by Ludi and angyxoxo
I wake up Friday
morning still feeling like I’m in a surreal dream. The air smells different, and the feel of the bedclothes against
my bare skin is strange and alien. I
slowly open my eyes. I’m back in my
childhood bedroom, amongst quaint, antique mahogany furniture, ancient photos,
teenage romance books and that wooden mobile in the far corner that Cody once
gave me. I’m back home, a place that’s
familiar and yet somehow foreign.
I rub my eyes with the
back of my hand before sliding out of bed and pulling back the curtains, the
curtains of the window where I’d sat so often waiting for Cody to come back
from football practice. Outside there’s
none of the hustle and bustle of the Big Apple. The sky is overcast, the sun is peeking through the clouds and
the birds are singing. There isn’t the
sound of a single car in the distance.
I’m still in Caldecott and it feels like I’ve woken up on a day four
years ago, back inside my previous life. It feels like I could pretend I’d
never left this place at all, that I never went to New York and met a man named
Remy LeBeau.
The pretence would’ve
worked if I could stop thinking about him.
He’d be back at work
by now, back at L&L, lonely and empty-handed, wondering what went
wrong. He’s probably thinking about me
right now, like I’m thinking about him.
I open the window, breathe in the fresh air and sigh. I’m tired of thinking about him. All these many miles between us and I still
can’t get a word he said out of my head.
It’s killing me. How can I go
back to New York and face him when I can’t even face the memory of him here?
I shower and dress and
as I do so my eye catches on the small, thin scar just over my left breast, a
souvenir, a horrible reminder of the accident that had ended Cody’s life. I run a finger over it slowly,
remembering. Every time I’d begun a new
relationship I’d get asked about this scar, but I’d never been able to tell the
truth. If I had it would’ve only kept
Cody’s ghost closer. Of all the men I’d
dated after him, Joe was the only one I’d ever slept with and it hadn’t felt
right. But being with Remy… that had felt right and I can’t explain
it.
He’d put his lips
right here on my scar and kissed it… but he’d never asked where I’d gotten it,
not once. And even if he had, could I
have told him the truth?
I close my eyes and
try not to think about it.
It takes me ages to
dress and I finally stroll downstairs twenty minutes later. Irene’s in the dining room, sipping her tea,
waiting for me. I’d spent the entirety
of yesterday in bed, unwilling to speak.
Irene knows my moods and had left me to my own devices. She knows that by today I’ll be ready to
talk.
I go up to her and
kiss her on the forehead. She smiles
and indicates towards the coffee machine and the plate of beignets lying beside
it. I put my arms round her shoulders
and hug her before getting my breakfast and sitting down next to her.
“Feeling better?” she
asks softly, once I’m settled.
“A little,” I
reply. And I do. I feel a little better to be sitting here
with her, eating my favorite breakfast, not needing to say anything, just like
it used to be in the old days. For the
first time in days I manage to smile.
Irene feels the smile and nods before quietly reaching inside a
pocket. She brings out a passport-sized
photograph and slides it across the table towards me. I look at it. Me and Cody
– my favorite picture of the two of us.
I’d always kept it in my purse, safe from the elements; but now it’s
worn and dog-eared. I stare at it in
confusion.
“How – ?”
“He left it for you,”
Irene interrupts, before I can finish the question. “He said he didn’t want to
steal anymore good memories from you.”
I realize who she’s
referring to, and I can’t help the tears from welling in my eyes.
Remy…
I’d been looking at
that picture the night that Cody had died, right there in his lounge. I must’ve dropped it there when I’d hurried
to put it back in my purse, left it there for him to find when he’d woken up
the morning after. I can't imagine what
he must’ve felt when he first saw it.
My heart fills with dread and guilt.
All that time down at the cemetery he’d known. He’d known about me and Cody.
He’d chased me all the way to Mississippi still knowing that he had the
slimmest of chances. Despite everything
he hadn’t given up on me.
I touch the edge of
the photo, thinking of how many times he must’ve held it and looked at it and
wondered if I was worth the effort. My
heart aches. How he must hate meh…
“Do you still think it was the right thing?” Irene
asks, following my train of thought. “Turning him down?”
I swallow and shake my
head. “Irenie, Ah can’t… It’s too
soon…”
“Too soon to love
again?” Her voice is gentle yet firm. “Do you really think our hearts take
trivial things like time into account?”
“Remy LeBeau’s not the
man for me,” I half whisper. I can’t do
this to myself. I just can’t get myself
hung up on him again…
“Do you love him?” she
asks seriously. I say nothing. I stare down at the photo again, close my
hand over it. I try to imagine Remy
with his arms round me instead of Cody, Remy taking Cody’s place as the only
man in my life. Remy, the insufferable
ladies’ man who treats women like dirt.
