Chapter 8
Coming out of the restaurant, as if a natural instinct Natarle instantaneously caught sight of that very last person she wanted to see tonight. And for worse, he was obviously not by himself, as walking closely beside him, her hand in his, was the pretty young brunette she had already met before. Her heart skipped a few beats when his eyes made an abrupt connection with hers, and suddenly it felt like all the air around them had somehow become so heavy that even breathing became a difficult task.
Such an unpleasant, untimely, and unlikely coincidence. She wondered if this was divine retribution, or was it simply a distasteful joke on his part.
Her fiancée let out a short, irritated hiss as they both came to a halt, face to face to the other couple. She landed her eyes onto Isabella whose own blue orbs nervously darted to and fro between the three of them, as if she was ever so certain that something bad was bound to happen. Natarle was not sure how much the woman knew by now of the sour past between them three, but from the way she hid half of herself behind Arnold, visibly feeling out of place, and how her brows furrowed in a slightly accusing manner when glancing at Azrael, she guessed the brunette had at least grasped the basic idea.
Natarle felt Azrael's hand on her back move downwards, then slipping beneath her arm and landing on her abdomen. With a bit of force he then pushed her back flat against himself, enclosing her into a half-hearted embrace yet with no affection in his touch anymore. Even without words, the message was clear. Right this moment, she was not just his fiancée; she was a possession, a trophy for him to remind Arnold that whether it be in wealth, status, or the woman he wanted, he was the loser, and will always be. From the corner of her eye she could see the blond's frown of annoyance just mere seconds ago had now changed into a gloating smirk. He was obviously enjoying this.
She let out a small, controlled sigh. Despite Azrael's boastful nature, she had faith in both men to be civilized enough not to cause a scene outside one of the most exclusive restaurants in town, especially when all four of them knew perfectly well that with Azrael's name, if any one of them caused even the slightest bit of drama, they would all just end up in the papers. Besides, even if her fiancée was so tragically immature as to tempt the other man into a fight right here on the spot, she could count on Arnold to be his mature self and handle the situation with sophistication.
Yet when she caught the glare the blue haired man sent her way, she was not sure if she should be trusting him, or her instincts, anymore. She shuddered under his brief yet fierce glare; the gentleness that she could always find in those beautiful emerald orbs was lost, instead they were now gleaming with rage.
Arnold was not the type of person prone to outbursts; one could tell simply by the aura surrounding him if he was deeply infuriated, and although there were not many things Natarle was scared of, she had always found his silent wrath more frightening than a direct confrontation. What was worse was that now he seemed more enraged than she had ever remembered seeing him be in the past, and she had never been so intimidated by him before. Almost intuitively she leaned closer to Azrael, as if she needed his protection, at the same time a reminder for Arnold of his place; and of hers.
Arnold caught the hint, because the message was so disdainfully clear that she might as well scream it into his face. He felt his blood boil. After that night, there was not one day that went without him thinking about her, longing for her, and wishing that he could see her again, even if it was just in his dreams. And here she was now standing, looking at him as if nothing had ever happened, and acting as if all she needed was her oh-so-lovable fiancée.
So what was that night, which now had become one of his most cherished memories, supposed to mean to her: an apology for the way she ended things two years ago, or simply a one-night-stand, with no strings attached? How much cheaper, in her eyes, could his love become?
He settled his eyes onto her, hoping that she would give him an answer, yet she avoided his gaze as if nothing was more unbearable than even looking at him. He felt Isabella's grip onto his arm tighten with a slight pull every now and then, and her eagerness to avoid a confrontation was clear. But he was not ready to leave yet; he did not really have much of an idea what he wanted to get out of this situation, but with that arrogant smirk wide across the blond's face and his provocative attitude, walking away without a word would only translate to being a coward, and he was definitely not going to accept that. However things were going to turn out, he was ready for the challenge.
"Neumann, what a pleasant surprise." The enthusiasm in Azrael's voice was so evidently fake, just as his expression of mock delight was. His scrutinizing eyes landed shortly on Isabella, then quickly turning back to Arnold. "I see you've got yourself a new girlfriend. Why, you got dumped by your last?"
