Oi. I'm not even sure where to start after all this time. Life got busy, the computer crashed and I lost the last 1.5 years' worth of writing. So I hope these last chapters continue to do the story justice. It took me awhile to recapture the feel and round out the story in the way I had planned. So if anyone is left still reading & waiting – I do apologize and I hope the wait hasn't been in vain. This story does have an end and I will keep doing all in my power to bring it about.
I apologize I haven't responded to reviews, either. Losing all that writing seriously soured my mood for a good long while. I will get to work on that now that this chapter is posted. As always, feedback is most welcome. Allons-y.
Chapter 9: The surprise
The diamond caught the pale light that played over the bar, casting glittering sparkles of light over its mahogany top. She couldn't deny the ring was gorgeous, the diamond flawless. Clearly, Robert had put a bit of thought into the ring and the question. And the more she continued to look at it, the more she couldn't help but wonder exactly what she did to make him fall so hard, so fast for her.
She took another lazy drag on her cigarette, a steady stream of smoke passing her lips in the exhale. Last night had been such a whirl—first, the atrocious dinner Browning had ended swiftly with the unexpected proposal, and then falling into Robert's bed with nothing more than her engagement ring between them, welcoming his kiss, his touch, his body. She felt her cheeks flush in memory as disgust rotted her stomach. While far from unpleasant—in fact, it surprised her much she had enjoyed herself—the cold light of dawn was not so kind.
Was it possible for someone to feel this bad, this guilty, this shameful? Lying to a man, accepting his proposal, sleeping with him? Was she really any better than the women on the street corner? The cigarette was familiar between her lips, the smoke soothing as her eyes fell closed. How could she possibly keep this up…and what about Arthur now?
What would Arthur say when he found out what she'd done and accepted? Sure, he had warned her he would hurt her, but was the hurt allowed to go the other way? With Robert's surprising, seeming impulsiveness, she could only hope he wouldn't push for a quick wedding. At least not quicker than Arthur, Dom and Eames could come up with a plan. She didn't even know if the information she provided to Jillian was helping them. Or if she was providing frequent enough updates. Even she hadn't expected to be so carefully watched like a hawk, but now that she was here, she couldn't find a way out. Memories of Arthur's handsome face weighed heavily on her mind, her heart welling with longing to just see him, hear his soothing, collected voice.
She drew a deep breath, summoning every last ounce of resolve. She made it this far and wouldn't let him down—she couldn't. She could do this; she could do this; she couldn't do this.
"You look like you could use a drink." She turned on the smooth words, glancing down the bar to see Michael shedding his navy suit jacket to the bar top, a lazy, maybe even sympathetic grin on his handsome face.
"You're probably right." She offered a small smile in return, stubbing out the remains of her cigarette in the ashtray as he walked over to her behind the bar, reaching for a bottle.
"I can't say I'm an expert, but usually brides-to-be look a bit more excited on the day after their engagement." He placed two glasses on the bar top, filling them both halfway. She did her best to offer a reassuring smile, her eyes wandering over his tailored form—the vest that clung to his torso, the tie knotted ever so pristinely, the visibly shiny butt of a handgun in his shoulder holster.
"I'm just tired." She reached for the drink as he nudged it forward.
"Well naturally," his eyes lit with a suggestive air, his voice taking a seductive edge, "how else do you celebrate an engagement? Many congratulations." She locked to his pale green gaze that held no tease or jab, a natural, easy smile coming to her face. She couldn't help but see so much of Arthur in Michael that it was easy to relax under his smile and intense eyes.
"Thank you." Their glasses met with a soft clink, eyes unmoving as they each took a drink. She licked her lips in the aftermath, catching a stray drop. If she couldn't hide in Arthur's arms, losing herself in Michael's eyes and Irish brogue would just have to do. "So where have you been all afternoon? Do you not get involved with the accountants?" Robert had spent majority of the afternoon ensconced in a velvet booth behind her, looking over accounting books with men coming and going in regular intervals. Apparently there was more to do with the Fischer Empire in town than she had been lead to believe. Or was this a result of Browning's visit? She couldn't help but wonder If Arthur knew about the high levels of activity, and filed it away for her next report to Jillian.
"No, I don't care for bean counters most of the time. Robert knows it, and he didn't hire me for that aspect of his business." Her eyes involuntarily settled to the gun at his side; his eyes scanning the room to settle on Robert, nestled cozily in his booth not twenty feet away.