Who’d treated me like dirt;
and yet who’d treated me so wonderfully despite everything. I raise my head.
“Ah’m so confused,
momma,” I admit plaintively. “Mah heart keeps tellin’ me Ah love him, but at
the same time Ah just know it couldn’t last b’tween us. Ah…Ah don’t know if Ah could ever trust
him.”
“Maybe that’s all he
needs,” Irene says, taking my free hand in hers. “A little trust.”
My teeth pull on my
bottom lip as I mull over her words. “Ah don’t know if Ah can trust anyone anymore,” I whisper. “It hurts so
much to have all your dreams shattered… Ah just couldn’t face that kind of
disappointment again.” I pause, my eyes filling again involuntarily. “Momma…
Ah’m so scared…”
This time I can’t stop
the tears from falling and she takes me in her arms and I huddle close to her,
feeling just like a child again. She
rocks me and says gently: “Anna, there’s no need to be scared. You’re not in this alone. He needs to learn to trust again just as
much as you do. Give each other time
and maybe you can open your hearts to one another again.”
Maybe. Maybe we can. I want to, so badly. I
don’t want to be scared of love anymore.
Over Irene’s shoulder I stare at the photo on the table. Remy’s left it to me, given me something to
hold onto. The ball’s in my court now.
All I need to do is
find the courage to embrace my future and start afresh once more. The problem is just finding that courage.
-oOo-
Meanwhile, several
hundred miles up north, Emma Frost was wrapped up in her own dilemma. She’d been mixing and matching outfits for
the better part of a morning, and after much careful deliberation she’d finally
settled on a daringly sheer silk blouse and a classy gray pencil skirt. It was an outfit Betsy had forced her to buy
the other day, insisting that pencil skirts were now in. Emma had bought it just to shut Betsy up –
she hadn’t worn anything below knee
length since her school uniform. But
now she wanted to look halfway decent when Bobby arrived, not like some cheap
tramp. Looking in the mirror, she had
to admit that although this was a look she would’ve thought boring and frumpy
before, she actually looked good.
Subtly sexy. Coy and flirty
instead of her usual no-mercy, heavy artillery sex-bomb look.
Emma stared at herself
and smiled a soft smile.
Just at that moment
the doorbell went and she started to attention, running out her bedroom and
down the stairs without a second thought, only to find that Kristin had already
beaten her to it.
“No, no!” Emma cried,
horrified that the grand entrance she’d been planning the past two days should
be spoiled. “I’ll answer the door, don’t you dare get it!”
She practically barged
past the poor maid and snatched the door handle as if she was a child and
someone had threatened to take a toy away from her. Since Emma always kicked up a fuss if she had to make so much of
a step towards the doorway, Kristin was rather baffled, but she didn’t dare
complain so she shrugged peevishly and walked away. It took Emma half a minute to regain her composure and finally
throw the door open.
And just as she'd
known, just as she'd hoped, there was Bobby, looking every bit as apprehensive
as she was. A relieved breath escaped
from her lips. She thought he would've been
angry and defensive, but from the looks of it, he was probably feeling exactly
the same as her.
Yes - for the first
time in her life, Emma felt nervous.
And it wasn't a nice feeling.
"Bobby." She
stood aside, held the door open for him. "Please, come in."
Shit! Her nervousness was
making her sound like some prim and proper matron! Emma heaved in another shaky breath and tried to loosen up. Bobby, however, didn't appear to
notice. He stepped into the hall and
looked about apprehensively.
"Is this going to
take long?" he asked quickly, his hands literally jammed in his pockets.
"I hope
not," she remarked, closing the door shut and turning to him. "I…I
want to thank you, Bobby. For taking
the time to come. I know you're
busy."
He looked at the floor
and shrugged, embarrassed. "Actually, I wasn't busy at all," he
admitted.
"Oh." She
wasn't sure what to make of that. "I'm glad."
He was wearing
uncharacteristically casual-smart slacks and a simple white shirt that
flattered his well-toned body to perfection.
Emma wished he wouldn't stand so self-consciously. He could look super sleek and sexy if only
he believed he was worth it. He hadn't even been in her hallway a minute and
she was already itching to get her hands on him.
"Been anywhere
special?" she asked as casually as she could.
"Me? Nope." He looked down at his clothes
and pulled on his shirt. "Just went for a job interview this morning. Had to look, you know, respectable."
"A job
interview?" she asked, her heart falling.
That pretty much meant that he had no intention of working for her
anymore. "For what?" she inquired weakly.
"As a part-time
accountant at the local bank," he answered. She must've looked upset because he began shifting uncomfortably.
"Look, Emma… if there's something you want to say to me, can you please say
it? You're giving me the heebie-jeebies
here."
