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vcnatorr · 1 year

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thine be the glory || claybela

SUMMARY: Clayton brings Isabela to meet the family at his father's funeral (tw: an overarching theme of death ig)

@rowsandrows-of-roses

CLAYTON:He was silent as he turned the car onto the long, winding driveway of Larchwood House. It was heavily wooded, the sides of the road fenced in, to stop the deer and the occasional lost sheep from straying into the road. He knew there would be no other cars, no other traffic to deal with. They would be arriving last – he had done it deliberately. He wanted to leave as little time as possible between getting to Larchwood and leaving for the church. With any luck, the hearse would already be outside and ready to leave when they got there. He could give a hasty introduction before ushering Isabela into the back of the Bentley or the Rolls Royce or whatever care Octavia had settled on for immediate family, and off they would go, not to speak again until the wake. His mother would be upset with him, but if she knew him half as well as she thought she did, then she should expect it of him.

He had at least made sure they were both dressed, though it hadn’t made the drive a particularly comfortable one. They could’ve gotten changed when they arrived, stole away upstairs to waste yet more time until it was time to go, but after half a century he knew how far he could push his mother. If he didn’t show up looking presentable Octavia was going to throw a fit, and he needed today to go well. His father’s funeral wasn’t exactly the best occasion to introduce his bride-to-be to the family, but no matter.

“I should probably warn you,” He said after a moment, clearing his throat. “My mother can be…” Obtuse. Downright nasty. A horrid old bi– “Rather cold. It’s nothing personal, she just was brought up a certain way, I suppose. And after all this, well,” He shook his head, glancing over at Isabela. He reached across the car to take her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry if she doesn’t seem to take to you. I know she’ll like you. It’s just rather a bad time.”

Understatement of the century. He took his hand from Isabela’s so he could shift gears, slowing down a little as they approached the house.

ISABELA: It had been a long time since Isabela had been to a funeral.

Back in Encanto, she had gone to them all. Every single person in town she had known, they were all friends and aunties and community members. Funerals were strange to her now. A sense of finality that she’d never gotten for several of her friends, her professors, her father’s coworkers. All the people she’d known in Avalor who were dead or presumed dead, with no funerals for any of them. There were candles lit and prayers said and pictures on ofrendas, if they had any, but that was all.

A funeral was a kind of closure she hadn’t had.

She was glad Clayton would get one for his father, though. Even if it made her nervous. This certainly wasn’t the way she intended to meet her future mother-in-law.

The drive was mostly quiet, Isabela unsure what to say. She had no idea what Clayton’s relationship to his father even was. If they had a good one. Or if they had a poor one. And now, she didn’t feel like it was the time to ask.

Clayton’s words didn’t make her feel any better. She was already so nervous and so sad. Still, she forced a smile, because that was what Isabela did.

“She just lost her husband,” Isabela said, reaching over with her free hand to place it on top of Clayton’s. “I won’t judge her for how she is dealing with that. What kind of flowers does she like? I would like to make her a bouquet. Do you think she’d like that?”

CLAYTON:He resisted the urge to snort. She had just lost her husband, that was true, but even after all that time Clayton still had no idea whether his mother and father loved each other. If they ever had. Had they grown to love each other, or had they grown apart? He didn’t have the slightest idea. Was his mother in mourning for a man she loved, or just a husband? Or was she even in mourning at all?

He tapped his finger against the wheel, staring out at the thick dense greenery of the forest as they drove through it. He didn’t know what flowers she liked. She had a garden — it was about the only work she ever did and even then she only worked in it when the mood took her. He tried to think of what resided in it, what he could remember. “She likes dahlias,” he said eventually. He could only hope that he knew what a dahlia was — he was sure the old crone had mentioned them before, though. “And roses. She has a lot of those.”

He knew he wasn’t being much of the conversationalist, but he thought he should get a pass. All of a sudden the trees disappeared, revealing the house, a grand Elizabethan structure plonked in the middle of several perfectly tended lawns. There were cars lined up outside, tucked against one wall, no doubt so the funeral cars had ample room to move. Clayton parked the Land Rover off to one side and got out, coming around the side to open Isabela’s door.

“They’ll be in the parlour,” he said, offering her his arm. “It looks as though everyone’s here already.”

ISABELA: Right. The parlour.

Isabela didn’t know what a parlour was.

And she was still reeling from how grand the house was. Sure, Casita was large, but even still it was cozy. It was warm. There was life to it. Here, the grass was cut too short to wave and the bushes hedged in a militant, uniform fashion. Even the gravel that crunched under her heels as they walked up the path knew to stay within its boundaries. Not a pebble out of place.

Except for Isabela, she thought, as they walked up the large stone steps to the front of the…house. (Was this a mansion? A castle?)

Someone opened the door for them. That startled Isabela.

“Master William,” the person said, with a smile which grew tighter as he looked at Isabela, “and guest.”

“Hello,” she said with a polite nod of her head and a little wave with the hand that wasn’t clutching Clayton’s elbow. She had no idea if this was…someone in the family or not. An uncle? A cousin? But he had called Clayton ‘master’--which was…weird.

The man raised his eyebrows at her but said nothing else as he closed the door.

Her head craned back despite herself, taking in the high ceilings. It felt like she had walked into a museum. She looked back at Clayton, her voice hushed--not wanting the man now walking ahead of them to hear.

“Is there anything I should know?” she asked, quickly, as they headed towards what he made sound like…was his entire family.

CLAYTON:He didn’t address the footman who had opened the door, only shooed him away, glad that it had been some young lad and not the butler. Ambruster was many things but he was a stickler for the old ways — he would’ve addressed him in some pompous traditional way and bustled into the parlour to herald their arrival. At least this way he and Isabela could have a moment before they went inside.

“Ah—“ Where to begin? He probably should’ve prepared her better. Spent the car ride over going over family history and proper etiquette but truthfully, the thought hadn’t even entered into his mind. He had never brought a fiancée to a funeral before. He was wading through new territory at the moment. “Well, I’ll introduce you to everyone when we get inside. Don’t bother curtsying to Mama, she won’t care either way, but I would address her as Lady, just until she warms up to you a bit. But there’s nothing to worry about.” He paused just outside of the parlour door, turning to face her and taking both of her hands on his own. “It’s not the best occasion to meet the family, granted, but they’ll love you.”

A part of him wished he was telling the truth, but there was no time to dwell on that now. Plus, what did it matter? He was the baron, now. He could do as he pleased.

He opened the door to the parlour before there could be time for more questions.

The conversation stopped, several heads turning towards the door, and then almost immediately, everyone stood. Clayton took a deep breath, shaking his head, “There’s no need for all that, sit down– Aunt Bella, please,” Arabella was still trying to leverage herself out of her armchair, even after the rest of the women had taken their seats again. The men stayed standing, crowded in the corner behind their wives. The children were absent, presumably getting ready upstairs with their respective nannies. Uncle Oswald was sat next to Octavia, both of whom stayed standing.

“Mama,” He greeted her, crossing the room, leaving Isabela behind to kiss his mother’s cheek. “Oswald,” He greeted, shaking his uncle’s hand. “Everyone,” He continued, clearing his throat. “This is Isabela. My fiancée.”

ISABELA: Curtsy?! Lady?!

Isabela couldn’t help the way her eyes went wide, heart in her throat. Sure, this place looked like Downton Abbey, but she didn’t realize it was! Yes, yes. She’d stalked Clayton online back when he had first put that exorbitant bid on her for prom. Found out he was a baron. Knew that meant he had money…but she hadn’t realized it meant he also owned a castle and had a mother that was referred to with a proper title! (Was Clayton supposed to be “Lord”?!) Why hadn’t he told her any of this?!

