have told him, right?
“Who’re you?”
“Feliks, sir.” The maid replied politely, placing the tray at the edge of Toris’ desk. “Would you like any coffee?”
“That’d be fine. How long have you been working here?”
“About a week.” Feliks looked up at him curiously. “Sir.”
“Quit with the ‘sir.’ I’m too young to be a sir.” Toris said as Feliks passed him a cup of coffee. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” pause, “sir.”
Toris glanced up from his coffee and saw the maid’s playful smile. “So… what’s for lunch?”
“Bleu cheese soufflé and pear tarts with crème fraîche.” Feliks stumbled over the pronunciation a bit, but Toris was surprised to realize he didn’t care.
Feliks was a female.
Why was he attracted to her?
Toris had no idea, but decided it was worth a shot.
“I have a proposal for you.” Toris tried to begin his explanation, but Feliks interrupted him with a flirtatious wink.
“A bit soon, sir.” Feliks grinned cheekily, and Toris rolled his eyes.
“Let me finish,” he stated, and then he was distracted by the fact Feliks had actually joked with him. But the moment was lost, so Toris cleared his throat and tried to continue.
“Well, the thing is, I kind of told the press I’m engaged.”
“Oh, that.” Feliks replied nonchalantly.
“Yes, that!”
“That’s totally bullshit. I read that and was like, ‘the fuck?’ cause like, no offense or anything, but I’ve seen nobody around this place. It’s a complete ghost town.” Feliks pointed out.
“The fact that it’s ‘bullshit’, as you succinctly phrased it, is irrelevant. What matters is the fact that the press thinks I’m engaged.”
“Just tell them it was bullshit?” Feliks suggested.
“No, I can’t do that. They’ll never let me live it down.”
“Who cares?”
“…What?”
“Who cares if you can’t live it down?”
“I care!”
“Totally sounds like a personal problem.” Feliks grinned. “Sir.”
“Look,” Toris paused, his face morphing into a pleading expression, “would you pretend to be my wife?”
“…What?”
“You know, like…” Toris gesticulated in a sad attempt to fill the awkward silence.
“You want me to act… wifely?” Feliks said in a rare moment of insight.
“Well, yeah.” Toris said softly. “I mean, it’s probably degrading…” A thought flew through his head. This was the maid Eduard had told him about! “Aren’t you the one Eduard said ran away? And so, forgive me, but what do you have to lose? You’d just do what you do but be my pretend fiancée when the occasion strikes.”
Feliks stared at him. “Desperate much?”
Toris shrugged helplessly. “Please?”
Feliks thought about it for a moment, and then shrugged with a small smile. “One trophy wife, at your service.” Feliks paused. “Sir.”
-&-&-
Things continued as they had been.
Toris stayed holed up in his office for hours at a time, staring unhappily at his computer screen and that damn blinking cursor and also trying to avoid the media.
Feliks enjoyed his maid uniform and all the benefits of living in a beautiful villa. His new bedroom was three times the size of his old, and it smelled way better, too!
Things changed at the end of Feliks’ second week.
When Feliks got his first paycheck, he cried out and staggered to the wall to support himself.
He stared at the number in disbelief.
Two thousand euros. Two thousand.
“Lizzy!” He shrieked, rocketing into the kitchen in his favorite pair of black heels. “Lizzy, there has been a gigantic mistake!”
“What is it, dear?” Elizabeta was leaning against the counter, waiting for her enchiladas to finish cooking. The fruit salad was already ready and waiting on the island.
Feliks held up his check with trembling hands.
“This is not right.” Was all he could manage.
Elizabeta took the check and looked at Feliks oddly. She turned the check over and held it up to the light for verification.
“No, this is right. It’s real and everything.”
“Oh my god.” Feliks pressed a hand over his heart. “Oh. My. God.”
Elizabeta raised an eyebrow. “Are you okay? Or are you just being dramatic again?”
“I’m going to have a heart attack.”
“Dramatic it is. Look,” Elizabeta began, “I told you it was a high salary.”
“High salary!” Feliks bit out. “High salary? This is like… this is like stealing!” Feliks gesticulated wildly. “This is two thousand euros, Lizzy!”
“If you have a problem, take it up with Mr. Laurinaitis.”
Feliks stared at his check, emotions wrecking havoc on his body.
“I think I need to do that.” He replied quietly. “Like… really.”
“He’s in his office.”
“I know. Where else would he be?” Feliks spun on his heels and headed up the stairs.
-&-&-
Toris heard the knock on his door and was grateful for the interruption.
“Come in!” He called.
He wasn’t particularly surprised to see… the blonde enter. The blonde. Toris could not remember her name.
He had three full-time employees a part-time gardener and could not remember all their names. Geez. He felt like an asshole, especially when this was the girl he was paying to pretend to be his fiancée.
The girl didn’t say anything. She just held out the check awkwardly, shakily.
Toris took it, slightly confused. He checked it-two thousand, just like he wanted.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, a bit concerned with just how pale the girl was, and how her entire body seemed to be shaking.
“Two thousand.” She whispered, so quietly Toris could hardly hear her.
“Yep. Two thousand.” Toris repeated, staring down at the check to confirm the number and then back up at the girl.
He was alarmed to see her trembling increase.
“What’s wrong? Is it… is it not enough?” Toris asked. He was expecting a lot from her.
“Not enough?” Her voice cracked, and she looked up at him with wide, teary green eyes. Toris felt like a bastard. He didn’t know what he’d done, but he was a bastard for doing it. “Not enough…!” She said, incredulously, staring at him like he was an alien from another planet.
