A Disenchanting New Year: Lucia (Patreon)

Disenchanting New Year; Lucia

“Your mother is the worst person alive,” You say, leaning back in the passenger seat of Lucia’s car, “But at least she hasn’t canceled that credit card.”

She huffs out a soft laugh, “You’re not wrong.”

Going to Times Square for New Year’s Eve isn’t exactly cheap, after all. Not to mention getting a luxury hotel that throws a swanky party. You shudder at the thought of that particular bill, but Lucia had entered her mother’s card information without remorse. Maybe she kept it active because she hopes she’ll come crawling back once she realizes how much money she’ll inherit. She hasn’t seemed to realize that Lucia will get it either way, as the Riveras have no other children or family.

You’d feel bad for her and her delusions if she wasn’t a blight on humanity. Unfortunately, she is, so you immediately agreed to partying in New York on her dime.

“We won’t see the ball drop in person,” Lucia says as she navigates the heavy traffic, “But I don’t really feel like getting tangled up in that mess anyways.”

She hates crowds, so you understand why she’d be hesitant. You’re just as happy to sip a drink with her and watch it on the big screens in the fancy hotel bar, honestly.

“Fine by me,” You say, looking at the thick crowds lining the sidewalks as you enter the city, “It definitely seems a bit packed.”

That’s certainly an understatement. Lucia carefully navigates through the mess to your hotel, tossing her keys to the valet with a smile before getting your bags out of the back seat. You’re staying for a week, a vacation of sorts before classes start up again, so more than an overnight bag was necessary. While she checks in at the front desk, you admire the fancy rugs and the vintage lamps. It all has a very Roaring ‘20s theme, from the chandeliers to the red velvet covered stools you see at the bar.

“This way,” Lucia comes up behind you, a hand resting on your hip as she leans in close to pass you the key cards, “We’re on the tenth floor.”

She leads you to the elevator, her hand hovering over the small of your back the whole time. When you unlock the door, she sets the luggage by the bed before giving you a quick kiss.

“I’m happy you agreed to this,” You feel her smile against your lips, her forehead resting against yours, “Just having you here is…”

She trails off; whatever words he’d been looking for, apparently they hadn’t been enough. Instead of explaining, she kisses you again. It’s firmer this time, more sure, and you feel the air shift around you as her wings flutter.

“We should head down soon,” You say, tucking a curl behind her ear, “We got here late.”

Her teeth brush over her bottom lip, contemplating, before she eventually agrees. She follows you right back out the door, drifting closer to your side as you head down to the lobby once again. The bar is slowly filling up when you two arrive, but it isn’t too crowded. Lucia doesn’t seem to mind it at least, despite having to keep her glamoured wings tucked close to her back.

The booze flows steadily, but Lucia isn’t big on drinking these days. She has one or two, getting even touchier as the alcohol hits her. A hand on your thigh, your arm, your waist; she’s all over you. A kiss on your neck, your cheek, your lips; you feel warm in the face and wave her away before things go too far in public. She pouts about it for a moment before settling on draping herself over your shoulders as the seconds tick closer and closer to midnight.

As the countdown starts, she’s hardly paying any attention. Her eyes are steadily locked on you, and she’s kissing you by the time everyone has reached five. When the ball drops and the cheering starts, you’re already wrapped up in a kiss that makes you weak in the knees. You run a hand along her jaw and she lets out a little whine that makes heat ricochet up and down your nerves.

You pull back, enjoying the kiss bruised look of her lips, “You didn’t even see the ball drop.”

“I was looking at something much prettier,” She says, a dopey grin curling her lips.

You roll your eyes but settle into her arms despite her cheesiness, watching the confetti flicker in the air outside through the windows. People are dancing to the music around you, kissing and celebrating and hugging. You pay them no attention as the flutter of invisible feathers brush your skin, Lucia’s wings curling around your shoulders like a blanket. You’d love to see the white feathers, to be able to stroke through them in the way that makes her go soft and limp under your touch. You file the thought away for later tonight as she rests her head on top of yours, swaying with you to a song neither of you know.