Right. Okay. This was fine.

It didn’t change anything, of course. Isabela was friends with a princess. She could do this.

Taking a deep breath, Isabela strangled her panic down and tossed it quickly behind the door that she never opened. The one that made the pressure in her heart feel like it was constantly about to explode. She managed a smile. Isabela was very good at smiles. This one was not too wide and not too bright. It was demure, polite, but friendly and warm--the perfect sort of smile for a funeral.

Clayton moved away from her and Isabela wanted to cling to his arm, or follow him, but it was very clear she wasn’t supposed to. So, instead, she waited for him to greet his mother, looking around at the group of people--giving them all a nod, that perfect, practiced smile.

They all looked at her as if she was intruding. She knew she was.

At her introduction, Isabela snapped her head towards Clayton, her loose curls bouncing merrily. All the other women had their hair up. Should she have put her hair up? (Isabela rarely put her hair up.) She took two steps towards Clayton’s mother and, although he told her not to, dropped into a short curtsy. It couldn’t hurt, could it?

“Lady Clayton,” Isabela said as she put both feet properly back on the floor. In her hands a bouquet of deep maroon dahlias bloomed in her hands. She held it out for Clayton’s mother to take. “I am so sorry for your loss. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

CLAYTON:His mother took a deep breath, eyes tracking the movement of Isabela’s clumsy curtsy. In truth it wasn’t terrible — it was a very good attempt, given she had no training in the art. It was when she conjured the flowers from midair that Clayton glanced away. His mothers expression never changed, eyes on the bouquet, and then at Isabela. It was the wives who started whispering, his cousin Lucille turning to Winifred, saying something low. Tristan looked Isabela up and down and then looked to Clayton, finally looking away to raise his drink to his lips.

“Thank you,” Octavia said, her voice as stiff as her hands as she reached out to take the flowers. “That’s very kind of you.”

There was a stillness for a second, everybody waiting for someone to move. In the end it was Emily, Harry’s wife, standing from her seat to cross the room and grasp Isabela’s hands in her own.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she said gently, leaning in to press a kiss to Isabela’s cheek. “William’s told us a lot about you.”

Clayton looked at Harry, who arched his eyebrows. Admittedly Clayton hadn’t said much — he wondered how much sleuthing his favourite cousin had done.

“Isabela, this is Emily, my cousin’s wife.” Clayton said, thinking it best to make introductions.

“I’m married to the dopey looking one,” she said, nodding to Harry, who rolled his eyes but waved nonetheless.

Clayton cleared his throat, working clockwise round the room. “My Aunt Arabella, my cousin Lucille and her husband, Arthur,” All of whom nodded and smiled and looked at Isabela like she had just landed her spaceship on the front lawn, “My cousin Tristan, his wife Winnifred, and my Uncle Oswald.”

“Pleasure to meet you, young lady. Shame about the nature of it all,” Oswald said, reaching a hand out for Isabela to shake.

ISABELA: Isabela had done something wrong.

She didn’t know what it was, just that she had. When you were a girl who spent your whole life making sure you were perfectly digestible and acceptable to everyone, you noticed when no one liked you. Or when you made a misstep. And as she looked at Octavia Clayton’s expression, she knew. Even if the smile her future mother-in-law gave was perfectly polite.

Isabela felt her stomach twist. She wanted to apologize. Or leave. Or ask for a do over.

Someone appeared in front of her, squeezing her hands. The smile was actually friendly and Isabela returned it, grateful for it, and clinging maybe a little too hard to Emily’s hands. She let out a breath, resolving herself to do better. She listened to the names, smiling and acknowledging everyone, still holding Emily’s hand in one of her own until she finally letting go, only to shake Oswald’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” she said, giving him the most dazzling smile in her arsenal.

Once she released Uncle Oswald, she moved back to Clayton, slipping her hand around his bicep. Feeling suddenly very young and silly and--in over her head. But, she would persevere. Tensions were high. Someone had just died. Of course people were not going to be welcoming to a new person. She just needed to stay quiet, out of the way. She was here to support William. That was what mattered.

“It’s good to meet you all,” she raised her voice slightly so everyone in the room could hear. “I hope to make your acquaintance further.” Make your acquaintance further? Her accent had never sounded so clunky to her own ears. Thank God for all those Downton Abbey and Bridgerton episodes.

CLAYTON:He knew it was a lot. It was always going to be a lot – his family was almost as big as hers once you counted great aunts and second cousins and in-laws, and though they weren’t exactly close, you had to know who was who. Everyone had to know everyone, and be on top of everyone else’s business. It was just the nature of old families, from old money. It took a lot of people to protect a legacy.

Which was no doubt what they thought they were doing now. Some interloper, foreigner, magick, whichever was worse, coming into their home to steal their fortune out from under them. As if it had ever been theirs to begin with – Uncle Oswald had married up, meaning Tristan and his heirs had a better fortune and a better title to look forward to, and Harry and Lucille, well. It wasn’t like Octavia and Arabella were from noble blood themselves. Old money, certainly, but nothing fancy. It was almost comical that anyone in this room should be protective over the Clayton family name when in reality, the only person who had any claim to it was the man who had brought Isabela into the circle in the first place.

He offered her a small smile, reassuring. When he looked back at his mother she was just as unimpressed as she had been before, but now her gaze was leveled at him. Not a problem – he was used to it. “The hearse will be here soon. You’ll be in the first car, with myself and your uncle. And I hope you have your eulogy prepared.”

“Mama, I said–”

“It’s customary for the Baron’s successor to speak at his predecessor’s funeral. And he was your father, lest we forget. Now go, do what you will.”

Clayton bit back a sigh and turned to Isabela, his smile undeniably strained as he led her to the small drinks trolley in the corner. “Can I get you anything?” He asked her, as quiet conversation resumed around the room.

ISABELA: William’s mother did not mention if Isabela would be riding with Clayton in the first car or elsewhere. Isabela noticed this. She wondered if it was implied and if it was, to what effect: that she would…or would not. It was clear there was some tension between William and his mother, but she had no idea what that could even be about because she suddenly realized she knew nothing about her. Or her relationship with William.

She followed quietly behind her fiancé to the drink cart and shook her head. Isabela didn’t drink often, and she definitely felt as though she was going to need her wits about her for this.

“No, thank you,” she murmured. She glanced around quickly, though tried to make it both subtle and not quick, to see if they were far enough away from everyone else to talk.

“It must be terrible to have to speak,” she said carefully, after a moment of consideration, “but I am sure you would do a wonderful job.” She wanted to say something else about how his father would want him to, but she simply didn’t know and all of this was very delicate. The urge to do something was strong however.

“You don’t have to say much. Maybe just a quote from the Bible? I am sure that can say what you want to say…if you’re not sure.”

CLAYTON:He nodded at her refusal but didn’t hesitate to pour himself a large glass of whisky — a bottle kept around for him, so disused that dust had collected on top of the decanter. He took a sip from it whilst she talked, her voice only just filtering through. It would be terrible to speak, of that he was certain, mostly because he didn’t have a single bloody nice thing to say about his father. And he didn’t know anything about the Bible, either.

“I’ll keep it brief, I suppose,” he said after a moment, turning to her and smiling gently. Walking this tight rope was fucking exhausting — not offending her, playing the grieving son, dealing with his family. He deserved a medal. “My father wouldn’t have wanted anyone waxing poetic, anyhow.”