“I can’t take all this.” She corrected him. “I can’t. I’m just a maid.”
Toris gaped. “But-“
“No.” The girl shook her head. “It’s too much.”
“It’s not-!“
“It is!”
“I’m expecting so much of you!”
“Not that much!”
“Yes, that much!” Toris explained. “I’m making you pretend to be my fiancée! My wife. It’s going to be everywhere-all over the news, the TV, the Internet. Your face will be everywhere. You won’t be able to date anyone else while this… this farce of a relationship continues…! You’re giving up so much for me. I can just imagine how many offers a beautiful woman like you gets!” Toris raved, staring at the girl in front of him. She was really lovely, all legs and curly blonde locks. Why had she agreed so easily?
And she just continued to stare at him like he was an alien.
“Who would want me?” She said self-deprecatingly. “Sir, I-“
“Who wouldn’t want you?” Toris interrupted. “You’re so kind, agreeing to do this for me even though you barely know me!”
She looked shell-shocked. “I just-“
“Look,” Toris interrupted, clasping his hands and leaning over his desk. “You are doing me an enormous favor. You don’t understand… but you must understand how huge this is?
“I’m paying to attend fancy banquets in my honor, sing my praises, look the part. I’m paying you to act as my wife, but to be genuine in your false affection. I’m asking you to fake it, and fake it well, on my behalf.”
She blinked at him. “…Yeah?”
“I’m asking you to lie to the entire world.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“It’s not-it won’t be.” Toris sighed heavily, sinking down in his chair. ”You honestly don’t understand. How can I explain it to you…? I should have earlier! How can I expect you to get it when I just shove it in your face and beg you to agree?” He muttered to himself.
She looked at him oddly with a quirked head. “You’re a worrywart, aren’t you?”
He stared at her. “…I am no such thing.”
“It’s okay, I’m a total drama queen. I promise I can bullshit my way through anything!”
“That’s honestly not very reassuring…”
“Aha! You are worrying about it!”
“N-No, I was just saying-“
“Not to worry, boss man! I shall research my little heart out! I shall shop until I drop! I will be the most fantastic trophy wife that has ever existed!” She replied enthusiastically.
“Oh dear Lord.”
“You asked for it!” She tossed him a wink and left like a woman on a mission.
Toris sighed. He had created a monster.
-&-&-
Feliks stared at the check in his hand. Two thousand euros for a perfect wife makeover! If anyone could do it, he could.
But he did need to research. Obviously, this Mr. Laurinaitis was way more popular than he’d previously thought.
Fortunately, Toris knew who to turn to.
“Lizzy!” He went back into the kitchen. Elizabeta was still calmly waiting for her enchiladas to finish.
She tilted her head in acknowledgement.
“I have a problem.” Feliks confessed. “I need your help.”
Elizabeta turned to face Feliks, a bit concerned. “Does this have to do with Mr. Laurinaitis? What did he say?”
“Oh. Like, well, you see, I’m kind of his fiancée now. But I don’t know what to wear.” Feliks confessed. “I’ve got two thousand euros to spend, though.”
“…you’re what?”
“His fiancée?”
“How the fuck did that happen?”
Feliks shrugged. “I’m a drama queen, apparently.”
Elizabeta stared at Feliks. “You’re a dumbass, honey.”
Feliks blinked. “Uh, okay? Will you help me anyway?”
She rolled her eyes and nodded.
Feliks clapped his hands happily. “You’re a goddess!”
“I know.”
-&-&-
“So, why is Mr. Laurinaitis like so popular, anyway?” Feliks asked as Elizabeta drove him towards the nearest city.
“He’s an author.”
“An author?” Feliks asked. “Like, of books?”
“What else do authors do?”
“I don’t know.” Feliks replied. “I was just like, whoa. That popular from books? What’s so great about books?”
“You’ve never read his work?”
“Nope.”
“Had you even heard of him before you started working at the villa?”
“Nope.”
“You’re probably going to need to read them. They’re going to be the main topic of conversation around him.”
Feliks shrugged. “I don’t read books.”
Elizabeta eyed Feliks curiously. “You might need to start.”
“Nah. Trophy wives are stupid, right? I’m totally perfect for the job. And why did we pass that exit? There was a little shopping center?”
“We need to get you brand names. If you don’t have the right clothes, people will be skeptical.” Elizabeta explained. “Don’t worry, I have Mr. Laurinaitis’ credit card.”
Feliks’ eyes got huge. “Shut up!”
Elizabeta grinned. “I figured you wouldn’t mind.”
“Hell no! We need shoes.”
“Of course we need shoes.”
Feliks sighed dreamily. “I fucking love shoes.”
“And matching purses!”
“Fuck yes! This trophy wife thing is the shit!”
-&-&-
Toris was participating in his favorite new pastime: staring at blank Microsoft word documents. The blinking cursor was becoming a constant companion.
He sighed, tracing the keys and pausing to circle around the raised dot on the j key. Then he traced the dot on the f key.
And then he received a ping.
Email! The perfect procrastination device. He minimized his document and pulled up his email.
Mastercard Current Charges-Are You A Victim Of Identity Theft? 5:45 PM.
Toris blinked. An alert? Why would he need an aler-
Oh dear God.
Updated List Of Expenditures:
Cartier-6.700 Euros
Chanel-27.800 Euros
Yves Saint Laurent-38.500 Euros
Celine-7.950 Euros
Christian Dior-23.800 Euros
Chaumet-6.500 Euros
Let Us Know If You’re a Victim. For Immediate Card Deactivation, Call The Number Listed Below. Thank You.
