Trouble in St. Tropez
Part Four
Remy couldn't shake off the feeling that had begun the moment he'd seen that British man who had bumped into Rogue's chair. It had been startling, and what was more startling that the face of this stranger was glued into his head just as the face of Jean-Luc was.
The man could have been him twenty years ago perhaps, healthy, bright eyed, almost passably good-looking. There were pictures of Jean-Luc Remy had seen when the man was much younger that had not been all that different from the man in the street. All right, so the man was trendier, better hair, better teeth, cleaner shaven. Still...it was uncanny.
Remy sat at the edge of the bed of the second bedroom in the villa, it had been half an hour ago he'd gone in to get changed but when he'd sat down for a moment, he'd somehow been unable to push himself any further. That face...he couldn't get it out of his head.
He wished he'd been able to tell Rogue about it but somehow he couldn't; he knew the things she'd say, he knew the suggestions she'd make. He expected he'd be told to call Charles Xavier for advice...or perhaps go to grief counselling or a shrink. He didn't need any of those, he just needed to get on with this vacation, have fun, forget about everything that had happened.
It was time to move on.
Remy's eyes passed over the garment bag hanging from the hook on the back of the door next to the complimentary terrycloth robe. He hadn't even looked at it yet. He sighed, he didn't even know if he wanted to go to dinner any more. What if that jerk showed up there? It'd be just as jarring...he didn't need to see that face again, didn't need reminding of the person that man resembled.
Stop it. Don't let it ruin this. Just ignore it, it'll go away, Remy stood up and moved over to the door and opened it; he had a feeling Rogue would take her time to get ready with what he'd given her. There was no rush, the reservation wasn't until eight, they had another hour.
He got the complimentary bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from the fridge, opened it swiftly and poured himself a glass, standing there at the counter. I should have smacked the guy, Remy decided. Way he made Rogue spill that coffee down herself...could have scalded her. Lucky it were lukewarm. Lucky for him...
For just a moment, Remy thought he'd have liked to have pummelled the guy, not just a light punch to teach him a lesson but a real good thrashing. Remy poured the wine down his throat, it was somewhat bitter, not quite to his liking. He'd have preferred cider or beer but it was all that was there. He poured a second glass, sighing inwardly. One more glass, then I'll get ready.
Rogue sighed as she emptied the bags out onto the bed following her shower and spending too much time trying to dry her hair poorly with a rather inefficient hair dryer. Remy had bought far more than she'd expected him to. She'd thought he'd buy one outfit, but several shirts and tank tops had been purchased, enough to wear for the rest of the trip, enough for almost three changes a day. Two pairs of pyjamas...both satin (or silk? She wasn't sure, she hadn't checked the label) in black and purple, and a rather slinky long satin and lace nightgown that was a pretty jade green colour.
All Ah wanted was a damn shirt and an outfit, he bought the entire store out, she thought, feeling slightly annoyed. Why did he always have to go further? Why did he always have to push for more? She examined the pyjamas, which she felt were not suitable for someone her age; they were rather sensual and she was sure revealing. She gave a deep sigh and sat at the edge of the bed holding the nightgown.
Ah can't wear this stuff...it's so...so...
She chewed her bottom lip and gazed down at the shimmery slinky fabric beneath her fingers. Sexy, she finished her thought. It's not me.
She hadn't even come across the outfit she was supposed to wear tonight yet. It was in the final bag; she removed the flat box from the bag and laid it out on the bed, lifting the lid and shifted the tissue paper from the fabric. White lace.
Damn it, Remy. Had to be white, didn't it? Couldn't be black...dark red...purple...green...any colour that would actually suit me. No...had to be white...and...see through...
She raised the lacy dress up, the top half was admittedly pretty and quite feminine but she worried about how much skin may show through the delicate flowery lace. She laid it out on the bed, examining the style, the flare of the skirt, the rather small waist of it, the non-existent sleeves. In the bag, there was also a small white cardigan with pearl buttons, there were white wedge heeled shoes and lace gloves.
And then, to her surprise, her eyes fell upon the underwear she realised she was supposed to wear with it.
She pursed her lips tightly together and tried to calm herself. The thought of Remy LeBeau picking underwear out for her, especially underwear like this with it's cream satin and lace and underwires...the thought disturbed her.
Tightening the complimentary terrycloth robe around herself, she stomped to the living room, surprised to find Remy standing there at the island counter sipping on a glass of wine, not even remotely ready, nor showered.
"What is this?" she demanded, holding up the set of underwear.
Remy gazed at her with a brief look of confusion, "looks like a bra and panties...coul' be wrong though," he replied.