“Good thing they didn’t ask Tristan to speak, eh?” Harry murmured, situating himself by Clayton’s side, smiling kindly at Isabela. “Fancies himself for a poet. I fancy him as a giant pri—“

“Will you be joining us up in the Highlands?” Emily asked, cutting her husband off, leaving Clayton to hide his smirk in his glass as he took another drink. “I know now probably isn’t the time to talk about it but presumably it’s still on. And it would be nice to have another woman along.”

ISABELA: Isabela couldn’t help but think she had said something wrong, which was unacceptable, because Isabela Madrigal never said anything wrong. But even more so in this moment, when Clayton was so vulnerable, after having just lost his father. She didn’t want to be a burden. She only wanted to be helpful. Maybe she should just keep her mouth shut.

Instead of saying anything, she reached over to loop her arm around his waist. Hoping this, at least, was comforting.

She looked around him as his cousin sidled up…Henry--no, Harry. She had done her best to memorize everyone’s names as they were introduced. His wife was…Emily, who spoke next. Isabela smiled at her, but then glanced at Clayton, once again unsure. Once again, not wanting to open her mouth.

“William and I haven’t discussed it yet,” Isabela said. Of course they hadn’t. Isabela didn’t know what ‘the Highlands’ even were. Some sort of…resort? A geographical location? She was going to have to do some Googling later. Unless…Clayton wasn’t going to bring her. In which case…she supposed it wouldn’t really matter.

CLAYTON:No, they hadn’t discussed it, because it honestly hadn’t crossed Clayton’s mind. His family’s annual hunting holiday up in the Scottish highlands, at the same lodge they’d been visiting for at least a century, probably longer, was the last thing he was thinking about.

But of course she would be coming. It would be expected of him to bring her, as his wife and the future Baroness, even though she would probably despise it. The women didn’t hunt, of course. They went riding, sat around the fire gossiping and drinking and occasionally came along on stalking expeditions that bored them to tears and irritated their husbands, but still she would be expected to go along.

He smiled gently, placing a hand on her back, right between her shoulder blades. “I’d like for you to come,” he said with a nod. “We can discuss it once we’re back home.”

The parlour door opened, the butler standing to attention. “My lord,” he addressed Clayton first, eyes skittering over Isabela, back across the room to Octavia, “M’lady. The cars are here.”

“Very well,” Octavia nodded. “We’ll be out shortly.”

“Stick with me,” Clayton said to Isabela, moving so that he could pull away from her embrace and take her hand instead.

ISABELA: And just like that, Isabela felt slightly steady again as Clayton placed his hand on her back and smiled at her. She was in the right place: by his side. They were a team now. A united front. It was still an odd feeling, but she knew she just needed to trust him. The whole situation at the engagement party told her that and this only reinforced it. Of course he was acting a little strange, a little withdrawn. His father had just died.

And as a couple, they’d never dealt with anything like this. Of course Isabela wasn’t going to know exactly what to do. (She should, though, she still felt like. Isabela always knew the right thing to say.) They were still learning.

And it seemed as if she wasn’t doing too badly. He wanted her to ride with him, it seemed. And while she felt strange and awkward about that, she was glad that he wanted her there. She wanted to be there. That was all that mattered.

She smiled at him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Of course.”

CLAYTON: If anything, having Isabela along for the ride to the small church, just down the road in the village where the service would be held, would at least stop his mother from speaking to him along the way.

He could see his mother as her eyes lingered over the two of them, narrowing for a second as she sussed out its plan. She probably would've preferred it if Isabela had gone in the back with the rest of the cousins, but it was the done thing. She was his fiancée, which meant that she would go with him, whether his mother liked it or not.

Octavia met his gaze, and lifted her chin just a little. "It's time to go." She said, which was all she really needed to say; as soon as the words were out of her mouth people were setting down their drinks, half-full and ready for the staff to tidy away, and shuffling towards the door.

Clayton gave Isabela's hand a soft squeeze, hoping that it might be reassuring, or something, before he led her along after them.

#( t; thine be the glory )#claybela

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rowsandrows-of-roses · 2 years

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No One Ever Says No to Me --@ [Claybela]

@vcnatorr

It had been a busy summer. She had spent most of it trying to keep her family’s spirits up, assisting the community any way she could, and languishing in her bedroom--having an existential crisis. But, existential crisis were terrible for your complexion, so she had kept them to a minimum. The last thing she needed was a crack.

There was too much to be done. Through the chaos, Isabela had been determined not to let Clayton forget about her. She texted him every now and then (not too much, just enough to say hello and to make sure he was taking care of himself through the chaos.) She had stopped into the department twice, once to drop off a thank you card for him having dropped into Casita and another time to bring him over a note from the mayor. Being in and out of Town Hall had its advantages. Her aunt being the secretary to the mayor, even more so.

In this time, she had befriended Sharon, the secretary, and learned Clayton’s birthday. Which was how she had arranged reservations at Remy’s, after getting Elena to tell her what table was the sheriff’s favorite. Having connections was so lovely, wasn’t it?

Now, she just had to wait.

Clayton did not keep her waiting for long. As he was a gentleman. When he arrived she smiled at him, getting up to tell him hello and kiss his cheek, in a way that could be taken as friendly...or not.

“Feliz cumpleaños,” she told him. “I hope you have had a good one so far. I do so love birthdays.”

[outfit]

#swynclayton #claybela #no one ever says no to me #lookbook #i can't remember if it was shera or sharon but oh well #also im using gifs bc #i just got new ones #(thanks mak)#they're great and i wanted to use them

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rowsandrows-of-roses · 1 year

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Ines Isabela Valera Madrigal Aesthetics: Isabela and Clayton [Claybela] @vcnatorr

Once upon a time, the planets and the fates And all the stars aligned You and I ended up in the same room At the same time

And the touch of a hand lit the fuse Of a chain reaction of countermoves To assess the equation of you Checkmate, I couldn't lose

What if I told you none of it was accidental And the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me? I laid the groundwork and then, just like clockwork The dominoes cascaded in a line

What if I told you I'm a mastermind? And now you're mine It was all by design 'Cause I'm a mastermind

Ines Isabela Valera Madrigal Aesthetics --@ 2

#aesthetic #aesthetics #claybela #claybela stuff #inspiration #i needed a cover for their playlist so #here we are

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rowsandrows-of-roses · 1 year

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I Do, I Do, I Do --@ [Claybela]

In which Clayton and Isabela celebrate Valentine's Day...[takes place: February 14, 2023]

@vcnatorr

[tw -- none!]

[isabela's outfit] [clayton's outfit]

ISABELA: Dinner was perfect.

Exactly what Isabela had imagined. Clayton had picked her up in one of his sexy, sporty cars. Right on time. He had given her flowers (which, despite being able to create them with a wave of her hand, she still appreciated getting.) Remy’s was crowded, but they still had a lovely, intimate, candlelit corner all to themselves. Perks of dating the town Sheriff.

She had been given free rein to order off the menu. Anything at all she wanted.

All the boxes were checked. Isabela had never had such a picturesque, perfect Valentine’s Day. It was almost overwhelming. The whole thing felt like a dream. Like something you saw in a movie. Down to the handsome date, who said all the right things. Who made her laugh, raising his eyebrows at the woman who’d walked by them in some bright, feathery outfit. Who listened intently as she rambled about her family and Instagram.

Isabela felt incredibly lucky. The affection was warm in her heart. It was a nice feeling. It had taken quite a long time to grow. Months, really. She had been worried, hesitant. If the Sheriff broke up with her, her reputation would be shattered. She had played conservative, pushing boundaries only when she thought she had the upper hand. But now, she felt comfortable. Clayton had never misstepped. He always said the right things. Always paid her just the right amount of attention. Seemed interested and attentive.

