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Chapter Text

The Mustang Group of Companies was one of the largest conglomerates in Xing with its businesses spanning across Retail, Property, and Banking. At the helm was its founder - the queen of the empire - Christmas Mustang, and her seven “nieces” and one “nephew” taking up the top leadership positions of every aspect needed to keep their group of companies running.

“I trust no one but them,” said the gruff woman once in an interview. No one knows how the other Mustangs were actually related to her but no one dared to question it.

Unfortunately, her nephew failed to get the memo when he trusted a certain man named Bradley.

“My bad, aunt Chris.” Roy Mustang, the smart and proud Head of Investments and Acquisitions of the Mustang Group, sat with his head bowed low. Even in the middle of a crisis, he still refused to apologize properly.

Christmas waved him off. “I didn’t call this meeting for that.” The public may have accepted her flimsy misrepresentation, but they all considered and treated one another as siblings with her as their foster mother.

As it stood, all her children gathered in front of her for an emergency meeting. Millions were swindled out of the Mustang Group in a matter of months with established ongoing underground drug operations brought about at the behest of Roy’s forged signatures.

A hand patted his back. “We’re already keeping an eye on the bastard.” Vanessa, COO and the eldest of the Mustang ‘children’, sat beside Roy. “But we need another plan.”

“Another?” echoed Katherine, the child in-charge of Public Relations. She spent two weeks tracking every mistake her naive and trusting brother made that they finally tracked down Bradley, the slimy culprit. It was only a matter of time before they caught him.

Vanessa nodded. “Our system got corrupted from the ground up. We need a major overhaul across all our departments.”

“But that’s -!”

Christmas raised a hand to stop the protest of her Head of Finance, Evelyn. “Yes, I know it’s going to take some time. But cutting off the head isn’t going to stop this. Roy’s in too deep.”

“With forged signatures!” Evelyn agreed with the rest of her sisters that Roy was naive to trust someone like Bradley, someone who wasn’t even part of their family, but only a fool would believe her brother would get them involved in a worldwide illegal drug operation.

“Doesn’t matter,” Chris sighed, looking across her table to all her adopted children, then focused on her dejected-looking son. “You need to hide. Out of Xing until this blows over.”

“The minute I step out the plane, I’ll get shipped back out.” Being a Mustang, it would be impossible to hide the way his adopted mother was implying.

“Not if you go to the nearest country with no extradition treaty.” She leaned back in her seat. “Less time for authorities to plan and no way for anyone to ‘ship you back out’.” She gestured quotation marks in the air with her fingers.

Lillian, knowing the world map like the back of her hand as their Head of Property Relations, furrowed her brows. “That would be Amestris.” With only a desert in-between Xing and Amestris, the latter was definitely the nearest country with no extradition treaty.

“But their non-extradition only applies to citizens…”

Lillian agreed with her brother. “And isn’t it dangerous to go there now? They haven’t settled on their new democracy yet.”

“So you become a citizen,” said the Mustang matriarch as if that was the easiest thing to do, “and we handle fixing their democracy.”

“What?!” All Roy’s sisters bolted from their seats.

He looked at his foster mother with an uneasy smile. “Sounds like you already have a plan.”

“I made a call.”

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Berthold Hawkeye sighed as he looked out the window of his office and saw the protesters beyond the gates.

Nestled inside the Amestrian capital, the White Palace served as the home and office of the Head of State of Amestris. As the newly-minted President, it was his home and office; but until around half a year ago, the Head of State was the highest military ranking officer as they used to be under a militaristic empire.

“Father.”

He turned to see his daughter, Riza, dropping a handful of folders on his desk. They had been thrust into this political life with little to no warning but he would be damned before he said his daughter was not handling it well.

“I was asked to drop these off,” she explained, “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, I…” he cleared his throat before taking a seat. He gestured to the chair in front of his desk.

The blonde woman sat, pulling the front of her blazer down so that it would not wrinkle with her movement.

“Political unrest is still our main problem,” he began, “mainly because they expect the economy to bounce back like…” He snapped his fingers, “that.”

She nodded. She knew this already. When the people toppled the military regime, switched to a democracy and all but forced her father to take the presidency; they expected him to solve their economic problems overnight.

After they found the economy was slow in improving, people started turning against her father. As if recovering the economy after a corrupt military regime is easy. She eyed him and noticed the darkened bags beneath his eyes. Her father seemed to grow 10 years older with each passing day and the daily protesters outside the White Palace’s gates did not help.

“Of course the fastest solution is to have public private partnerships with large businesses -”

“And have them build infrastructures, bring in businesses, and get a roll on with employing our citizens,” finished Riza. She raised her brows at him. Why was he talking as if she didn’t know all these?

“But we still can’t secure enough public private partnerships since Amestris isn’t high on anyone’s list to invest right now,” she reminded him.

“Even with the Armstrongs’ support, it’s just not enough,” he agreed. “But what if I told you the Mustang Group of Companies was looking to expand?”

Her jaw dropped open. “Mustang… of Xing?”

He nodded.

“Here? They’re looking to expand here ? In Amestris?” She found it difficult to believe considering the Xingese were known for their business prowess and no reasonable businessman would invest in a country with so much political unrest and uncertainty. As much as she loved her country, it was simply a fact.

“Christmas Mustang called it quid pro quo.”

It seemed too good to be true. A large conglomerate like the Mustang Group could easily help keep the Amestrian economy afloat but it still didn’t make sense why they would offer their services.

She hesitated before asking, “What would they benefit?”

“They wish to make Roy Mustang a citizen to make use of our non-extradition policies.”

“Why does he need to be an Amestrian?” She clicked her tongue. What is he not telling me? “Our non-extradition policy will also work for diplomatic guests,” she offered.

“For a month,” he said, “But they’re looking for a fast and more or less long term arrangement.”

“I see.” Riza blinked at her father, trying to get a read on his face as she mulled over his words. The Mustangs wish one of them to be a citizen and by the sound of it, he needs to be their citizen fast if they’re willing to shell out enough for her father to notice.

But the fastest way to be an Amestrian citizen is to… She gasped, realization sinking in. “Father…”

“You are to be married by the time his term as our diplomatic guest expires.”

“Who made you king?” She leaned forward in her seat. “Because I am not some princess you could sacrifice.”

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“Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Oh?” Berthold leaned back in his seat, eyeing the large screen in his office with Christmas Mustang’s face displayed in the middle of a video conference.

“She looks like she has a good head on her shoulders.”

He sounded off his agreement. “What about your boy?”

“He has no choice.” When the man didn’t say anything for awhile, Chris decided to move the conversation along. “His plane lands in a few hours. Best to get a ring for her finger soon.”

“She isn’t going to be easy to deal with.”

“Between your daughter and the Xingese government hot on his heels, I’d rather have him face your daughter.”

His jaw tensed. Seeing Riza storm off that afternoon did not bode well for their upcoming arrangements. He conceded to himself that she was right, an arranged marriage was absurd especially since this is politically motivated on their end. I don’t even have plans on extending my presidency for longer than it should be.

He began to doubt if this was indeed the right thing to do: making a move on behalf of his daughter in exchange for the population easing up on the protests.

“It’s fine,” huffed Chris, answering his unspoken question, “They both like music. It’ll work out.”

What’s that supposed to mean? Music can be a hundred different things to a hundred people. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Hopefully enough for Riza not to kill him.”

Chapter Text

Roy Mustang leaned forward on the balcony railing and breathed in, music playing through his earphones. He and his staff, at the command of his foster mother, landed in Amestris hours ago and were tasked with settling in the house his sister had chosen for his stay.

It was large enough and complete with amenities one might mistake it for a hotel resort.

His sister Madeline, the Mustang Group’s Head of Property Development, never did shirk on the budget when it came to the family’s personal properties even if it caused headaches for Evelyn who was ever the financier.

Considering how the house resembled their family home back in Xing, he felt like he was still back there if not for the telltale lack of lively chatter coming from the living room. He raised the volume of his music higher, refusing to succumb to the quiet.

A shrill beep interrupted his playlist. “White Palace in 10 minutes,” came a text message from his sister Katherine, their Head for Public Relations, “Hooked the sched to your email love ya.”

Her plan was to have his car photographed enough times going in and out of the White Palace so when his marriage to the First Daughter becomes public, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise.

He stopped the music and moved to a nearby mirror, checking and double-checking his appearance. First impressions last so make them count , he thought of Aunt Chris’ parting words and the fact Maes warned him about his bride-to-be.

He heard a knock and the door opened to reveal the man himself. “Get a move on or Kat’s gonna have my head.”

“I don’t know about smart casual, Maes,” he turned to face his personal assistant, gesturing over his outfit, “She’s the first daughter.” And assistant to the President.

“But smart casual is your thing.” He held the opinion that being truthful was the best way to be friends, at most, with the elusive woman.

“I’m going to the White Palace.”

“Uh huh.” He nodded, his glasses glinting when it caught the light.

“To meet the President and his daughter.”

“Yes.”

“Wearing this?!” He stomped his foot.

“Roy.” Maes walked up to him and straightened his jacket. “Calm down.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one marrying,” he puffed his chest out and looked away, “me.” He gingerly rolled his earphones and stuffed them into his pocket.

His eyes almost bulged out of its sockets at his friend’s sudden display of insecurity. Not even a worldwide fan base and a billion cens to his family could dig Roy Mustang out of his childlike vulnerability.

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“Top 10 most eligible bachelors under 40!” squealed Winry Rockbell, Riza’s personal assistant. The younger blonde shoved her phone to her boss showing the screen with a gossip site on display.

Riza pushed the item away, eyes focused on her laptop.

She groaned and pocketed her phone, leaning over the other’s shoulder to read her screen. “You already approved that. Twice.”

“Can never be too sure.”

“Are you sure it isn’t because a certain hottie is coming to visit today?”

She scoffed and closed the lid of her laptop. “Believe it or not, I have larger things on my plate.”