"You didn't answer my first question." She fixed him with a narrowed, playful glare, her smile matching.
"And you are too curious for your own good," his face and voice were playful, but a serious warning tinged his words, "haven't you heard the one about the cat?" She rolled her eyes.
"Of course," she all but scoffed, "but don't you think, if I'm to become your boss' wife, shouldn't I get to know the nature of the business he runs?" She hoped she didn't sound too eager, wondering if he would actually divulge something useful for her to pass along to Jillian. The slow-creeping, almost reluctant smile on his face told her she wasn't about to be so lucky.
"No, Ariadne," he said softly, "you shouldn't concern yourself with the business of dangerous men. It's safer for you." Her lips drew in to a thin line on that word. 'Safer.' That seemed to be the common theme surrounding her—no matter who she was with—safety; keeping her safe and protected. If they would just tell her what she needed protection from, maybe she could handle it herself. She heaved a light sigh, taking a drink, resigning herself to their mercy.
"Oh, very well. Spoilsport." She teased him with a slight pout of her lips, loving his gentle, rumbling laugh as he pulled back for another drink.
"Hey, boss." The deep, booming voice of the doorman, Nick, caught the whole room's attention, silence falling, all eyes darting to the large, muscled man.
"What?" Robert's voice was tinged with annoyance, his blue eyes piercing from across the room.
"Arthur St. Clair is upstairs. Wants to come down for a word." Ariadne's heart stopped, her face freezing. Robert settled back against the plush velvet with something of an expectant, irritated sigh.
"Bring him down." Ariadne struggled to compose herself, a jumbled storm of feelings suddenly welling within her—surprise, fear, confusion, relief, happiness, concern. She lowered her eyes to her drink, swallowing its remains in attempt to steady herself. How could she face him and not give the whole game away? It'd been so long since she'd seen him and all she wanted to do was wrap him up in a big hug, and feel him hold her. She turned back to Michael, setting the empty glass on the bar and forcing a small, closed-mouth smile.
The relaxed lines of Michael's face tightened to their usual seriousness as he drained his drink, gliding silently around the bar to flank Robert's right side. No better place for a point man in a possible showdown. She glanced to the clock with a nervous swallow, noting only an hour left until the Backroom opened, hoping that would deter Robert from signaling Michael to kill Arthur. Oh, what was wrong with her? Conversing and flirting so innocently (and not so) with the men who could very easily kill her real love? The heavy creak of footsteps down the stairs stole her attention, her heart pounding in her ears.
Nick followed a step behind Arthur, guiding him as they worked their way across the room towards Robert. Ariadne's eyebrows drew to a tight knit as she studied Arthur's appearance, never recalling him looking so…loose? His suit jacket and vest buttons were all undone, hanging open at his side with his tie loosened at the neck, the top button of his shirt undone. He usually wore his fedora straight and low over his face, but today it was tilted back, giving a clear view of his impassive expression. He was still distractingly handsome, and the looser look was strangely appealing on him given his usual demeanor.
"He stinks of booze." Nick grumbled, wrapping a hand around Arthur's tricep to push him down in the booth opposite Robert, whose face had tightened to unwelcoming, displeased lines.
"You of all people shouldn't begrudge a man a drink," Arthur started slowly, his words holding just the faintest touch of a slur, "especially not given the circumstances."
"What do you want?" Robert huffed an annoyed breath, his eyes icy cold.
"I wanted to congratulate the happy couple." Arthur's words were laced with angry disdain.
"Is that all?" His words perked hopefully, wanting this conversation to already end.
"Is there more to be said?" Arthur shrugged his shoulders uncertainly. "I offered her my heart, my life; but you must've offered her more."
"You hit her." Robert's words were deadly, his focus on Arthur just as intense. A wry smile twisted Arthur's face; the only movement from his otherwise still body across the table. Ariadne was sure everyone in the room could hear the thundering of her anxious heart in the heavy silence.
"Did she tell you why I hit her?" Arthur suddenly said, catching the nearly imperceptible roll of Robert's eyes.
"Take you anger elsewhere, St. Clair," Robert scolded, his voice surprisingly light given the tense situation, "I won't have you upsetting my fiancée."