Her hand reached across the table to take his as soon as the dessert menus had been taken by the waiter and he walked away.

“Thank you for this,” Isabela said. “I know you probably find it all a bit frivolous, but it means a lot. Just getting to spend time with you.” She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand and smiled at him.

CLAYTON: He had spent a lot of money to make sure that tonight went exactly according to plan. Time had been spent picking the perfect table, out of the way enough to feel intimate but still in plain view of everyone, because he wanted an audience for this. He had made sure that Isabela’s favourites, in fact everything on the menu, was kept in reserve so that she could order what she pleased – he even paid for the staff to get in extra ingredients lest she decide to go off menu. He had reserved a bottle of the best champagne for when she inevitably said yes, and he had gone over earlier to drop off the ringbox. Everything was in place.

And the night seemed to be going smoothly. Service was impeccable, as one would expect, given the amount of money he’d dropped on tonight, and Isabela seemed to be having a good time. Conversation flowing as well as the wine, the two of them comfortable, relaxed. It was exactly how Clayton had planned it.

He glanced down at Isabela’s hand on his, the gentle brush of her thumb over the back of his hand. Hard not to look at her very empty ring finger, but he didn’t want to give himself away just yet. It wouldn’t be long now, anyhow. The waiter would come back with their very special desserts, and after that…

“I don’t find it frivolous,” He told her. “Not if it’s something that makes you happy.”

Not entirely a lie. He really would do whatever he had to, to make her happy. To keep her that way. To keep her, end of. And he didn’t think a fancy dinner was frivolous - he loved a fancy dinner.

ISABELA: Isabela smiled wider. She couldn’t help herself. When around Clayton, Isabela did her best to be as mature as possible. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was too young, too immature to be with him. She didn’t mind that he was older, really. It just meant that he was established. He could treat her the way she wanted to be treated. He understood how to treat a lady. It wasn’t so hard, because Isabela had always felt mature for her age. Especially for the last few years.

But right now, she felt giddy and girlish on champagne. This was the nicest date she’d ever been on. It was the exact sort of thing she’d always imagined. Every detail just like all those girlish day dreams she used to have when thinking about the prophecy foretold about her life.

Not many people got told that in no uncertain terms they would get the life of their dreams.

And here it was, playing out: the handsome, rich man whose attention was only on her, the expensive restaurant with amazing food prepared just for her, the lovely outfit she’d been gifted by one of the brands she modeled for. There was not a single thing out of place.

“Well, it does,” Isabela said, squeezing Clayton’s hand. “Though, just for the record: you make me happy. That’s all I need, really. Not that I’ll say no to all this.” She chuckled, putting her elbow on the table, her chin on the back of her free hand.

CLAYTON: Clayton smiled gently, looking down at their joined hands. If he wasn’t so selfish he might’ve considered it a shame. Tying Isabela to himself, a man he wasn’t sure was even really capable of loving anyone enough to say the words and mean them. Many would argue that she deserved at least that — but then again, those people weren’t about to offer her a stately home and a centuries old fortune. Clayton was allowed to be a bit selfish, he thought, with so much on the table.

He chuckled at the remark, looking up at her again, studying her for just a moment with that same small smile. It had taken time for Isabela to soften, for them to get to here. A part of him worried whether or not this would be too much too soon, if she would spook. Clayton had never liked horses. He was a skilled rider, just like anyone in his family ought to be, but he had never got along with the beasts. The skittishness, never knowing what was going to set them off one day because it could be different to the day that came before it. That was how he thought of Isabela, sometimes. He would have her all sussed out, he thought, then something like this would come along, and he was back to square one.

“I’m glad to hear you say that. Both things — because truly, I do love to spoil you, whether you need it or not.” Was this the right moment? Clayton had never proposed to someone before. Not with the intent to go through with it, anyhow. “And in fact, there’s actually something I’ve been meaning to ask you…”

ISABELA: Isabela preened a little at that. It was true that this whole arrangement was because Isabela needed someone to take care of her and her family. But, it was just a bonus that he did like to spoil her. She had always adored the finer things in life; sparkling diamonds, silk chiffon, couture, caviar, champagne. She deserved these things, in her opinion. Isabela was a creature of comfort and Clayton could provide it.

There was nothing wrong with it. No shame in it. Isabela loved him in her own way because of it. The way a dog loved its master, because it depended on it for every meal.

So, if she had to answer Clayton, she would say she did need it. She needed spoiling very, very badly. Especially after the last five years of her life, which had been more horror than she ever wanted to experience again.

“Is that so?” Isabela asked, smiling wide, but suddenly, she felt her heart fluttering intensely in her chest. Thrumming fast and loud. She wondered for a moment if Clayton could hear it. She hoped not. It made her feel like a rabbit with its foot caught in a trap. That wasn’t Clayton’s fault. Isabela just hated anything that made her feel out of control…like nerves. There was always a chance that you could mess up when you were nervous.

And Isabela was--wanted to be--perfect.

“You can ask me anything.”

CLAYTON: He smiled, feeling very much like he had won. He couldn’t imagine any way she could say no; there was a small possibility, he supposed, but he would’ve had to have wildly misjudged the situation for that to happen. No — no, he was quite positive that she was going to say yes.

His timing was impeccable. The waiter brought out their desserts, held aloft on a silver tray. It wasn’t anything on the menu; he had gone into the kitchen ahead of time to discuss the options with the chef. The amount of money he’d spent on the ring concealed inside of it, he didn’t want it getting covered in chocolate fondant or god knows what.

And with the waiter, of course, came the string quartet. Just moments after the waiter had set Isabela’s plate down in front of her they appeared, as if from thin air, just across the restaurant. Playing something classic and romantic, because Clayton had told them to choose something classic and romantic. The waiter disappeared, and Clayton smiled a little. On her plate, which was carefully decorated with rose petals and swipes of some sort of raspberry sauce or something, the chef had really outdone himself, was what appeared to be a ring box. A ring box made of chocolate, of course — he’d told the chef to have a little fun with it.

“Open it,” he urged her, gesturing for her to lift the lid.

ISABELA: It would be a lie for Isabela to say she hadn’t expected this.

It was also the truth.

Somehow, these things coincided within her. The shock and the certainty. Her nerves fizzled and popped and she wished she’d had more of the champagne. The violins in her ears sounded harsh, discordant—surprising.

The little blue box sat in the middle of the table. A gauntlet thrown down.

That wasn’t how it was supposed to feel when you got proposed to, Isabela imagined. And maybe it was just because this wasn’t how she’d pictured it. Clayton? He was perfect. These circumstances? Not so much.

When Isabela thought about her proposal, she always thought about it somewhere quiet. Maybe on a beach (in Avalor, of course.) Secluded and quiet. Just the two of them. She’d never told Clayton this, obviously. She would never be so bold. But it was a sudden, sharp reminder that they didn’t know each other all that well.

He didn’t even know her real name.

Isabela stared at the little blue box and wondered if Clayton had spoken to her father. Or Abuela.

And then—she wondered why she was wondering about any of this at all!

It was perfect. Because it was Clayton. Because Clayton was perfect. Exactly what she wanted. Mature. Rich. Powerful. He had already proven he was more than willing to take care of her family and she was so eternally grateful to him for that. Her family was suffering less because of him. Her sister was happy because of him. They could all be happy because of him. No one more so than Isabela herself.

So, she smiled and rose petals showered around them as she reached forward and lifted the lid.

The ring inside twinkled and winked in the low light. It shimmered just like the tears in the corners of Isabela’s eyes, that she had managed to summon from somewhere.

A perfectly manicured hand went over her mouth.