Emma shook
herself. Well, what do you expect, of course he doesn't want to work for you
anymore, just do what you set out to do and apologize to him!
"Let's go into
the lounge," she breathed.
He followed her a
little reluctantly in the living room, while she ran about ten different
potential dialogues between them in her head.
Damn. She'd been rehearsing this whole stupid
scenario about a dozen times an hour, and now that he was finally here she
hadn't a clue what she really wanted to say.
Well, you do know one thing you need to say. Sorry, right? So go ahead and say it, Emma, before you regain control of your
goddamn senses!
She stopped in the
center of the room and swung round to him, unconsciously wringing her hands as
the words finally bubbled involuntarily to her mouth.
"Bobby…" she
began, "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."
Okay. You said it. That wasn't so bad, was it?
Bobby screwed up his
mouth in disbelief. "Oh right," he began sarcastically. "So is
that 'sorry for using you as my love slave', or 'sorry for insulting you the
other day'?"
Oh, so he did want to play rough. Emma had to physically resist the urge to
start shouting and give back as good as she got.
"For all of it," she replied on a pent-up
breath. "In fact… for the way I treated you since day one." One look
at his skeptical face was enough to tell her that at lot more self-debasement was needed. Dammit! But there was nothing for it but to grit her
teeth and soldier on. "Alright, alright already! I'll admit it." She took a huge breath, continued: "I
led you on. I led you on just like I
did all those other men before. I
treated you abominably and I did it all on purpose."
He crossed his arms
and frowned, looking dubious and yet even more delicious to her than ever. Emma got the distinct feeling that he was
beating her at her own game, and she didn't like it one little bit. No way
is he playing hard to get now!
"C'mon, tell me
something I don't know, Ms. Frost," he remarked acidly. "Like why exactly you felt the need to trample
on someone who's obviously so beneath you in the first place."
Emma bit her lip. Hard.
He really was going to make
this hard on her. The thing was, she
deserved it. And she really couldn't
bear the scorn on his face much longer.
It was killing her.
"I never thought that, Bobby," she
assured him, desperation taking over her pride once more. "Okay, well
maybe I did for the first couple of days or so…" He looked like he was
about to walk out right there and then, but she continued in a rush before he
could do so; "But after that… after that I just couldn't think that of
you. The way you looked out for me…
took care of me… even went out of your way to give me advice knowing what a bitch I was! After what happened with Carlos, you
could've found it so easy to look down on me.
That's what any guy would've done.
And you didn't. You were still so kind and considerate and
-"
"A
pushover?" he finished off pointedly.
Emma shook her head vigorously.
"Believe it or
not, Bobby, you had me wondering why on earth
anyone like you would even bother to give me the time of day." She paused
and flushed. "No man's ever done that for me, Bobby," she admitted,
shamefaced. "Most men think all I'm out for is a good time, that a free
drink and a good fuck are the only qualities I look for in a man. But I'm not like that Bobby. Really, I'm not. Every time I end up with those kind of men, it kills me
inside. The truth is…I don't know a
thing about real relationships, about what it's really like to love someone. But I really want to
know. I really want someone to care for me.
And when you were with me, Bobby…I really felt like you cared for
me. And I know it's really pathetic
but…no man's really cared for me
before. Not ever."
She inhaled deeply,
unable to go on, the sad admission finally giving her the strength to look into
his eyes, even if she saw nothing there but contempt. But to her surprise his handsome, boyish face wore instead a
frown of sympathy and concern.
"Emma," he
began somberly, shaking his head, "I just don't get it. I just don't get why you've let yourself be treated like dirt all
these years. I mean, look at you. So many women would kill to have what you
have. And yeah… you may be a bitch
sometimes, but that doesn't mean you're not smart and talented and
beautiful. There'd be a thousand decent
men out there who'd queue around the block just to get a date with you. You're worth more than all the Carlos' in
the world. Why don't you just believe that for once?"
"I guess…I guess
I haven't really known anything else," she returned quietly, truly humbled
by his words.
"Well… now you do know," he shrugged
matter-of-factly. "From now on, stop dating bad boys. Get yourself a real man who'll treat you
decent. I'm sure there are plenty out
there waiting for you."
At his words Emma
began to panic. This was not the direction she wanted this to go!
"No!" she
cried breathlessly, inching closer to him. "Bobby, don't you get it?! I don't want any of those men! The guy I want is you!"
She gazed at him
through beseeching blue eyes, trying to communicate that that was what she wanted, and she wouldn't - couldn't - settle for
anything less. Skepticism crossed his
face again and she couldn't help but ask pleadingly: "Bobby, after
everything I've said, don't you believe me?"
"It's not
that," he muttered, averting his gaze and running his hand through his
hair, "it's just… Well, how can I believe that you'd really want someone
like me?"