"Underwear wasn't part of the plan, Remy. Or was it? Was I supposed to wear this and parade it for you like the bikini, or-"
"The girl in the store said y' needed white underwear t' wear that dress, that any other colour would show through..." he replied, "she picked it out..."
"How do you even know what size?" she demanded, she gazed at the label on the bra, and it was incredibly accurate leaving her shivering a little despite herself. Had he gone through her underwear? The thought of him touching them left her feeling slightly violated.
"I told her to go up a size from that bikini top...I remembered the size..."
"Why would you-"
"Can't y' just get ready? We have a reservation in less than an hour."
"You aren't even ready yet," she noted, her eyes fell to the glass in his hand.
"I don' take half as long as women do t' get ready..." he shrugged, he took a sip from the glass then put it down, "y' wear y' hair up a little?" he asked.
Rogue touched her hair absently, looking at him, she felt slightly blindsided by the question.
"And little less makeup than usual..." he added.
"Ah...is that what you want?" she blinked.
"F' tonight, yes," he replied quietly.
She wasn't sure what to make of the request but she shrugged; the game didn't feel half as much fun as it had seemed at first, not that it ever really had to begin with. She headed for the master bedroom, but before she went back in, she said softly, "get ready, okay? Ah won't be long."
Remy thought it rather amusing that Rogue had picked the least likely thing he'd have expected her to pick. A three piece suit wasn't exactly what he'd thought she'd want to see him in. He was almost certain she'd went out of her way to pick the thing that he'd feel less comfortable in, something that would not suit him.
Fortunately, he had the right build that seemed to be able to pull off the suit, although he thought the pants were a little too narrow in the leg for his liking, and the fabric slightly too shimmery.
He stared at himself in the mirror, shaking his head, thinking he looked like a celebrity about to go to an award ceremony, not a man about to go to dinner with his wife.
Suppose it works f' keepin' up appearances if I want all the waitin' staff t' believe I'm a French millionaire, he supposed, he combed his hair with his fingers. I'm gonna be sweatin' like crazy in this though, he realised.
He left the bedroom and headed back to the counter, his second glass of wine was still half-full and he picked it up and downed it before pouring his third. It was another ten minutes before Rogue left the master bedroom, looking exquisite in the dress he'd picked for her.
The dress fit just as he'd expected it to, she looked just as he'd imagined she would. No...in fact...she looked far better. Although her skin was quite pale, the dress did nothing to make her seem sickly, and instead, only seemed to bring out a slight peachy-tone to her skin that wasn't always as noticeable with the other colours she wore. She'd pinned her hair up just as he'd asked, although the front of her hair was already starting to come slightly loose, dangling in tendrils near her cheeks. Her eyes were dusted lightly, although she'd still worn her eyeliner quite thick causing her eyes to seem wide and innocent.
He smirked a little, "nice," he complimented.
"It's a little tight at the waist," Rogue complained, "it's pinchin' me."
"Looks damn good though," Remy eyed her up as she stood putting the lace gloves on, "Y' look very chic," he said, "everyone gon' believe y' the wife of a millionaire t' night."
"Is that what this is about?" Rogue asked, walking over, her heels making a loud click against the wooden floor.
"No," he confessed, "it was just a fun idea, that's all..."
At moment, all his uneasy feelings from earlier seemed to melt away, looking at her there like that, a vision in lace and white cashmere. For a moment, he had a strange flashback of the day they had stood at the alter, and as she'd come down the aisle looking so unlike how he had expected, so perfect and beautiful. His heart skipped a few beats to think of that moment.
He supposed that'd been why he'd chosen white...not just because it had been pretty and feminine, but because for just a brief time, it would be nice to relive that moment. The moment that had been over far too quickly before he could truly appreciate it. He almost wished he could relive the wedding again, do it all the right way this time...that way no one could tell them to have it annulled.
"Can't believe Ah'm gonna go out wearin' this," she admitted.
"You look stunnin'...so very grown up and stylish."
"It's not really me though," she reminded.
"Doesn't matter, jus' play the part. We can be anyone we want t' be here."
Rogue thought for a moment, and Remy wondered if she could be anyone she wanted to be, that she'd probably pick to be someone like Jean Grey, the girl she clearly despised, yet at the same time, envied for her beauty, her body and her brains. He'd seen the way Rogue looked at that girl with such jealousy and he thought if funny that if Rogue perhaps had looked like Jean Grey, he'd have never given her a second look.
"Taxi should be here soon," Remy glanced at his watch.
"Taxi? What's wrong with takin' the car?"
"Y' said y' got lost last night, thought I'd make it easier for y'," he explained, "besides, this way, y' can have a drink."
"Drinkin' isn't really my thing," she replied, her eyes on his glass of wine.
