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"ᴠᴀʟᴇɴᴛɪɴᴇ ᴇsᴛ ʟᴀ ᴘʟᴜs ʙᴇʟʟᴇ ғɪʟʟᴇ ᴅᴜ ᴍᴏɴᴅᴇ ᴇɴᴛɪᴇʀ."

The sound of the foreign words swayed gently through the cool air, the language of romance sounding at home among the curled up sheets and delicate curtains. The windows were open, letting the noice of the amiable street below drift in, mixing with the soft sunlight that streamed in, painting their toes with a golden to tinge. They were wrapped together warmly, staring at one another as they spoke.

"What did I say Valentine?" Michael murmured in her ear, watching as her eyes fluttered up at the sound of his husky voice.

He knew exactly what he had said. It wasn't too difficult to figure it out. That's why he had said it with such certainty and confidence, as if he were a native Frenchman, staring at a famous muse readying to paint her in elegant colours. He imagined her in pinks and rosy reds, decorated in a regal gold pattern, worthy of the talents of Degas or Van Goh. Because Valentine really was the most beautiful girl in the world.

She turned to move in closer, placing a teasing kiss to the edge of his lips, grazing his skin. Her touch was razor sharp, as if the lack of it was too much to bare.

"I don't think that matters, mon amour."

A lazy smile rugged at his lips. Mon amour. The name sent shivers down his arms. He had heard nothing like it and it seemed only right, coming from her pristine painted lips and velvet voice.

"Teach me something else," he asked, as he brought the cigarette up to her lips.

"What do you what to know?"

He thought for a moment before saying the phrase.

"My angel."

It was even more fitting that her nickname for him. He had always thought of Valentine as having an angelic quality, unique to herself and none other. It was the way she was so effortlessly radiant, the way her smile basked in charm and comfort, the way her hair fell perfectly against her face, as if it had no notion of gravity and it's work. But it was more than that: the way she moved so lightly on her feet as if she was held up by heavenly arms or graceful wings.

"Mon ange."

He blinked down at her, eyes not leaving hers.

"Kiss me."

"Embrasse-moi." She whispered shakily. Michael could feel her warm, comforting breath against his skin as she spoke the french phrase

"Embrasse-moi." He repeated and brought his lips to hers eagerly.

She melted into him, fitting like a lock and key into his hold. But it was over as soon as it began. The sound of the front door closing crashed through the house and Valentine squealed as she fell to the floor in shock at the sound of Polly Shelby's voice echoing through the hall way.

"Michael!"

"Shit!" Michael cursed as he rushed to his feet and pulled Valentine up along with him before scurrying to pull his shirt on. Valentine followed quickly, pulling her dress over her shoulders, the material snagging at her arms in among the rush.

"Michael, are you home?" Polly's voice grew louder as her footsteps followed her movement up the stairs.

"Two minutes mum, I'm getting changed!" Michael shouted in a bid to win them more time. He panicked as she slid the last of her clothes on hurriedly.

"Can you climb out of the window?" He asked as he scurried to push it open further, revealing the empty street, houses lining opposite like guards.

Her eyes widened. "Are you serious? I can't jump out of the fucking window!"

A knock rang from the door and Michael pushed Valentine towards the bed, rapidly moving his luggage cases before ushering for her to squeeze into the space against the wall. She swore as her elbow hit against the bed frame and Michael pushed the suitcase back under the bed, hiding Valentine from sight, just as Polly pushed the door open to enter the room.

Darkness encased her as she was cast in the shadow of the boxes that acted as her shield. All she could see, was a thin strip of white wall, light trickling through like a torch. Polly Gray's expensive shoes entered her vision, the dark fuchsia stark against the black around her.

"Michael. I swore I heard a bloody circus up here. What the fuck were you doing?" There was a laugh behind her voice.

Michael didn't stutter as he lied, telling her, "I was getting changed mum. I was going to go to the Garrison."

Polly rolled her eyes, lifting a dirty shirt from his bed by a finger, cringing as she chucked it away. Michael has been disappearing to the pub as frequent as her nephews did. When getting her son back, she had never thought he'd be so... like them. It was more obvious that he was apart of the family as anyone else. Michael was just happy to have the appearance of a major alcoholic rather than have his mum know about the girl that hid under his bed.

"Alright Michael, but it's your birthday Friday, we'll have a celebration at the Garrison with the family then." Michael kissed his mum's cheek and watched as she left back through the door, waiting a few seconds before pulling the suitcases back out and helping Valentine pull herself out and up.

He laughed playfully at the sight of her annoyed face and disheveled hair. She groaned, rolling her eyes as he pulled her into him, but she soon looses up, quietly laughing along with him as she tried to push back her unruly hair.

"I know this is selfish, but I'm glad we decided to risk this." She felt him breathe out against her neck.

"I better go." Valentine whispered, pulling away.

Michael pulled her in for one last, savoured kiss. She placed one last peck on his lips before sliding through the door way and back down the stairs.

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