Thank you all for the reviews so far and to ThreeOranges for beta-ing! Enjoy!
"You look lovely," I remark quietly. Gemma blushes, which only makes her look lovelier. It may be the wine, but I feel lighter and warmer than I ever have before. They say men do crazy things for love, have out of character moments, spend more money than they're worth. I suppose this is true, because four years ago I'd have never spent this much money on dinner alone. But something about Gemma's absence from my life has made me want to treat her like a queen, and that is why we sit at a table in a fine restaurant on Maiden Lane, each of us dressed impeccably.
"You haven't told me how you came back," Gemma says, fingering the stem of her wineglass. I watch her finger with interest as it drifts up and down and suddenly the room feels too warm for comfort. "Kartik."
"Hmm?" My head snaps up at this. "I am sorry," I say sheepishly. She cocks her head at me and shakes her head. A faint smile plays about her lips. Oh her lips… They are painted a dark red that matches the wine hues in her gown. I've never noticed how shapely they are, full and slightly turned down, as if her painful past is too much to fully force behind a mask.
"Kartik," Gemma says again.
"Sorry." I tear my eyes from her mouth and raise them to the stained glass skylight. She knows that I am nervous, distracted, feeling very much out of place, but thankfully she says nothing. I drink more of my wine, letting the rich flavors seep into me, coating my throat with warmth and reassurance. "Have you been to the realms?"
Gemma sighs. "Once or twice. I had decided to take a break from them while I was away at university. It was…hard to face them after…" She shakes her head again, tendrils of Titian hair gleaming gold in the candlelight as they sway gently against her cheeks. I wish I was a painter; this would surely be one of those moments I'd long to capture.
"How was university?" I ask, trying to brighten her mood.
Her lips pucker slightly. My face grows warm again. "First, I want to hear your story."
I tell her about how balance was restored to the land, and how my sacrifice was no longer necessary. She listens closely through all of this, interrupting me only when I tell her about waking up on the floor in the passage.
"Mrs. Nightwing helped bring you back?"
"And Brigid, yes."
"She knew you were perfectly alive and well?"
"Yes."
Gemma's eyes flash menacingly. "She wrote me to say that you and Miss McCleethy were buried in the graveyard near Spence. She promised to place rosemary at your grave for me."
"She told me not to go after you in America," I say flatly.
"I would have wanted you to," Gemma says softly.
"I know." Anger floods my veins. To think we could have been together earlier had the headmistress not interfered…
We are silent for a long time as we eat our entrees. This is not going anything like I had planned. But honestly, what did I expect? That Gemma would throw herself in my arms, claim her undying love for me, and we'd live happily ever after? There are too many constraints on us both. There is an undeniable love between us, but it has been somewhat buried under four years of separate lives. It would be much easier if we could just pick up where we left off, but things can't be uncomplicated between Gemma and I. She has pride, a point to make; it is a subtle game we must play to return to how we were. There is also the issue of her American suitor.
"I hear you have a Yankee paramour," I say before I can weigh the consequences of saying it.
Gemma freezes. A waiter whisks our plates away. Dessert is served, a particularly delicious looking Crème Brule. My attention, however, is set on watching her expression. "Who told you that?" she asks carefully.
"Your brother." She closes her eyes briefly. "So, what is he like?"
"He's very…congenial. A fellow scholar at university." Gemma dips her spoon into her dessert and brings it to her mouth. "This is delicious," she murmurs.
"What's his name?" I ask, leaving my spoon where it is.
"Ah, Alexander…Hamilton." She grimaces slightly. The name sounds vaguely familiar, though I cannot place it in my memory.
"How old is he?"
"Twenty-five," Gemma says. Her eyelashes flutter slightly in a way that can be easily mistaken for swooning. But I know her better; she is lying. But why? She catches sight of my expression and takes it to mean that I am upset. "Kartik, I thought you were dead. I couldn't…I had no reason to believe otherwise. You cannot blame me for this."
"I know."
She appears to crumple inward under my gaze. It pains me to see her this way. Good God, Gemma, just admit that you're lying. Say there is no suitor in America. Something changes in her demeanor; her face hardens, her eyes grow determined. I try the Crème Brule. She is right, it is quite delicious.
