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oh-saints · 1 month

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sweetest devotion (p.8)

they did start this whole circus with a marriage of conveniences. little did mason and serena know was how convenient they had become during this marriage…

playboy!mason mount x princess!OC wc: 3.5k tw: only as warned under masterlist but none for this chapter, except for a long read ahead! note: I am deeply apologetic for delaying this for far too long, but a virus came into me and almost paralysed me. but an excuse is an excuse, and a promise is a promise so here you go! the long-awaited chapter for our favourite star-crossed couple and I hope this made up for all the times you miss mason x serena. but as usual, I happen to have inspirations whenever dawn is approaching so this is not proof-read yet! tags: @pingyu-in-wonderland @808heartz @ironmaiden1313 @myreveriie @kathb59 (let me know if you want to be added!) < part 7 here - part 9 TBA (hopefully within the next 2 weeks) sweetest devotion masterlist

if, when mason decided to step on the throttle and married serena earlier this year, any of you shot mason in the head with the fact that mason would get along very well with serena on the last trimester of her pregnancy, mason would spit in your face. without a doubt, without hesitation.

“i need your help,”

such simplistic sentence was not supposed to do any harm to mason’s body, but it did—it always does, without his consent—and the footballer had to regulate his breathing to conceal the devastating effect serena effortlessly brought upon him.

being amicable with serena was never in his bingo cards. let alone this.

mason mount was only supposed to partake his share of responsibility towards his own child. the fact that he might be able to save serena from an impending death sentence, should she be discovered with a child out of wedlock, was a bonus.

naturally, with that in mind and a divorce at the end of the deal, he didn’t expect to be more than co-parenting partners at best.

“what is it?”

but now, he could only count his blessing amongst the stars, for no one had shot him with such incredulous prediction of his future, so mason didn’t have to apologize to anyone for having spat on their face. because mason and serena was co-habitating even better than expected, way much better than even the both of them would like to admit.

“i can’t reach for the pan.”

mason laughed a genuine one, the warmth replacing the initial electric shock. serena frowned a deeper pout, adding more heat all over mason’s body despite firing up the furnace earlier, resulting mason to plaster a wide smile still on his face as he did what he was instructed. “there you go, princess.”

they weren’t supposed to fall into this—whatever “this” might be. the sense of familiarity, comfort… all mixed up in one unknown territory they didn’t want to explore but know well enough that they had plunged themselves in.

as much as they denied themselves from the reality, though, they had indeed deviated from their own terms of being amicable. they had certainly gotten themselves more comfortable around each other than intended; it was as if they had found the rhythm on their feet and had fallen together into a song to dance together. serena cooks, mason grocery-shops. mason drives everywhere, serena massages him before they retreat to their respective bedroom. mason plays a home game, serena watches from the family box. serena has a foot aching or swollen, mason is ready with a warm-water footbath. serena catches an occasional or residual morning sickness, mason knows where the ginger crackers are. mason talks, serena listens.

what a contrary to the so-called first dance they displayed for the rest of the world to believe. back then, serena was lucky to not have stepped on mason’s tom ford shoes, and mason was saved from critics highlighting his luckster steps ripping off the train of serena’s reception gown. that night, serena decided it might actually be better to have god save the princess instead as an alternate title to eldorran national anthem.

but despite the level of this newfound friendliness established between the two of them, there was still an enormous elephant in the room.

where are they in this relationship?

that is, if there was ever a sufficient word to describe their relationship. yes, they were married but are they a couple? if not, were they friends or were they just roommates?

mason would like to think the first one—for him, roommates were simply acquittances that could care less about other person’s whereabouts, and surely with the extent they had gone through together wasn’t merely hi, how are you? basis—but more often than not, serena did make him feel the reality was that mason was indeed still walking around the eggshells.