"So she didn't tell you?" Arthur leaned around in the booth, spotting Ariadne over Robert's shoulder, his eyes instantly meeting hers across the room. "You lying, little whore." Her eyes widened, hurt exploding in her chest as she struggled to breathe. "I probably wasn't even your first fuck—"
"Don't you ever speak that way to her again." Robert interrupted, his voice deadly as Michael's hand twitched at his side.
"I should have taken care of you years ago, St. Clair." The point man growled. "I still can." He looked down to his boss almost excitedly, a predatory smile that showed too many teeth menacing his face. Ariadne panicked, desperate that Robert would see some reason—the mess, the witnesses….
"No," Robert's voice was calm and steady, making her thankful at least one of them was seemingly keeping his head. "If anything, Ariadne should be given the satisfaction of dealing with him." Her eyes grew impossibly wider at the implication. A light, amused chuckle rumbled in Arthurs' throat, sounding oddly foreign in the tense atmosphere.
"She's got you good, doesn't she? No wonder she's wearing your ring." Arthur shook his head as if in disbelief. "But I believed her too. For months, actually. Everything was new and enjoyable—movie houses, silk sheets, pancakes and syrup. But that night…," Arthur's tone darkened, his eyes zeroing in on Robert, "that night you took everything from me when you took this place. She broke up with me on the spot after I told her everything. She said she didn't think we could make it—her money couldn't support us, and I wouldn't make it clerking." Her heart ached to hear her twisted words falling from his lips. "But she was very interested in your name, and suddenly very excited to learn that you had been masquerading as our bartender."
"Does this have a point?" Robert interrupted, his irritated words betrayed by the twinge of curiosity lingering in his crystalline eyes.
"Yes it does," Arthur crisply answered, "I wanted to know what her sudden interest in you was all about—so she told me. Figures you would try to move in on my girl as you simultaneously moved on the Backroom." Arthur leaned in across the table, assaulting Robert with the stink of alcohol on his breath. "And then I figured it out—she was going to move on you because now you had everything. She didn't want you when you were a nothing bartender. But suddenly, you displace me—reduce me down to nothing—and she wants you. It kind of makes you wonder how many more she went through to get to you and me, doesn't it."
"The idle speculations of a drunk man, St. Clair." Robert dismissed, steeling his eyes, the earlier hint of curiosity replaced with disgust. "You have nothing left in this world and you need someone to blame, for whatever reason."
"You don't feel the slightest bit guilty?" Arthur fired back, a hiccup catching the end of his words.
"You can't be serious?" Robert asked incredulously, staring back at Arthur.
"Why not? It's a fair question. You know what you took from us when you commandeered the Backroom."
"You're lucky I didn't make you walk the plank."
"Might as well have," Arthur returned, unconcerned, "you took my place and my girl in one fell swoop. What's left?"
"Is that why you're here?" Robert suddenly asked, an idea dawning on him. "You're here to…what? Apologize? Take her back?"
"It's hard to take someone back after marriage, isn't it?" Arthur sighed, seemingly defeated. "No, I came here to find out how you did it. What did you give her to make her choose you? A hunk of diamond? A particularly good fuck? An architecture degree?" Ariadne turned towards the bar, her face contorting in heartbreak, wanting to dissolve against the rich wood and release the emotion bursting within her. A choking sob escaped her lips unbidden, sounding as loud as a scream in the thick silence.
"Michael, would you, please?" Robert's voce was deadly calm as his point man moved, swiftly drawing his pistol. Ariadne winced at the sickening sound as the butt of the gun contacted with something hard, fleshy; her head sinking between her shoulders, wanting to scream.
"Now you will leave," Robert instructed as blood poured from Arthur's temple and nose, "and if I ever see you again, rest assured I will kill you myself." She gathered the will to turn back around, just in time to see Michael and Nick wrap hands around Arthur's arms, dragging him from the booth. His eyes found hers, infinitely cold and unforgiving, as blood flowed down his handsome face.
"I hope you're happy, Ariadne," he spate bitterly as he half walked, half let himself be dragged, "I hope this is what you want." He shook his head quickly, eyes flashing with hurt to further constrict her heart. "Good fucking luck to you." He forcibly shrugged off both Michael's and Nick's hands, breaking eye contact to disappear up the dark stairs.