“Uh-huh. Add that hunk of a man soon.”

She pursed her lips, no longer having the energy to fight back. To Winry, getting saddled into an arranged marriage with someone like Roy Mustang was not a bad way to go.

To Riza, she couldn’t think of a worse wife - arranged or not - than her. She has never even had a boyfriend!

A phone alarm rang. “Five minutes,” said Winry, switching to work mode as if she wasn’t gossiping like a schoolgirl seconds ago.

“Right.” She snapped her heels in place and stood.

They walked out of the room and met with Rebecca, Riza’s best friend and personal bodyguard. “Knock ‘em dead,” she smirked, falling into step behind her.

“Thanks.” As daughter of the President, she had more security loitering around her than God and it made her anxious. Her solution was to have Becca’s familiar face by her side at all times.

They trudged the path leading to the room readied for today’s press conference and Riza reminded herself with each click of her heels to smile when the time comes.

When they turned the corner, there stood Roy Mustang himself looking casual as can be. Becca jumped in front of her. He wasn’t supposed to be there. The path was supposed to be clear for Riza to pass.

Riza sighed, tugging on Becca’s shirt. Their security wasn’t so lax that this could be treated as an accident. She knew her father probably gave him clearance to walk around wherever he wanted.

“Hi…” Roy cleared his throat and wiped his hands down his pants before extending one in front of him. “Uh, hi.”

The brunette bodyguard stepped aside in order for Riza to see the fool for herself.

“Two minutes,” whispered Winry, checking the time on her phone.

Riza raised her brow, looking down at the extended hand then back up at the face of her soon-to-be fiance.

She hated being late. “You’re blocking the way. Please move.”

Contrary to his appearance, he awkwardly stepped to the side and she brushed past him without a glance back.

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“... partnerships with more businesses to show Amestris is standing and ready to welcome the world in this new chapter of our lives.” Riza smiled to end her speech like she practiced.

Roy stood at the far corner of the room, watching as the press flashed their cameras and raised their hands to throw questions at the blonde. Embarrassing first encounter aside, he had to admit the woman was smarter than he expected.

Beautiful too. He blushed, scolding himself as he remembered again how foolish he acted in the hallway.

His dark eyes tracked the podium from where she stood then up at Riza Hawkeye’s face. She wore her long, blonde hair in a bun with minimal make-up. He assumed it was a deliberate choice to be treated seriously considering how well she filled out her blazer and skirt.

From his standpoint, however, it was her amber eyes which had him drawn in. Even when her lips subtly pursed or when she schooled her features as she answered an idiotic question, her eyes betrayed something Roy could relate to all too well: She’s uncomfortable.

As serene as she forced herself to be, he knew better. He felt it in his gut he knew better.

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Roy headed for the White Palace rooftop since he received a message from Maes telling him to meet with President Hawkeye there.

Upon his arrival and brief awe at the view, he definitely encountered a Hawkeye there, but not the President. Riza sat on a bench a good distance away from rows upon rows of large solar panels with her loose blonde hair swaying with the wind.

In hindsight, he should have thought about it better. Despite the extremely heightened security on the property, the chances of the President actually being on the roof in the middle of the day was slim.

He stood there gawking at her and thought of how having her hair down suited the bright glint in her eyes. It wasn’t forced serenity this time, unlike how she presented herself during the press conference.

He eyed the seemingly endless solar panels. He wondered why looking at such things brought her peace… But to each her own, he reasoned.

“Are you going to continue standing there like a stalker?” Riza turned her face toward him. “Because if you’re looking for a better view,” she raised a finger to point to her left, “it’s that way.”

He stiffened at the hushed voice, yet another contrast from her speaking voice during the press conference. It reminded him once more of his faux pas and her mild scolding: “You’re blocking the way. Please move.” He shook his head.

She moved to the other end of the small bench.

He took it as a wordless invite to sit beside her and he did. “Solar panels,” he said the first thing which came to mind and stopped the urge to smack himself.

She hummed. “One of the few things the military rule brought.”

“Environmentalist?” He internally groaned. Is he incapable of forming full sentences in front of this woman?

“Not really,” she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear when the wind picked up, “No.”

Why are you up here? What are you staring at? Are you okay? Of all the questions raiding his mind, he couldn’t find a single acceptable thing to say. Is there a chance for you to like me before we get married? He definitely couldn’t say that .

“I’m… Roy,” he remembered a proper introduction hadn’t happened yet, so it was the best he could come up with to prolong the conversation, “Roy Mustang.” He raised his hand for her to shake.

She took it, grasping firmly with a nod. “Mr. Mustang. Riza Hawkeye.”

“Just Roy is fine. My bad for blocking your way earlier.” He shuddered to think of the possible photos of his episode in the hallway that would surface (which his sister would struggle to get rid of).

She shook her head, turning back to face the solar panels and taking a deep breath.

After a brief moment, she spoke again, “Why do you need to be our citizen fast?” It was the question bothering her the most, yet the one her father refused to answer.

“Long story short, I messed up.” He stole another glance at her and determined Katherine’s readied answer would not cut it.

She knew it was hardly the best conversation topic for someone she was going to marry in a month’s time who she only met that day. Her jaw stiffened. “That tells me nothing.” But there’s no harm in asking.

“How much time you got?”

“Ha!” she bit her lip but pulled out her phone nonetheless. “My next commitment is dinner… with you, so,” she shrugged.

“Me?!”

She jolted. “Why are you so surprised?”

“I… uh,” he scratched the back of his head, internally cursing himself again for not reading through Katherine’s schedule. Of course his control freak sister scheduled constant meals and meetings with the Hawkeye family to make their surprise wedding plausible. “I haven’t read my schedule,” he admitted honestly.

“Ah.” She couldn’t place the odd feeling that washed over her at his admission. “Spoiler alert: it involves a whole lot of me the next few weeks.”

He chuckled.

They settled in quiet companionship and Roy was surprised he could sit there without feeling uneasy or feeling the need to whip out his earphones. They were strangers and yet it felt… oddly right.

He found it refreshing to be in the presence of someone who expected next to nothing from him. Roy decided to gamble and tell this woman the truth. Ms. Hawkeye deserves nothing less if she’ll be chained to me, even for a little while. 

“There was this guy… Bradley,” he began to answer her initial question, “After aunt Chris made me Head of Acquisitions. She told me to never trust anyone but them, we all know it - her golden rule.”

He continued, “Surprise, surprise, I didn’t listen. I trusted him. Thought we were friends. Months later, aunt Chris lost millions and the company became knee deep in illegal drug operations with my name and signatures across documents formalizing it all.”

Her eyes widened. They just met. She expected a much watered down version. “I didn’t expect that.”

“The drugs?”

“Your honesty,” she glanced at him from the corner of her eye, “What if I turned you into the authorities?”

He almost choked on his own saliva.

“Kidding,” she said with a straight face.

He forced a laugh.

“Thank you.” She stood, smoothing down her skirt.

“I…” He blinked, doing a double take at her face. Her eyes seemed to have settled on an odd sense of calm and he couldn’t help but stare again.

The next thing he knew, in his fixation of staring at her genuinely serene expression, she had managed to walk away and leave him alone on the roof. “Huh?”

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Riza asked for dinner to be moved to a smaller room when her father messaged he wouldn’t be able to make it home to welcome Roy’s arrival. Winry brought it upon herself to have their dinner set-up in her office terrace on a two-person table.

Why did Winry - Ugh. Her office terrace used to be her personal sanctuary. Get through dinner. Alone. With your arranged almost-fiance. Riza centered herself, taking a few deep breaths.

Roy tilted his head to the side, watching her. Despite the visible mental preparation the other was gearing up for, she looked as naturally serene as she did back on the rooftop. “Do you like high, quiet places?”

“More quiet than high. Everyday is noisy as it is,” she quipped, “Being up high is just to avoid getting stalked. Or shot.” Riza emptied her wine glass before taking the cover off her plate. “Job hazard,” she added.

“I’d say slow down but my sister Vanessa downs a bottle before dinner.”

“Hm.” She grabbed the bottle and poured herself another glass. “Wai- sister?”

Roy blinked at her, momentarily confused at her confusion. “Yeah?” He remembered their misrepresentation to the public and the media. “I’m adopted.”

She almost spat out her drink. She raised her palm at him. “Should you be telling me this?” What in hell was wrong with him? Weighty disclosures twice in one day?

He ignored her question, “Madame Christmas only prefers to be called our aunt but smacks us as her kids.” He showed her his fist and swiped it in the air.

“Pfft.” Her fingers covered her lips.

He blushed. Did he truly manage to make her laugh?

Smoothing her expression back, she dug into dinner and was silently relieved when he started to eat too. “I guess it makes sense. No one knows of Chris Mustang’s siblings but there’s eight of you.”

“The media’s too scared to ask so we’re able to keep it up this long.”

“Unless one of you rebelled.”

“I’d grow wings first before that happened.” He grinned at her. “We owe our lives to aunt Chris.”

“Owe?” she echoed.

“Eight adopted kids can be chaotic but she got us to where we are now.” His gaze softened. “My sisters are amazing too, you know? They’re doing it all to expand the Mustang Group outside Xing.”

She watched his face become more and more animated with each story about his sisters - how they filled the lonely, sulking little boy he used to be with love and acceptance and how he wanted nothing else but to pay them back.

After telling her the story of his sister Vanessa teaching him how to braid hair, he saw his empty plate and realized dinner would be over soon. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to think of something else to say apart from stories about himself and his family.

“Your family sounds great.”

She smiled at him and he had to fight down another blush when he realized it wasn’t anything like the rehearsed one in front of the press. Beautiful. “Tha… Thanks.”

Naive. She emptied another glass of wine.

“Favorite singer or band.”

“Excuse me?”

“I talked about myself throughout dinner,” Roy scratched the side of his cheek, “I want to get to know you too.”

“On a personal level? Hardly needed.”

“Humor me.”