"Should soak it up before y' go back t' Bayville and have t' wait three more years."
Rogue shook her head, "nah. Ah'll be happy with a mocktail or a coke."
"Suit yourself. What you think of the suit?" he held his arms up and slowly turned for her.
"You look like you're tryin' to be a pop star," Rogue supposed.
"Well that's what happens when y' get the cut of the suit far too tight," he replied, "the top half is fine, but the legs ain' all that good...my legs are too thin f' these...I look like a damn hipster."
Rogue smirked, "see? It's not that much fun when someone picks your clothes, is it?"
"Don't matter what y' pick. Y' could pick a dress and platform shoes, I guarantee, I look good wearin' them."
"That's a bad image," Rogue confessed, she hovered for a moment, not sure what to do with herself, she seemed almost too self-conscious to even settle anywhere, as if she thought she may get dirt on her dress. "Hope Ah don't end up gettin' my chair knocked tonight..." she said, gazing down at her white dress, "this will stain if anythin' spills on it, white is the worst."
The incident shot back to him, and the happy spell was broken just like that. Jean-Luc's face was hanging around him again. To try and distract himself from thinking of that, he took his phone from his pocket trying not to let the unhappiness paint itself in his expression; he brought up the camera app and held it up, "smile."
Rogue made a face at him as he took her picture, "delete that."
"Never," he said, he moved over to her, "c'mon, lets do a selfie..."
"Oh god, no," Rogue made a face, "only losers do tha-"
Swiftly he leaned in and took the photo before she could object; mid word, her expression looked rather disgusted, he looked only bemused.
"Please get rid of those," she sighed.
"Why?"
"Ah don't want you showin' people us lookin' like this," she responded.
Remy wondered if it was more like she didn't want anyone seeing pictures of them together at all, she didn't want there to be any suggestion of their relationship when they returned. He wondered almost if she would be embarrassed about being with him when it came to her friends.
"Ah better go grab my phone...just in case Logan calls," Rogue realised, she turned about to go back to the master bedroom.
"Oh," he said, "damn."
"Hmm?"
"It's just...I didn't get y' a purse or anythin' to go with that outfit...and ain' no pockets in that dress..." he pointed out, "y' can't carry a cell phone on y'."
Rogue chewed the inside of her cheek.
"I could carry it for y'," he supposed. That way, he could put the thing on silent and make sure none of the calls got to her. He didn't need Logan interrupting their time together. Why encourage Logan to keep Rogue under his thumb further? He shouldn't have been trying to call at all, the girl was eighteen and on vacation, she didn't need harassing and constantly checked on.
"It doesn't matter," Rogue shook her head. "Ah'll leave it here."
"Wise choice. Besides, sure if Logan needs y' urgently, he jus' call me."
"Ah guess you're right," Rogue replied, although she seemed doubtful.
Remy finished his glass as his phone gave two rings and then stopped. He moved to the window at the front of the villa and gazed out to the road, "that's the cab. Y' ready?" he asked.
"As ready as Ah'll ever be, Ah guess," she looked down at her dress, "You sure Ah can pull this off."
"Pretty sure...and if y' can't..." he smirked as he looked her up and down, "when we get back I'll help y'."
"You wish."
Rogue didn't like the restaurant that Remy had chosen. It was far fancier, and far more pretentious than the place they had been to the night before. Her first clue was that the menu had absolutely no prices listed whatsoever. "There's no prices on this menu," she said, gazing down the list of meals, all in French. She could only pick out a few she recognised.
"So?"
"So..." she chewed the inside of her cheek, gazing at the menu thoughtfully, "this chicken dish here...it could be eighty Euros a plate for all you know."
"This restaurant," said Remy, he glanced around, his eyes drinking in the well-dressed people, "this isn't the kind of place people who worry about money come to for a good meal. This is about comin' somewhere the food is exquisite, not sittin' worryin' about what y' meal is gon' cost," he explained. "If y' gon' come in and freak out about the fact ain' no prices on the menu, then y' probably ain' the type should be eatin' here, non?"
"Seems kind of classist," Rogue admitted. "Ah don't know how anyone can live like that."
"Some people got the money."
"More money than sense," Rogue decided. "What it might cost for one meal here, you could probably feed a small third world country for a day."
"Hardly," he raised his glass of beer to his lips, he'd admitted it to be one of the best beers he'd had so far in his life. Rogue wondered how much that was costing him.
"Okay, maybe not a country, but a town or something. A small village...Ah mean...you could probably buy thirty huge bags of rice for the price of one dish."
"Will y' relax? I got it covered."
"Are you payin' with by card for all of this?" Rogue asked.
Remy looked at her strangely, "maybe...why?"