Ariadne stared after him in shock, her heart shattered, her composure stripped. She sniffled, coming back to herself, waves of nausea rolling through her knotted stomach. What had she done? What had Arthur done?
Did he really think she meant to marry Robert? Did he really think she was just out to marry the man with more? All those things he'd said—movie houses, silk sheets and pancakes—were true; he had indeed opened up a whole new world for her. But that wasn't all he meant to her. Surely he knew that.
Tears spilled from her eyes as she continued to digest and attempt to unravel everything, barely hearing footsteps approach on the plush carpet.
"Oh, love," Robert's voice was warm, consoling as his arms encircled her, pulling her to his shoulder, "don't let him get to you." She sobbed heavier against him, grateful for someone to dissolve into. He rubbed a hand soothingly against her back as her tears soaked into his suit jacket. "But for your sake," he whispered against her ear, his voice cold, "I hope he's not right."
She tensed unbidden in Robert's embrace, suddenly feeling threatened.
"Why would he be?" She asked, her voice weak and strained.
"If you are my girl with no agenda, does he have a reason to lie to me?" Robert simply returned, watching her stressed face further dissolve.
"Oh Robert…," she sighed, her eyes red-rimmed, words breaking, "please don't doubt me. I came to you willingly—I'm marrying you because I want to. I'm not foolish enough to say 'yes' to something I don't want." She bit her lip nervously, almost wondering now if Robert was her last chance if Arthur was really finished with her.
"I hope to God that's true," his voice was strained, whispers of hurt lacing his tone as he looked down at her almost sadly, "I want to believe you."
"Then believe me." She whispered, reaching up to press a quick kiss to his lips.
"Michael," Robert said softly, gently, turning from her briefly, "take Ariadne back to the Sydney. See that she gets cleaned up and ready for dinner on time. The Waynes don't tolerate tardiness."
"Absolutely." She hesitated to turn around on Michael's word, knowing how ghastly her wet, runny eye makeup must look.
"Go with Michael, love," Robert brushed a kiss to her forehead, hands resting supportively on her arms as he pulled back with a small smile, "I need to finish up here and then I will meet you for dinner. Perhaps we'll take in a show afterwards to put this whole unfortunate afternoon behind us." She offered a weak nod, doing her best to muster a smile.
"Come on." Michael encouraged softly, his hand falling to her shoulder, guiding her off the barstool. Numbly she stood, letting the gentle strength of Michael's hand lead her through the tables, towards the stairs.
She sniffled again, trying to wipe at her eyes and face. The Penrose was so nice, and she hated to walk through the lobby with makeup streaked all down her face.
"You shouldn't care so much." Michael said absently, casting her a rather concerned glance as they neared the top of the stairs.
"Is that how you deal with life?" She tossed back, her voice worn, exhausted. "You just don't care about people?"
"I was talking about your makeup," he corrected, a hint of mirth in his voice, mirrored in the smile that cracked his rugged face, "it's not so bad, really."
"Oh sure," she scoffed, again brushing the back of knuckle along her cheek, dismayed at the black streak left behind, "everyone will notice."
"Here." He reached inside his suit jacket pocket, producing a neatly folded, starched handkerchief. Tears welled in her eyes again the sight, touched by his offer. She reached a shaky hand to take it, noticing how warm his fingers were.
"Thank you, Michael." She gave him a warm smile, finding it easy to melt under his pale eyed gaze, soft in the light.
"You need it more than I do right now." He watched her dab at her cheeks and eyes daintily, the white cloth staining with black smudges.
"Would you like it back?" She asked, looking at it almost embarrassedly.
"No, it's yours now." She smiled down at the handkerchief, oddly moved by something so simple. Maybe someone still did feel something for her after this afternoon, even if it was just friendship. She wanted to think at least one of these men wasn't using her or doubting her.
The warm glow from the lobby spilled onto the top stair landing as Michael opened the door, letting her pass before following. His arm curved around the top of her shoulders, draped supportively as he pulled her to his side.
"Cheer up, kiddo," he encouraged with a smile, "Robert knows better than to let this get to him. You shouldn't let it get to you either. Besides, the Waynes are insufferable bores, so you better be especially charming tonight." She glanced up at him, confusion and amusement etched on her face.
"You're just a paragon of comfort and help this evening," she said, warm affection coloring her words as her eyes saw only him, "is this the new Michael Flynn?"
"God, I hope not."