Riza stubbornly met his gaze even as she deftly poured herself another glass.

He had to remind himself to stay in the present, taking note not to get lost in her bright amber eyes. Was the heat he felt because of the wine? Could I even blame it on the wine?

“Sailor Swift maybe? Or Carrie Overwood for artist. Band is California Rock.” She mumbled in her glass, “Doubt you know them.”

“Eclectic.” He tilted his glass to her as if making a toast. “Pop country women and old school rock band.”

“You know them?” While her favorite artists were still active in the industry, her favorite band’s hype was decades ago.

“Yeah. Their Hotel is a classic. But I like Peaceful Feeling .”

She gave him a hard stare, incredulous. “So you like music.” She attempted to find any form of machination on his features but found none.

He smiled at her.

“Who are your favorites?”

“Bob Barley,” he said as a reflex, “Or Baggy.”

She swallowed her wine thickly; she wasn’t sure if she hoped he’d say he had the same favorite band or not. “Reggae?”

She gave him and his well-fitted ensemble a once-over. It was ironic for a fit man such as himself and his crisp white shirt rolled up to his elbows and ironed slacks would be a fan of reggae, of all things. “I wasn’t expecting that,” she found herself saying again.

“So you know them too!” he bounced in his seat.

“Not a fan, but yes. Bob Barley is hard to miss.” Like her favorite band, his favorite artist’s hype was decades ago.

He went on the defensive. “I find him cool.”

“Ye...s,” she drawled. Why was he acting like a child? “Good for you.”

He slapped his knee, remembering something. “California Rock and Bob almost had a collab back in the day, right?”

“Almost.”

“Maybe if it went through, we won’t be at odds so much.”

“We aren’t at odds ,” she corrected, “Classic rock, some pop, some country, and reggae. It’s just taste in music.”

“Uh…” He swirled the wine in his glass, eyes focused on the red liquid, “You’re right.” Was it weird for a man to want to have something in common with a woman like her on the first day of meeting her?

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A week later after Roy arrived in Amestris, Maes found his job becoming easier by the day. No longer did his best friend need convincing to follow through the schedule they’ve laid out for him, but he actually acted happy about it… especially when it involved meeting a certain blonde First Daughter.

“It’s going better than you thought, madame,” reported Maes after seeing the pair walk off in the direction of the library, energetically chatting away as if they didn’t come out from a full-course lunch.

Christmas smirked at the other end of the video call. “Really? Thought she was tougher than she looks.”

“She is, but… It’s fine. He already fell in love with her.”

It took everything in the Mustang matriarch not to drop her phone.

Chapter Text

Roy, Riza, Rebecca, and Winry were in one of the many conference rooms the White Palace had to offer with Riza making use of a large conference table for herself to pore over infrastructure plans from various companies and groups who offered to be part of their public-private partnership initiative. She didn’t have to do it by herself but Riza and those around her knew she was a bad mix of a lone wolf and a workaholic. Maes had long ago excused himself to call his wife.

Rebecca stood watch at a far corner of the room, near a small table set-up like a snack buffet table, while Winry busied herself with passing, marking and stacking file after file for Riza to see. The brunette straightened when she saw the smaller blonde make a run toward her.

Rebecca grabbed and pulled Winry back by her shirt collar before she made it to the coffee dispenser.

“Uck.” She coughed at the unexpected pressure against her throat. “Becca,” she tried to clear her throat. “I need to get coffee now ,” she whispered.

“I told you no need in the late afternoons.” She nodded at the sight of a nervous Roy settling down a cup of coffee in front of an irritable Riza at the head of the table. She didn’t know how or why Mustang caught on to Riza's coffee preference (two sugars) and the specific times she needed it during the day. Nonetheless, Rebecca made sure to stop Winry everytime the man volunteered to do it.

Winry sighed in relief and walked back to her spot near Riza in time to hear the latter say, “Thank you” to Roy. She shot him a thumbs up as thanks as well.

He backed away with a smile, returning to his chair and listening to music through his earphones to drown out work chatter. Even though he could have spent his free time elsewhere, he volunteered to stay and wait for Riza so they could go to dinner together.

Riza finished her latest coffee and set the cup aside, handing the last of the scattered papers to Winry, “Mustang Group.”

She stuffed the papers in another folder, thankful the work day was finally over since there was no need to discuss something the President already approved.

She stretched her arms above her head. “So the other bidding -”

Winry dropped the folder with the Mustang Group’s proposals and pulled her phone, tapping away. “Will have them schedule it. But ceremonial signing with Mr. Garfiel for the winning bids will start tomorrow through next week to make room for the last of the bids. Then a party.”

Riza ran her hands over her face, thankful it was a no-makeup day. “Okay,” she groaned.

The assistant bent over the table and started gathering the finished paperwork. She shot a warning glance at Rebecca before she exited the room. Rebecca moved to Winry’s vacated spot.

“Bring a date,” whispered Rebecca even if Roy was spacing out with his earphones.

“Even if I didn’t, he’s -”

She flicked Riza’s ear, stopping the protest.

Her jaw dropped and she glared at the woman. “Roy.” She waited for him to acknowledge her. “Roy?”

The brunette stifled her laugh with the back of her hand when they saw Roy still subtly bobbing his head to whatever music he was listening to.

Riza pushed her away. She stood and immediately regretted it. She winced, slapping her numb legs to normalize blood circulation. That caught Roy’s attention.

He plucked his earphones out. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she leaned on the table and closed her eyes, wiggling her toes inside her shoes.

He dropped his phone on the table and approached her. “You don’t -”

“Would you like to come with me to a party?” she forced with a hiss.

He jumped. “Sure?”

She forced a grin which looked more like a grimace.

He stepped back.

“Formal wear. You’ll get your own invite since the party’s meant for the winning bids for the public private… initiative,” she sighed, feeling her legs return to some semblance of normality.

“Okay.” He grinned, stifling a laugh. Only behind closed doors did one see Riza Hawkeye this way: unfiltered and cute.

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Riza, Rebecca, and Winry all bent over the gift Roy sent for Riza with a note which said, “I’d be honored to escort you” .

Winry squealed when Rebecca took the item out: a red, sleeveless satin long gown.

Riza frowned. “The back’s open.”

“It’s Bucci !” Rebecca brandished the dress in the air before laying it on the bed. “Doesn’t matter even if it had holes in it.”

Riza checked the tag as Winry ran to the former’s closet. “How’d he get my size right?”

“Don’t care. This trumps your actual dress.”

“It’s reliable,” she argued, having previously worn the same sensible black dress to a handful of understated functions, “And it doesn’t have the back open.”

Winry ran back in the room, a red sheer shawl in her hand. She threw it on the bed beside the dress. “There.” They knew and respected Riza’s preference to keep her attire modest.

“It’ll ruin the dress,” protested Rebecca. “You have to wear your hair down.”

“I never wear my hair down in public.”

She smirked. “There’s a first for everything.”

“Becca, the shawl isn’t bad!”

“Riza, this is freaking Bucci! You are not covering this baby up.”

They stood there glaring at each other for a time, waiting for the other to back down, when Winry suggested, “Having your hair down for a party involving your work sounds like a fresh change.”

“Ha!”

Riza’s amber eyes tracked her personal assistant’s blue ones.

“People will see how passionate you really are about restoring the Amestrian economy and might be shocked. In - in a good way.”

“The start of something new,” added Rebecca in singsong.

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Roy’s throat bobbed up and down at the sight of Riza walking - no, gliding - down the hall towards him. With her hair down. Wearing the dress he gave her. It took all of his strength not to pass out.

“Thank you for the dress,” she said when she reached him.

“I’m glad you like it.” He wiped his palms against his pants as subtly as he could manage. “You look amazing.”

“You too. Ready?”

He bit his tongue. Between the two of them, she was the one visibly taking a  breath. “When you are.”

“Alright.” She slid a hand to his elbow, allowing him to lead her through the halls toward the ballroom. She pasted on her media-ready smile as they walked. “I figured it was about time to introduce you to the glamorous side of this life. I’m sure you miss it.”

“The parties and tight tux? No,” he blurted out. “I don’t know what’s worse: staring at you work all day or being stuck in a formal party all night.”

Her media-ready smile broke into a genuine one. “Who told you to accompany me all the time, anyway? Our schedules usually merge for public appearances only.”

“Are you ready for it?” he asked, deliberately referencing one of her favorite singer’s songs to distract her.

It was effective. “Don’t know, but,” her tongue slipped out between her lips for a second, “Three little birds.”

He couldn’t place the heavy weight that settled in his chest. She consciously chose to reference one of his favorite singer’s songs too, but in the most clever way possible since the song’s iconic line went “Every little thing is gonna be alright” in relation to three little birds.

/-/ /-/ /-/ /-/

On one particularly free morning for the both of them, Roy invited Riza to her favorite coffee shop. It was a quaint place with wooden floors and fixtures. The blonde once told him she loved it because if she arrived early enough, she could ask for one of the available small rooms all by herself to read or listen to music without having to worry about bumping into anyone. “It’s like one of those study rooms back at our university library. I used to love those too.”

It was one of those rooms in the coffee shop Roy managed to request. He brought something out from his pocket when they entered the room and turned to face her, dropping on one knee.

“What…” Riza swallowed the lump in her throat and gawked at Roy Mustang who had a small unopened velveteen box in his hands. “Get up.”

When he invited her to a secluded area inside her favorite coffee shop, she agreed because she thought it was pre-planned by either of their teams. She thought it was a chance for a quick photo op in preparation for their wedding a few days from now since his diplomatic guest pass was about to expire.

However, upon noticing Becca was nowhere in sight, she panicked. “Who planned this?”

He didn’t budge from his kneeling position on the floor. “Me.” His fingers moved to open the box but found Riza’s slender ones covering his hands.

“Get up,” she said again. This time, she pulled him up by the shoulders and forced him to stand. “Roy, did Winry say yes?”

