Disclaimer: This story was technically written in response to a Bittersweet & Strange prompt ("Write a scene or story from Beauty and the Beast based off a song of your choosing. If you can't decide on a song, put your MP3 player on shuffle and choose a song from there."). I went with the latter option, and this is the result. I won't say what the song was until the end of the story*, since it may spoil the ending. But suffice to say, my MP3 player has a twisted sense of humor.
Gaston whistled happily to himself as he stood before the mirror, carefully examining his appearance from every angle. His best boots were polished to a high shine. His freshly laundered white trousers hugged the sculpted contours of his muscular legs. He flexed, and his pectorals rippled impressively against the soft gold fabric of his waistcoat. He brushed a speck of lint from the lapel of his deep red jacket and straightened his necktie. Flawless, as usual, he concluded with a grin. He winked, and his reflection winked back at him as if to say, "Looking good, big guy."
The ensemble was, perhaps, a bit much for an average Sunday night. But this was no average Sunday night, he told himself as he tugged the door behind him and stepped out into the street. Tonight, the Legrand triplets had invited him for dinner, and it was an occasion for which he had spent the better part of the day meticulously primping and preparing.
He knew that the village was rife with speculation as to why he had not yet wed one of the pretty blonde sisters. They were attractive, sweet, and completely devoted to him. All he had to do was ask, and any one of them would agree to be his. And yet, he bided his time. A man as perfect as he deserved the best of everything, including the best, most beautiful wife in town. And a woman with two identical sisters could never be the most beautiful; there would always be at least two other women who were every bit as good-looking as she. Or at least that was the excuse he gave whenever anyone pressed him on the subject of his long-standing bachelorhood. But the truth was actually a bit more complicated than that.
In fact, one of the lovely ladies with whom Gaston would shortly be dining had stolen his heart. He closed his eyes and smiled wistfully as he allowed himself to picture her lovely face: the porcelain skin, the large green eyes that sparkled like emeralds when she laughed, and the shining blonde hair that tumbled down her back like a golden waterfall. She was a goddess, an angel walking upon the Earth. He could still remember, with stunning clarity, the first time he had noticed her: he had been nine years old, and she had just moved to the village with her family. He had been kicking a ball in the square with some of the other boys when an errant bounce had sent the ball flying down the street. He had chased after it, and when he had finally caught up to it just outside her house, he found it cradled in her slender arms. He had been utterly bewitched by her, and he recalled wishing, in that instant, that he could trade places with the ball.
Over time, Gaston's boyhood infatuation had grown into something more. She stirred feelings in him that no other woman ever had. Whenever he was around her, he found himself wanting to do crazy and decidedly un-manly things like pick daffodils or dance or recite sappy poetry. But he knew he could never act on his feelings. To do so would do more than raise eyebrows; it would potentially ruin him. And so he had to content himself with admiring her from afar - or at least from across the dinner table.
As he climbed the steps to the Legrand house, he leaned over and took a final peek at his reflection in the window. Something ... was missing. He reached out to pluck a rose from the window box, and tucked it into the buttonhole of his jacket. There, that was better. Then he knocked.
"I've got it!" a voice cried from the other side of the door.
"No, I've got it!" another insisted. Something that sounded suspiciously like a human body slammed loudly against the door.
"Get out of the way, Paula!"
"Ouch! Stop pulling my hair, Laura!"
"It wasn't me, it was Claudia!"
A faint smirk played upon Gaston's lips as he listened to the brouhaha inside the house. It went on like this for another minute or two before the door finally opened to reveal three beaming, if a bit breathless, beauties. "Good evening, Gaston," they sighed in unison.
"Good evening, ladies." He flashed them his most winning smile, and the trio nearly swooned on the spot. The old Gaston charm was working like, well, a charm, he thought with satisfaction.
Once the girls had recovered, they ushered him into the dining room, which had been set with tall brass candelabras, dainty linen napkins, and the family's finest china. It was a spread that was fit for a king, or a visiting dignitary - and Gaston knew that at least a few of those had passed through this room. M. Legrand was a wealthy merchant whose business frequently took him to the furthest corners of Europe and beyond. His daughters didn't work in the tavern because they needed the money; they did it to be close to Gaston.
He took his place at the head of the table as the girls scurried back and forth from the kitchen, arms laden with heavy serving dishes. The smells alone were enough to make his mouth water. Laura set a large tray of steaming ramekins upon the sideboard. Claudia and Paula bustled in together, each gripping one end of a trencher upon which a fat, juicy roast sat. And then suddenly she was there, standing in the doorway and looking absolutely radiant in the soft glow of the candlelight. A loaf of warm, freshly baked bread sat upon the little platter that she carried in her delicate hands.
Gaston jumped up from his seat and rushed to her side. "Here, Mme. Legrand, let me help you with that."
"Merci, Gaston." The girls' mother handed the platter off with a smile that made his knees buckle and nearly caused him to drop the dish. "What a pleasure it is to have such a gentleman joining us for supper."
"Oh, no, the pleasure is all mine," Gaston assured her earnestly, hoping that she hadn't noticed his near-fumble of the baguette. He set it down and sank back into his seat, instigating an immediate scuffle among the sisters for the chairs on either side of him. A few bruised ribs and crushed toes later, Claudia claimed the place to his left, while Paula sat to his right. Both women smiled broadly in triumph. Laura looked on unhappily, sulking from further down the table.
"Really, girls. What would your father say if he were home to see you fighting like this?" Mme. Legrand admonished her daughters, and Gaston nodded in agreement, adopting what he hoped was a suitably solemn expression. The girls appeared chastened, but only for a moment.
"Here, Gaston." Claudia leaned over and tucked a napkin into the collar of his shirt, lingering for a few seconds longer than necessary to ensure that he was given a good view of her plunging neckline. "You don't want to get anything on your suit. Especially not when you look so handsome in it." She batted her eyes at him coyly.
"You have to try these, Gaston," Paula said from his other side, heaping a large helping of potatoes onto his plate. "They're our grandmother's recipe. I made them myself."
"Oh, but be sure to leave some room for the pie I baked for dessert!" Laura chimed in. "Everyone knows I'm the best baker in the family!"
Mme. Legrand shook her head and smiled ruefully at him over the rim of her wine glass, and Gaston felt his stomach do a little flip as their eyes met across the table. Did he imagine it, or was there more warmth in her smile than usual? Try as he might, he couldn't subdue the little flutter of hope that rose in his chest. He smiled back, trying his best to project an air of mature, sophisticated confidence. But on the inside, he was quivering like a giddy little boy.
*The song was "Stacy's Mom" by Fountains of Wayne.