there were times when serena made him feel he was one step forward, two steps backwards. for example; while mason was more than happy to be labelled the yapping boyfriend per today’s standard of couple compatibility, serena was, in nature, a reserved person who speaks only when deemed necessary, so to have her sharing bits of her life while he was away for work could be seen as making a wide stride of progress. but in comparison to the earlier times when their communication was rather limited to texts—or rather, mason had limited their interaction—serena was far more welcoming then, in a sense that she was willing to inform him where she was going and whatnot when they were still practically strangers.

case two was, unfortunately, the most ironic of all.

mason and serena had made a habit to retreat to the living room after dinner, for whatever reason. be it simply watching the latest movie they didn’t have the chance to catch up, be it mason gaming while serena continued her journaling, be it serena accompanying mason while he was up to review the approach of an upcoming game, be it to have a light discussion about nursery, the upcoming doctor’s visit.

bottom line, the living room had turned into a shared premise for them, yet serena had never once invited mason over to her mini piano recital.

you might wonder why was mason upset over such a small—meaningless even for some—matter. but when your housemate bid you farewell for the night, only to sneak up the owner of the house later into the night to use the grand piano by the stairs—courtesy to his interior designer, who decided it’d be a nice sentimental touch to contrast the masculine theme of his house—it posed so many questions. not to mention, serena was annihilating the keys, madly punching the notes like she was screaming, very much unfit to the elegant divinire by Ludovico Einaudi.

mason had to give it to serena, though, for choosing this road. because others—most of the population, really—would only think she’s blessed with a musical talent, playing the black-and-white keys as if glue was stuck on the pads of her fingers, when in reality she was anything but destroying the classical piece.

layered with complexity, exactly like serena in person.

the next morning, mason woke up with a full determination to confront serena about it. only to be greeted by a sight of her mildly swollen eyes—mason might not be the brightest kid at school but her sisters made sure he was the top of class in the subject of “women 101”—so he’d forego whatever words about to be spilled on the tip of his tongue.

but later, mason realised, he was glad he never made it known that he’d overheard her stellar performance. another night she’d sit down on the giant musical instrument and played a beautiful piece mason recognized from the black swan, yet it was mesmerizing for all the wrong reason. he remembered she’d gotten a call earlier from a palace, and her face expression had become sombre a bit, probably due to whatever the palace was saying.

he concluded that it had moulded into a pattern of habit whenever she was having a bad day—a way to let out her frustration. so mason stayed put, afraid he’d only distract serena. or worse, destroying her concentration flow. she worked hard to conceptualize this whole recital anyway, why should he ruin it?

other times when this happened, he’d sat on top of the stairs, hidden behind the nearest wall, as the princess took over the grandiose piano. and he had never recalled any other time when he failed to show up whenever she played her version of rendition to a modern classic piece because he knew it was serena’s only outlet to be herself. full of hidden angers and oppressed opinions, unable to express the way she truly feels because of all the royal restriction. in a way, he wanted to be there for her—good days, bad days, every day.

what a regal way to do so, whilst mason was the type to punch away the sandbag at the gym.

still, if her outmost genuine concern was not to disturb mason, and thus the midnight choice of time, she was certainly wrong. if serena thought mason would miss the elegant tunes flowing as the production result of her dainty fingers dancing on those black-and-white keys, she was certainly over-confident. mason might not be the mozart prodigy but he knows when one is supposed to depict sadness and anything alike.

but why would she conceal something as beautiful as that?

on another take, if she indeed didn’t want mason to know her habit: why? or was that why the notes she’d play was always heart-wrenchingly beautiful? because she didn’t want mason to hear anything whatever she had to say without words? because she didn’t want mason to know her deepest, most hidden secret that she was never happy here in the first place, no matter how hard mason had been trying to provide everything in this earthly realm in order to make her happier and healthier?

why didn’t she say anything, about anything at all really? in whatever relationship is—friendship, kinship—it always takes two to tango. and right now, serena was an even worse dance partner than their reception night.

just until when were they going to tango around the room, spinning endlessly?

“that was one hell of a performance.”

serena visibly jumped on her seat behind the piano, her eyes immediately looked for the source of sound. “mason,” she remained still, as she watched mason coming nearing her position. “do i wake you up?”

