WHO Prince John, Isabelle Darlington WHEN Wednesday morning WHERE John’s penthouse WHAT message received WARNINGS John’s bad temper
When the mail arrived in the morning, it looked very innocent, totally unknowing of the cat that was about to be thrown amongst the pigeons. John walked in wearing his robe, a coffee in one hand, looking at the packet of papers on the top that was addressed to him.
“Morning,” he called, crossing into the kitchen where Isabelle was preparing breakfast. Setting down his mug, he flicked through the half dozen pieces of mail. Bills were set aside for Marcella to take care of. The larger packet that held his attention was something to be signed for a case. And then there was a plain white envelope addressed to Isabelle.
“Something for you,” he said, frowning slightly and wanting to just open it himself- but he wouldn’t, not when she was right there looking at him. The weeks they’d spent together out of town had been blissful and relaxing and kinda sexy, and he hadn’t had that much contact with the rest of his immortal counterparts except for that evening with Malcolm, so he was still fairly mortal in his outlook. Almost like he really was a real man with just anger management issues and mood-stabilising medication.
He pecked Isabelle on the cheek as he put the envelope on the counter, and went to put some toast in the toaster as he focused back on his papers-- still keeping a watch on what Isabelle’s letter might read out of the corner of his eye too.