He furrowed his brows. Did she not realize what he was trying to do? What did her personal assistant have to do with anything?

Her jaw tensed at his clueless expression. In the past few weeks, they have gotten to know each other and she was impressed he hasn’t run for the hills yet at her cold countenance but it did not bode well that Rebecca was not with her outside of White Palace gates.

“We have to get back.”

She turned for the door, only for it to burst open - revealing a dark-skinned man dressed as one of the employees.

The stranger smirked at her as he closed the door, pointing a gun at her.

She backed away slowly, her hands raised in the air.

“Hello, ma’am.” The man’s red eyes glared at her shocked amber ones.

She steeled her nerves. “What do you want?”

Roy raised his hands in front of him and made his way to stand in front of Riza. “Hey, man. I’m sure we can work something out.”

The assailant aimed his gun at Roy. “I didn’t come for you. Step aside.” He nodded at Riza and her poker face. “I came for her.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Roy…” Riza never took her eyes off the assailant. “ Listen .”

“Hey, hey,” Roy coaxed, moving his hands up and down in a placating manner, “Let’s all calm down.”

The man grit his teeth, his finger closing in the trigger.

“Ro-!” She gasped, ducking low and shooting her leg out in front of her to send Mustang down on the floor.

He crashed with an unceremonious yelp the same time the shot rang out and panicked screams surfaced outside the room.

Riza lunged forward and tackled the man’s legs, wrapping her arms around his knees until he fell too. The gun skidded across the floor, useless to either of them.

He struggled and kicked against her, but she was faster at landing a solid punch to his face - knocking him out.

Just then, the door burst open to reveal Maes. “Roy!”

The bespectacled personal assistant took a look at his charge, gingerly rubbing his backside; then at the First Daughter straddling an unconscious man, her pencil skirt sporting a large tear at the side but her hair bun miraculously staying in place.

“Get me the store manager. And a car home.” She huffed, then added as an afterthought since she realized this wasn’t her personal assistant, “Please.”

/-/ /-/ /-/ /-/

Rebecca paced back and forth in front of a seated and slouching Riza, berating the latter for her carelessness. “What were you thinking?! You could’ve at least texted!”

“I told you I wasn’t thinking.” It had been her downfall: trusting and allowing herself to be charmed by the most sheltered man she’d ever met. Add that to the fact it was relatively easy for her to move in, around, and out of the White Palace as long as she was with him due to her father’s orders.

It was the perfect recipe for disaster.

The brunette sighed, dropping to sit beside her friend. “Look, I know you’ve been friends or -”

“We are not friends.”

She rolled her eyes, well aware that the past weeks of so-called ‘non-friendship’ had been spent with Roy and Riza practically joined at the hip, bickering over music or talking about one thing or another. “Or whatever. It’s good you get along since you’re gonna fake marry anyway but screw your head on, alright?”

“I know.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Anyway, we’re not getting married.”

“Huh?”

“Paninya is the kind of girl who would enjoy this.”

“You’re cutting him loose?”

“I have to. Today could’ve been worse. Much worse.”

“He meant well.”

She rolled her eyes. “He is a liability.” Besides, she was chewing my ear out a minute ago.

“Riza…” Rebecca exhaled. “You like talking to him, spending time with him. Today? Today I wanted you to text me. That’s it.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to marry him! Why are you suddenly defending him?”

“No, what I see is sir Berthold could have set you up with a real piece of work. He isn’t,” she paused, “Not much at least.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“At the very least, at the end of this…” she tilted her head and swung it to face Riza, “You’d gain a friend. Hell knows you need more.” Or a boyfriend. It wasn’t lost on her how good the two were to each other and how good they looked together. She couldn’t blame the gossip segments that went ablaze after pictures of Riza and Roy dancing in formal wear surfaced.

“I don’t need a friend. I have you. Maybe even Winry.”

She internally groaned. Of course, one of Riza’s jilted suitors once called the blonde a “landmine” and Rebecca knew the sentiment was valid.

Make one mistake and Riza was out. Suitors never caught up with her, which led to her never having a boyfriend all these years, and friends drifting apart, which led to only a literal handful who stuck by her side like Rebecca.

She reached over and stroked Riza’s hair. “What’s the worst that could happen if you take this risk?”

“I could get my head blown off.”

“No.” She tugged her hair which made the other grimace. “I mean Mustang. Deny it all you want but you don’t spend that much time with anyone . You’re comfortable with him.” Admit it. At least admit that.

“I need to spend time with him.” She looked away. “It’s part of the arrangement, isn’t it?”

/-/ /-/ /-/ /-/

Roy, after apologizing to Winry and Rebecca, made his way to Riza’s office. He clenched his fist, the velveteen box from this morning hidden from view. They may have been forced into this charade but he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try to make it easy for her.

Rebecca, who took it upon herself to escort the billionaire, stole a glance at his fist and felt sorry for the man. Bless his soul, at least he’s trying. Really trying.

The bodyguard saw Riza’s office door at the end of the corridor and despite herself, she grabbed Roy’s arm and swung him so his back stuck to a nearby wall.

“Wha-”

“Shh.” She clamped a hand over his mouth. She only released him when he nodded. “Alright,” she straightened her suit, “This is how it’s going down.”

“Riza doesn’t do modern romance. She can’t handle the unexplainable,” she said in a hurried but low tone. “Those silly little gestures of getting her coffee or sending her an expensive dress that one time mean nothing if you aren’t going to be clear about it.”

“Okay…”

“I mean it, Mustang.” Rebecca narrowed her eyes. “She’s never had a boyfriend because her suitors all thought she ‘understood’ those sweet little gestures, but no . One guy once sang his heart out in the middle of university campus to ‘serenade’ her but forgot to say her name before he sang. You know what happened?”

He shook his head.

“She left in the middle of the song even if she knew the guy and he was singing her favorite song! Because she thought it wasn’t for her and said it wasn’t her business. Because her name wasn’t mentioned. Okay? She doesn’t risk anything. She doesn’t assume someone else’s intentions unless she is sure. Got it?”

“You lost me.”

“Just,” Rebecca sighed, looking at Riza’s door then back at Roy, “If you’re going to do this, drill it in her head. She cuts off friends like she cuts her fingernails and leaves suitors to bite the dust. Make her think . Make her head understand before you try her heart to make her feel something or swoon or whatever it is your fangirls do.”

“I don’t have fangirls.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sure you don’t.”

“Then how are you still friends with her?”

She tossed her hair behind her back, proud of how she gained her spot in Riza Hawkeye’s trusted few. “I tackled her and forced her to talk to me.”

He gulped. Now he knew where Riza learned her fighting moves from.

“But that’s a story for another day.” She grabbed his arm again and pulled him to Riza’s door. She knocked. “Mr. Mustang’s here,” she announced.

With permission to come in; Rebecca nudged him forward and closed the door, opting to stand watch outside and not wanting to be a witness to Roy’s potential fall.

“Riza, I swear -” He didn’t waste time getting his sentiments out.

“Your bad, yes.” She gestured for him to sit on the chair in front of her desk. “You’re an idiot.”

He paused, his butt hovering over the seat. Only Maes called him an idiot to his face.

“I’m sorry. I should have thought about it before agreeing either way. I mean,” she clicked her tongue. “I know we’re both used to the security and all… this,” she waved around her office. “But the president’s security is still different from a billionaire heir, you know?”

He nodded, feeling guilty with each uneasy flicker in her amber eyes. It really was a close one today. They both almost died because of his carelessness. His security always looked out for the possibility of him getting kidnapped for ransom, knowing that was the best way for anyone to benefit; whereas political enemies around every corner didn’t care whether the Hawkeyes lived or died.

“Really my bad.” He hung his head low, feeling his palm sweat against the box. She told him to listen and that was what he did not do back in the coffee shop.

She forced a smile. “I think I found a solution for both our problems.” She knew he had been sheltered all his life. Too sheltered. Even now, he made a mess by trusting Bradley and it was up to his family to come up with ways to get him out of it while he stayed in Amestris. She can’t afford to have someone like him hanging around her for long.

She leaned back in her seat, eyeing him. Heaven knew he meant well and was a good person deep down, but he was too naive, too open, too trusting to be anything to her if she wanted to keep herself intact until her father’s presidency ended.

And if there was one thing Riza Hawkeye knew, it was self-preservation.

He furrowed his brows; his gut told him to brace himself.

“This is goodbye. We don’t have to get married anymore.” She slid a folder in his direction.

He inadvertently dropped the tiny box on her desk to open the folder and view its contents.

“Mr. Garfiel is Amestris’ current Finance Secretary. I’ve been working with him in the initiative for economic improvement, including the one with you and your family, and his niece is low-key enough.”

“Niece?”

“Paninya. Nice girl.”

His throat dried as he all but choked out, “Friend of yours?”

“No. She’s more Winry’s friend than mine. She can arrange it for you.” She stood, deliberately ignoring the box on her desk, pretending not to see it. “So that’s it, then?”

“Wait. No.” He stood to meet her at eye level, slapping the folder back on her desk. “Riza.” His fingers closed around the box.

“This is for your own good. Staying with me, no matter how temporary, it’ll bring you grief. You only need to marry a citizen so marrying Paninya will produce the same results.”

“I thought we were friends!” Regardless of what she said, he was unable to believe he would experience grief if he stood by this woman’s side. She’s smart and serious, difficult at times, and they tend to clash over music, but he loved seeing all sides of her at different hours of the day. He loved - He loves…

“Friends?!”

Her voice sounded so foreign to his ears at that moment so he knew she was, for the first time since they’ve met, not being true to herself.

“I barely have friends, Mr. Mustang,” she chose her words carefully and relished in seeing him flinch, “and the ones I have certainly needed more than three weeks.”

“Fine.” He grabbed the box and yanked it open; he rounded her desk and halted in front of her, his onyx eyes burning in barely contained annoyance. “I wasn’t trying to be your friend anyway.”

She dug her toes into her heels, standing her ground despite their sudden proximity.