She stared at him, confused,
and he continued: "Emma, look at me.
You're just way outta my league.
I dress crazy and talk outta my butt and I can't even score unless I'm
drunk. I'm addicted to Shogun Total
Wars and I collect Batman comics. I'm a
nerd. A loser. A geek.
Just wait and see, you'll go out with me a couple of times and end up
hating me. And call me sad and
pathetic, but… I just don't think I could take you hating me, Emma, I really
don't think I could."
At the words, at
finally hearing the longed for and dreaded admission, something strange and
unfamiliar filled Emma's heart so that she felt giddy and could barely stand
straight. A smile played across her
lips and for the first time she could put an emotion to the word. Happy.
She felt happy.
"And what if I
told you I don't care," she told him with a newfound certainty, fresh hope
suddenly coursing through her. "What if I told you that despite everything
I find you irresistibly attractive, and gorgeous and sexy - even when you're
wearing those hideous Hawaiian shirts?
What if I told you that I think all those girls that ever turned you
down are crazy, because you're the most sensitive, caring guy out there, and I
don't even remotely deserve you? Would
you still think I could ever end up
hating you?"
Bobby looked up at
her, searching her face for any trace of deception. But for once he found nothing in her eyes but total honesty - as
well as something more, something he never thought he'd find in her. And suddenly he knew she wasn't lying.
"I'd think you
were insane," he replied, a slight grin forming on his lips, the
playfulness slowly returning to his voice. "But I guess I wouldn't blame
you for thinking I was the greatest creature alive."
At his words Emma
couldn't help but beam with relief.
"Does this mean
I'm forgiven?" she asked in trepidation.
Bobby shrugged and ran a hand though his hair and said: "What the
hell… Yes, you're forgiven."
With a delighted
schoolgirl squeal, Emma practically launched herself into his arms, her lips
finding his in an impassioned kiss.
Bobby was so stunned at her unexpected move that he was bowled over back
onto the couch with her on top of him, her lips still firmly locked with his
own. The last thing he wanted to do was
disentangle her from his grasp, but at the same time he was worried that his
blonde bombshell had finally snapped and gone insane. After all, overt displays of affection were the last thing he'd ever have expected of
her.
"Uh…Ms.
Frost?" he began, twisting his face away from hers and finally coming up
for air. "Maybe we should take this one step at a time…?"
Emma pulled back, only
slightly, looking down into his beautiful blue eyes and wondering why she'd
ever wanted to push him away.
"Shut up and kiss
me, Drake," she purred sexily, taking his hand and cupping it coyly over
her butt. "And would you stop
calling me 'Ms. Frost'?"
"Can't help it if
you make me feel like a naughty schoolboy," he murmured, playing
along. She gave a chuckle, that same
throaty, sexy chuckle that already drove him wild, as she brushed her lips
seductively over his own.
"Robert Drake,
you do not want to know what I do to
naughty schoolboys," she assured him sexily, before finally recapturing
his mouth in another long-awaited and passionate kiss.
-xXx-
Over the horizon the
lights of the city sparkled like jewels under the pearly eye of the moon, whose
reflection wavered and glittered in the waters of the East River. It was certainly a view to behold. In the cool night air Betsy drew her stole a
little closer around her and said over her nearly-finished dessert: "You
know… I've never had dinner on a Victorian steam boat before."
Across the table,
Warren grinned.
"Then you haven't
lived, Betsy."
"Oh, and let me
guess. You're going to make sure I live
all those moments I haven't got to experience yet, right?" she retorted
wryly.
"Got it in
one," he replied, sipping from his wineglass, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Well, I suppose
I should warn you of something first," she stated with mock severity.
"Oh? And what's that?"
She leant over,
smirking audaciously at him. "I have very
expensive tastes."
He laughed his usual
easy, open laugh. "It's lucky I just happen to be a millionaire then,
isn't it." He leaned forward too, taking her hands in his and holding them
with a gentle touch.
"Truthfully, I
don't give a damn about your money," Betsy replied lightly. "Even if
you were a hobo on the streets I'd still think you were wonderful."
Warren cocked an
eyebrow humorously. "Hmmm. Judging
by my previous experiences with hobos and their taste in thermal underwear, I
seriously doubt that statement, Betsy.
But I thank you for the compliment."
It was her turn to
raise an eyebrow. "You've had experience with hobos and their underwear?"
"Don't even
ask." Warren rolled his eyes dramatically. "It's a long story."
"I'm not sure I want to know," Betsy returned
comically, and the two couldn't help but laugh.