“William—is this—?” she managed, even though she knew the answer. And she knew what hers had to be as well.

CLAYTON: No, he hadn’t spoken to her father, nor her Abuela – he didn’t want anything getting in the way of the thing that he wanted.

Clayton had always gotten his own way. Not from his parents, no; he was rich but not spoiled, at least not until he’d gotten wise enough to learn how to get whatever it was he wanted, whenever he happened to want it. Admittedly, getting someone to agree to marry him was probably his biggest undertaking yet, but he had been nothing if not confident in his own abilities.

He had already thought it all through. There would be an announcement, small, a dinner just for the family where he would apologise for not doing things properly, but it had all been so spur of the moment! Just that very morning, consumed by adoration and Valentine’s Day and all the rest of it, he had decided he would do it. Oh, of course, he had been thinking about it for a while, really he had planned to do it properly, but he had been so taken by how romantic it would be – how romantic it was!

Easy enough lies to spin to settle any qualms anyone had. Not that he thought they would have any, really. Not with who he was, what he had done for them, what he could do for them. They would be fools to stand in his way.

Clayton smiled softly, shifting so that he could lift the ring oh-so-gently from its confectionary container, and then moving to the side of the table, getting down on one knee. He had the sudden urge to laugh, the very idea of himself being down on one knee truly the funniest thing he’d thought of in a long time, but he didn’t. He held Isabela’s gaze, smiling up at her, as he held the ring aloft.

“Isabela, my love, will you marry me?”

ISABELA: There were many times in Isabela’s life where she didn’t feel as if she had any control. Where she couldn’t make a decision. She simply had to accept her fate and move forward. The inertia of her life had been pulling her forward since she was a little girl.

Perfect Isabela. Beautiful Isabela. Kind Isabela. Talented Isabela.

The life of her dreams was promised.

And here it was. Exactly as it should be. Handsome man. Down on one knee. A large ring, sparkling on a plush cushion.

There was nothing else to say, was there?

“Yes,” she said with a brilliant smile, sparkling like the diamonds.

She leaned forward in her seat, cupping Clayton’s cheeks in both of her hands and kissing him once, softly. She tried to summon tears, but nothing happened. Perhaps that was for the best. Clayton loved her because she was poised and elegant and restrained.

At least, she thought he must love her. Considering neither of them had ever said it.

Around them, there was a smattering of applause. And the sound of camera shutters from someone’s phone, taking a picture.

When she sat back, Isabela wiggled her hand in Clayton’s direction so he could slide the ring onto her finger. It was slightly too big. She had to hold it between her pinky and middle finger so it wouldn’t slide, but that was alright. She could get it adjusted.

“It’s beautiful,” she sighed, admiring the glitter of it. “Thank you.” She looked up at him and smiled, giggled just a bit--more of a nervous breath.

CLAYTON: Of course, that was exactly the reaction he had been expecting. Her smile and her breathy sounding answer, leaning forward as she pulled him into a gentle kiss. A small, almost chaste thing. He stayed settled on one knee even as she pulled back, waiting for her to hold her hand out before he slipped the ring onto her finger.

He didn’t notice the size, only that it looked as glamorous and ostentatious as he had planned for it to be. It wasn’t an antique or anything, he’d had it sent for specially. Perhaps his mother would’ve given away one of her baubles if he’d told her his plans, but his mother didn’t even know that Isabela existed, never mind that he was going to marry her.

He smiled as he stood, kissing the back of her hand. The ring was cold and solid as it caught the edge of his lips, but he paid it no mind; he simply sat back down in his seat, and reached for his glass.

“A toast, then? To the bride to be?”

A waiter was already hovering over them, ready to pour a bottle of champagne.

ISABELA: It was real. This was happening.

It felt like a dream. So strange. Everything moving so slowly. Everything in sharp relief. Isabela could smell the innocuous burn of the candles on the table. Clayton’s cologne cloying the air. There was the sound of people slowly returning to their meals, the tinkling of expensive utensils against expensive dishware. She didn’t know how she’d gotten here. It felt like she’d simply woken up in this restaurant, on this date.

Well, she had been told that her life would be a dream. Funny to think this might be what Tìo Bruno had meant.

The ring was heavy on her finger. Cold too. It hadn’t warmed to her skin yet.

She smiled at Clayton as he stood and settled back into her own seat, lifting her glass to watch as golden liquid spilled into it.

“To us,” she replied and clinked her glass against Clayton’s, before taking a sip, sealing the deal.

#swynclayton #claybela #i do i do i do #lookbook #/throws this like a grenade onto the dash

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vcnatorr · 2 years

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The calm after the storm || Claybela

@rowsandrows-of-roses

Clayton was about one more task away from leaving this town in the middle of the sodding night and never looking back. If his secretary added one more thing to his to do list, scheduled one more meeting, anything like that-- he was going to tear his hair out. Or, well, not his hair. He took great care of his hair. But he would certainly do something he would regret, because this ‘being busy’ phenomenon was driving him mad.

There was one thing on his list that he didn’t think would be so painful, however: checking in on one Isabela Madrigal. Prom night quite obviously had not ended on a particularly positive note, and she had seemed to struggle through the storm, but, moreover, he was worried he had shown off a chink in his armor. The way he had hovered over her might have been a sign of his care, or it might have been... suspicious. Isabela was a smart girl, he knew that much. She may not act like it half the time but it was very difficult to disguise that sort of intelligence in one’s eyes. He was just going to stop by, and check in on her -- and see if he could glean anything from it as to her opinion of him as he did.

Because Clayton could not, repeat, could not have a gossip thinking he was anything less than the sophisticated small town sheriff who was far too good for the post but doing it out of the good of his heart anyway. Isabela would talk. And if she talked, he would be in trouble.

And then he’d have bigger things to worry about than his to do list.

He decided to stop by her house, despite the risk of running into one of her ten million family members. He even showed up in the sheriff’s cruiser rather than his own car, proving it was all business -- for the time being, anyway.

He knocked, and then stepped back from the stoop, glancing around at the house as he waited.

#( t; the calm after the storm )#claybela #i love writing him i rlly do

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rowsandrows-of-roses · 2 years

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Grow to Prom with Me? * [Claybela]

@vcnatorr

Isabela was not nervous about this. She couldn’t be. There was no way Clayton would refuse her. Like Dolores had said: they wouldn’t have spent so much money on a raffle if he didn’t want to go with her. Still, she hated being the one to put herself out there. In her opinion, it should be a man, asking her to prom. But, she had known that wouldn’t happen.

Her mother had raised a modern woman and that meant taking things into her own hands. So, here she was, at the sheriff’s office again. A place that was becoming rather familiar to her at this point.

This was a win, she told herself. Wasn’t this what she wanted? To catch the sheriff’s eye.

“Hello, Ms. Sheila, is Clayton in?”

“Yes, Miss Madrigal. You can head back.”

“Thank you.” Isabela swept past to the open office door, knocking gently.

“Hello, Sheriff. I was wondering if you had a quick moment?” She flashed a pretty smile.

[outfit]

#swynclayton #claybela #grow to prom with me?#lookbook #ehhehehee

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rowsandrows-of-roses · 1 year

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Meet the Madrigals --@ [La Familia Madrigal + Clayton]

In which Clayton officially meets the Madrigals...[takes place: late August, 2022]

@vcnatorr, @accident-prone-agustin, @letitrain-letitsnow-letitgo, @tirameunpaso-felix, @haveyoumet-dolores, @waitingona-mirabel

[tw -- none really!]

