Hi again, everyone! I'd like to apologize for the really long wait; I've got my exams now, and I just grabbed some time to upload this (it's been sitting on my hard drive for weeks. This story concludes the arc connecting Ephemera (One Fine Wire) and These Wasted Words. To fully understand it, you've got to read the previous two stories.
This is dedicated to Delinda Beckett, who pushed me over the edge and into the sea to write this one.
A/N: Original characters in this story (those not seen in the Artemis Fowl universe) belong to me, Renata Swift. Artemis Fowl, the universe, and all its characters belong to Eoin Colfer. Not to me. Sadly.
Crescendo
April in Vienna, three years later, to the date.
Of course, he wouldn't forget a date like that. It's not like his newly rediscovered conscience was going to let him do so.
So he walks into the café, steps up to the redhead with the Chanel glasses with forced ease, and stares into the haunting eyes he has tried to forget for so long.
She has been careful not to leave a trail behind her, having picked up enough during her long years in Dublin. These are years she wishes she could forget; but she knows too much, and at the same time, not enough to clear all her doubts. She cannot afford to forget the express instructions she had received when she had fled. She was to be invisible; she was not to be seen or heard or recognized by even her own mother. She had taken all the necessary precautions, siphoning off enough money from her – no, their – account to stay secure on the various paths she could've taken to another account under a false name.
She's changed her hair color, gotten a tan, and lives under a new name. She's seen the world, quite unlike the way he had promised they would. She's waded in the Ganges, eaten fried shrimp in Thailand, climbed the Pyramids at Giza, slept in the Burj Al Arab, and roamed amongst the lions in Tanzania. She's rubbed elbows with the world's greatest rock stars, and received countless offers to act in dozens of movies. She has been tempted, but it would mean blowing the careful cover, the shroud of mystery that had been tailor-made just for her.
Vienna is just a temporary stopover for her; the historic city had beckoned to her when she had decided to take the trains down to Venice for the film festival, where she will easily blend in with the glamorous crowd. A titled couple whom she had befriended in Berlin had invited her down to the beautiful city for one of its famous balls, and she had gladly accepted the invitation. Having arrived ahead of schedule, she decides to take a breather from sightseeing, and settles down in a cozy little café just a few blocks from the station.
She is only mildly surprised to see him standing stiffly in front of her when she puts down her newspaper.
He looks the same since she last saw him; yet there is an air of weariness surrounding him. His eyes are the same; the piercing blue eyes that drew her to him are now filled partially with a resonating regret for past mistakes. His angled face is now softer – or is she merely imagining it? – and his lips are drawn in a thin line, the setting sun behind them throwing a reddish glare on his face, making him look forlorn and lost, like a child bereft of his parents in the crowd at an amusement park.
He puts his hand in his pocket, and draws out a small velvet box. He opens it, and sets it down on the table before her. She pulls her eyes away from the papers in his hand, and looks at the diamond ring in the box. A lump forms in her throat; but she is determined to win, and she pulls her eyes away from the glittering ornament, and stares into his eyes.
"What the hell is that?"
He doesn't say anything for quite some time, and she doesn't, either. The staring continues until he breaks his stare away from her face, and looks at the ring box. "I believe that ring belongs to you," he states softly.
She sneers at him, something she's been childishly practicing for the past three years. "I don't think so. I've never seen it before in my life."
"Please." Every syllable of every word he says exposes his inner feelings; that of a broken man. "Just look at me. Say whatever you want to me. Please, just take it back."
"I don't think so. I don't think you've quite understood what has been going on for the past few years." She lowers her eyes to the steaming mug of cappuccino in front of her, and begins stirring it furiously.
"I know I haven't understood. I realized I wasn't there for you. Please…"
"Asshole!" she spits at him angrily, slamming the spoon onto the metal table. It shakes and produces a fainted ringing sound. "I knew you were going to come crawling back to me - I knew it. Go waste your self-pity on someone else. I know you're not used to begging, pleading or apologizing."
His jaw line hardens, but his eyes remain moist, the regret almost spilling out. "It took me three years to find you."
"The three best years of my freaking life and you'd better not forget it."
"Those three years…" he trails off, eyes looking at the reddening skies. "Those were the worst."
"Well, the first three were even worse for me. I still haven't figured out why I stayed."
She slowly raises her eyes to his face once again; but the minute she feels her bravado collapsing, she snorts in a most unladylike manner, reminding herself of her intended path. She chooses instead to read a newspaper lying on the empty chair beside hers. He continues to stare at her, his face reddening in shame. She continues to pretend to scan the paper's headlines, briskly turning the pages as though she were actually interested in the world's problems. The box remains on the table, the ring inside glittering in the rays of the setting sun.
He stands motionless, and she calmly begins to sip her coffee, the expression on her face firm, clearly stating that she wasn't going to give in. Minutes pass like years, but much, much slower.
The newspaper is folded. "I'm late for an appointment," she snaps. "I have to go."
A chair is pulled. "Wait for just a moment. Please."
The glasses come off. "I waited for three years. Now go to hell."
Documents are placed on the table. "Take a look at these papers, and then leave. I'm not stopping you."
She sneers at him as she picks up the papers. "After the blonde, I don't think you should." She puts her sunglasses in her purse, and begins to scan the papers. The man behind the counter begins to wonder what's going on.
Finally, she raises her kohl-rimmed eyes from the papers in her hand to his cerulean ones. "You want me to sign these?"
Eyes are rolled. "It's that obvious, hmm?"
"Don't use your bloody sarcasm on me," she snarls, and tosses the papers onto the table. "I won't do it."
"If you sign those documents, we won't be legally bound anymore. You won't have to hide, and we'll never have to see each other again. We'll both vanish into the twilight."
She opens her ruby, painted lips to say something, and then pauses. "Divorce has so many benefits, doesn't it? The invisible restraining order, the alimony, the easy goodbye…" she muses out loud. He clears his throat.
"Yes, it does," he says softly, swallowing the steadily growing lump in his throat. "Now will you sign the papers?"
She gazes into his eyes yet again. With a cool demeanor, she smiles at him.
"No."
He slams his fist on the table. A few customers turn around in shock. "Why? Why not? This is our one chance out of this mess!"
"A mess you created," she says calmly, packing away her things. "When I told you that I held grudges, you laughed at me, thinking it was just some other cute thing I said. I never lie, dear husband. Now you have all the time you want to think about what you did to me."
"You have no idea what this is doing to my parents."
"No, you mean you didn't have any idea about what this would do to your parents. What about your brothers? Are they handling it well?"
"We haven't spoken for a while."
"Oh, right." Her lips curve upwards in a cruel smile. "So are you running the business now, or are you running after me?"
"What do you think?" He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, slowly tiring of small talk.
"I think that in the next few seconds, I'm going to be walking away." She gracefully gets out of her chair, the metal making hardly a sound as it scrapes against the tiles.
"For God's sake, just sign the damn sheets!"
"I'll think about it sometime, and let you know," she says, disdain lilting in her voice. She picks up her purse, and walks into the street, her thoughts already on the dress she would be wearing to the ball that night.
The ring goes back in his pocket, and the papers back to the family lawyer's offices. Someday, he hopes, both of them will be able to smile honestly again.
Reviews will be greatly appreciated, as always!
Thanks, Renata