Christine twisted her napkin in her lap, her eyes downcast. She could feel eyes on her, which was nothing new--she was an actress, people paid to stare at her--but this was different. These eyes were judging, weighing her. They were critical.

She took a small, self-concious bite of the food on her plate, trying to chew slowly, concentrating on keeping her elbows off the table, her free hand curled into her lap, and about a thousand other things that she had heard the prima ballerinas (those lucky enough to be invited to fine dinners regularly, the snobs) discussing when preparing for some outing or another.

Of course, Christine reasoned, since I am the new star of the stage, perhaps I should get used to this sort of thing. She pondered it, tilting her head to the side as she was wont to do when she was thinking, and decided that yes, she could in fact get used to luxury, but her humble beginnings would refuse to allow her to take it for granted.

She reached for her glass, wanting to giggle, like the little girl she sometimes still was, when she sipped the dark wine. The man sitting across from her caught her eye, and the subdued giggle turned to a full-blown, unapologetic smile. Everyone else around them vanished, and it was just them, as she wanted, as he had wished.

She had eyes only for him.

His eyes never left hers.

He smiled back, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. He leaned forward anxiously, clearly wishing to say something, but when she turned her brilliant smile on him, his mind went blank. Raoul puffed up his chest, and settled instead for reaching across the table to touch her fingers, holding just the very tips.

They both blushed.

*************

Christine twisted her handkerchief in her hand, wrinkling it. She was very aware of the eyes on her, of the people sitting behind her. No doubt their noses were lifted in to the air and they were thinking terrible things about the peasant actress.

She murmured her 'amens' at the right times, touched her shoulders as she crossed herself at the right times, and kept her eyes on the floor. She felt slightly ridiculous, standing there in her fine silk dress, surrounded by beautiful flowers; the smell of the blossoms combined with the candles was making her heady.

And then he brushed his hand against her arm.

She chanced a look from the corner of her eye up to his kind face, and saw him smiling at her with one side of his mouth. He nervously flexed his fingers and wiped his palms against his trouser leg, and Christine wanted the priest to hurry up and be done with it.

Raoul shifted slightly closer, and then gently took the very tips of her fingers into his hand.

They both smiled at each other, and not even Raoul's oldest, crabbiest, snootiest relative could disagree that they did, indeed, make a most handsome couple as he chastely kissed her upturned lips.

I suppose, Christine thought as Raoul kissed her hands, that there are all sorts of luxury.