To my great surprise, Gemma produces a cigarette and long-handled holder from her handbag. I arch a brow at her, but say nothing as she carefully lights it and places it to her lips. I watch as she wets her lips delicately with her tongue and purses them around the mouthpiece. The room feels dangerously hot, as if someone has lit a fire right underneath me. I swallow hard, unable to ignore the gnawing sense of primordial desire clawing its way through my body. Her inhalation seems to be the longest moment of my life, as I wait with bated breath as if I was the one smoking, not her. Thin tendrils of smoke curl like gray ribbons in the air, partially obscuring her face, and I don't know whether I should hate them for obstructing my view or cherish them for the mysterious allure they give her. It is another moment I wish to capture on canvas.
All it takes is this one moment, this one action to show me just how much I have missed. This is not the same girl I knew four years ago; this is a woman too beautiful and worldly for me. She has traveled across oceans, received a formal education, met people, saved lives. She is a different person entirely, and it breaks my heart to know this.
She coughs and the breath I hadn't realized I had been holding rushes out. Just like that, the façade is dropped. Gemma is merely putting on a show for me, just another silly game that girls play. She acknowledges the mocking smile on my face with a scowl, and that tells me all I need to know. Four years in a foreign country aren't enough to change Gemma Doyle completely.
"I've told you my story, now tell me yours," I say, drinking from my wineglass. "How was university?"
Gemma sits back in her chair, a faux picture of comfort despite the sleek corset that straightens her. "It was quite enjoyable. I learned a lot, though my more important lessons were not taught in the classroom. But you understand that, no doubt."
I nod in agreement. I do understand. It must have been a crusade for her, four years of living by her own rules in a new country, not to mention just after a year of struggling with the creatures of the realms. But that is when we truly find ourselves, when we are faced with challenges before we have fully healed from our past.
"Where did you study?"
"Barnard, a college for women," Gemma says breezily. Her cigarette rests immobile in her hand, a column of ash slowing growing longer.
"I thought you said Mr. Alexander Hamilton was a fellow scholar," I say. "Or perhaps you meant Alexandra?" I wink at her.
Gemma's eyes grow as wide as saucers. "I meant that he was also attending university. At Colombia nearby," she sputters.
"I see."
Thank you for dinner, Kartik," Gemma says as I help her from the hansom. She looks at me in puzzlement as I pay the driver and send him on his way.
"Think I'll walk," I say brightly. "It's such a nice night." I do not mention that I want a few moments of privacy with her, and that is why I sent the driver away.
Gemma smiles. "When will I see you again?" Her voice is small, as if she doesn't really want to ask it. She seems to be radiating towards me, just as reluctant to end the night as I, but I shall not let her toy with me. She will either admit to her lies or be alone until she can. That is, if she truly is lying. The thought nags at me like an insect bite, the sort you want to ignore but can't.
I sigh, feigning perfect contentment. "I do not think Mr. Hamilton would approve of you spending any time with me." She is stricken, her face the very picture of horror, which she quickly tries to mask. I take her hand in mine and kiss it like a proper gentleman. "It was lovely seeing you again. I am so glad you've moved on." My words sound more of a deliberate sting than I intended. "You will make Alexander Hamilton a very happy man." With that, I drop her hand and turn to go.
Seconds later, she grabs my hand back, pulling me around. "Alexander Hamilton was one of the Founding Fathers of America," she hisses. "I made him up to appease my grandmother. There is no suitor waiting for me in America."
A large grin threatens to crack my face in two. "Well then, that changes everything."
Moments later, we find ourselves in the stables behind her house, hidden in the empty stall next to Ginger's. I had managed only a halfhearted pat to the familiar horse's nose before I was dragged along to privacy. I now have Gemma pressed up against the wall, my hands gripping her thigh and waist, as we kiss so deeply I nearly suffocate. Years of waiting spin incoherently in my mind. There is so much to say, so much to hear, yet all we can do is kiss and grope, sigh and moan, familiarizing ourselves physically with each other once more.
We break apart eventually, gasping for breath and weak in the knees. Gemma brushes hay from her hair and shavings from her skirts, and I…well I just wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and grin like the lovesick fool I am.