For the new couple it
had been a picture perfect night so far - a three course meal in a swanky
restaurant set in an old-fashioned yet plush steam boat, whose guests comprised
the crème-de-la-crème of New York's aristocracy; an idyllic night-time view of
the city; and a six-piece jazz band playing romantic classics in the
background. Frankly Betsy would've
settled for much less, but Warren had insisted on splashing out for their first
date. And he couldn't have made a more
handsome dining partner. In a dapper
charcoal gray suit and a neat bow tie, he looked every inch the elegant and
sophisticated bachelor that she knew him to be. In order to match his impeccable dress sense, Betsy had chosen to
wear the color she knew suited her best - purple. Her daring gown consisted of violet chiffon that skimmed her
curves to perfection, and while it was seemingly demure from the front, at the
back it sported a scoop that dipped so low it could almost have been considered
indecent. It was, however, a look that
the ex-model could've pulled off in her sleep.
As soon as they'd entered the restaurant together, everyone had looked
round to stare at this beautiful and well-groomed couple. For Betsy it had felt like she was on the
catwalk again, and she unconsciously reveled in the attention everyone was
giving her.
But that hadn't been
half as good as seeing the look on Warren's face as he'd first clapped eyes on
her.
Now they were sitting
eating dessert with the entire deck to themselves, oblivious to everything but
one another. To Betsy, it was like a
scene out of a cheesy chick-flick starring Meg Ryan - except for once she was
the star, and it didn't seem half as cheesy as it did on celluloid (although
she was sure that Emma would've begged to differ). As it was, Betsy was far too happy to protest.
"So," Warren
asked softly, holding her delicate, well-manicured fingers between his own and
toying with them gently, "did you get a chance to read the contracts? What did you think?"
"Well,"
Betsy answered, smiling coyly, "after reading everything through
thoroughly, I think I simply have no choice but to take you up on your
offer."
His grip tightened as
he gave her hands a light squeeze. "Betsy Braddock, you've made this guy a
happy man," he murmured.
"Well, we're even
then. Because I don't think I've ever
felt this happy before in my life, Mr. Worthington."
He gave a lop-sided
grin. "And that's all it took? One
expensive gesture to make you happy?"
She chuckled.
"Believe it or not, it doesn't take much to make me happy. All I ever ask for is a roof over my head,
food to eat, a mum-free environment… and
a white Christmas." She pouted. "We never get those in England anymore."
"Well,"
Warren replied with theatrical sigh, "it sure feels like a white Christmas is going to be coming round this
year. Feels like a good time for
miracles, don’t you think?"
"It most
certainly does," she murmured in agreement, lazily trailing a foot up and
down his calf and staring him in the eye.
He returned the look, his gaze becoming more intense.
"So…don't
drop-dead-gorgeous men come anywhere
on your wishlist?" he asked her in a more husky tone of voice. Betsy grinned wickedly, her foot moving
upward to tease lightly at his inner thigh. "Well now that you mention
it," she purred just as seductively, "I think I'm going to have to
keep a certain blond-haired, blue-eyed New York businessman permanently on my wishlist. Not to mention in other places," she
added saucily.
"Oh, and what
places might those be?" he inquired boldly, his eyes flashing with
desire. She grinned innocently in
return.
"Wait and
see."
At that moment the
band struck up a slow waltz - a waltz that had been playing the night they
first met. The cue couldn't have been
more perfect.
"Care to
dance?" Warren asked, cupping his hands expectantly over hers.
Betsy smiled.
"I'd love
to."
The deck made a
convenient dance floor. Under the muted
pink lights of the boat they danced in time to the music, their bodies pressed
close, their swaying reflection captured on the waters below them. Betsy melted into the warmth of his body,
resting her head on his broad shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his hand
lightly stroking her bare back, of his heartbeat against her breast. She couldn't remember a time she'd felt as
safe and secure as this. This was what
she truly loved about being with Warren - not only did he make her feel
special, but he made her feel that, with him by her side, she could tackle just
about anything life threw her way - even her battle-axe of a mother.
"Betsy?"
His voice came to her
as a murmur, reluctantly breaking the tranquility of their embrace.
"Mmmm?"
"Does this mean
we're going to make a real go of this?
Together?"
She shifted her head
slightly, looking up into his gorgeous blue eyes.
"What did you
think tonight meant?" she asked.
"Well… I figured
you might still need some time to get over Neal…" He trailed off.
She thought about it,
for the first time reflecting on her feelings honestly. And when she found the answer, she was
surprised to find that she didn't feel guilty at all. Because this was perfect. This was how it should've been all along.
"No," she
returned at last. "I don't. I'm
ready now."
His gaze was
inquisitive. "You sure?"
She nodded.
"On a night as
perfect as this, how could I not be sure?"
They stopped
dancing. There was nothing more to be
said. Gazing into each other's eyes was
all the confirmation they needed.
Under the moonlight,
caressed by the gentle night-time breeze, the two shared a lingering kiss, each
hoping in their hearts that there would be many more to come.