“no, i was only falling asleep when you started,”

“oh, no, i apologize—”

“no, no, no, i always like it whenever you play,” realising the slip of tongue that this was not the first time he’d heard her, mason might as well let out the remaining of the truth. “i like how you look when you play. free—of pressure, of opinions, of judgement… of the world, really. nothing else but you.”

there was a flash of surprise and fear. an equivalence of deer in the headlight in royal etiquette, mason presumed, before she turned away her head. “sounds like a selfish person to me.”

“if you’re a selfish person then you would’ve aborted our son the first moment you found out about him,” the speed of mason’s retaliation took serena by surprise. “but you didn’t. and that’s what i like about you, too.”

the amount of the word like coming out of mason’s mouth was seriously concerning serena. they were not supposed to like each other—amicable was what they agreed upon in the first place, given the situation and condition.

“can’t sleep?”

serena shook her head in response to mason’s question while her fingers reached for the cover of the piano, wanting to shut the lid and took her leave.

her intention had to be cancelled as mason took his spot beside her. “how are you feeling about tomorrow?”

ah, yes. the day she had been dreading.

tomorrow was the day serena had to fly back to eldorra, for her oldest brother’s wedding and her father’s abdication. the festivities wasn’t supposed to kick off until 5 days later, but serena had decided to fly in earlier because she thought she needed time to adjust back to the nitty-gritties of royal etiquettes, protocol and other royal affairs. it was a reasonable justification, both in the eyes of the palace and mason, considering she’d been away from the princess lifestyle for rather a while now, technically alone in London and bereft of any relatives but mason, both from his side of the family and especially hers.

in all honesty, serena was content with her life here, away from the spotlight and the pressure of a royal member. it was rather a life she’d been wishing to have since she was teenager. contrary to her image and popular belief that she was the friendliest member of the eldorran royal family, she wasn’t as good at mingling with any figure connected with power, politics and whatnot as she was mingling with her people.

an entire sequence of traditions was coming her way—for a wedding, abdication and coronation—so the level of social anxiety was guaranteed skyrocketing. this would mean mingling, meaningless chitchats, keeping two-faces intact, answering intruding questions, addressing false allegations, greeting and faking smiles to gold-digger spouses and so-called socialites FOR DAYS. good lord in heavens, please give me enough strengths to truck the atrocious days alone.

“are you sure you are not coming, mason?”

ah, yes. the breaking news, so shocking it headlined the eldorran gossip channels and tv programs for a week straight.

mason’s professional commitments required him to fly with his football club for an important match for several days, which coincidentally happened to fall during the series of pre-events leading to the wedding day of her brother. his attendance on the wedding day itself, the abdication and the coronation remained hanging for the public to guess—but they knew better.

the king, serena’s father, still harboured an ill feeling towards his only son-in-law. … mason didn’t even protest on that, given it was the prerogative of the king anyway, but her father made it well-known from their very first meeting in chelsea’s training ground that they’d never have a particular in-laws normalcy. mason remembered it very well, for he’d never been in the presence of a great power and authority flowing throughout the room that he’d wavered a little behind the mask he displayed.

mason flashed serena a bitter smile. “you know the answer to that, princess.”

“there is an answer to that, too, mason,” serena said, offering mason a slight grasp over his hand. “we can always use this special card of ours.”

the sight of serena looking down at her protruding belly, now unable to be hidden under various designs and styling, as her free hand stroking the ball of sunshine, never failed to warm mason’s entire body and soul. he would always feel warm and giddy, and proud and glad serena and their son was doing well each and every day, despite the rocky start.

“i’ll miss that when you’re away. you, playing the piano,” while another hand stroked gently over serena’s stomach, mason turned his occupied palm around to grip hers tightly, interlacing their fingers for the first time in forever. “i’ll miss this, too.”

