Last Act | Tucker & Ciara
The neutral expression into which Tuck's features has settled as Luna revved up for her grand finale darkened a little as Ciara challenged him on the work bit. Yes, he could tell that she was being sarcastic, but he was more sensitive that he'd ever admit about this particular topic. The perception of laziness. There was a class of people in Clovenne, the truly idle rich, who'd been so wealthy for so long than the idea of working wouldn't even have crossed their minds.
The Rosiers were in this class, of course. Senators.. But the Belmonts were different. The Belmonts had worked for their money, really worked for it, not just inherited it and fritted it away on art. They'd earned their place at the table, and Tucker knew, by instinct though also because his father had been telling him since he was a boy, that Tucker would be expected to work for it, too. It wasn't a kingdom he could inherit idly, for all his playing at idleness. He had to prove himself, to earn his place. And he would one day. Soon.
"Harder than you, I expect," he drawled, reaching out to her for the first time, running the soft pad of his thumb along the very edge of her cheek, a barely-there touch that would've almost been sweet if he'd been looking at her rather than at Luna. "Though I'm open to convincing." He withdrew his hand then, taking another pull from his nearly-gone cigar. "And I actually would like to adopt a few," he said, smirking. "Legalized prostitution's a grand idea, and taxing it's even better. All credit to your politicians for that one." He grinned sharply. "They must already be making a fortune." It was hard to know whether or not he was serious, but one thing was certain: the provocation was definitely deliberate.