Toris stared at the email.
It was definitely a distraction from work.
…Had she bought the entire store? I mean, what…
What… what… what the hell do you buy that costs that much?!
Toris gaped at his computer for at least five full minutes.
In retrospect, he had asked for it.
-&-&-
Feliks was in an amazingly good mood. Shopping at fancy places was fabulous.
They carried your bags and helped you pick out perfect outfits and matching accessories and they also gave you snacks and even wine if you wanted. Not the crap-o kind, either. The good stuff.
Elizabeta seemed to be having fun watching him. She was a goddess, and Feliks could trust her opinion on his outfits.
“Too skanky.” She rejected one.
“Your ass looks fantastic in that dress!” She approved another.
Feliks preferred dresses and skirts. Not that shorts and pants were ugly or anything, but skirts were more feminine and really cute and went better with heels. (And Feliks fucking loved high heels.) Not to mention that with most skirts he didn’t have to tuck. Of course, he usually did anyway out of pure habit, but a bulge was not something he wanted to be worrying about. Awkward much.
There was nothing as satisfying as retail therapy. He had felt horrible at first, insisting on a budget of two thousand euros as he had planned.
Elizabeta reassured him that the clothes were a job expense.
Technically, being a trophy wife was part of his job. These clothes were necessary for his performance, Elizabeta argued. Therefore, as his employer, Mr. Laurinaitis should foot the bill.
Feliks did find one thing completely hilarious but not unusual-Mr. Laurinaitis had no idea he was male. None. At all. Referring to him as a beautiful lady and all! Silly man.
He supposed it was a compliment. He knew he was truly convincing, and Mr. Laurinaitis obviously found him very attractive. That was his intention, after all!
Feliks was one hundred percent positive that Elizabeta had read completely through him. She was a goddess like that. Even if she had, she obviously didn’t care about his gender; she was the one encouraging him to go for the red lacy bra instead of the just plain black one. Feliks had decided to get both. And a lot more: red with white dots, white with black pinstripes and black lace and matching panties! And then some plainer bras to actually go under his clothes. Garters and stockings, too!
Undergarments were kind of necessary. Technically. If you squinted. Because to make the nice clothes look nice, you needed nice underwear. Right? Right.
Feliks had like a zillion shopping bags to cart back into his room, but he didn’t care. It had been a very fun day.
And his shoes-oh, God. Don’t get him started. Like forty new pairs. Oh yes. Fucking oh yes, indeed. Feliks was probably going to have to try on every new pair again just because.
He had some glittery heels that he was absolutely in love with. Who cared if they made him look like a hooker? He kind of still was. Whatever. They were gorgeous!
Author/Artist: Me!
Rating: Right now, probably T. Will get to M eventually.
Character(s) or Pairing(s): LietPol! <3 And Hungary. And Estonia.
Warnings: Gay!Hooker!Poland.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
Summary: Feliks Łukasiewicz runs away to southern France and ends up working as a maid at a famous author's villa. Things get a little crazy when Toris Laurinaitis, aforementioned successful author who doesn't know Feliks is a crossdresser, asks Feliks to pretend to be his trophy wife.
[Kink Meme De-anon because I realized that my part is closed and past part fills... I don't understand... you say not to post but yet to post... I gave up.]
-&-&-
Toris Laurinaitis was one of the most successful men in the entire world. His novels had been translated into over fifty different languages and were well known by all branches of society.
His work had been a science fiction phenomenon. After the success of his first book, Laurinaitis’ subsequent works had ensnared the literary scene. He’d won just about every award on record, been included in almost every top 100 list. His books had all been part of Oprah’s book club.
Laurinaitis’ works were meant to criticize society. They were set in the future, but the important ideals currently emphasized were beyond exaggerated in his books.
Because of his success, Toris Laurinaitis was one of the most sought-after bachelors in the entire world. Not to mention his wealth-Toris was worth more than the Queen of England.
It was all a little overwhelming for a Lithuanian man who simply wanted to share his opinions with the world.
-&-&-
Toris sighed. He was sitting at his desk in his French villa, overlooking the estate he’d purchased during the economic downturn. How had he been supposed to refuse that kind of deal?
The backyard was paradise. The garden was lush with greenery. Flowers of all colors blossomed along the beautiful, red brick walkway. There was a fountain in the middle of the garden-Toris had initially thought that perhaps the fountain doubled as a pool, but his gardener has corrected him.
The heated pool was inside, actually, but one wall was collapsible and could be opened to overlook the garden if he wished it. There was a hot tub, too.
Really, how was he supposed to turn this down? Toris didn’t know what to do with himself. He had a chef and a butler! It was all very odd to a once poor Lithuanian child who had simply dreamed of a bathtub.
Toris liked France. It was very nice-warm and sunny, with a nice breeze rolling into his office when he decided to open the windows.
He paid air conditioning, though. When you were ridiculously wealthy, Toris mused, why not enjoy the breeze and air conditioning at the same time?
Toris turned his attention back to his laptop. He had a Microsoft word document open, and the cursor was blinking steadily at the top of his blank document.
He’d just finished his eighth book tour. It had been an international event, taking him all around the world.
Toris loved the traveling. He loved to meet his readers: he truly enjoyed the book signing and discussing his work with his fans. Sometimes his wrist hurt at the end of the day, but it was a small price to pay for the joy on a single person’s face. He loved how easy it was to make someone so happy.
Sometimes he felt a bit extravagant, what with his heated tile floors (in southern France! It’s not like it got that cold. Maybe in December. For a day.) and oddities that he didn’t even know were important to have until he could afford to have them.