ISABELA: “I’ll get it!” Isabela said, trotting towards the door, a field of poppies springing up behind her as she went. While this display was beautiful, it was also a symptom of Isabela’s anxiety. Her magic was wild, vines curling around the columns that framed the doorway as she moved towards it, squeezing tight.

Isabela had never brought a boy home to meet her family before.

She’d had boyfriends, of course. Sweet things when they’d all been children in Encanto that did not really count. And there had been one boyfriend while she’d been in University that she had been somewhat serious with. Pico had been lovely, the son of a politician, but she had lost touch with him after the coup. And he had only ever met her father, who worked in the capital sometimes and had had lunch with him once.

This was completely different. Clayton wasn’t a boyfriend, really. He was. They’d agreed to be exclusive, but calling him her boyfriend felt immature. This was a proper relationship. One that she wanted to last. And that meant he had to make a good impression on her family. And…they had to make a good impression on him.

She had complete faith in them all.

“Hola!” Isabela said, slightly breathless as Casita’s door swung open and a burst of flowers rushed passed Isabela, showering Clayton before disappearing as Isabela waved her hand. “Sorry. Come in! Come in!” She pulled Clayton in by the elbow, leading him back into the courtyard. A squirrel skittered across the floor, climbing up the vines that had just appeared in the doorway.

“Alright, well--this is everyone,” she gestured broadly to the long table set in the center of the courtyard where everyone was bustling back and forth.

“Tia Pepa, Antonio--” she pointed them out. “Tio Felix and Camilo.”

“Ay!” Camilo perked up at the sound of his name.

“Dolores, Luisa, Mirabel--” she pointed as each came out of the kitchen carrying a different dish for the table. “My papa, Agustin. Mama is still in the kitchen, I think. And--” she pulled Clayton a little further into the house.

“This is Abuela,” Isabela said, smiling wide at her abuelita, heart hammering in her chest.

CLAYTON: This was not his first visit to the Madrigal household, but it was arguably the most important one. All of them had been important, realistically; the last, when he had stopped by to make sure Isabela was alright after the whole prom night debacle, had very much set them away down the path they were now on. But this was his first visit meeting the family, an activity that Clayton loathed with an overwhelming passion. Admittedly, the families he tended to meet were usually landed gentry and so boring they could reduce a man to tears before the footmen could even bring around the amuse-bouche.

He had a feeling this meeting would not be so boring. People moving to and fro, little creatures scurrying across their path as they made their way to a courtyard that Clayton was starting to become familiar with. The foliage seemed thicker this time, tangles of vines and flowers coating every other surface. How did anyone ever get anything done around here with all the clutter?

And so many bodies - more siblings and cousins and assembled family than one could shake a stick at. Clayton was used to a house feeling too big, too empty. It was quite the change here; it felt vaguely claustrophobic. Would she want to move the entire family in, once they took over the house at Islip? He supposed if they had their own wing…

He gave each one a nod, a polite smile. Held up a hand to the people who waved in the first place, and let himself be led deeper into their maze of a home.

Now, he was no idiot. Every family had a figurehead, and he knew from the way Isabela spoke about her that her Abuela was very much the head of the household. So he gave his best charming-but-humble smile, reserved very much for situations like this, as he said, “It’s very nice to meet you. And thank you so much, for inviting me - Isabela has told me a lot about your family. It’s nice to be able to put faces to the names.”

FELIX: Felix wasn’t sure about this at all.

But! It wasn’t his place to be sure or not sure about it. Maybe if it was Lo who was bringing home the town Sheriff as her boyfriend he would have a little more sway to say something, but– well, he could only do his best to be supportive of everyone involved. And right now, being supportive meant carrying plates out of the kitchen, helping to get the table set, and keeping his sons out of trouble.

“Antonio, tell the rabbits to stop stealing the salad, there’ll be nothing left for our guest!” He huffed, shooing away a couple of long-eared, fuzzy-tailed thieves. He looked up as Isabela went skittering past in a shower of flowers, pausing to watch the two of them come back through to the courtyard. Nothing was ever ready on time in this family, he tutted to himself. Still a few things to be done before they’d be ready, but never mind. He waved as he heard his name, elbowing Camillo to get him to focus. “Come on, we’ve still got stuff to do, eh? Stay focused.”

He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop on the conversation with Aubela. Except that he was, honestly– he knew how scary meeting Abuela was. He’d done it before, a very long time ago now. He’d had the advantage of being a child, he supposed; by the time he came to Abuela as a potential son-in-law she already knew him rather well.

“I hope she only told him the good things, hm?” Felix chuckled, looking at Mirabel as he passed by her.

MIRABEL: Mirabel doubted that. She could imagine Isabela complaining about her to the Sheriff, apologizing for her screw-up sister who didn’t get a gift and failed out of school and continued to embarrass herself at every turn. The image was vivid in her mind, entirely constructed (Mirabel didn’t think she’d said two words to the man), but very vivid. The way she imagined it, Isabela was still the enemy, and Sheriff Clayton was her new co-conspirator.

So no, Mirabel did not have any reservations about whether this was a good match. It was clearly a great match. And one that was totally designed to torture her.

Because Mirabel looked at her sister and her new boyfriend and all she felt was jealousy. This was a man Abuela would approve of. He had money, and he was prominent in the community, and the only thing that would make him better was if he was Avaloran— but that was harder to achieve in Swynlake. If Mirabel brought home an artist… well, Abuela would probably just silently judge, Mirabel imagined.

Still, she was supposed to be polite and supportive and not cause drama the way she always did (even inadvertently). So she smiled at Tío Félix. “There aren’t any bad things, Tío. Except maybe my dancing,” she laughed and set down the tray of arepas she was carrying. She glanced at her tía. “Is there anything else I can grab from the kitchen?” Mirabel preferred to have any excuse to run around tonight— and avoid having to tell Isabela how thrilled she was for her.

PEPA: Pepa was —

Well, Pepa was excited. Pepa was anxious. Pepa was trying to take deep breaths so that she did not summon a storm in the middle of Casita on this very very important dinner! All of that meant that Pepa was actually trying to keep herself as occupied as possible, and till Clayton had showed up, Pepa had been following Julieta around the kitchen, listening to her older sister and dutifully following in her lead. It was good to put the decisions in someone else’s hands, though if Pepa knew her sister at all, she knew that Julieta was probably putting all her energy into the food so that she wouldn’t worry herself.

All that being said, by the time Mirabel came up to her, right after Pepa had set the second bowl of salad down (this one untouched by the rabbits), there was simply nothing left that needed to be brought —

“Hmm, maybe we should bring out some wine?” Pepa suggested. “Your father brought home a good bottle the other night — which one was it Agustin?” She called to her brother-in-law. “Do you think our guest would like it? I liked it a lot — a good, full-bodied red. If he has good taste, he’ll like it.”

Pepa threw her niece a wink, trying to soothe any nerves that she might have. To be honest, Pepa wasn’t looking at anyone’s reagents right now. Not when she was trying to keep the skies clear and sunny and the mood festive and joyous! No, no, no, getting bogged down by any one else would not do.

“Agustin — go help your daughter with the wine. Oh, glasses too!”

DOLORES: Dolores was 100% trying to eavesdrop on the conversation with Abuela and Isa AND Clayton. She wanted to know if she liked this man. If she liked the guy her cousin who was basically her sister was bringing home and at the same time she was jealous because she didn’t have anyone and not for a lack of trying either. And here Isa was with someone she cared about on her arm meeting Abuela.

It was tough.

But she would be pleasant and proud and happy for her.

She would!

And she would spy just a little. It was what she did.

Slipping over to her Mama, Dolores set a hand on her arm with a smile and a reassuring grin. They all knew to keep Mama calm incase of a sudden storm. What a horrid first impression. But then there were more animals rushing across the ground and Dolores had to move carefully to avoid them rushing after Ani to help get them calm.