-oOo-
The next day Rogue
arrived back in New York very tired and very much alone. At her request, Jean and Betsy had gone to
pick her up, even though they'd been expecting her to be arriving with a
certain someone else - not to mention spending the rest of the weekend shacked
up with said someone else. But
disappointingly, when Rogue stepped into arrivals, all she had with her was a
suitcase and serious case of jet lag.
Even worse, the miserable look on her face told them that while she'd
been in Caldecott, no loving of any description had been going on at all. They were even beginning to think Emma had
made up the Remy LeBeau saga just to get attention. It wouldn't have been the first time Emma had created phantom
boyfriends after all.
“Where’s Emma?” Rogue
asked after the greetings and the heartfelt hugs had passed round. She glanced about her as if the brazen New
York socialite would pop up out of nowhere. "Ah didn't know she worked
weekends."
“Emma now has a
‘boyfriend’,” Betsy announced, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. “She’s
spending the day with him doing God knows what! Frankly, I don’t want
to know.”
“Emma has a
‘boyfriend’?” Rogue mused as she and Jean heaved her suitcase into the back of
the car. “Is that boyfriend as in boyfriend,
or boyfriend as in friend with privileges?”
“For once Emma has
done the unthinkable,” Jean remarked, giving the suitcase an extra shove with
her butt and finally squeezing it into the car. “She’s decided to make a go of
a real relationship for a change.”
“What?!” Rogue cried in amazement. “You’re kiddin’!”
“Nope.” Jean shook her
head laughingly. “Aliens must’ve abducted her and rewired her brain, because
right now Ms. Frost has stars in her eyes.”
“And that’s not the
half of it,” Betsy added ravenously. “Guess who gave her man the push and
started dating a certain Warren Worthington of Worthington Inc?”
If Rogue’s eyes could
get any wider they probably would’ve fallen out of her head.
“Betsy?!” she
squealed. “You?!” Betsy gave a
knowing grin and Rogue literally threw her arms round her. “Ah’m so happy for
yah, sugah! Ah knew you liked the guy! Ah
can't tell yah how glad Ah am yah’ll aren’t stickin’ round with that Neal
Sharra an’ feelin’ miserable.”
“Tell me about it!”
Betsy rolled her eyes again theatrically. “But enough about me! What about you, Rogue? Jean and I…well, to tell you the truth we
kind of thought you wouldn’t be needing our taxi service once you arrived back
in NY.”
Rogue looked back at
her, puzzled. “What d’yah mean?”
“Well,” Jean
explained, “we were led to believe that you’d be coming back with a certain
Cajun…”
Rogue’s face
noticeably paled.
“Remy? You mean you guys
knew ‘bout Remy?”
Jean and Betsy gave
one another a look at Rogue’s unexpectedly flustered tone.
“Well, yeah,” Jean
replied slowly. “Why? Did something
happen? We thought…” She trailed off
and Betsy hastened to continue: “We thought the two of you were an item.”
At the words Rogue
gave a forced, humorless laugh.
“Me an’ him – an item?
Whatever the hell gave yah’ll that idea?”
“So you didn’t see him while you were out
there?” Betsy quizzed, confused.
Realizing just how much they knew, Rogue had no option but to come
clean, even though she looked decidedly uneasy about it.
“Well, yeah… Actually
he did come out t’ Caldecott. We had a
talk… an’ Ah decided he wasn’t the man for me.” She shrugged with false
nonchalance. “That’s about it.”
“You mean he went all
the way out there to see you and you turned him away?” Betsy asked, looking a
little disappointed, not to mention worried.
“Betsy,” Rogue began
severely, her eyes stony, “Remy ain’t
the man for me. He’s a womanizin’
horndog, and what's worse, he didn’t even have the respect to stay away from me
while Ah was mournin’ Cody’s death. Of course Ah turned him away.”
Betsy looked like she
was about to protest, but Jean shot her a warning glance. It was plain to see that Rogue had been
upset and didn’t want to talk about it.
Naturally, Jean was just as sad as Betsy that things hadn’t worked out
for Rogue – especially since she knew just how much the Southerner really cared
for the wayward Cajun. But there was
time to talk about it later.
“Guys, we should really stop standing out here talking
about men,” she spoke up as humorously as she could. “How about we treat you to
some lunch, Rogue? A good meal is
always in order after the crap they call plane food.”
“Good idea!” Betsy
agreed, clapping her hands. “Then I can tell you all about my delectable
Mr. Worthington."
"Like I haven't
heard it all already," Jean commented jokingly.
"Well, Rogue
hasn't heard about it!" Betsy protested. "Come on - how about we go
to that new wine bar in Queens?”
