the truth about gold — julian &. emerson

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

“For the third time, it is all an act,” he tells Emerson, setting him his glass of champagne on the table to fold his arms. “And he’s valuable. You have seen him with a weapon in hand. We need him on our side.”

Julian picked him carefully, because something about Love was calculated menace, a kiss on the cheek and then a blade in the throat. He could recognize someone with the same facades he wore and yes, it did make Julian curious, but the main reason he’d asked him to ally with them was because Love Bellisario was a wild card. And if Julian was going to have some powerful enemies in the arena, he was making some powerful allies, even if those allies would not waste an sliver of thought to murder you in your sleep.

He’d always been a little enticed by danger.

“Will you—will you please stop pacing? It stresses me out too!” He threw a pillow from the couch at Emerson, and then let his head slump back, looking at his cousin upside down. “I can control him, Emie.” Or at least Julian hoped he can, but there was faux bravado in his words nonetheless. Perhaps that was a flaw, but Julian never claimed to be perfect—he simply acted that way. Stretching his long legs, he reached for the champagne flute once more, but studied its gold color instead of taking a sip.

Silence, and then softer, in a tone that wasn’t perfect for once, “what did you mother say to you before we left?” Julian’s brown eyes dragged themselves over to the other, a smile already touching his lips. “We can compare which one of our dear parents was more ruthless. It’ll be a fun family game.”

[alex 🐺]

Emie really really didn’t want to hear for the millionth time how Julian’s fake fucking scheme with Love was all an act, even if her cousin was so damn calm, reclining on the burgundy couch looking every bit the boy king that he was.

She just—ugh. She stops her pacing, a hand gripping an apple that she was biting into with more force than was probably necessary. She imagined it had Love’s face, that’s probably why. And the desire to chew up and spit out the boy from Two had been festering in her bloodstream ever since their auspicious meeting. 

“For the third time, it is all an act. And he’s valuable. You have seen him with a weapon in hand. We need him on our side.”

He wasn’t wrong, but Love (and Julian for that matter, pompous asshole that he was) didn’t have to be so smug about it, his words and his eyes boring holes into Emerson’s carefully crafted facade like a fucking parasite.

“Will you—will you please stop pacing? It stresses me out too!”

She turns on her heel, spinning back to her cousin, swallowing down the last bite of apple because everything that Love had said about a vodka-soaked, cigarette-scented tribute had been too fucking spot on and she needed to prove him wrong. If only to wipe that shit-eating grin off of his perfect, aesthetically pleasing face. She narrowly dodges the pillow from Julian as it hits her in the shoulder and what the fuck was he playing it?

Emerson sighs loudly, stepping toward an armchair and leaning her arms over the back of it. She needed distance from Jules right now or else she might stab him. He seems resigned to her anger, dangling over the edge of the couch with his head upside down.

“He’s a fucking peacock with enough bravado in his bloodstream it’s as if we gave Harper a two ton pile of coke and told him to snort it and then said “Hey, go to the Capitol. You might have some fun.”

Now that that was out of her system, she scrubs her hands with her face, throwing what was left of the granny smith towards the opposite wall. It explodes in a spray of juice and apple parts.

“I can control him, Emie.”

“He’s a ticking timebomb, Jules. I hope you know what we’re getting ourselves into. But I trust you.”

“What did you mother say to you before we left?”

Fine, they can be done with this argument for now, but Emie would have no problem picking up where they left off later. Because as tired and worn out as the debate was, they definitely weren’t done. Love Bellisario was a fucking liability and Emerson wasn’t going to sacrifice herself and her family for whatever positive benefits he might bring to Julian. Hell, Emie wasn’t even getting any sexual favors out of it. But Julian wanted sweetness, which suited her just fine because she could fake it with the best of them, even if sweetness had never suited her, especially around family.

“We can compare which one of our dear parents was more ruthless. It’ll be a fun family game.”

”You’d be surprised. She told me that I needed you,” The lie rolls off of her tongue easily enough and she watches the condensation on the outside of the champagne flute that Julian had deposited on the table. She hadn’t had a drop to drink in sixteen hours and the headaches were nearly enough to drive her to murder.