"Isn't there a limit?"
"It's attached t' an account that has enough money on it," Remy assured, "don't worry."
"What if...Ah don't know, what if you hit your limit and we get tossed out?"
"We're not gonna hit our limit..." he assured.
Rogue stared down at the menu, her mind drifting to what Jean-Luc had once accused her of...marrying Remy for money. She hadn't known at that point he really had any money. She'd always assumed he had been using stolen credit cards. Quietly, she finally said, "Ah'm not with you for your money, you know.
Remy gave a hearty laugh, "Y' think I assume that? I insist on payin' things like this and y' think that I'm under some kind o' impression that y' golddiggin', influencin' me t' buy y' all the pretty things?"
"Well..." she shrugged.
"If y' were a golddigger, y' wouldn' be kickin' up such a fuss any time I buy y' somethin' worth more than a couple bucks," he responded, "I know y' ain' got any designs on my money," he explained, he took a large drink from the glass, "I still want y' t' have things though."
"Ah don't want things."
"Y' don't get a say in it," Remy said, "when we get back t' Bayville, I'm gon' get y' a car," he decided.
"A car," she blinked, "Remy...Ah don't need a car-"
"Okay then. When we get back t' Bayville I'll give y' my Zodiac."
"Damn," said Rogue, "my plans have been foiled...you know, marryin' you for that ugly sage green fifty year old car."
"That car is a classic, it's worth a lot of money."
"If you say so," Rogue rolled her eyes at him. "It's in serious need of restorin', it's not worth more than couple of hundred dollars."
Remy smirked, "there's two hundred grand sewn int' the cushionin' of the back seat..."
She raised her eyes to him, blinking, "are you serious?"
"Yeah," he nodded, he took another drink from the beer, "I got a lot of money hidden in a lot of places just in case. There's money I didn't wan' t' declare when I bought myself out of the Guild. So...two hundred grand in the car – which by the way should be on it's way to Bayville now, I had it sent ahead – and I got a deposit box in Bayville too with another twenty grand I earned from Magneto."
Rogue had a mind to ask what exactly he'd been paid twenty grand for but she was sure he wouldn't disclose it.
"Got another hundred grand bricked int' a sewer tunnel in London. A client paid in cash only; knew I wasn' gonna get out of the country with it at customs so I hid it there, I'll get it back some day."
"Aren't you afraid anyone might find this money?" she asked.
"No one gon' find it where I hid it."
"Someone could steal the car."
"Never hide more money than y' can afford to lose," he said, "they're just back up plans."
"For what?"
"In case somethin' happens...need t' get away in a hurry...y' never now."
"Even now?"
"Not now...I mean, this was before, you know...all this happened."
"Before...all this..." Rogue began, she sipped her water, "did you have a plan?"
"Maybe," he supposed. "When I was sixteen and started freelancin' a little I wanted t' make enough millions t' retire here for life," he gestured around him.
"And do what?" she asked.
"Don't know, sleep with tourists, live the good life," he shrugged, he looked distant for a moment, "But...things changed...I mean...when I thought I'd join the X-Men, it wasn' gonna be for life, I mean it couldn't be for life. It still could be a plan...move here, y' know?" he gazed at her softly. "We could do that..."
"You think we'll be together that long?" she asked, quite surprised he was thinking that far ahead.
He drained his glass, "what makes you think we won't be?"
"It's just, you know...couples break up all the time..."
"And y' think we'll be one of those?"
"No...Ah don't know," she looked to the table guiltily, "Maybe. Ah mean...Ah don't know how you'll feel in a couple months when you figure out how borin' it's gonna be back in Bayville when we can only date and we're not marr-"
"Don't say it," he warned. "I'm sick of discussin' that. Goes roun' in circles."
"We have to address it sooner or later," She reminded.
"Why can't we just stay married?" he asked, "who's it gonna hurt?"
Rogue thought about this, "It'd just complicate things...besides, we always agreed it'd go back to bein' friends when we got to Bayville. Remember? We talked about quietly gettin' it annulled...or gettin' divorced when the smoke cleared?"
"That was before we became a couple, Rogue. It changed...we need to re-evaluate the plan..." he clicked his fingers and immediately a waiter came running eagerly. Remy ordered after asking what Rogue wanted, she had decided on 'some kind of chicken', and Remy made the decision for her. The waiter moved off swiftly. Remy was quiet for a moment, sitting deep in thought as he ran his finger absently over the rim of his water glass, which had still remained untouched.
"What needs to be re-evaluated?" Rogue asked.
"Us. I mean, it wasn't initially supposed to go like this, but we have t' try and adapt the plan t' suit how things happened."