“well—”

“i’ll miss you.”

what they had was orthodoxically special, indeed.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

the house feels empty

serena didn’t know the exact time and place where this all had begun, the random texts. the timeline had become blurry since they had progressed into a friendlier terms, coming from a chain of texts that was similar to the ones shared between the owner of a house and its renter. but it had indeed become something she looked forward to during the day, a glimpse of how his day went so far—ben snores so much it hurts my ears; azpi’s so irritating in training today; or such. it filled a small space in her heart, longing for a dear friend.

but since the i’ll miss you happened, serena would be lying if she didn’t think that mason’s words were laced with something else. something beyond friendship, something she was afraid to find out, something she’d like to think non-existent so they could continue their beneficial partnership until their son was born.

in case you forget, your sound system is top notch.

act calm as usual, the head of royal etiquette always reminded her in cases where she faced a micro crisis. thus, her reply just now. she’d slip in a banter or two whenever mason sent her any text of grumbles, complaints, grunts on a usual basis.

as calm as she was, serena had to place a hand over her chest, exactly on top of her beating heart that was running rather irregularly now, while her other hand was busy slipping her phone discreetly back to her meticulously customised purse and her attention back to the ongoing discussion between two young heirs in front of her.

but of course, when she felt her phone vibrated again not long after sending her reply, serena couldn’t help but to succumb to temptation. she retreated to the corner of the room and hands were immediately reaching for the electronic device.

it’s still not the same you’re not here

for a full ten seconds, serena remained a statue. the only sign she was alive was the wide grin plastered across her face that the princess herself didn’t realise was there to begin with.

ah, shame we’re miles apart then.

it didn’t take a minute before another bubble popped up.

what if I tell you we’re no longer apart?

serena’s heart jumped from its long hibernation—she’d successfully managed to sedate them into a peaceful sleep during her time training again her old motoric as a royal princess—but she tried very hard to mask the stallion pace it was giving.

because in all honesty, serena would be lying if she didn’t wish mason was here by her side. the last state banquet she attended with mason a while back was enough of a proof that having an ally was better than no one at all. even when they weren’t exactly in the best term back then, and apart from the fact that he was only there to fulfil his end of deal.

should she mention the immense assurance she felt whenever mason’s hands were on her back, placed strategically to guide her through the maze of people wanting to formally greet her, or whenever mason’s hands were extended to reach her waist protectively while one or two people were ready to step on her feet?

alas, hope is a very powerful weapon and she’d wish not to yield it. not towards mason, at least. but before she could type out her reply to his text, her phone beeped once more and another blue bubble had popped up on her screen.

look around.

despite the early internal battle, serena did as she was told. and there he was, mason mount, looking dapper as ever with a complete, tailored suit like every other man in this ballroom—which should mean by fellow aristocrats, socialites, political figures amongst others. maybe mason was even more dashing than the rest of them because good god, his smiles as he greeted every one he met along the way down to reach serena…

it was polite but full of implied sneer, it was handsomely irritating somehow. it was captivatingly powerful too on the other hand, enough to put all the gossip and rumours spread by the palace down. it was a plain challenge to the king’s authority that didn’t allow him to be here in the first place without giving away too much insider information away.

“hello, there,” the multimillion-watt smile wasn’t wavering anytime soon, serena inferred, as he finally stopped his steps in front of her. now that he stood so close to her, she could see a thousand layers of emotion unravelling, but one thing struck more than other: he was very happy, with a bit of relief, that he was here. and that was enough of a reason for serena to reciprocate his—somehow, unbeknowingly—wider grin because she, in fact, shared the same sentiment.

for the first time in her life, despite being trained to stand up for herself diplomatically so, serena thermapolis was beyond elated to have found a true ally in this room full of fake courtesies, and that ally was her husband, no less. her stunning husband, fawned by several ladies in the background, whom she had grown more than fond of, with or without her acknowledgement, was here and that was all that mattered.

and the awful part was mason didn’t know what he did just obliterated her poor heart and rendered her speechless.

“you look like you could use a company. may i join you this evening?”

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