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“Put this in,” she extended the pocket square to him as she looked over several ties laid out on the table.
“You’re awfully pushy” he smirked, lips twitching as he took the folded cloth and tucked it into his jacket.
“That’s why you pay me the big bucks” she selected a tie and he dutifully lowered his head, watching her deftly tie it. Sansa Stark had been his personal stylist for several years, though the word ‘personal’ held many facets these days. She had initially been enlisted by his PR Director to ensure that, as the face of Casterly Enterprises, Tywin Lannister always looked perfect.
Apparently his penchant for funky ties and knit scarves wasn’t a ‘professional’ look.
“I pay you the big bucks?”
“Casterly does anyway” Sansa smoothed the tie, her hands lingering on his chest just a second too long to be considered platonic. “We have to keep you looking polished.”
“Says the woman in ripped jeans” he glanced at her baggy sweater, jeans and Converse sneakers, a very casual look for a woman usually clad in the finest couture.
“Yes, well, I have decided it is ‘casual friday’,” she turned away, gathering up the remaining wardrobe pieces and putting them in their rightful spots in the huge closet of his penthouse.
“You’re hiding something” he noted and her movements slowed, her back still to him as her hands fell to her sides. He knew her well enough by now to see she was being secretive. “What is it?”
“It’s nothing” she said flippantly, hanging the last tie up and facing him with a smile. A very fake and tense smile.
“Sansa Stark,” he moved around the center island of the closet. “The woman who staunchly believes in coordinating socks and underwear, in torn jeans and sweater. There is something wrong, what is it?”
“You have a press conference--” she tried to step past him and he halted her movement, wrapping an arm around her waist.
“Tywin...” she said weakly.
“What is it?” he asked again, this time her bright Tully blue eyes looking up at him, glossy with emotion. “I thought we agreed, no secrets,” he added quietly.
“A girl has to have some hidden charms” she gave her best smirk, but it didn’t cover the hesitancy in her eyes.
“You’re charming enough already,” he assured her. “Tell me, I won’t ask again.”
“Promise?”
“Sansa.”
“I’m pregnant” she said so quietly he almost missed the words. Shock rippled through him and he felt the blood rushing in his ears. His arm relaxed just enough to allow her escape and she turned away. “Like I said, you have a press conference--”
“No, you don’t get to do that” his brain finally caught up with the situation and he moved to where she was tucking her things into her purse. “Sansa, look at me” he gently turned her to face him. Tears ran down her cheeks and he wiped them away with his thumbs.
“I didn’t do this on purpose” she choked on a sob.
“I didn’t think you did for a second” he assured her.
“I won’t apologize because I’m not sorry,” she continued. “But I am not asking you for--”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence” he cut her off, using a finger beneath her chin to guide her eyes back to his. “There were two people in that bed…or on that kitchen counter...”
“Or that couch” her lips twitched in a ghost of a smile.
“That too” he smiled as he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her. As she had many times before, she snuggled into his chest, melting into him. The first time they had shared an embrace had been Christmas a few years ago. Holding her gave him a sense of peace that he had not felt in decades, and as their friendship steadily grew into something more, he finally felt alive.
Their relationship, though not a secret, wasn’t one they relished in sharing with the world and, as such, they had kept it to themselves. The world at large would relish in the ‘Great Lion’, who was now in his late forties, spending his time with a woman in her late twenties. The age gap between them had never bothered them, even in the early days when their verbal banter was a thin veil over mutual desire. To them, they were all that mattered. Sansa had no desire for the spotlight, as she had said many times before, but she did enjoy dressing the man in it.
And undressing him, as they case may be.
Not that he was complaining.
“Ty?”
“Hmm?” he placed a kiss on the crown of her hair.
“What do I do?”
“‘We’,” he corrected.
“What do we do?”
“We get married” he smirked as she looked up at him, clearly unimpressed by the suggestion. “I have already asked you before, so you cannot accuse me of ‘shotgunning’ it.”
“Tywin, be serious.”
“I am always serious,” he countered.
“We both know that isn’t true” she teased.
“Eventually you’re going to have to put me out of my misery and marry me.”
“Eventually” she agreed.
“We’re already scheduled to retreat to the Rock this weekend” he reasoned.
“We are.”
“And my old friend Qyburn is still a Septon there,” he continued.
“Oh is he?” she scoffed and he leaned closer to kiss her forehead, sliding his hands under her baggy sweater to smooth over the bare skin of her back. Like always, she arched into his touch like a contented kitten.
“He is” he guided her backwards, trapping her against the center island.
“Correct me if I am wrong” she smirked up at him, toying with his back belt loop. “But isn’t this the sort of thing that got us in trouble to begin with?”
“Possibly.”
“Ty--” she giggled as his fingers whispered over her sides, settling on her hips.
“What do you say?”
“To?”
“Marrying me.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Maybe Saturday?”
“Saturday it is.”