"We just can't be married there, it'd be too awkward, and besides, Ah don't need all the speculation about why we got married, and Ah'm sure you don't need it either. Anyway, Ah don't want people wonderin' what we get up to."
"Let them wonder," Remy said, "Only we'll know."
"There isn't anythin' to know," Rogue replied quickly.
"Then what's the problem?"
Remy's expression was sombre for a few moments, their fresh drinks arrived, a non-alcoholic cocktail for Rogue and another beer for him. Rogue wondered if he were planning on getting drunk again tonight, he'd already opened wine, and now beer? How ill did he really want to be tomorrow?
Didn't he say the last time he came here he got drunk every night? Maybe that's just what he does when he comes here, maybe it isn't anythin' to worry about...
Rogue wondered if she were too hopeful or was only trying to justify it somehow. She sat back in her seat, afraid to put her elbows upon the table for fear it would be classed as 'rude'.
Remy picked a bread stick out of the glass in the centre of the table, "Hold this," he said.
"Hold it?"
"In two hands..."
Rogue accepted the bread stick, thoroughly confused as Remy went into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, drawing out a fifty Euro note, he held it up.
"I'll make a bet wit' y'...that I can cut through that bread stick with this money."
"With paper?" Rogue raised an eyebrow.
"With money."
"Is it trick money?" she asked.
"No, here..." he held the money out to her, "check."
Rogue accepted the money, there was nothing particularly odd about it, "Something is up your sleeves?" she asked.
"No," he said, he pushed his sleeves up a little, "see?" he showed her, "Nothin'."
"Okay..." she handed him the money back, "show me."
"Okay, hold it up, both hands...leave a nice gap between."
Rogue did as she was told, not sure what he expected to happen with a piece of paper. Was he drunk already? He had to be to assume he could pull this off.
Remy folded the note long ways, "need t' fold it, see, makes it nice and sharp."
"It's not gonna cut, Remy," Rogue replied.
"Just watch," he instructed. He gave it a quick swipe downwards, nothing happened at all. Rogue stared down at the bread stick.
"It's...not cut."
"It takes a few tries, jus' be patient, this is hard t' do right," he frowned in concentration, "okay...second try..."
A second and third try proved to do very little other than the paper money sliding easily away from the bread stick on the way down.
"I'm gonna get this right," he took a deep breath, "okay...watch."
And there it was, as he swept the folded money downwards the fourth time, the bread in her hands came apart, and she dropped her eyes to it, confused. She'd felt the impact.
"How did you do that?" she looked at the two pieces of bread stick, completely mystified.
"Magic," he replied.
"Oh come on...there's an explanation...there's a knife or somethin' in the money, right?" she grabbed for it and snatched it from his hand, to find there was nothing out of the ordinary about it other than the fact that it was folded long ways. "Oh..." she said quietly.
"Y' wan' me t' teach y'?" he asked with a smirk.
Rogue gazed at him, wondering if for one moment this was something else Jean-Luc had taught him too. Another clever distraction technique while Henri would be robbing someone blind behind the scenes. It seemed to her that Jean-Luc had known many magic tricks, but his greatest seemed to be having made Remy's innocence disappear.
"You know," she said, "Ah think Ah'd rather have the mystery. Ah learned a while back some times some things are better off not known."
Remy didn't reply, but she could tell by the strange expression on his face that he seemed to agree. She sensed at that moment he was thinking about the things Jean-Luc had taught him. The card tricks, the sleight of hand...Rogue didn't want him in that frame of mind. It could only lead to other things.
"Remy," Rogue said, "what's your happiest memory?"
Remy stared down at the table cloth, his expression conflicted for a moment, he didn't answer though, instead, he queried, "what's yours?"
"Ah asked you first..." she pointed out.
"Y' tell me first."
"As a lil' kid, Ah remember wantin' this expensive doll...y' know? It was like a real baby...it did everythin', made noises, peed, ate, stuff like that. Real sophisticated, it moved it's face... At the time it was the best toy ever, everyone wanted one, every girl my age had it, except me. We weren't super rich or anything, and Irene...she was lookin' after me, she couldn' afford it. Ah begged and all, Ah mean it was the only thing at the time Ah had ever asked for. Ah didn't really understand what bein' on a tight budget meant..." she ran her finger absently across the table cloth, "Christmas came around, and Ah hoped Ah was gonna get that doll...Irene kept tellin' me it was never gonna happen."
"And that's your happiest memory...?" Remy snorted, seeming quite confused over this.