Toris wasn’t really losing money, though. He was fabulously wealthy. His publisher had honestly not expected much from his book, so Toris convinced him to sign a 10-90 contract. Toris had had to pay a ridiculous amount of money initially to get his contract accepted. He’d gone into debt, even. But he believed in his story.
So Toris had made 90% profit from all the sales of his first book-one that was still selling out across bookstores even now. Needless to say his publisher regretted that decision. This first thing he did with his first paycheck was to pay back all his loans.
He probably made 1500 dollars an hour just by sitting around. Interest was a lovely thing.
He was trying to get started on his next book, but he really didn’t feel like it. He didn’t have any deadlines (amazingly!) because he told his editor he needed some personal time.
His editor had given him a full year. Toris still had to go on book signing events and the like, but other than that he had a full year to himself.
Mostly though…
Mostly Toris just wanted to avoid women.
He groaned and let his head hit the table.
Everywhere he went, even book signings, he couldn’t get away from those damn creatures.
Okay, that’s not fair.
They weren’t creatures. They were just creepy.
Toris didn’t want to sign boobs. He was an author, not a rock star! He didn’t want sex advice. He didn’t want offers to go have sex. He didn’t want sex!
At least not with females.
Toris sighed again.
His editor and publisher had agreed on one thing when he’d told them about his sexuality.
Keep it secret!
Secret. His sexuality, which had only plagued him since who-the-hell-knows-when and he was finally comfortable with, had to be kept under wraps.
Not for his European fanbase, no. For America.
Toris wished they’d hurry up and just legalize gay marriage over there already. It’d save him a lot of grief.
He honestly did not understand his editor’s logic, but his sexuality remaining secret was a part of his contract.
Toris hadn’t known that until his editor had pointed the clause out to him.
What was a gay author to do? He couldn’t just tell the girls he was gay, but he couldn’t bring himself to act like he was interested either. Because he wasn’t. At all.
Boobs were not okay. They were weird, floating things. Toris did not like them.
He’d never had sex with a woman, but he’d seen heterosexual pornography.
Toris did not like the way boobs bounced every which way. It was disgustingly unattractive.
Especially because the breasts were either fake or mostly fat. Bouncing fat… ugh. Just the thought made his stomach twitch.
He sighed dramatically once more, and then a quick ping from his computer alerted him of a new email.
He minimized the Word document (honestly, who was he kidding) and opened his email.
Bonnefoy, Francis. Mon cher, publicity idea! 11:44 AM
Toris rolled his eyes and clicked his agent’s email.
Bonjour, Toris!
I have had a lovely idea! You are big with the ladies, but there’s much mystery about you!
I know you are taking personal time off-I have decided to leak that to the press!
Oui, I am magnifique! They will be buzzing about you, mon cher! Just letting you know, ta!
Toris stared at the email, alarmed. He grabbed his cell phone and dialed Francis immediately.
“You didn’t.”
“I did.” He replied cheekily. “Your name must stay in the headlines!”
“The whole point of personal time is personal time.” Toris stressed. “I just wanted some time to myself-“
“For your lady friend, non?”
“I’m gay.”
“Oui, I know. But that is not allowed, monsieur. We must project the image that you are searching for love! Perhaps you will find it?”
“I won’t,” Toris replied, “because I’m not looking for it.”
“This is very sad.” Francis chastised him. “Never give up on love!”
“I’m not giving up, I just don’t want to be harassed about it!” Toris said. “Besides, what kind of guy is going to allow a serious relationship to stay secret indefinitely?”
“You don’t know if you never look!”
Toris sighed. “I don’t have to look. I’d never allow that kind of thing!”
“Well, you have more morals than most people-“
“Francis! I’m not doing that to someone!” Toris interjected. “I’d never do that to anyone. What if they started to feel insecure? I would if I were in that position. I’d never wish that upon anyone. I’m not going to put them in that situation!”
“Hmm… well, I will find a solution.”
“I don’t want you to find a solution. I want you to let my love life be.”
“Well, the press will run your personal time article tomorrow. You are warned!”
“Thanks, Francis.” Toris said. “But really, I’m okay. This is the way it has to be.”
“I am not so sure. There is someone for everyone.”
“Goodbye, Francis.” Toris hung up. He felt a bit bad, like he was being rude, but Francis’ romantic tangents could grate on his nerves.
He sighed, closing his laptop and pushing away from his desk. He stood up and walked in front of his open window.
He had so much money… so much love and affection to give… and no one to share it with. And so many expectations and responsibilities on top of that-a secret relationship, first of all, and then Toris needing to dedicate so much time to his work-leaving for book tours and the like all times of the year, and spending days holed up in his office when his deadlines were approaching…
Toris frowned. Money really can’t buy you happiness.
-&-&-
Feliks Łukasiewicz was an absolute mess.
He specialized in blowjobs, of course. Being a male and all, vaginal intercourse was right out. And customers didn’t want to pay for sex from a cross dresser, so anal sex was out, too.
Blowjobs did not pay the bills, so Feliks cooked and helped out around the whorehouse, too. He did the laundry, kept the place clean, did all the grunt work, and in his free time sucked cock to save money.
He’d been here as long as he could remember. He life was almost ridiculously simple:
Wake up. Cook breakfast. Do the dishes. Do laundry from last night (all the sheets had to be cleaned-usually they were covered in grime from the previous night’s activities). Replace sheets with clean sheets. Cook lunch. Do the dishes. Clean the entry way and the public bathrooms. The private rooms were left to the whores, so Feliks was only responsible for straightening his own small bedroom. Cook dinner and snacks for the guests. Serve dinner dressed scantily.