“Food is on the table whenever we’re ready to sit!” Dolores called out ushering the animals away from the couple and Abuela.

AGUSTÍN: Agustín had his reservations about the sheriff, namely that he didn’t seem qualified for the job and that he had to be closer in age to him than to his daughter…which he supposed was fine, with Ines being nearly thirty. Still he had to wonder what he had in common with his daughter beyond good looks. But that wasn’t the point of this evening and nor was Agustín Valera known to be ‘that kind of man’, the kind who was mistrusting and overprotective, and who bristled when you called him by his wife’s surname. Agustín was none of those things both by nature and for optics.

He brought the wine into the dining room with Mirabel and nodded politely at Clayton, before gesturing to Mirabel for her to sit. He picked his spot out between Julieta and Mirabel — figuring Isabela would want to be with Clayton and Alma — and began to pour wine for everyone.

“The first class for the guest of course,” Agustín said, pouring some into Clayton’s glass, then Isabela’s.

ISABELA: Isabela and Clayton chatted with Abuela for a moment, whilst the rest of the family bustled around, but then, it was time to sit down. Isa moved over to her chair, her hand on Clayton’s arm so that she could direct him to the seat next to her, just in case he got stressed about where to sit. It wasn’t necessarily intuitive. And no one sat the same place every night. Sometimes, Isa and Lo sat together so they could gossip about the going ons of the day. Sometimes, it was Camilo and Isa for the same reasons. When Antonio was littler, Isa used to sit next to him to help him with dinner, so the adults could take a break. Sometimes she sat next to Luisa because her sister had had a hard day at work. Sometimes, it was Tio Felix, so that they could discuss the latest episode of whatever telly show they were watching. Or Abuela, when she had something impressive to tell her.

The one constant was that Mira and Isa usually avoided each other. No one commented on it, but it was rather obvious.

Her sister was down at the other end of the table now, thank God. Both her parents as a buffer, so, hopefully, she didn’t say anything nasty. The last thing Isabela needed was for Clayton to think that her family was a handful. There were many of them, but they were chill! Relaxed. Totally normal.

“Thank you all for coming, I know we don’t always get to sit down together, but it means a lot to me and I know it means a lot to William too.” She reached over and put her hand on his arm for a moment.

Abuela, who had taken this time to serve herself, took a bite of her food, which meant the table burst into a flurry of activity as everyone else started passing around the food. (She could see her mother, on Clayton’s other side, eyeing what he put on his plate.)

“So, Senor Clayton, please. Tell us about yourself.” That was Alma, watching him with a keen eye.

CLAYTON: There wasn’t really anything about tonight that was stressing Clayton out as it happened. He had no doubts that he was charming enough to be able to make a good impression, but he was careful to keep himself a step behind Isabela, following her gentle guidance. It wasn’t that he was timid, needing her to point him in the right direction, though if it came across that way he wasn’t sure he would mind. Better that than to put his foot in his mouth. He was a naturally confident person, yes, but he was also used to moving in the same circles. Circles that he understood, and knew how to navigate - this was new to him. And he was smart enough to know when to tread carefully.

He really should’ve become an actor, he thought, as he gave a gentle, gracious smile, looking to Isabela as she placed a hand on his arm and thanked the family for gathering as they had. To be honest, he couldn’t care less; but it was important to her, which meant it had to be important to him.

He waited until everyone else started to pass around the plates, careful to put a little bit of everything on his own. Not that he knew what half of it was, but he also wasn’t particularly fussy. And tonight was about the meal anyways, it was about this: painting a specific picture of himself, so that the family didn’t try to throw too many spanners in the works.

“Well, I grew up in the country, not too far from Oxford. But I’ve actually lived in London most of my life - I was very lucky to get a job straight after I finished my Masters degree, right in the city. I was a journalist for a while, but London was…” He shook his head, considering his words. “It’s not the type of place you settle in, and that was really what I was starting to look for. I had a few friends who had mentioned Swynlake, so I decided to look into it, and,” He smiled, raising his shoulders in a half-shrug. “I never left.”

FÉLIX: The good thing about having been a parent for many years, and about having specifically parented his own children, was that Félix was good at having his eyes on two different things at once (and having eyes in the back of his head at the same time, too, but he wasn’t using those right now). He was busy loading up his plate, making sure Antonio took some of the vegetables as they were passed round and trying to make sure Camillo didn’t take all of the patacones before they’d had a chance to make their way around the table.

But he was also listening to Clayton. Growing up in the countryside, living in London, he wasn’t sure how Alma would feel about any of those things but that comment– wanting to settle. He glanced sideways at Pepa, sharing a look with her. Alma would be happy with that, surely. She wanted stability for Isabela, she wanted someone her eldest grandchild could depend on, right? And it sounded like that was who Clayton was, even if he wasn’t necessarily the person any of them would’ve picked for Isa…

Félix glanced at Alma, trying to gauge her reaction - he spent a lot of his time doing that. And he did remember being in Clayton’s shoes, meeting her for the first time. Félix hadn’t exactly been nervous, because he’d known her since he was just a boy, but it was still sort of scary, to meet her not as a family friend but as Pepa’s boyfriend. She was quite imposing when she wanted to be. Most of the time, in fact.

Félix looked away, passing the plate of tamales to Mirabel.

MIRABEL: Oxford. London. Master’s degree. Mirabel didn’t even need to look at Abuela’s face. She knew that her grandmother was probably overjoyed. Being a journalist was sort of interesting, but Mirabel imagined it was probably for some horribly boring topic, like economics or something. And he wasn’t even doing that anymore, he was the Sheriff.

And, apparently, Isabela’s boyfriend now.

Really, they were perfect for each other. Because they were both so bloody perfect.

She tried to think of something interesting to say, but she imagined Isabela would probably prefer it if she just didn’t. So Mirabel just took a tamale and passed the plate to her father, looking at Clayton the whole time, her expression polite but maybe a little pensive. And then she caught Abuela’s eye— her expression unreadable as always— and wondered if she needed to be more friendly.

“That’s, um, really cool,” Mirabel said on a whim, even though she had just decided she was going to keep quiet. But that was harmless, right?

PEPA: Now, Pepa was impressed! A Masters degree meant he was smart. And so-very English too — that accent! Pepa smiled, taking a sip of her wine and listening to Isa’s boyfriend talk.

They were both so beautiful too. If this was serious — and it was serious, because Isabela would not bring just anyone to family dinner like this — then Isabela would make a most beautiful bride. They’d be a gorgeous couple, with gorgeous children!

Okay — maybe she was getting ahead of herself. But could you blame her? The family needed some good news, especially after all they’d been through. The coup, losing Bruno, the past five years in this small, rainy little town, their magic faltering… the family needed to come together about something joyous. And what was more joyous than love?

Pepa looked fondly at her husband, and reached for his hand.

“Oh, I hope Dolores finds someone as successful as this soon,” she whispered, stroking Felix’s arm.

DOLORES: Growing up in the country, it could be so romantic, Dolores swooned just a little bit, and the fact he didn’t want a big city life, in a way Dolores could make it out to be some Jane Austen type of deal. Meeting in the small city, wanting to stay away from the crowds. A whirlwind romance potentially.

Focused on the story Dolores almost missed the food being passed to her so she could take some, passing it onto the next. A blush coating her cheeks at her Mama’s words. She wanted this too, she really did. She wanted to be swept up in a romance that you were bringing them home to a family dinner.

And not to mention Isa had set the standard very high with the sheriff.

