He Talks Like a Gentleman
AN- People act like Ned and Callie are criminals, not just normal people. I bash their relationships, not the people themselves. They're good people, but aren't meant for who they're with. Anyway, I heard this title as a line in a song, was on Fanfiction reading stories, and inspiration came to me. So, voila!
(And the third paragraph is not in a creepy way, by the way.)
Disclaimer- I do not own the characters, settings, personalities, or basically anything here but the plot.
He's so smooth, the way he talks, the way he acts, the way he carries himself to her and smiles. He's a nice guy, really, but he isn't the one for her, not at all.
Her dad thinks he's responsible and keeps his little girl put of trouble; her housekeeper thinks he is so polite; her friends think he's hunky and sweet; and she thinks he singlehandedly is the definition of perfect.
Even I can't help but admire him, his charm, his kind manner, his protectiveness and passion. And the fact that he has her.
And he's always had her, and he'll probably have her until he dies. And I can't help but wish that I'm wrong.
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He's amazing, that's for certain. He can pick up any girl in their whole town, apologize and kiss her and make it all okay, even in the worst of arguments.
It's not fair, really.
And I watch as he makes her laugh, makes her smile, as they walk away from a jewelry shop on a date. And I'm admittedly jealous.
And she stares at the box in her hand, so perfectly, so beautiful, so happy. So smart and decisive, so curious and wonderful. She laughs at a joke he makes, then leans up and kisses him. After that she returns to looking at the gorgeous and large diamond and sapphire ring, now placing it lightly on her finger. And it breaks my heart to see.
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And now I'm sitting down in the church, dreading the moment that will soon arise, her becoming his and all possibilities of her ever being mine will be gone.
And she looks beautiful, so beautiful. In a very pale blue gown that drapes to the floor. She's amazing and she has no idea. She walks down the aisle and stands in front of him. They say their vows and kiss briefly, and she smiles softly, somewhat sadly.
She knows her life is dwindling away.
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The reception is happy, lively, fun. But it's not like I'd care. This is the worst day of my life, and I've seen people die and have been severely injured myself before.
And she walks down quickly, following him. She's crying, tears streaming down her face. He tells her that it's fine, it doesn't matter that she has to leave, that somebody called and has a mystery for her, he doesn't care that it's important and will ruin their special day. And she leaves the building, tears still streaming down her beautiful face.
I walk outside to where she's sitting and sit beside her. She looks up, and suddenly the tears stop. I know she'd never cry if she was mine, and if someone made her cry, I'd get him back for it. But I don't say anything, and I probably never will.
She lays her head on my shoulder and tells me all her troubles, like she's done so many times before.
And when she's done talking, she sits up and kisses me on the cheek, like she's done so many times before. I cherish the moment, as I know it will be the last time of many.
She gets in her car to leave and I wave goodbye until I can't see the blue convertible anymore.
I can just imagine him watching from the window, hear him curse my name as he has so many times before.
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They've been married for three months, if even. I could care less.
But I see her blue convertible come up my street, and I know that he has done it again.
She knocks on the door rapidly, and I wait a moment, pretend I didn't already know that she was coming.
Then I open the door and see her beautiful face. I let her in, of course, and sneak a look at her fourth finger.
Clear.
Completely clear.
And she sees me looking, like I knew she would. And she smiles sheepishly, and I know, oh I know, that she wants to grin at me.
And we pour over this phone call that she got from Great Britain, this guy who had a case for us. It's just like old times, and we're concentrated and excited and nervous all wrapped up into one.
And she's happy with me, Frank, like she never was with Ned. He talks like a gentleman, but he's not the right gentleman for Nancy.