Then came the cock sucking.
That was his day, every day. Sometimes no one wanted his services, in which case he was sent to the streets in his best hooker clothes to draw customers in.
There was only so much a down-on-his-luck hooker can do. This job was what he knew-his mother had been a prostitute. He hadn’t known a father. He’d grown up here.
He’d gone to elementary school, but then he’d become too useful as a maid to waste his time in school.
Feliks had been saving up for one thing since he’d turned eighteen-a ticket to southern France.
Customers waxed poetic about France-that was beyond beautiful and the like.
It was Feliks’ dream. It was his escape. He was going to France.
And here he was.
He was nineteen. One pink suitcase and his favorite purse later, he’d run out of that whorehouse in high heels like his life depended on it, all the money he’d saved shoved in his bra, tucked away between his falsies and pink fabric.
Now that he was here, he had no idea what to do. None. The train station was bustling with activity, and Feliks stood frozen in the middle of it all. He needed a job. He didn’t speak French.
Terrified. He was absolutely terrified. He had 2 euros left in his pocket. That wasn’t enough for a taxi anywhere or even a snack.
It wasn’t enough for a ticket back to Poland, either, so he was stuck here.
His pimp wouldn’t care. He couldn’t just call and get a ticket back. Whores were allowed in and allowed to leave whenever-it was a pretty relaxed practice-but once you left you couldn’t just come back in. You had to start from the ground up.
Feliks had a feeling that would mean anal sex with dirty, creepy men. No thank you.
That didn’t make him less of a mess. He was absolutely overwhelmed. He blinked, trying to keep the tears at bay.
And then he felt a tap on his shoulder.
He shrieked, teetering backwards and turning to face what he thought was a threat.
It wasn’t a threat, but a worried looking female.
“Are you all right?” She said.
“I… I ran away from home.” Feliks half-lied. “I’m just a bit scared and stuff. I need to find a job.”
The woman eyed Feliks curiously. “Where have you worked before?”
“I’ve been a maid.” Basically. “And a chef. Laundry, cooking, dishes. Like that sort of thing?”
The woman eyed Feliks pensively. “You’re in luck. I’m in need of an additional maid at the villa.”
Feliks couldn’t believe his luck. “Shut up!”
“Pardon me?”
“Like, shut up! As in, no way!” Feliks attempted to elaborate. “When does this start?”
“I can take you there now.” The woman replied, slightly amused.
“Oh my god.” Feliks said. “You’re a goddess of the earth.”
“Thank you.” The woman looked flattered.
“Is there a place to stay there?” Feliks asked. “Like, an overnight maid?”
The woman chuckled. “Yes, I can arrange that.”
“Did I say goddess of earth? You’re the goddess of the universe.”
“I’m Elizabeta Héderváry, and I’m your new boss.”
-&-&-
Feliks was amazed as Elizabeta drove through the southern countryside.
“Whoa.” Feliks pressed his face against the window, staring at the scene before him. “France is absolutely beautiful.”
“Isn’t it?” Elizabeta said. “Listen up, employee. We’re going to Laurinaitis Villa.”
“A villa?”
“Yes. Mr. Laurinaitis’ villa.” Elizabeta replied. “He might ask you to call him Toris, but you shall always address him as Mr. Laurinaitis. Is that clear?”
“Yes ma’am!” Feliks chirped. “Do I call you goddess?”
“That is acceptable.” Elizabeta said with a smile. “Let me give you a quick rundown of the staff.
“Eduard Von Bock is the butler. He’s in charge of answering the door, taking care of Mr. Laurinaitis’ needs, that sort of thing. Von Bock is my boss, so if he asks something of you, obey him.
“Von Bock delegates work to me, which I’ll split between the two of us. You’re the new maid-sorry, dear, but you’re the bottom of the food chain.”
Elizabeta continued to explain duties and time schedules and the like, but Feliks was kind of bored and tuned her out.
Listen to everyone else. Do what everyone else says when they say to do it. Story of his life, he could handle it.
“…and you’ll have your own bedroom. Only Eduard stays at night-besides the night security, that is-so if there’s an emergency be prepared to work at night and the next morning as well. Eduard will most likely enjoy having additional help. You will most likely be in charge of preparing breakfast.”
Feliks smiled. He actually enjoyed making breakfast.
“Thank you.” He said sincerely. “I’d still be in that train station without your help.”
“Honestly?” Elizabeta replied, “I was taking the train north to go interview potentials. You saved me quite a chunk of time.”
“We lucked out.” Feliks said.
“We did.”
-&-&-
Feliks was soon happily settled in his new routine: Wake up. Prepare breakfast. Arrange breakfast artistically on Mr. Laurinaitis’ morning tray. Give tray to Eduard for delivery. Clean the kitchen and empty the dishwasher. If prompted by Eduard, run Mr. Laurinaitis’ a bath.
Put away all the ingredients from Elizabeta’s morning grocery trip in town. Once Mr. Laurinaitis was out of his room, go make the bed. Straighten. Empty his hamper and do laundry. If it was a Tuesday, Thursday, or Saturday-strip the sheets from the bed, put new ones on, other sheets get washed. Whenever you have free time, clean.
Sometimes Feliks thought he did a lot for just one maid, but he soon realized that Elizabeta didn’t have other maids.
In fact, the household staff consisted of three people: Eduard, Elizabeta, and now himself. There was a gardener, but he dropped by three times a week. Elizabeta fancied herself a cook and had convinced Toris to hire another maid so she didn’t have to clean.