“That sounds lovely, you want to make Swynlake your home then?” Is that good or bad, would they ever go back or would they set up roots just like this.

AGUSTÍN: Agustín sat quietly, not really having anything to add. He wasn’t sure he cared to get to know this man quite yet; but more importantly, thought he’d do better to suss him out by observing. He nodded along as he talked himself up as any man would do meeting his girlfriend’s family for the first time and tried not to think about how this man probably had his Masters degree before he’d achieved his own.

Him, really?

Ay, he seemed like a respectable man. He was trying to be positive, open, and not so protective of his little girl who was a grown woman now, but…he knew Isabela was dating with the intention of marriage within a couple years. Alma didn’t always say it in so many words but she certainly expected Isa and Lo to marry sooner rather than much later. He hoped Isabela didn’t feel pressured to make it happen, that she’d just go with the flow and know when the time was right.

Still, he knew she preferred to date seriously, with her future in mind. He liked that about his eldest daughter; that she was careful, calculated, and took steps to meet her ultimate goals.

Only, hm. When he pictured meeting a future son-in-law, he pictured a man…at least young enough to be his hermanito Danilo’s age.

He supposed if Isabela was happy and being treated well he could get used to it! Yes, surely he would.

ISABELA: “Yes, what a good question, mi vida,” Abuela said before looking back at Clayton with sharp, alert eyes. “Do you intend to make Swynlake home?”

She had been sitting quietly whilst her family prattled on. Despite being the matriarch, Abuela Alma could be rather sparse. She preferred to observe. And you could always feel the way that she watched you. Isabela felt the weight of her gaze now and made sure to straighten her shoulders so that she would not crumble underneath it. She smiled and looked at Clayton herself, curious what he had to say.

It had never occurred to her that Clayton may not want to stay in Swynlake. His home was elsewhere after all, and there was nothing keeping him from it. Not like Isabela. She wondered if she married him…would she ever be able to go home? Would he want to move into Casita the way she always imagined her husband would? Just like her Papa and Tio had?

There was no point in thinking about that now. They had to survive the interrogation first.

CLAYTON: Oh, but there was such an easy answer to this question. Honestly, he didn’t even have to try.

He had played the role of the good boyfriend before. The doting boyfriend, the almost-too-good boyfriend. Being charming was like any other talent - some were born with a natural capability for it, but it still needed to be worked at to be perfected. And Clayton had worked at it. He had put hours and hours into it.

(Of course, playing the good boyfriend was often extremely tedious and boring. He preferred it when he got to play the bad boyfriend. The bring-him-home-to-piss-off-your-parents boyfriend. He’d done that a few times, when he was younger, and it was always so much more fun.)

“I like to think I already have,” He answered simply, smiling at Alma. “And now, especially, I can’t imagine why I’d want to leave.”

He looked at Isabela for a moment, placing his hand over hers, squeezing gently.

FÉLIX: He squeezed his wife’s hand gently, smiling at her. Glanced at Dolores in his periphery, just for a moment, wondering if she had heard. Knowing that she probably would have. He didn’t want her to feel any pressure, of course not! But Pepa was right. It would be nice if Dolores could find herself someone who seemed as successful and well put together as the Sheriff. Someone as devoted, too!

Because he did seem so devoted. Félix looked at his wife again, eyebrows arching for a moment in silent communication, a little smile on his lips. Oh, yes, it all seemed very serious! And Félix was sure that was just the answer Abuela was wanting to hear. Honestly, it was like he was reading aloud from a script, almost. It was perfect! Was it too perfect?

Félix wondered for a fraction of a second about the uneasy feeling that crept over him, until he noticed Antonio slipping scraps of meat to the badger that was sitting underneath his chair. Félix hissed at him to cut it out, thoroughly distracted again.

MIRABEL: Now that Mirabel was over her initial annoyance at just how picture-perfect Isa and her new boyfriend were and the conversation had moved into this lovey-dovey shit, Mirabel was starting to get bored.

She didn’t want anything crazy to happen, because that would be stressful, but she wished this were a normal family dinner when everyone wasn’t on their best behavior. Was this going to be the new normal whenever the Sheriff was around? All these manners and polite conversation?

The thought was very depressing.

Mirabel heard Tío Félix’s scolding and smiled at Antonio, though she didn’t dare egg him on. She just had to get through the rest of this dinner.

PEPA: At the mention of home, Pepa’s heart panged.

She missed her home — she missed every place she’d ever called home. She missed Avalor, where she had spent most her life. And when she allowed herself, she let herself miss Colombia. Sometimes, late at night, she squeezed her eyes shut very tight and remembered running through the grass with her siblings and picking flowers to give Felix.

Around her, it began to mist slightly.

She cleared her throat, trying to think of happier things — the last thing this evening needed was a rainstorm!

So she thought of smiling Isabela. She thought of Swynlake. This was home now. It was grey and cloudy and cold more often than not, but Casita still stood strong, and her family still shared a meal together. And if Clayton and Isabela got married then, well, this would be home even more! They were resilient, the Madrigals, and Pepa knew they could weather any storm.

“And what a lovely place to call a home!” chimed Pepa. She giggled, hoping that any clouds gathering around her would disperse with her laughter.

DOLORES: Good. That meant Isa was staying here, with her, with her family. Dolores wasn’t sure what she would do if another one of her family members left without the intent to come back. It was why when Mirabel left it was easier to handle since she would be back sooner than later.

Maybe if they could go home, Clayton would join them as well.

But for now this was enough to settle any other worries for now.

Issue one dealt with.

CLAYTON: Well, it seemed like that had been the correct answer, at the very least.

He supposed it wasn’t wrong. He had made Swynlake a home, and truly, he had no plans to leave it. Why would he? He had the town under his thumb for the most part, and now he was securing for himself a match that meant when the old man did finally kick the bucket, he would have someone to manage the house, so that he wouldn’t have to deal with the sodding thing. He might have to move back there for a few months, whilst things got settled and everyone got into the swing of having a new Baron in charge of the place, but it would still only be temporary.

Though he wasn’t sure he could ever call a place home for too long. At some point he’d grow tired of playing policeman and the game in the forest would dry up and then he’d be forced to look for somewhere else. Until then, however, this was very much his home, and he had no plans to change that.

“My thoughts exactly,” He said, directing a smile at Pepa before he looked at Isabela again, attempting to gauge her reaction.

ISABELA: Isabela had not actually thought about that. To ask it. To know what his plans were. He was the sheriff. Of course he was planning to stay here. And Isabela had simply just always thought that whoever she married would move into Casita with her. It was big enough. Whoever her husband was, Casita would make room for them. Quite literally. There had never been another thought about it for her. It simply was.

But now, she realized it was not guaranteed. Maybe whoever she married wouldn’t want to live in Casita. Maybe they would have obligations elsewhere. Maybe they wouldn’t want to be in Swynlake. The idea had struck her so forcefully that she’d actually sprouted a few daisies in her hair that she managed to brush off with a simple smile as Clayton had answered.

Plus, it seemed as if he was saying that she was part of the reason to stay. Which made her very happy indeed. She smiled more broadly, pleased with Clayton’s reply.

“Aye, it is a good home,” Abuela agreed.

Isabela felt her grandmother’s eyes on her and turned towards her. Abuela gave her a small, single nod. Isabela straightened her shoulders in her seat as the conversation around them picked up again. She felt as if she had won the night. Everything was going exactly as she wanted.

#swynclayton #swynagustin #swynpepa #swynfelix #swyndolores #swynmirabel #claybela #isagus #belpepa #isabix #lola and lala #mirabela #la familia madrigal #meet the madrigals

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