"I can't believe you're alive," she whispers. Tears threaten the composure of her voice. She clenches her hands and looks at them as if they've been keeping secrets from her. "It hurt so much, to tell myself that you were gone…just as we found each other. It was like opening up a present you've wanted so badly for so long, only to have it stolen right from under your nose. And now you're back. All of that pain…for nothing."
I cup the back of her neck gently and pull her to me. "It doesn't need to be in vain. We could…" She cuts me off with a kiss.
"Let's not think of the future." Her lips trail kisses along my jaw.
"As you wish."
We sink to the floor of the stall and somewhere in the back of my mind I am thankful that the stable boy has been thorough in keeping the shavings fresh. For the first time ever in our existence together, we do not speak of the realms, or of what disasters may come. Instead, we are perfectly content to hold each other, our forbidden presence only betrayed by soft murmurs of what is, emotions that cannot be expressed in words. For once it's not obligation that binds us, it is merely freedom, and it tastes so sweet.
"I best go in to avoid suspicion," Gemma says after some time. Moonlight shines through slits in between the wooden boards of the stable, throwing lines of bluish-white light on her face. I wind one of her curls around my finger and think of an excuse to see her again. She purses her lips and appears to consider my silence. "Kartik," she says, touching my cheek lightly. "Do you know how I really know it is you?"
"How?" I hadn't realized she was debating my identity.
"You smell the same." She leans back into me, burying her face in my neck. Gooseflesh erupts under my clothing.
"I do hope that is a good thing." I've never considered my scent before…only hers - a delicious combination of floral smells from her various cosmetics and something deeper, her true scent, something I cannot name but cannot get enough of.
Gemma kisses me full on the lips. "It certainly is a good thing."
I hold her to me more a few more moments, wishing that we could just stay here forever, a permanent fixture in the stall. Of course that might be unsafe when the stall's occupant is returned. Shame.
"Where are you staying?" Gemma asks as we brush the shavings from our clothing. I give her the address. "I may have to call on you sometime," she says with a smile.
"You are welcome anytime," I respond.
She leans against the doorframe. "Like when?"
"Tomorrow night?"
"Mmm…" She taps her chin coyly and looks to the rafters. "I have a prior engagement, though now that I think of it…it might be more enjoyable with company."
"I am listening."
"There is an illusionist performing at the Lyceum Theatre tomorrow night. I'd like for you to join me."
"Ah, the magnificent Gemma Doyle wishes to watch mere mortals do magic tricks?" I ask, grinning widely. "How darling!"
She laughs. "There is nothing wrong with a bit of harmless illusion to pass the time."
"No, of course not. I would love to go."
While I watch her sneak back to the house a few minutes later, I am hit with a sense of déjà vu so strong I almost forget my bearings. That is, until I realize that I don't live here anymore; I live across London, much further away. Strangely enough though, I feel closer to her now than I did years ago, when I lived in her own stable-yard. I smile at the memory, grateful that it's in the past.
Alexander Hamilton... -snort- Oh, silly Gemma! Smoking and making up men to make Kartik jealous, tsk tsk.
Dreams of making out with Kartik in a horse stall,
LunaEquus
If you've seen the David Blaine parodies, then you will appreciate this: Kartik: Gemma? Gemma, help! Oh God, I'm a tree. He turned me into a tree.
Gemma: Oh my God - Kartik?! He turned you into a tree. HE TURNED YOU INTO A TREE! Holy eff!
Kartik: I can't feel my branches! I have like, roots growing out of me or something!
Gemma: Just - stay calm! omgomgomg! Change him back, David Blaaaaaaaaine!
Kartik: Gemma? He turned me back but I'm covered in sap... Things are STICKING to me, Gemma!
Gemma: Great, he's all sticky! Do you know how hard it is to wash sap off? Are you just going to stand there, David Blaine? Can't you do something? Maybe offer a moist towelette or something?!
Kartik: I'll sue your ass, David Blaine! No, I'm not signing the release! I'm not signing... -tries to push camera guy away- AUGH! He's sticking to me! I can't...get unstuck...from the camera guy...OMG.
Gemma: Does it hurt?!
Oh Lord. On that note - PLEASE REVIEW!