Arnold noticed the way Natarle flinched slightly, yet her effort made to avoid eye contact with him never wavered. Was it shame displayed in that frown of hers? Displeasure? Or was it purely because she did not want a part in this pointless squabble?
"Considering the way she was taken from me, I would hardly call myself 'dumped'. 'Swindled' may be a better description." Arnold tried his best to keep his voice toneless, and deliberately chose not to properly address the woman in his rebuttal, because keeping it as an impersonal matter was the only way he could remain calm in this infuriating circumstance.
He would admit that he might have taken it a bit too far when he went to hers back then, allowing his anger, frustration, and lust overcome his usually composed self when all he was hoping for was to reclaim her love, but in their exchange of passion he could not be more certain that the attraction was mutual; the way she held him in her arms, with her soft yet deep kisses, and hearing his name slip through her lips in loving whispers, all that had to at least mean something. Yet it now appeared that she thought different, because despite given a second choice since the moment he appeared at her doorstep, she still chose so willingly to go back to her fiancée, not even allowing him a chance to explain himself regardless of all the times he tried to reach through to her.
And there was nothing that embittered him even more now, because Azrael may have 'swindled' him, but she had betrayed him all together.
Azrael tsked at his words, and rather than denying his accusation, a truth which he in fact took pride in, he shifted his attention to the seemingly shy brunette. "So you're his girlfriend, huh?"
Natarle immediately sensed where this conversation was heading, and she did not like it. She slightly elbowed the blond and sent him a quick glare of disapproval. Azrael might have all the reasons in the world to mock Arnold, and she would have no right to stop him, but harassing Arnold's girlfriend just to insult him further was simply disgraceful behavior, and she was not going to let him embarrass that poor girl here, no matter how much she secretly was envious of her now.
She could not tell whether it was Isabella hiding behind Arnold, or was it him being protective of her, but either way to her surprise she found herself equally dismayed. From the way they stood closely to each other, to how their hands were held tightly together, everything single gesture showed their dependence and trust of each other, just like the very first time she saw them together at the ball. And suddenly she came to a realization; she might have been the one he wanted, or so he said, but Isabella was the one he needed.
But then who was she to complain? Was she not the one who so deeply regretted her own infidelity?
"Such a pity," Azrael took no notice of her disapproval.
"Muruta." She hissed.
She saw Arnold's frown deepen, and she felt her own expression mirroring his. She should be glad for him to have found someone else, so that he need not linger onto impractical hopes of their reunion, should she not? Then why was there this angry and bitter feeling inside of her?
"…a pretty lady like you shouldn't be wasting you time on him."
"Stop it!"
The harsh tone in her voice alarmed Azrael, and he immediately stopped. He looked at Natarle with a slightly uncomprehending face, who in turn gave him the most complicated expression of anger he had ever seen on her delicate features, and at that moment he knew he had overdone it. He stared blankly as Natarle pushed him away, storming past the other couple without giving them a second look, and on realizing that she was not going to wait for him, he fretfully followed.
When he finally caught up with her, it took him the best of his persuasion skills to convince her into accepting his offer for a lift home instead of hailing a cab as she originally wanted. And when he turned around out of curiosity, the blue haired man and his girlfriend were nowhere to be seen anymore.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Even though he was allowed into her flat right now, he could tell that his fiancée was still very angry at him. Not a word had she spoken to him ever since they left that confrontation outside the restaurant; not during the ride back here, not when he offered to walk her upstairs, not when he mindlessly followed her all the way into her home.
Yet Azrael did not find himself too worried, as he knew from experience that she would never be angry at him for too long. He had eighteen years of experience for dealing with this woman, and he was confident that no other person knew her more than he did. He knew exactly what should be said and done, and what not, in order to calm her rage; all he had to do was make sure he pushed the right buttons, and she would be jumping back into his arms in no time.