Feliks wasn’t sure why such a large mansion only had one maid. He worked very efficiently, sure, but still. It just seemed a bit odd that Elizabeta would pick him for such a specific job. Such a well-paying job, at that.
Hell if Feliks understood females. Whatever. He wasn’t going to bite a gift horse in the mouth. Or something like that.
Feliks did get to wear the most adorable uniform ever, though. It was the traditional French maid uniform. Authentic and everything! It made him squeal for joy, sometimes. In the privacy of his own room. And whenever he looked into mirrors.
Feliks had only seen Mr. Laurinaitis a few times since he started working. Once when he had been introduced (but Mr. Laurinaitis was working and hadn’t even looked up) and when Feliks ended up dusting in the hallway.
Mr. Laurinaitis wasn’t bad looking, but he wasn’t especially good looking either. He looked kind of boring. Lifeless. Feliks thought it was a bit sad. He owned a beautiful villa, but lived alone in it.
-&-&-
Toris had had enough.
Laurinaitis Looking for Love!
World-Renowned Author Looking for Happy Ending
Just two of many, many irritating tabloid titles. It was enough to make anyone scream.
“Just knock it off, Francis! Quit giving them comments-“
“Any publicity is good publicity!”
“I’m an author, not an actor!”
“Well, just tell the public you’re taken!”
“Fine! Tell them I’m taken! Heck, at this rate, why not make it engaged?!”
The next day, Toris was horrified.
Secret Engagement! When, Where, How, WHO?
TORIS LAURINAITIS ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED
Author Bids Bachelorhood Goodbye
“Francis, I was joking!”
“Ah, too late! Now they are abuzz with the mystery of it all! My work here is done.”
Toris moaned, letting his head drop into his hands. “My life is miserable.”
-&-&-
“Can you take Mr. Laurinaitis his lunch?” Eduard interrupted Feliks’ usual routine with a raspy voice. “I’d like to run to the pharmacy and get some cough drops.”
“Of course, Eddy!” Feliks chirped happily. Eduard couldn’t help but smile at Feliks’ enthusiasm.
Eduard had been beyond skeptical when he’d heard Elizabeta’s story, but Feliks was a very diligent worker. Eduard had no complaints. Feliks was simply fun to be around, even if he was working.
Eduard cringed at the nickname, though. Feliks had a habit with nicknames. Bad ones.
“Thank you.”
“No prob, where’s the boss man?” Feliks said, hand on his hip.
“In his office, I believe. I don’t think he’s has a good day, though.”
“When does he ever?” Eduard heard Feliks mumble as the maid carried the tray up the stairs.
-&-&-
Toris looked up when he heard a knock on the door. He glanced down at the tabloids on the table and shoved them to the side of the desk.
“Come in, Eduard!”
“Sorry,” he heard from the other side of the door, “not Eduard.”
Toris blinked as a maid entered with his lunch. Another maid? When had he gotten a new maid?
Elizabeta would have told him, right?
“Who’re you?”
“Feliks, sir.” The maid replied politely, placing the tray at the edge of Toris’ desk. “Would you like any coffee?”
“That’d be fine. How long have you been working here?”
“About a week.” Feliks looked up at him curiously. “Sir.”
“Quit with the ‘sir.’ I’m too young to be a sir.” Toris said as Feliks passed him a cup of coffee. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” pause, “sir.”
Toris glanced up from his coffee and saw the maid’s playful smile. “So… what’s for lunch?”
“Bleu cheese soufflé and pear tarts with crème fraîche.” Feliks stumbled over the pronunciation a bit, but Toris was surprised to realize he didn’t care.
Feliks was a female.
Why was he attracted to her?
Toris had no idea, but decided it was worth a shot.
“I have a proposal for you.” Toris tried to begin his explanation, but Feliks interrupted him with a flirtatious wink.
“A bit soon, sir.” Feliks grinned cheekily, and Toris rolled his eyes.
“Let me finish,” he stated, and then he was distracted by the fact Feliks had actually joked with him. But the moment was lost, so Toris cleared his throat and tried to continue.
“Well, the thing is, I kind of told the press I’m engaged.”
“Oh, that.” Feliks replied nonchalantly.
“Yes, that!”
“That’s totally bullshit. I read that and was like, ‘the fuck?’ cause like, no offense or anything, but I’ve seen nobody around this place. It’s a complete ghost town.” Feliks pointed out.
“The fact that it’s ‘bullshit’, as you succinctly phrased it, is irrelevant. What matters is the fact that the press thinks I’m engaged.”
“Just tell them it was bullshit?” Feliks suggested.
“No, I can’t do that. They’ll never let me live it down.”
“Who cares?”
“…What?”
“Who cares if you can’t live it down?”
“I care!”
“Totally sounds like a personal problem.” Feliks grinned. “Sir.”
“Look,” Toris paused, his face morphing into a pleading expression, “would you pretend to be my wife?”
“…What?”
“You know, like…” Toris gesticulated in a sad attempt to fill the awkward silence.
“You want me to act… wifely?” Feliks said in a rare moment of insight.
“Well, yeah.” Toris said softly. “I mean, it’s probably degrading…” A thought flew through his head. This was the maid Eduard had told him about! “Aren’t you the one Eduard said ran away? And so, forgive me, but what do you have to lose? You’d just do what you do but be my pretend fiancée when the occasion strikes.”
Feliks stared at him. “Desperate much?”
Toris shrugged helplessly. “Please?”
Feliks thought about it for a moment, and then shrugged with a small smile. “One trophy wife, at your service.” Feliks paused. “Sir.”