He lifted the opened box as he dropped to the floor on one knee with a thud. “I’m trying to be your fiancé,” he spat.

Partly because of the fierce look in his eyes and partly because of the ring, Riza stood frozen. For a billionaire, the ring would have been an embarrassment. For Riza and her ever-simple tastes, the single set diamond ring was the best thing she’d seen in awhile.

He blushed, rushing to explain, “I asked Catalina’s opinion and she laughed at my face with my first choice. So I got this one.”

She racked her brain for a response. It was the first time she tried to cut someone out of her life and they fought back with a ring specifically chosen for her.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he stubbornly said, throwing the box to the floor and slipping the ring on her finger. It was about damn time he rendered her speechless instead of it being the other way around.

She yanked her hand away, but the ring tightly remained where he had placed it. Damn it, Becca. He got my size right. She stammered. “Why can’t you take a hint? This isn’t real. We’re adults, this… this - this doesn’t just happen.”

He felt heat creep across his face and ears, his knee steadfastly rooted to the floor.

She swallowed the lump down her throat. With their current height difference, he looked exceptionally vulnerable with his red face and embarrassed expression.

“Just because it’s arranged, even if it’s a charade, it doesn’t mean I’ll treat you like…” he mumbled, cursing his inability to be smooth when push comes to shove, “I mean… it’s you . We… I don’t. I thought you deserve better.”

/-/ /-/ /-/ /-/

“Nice one,” grinned Winry at Maes. She, Rebecca, and Maes gathered in Winry’s office that night to discuss their bosses’ semi-real engagement.

“Have you reported back to his family?”

Maes nodded at Rebecca. “They’re flying to Amestris for the wedding. My beautiful wife’s coming too!” He shoved his phone in the brunette’s direction to flash a photo of his wife.

“Yeah, yeah.” She pushed the phone away. They’ve seen enough photos of Mrs. Hughes to last them a lifetime considering the weird habit of the man to change his phone’s lock screen every hour or less.

“How long are we talking for the Mustang Group to have Bradley caught?” Winry turned her laptop to show a calendar to Maes.

“Ah.” He waved her off. “They could but the madame is waiting for more collateral.”

When the two Amestrians kept silent, he explained, “They still need to pin down his accomplices inside the company. That’s what’s taking so long.”

Winry visibly inhaled, turning her laptop to face her once more. “I see. An estimated timeline, then.”

Rebecca sat back, observing the two. As one of Riza’s bodyguards, she didn’t have any say in the inner workings of the schedules of one Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye. Her task was to get a general idea of how Riza’s life was going to move from this point onwards.

“Generously… a year.”

“Okay, okay.” The blonde typed away at her laptop. “And conservative?”

“Two, maybe three years.”

“President Hawkeye’s term is only until the sixth year,” she reminded him.

“We know. Best to mark that as the conservative estimate then. They still don’t know how deep Bradley’s teeth sunk into.”

She groaned, closing her laptop. Roy and Riza were sort of friends now so it was easy to plan PR moves; but there will definitely be a time when Riza would choose not to make it easy. She’d grow tired of him eventually.

“It’s fine,” piped in Rebecca, causing the two to look at her. Considering Riza’s innate nature and extensive skill at pushing people away and her surprising inability to do so with Roy, they had a fighting chance of making this charade last long enough. Just enough for the Mustangs to sort their business and for Amestrians to have a celebrity couple to root for while they’re rebuilding the economy.

She met Winry’s stare, knowing the latter would understand best. “She wasn’t able to say goodbye today.”

Chapter Text

The Mustang Manor in Amestris was abuzz with caterers, florists, decorators, and stylists. Winry was at the center of it all to command the rambunctious orchestra.

Today’s agenda: stage the wedding of the decade. More specifically: to stage the photos as if the ceremony happened without actually happening.

Due to difficulty on the part of the Mustang family to all up and leave their conglomerate at the same time, they were flying in at the last minute. Katherine, the Mustang “niece” in-charge of Public Relations, was forced to plan everything remotely with Winry as her eyes and ears on the ground before they arrived.

Riza stood at the top of the staircase where she could see her personal assistant as cheerful as ever despite a hundred different things to do before the rest of the Mustangs arrived.

“Winry texted me you’re up for hair and makeup.”

She turned to see Becca, a red dress draped over her arms. “I need more coffee but there’s a storm downstairs.”

Her best friend and bodyguard laughed, looping an arm around hers and leading her back to her assigned room. “I’ll get it.” She placed the dress over a couch.

Riza sat on the other end of the couch to not disturb Becca’s Maid of Honor dress.

It didn’t take long before the brunette returned, wheeling in a tray with snacks and coffee. “Winry thinks of everything,” she praised, using her foot to close the door. “Girl needs a raise.”

She dropped two sugars in a cup before pouring herself coffee. Her mouth hovered over the rim, breathing in the scent.

“I know this is usually the time for the best friend to have a heart-to-heart with the bride, but I know the coffee’s done it for me.”

The side of her lip quirked, taking a sip. “I promise I’ll do that for your wedding day.”

“And I know you never dreamed of getting married. And this doesn’t count. So,” she dug into her pants pocket and gave her a foil packet.

Riza frowned when she saw what it was.

“It’s still my job to make sure you’re safe ,” she joked.

“Crazy!”

There was a knock on the door and Riza rushed to stuff the condom back into Becca’s pocket. Winry entered. “You can set up there,” the small blonde pointed to an empty spot in the room, near the balcony doors, and a flurry of people entered.

“Ms. Kat asked for your hair down. She loved the photo of you in the red dress,” the blue-eyed woman approached Riza, not paying attention to what the other was doing to Rebecca’s pants.

Riza straightened. “My real wedding’s not going to outdo this one, is it?”

“Afraid not.” She smiled, pushing her boss onto a chair in front of a large makeup mirror. “The Mustangs spared no change.”

“I’ll say.” Rebecca whistled, sitting down on the pseudo makeup station beside Riza’s. “For a 15-person wedding guest list, we could’ve had potluck.”

“Try not to say anything in front of the people paying for this.” Winry shot a warning glance and left the room.

“Yes, ma’am,” muttered Rebecca, her head tilted back as her hair got combed and brushed. She glanced at Riza and her stoic expression, deciding to leave her alone to her thoughts. She struck up a conversation with the bustling people around them. “So how long have you been hair and makeup artists?”

When their hair and makeup were done, the glam team excused themselves and packed their stuff, informing them they’ll be waiting downstairs in case anybody needed a touch-up in the middle of the event.

Since Rebecca took over how her face was painted and their hairstyles, Riza asked, “You couldn’t veto my hair?” The hairstyle was simple enough, a braided half-ponytail, but the ends of her hair was waved for “volume”.

“No.” She unbuttoned her shirt. “You don’t wanna look bald when the veil comes on.”

She winced. Right. The veil. Since the Mustangs allowed her to choose her wedding dress, she wiggled her way out of having a train. But Katherine put her foot down about insisting on a veil.

“Get to it,” ushered Rebecca, stripped down to her underwear and putting her legs through her dress.

She moved to the bed where the white gown was laid out. It was a spaghetti-strapped straight cut dress. No nonsense, simple, did the job of covering most of her skin.

Riza stripped down to her underwear too and stepped inside the dress. Rebecca moved behind her and helped zip it up.

“Well?” She moved her blonde hair out of the garment.

“Kind of hoping this was real. The dress would be a waste.”

She chuckled. It was soothing to have Becca at a time like this, like always.

They heard an incessant sound like a bunch of heels clicking against tile at breakneck speed. Rebecca turned to the door while Riza looked around the room to trace the strange sound.

The door slammed open, revealing a now-haggard Winry followed by a number of well-dressed women.

“Hi!” they all said in unison, the women gathering and enveloping Riza in a group hug.

“The Mustang family,” announced Winry, catching her breath. Only the Mustangs could outfight her energy and cheerfulness. She stepped to the side to allow the last woman in. She was more subdued than the others, her grayish black hair meticulously styled and her eyes displaying her age and wisdom compared to the rest.

“Madame,” greeted Rebecca with a nod of her head.

She nodded back. “Girls,” she called for the chattering women and they halted, releasing Riza from their hold. “Pardon my girls, they wanted to meet you earlier.”

She remembered her first time speaking with Roy and wondered if it ran in the family to be so friendly.

“You are pretty.”

“Such thick hair.”

“I knew hair down was gonna look great.”

She wormed her way out of the cluster and faced Chris Mustang herself. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. And you all.” She let a small smile slip back at the glamorous women.

“Call me Chris.” They shook hands.

“Riza.”

“I’m Katherine. Kat,” said one of the women, her black hair in beach waves, a wonderful contrast to her fuschia dress.

“Thank you for planning this.” It was about time she met the widely praised PR Head. Riza went through the group and greeted each of Roy’s sisters, calling them by their names and praising one thing they did as the head of their respective departments.

“I’m impressed,” said Vanessa.

“The Mustang Group is giving us a skyway. The least I could do is memorize their names.”

“Sassy, I love it.”

/-/ /-/ /-/ /-/

To ensure no unwanted leakage to the press with regard to the event, they assigned Maes to be Best Man and photographer.

The entertainment room was designated to be the place where the ceremony is supposedly held with only the invited guests inside: the couple-to-be, President Hawkeye, Christmas Mustang and her girls, Maes and his wife Gracia, Rebecca, and a few chosen security detail.

Roy’s jaw dropped when Riza entered with Rebecca. She wore no jewelry but the pearl studs on her ears and his engagement ring and he couldn’t think of a more suitable ensemble for her. The veil looked splendid, but he was unsure if it matched her gown.

Despite the minor complaint, he smiled at her. “You are amazing.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Her eyes scanned him from head to toe in his immaculate and well-fitted three-piece suit. “You too.”

“Good,” said Vanessa, checking every window has been curtained off and doors were locked behind Riza.