"Listen," Rogue frowned at his interruption, "so...Ah'm good for the next few months, still beggin' for this doll...Ah'm doin' chores, Ah'm keepin' my grades up, Ah'm tryin' my damn hardest to prove Ah deserved that doll. Ah figure if Ah do everythin' Ah can, there's no way she can say no, right? So under the tree, Christmas mornin', Ah opened presents, you know, really cheap presents, wrappin' was really badly done...half the stuff still had the price tags still on 'cause Irene is blind, she couldn't see that. Even then Ah can remember bein' so not impressed and a lil' angry too. And then there was this one present, big box, sittin' right at the back of the tree and Ah'm thinkin'...you know this has to be it..."
"And was it?"
"No," Rogue shook her head, "in the box it was this blanket, this patchwork crochet blanket, the colours were all over the place, but the crochet work was so perfect and tight. Ah can remember how much Ah hated the colours...Ah'd never liked bright colours even then. For a minute I sat there with tears in my eyes just devastated 'cause I didn't get the one thing I asked for."
"I don' get how this is a happy story," Remy confessed.
Rogue felt her cheeks go red, "Irene had made the blanket herself...it took her nearly six months to make that blanket...crocheted every little patch herself, sewed it on, didn't even know what colours she was putting together. She told me sometimes in life, we don't get the things we want...sometimes we have to make do with the things we get. At the time Ah never realised it was a lesson she was tryin' to teach me...to prepare me for what might happen..."
"Oh."
"Ah never got that doll...lookin' back on it now Ah figure the novelty of it would have worn off in a couple of weeks. But that blanket stayed on my bed until the day Ah left Irene's house."
"How is it a happy story?" he asked again.
"Because it was a simpler time, Ah guess, it's hard to explain" she shrugged, lowering her eyes to the table cloth, "Nothin' was as complicated as it is now...in those days my biggest disappointment in life was a doll Ah never got. But...weirdly, it makes me a little happy, thinkin' of Irene sittin' there crochetin' that blanket for me...sometimes Ah miss that blanket. Sometimes the things you didn't think you'd care much for end up bein' the things that matter the most."
Remy stared at her, his expression intense, "the day y' said y' loved me."
Her eyes rose to his, it startled her a little, because this was also the most miserable day of his life. How could he find happiness in any of it?
"Right at that moment when y' said it I knew I could die happy," he confessed, he dropped his eyes, he pushed the silverware around a little, spacing them out evenly as he spoke.
Rogue chewed her bottom lip. Although she still felt it deeply, she couldn't find the words right then to say so.
"When I saw the fear in y' eyes that I would die..." he continued, "I knew y' did. Wasn' jus' the hearin' it, was seein' it...feelin' it. Firs' time ever felt like someone love me f' real."
The conversation about their happiest memories felt strangely depressing somehow, and it ended there. Their meals arrived and they ate, making conversation about the food. All night, Rogue could see Remy was strangely distracted. He'd order beer upon beer, and eventually he became more talkative about other subjects although his speech became more and more slurred as time went on. Rogue couldn't help but be fascinated by his stories of how he'd pulled off some amazing heists by the skin of his teeth, cons that had taken months of work. And she could tell just by the way he spoke that none of it was fabricated. By dessert, he was absolutely positively drunk and no longer getting the details of his stories right, instead, he moved onto joking with waiters (at least as far as she could tell, as they'd speak in French) and performing more table magic (for a Honeymooning couple at the next table who were French; he made the wife's ring 'disappear and re-appear').
Rogue was glad when the meal was finally over; she had Remy call a taxi and they waited, Remy finishing one last beer before it eventually arrived.
Rogue didn't argue when Remy generously tipped the cab driver with what she was certain was a hundred Euros. It seemed much fairer to tip a cab driver that money than to spend it on one single plate at a restaurant. She'd spied the end bill at the end of the meal, and had seen it go into the several hundreds. She'd felt quite dismayed, but Remy had told her to mind her own business when it came to the cost of the meal, and she'd left it at that, not wanting to cause an argument.
Remy was humming the violin music which had been playing in the restaurant as he clumsily tried to unlock the door, Rogue hanging at his back wondering if he'd be all right tonight. He didn't vomit last night (she'd been up and down several times to check) but she was concerned tonight he just may.
For now, he looked all right other than his expression being rather slack and his coordination being poor. Rogue took the key from him, "here...let me..."
Remy moved behind her as she worked at getting the three locks in the villa door unlocked. She felt him slide an arm behind her waist, his breath hot near her ear. She craned her neck carefully away.
"Careful," she warned.
He planted a few kisses on the shoulder of her cardigan, waiting for her to get the door unlocked. Her fingers trembled at the lock as she tried to focus. It was quite distracting.
"You should go to bed," said Rogue once she'd finally opened the door. She pulled away to step in, he trailed behind her, a finger gently caressing playfully up her back.