He followed Natarle around wherever she went, giving her the most sincerely apologetic smile he could muster whenever she turned around with her suspecting glare. When she finally settled in the kitchen to prepare some coffee, he knew it was the opportune moment to settle the matter. He pondered for a moment, deciding on how he should start; maybe sweet talking her out of her anger was the best way to go this time.
He took one step forward, "Sweetie-"
"Don't 'sweetie' me!" Natarle spun around with rage still flaming in her eyes.
Azrael winced; he could not understand why she would still be so angry. It has been an hour or so already, should she not have at least calmed down a bit? And to be honest, he did not even know what she was angry about in the first place. Was it that she had mistaken his words for that brunette for flirtation? But could she not tell that he was just mocking that girl because for whom she was with? Or was it not because of the girl, but of…him?
He grabbed her arm, unwilling to let go when she jerked back out of surprise. "Natarle, I'm sorry."
Natarle looked at him with suspicion. His gaze was genuine, as was the tone of his voice, and even his hold of her proved the earnestness of his apology. "You were being ridiculous back there. How could you have said such things?"
Azrael frantically apologized again, "I'm sorry! I swear to you I wasn't flirting with that brunette, I was just-"
Natarle let out a frustrated growl, this idiot did not even understand what she was angry about. If it was another quarrel like the ones they usually had, she would have easily forgiven him, because at most times he was simply being childish, and she could cope with that. But this was a totally different matter, and although the fault for her miserable mood now was not wholly his, she still needed him to understand where she was coming from. "It's not about that! Why did you have to be so rude to them? Why did you have to pick on him?"
Him. That one word made all the difference to Azrael. "Why do you care?! He's not your boyfriend anymore! I'm your boyfriend…I'm your fiancée!"
"It's not just- It's not about him!" Natarle took a pause, because she had almost admitted to his accusation. She knew if she went any further, she will unleash the utmost of Azrael's jealousy, which was something extremely difficult to handle, because when he was jealous, he was also completely unreasonable. She took in a deep breath, trying to calm herself down as she considered how she should continue.
"What you did was so embarrassing. Did you realize at all that we were outside one of the most famous restaurants around? And do you even remember who you are?"
Azrael looked at her with wide eyes, then his lips curved into a sly smile. So it was not about him after all. It was about himself. All she cared about was himself. "Ooh, so that's what you're angry about. Honey, I'm sorry. I promise it won't happen again."
Natarle eyed him suspiciously as she slightly leaned onto the kitchen counter with her arms crossed. "And it's not about him. No matter how much you don't like a person, it still doesn't give you the right to be rude."
Azrael gave a slightly questioning frown, but still nodded in compliance. But when Natarle's stern face softened, offering him coffee as a truce, his frown immediately brightened into a broad grin. He felt proud of himself, and although this time it took significantly more effort, he had once again won over her stubbornness. The truth was he did not care that much of the reasons she was angry, all he needed to know was how to play things her way and keep her pleased again afterwards. In fact, he actually enjoyed these little challenges, and he sometimes even irritated her deliberately just to see her reaction, because he simply loved the sense of victory that came to him every time she gave in to him.
Seeing her turn around and busy herself with preparing the coffee, he took the chance and slipped his arms around her slender waist. He felt her body shiver slightly as he embraced her, and his lips pulled into a content smile. The fragrance of her hair was mesmerizing, and he started enjoying himself by burying his face into the nape of her neck, greedily drawing in every single drop of her scent. He raised a hand up in front and stroked the soft skin along her shoulder, then tilted her head to one side as he planted a kiss on her neck. His other arm tightened around her waist as he waited for her reply.
"No."
She pulled out of his embrace as she turned to face him, a hand on his chest to keep the distance between them. "Muruta, I'm sorry. But I can't."
He should not be surprised by her answer; after all, every time he hinted for a more intimate act she would refuse, because she was not ready for it, despite them already being engaged. It was she who was the one so surprised by her own answer. She hardly even resisted the man she had not seen for two years when he came to her, yet she would refuse her fiancée when he asked for the same thing. A pang of guilt rushed throughout her body; she knew it was not fair to Azrael, but she could not bring herself to surrender out of this guilt, especially when her act of betrayal was still so vivid in her memory.