“You know what I could
really do with, gals?” Rogue spoke up from the sidelines.
“What?” Betsy and Jean
asked in unison.
“A big, fat
quarter-pounder with extra cheese. Anyone
for a Burger King?”
-xXx-
It was the following
Monday before Rogue returned.
Remy had been
anticipating her arrival like a well-deserved slap in the face. He knew it was going to be torture seeing
her once more. He also knew it was
going to be equal torture if she never showed up at L&L again. So when she did finally arrive, he didn’t
know whether to feel relieved or sick to the stomach that she was within arm’s
reach again – close, but nowhere near enough for him to touch.
He’d been in his office,
busy looking out over the typing pool and staring into space, when suddenly
he’d found himself gazing straight at her as she’d walked right across the
periphery of vision and sat down at her desk as if he wasn’t even there. For the next hour she'd poignantly ignored
him. It was a crushing blow, compounded
by the fact that he hadn’t a clue as to how he’d gone wrong with her. He’d laid himself bare to her, even gone the
whole darn way and declared his love for her in a fit of desperation. She'd done something to him and made him
stupid and rash and he didn't like it.
Shoulda just kissed her… Ain’t no way she woulda been able to resist me
den… Yeah, right. If I’d’a kissed her, she woulda just slapped
me one again.
Remy gave a long sigh and frowned.
He should've known
this was going to happen. Ever since
he’d decided to go chasing after her, he’d accepted the likelihood of being
rebuffed. But now it was different. Now there was nothing to stand in their way
but a dead man’s memory. Okay, so maybe
he’d come on a bit strong when she was still only fresh on the heels of her
grief. And sure, he’d said he loved her
out of pure frustration, but now, gazing at her for the first time in days, he
realized he hadn’t been lying. He
didn’t know a lot about love, but what little he knew he was feeling for her
right now – only to have it thrown right back in his face. It just wasn't fair.
Damn, dat girl drives a hard bargain…
She was still sitting
there, ignoring him. Still, he figured
things couldn't be so bad after all.
Just looking at the cute upturn of her nose and those kissable
cherry-red lips was something he reckoned he could live with - even if it
reduced him to an entirely wretched and celibate state.
Unfortunately his
reverie was cruelly interrupted when Jean-Paul suddenly barged into his office
and pointedly drew the vertical blinds so that she couldn’t distract him any
longer.
“Anna’s back,” the
silver-haired man noted bluntly and without greeting.
“I know,” Remy replied
sarcastically. “She’s been sittin’ right outside my office de past hour.”
“She was gone for 5
whole freakin’ work days!” Jean-Paul continued irately, ignoring Remy’s
sarcastic comment. “She didn’t even phone me to say she was comin’ back! For all I knew, she could’ve quit!”
“So whaddya want me to
do about it?” Remy asked belligerently, slouching back in his seat and trying
to look bored.
“I want you to come
clean with me, Remy LeBeau!” JP pointed an accusing finger at him. “Monet told
me it was Mississippi you’d disappeared to last week, and I was quite happy to
accommodate you at the time. But don’t
think I’m idiot enough not to have
figured out the connection with our chere Anna! Come on Remy, I want the truth and I want it now!”
“You mean you want
something to gossip about wit' your ‘girlfriends’,” Remy retorted sourly.
“Remy, for once I’m
being entirely serious here. Shall I
call her in here and ask her myself?” Jean-Paul turned towards the door and had
actually opened it halfway when Remy leapt out of his seat and slammed the door
shut again before he could call out Anna’s name.
“You ain’t talkin’ to
her about nothin’, JP!” he hissed,
his eyes blazing. Seeing how pissed off
Remy really was, Jean-Paul reluctantly relented.
“Just what is going on between you two?” he
asked, placing his hands humorously on his hips like a cross mother. “I was
right, wasn’t I? You propositioned her
and she hates you even more than she did before. Or are you two having some sort of torrid love affair? This really is more than I can bear! Come on, I want out with it!”
Remy stalled a moment,
not wanting to tell his boss the truth.
For one thing it hurt his pride too much just to think about it. For another thing, he just knew JP wouldn’t be able to keep his
mouth shut if he did tell him. So he laughed and shook his head and said:
“Look, JP…dis is all just a misunderstanding.
Rogue – Anna – was in trouble, dat’s why she had to go down to
Mississippi. Her fiancé… he passed away
and she was really upset…she couldn’t t’ink straight…I went down dere to,
y’know…make sure she was okay…”
JP raised a skeptical
eyebrow. “If she was in such trouble why didn’t you let me know beforehand?”
“Well, she wanted to
keep it private,” Remy explained desperately, “I was jus’ coverin’ for her…”
“And why would you do
that?” JP asked him with narrowed eyes.
