"Hello, Christian." In the moment that our eyes met, every enth of the emotions I had fought back and finally overcome in the last fifteen years came flooding back. Now, here, at the Crown Prince's Christmas Ball, he grinned, but not the slow, sweet smile that I longed for. A mild, contorted smile, one that reminded me too much of the way that he smiled as I walked out the door. p
"Hello, Satine." He replied, and it was still that same thick, soft voice, like flaming snow.p
"How've you been?" I asked, wanting to talk to him, wanting some hint of how he felt about me. Somehow this hurt more than leaving. Now I had to face things I had only imagined.p
"As of late? Wonderful." He motioned toward a girl- who, I could tell in a glance, was Irish- across the room. "My fiance, Kathrine." She looked over at us, and he caught her eye and motioned her over. "Satine, may I present The Lady Katherine Fowler. Katherine, dear, Satine Desmergers."p
"Christian, you don't expect that I remained unmarried, do you?" I asked, taunting him. "In fact, my name is Satine Drake, Dutchess of York and Albany."p
His face became slightly tinged with red. "Well, I'm happy for you. Tell me, is the Duke here?"p
"No, er, my husband is dead."p
"Sorry to hear that."p
"My thanks. Tell me, Lady Katherine, where are you from?"p
"Dublin, Dutchess." She answered.p
"Oh? I stayed in Dublin for a while." We began to talk of it, and I found myself liking her. She was a bit younger than I, probably very close to Christian's age. Her hair was that orange-red of her heritage, and her eyes were a deep emerald green. She was friendly enough, though she seemed reserved. After a few minutes, or perhaps one half of an hour, a gentlemen, who I can only assume was her father, called to her, and she left, telling me that if I was ever in Dublin, I must call upon her. I obliged, thinking that if the occaision ever occured, I might.p
I wandered over to the tables where dinner had occured earlier, and where several women, mostly other widows, were sitting. I sat myself apart from them, reflecting on how life had been since I'd left Christian. Harold Zidler, the owner of the Moulin Rouge, had told me to. And I had left. I deserted my only love for riches and glory. I had gone to Dublin with the Duke, and become engaged to him. But before we were married, he died. His nephew, the only heir to the dukedoms, had come to hear the readings of the will. I fell a little bit in love with him. He was handsome, and gentle, and so kind, but no matter what, he was never my poet, my Christian. I bore my Henry a son, named Olivier, and we lived quite happily for fifteen years. Except that he wasn't Christian.p
As I was trapped inside my thoughts, Christian, slipped over and sat beside me.p
"I didn't mean to be rude, you know." I nodded, and he went on. "It's hard, seeing you again. I'd thought that I had moved on, but it's hard to let go."p
"Yes, it is. Christian, don't ever think that I don- didn't love you." I said, covering up my mistake.p
"Satine, don't. It's been too long. I understand why things had to be how they did." He paused, and th silence between us was heavy. Then his eyes lit. "Where are you staying?"p
"Um, I thought I might find a room at an inn in the city." I answered, wondering at his change of tact.p
"No, why don't you stay at my mother's house?" He asked. At his mother's house?p
"I couldn't impose, really, Christian."p
"No, you must. I'm staying there for a day or two, so while you're in London, our home is your home."p
"Are you certain?"p
"Yes." There was a finality in his voice that I couldn't deny.p
That night, I slept alone in a room that smelt of my beloved Christian.p
"Hello, Satine." He replied, and it was still that same thick, soft voice, like flaming snow.p
"How've you been?" I asked, wanting to talk to him, wanting some hint of how he felt about me. Somehow this hurt more than leaving. Now I had to face things I had only imagined.p
"As of late? Wonderful." He motioned toward a girl- who, I could tell in a glance, was Irish- across the room. "My fiance, Kathrine." She looked over at us, and he caught her eye and motioned her over. "Satine, may I present The Lady Katherine Fowler. Katherine, dear, Satine Desmergers."p
"Christian, you don't expect that I remained unmarried, do you?" I asked, taunting him. "In fact, my name is Satine Drake, Dutchess of York and Albany."p
His face became slightly tinged with red. "Well, I'm happy for you. Tell me, is the Duke here?"p
"No, er, my husband is dead."p
"Sorry to hear that."p
"My thanks. Tell me, Lady Katherine, where are you from?"p
"Dublin, Dutchess." She answered.p
"Oh? I stayed in Dublin for a while." We began to talk of it, and I found myself liking her. She was a bit younger than I, probably very close to Christian's age. Her hair was that orange-red of her heritage, and her eyes were a deep emerald green. She was friendly enough, though she seemed reserved. After a few minutes, or perhaps one half of an hour, a gentlemen, who I can only assume was her father, called to her, and she left, telling me that if I was ever in Dublin, I must call upon her. I obliged, thinking that if the occaision ever occured, I might.p
I wandered over to the tables where dinner had occured earlier, and where several women, mostly other widows, were sitting. I sat myself apart from them, reflecting on how life had been since I'd left Christian. Harold Zidler, the owner of the Moulin Rouge, had told me to. And I had left. I deserted my only love for riches and glory. I had gone to Dublin with the Duke, and become engaged to him. But before we were married, he died. His nephew, the only heir to the dukedoms, had come to hear the readings of the will. I fell a little bit in love with him. He was handsome, and gentle, and so kind, but no matter what, he was never my poet, my Christian. I bore my Henry a son, named Olivier, and we lived quite happily for fifteen years. Except that he wasn't Christian.p
As I was trapped inside my thoughts, Christian, slipped over and sat beside me.p
"I didn't mean to be rude, you know." I nodded, and he went on. "It's hard, seeing you again. I'd thought that I had moved on, but it's hard to let go."p
"Yes, it is. Christian, don't ever think that I don- didn't love you." I said, covering up my mistake.p
"Satine, don't. It's been too long. I understand why things had to be how they did." He paused, and th silence between us was heavy. Then his eyes lit. "Where are you staying?"p
"Um, I thought I might find a room at an inn in the city." I answered, wondering at his change of tact.p
"No, why don't you stay at my mother's house?" He asked. At his mother's house?p
"I couldn't impose, really, Christian."p
"No, you must. I'm staying there for a day or two, so while you're in London, our home is your home."p
"Are you certain?"p
"Yes." There was a finality in his voice that I couldn't deny.p
That night, I slept alone in a room that smelt of my beloved Christian.p