“Here.” Winry handed a ring to Roy and another to Riza. “Your wedding rings.” They dutifully slipped it on their own fingers.

“Sign this.” Kat beckoned them to a closed piano being used as a table. “Your Marriage Certificate.”

Riza noticed a piece of paper and took the pen beside it. She cringed when she saw her father’s name as the wedding officiant but still scribbled her signature above her name.

Roy mimicked her after she handed him the pen, signing beside her signature.

“Congratulations. You’re married.”

He frowned, buttoning his suit. He watched Kat pull Riza to a makeshift stage for a photo with her father and decided to drown the chatter.

His reprieve was interrupted when he heard, “Roy! Your turn.” His foster mother stood on the spot the President had vacated. The groom wondered if they were a normal family and this was a normal wedding, would they be doing it like this? Like it was a business meeting or a corporate photoshoot? Of course not.

“Get a move on.” Kat pulled his wrist to stand beside their matriarch.

Maes flittered, taking shot after shot.

After those sets of photos were taken, Kat arranged and rearranged them to suit the schedule she had in her mind. Once every combination possible was done for the wedding photos, she instructed everyone to leave the room and pretend to the caterers the reception was underway.

The woman requested for only Riza, Roy, and Maes to stay inside the room with her to take more photos but Rebecca moved to close and lock the doors after everyone filed out for the “reception”. “You still don’t trust us,” she observed.

“She’s still the presidential daughter.” The brunette crossed her arms.

She smirked, turning her attention back to the wedded couple. “We need more shots of you together so I have options for the announcement.”

Roy and Riza stood together, smiling down at Maes’ camera.

“Hold her hand,” said Kat.

A couple of clicks from the camera were heard when they followed what she said then Kat instructed, “Now kiss her.”

“What?!” Roy let go of Riza’s hand.

“For the shot. You can’t get married without the kiss.”

“I’m pretty sure we just did!” He pointed at the piano.

“Roy,” whispered Riza, her eyes steady, “The sooner we do this, the sooner we get this over with.”

“That’s the spirit,” quipped Kat, one arm over her waist and her fist beneath her chin while she waited.

He looked back at her with a frown. “Best wedding vows ever.” He wrapped an arm around Riza’s waist and kissed her. He leaned forward and opted to tilt her back.

She moaned, returning the kiss.

Roy gasped, moving his face away from Riza’s but not relinquishing his hold on her waist.

Stunned, she chewed on her lip. She refused to meet his gaze because her ears felt hot. She gave in. Why did she give in?

“Less aggressive this time,” ordered his sister.

He cleared his throat, wiping his palm on his pants. His lips hovered over hers, both hands moving to rest on her waist. “Excuse me.”

She closed her eyes and met his lips halfway.

“No. Still no. Riza, try holding him too.”

She found herself chasing after Roy’s lips even as he pulled away. She nodded at the instruction, not trusting herself to speak. What was happening? Her fingers traced her neck, feeling flush.

He leaned toward her again, one hand on her waist and the other cupping her cheek.

She forced herself to meet his gaze and held both hands to his chest.

What started off as a peck turned into hurried, multiple kisses. Roy closed his eyes the same time Riza did. He bit back a moan with each searing kiss.

“Just stick to one and hold the kiss or else the shot’s gonna be weird.”

His fingers cradled her jaw, moving to the back of her neck, with his other hand tight against her lower back.

She copied him with one hand holding his jaw and the other on his waist.

They held their lips together. The camera clicked.

Riza closed her eyes, feeling her lips part but holding the pose steady. She felt Roy’s hold loosen when Kat’s voice rang out again. Her breath hitched.

“No. You’re blocking each other’s face from here. Don’t use your hands facing the camera.”

She realized she was taking shorter breaths, almost panting. She licked her lips.

Roy was also breathing hard and forcing himself to not make a noise as his chest rose and fell. He was thankful Riza wasn’t looking at him because he was sure he was a mess. He placed both hands on her waist again and swallowed hard.

She shivered at his touch and stared up at him through half-lidded eyes, her lips parted.

He wrapped his arms around her slim frame and pulled her close enough their chests touched. He dove in for another kiss.

She inhaled deep when his lips landed on hers and closed her eyes. One arm moved to hug him and the other wrapped around his neck.

He moaned, sucking her lower lip and moving to deepen the kiss.

Her fingers trembled as she ran them through his hair.

“Yes! Perfect!” Kat clapped her hands, causing the couple to jump apart. “We have the shot.”

/-/ /-/ /-/ /-/

“It is with great happiness to announce the wedding of First Daughter Riza Hawkeye to Mr. Roy Mustang. The couple were wed last night in the presence of family and friends, opting for a simple ceremony,” read the official statement released by Berthold’s Press Secretary that morning together with two chosen photos: one of the couple and one of the couple together with Christmas Mustang and President Berthold Hawkeye.

Needless to say, social media sites crashed with news and entertainment reporters on television scrambled to get more photos from the event.

As for the couple, presumably still on a high from their wedding, they were in the middle of a glaring contest.

“There is no way in hell I’m using your surname!”

“You’re my wife now!”

“ Arranged .”

Roy threw his hands in the air. Arranged or not, they kissed for how many times yesterday and she signed the damned papers making her his wife and wore his rings. His eyes strayed away from her burning ones and glanced at the two innocent-looking items on her ring finger.

“Roy.”

He moved his gaze back up to her face.

“We’re going to get divorced anyway.”

He felt a vein pop in his temple. The nerve of this woman! “Elizabeth,” he shot back, using her real name he only discovered when they signed their marriage certificate.

She shouted in frustration. “Real mature.”

“Elizabeth Mustang has a nice ring to it.”

“I don’t use ‘Elizabeth’ much, do I?” she snarled.

“Riza Mustang sounds even better.” He forced himself to even his breathing. He was getting too riled up and he had an inkling as to why, but he had enough pride not to bring it up.

“It’s my name.” She matched his breathing and his tone since he was trying to calm himself down. “Shut up.” She internally groaned. Now who’s mature?

She stalked away from him and headed for the door. “We have lunch at Central Hotel.” She slammed the door behind her.

/-/ /-/ /-/ /-/

Maes cackled at the grumpy Roy after he recounted his argument with Riza. “Why is it such a big deal? It’s the Amestrian 21st century, women do choose their surnames here.” Xing was admittedly more traditional.

“Easy for you to say, Gracia had no issue using yours.”

“Gracia and I married for love .”

“And I didn’t?!” He slammed his fist on his thigh.

“Look, not gonna lie. You two were pretty heated with the kissing. But,” he emphasized, “it’s been a month, you only think it’s love.”

“Says the guy who courted through writing letters without even seeing her face until much later.”

“I fell in love with her wit first! Jeez.” He huffed, thinking there must be another reason for his best friend to be this way. “What happened?”

“I… ugh.” He ran a hand down his face, ready to face the music. Her name wasn’t that much of a big deal he made it out to be. “Last night, I assumed .”

Maes raised his brows in anticipation.

“We went into the room, yeah? East Wing belongs to us now and all that blah.” His tongue stuck out for a moment.

He nodded.

“I saw the bed,” he raised his hand in the air like asking for alms, “ we saw the bed and we stood there. Waiting. I swear it wasn’t just me.” His hand turned into a fist. “Then she walked to the side of the room and opened another freaking door and said good night!”

Despite himself, he cackled at his best friend’s misery again. “You’re a fool.” Riza Hawkeye had him bending over backwards in the palm of her hand.

Roy’s eyes narrowed into slits.

“You don’t take your sexual frustration out and start an unrelated fight. You fight the frustration,” his hand sliced down like a knife, “then you fight the next thing.”

“How do I - How do I do this? How do I fix it?”

He shook his head. “This is at most temporary. I don’t think there’s anything to fix . She’s professional enough to cooperate as long as she needs to.” In fact, he received a message from Winry reminding him of Roy’s lunch meeting with Riza later.

“Maes,” he sighed in exasperation. Call him stupid, foolish, naive; it doesn’t matter. He knows what he wants and right now, what he wants is for Riza to be the opposite of ‘temporary’.

“Fine. Higher risk, higher reward.” Raising his hands in mock surrender, he sent out a challenge, “Tell her the one thing you’ve never said before.”

/-/ /-/ /-/ /-/

“I’m sorry.” Roy fought down the smug look threatening to burst forth when he saw Riza shocked.

“What?”

He scraped his tongue against the back of his teeth before repeating, “I’m sorry. It’s your name. You’re right.”

She nodded, fiddling with her engagement and wedding rings. “Thank you.”

Gathering courage, he wrapped a hand over hers. “I got carried away. It’s hard to get a grasp of what’s real?” He surveyed the view out the window of the car they rode in on the way to the hotel. “One minute we get along well and the next, we’re married.”

“They’re both real. It’s not like I’m trying to kill you once the cameras are out.” She looked at his hand and flipped her palm up so she held him too.

He wondered if she could see his blush even with his face turned away.

“Never thought I’d get married. But here I am. Rings and all.”

“That’s the sweetest thing you’ve said to me, sweetheart .”

“No,” she pulled her hand away from him, “No… those. Riza’s fine.”

“Riza,” he said, the very sound of her name on his lips making him warm. The car stopped and Roy scrambled to get out first so he could open Riza’s door for her before any bodyguard could.

“Seriously,” she slid her hand on his palm, allowing him to escort her out the car, “you need to tattoo security protocol in your head.”

“I’ll think about it.” Neither let go of the other’s hand, following Rebecca who led the way to where they’ll have lunch and allow a few moments for the media to go wild.

And they indeed went wild.

Flashing cameras and shouted questions welcomed them as they walked in front of the media crew cordoned to the side by hotel management.

“Roy! Are you going to move into the White Palace permanently?”

“Ms. Hawkeye! Who designed your dress?”

“Ms. Hawkeye! Can we expect more photos from the wedding? The people need to see!”

“Mr. Mustang! Are you going to have a second wedding in Xing?”

“Take turns, please.” Roy released her hand but remained standing close.