-&-&-
Things continued as they had been.
Toris stayed holed up in his office for hours at a time, staring unhappily at his computer screen and that damn blinking cursor and also trying to avoid the media.
Feliks enjoyed his maid uniform and all the benefits of living in a beautiful villa. His new bedroom was three times the size of his old, and it smelled way better, too!
Things changed at the end of Feliks’ second week.
When Feliks got his first paycheck, he cried out and staggered to the wall to support himself.
He stared at the number in disbelief.
Two thousand euros. Two thousand.
“Lizzy!” He shrieked, rocketing into the kitchen in his favorite pair of black heels. “Lizzy, there has been a gigantic mistake!”
“What is it, dear?” Elizabeta was leaning against the counter, waiting for her enchiladas to finish cooking. The fruit salad was already ready and waiting on the island.
Feliks held up his check with trembling hands.
“This is not right.” Was all he could manage.
Elizabeta took the check and looked at Feliks oddly. She turned the check over and held it up to the light for verification.
“No, this is right. It’s real and everything.”
“Oh my god.” Feliks pressed a hand over his heart. “Oh. My. God.”
Elizabeta raised an eyebrow. “Are you okay? Or are you just being dramatic again?”
“I’m going to have a heart attack.”
“Dramatic it is. Look,” Elizabeta began, “I told you it was a high salary.”
“High salary!” Feliks bit out. “High salary? This is like… this is like stealing!” Feliks gesticulated wildly. “This is two thousand euros, Lizzy!”
“If you have a problem, take it up with Mr. Laurinaitis.”
Feliks stared at his check, emotions wrecking havoc on his body.
“I think I need to do that.” He replied quietly. “Like… really.”
“He’s in his office.”
“I know. Where else would he be?” Feliks spun on his heels and headed up the stairs.
-&-&-
Toris heard the knock on his door and was grateful for the interruption.
“Come in!” He called.
He wasn’t particularly surprised to see… the blonde enter. The blonde. Toris could not remember her name.
He had three full-time employees a part-time gardener and could not remember all their names. Geez. He felt like an asshole, especially when this was the girl he was paying to pretend to be his fiancée.
The girl didn’t say anything. She just held out the check awkwardly, shakily.
Toris took it, slightly confused. He checked it-two thousand, just like he wanted.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, a bit concerned with just how pale the girl was, and how her entire body seemed to be shaking.
“Two thousand.” She whispered, so quietly Toris could hardly hear her.
“Yep. Two thousand.” Toris repeated, staring down at the check to confirm the number and then back up at the girl.
He was alarmed to see her trembling increase.
“What’s wrong? Is it… is it not enough?” Toris asked. He was expecting a lot from her.
“Not enough?” Her voice cracked, and she looked up at him with wide, teary green eyes. Toris felt like a bastard. He didn’t know what he’d done, but he was a bastard for doing it. “Not enough…!” She said, incredulously, staring at him like he was an alien from another planet.
“I can’t take all this.” She corrected him. “I can’t. I’m just a maid.”
Toris gaped. “But-“
“No.” The girl shook her head. “It’s too much.”
“It’s not-!“
“It is!”
“I’m expecting so much of you!”
“Not that much!”
“Yes, that much!” Toris explained. “I’m making you pretend to be my fiancée! My wife. It’s going to be everywhere-all over the news, the TV, the Internet. Your face will be everywhere. You won’t be able to date anyone else while this… this farce of a relationship continues…! You’re giving up so much for me. I can just imagine how many offers a beautiful woman like you gets!” Toris raved, staring at the girl in front of him. She was really lovely, all legs and curly blonde locks. Why had she agreed so easily?
And she just continued to stare at him like he was an alien.
“Who would want me?” She said self-deprecatingly. “Sir, I-“
“Who wouldn’t want you?” Toris interrupted. “You’re so kind, agreeing to do this for me even though you barely know me!”
She looked shell-shocked. “I just-“
“Look,” Toris interrupted, clasping his hands and leaning over his desk. “You are doing me an enormous favor. You don’t understand… but you must understand how huge this is?
“I’m paying to attend fancy banquets in my honor, sing my praises, look the part. I’m paying you to act as my wife, but to be genuine in your false affection. I’m asking you to fake it, and fake it well, on my behalf.”
She blinked at him. “…Yeah?”
“I’m asking you to lie to the entire world.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“It’s not-it won’t be.” Toris sighed heavily, sinking down in his chair. ”You honestly don’t understand. How can I explain it to you…? I should have earlier! How can I expect you to get it when I just shove it in your face and beg you to agree?” He muttered to himself.
She looked at him oddly with a quirked head. “You’re a worrywart, aren’t you?”
He stared at her. “…I am no such thing.”
“It’s okay, I’m a total drama queen. I promise I can bullshit my way through anything!”
“That’s honestly not very reassuring…”
“Aha! You are worrying about it!”
“N-No, I was just saying-“
“Not to worry, boss man! I shall research my little heart out! I shall shop until I drop! I will be the most fantastic trophy wife that has ever existed!” She replied enthusiastically.
“Oh dear Lord.”
“You asked for it!” She tossed him a wink and left like a woman on a mission.
Toris sighed. He had created a monster.
-&-&-
Feliks stared at the check in his hand. Two thousand euros for a perfect wife makeover! If anyone could do it, he could.
But he did need to research. Obviously, this Mr. Laurinaitis was way more popular than he’d previously thought.
Fortunately, Toris knew who to turn to.
“Lizzy!” He went back into the kitchen. Elizabeta was still calmly waiting for her enchiladas to finish.