"Not tired yet," he said.
"Ah am, Ah'm beat," she moved away quickly to go lock the door up from the inside, he moved next to her, standing with his shoulder against the door frame, hand gently gliding up and down her back, a slight smile playing about his lips.
"Stop it," she warned, "go sit."
"Yes, ma'am," he saluted her then wandered off, he dropped into an arm chair and kicked off his shoes, he immediately loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons on the shirt, sighing as if in relief. "Y' know how hot this damn suit is?"
"Hot enough," she supposed, she finished locking the door, she tossed the villa keys onto the table, then she slipped her own shoes off, the toe of her panty-hoes had rubbed against the shoe and had caused a hole. She examined her unpainted toenail critically.
"A lot of men was lookin' at you, y' know, at the restaurant," Remy slurred, watching her closely. "I didn' like it."
"You didn't?" she felt almost amused, she took the pins out of her hair and let it down.
"Y' dress like that f' my eyes only..."
"If you say so," she slumped on to the couch tiredly, yawning a little. It had been a very long day and everything from her mind to her bones were tired.
Remy eyed her, his expression strangely smouldering and dark, "what y' sittin' over there for on y' own?"
She looked at the couch, "Hmm?"
He inclined his head for her to come over, she sat there, staring at him, feeling slightly shy again the way she had the day they had arrived and they were alone in the bedroom. The same way she'd felt when they'd been alone on their wedding night. "C'mere..." he commanded.
She dropped her eyes nervously to the rug, "Ah'm fine where Ah am."
he pushed himself up with a grunt.
"I see, have it y' way," he muttered, and he came over, pushing the coffee table out of the way a bit so he could drop to his knees in front of her, making sure she would look at him, the fingers of each hand found her knees and he pushed them apart a little, moving forwards to push his hips between them.
"You're drunk..." she pointed out.
"Ain' a crime," he vaguely laughed, "y' smell nice...what is that y' wearin'?" he leaned close and breathed in.
"Ah ain' wearin' anythin'..." she responded; she doubted it was her roll on deodorant he could smell, it was unscented.
"That sounds...promisin'," he teased, hands gliding up her thighs, pushing the skirt up a little with them.
"Behave," she told him, trying to be stern, she felt too exhausted for this game tonight.
"I am behavin'," he assured, his face near her neck again, "there's a nice...sweet smell about y' though..." he breathed in deeper.
"Maybe the berries from the dessert..." she swallowed hard, her eyes fell to his hands, the skirt halfway up her thighs now. "The juice from the cocktails..."
"Not that..." he shook his head, he lowered his head to her chest, breathing, sliding down lower. "It's much...more intimate..."
"Remy!" she gasped loudly as he pushed her skirt up far further than she'd thought he would, his face was close to her crotch, her entire body flushed with embarrassment and she tried to push him back.
He smirked up at her, "y' turned on...I can tell."
"Shut up..." she pushed him back and pulled herself onto the couch, sitting on the back rest, knees pushed together tightly, "It's not funny."
"Wasn' meant to be," he climbed towards her, hand sliding up her knee, "y' breathin' is faster...y' eyes are bigger...y' face is all flushed...so's y' chest..." he said hotly, "and y' smell sweet...musky..."
"Ah do not!" she retorted, feeling slightly angry and insulted at the insinuation he could smell anything from her other than the dessert she'd eaten earlier or the fruit from her cocktails.
"Don' take it as offensive," he slurred, "there's nothin' bad about it. Why don' y' take this off..." he gestured to the dress, "let me see that sexy little underwear set a bit better, huh?"
"No," Rogue hopped over the back rest, and moved around the couch.
"Why? Y' afraid I see somethin' I ain' seen before?" he chuckled. "'Cause I seen it all...y' ain' gon' have anythin' that can shock me...not in a bad way anyway..."
"Remy, you're drunk...go to bed," her face burned with the humiliation of this. She'd never had to deal with him come on this strong before, never had it from any man, and she had no idea how to rebuff it.
"Y' gonna come too?" he asked, his voice hopeful.
"No, you're goin' alone, with a puke bucket," she shifted as he moved to follow her around the couch, he ignored her comment and staggered around the couch, chasing her towards the master bedroom, she swiftly got inside, threw the door shut and turned the lock quickly.
"Go to bed, Remy," she called through the door, she shook her head at his stupidity and this display. He'd made jokes about this kind of thing before but right now she got the distinct impression he was very serious.
"I am," came a voice from the bathroom door, a smirk playing about his lips. She had forgotten about that, she couldn't lock the bathroom door from the outside, he'd walked around.
Didn't think that one through, she rolled her eyes at herself. Ah should have ran to the bathroom door leadin' to his room and locked that too.
