Author's Note: Written for…
Dinner Table Challenge. Prompts: Fleur Delacour, love triangle
Lilacs and Pansies
It shouldn't have been a hard decision. She was with Bill every day, at work, at the Burrow. It was easy to love him. It was easy to allow herself to get swept up in the idea of a wartime romance.
And yet every day there would be a bouquet of lilacs and pansies waiting on her windowsill, and there would be a fluttering in her chest that she never felt with Bill.
She constantly had to remind herself that Rene had made his choice to stay behind. Fleur had made it very clear since her first excursion to England that she intended to return after school. Rene – her first love, the only one who could make her knees weak and her chest flutter – disapproved.
Despite months of separation, the flowers kept coming. Bill never asked where they came from, and maybe he already knew. She had mentioned Rene a couple of times.
She tried to resolve the situation. She'd spend hours alone thinking of them both, remembering the reasons she loved Bill; why she couldn't be with Rene. The whole thing made her feel dizzy.
Then he showed up one day at work, just another tourist looking to make a transfer from his account in France. The transaction took well over an hour and Fleur couldn't focus through most of it.
He stood uncomfortably close, his hand repeatedly brushing against hers as they walked. He would smile, teeth glistening, every time she looked at him. There was no question that he was staring at her.
Bill came back from his break just as she was about to be rid of Rene. From the way his eyes narrowed and his stance changed, she knew he recognized her ex – perhaps from her school photographs.
He was by her side instantly, an arm draped across her shoulders. She was grateful for the interruption. There was no telling what could have happened if he hadn't arrived.
Rene seemed put out as he and Bill shook hands. He left moments later with his little pouch of coins, and Fleur didn't hesitate in thanking Bill for distracting him, brushing aside the hurt of watching the Frenchman leave.
That was the last day the flowers came.