She tilted her head in acknowledgement.
“I have a problem.” Feliks confessed. “I need your help.”
Elizabeta turned to face Feliks, a bit concerned. “Does this have to do with Mr. Laurinaitis? What did he say?”
“Oh. Like, well, you see, I’m kind of his fiancée now. But I don’t know what to wear.” Feliks confessed. “I’ve got two thousand euros to spend, though.”
“…you’re what?”
“His fiancée?”
“How the fuck did that happen?”
Feliks shrugged. “I’m a drama queen, apparently.”
Elizabeta stared at Feliks. “You’re a dumbass, honey.”
Feliks blinked. “Uh, okay? Will you help me anyway?”
She rolled her eyes and nodded.
Feliks clapped his hands happily. “You’re a goddess!”
“I know.”
-&-&-
“So, why is Mr. Laurinaitis like so popular, anyway?” Feliks asked as Elizabeta drove him towards the nearest city.
“He’s an author.”
“An author?” Feliks asked. “Like, of books?”
“What else do authors do?”
“I don’t know.” Feliks replied. “I was just like, whoa. That popular from books? What’s so great about books?”
“You’ve never read his work?”
“Nope.”
“Had you even heard of him before you started working at the villa?”
“Nope.”
“You’re probably going to need to read them. They’re going to be the main topic of conversation around him.”
Feliks shrugged. “I don’t read books.”
Elizabeta eyed Feliks curiously. “You might need to start.”
“Nah. Trophy wives are stupid, right? I’m totally perfect for the job. And why did we pass that exit? There was a little shopping center?”
“We need to get you brand names. If you don’t have the right clothes, people will be skeptical.” Elizabeta explained. “Don’t worry, I have Mr. Laurinaitis’ credit card.”
Feliks’ eyes got huge. “Shut up!”
Elizabeta grinned. “I figured you wouldn’t mind.”
“Hell no! We need shoes.”
“Of course we need shoes.”
Feliks sighed dreamily. “I fucking love shoes.”
“And matching purses!”
“Fuck yes! This trophy wife thing is the shit!”
-&-&-
Toris was participating in his favorite new pastime: staring at blank Microsoft word documents. The blinking cursor was becoming a constant companion.
He sighed, tracing the keys and pausing to circle around the raised dot on the j key. Then he traced the dot on the f key.
And then he received a ping.
Email! The perfect procrastination device. He minimized his document and pulled up his email.
Mastercard Current Charges-Are You A Victim Of Identity Theft? 5:45 PM.
Toris blinked. An alert? Why would he need an aler-
Oh dear God.
Updated List Of Expenditures:
Cartier-6.700 Euros
Chanel-27.800 Euros
Yves Saint Laurent-38.500 Euros
Celine-7.950 Euros
Christian Dior-23.800 Euros
Chaumet-6.500 Euros
Let Us Know If You’re a Victim. For Immediate Card Deactivation, Call The Number Listed Below. Thank You.
Toris stared at the email.
It was definitely a distraction from work.
…Had she bought the entire store? I mean, what…
What… what… what the hell do you buy that costs that much?!
Toris gaped at his computer for at least five full minutes.
In retrospect, he had asked for it.
-&-&-
Feliks was in an amazingly good mood. Shopping at fancy places was fabulous.
They carried your bags and helped you pick out perfect outfits and matching accessories and they also gave you snacks and even wine if you wanted. Not the crap-o kind, either. The good stuff.
Elizabeta seemed to be having fun watching him. She was a goddess, and Feliks could trust her opinion on his outfits.
“Too skanky.” She rejected one.
“Your ass looks fantastic in that dress!” She approved another.
Feliks preferred dresses and skirts. Not that shorts and pants were ugly or anything, but skirts were more feminine and really cute and went better with heels. (And Feliks fucking loved high heels.) Not to mention that with most skirts he didn’t have to tuck. Of course, he usually did anyway out of pure habit, but a bulge was not something he wanted to be worrying about. Awkward much.
There was nothing as satisfying as retail therapy. He had felt horrible at first, insisting on a budget of two thousand euros as he had planned.
Elizabeta reassured him that the clothes were a job expense.
Technically, being a trophy wife was part of his job. These clothes were necessary for his performance, Elizabeta argued. Therefore, as his employer, Mr. Laurinaitis should foot the bill.
Feliks did find one thing completely hilarious but not unusual-Mr. Laurinaitis had no idea he was male. None. At all. Referring to him as a beautiful lady and all! Silly man.
He supposed it was a compliment. He knew he was truly convincing, and Mr. Laurinaitis obviously found him very attractive. That was his intention, after all!
Feliks was one hundred percent positive that Elizabeta had read completely through him. She was a goddess like that. Even if she had, she obviously didn’t care about his gender; she was the one encouraging him to go for the red lacy bra instead of the just plain black one. Feliks had decided to get both. And a lot more: red with white dots, white with black pinstripes and black lace and matching panties! And then some plainer bras to actually go under his clothes. Garters and stockings, too!
Undergarments were kind of necessary. Technically. If you squinted. Because to make the nice clothes look nice, you needed nice underwear. Right? Right.
Feliks had like a zillion shopping bags to cart back into his room, but he didn’t care. It had been a very fun day.
And his shoes-oh, God. Don’t get him started. Like forty new pairs. Oh yes. Fucking oh yes, indeed. Feliks was probably going to have to try on every new pair again just because.
He had some glittery heels that he was absolutely in love with. Who cared if they made him look like a hooker? He kind of still was. Whatever. They were gorgeous!