A reporter raised his hand. “Mr. Mustang, why choose to finally settle down now? Do you have plans to enter the political world?”

He caught her media-ready smile taking over her features and demeanor. His hand protectively shot out to hold her waist. “Politics isn’t my thing. As for marrying Riza, I didn’t settle ‘down’. I prefer the term settling up .”

He chuckled at the poor wordplay and she couldn’t help but stare at him with disbelief, her rehearsed face breaking.

He grinned at her, hand still on her waist.

She inhaled and smoothed her expression once more when a question was thrown her way.

“Ms. Hawkeye, will your relationship affect the current infrastructure project between the Mustang Group and the Amestrian government?”

“How would it? The project is underway.”

“Ms. Hawkeye, can we expect more photos from the wedding?”

“We’ll see,” she forced another smile.

“Mr. Mustang, what made you choose Ms. Hawkeye?”

“What kind of question is that?” His fingers unconsciously gripped her waist and she caught his gaze. “Because I love her.”

“I love her,” he repeated, getting lost in her amber stare, “I wish - I… We - She…” He trailed off.

Riza’s mouth hung open, her eyes widened.

They both had their media-ready personas: Riza smiled more often than she did behind closed doors whereas Roy was more suave then he truly was. This bumbling man in front of her and the press was Roy at his finest unguarded self. Which means he’s telling the truth.

She licked her lips and turned to the reporters again with a smile, this one feeling less automated than usual.

/-/ /-/ /-/ /-/

“Aww. Cute,” said Winry, thumb hovering over her phone. “They had a party last night.” She turned it to show Riza a photo of Maes and Gracia making fun of a napping Roy.

“Why?” It had been awhile since anything eventful happened from the day Roy publicly declared his love weeks ago. A fact which, as guilty as she was, she refused to talk about and opted to pretend it was part of their charade.

“He told me Madame Chris finally rained hell down on Bradley.”

Riza paused, her pen suspended between her fingers. “Rained hell.”

“Uh-huh. Found proof of his forgeries, trapped the employees carrying out drug operations through a sting op… the whole nine yards.”

“So Roy is -” Her pen dropped on the table.

“Free as a bird. Whew,” she grinned, tapping on her phone, “Billionaires really make the justice system work ten times faster in their favor. I’ll ask Maes for a timeline on your divorce.”

“Wait.” She strapped her heels on and stood. “Take the rest of the day off.”

“Why?”

She heard Winry’s confusion but her brain had shut down to the only task at hand: finding Roy. Her heels echoed along the halls but she paid no attention to them as she dashed to the East Wing - their “marital” quarters.

She wondered if he would leave without saying anything then she thought it would be impossible without at least paying a courtesy call to her father. What if he already did it without telling me?

She debated with herself if he would have been justified to do so since she said nothing about his declaration of love and acted as if they were nothing more than friends. That’s different.

Steeling her resolve, she reached Roy’s bedroom and knocked. “Roy?” She knocked again, breathing hard with the effort of running in heels. “Roy.”

“J-”

She swung the door open, thinking no one was there.

“-ust a sec.”

The man she wanted to see buttoned a shirt down his body, but not before she caught a glimpse of how toned he was.

“Hi?” He looked bewildered to see her wheezing. “Do you… want some water?”

“I heard you’re free.”

“Pretty much, uh, Kat hasn’t linked my sched up yet but I’m sure when she does, Winry will know.”

“No.” She entered the room and closed the door behind her, a fist to her chest as if that would stop it from pounding. “Free about the drugs.”

“Ah crap.” He placed a hand to his head. “I wanted to be the one to tell you.”

“So it’s true.”

He smiled. “Yes. I was going to take you out tonight. Asked Rebecca’s permission and got clearance and everything.”

She shook her head, her mouth agape. Roy Mustang following White Palace protocol: it was a first. “To say goodbye?”

“To celebrate, you weirdo. That’s what friends do, by the way,” he laughed. Friendship became a topic he teased her with often.

“You don’t need to return to Xing yet?” she said, her voice low as if afraid to scare him away.

“It’s fine.” He grinned, crossing the room and squeezed her upper arm. “I told Vanessa I wanted to oversee our work here.”

Chapter Text

Tell your friends you’re out for a run

“I’m off for a run,” Riza waved at Rebecca and Winry, both hunched over the latter’s phone. They were analyzing the text Winry’s sort-of-boyfriend sent.

“I liked our last date but he’s so hard to read in texts,” complained the younger woman.

“Inside the gates,” waved back Becca, eyes scanning the message. Riza’s announcement wasn’t anything new. Riza liked to run. Both literally and emotionally. “He wants to see you again,” she assessed, facing Winry.

Riza left her office and brisk walked to her bedroom, her heels giving away each rushed step she took. She closed her door and checked the time. Eight minutes. She peeled her blazer off and threw her heels away, rushing to her closet for a change of clothes.

She checked her watch again. One minute. Stashing her phone inside her hoodie’s pocket, she creeped out of her bedroom and headed for Roy’s bedroom. She twisted so her back was flat against his door, counting the seconds in her mind. A pillar hid her from the hallway where security personnel did their rounds.

She heard footsteps and a small exchange of pleasantries.

The door behind her opened and she felt her body get pulled in.

“Did they see you?”

“No.” She had their security personnel’s schedules memorized including the places they were assigned to and in what order they did their rounds. She was confident she could keep this up without being discovered.

Roy smiled, dropping to sit on the floor. He leaned back on his bedpost. “First Daughter sneaking around the White Palace.”

She sat in front of him. “Running,” she corrected. That was, after all, the official story she’s been telling Becca and Winry whenever she disappeared from their sights or asked them to take breaks. The truth was innocent enough - meeting with Roy - but too controversial if she bothered to explain why they met with each other outside work and arranged public appearances.

“Sneakily running.” He gestured to her large hoodie.

She pulled the hood off her head and let her blonde hair loose. “You don’t want Maes to catch us either,” she shot back.

He nodded. “Told him I wanted to sleep before dinner.”

She checked her watch and said, “So around half an hour to sneak back into my room?”

He grinned and pulled her wrist so she sat beside him, her back flat against his bed frame. “I have something for you.” He turned her palm upwards and placed a CD case on it. He briefly traced the rings on her finger before letting go.

“I know you have a digital copy, but…” He waited, watching her turn the case over.

Her head snapped up. “She signed it? I…” Her brows furrowed, looking down at the signature and read a short message which said, “Riza, keep shining xx Sailor”. “Oh wow.” Tears pricked her eyes and she felt heat along the bridge of her nose. She didn’t bother asking how he managed it, given his stature in life despite his natural foolishness.

“For future reference,” his finger traced circles in the air in front of her face, “that’s how you react to a marriage proposal. Or a wedding.”

Riza tossed the CD case on his bed and wrapped her arms around his neck, catching him by surprise. “Shut up.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “Thank you,” she whispered, kissing him.

He smiled through the kiss, his hand cradling the back of her neck to keep her close.

/-/ /-/ /-/ /-/

Clandestine meetings and longing stares

“We have to revise the budget if we want to hit the original deadline for Phase one,” droned one of the officers working for the Finance Secretary.

Riza and Roy sat together, watching while the others displayed an evaluation of the Mustang Group’s infrastructure project.

“Original deadline,” interjected one of Roy’s staff. “Is there no way to push it, then? It’s not the Mustang Group’s fault the weather isn’t cooperating.”

This verbal tug of war had been going on for the duration of the meeting and Roy was about ready to fall asleep. His sister told him to say as little as possible, so she sent him a team of people to speak on his behalf about the project.

On the other end, Riza had been coached by Winry to do the same thing. There was no need for her opinions on the nitty-gritty of the construction process since it remained ongoing; she became as bored as Roy was.

He crossed his arms and leaned his elbows on the table, struggling to keep his eyes open.

She fiddled with her bun.

He caught sight of her from the corner of his eye.

Sensing she was being watched, she angled her head slightly to face him as the meeting went on. She rested her cheek on her pointer finger acting engrossed in the discussion.

He removed his elbows from the table and rested his hands on his lap.

She moved her hand so her chin laid on the back of her fingers, her lips resting against her pinky finger and her wedding and engagement rings. Her eyes never left his.

To make sure he indeed had her attention, he moved his gaze up at her forehead then back down to her eyes. He let the tip of his tongue slip out between his teeth.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, a warning.

He clamped his lips shut, rolling his shoulders back to play it cool.

She softened her stare.

He smiled with a mischievous glint in his eyes. His hand crept toward her thigh under the table, his fingers drumming on her skirt.

She moved her legs away. She broke eye contact and moved her face forward. He’ll pay for that later.

/-/ /-/ /-/ /-/

Leave the perfume on the shelf that you picked out just for him

“What’s this?” Rebecca grabbed a pink bottle from the top of Riza’s bedside table. She pressed down the nozzle, sniffing the air. “Since when did you change your perfume?” she cried out in a loud voice so Riza could hear her from the bathroom. Riza Hawkeye has had one very specific scent over the years and the pink, girly, frilly, sweet-smelling thing was not it.

“Huh? No - No, I didn’t. Not… that.” The blonde dashed to grab the bottle and pulled open a drawer and shoved it inside, closing it back with a hard push.

Her brows knitted together. Riza Hawkeye stammering. That was another new thing.

“I still use the same one.” She pointed at a gold bottle.

“Why do you have the girly one?”

“It was a gift,” she lied through the skin of her teeth, channeling media-ready Riza.

“Mustang?” she crossed her arms.

Her eyes strayed to the bed behind Rebecca. “Who?”

She blinked disbelievingly, her mouth hanging open. “He gave you the gift?” she said slowly.

Well, I picked it out for him. “Yes.” Should’ve thrown it out when I had the chance. “Weird, right?”

“It smells okay,” she sat on Riza’s bed with a bounce. “But a little casual? So maybe when you go on dates with him.”