"I'm sorry," she repeated.
Azrael abruptly took a step back and threw his arms in the air in mock surrender. He was expecting it anyway. What surprised him though was that her apology this time was more than just words. She was the kind of person who seldom apologized, even when she did, it would usually come out sounding either reluctant or uncommitted, and a sincere apology from her was even rarer than her genuine smile. Yet now she stood in front of him, biting onto her lip with a troubled frown, as if waiting for him to acknowledge her apology. Her unusual sensitiveness on this topic tonight astonished him, to the point that it was almost satisfying to see her regret on disappointing himself.
All the better for him, because when she was ready, he wanted her to be the one come running to him and asking, or even begging, for it.
He bent down a bit so as to level his face with hers, and gave her a reassuring smile. "I can wait." As she let out a small, relieved sigh, he abruptly straightened up again, and allowed Natarle carry on with preparing the coffee.
Yet when Natarle turned around with two mugs of coffee in her hands, she found the blond at the front door putting his shoes on, almost ready to leave. His sudden eagerness to leave worried her; he might have said he was alright with her decision, but then again he was not always truthful with his words. She quickly went up to him, "Where are you going?"
"Not in the mood for coffee," was his simple excuse along with a casual shrug. Natarle felt her heart sink; it was supposed to be a pleasant night out, and somehow everything just went wrong after the dinner itself. Even though she knew it was not entirely her fault, it still felt like it was. And she wanted to do something to compensate for his disappointment.
"Muruta," she slightly tugged his arm for his attention.
"Hmm?" Hand on the doorknob of the already opened door, he heedlessly responded to her call without even looking at her. But as he waited and waited, and still did not hear anything further coming from her, he raised his head up to look at her.
She finally got his full attention, but Natarle took her time. She stared into his eyes for a moment as if contemplating, then reached her hand up and gently palmed his pale face, reaching up to give him a gentle kiss on his lips. As they slowly parted, she whispered, "Goodnight."
And her fiancée returned her a gratified smile with a soft goodnight as he departed.
A/N: I'm so very sorry, I know I promised a quick update, well, one month ago, and it hasn't really happened, has it? Can't exactly tell you why, because it was a mixture of various reasons, well, including my own laziness, but that should be expected by those who know me well enough. But then this chapter was surprisingly difficult to write, so I'm not gonna take the whole blame. Muahaha. Anyway, work is catching up with me, so I might not be able to update as frequently as I used to. I also realize that my chapters are getting longer than they used to be, which obviously takes longer to write, so…yeah. Quality is more important that quantity, should it not be? So I'm forgiven?
Okay, that was one whole paragraph of excuses for a late update. Anyway, something I'm pretty curious about. (Yes that's in bold just to catch everyone's attention.) I've been having a look at the stats for this story, and I discovered something very interesting…Somehow the 6th page, i.e. Chapter 4 Part 2, has an outstandingly high hit count, and I'm thinking one of you out there has either accidentally set it as your homepage (very unlikely, but still possible), or is seriously addicted to that chapter (an equally ridiculous guess, because I've gone back to it but don't see anything particularly fascinating about it, but hey, still probable). Whoever it is, I'm asking, no, begging you to enlighten me, because you have no idea how much I'm dying to know what's happening there.
To Moi: Yeah, that's what I've been trying desperately to avoid, yet finding it quite challenging. My reasons for her indecisiveness is because I personally have always seen Natarle as a person who would excel in work but is totally incapable of handling her own feelings/love life, especially when met with the more complicated of problems, and therefore sometimes landing herself in an even worse situation (that's a hint for later chapters). Long story behind that, but I will be addressing this in further chapters, and hopefully that will help balance her character. But thanks for your comment, and please do give me the heads up if I am starting to make Natarle ridiculously OOC.