“I…uh…”
“Remy,” JP said in a
tone that suggested dire consequences if the truth was not told. “What have the
two of you been up to?”
“Nothin’!”
“Liar! You’re tryin’ to tell me you’d go and ‘help
out’ every bereaved girl in this company by traveling all the way down to
Mississippi if the situation required it?”
By now Remy was
extremely tongue-tied and knew he couldn’t say anything more without sounding
pathetic. So he gave up and said: “Alright,
alright! I went down dere b’cause I
needed t’ talk wit’ her. And I don’t
wanna say no more b’cause it’s our
business. Please don’t ask me anymore,
JP. I don’t care about myself, I jus’
don’t want anyone else round here spreadin’ rumors about her, d’accord?”
At the admission
Jean-Paul’s expression changed. For
once it was serious as he realized that for the first time in years, his friend
and protege actually cared about
someone.
“Remy,” he finally
began in a reasonable tone, patting his friend on the shoulder, “there are already rumors flying round about the
two of you – Monet’s doing, not
mine. And you misunderstand me
entirely. You’re a good friend, mon
frere. I’d never spread any rumors
about you and yours. I’m just concerned
that whatever’s going on between the two of you doesn’t get in the way of both
your work here at L&L. Understand?”
“Oui,” Remy replied
morosely.
“Bon,” JP nodded. “Now
I guess I should go and have a word with her about her absence. Don’t worry,” he assured his friend with a
smile. “I won’t be harsh.”
“T’anks, JP,” Remy
answered, relieved.
Jean-Paul was just
about to leave when there was a rap at the door. At the unexpected knock the
two men gave one another a quick look before Remy called out: “come in.”
The door opened and to
their surprise in stepped Rogue. When
she saw Jean-Paul she started, a look of dread crossing her face.
“Oh… Mr. Beaubier,
suh… Ah didn’t know yah were here…”
Jean-Paul gave Remy a
short, meaningful look, then smiled slightly at her and replied: “It’s all
right, Anna. I was just leaving. But if you would come to my office when
you’re available, please? I’d like to
have a private word with you.”
Rogue hung her head,
shamefaced as she realized he was talking about her impromptu week off.
“Yes, suh,” she
replied, crestfallen.
“Good.” Jean-Paul went
to the door, nodding once at Remy before slipping out.
A thick silence
enveloped the two as Rogue nervously averted her gaze from his own. But her presence was enough to give Remy
some hope that maybe some reconciliation was possible between them. At last he cleared his throat and said:
“Rogue –”
“Ah came to give yah
these,” she interrupted before he could say anything more. She held out a sheaf of papers. “Kitty said
she had work t’do, so Ah offered to give ‘em to yah. Sorry Ah can’t make a report on the updates.”
“S’okay,” he replied,
his heart inwardly falling as he realized she hadn’t come to talk things over
after all. “Wasn’t your fault you weren’t here last week after all, neh? Just as long as you get one of de others
t’bring you up-to-date, d’accord?”
“D’accord,” she
replied without even thinking. He
glanced at her as he reached out for the papers, an eyebrow raised.
“What?” she asked.
“Not’ing.” He smiled
despite himself. “Y’just have a good accent, dat’s all. Maybe you should t’ink about learnin’
sometime.”
Her eyes softened.
“Maybe…”
He took the papers,
his fingers accidentally brushing against hers in a feather-light touch that he
couldn't bear to break. He thought she
would flinch and move away, but to his surprise she didn't, letting her hand
linger a second too long, a second long enough for his hopes to be raised again
despite everything.
“Rogue…” he began
again, but suddenly her eyes hardened and she dropped her hand, breaking the
softness of their touch.
“Will that be all, Mr.
LeBeau, suh?”
For a split second he
wanted to take her by the shoulders, shake her, tell her that she was crazy and
didn’t know what she was missing. But
suddenly everything she’d said to him back in Caldecott came rushing back at
him – the rejection, the humiliation – and he clamped his mouth shut.
“Oui. Dat’ll be all,” he replied after a moment.
He turned back to his
desk, trying to pretend he didn’t care, trying to pretend the electricity still
didn't exist between them. He knew he
couldn't. With that one touch he knew
he still wanted her like he’d never wanted any other woman, and that he wasn’t
likely to stop anytime soon.
There was a long pause
before he finally heard her leave, but leave she finally did. Behind him the door opened, then closed
softly shut. She was gone.
Remy sighed and
slumped back at his desk, resigning himself to another few months of hellish
withdrawal symptoms – dreaming of her, wanting her, needing her, and unable to
even look her in the eye.
If he’d chanced to
look at Rogue before she’d left, he would’ve seen her glance back over her
shoulder with exactly the same glimmer of yearning in her beautiful green eyes.
-oOo-
Go to chapter 20 : Go
to chapter 22