He pounced her and tackled her down to the bed, she let out a shriek, as his hands went right to her ribs, tickling her.
"No, stop!" she yelped, far too ticklish to stand it, she tried to push him off, "don't make me hit you."
"Didn' realise y' were so ticklish," he pinned her, the tickle attack still ensuing.
She laughed until her eyes were streaming with tears, "enough!" she pleaded. "Ah can't take it."
He stopped, "see...I've heard that in bed before, but usually it ain' when I'm ticklin' a woman..." he said hotly near her ear.
Her head had been turned away from him but she slowly moved to look up at him, his expression was serious, so intense and hot, his breath was hot as it brushed near her mouth; she could almost taste the alcohol on his breath. She swallowed hard, his hand was sliding up her thigh, and this time there was nothing playful about it.
Rogue's head swam with intoxication of a different kind than his, his charm, his attractiveness, the way he smelled and felt. For a moment, she wanted to let him, sucked in by the mesmerising way he looked at her, locked eyes and almost made her believe that they were only for her. Right at that moment, she knew why so many silly girls always gave in to men like Remy LeBeau.
There were many reasons she understood why she should not give into him; it staggered her that her powers were not her first concern this time. She quickly put her hand on his, stopping him, pushing it back, "no..." she shook her head.
"Chere..." he said softly, "the timin' is so right..."
"Ah know..." she admitted and she swallowed hard, whenever she tried to speak there was a strange lump in her throat as if her body were trying to deny her the right to prevent this. "But you're drunk..."
That was the problem. He was drunk. She couldn't deny for one second that something about the timing and the moment felt strangely right. She felt with all certainty that if it weren't for this one thing, there'd be no fight in her to refuse his charm.
"Jus' enough," he teased, trying to push his hand back up her leg.
"No..." she moved his hand away, pushing him back. She sat up, sweeping her hair from her face, "not like that."
"Chere..." he pleaded.
"No," she said, this time more firmly. "You're drunk...it shouldn't be like that."
"I'm fine," he sighed, "I jus' had a few beers..."
"That was the way it was the last time...and you didn't remember the next again morning."
"Huh?"
"Our wedding night..."
"Christ," he muttered, "Y' gon' bring that up again?"
"Last night," she added, "you were drunk...you didn't even remember how we got home. How can I trust you'd remember this?"
"If I didn't, would it matter?"
The question strangely hurt.
"It'd be almost exciting...have a first time over and over," he jested.
"No...that's not funny," Rogue said coldly, "Ah'm serious. Ah don't want it to be like that..."
"How do y' want it t' happen?" he sighed, growing a little impatient and disappointed.
She drew her breath, "if this is gonna happen, then...it has to be with you being sober."
"Rogue...sometimes y' don' fuck with the right moment," he tried, "right now feels right, y' know that."
"Ah'm not contestin' that," she confessed, feeling it didn't matter at this point what she said, he was unlikely to really remember in the morning any way.
"Then lets just ignore the fact I'm drunk, I feel fine..."
"Ah'm serious," she said again, she stood up and moved away from the bed, "You touch me now...Ah won't be here in the mornin'."
He sighed, running his hand through his hair, "so what y' want me t' do? Y' wan' me t' go drink a load of black coffee, sober up first?"
"No," Rogue said, she gestured to the bathroom, "Ah want you to go through to your bedroom, and Ah want you to go to bed."
Remy shook his head, she wasn't determined if it was more at himself or her, either way, he seemed displeased with the eventual outcome. Sighing, he staggered through to the bathroom without so much as another word; it was barely twenty minutes later she could hear him loudly snoring from the other bedroom.
She sat looking at herself in the mirror, feeling drained, both emotionally and physically. And almost intrigued.
If he hadn't been drunk...would Ah have really...? she wondered, she swept a makeup remover wipe over her eyelid, smearing away her smudged (thanks to her tears of laughter) makeup. She stubbornly wadded up the used wipe and tossed it into the trashcan near the dressing table, shaking her head. It was no use really wondering now, if tonight was anything to go by, she'd probably never need to find out.
End of Part Four
Thanks to all for the super reviews so far (especially the longer ones as it's nice knowing what you're all thinking about the story so far). Sure there's some surprise somewhere that the angst isn't all that bad this time around (although it's definitely there somewhere, lol). Hopefully some of you are enjoying the more "playful" side of Remy as opposed to the depressed side, haha.
Admit it, how many of you thought that when Remy wanted Rogue to wear white that there was going to be a secret wedding somewhere that he'd drag her too? LOL.
I hope you're all having a splendid weekend and will have a great weekend ahead, thanks for taking the time to read as always :)