“Dates?” She forced an incredulous chuckle. “Since when did we date?”

“The scheduled ones from Kat.”

She clapped her hands. “Ah, right. Those. ”

“The perfume - widely different. But it’s okay.” She leveled her stare at her best friend, hoping to convey that whatever it was she was hiding behind her lie, it’s okay.

Riza gulped.

/-/ /-/ /-/ /-/

A dwindling, mercurial high

Riza bit her lower lip, her back hitting the wall with a delightful thud. She tried to catch her breath. She felt Roy’s hand protectively covering the back of her head.

They met outside the West Wing for a date which turned into a rendezvous, using Riza’s knowledge of the security camera placements.

He leaned toward her, capturing her lips with his to continue what they started. He moaned when her tongue wormed its way into his mouth. He pulled back to suck her lower lip then returned to kiss her.

“Roy.” Her breath hitched when his kisses ventured to her jaw, her neck, her ears.

He slipped his hands underneath her hoodie, feeling for her skin. His fingers traced upward and felt the band of her bra.

She bit back a moan, dropping her head on his shoulder as his lips and tongue continued their assault on everywhere else but her mouth.

He smiled when he kissed her again, his hands digging under her bra cups -

“Find Hayate and secure her.”

Riza gasped at the voice coming from the garden and pushed Roy away. “Shit.” Her hands ran down her hoodie and up at her hair, smoothing everything down with her palms.

He stumbled back, his face flushed. ‘Hayate’ was Riza’s White Palace codename so something must have happened. His chest rose and fell with each breath he took as he willed himself to breathe normally. He watched Riza peel herself off the wall. He reached out and combed his fingers through her hair.

She pushed a little air out through her nose. “Take the entrance back into the West Wing,” she slipped back into work mode, “Bye.” She took off running.

/-/ /-/ /-/ /-/

Clandestine meetings and stolen stares

“Hashtag Royai is trending,” said a curious Winry, her face glued to her phone.

“Why?”

“Why not?” answered Rebecca, handing a cup to Riza. “Hottest married couple in Amestris.” She winked.

Riza swallowed her coffee in big gulps. She and Roy haven’t trended since their wedding.

“They think she’s pregnant.”

She almost spit her coffee out her throat.

Winry walked over to them and showed her phone, zooming into a photo of Roy and Riza. “Remember the trespassing paparazzi?”

“He took this?” The brunette squinted at it. “I thought he got his camera smashed?”

Riza laid the cup to the side before paying attention to the photo, swiping the side of her mouth with a finger.

The photo showed her standing with her hands beneath her chest, her fingers fiddling with her rings. She and Roy were on the White Palace lawn, her hair loose and slightly tousled from her latest escapade with him outside the West Wing. Roy faced her from an arm’s length distance, his hands spread in front of him with his mouth hanging open.

“How did they get ‘pregnant’ from that?” she sidetracked.

“Your hands over your stomach?” suggested Winry.

Rebecca took the phone and zoomed into the photo, focusing on Riza’s hands. “It’s the baggy hoodie.”

She scoffed. People will say what they want to say regardless.

“Are you, though?”

“Am I what?”

“Pregnant.”

“Becca!”

/-/ /-/ /-/ /-/

Don’t call me baby

“Oh, baby,” Roy grabbed her cheeks to pull her in for a kiss.

Riza slapped his hands away. “No,” she said, her voice firm and her gaze cold.

“I’m -”

She stood her ground. “We talked about this! No disgusting terms of endearment. Especially ‘baby’.” She shivered in disgust.

“Sorry.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I think it’s also from being called pregnant too.” She sat on the edge of his bed, running a hand over her face. “Stupid,” she muttered.

“It’s not.” He sat beside her, their thighs touching as he placed a hand on her back.

“Gain weight or wear the wrong thing, everyone thinks you’re pregnant,” she gestured an explosion in her hands.

“They’ll do anything for a story.”

She stared off into his bedroom space.

“What’s the worst thing the media said about you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh where do I begin?”

He relaxed at her sarcasm.

“One of the worst was when they said my mother died because I was dead inside. I’m human, I don’t smile 24/7.” She waved a hand over her face. “But of course, I had to adjust.”

She added, not waiting for a response, “And you?”

“Worst?” He huffed. “It wasn’t about me but my sisters.” He removed his hand off her back to rub the side of his neck. “Media ran wild with this story they were prostitutes?”

He grit his teeth, his eyes narrowed at the memory. “Because they dress well and look great and it took crazy long to die down.”

She leaned to her side, resting her head on his shoulder.

He reached over and took her hand in his, squeezing tight. “I love you, Riza.”

She hummed.

/-/ /-/ /-/ /-/

Look at this idiotic fool that you made me

Riza glared at Roy’s phone screen when a message notification popped up: “Can’t you ditch the wife?” from a certain cake emoji. No name. Just a cake emoji. Who the hell is this woman?

She heard the faucet run so she tossed the blanket over her naked body and turned to face the edge of the bed.

Roy stepped back into the room and climbed into bed. He grabbed his phone, typed a quick reply to the person and set it aside. “Hey, uh, Riza?” He slid his hand on her shoulder. “What time do you need to split?”

Her brow twitched. “Why?” She flipped herself on her back and clutched the sheet tight to her chest.

“To get ready for dinner?”

“Are you sure?” She sat up, taking the blanket with her. “We can skip it.”

He tilted his head to the side at the tone of her voice. “What’s wrong?”

“I just thought you’d have other plans. I mean,” she clicked her tongue, “You’ve been trapped here for months. Friends or something must miss you.”

“No?” He felt like whatever he said would be wrong. Riza was still not looking at him. “Hey.” He eased a hand on her bare back and she flinched.

“Who’s cake?”

He mouthed the word ‘cake’, his mouth turning into a frown.

“The cake emoji. On your phone. Who is she? ”

He glanced at the item in question then looked back at her. “Breda.” His mind struggled to keep up with what was happening, Breda isn’t a woman. “Breda’s in town and -”

“And, and,” her face twisted, mocking him, “she wants you to ditch the wife. Great!” She jumped out of bed and hurriedly grabbed her clothes and put them back on. “Have fun .”

The pieces formed together in his mind. “Are you jealous?”

“Of course not.” She stomped her foot on the floor, her hands balled into fists.

“Good,” he licked his lips, “because Breda is a guy and we’re not like that.” He laughed, taking in her expression shift from indignant to surprise and back to indignant.

“Why isn’t he named on your phone, then?!”

“ All my contacts are unnamed. Don’t you do that?”

She furrowed her brows. “No.” 

“I read somewhere it’s safer if the phone gets stolen,” he explained, “Thief won’t know who to scam.”

“So Madame Chris…”

“Christmas tree emoji.”

“Maes?”

“Glasses and camera emojis.”

“You have one hell of a memory if you can remember those contacts.”

“My sisters take up most of the list, so…”

She winced, “I’m a fool.”

“No, you’re my wife,” he wiggled his eyebrows and grinned at her. He was grateful she didn’t ask what he used for her contact name. He would have been too embarrassed to explain why he chose the crown emoji for her.

“Arr - ” she stopped herself. Arranged. The word she often used now sounded wrong. Arranged implied something was planned; which, to a certain extent of how their wedding was brought about, it was.

However, staying married with no definitive timeline for divorce was not planned. Roy choosing to stay in Amestris even though he could go back home was not planned. And us sneaking around and screwing like teenagers is definitely not planned.

/-/ /-/ /-/ /-/

You know damn well for you I would ruin myself a million little times

“Shouldn’t we…” he paused, wobbling as he put his legs into his pants, “I don’t know, tell them?”

She knew in an instant he meant their friends and family. Not that she would make it easy for him. “Tell them what?” she hooked her bra back on, scooting to the edge of his bed to get a fresh panty from her purse.

“This?” He pointed to the messed up bed, then pointed back and forth to his shirtless self and her. “Us?” He buttoned his pants. Their schedules were packed for the rest of the afternoon so they had to hurry and act like nothing happened.

“Us rolling in the sheets? That’s private.” She placed her hands on her hips after getting half-dressed.

Her skin was still flushed. “Riza.” He met her gaze head on, exasperated.

She pursed her lips, thankful for the distance the bed between them provided. “Hypothetical. Tell them what?” She asked again. She fluffed her skirt then put it back on.

“We’re… together?” He ventured. To this day; Riza refused to address his occasional declarations of love and he gave up trying to force a response from her, telling himself he was content in whatever she gave him.

“We're married.” She raised her left hand, her rings catching the light. “Other people assume we’ve been doing this.”

“You know who I mean. Please. I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh?” she raised a brow sarcastically. “You were very much in the mood a second ago.” She crossed her arms, seemingly comfortable in continuing their discussion in her bra.

He slapped his palm on his face and sighed, his own wedding ring catching the light, mocking him. They went from strangers to acquaintances being engaged, became married before turning into friends and evolved into fuck buddies.

It was not the kind of love story one would tell their grandkids.

“I love you. They know it.” He stuck his palms together as if in a prayer. “You know it.” His hands separated so he could gesticulate, hoping not to mess up what he wanted to get off his chest. “We don’t speak of feelings, but I’m happy. I really am with you regardless - We… You - I don’t know if you’re happy - ”

“I’m happy too,” she interrupted.

His fingers spread far apart from one another. “- I’m glad. But they’re our friends. Maes is my friend before he’s the PA. Pain in my ass, you know?”

She smiled.

“So shouldn’t they know we’re…” In this undefined, hot and sexy, but adorable at the same time, affair. He swallowed his thoughts down, “happy?”

“It’s fine. On my end, they already know.” Her eyes twinkled. “And Maes isn’t stupid.”

He absentmindedly walked toward her. “They know?” What do they know?

His foot got caught in her discarded shirt and he tumbled to the floor on all fours. He looked up at her like a dog waiting for its master.

It was her turn to slap her palm against her face. She sighed.

Riza bent down to cup his face in her hands. “I love you, you weirdo.”