– 11 –
A Match Made In Heaven
Meliodas narrows his eyes, a shade of emerald darkened by emotion, at his reflection in the golden liquid that froths in a wooden tankard before him.
"You idiot," he mutters. "You love dancing."
And wouldn't he like nothing more than to spin Elizabeth elegantly around a dance floor by the hand, watch her sapphire eyes sparkle under dim light, admire the flash of white skin beneath a skirt whirling about her legs.
Yes. The word slices through his alcoholic fog so clearly it's as though it's been shouted in an empty room, and he winces. Clenching one hand into a fist, he lifts the mug of ale in his other hand and guzzles it down.
Okay, Elizabeth. Focus. You can do this. Elizabeth paces around her bedroom, alternately wringing her hands together and twisting a strand of silver hair come loose from her braid. Just…tell him the truth. No, that might be too much; he doesn't HAVE to know everything. But tell him you don't want to be with him. No, too harsh. You've found somebody else. Maybe, but that might start something… She shudders at the thought of Arthur and Meliodas possibly coming to blows over her. If Meliodas would even be interested in her at all, after the fact.
Okay. Tell him you don't want to go to the dance with him. Yes, that's simple enough, and if he asks why not… She stops short. What then? What could she say to diffuse any conflict, to dissuade any hope of a reconciliation, but to also be amicable? And then, even if she is successful in all of that, what if she arrives at the dance with Meliodas, and Arthur is there, and a fight ensues, anyway?
She plops down on the rug, drawing her knees to her chest, and rests her head in her hands. Her temples are beginning to pound. Love is such a complicated thing.
Love. Her head snaps up, startled at the turn her thoughts have taken. Does she…love one of them? Both of them? Could she?
Arthur hasn't questioned why she hasn't returned his sentiment yet, even though he reminds her every day. Perhaps he doesn't want to put any pressure on her; perhaps it doesn't matter to him whether she loves him or not, so long as they are together and happy.
Happy. She's always been happy with Arthur, even when they were only good friends. He makes her smile, always remembers her birthday, always walks on the outer edge of the sidewalk so she may be safe from any stray cars, never belittles her opinion or feelings. They rarely disagree. "A match made in heaven," their fathers used to tease.
A match made in heaven, indeed.
What of heaven, anyway? If the goddesses of the Britannian myths were real, what might they have to say about either match? And…for that matter…what of her mother?
"Mom," Elizabeth moans. "What would you tell me to do?"
"What do you think she would tell you to do, Elizabeth?"
Her eyes fly to the doorway and she lets out a startled cry. Smiling sweetly as ever, Arthur walks into the room and offers a hand to help Elizabeth to her feet. They sit down together on the window seat. "What is it, Ellie?"
"N-n-nothing," she stammers out, staring at her mint green pedicure.
"Come on, Ellie. I know you better than that." He softens his voice. "You'd be going to your sisters for advice if it weren't so important. Not asking for your mom."
"They already gave me advice," she mumbles, and picks at a thread of embroidery on the cushion. She knows it's a weak excuse.
"Well. Whenever you're ready to talk about it, then, I'll be ready to listen. Okay?" He pulls her to him in a one-armed hug.
"But hey, look, I have something that might cheer you up in the meantime!" His bright smile returns, and yes, it is cute the way his face takes on a look of boyish excitement…
"Elizabeth, you already know that I love you." He takes one of her hands in his and looks at her seriously. "And I was wondering if…maybe…" He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small velvet box, and then drops to one knee in front of her. Elizabeth's eyes widen and she searches desperately for words…
He opens the box to reveal, glimmering against a blue velvet cushion, a diamond…necklace. "…you'd go to the Valentine Dance with me?"
Oh my… Thank you, god…or goddess…or Mother… She breathes an audible sigh of relief.
Arthur grins, but a somewhat quizzical look settles over his features. "You okay? I know it's about a month away, but I wanted to make sure you'd have enough time to find a dress, pick flowers…"
"Um…" No. No! NO. Don't. Do not. "I…"
Patiently, he waits, eventually shifting positions so he can sit in front of her rather than kneel. "Ellie?"
Now or never. "Arthur…" She closes her eyes. It's time. "I'msorryIcan'tgotothedancewithyou!"
Violet eyes blink blankly.
She takes a deep breath and tries again. "I'm sorry…but…I can't go to the dance with you."
"Okay…" He nods, slowly. "Well, if you don't want to go to the dance, maybe we could do something else. Dinner, a movie? Or just stay in and hang out?"
Elizabeth traps her bottom lip between her teeth, until blood rushes into her mouth. She cringes at the taste, quickly swallows. "No… I—I can't… I don't…"
"Ah." He looks away and gently releases the hand he holds. "I see."
"It's…It's not…"
"Let me guess. It's not me, right? It's you? But it really is me?"
As much as Elizabeth can appreciate this last show of humor, her heart breaks at the obvious pain in his eyes. "I'm…so…sorry."
"Just…" He hesitates. "Just tell me… No. Actually, don't; I don't think I want to know."
"But we can…" No. Don't do that to him.
"Friends?" He climbs to his feet and pockets the jewelry box. "Yeah, Elizabeth. Maybe we can."
At the door, Arthur pauses. "I don't want to hold it against you. I just want you to be happy, and if he makes you happy… Well." He gives her one last smile, this one a little lopsided, sadly, and then he leaves. Gently shuts the door on his way out.
Elizabeth shatters.
The best part of breaking up is… There is none, is there? Hours after the fact, Elizabeth has buried herself beneath the silk duvet on her bed, her fluffiest blanket, and a dozen pillows. The comfort and warmth does little to ease the ache that lingers.
Margaret and Veronica, in turn, tried to get her to open up; even Veronica tentatively knocked on the door instead of barging in as usual. Elizabeth ignored their pleas all afternoon; they must already have some idea of what happened because of the manner in which Arthur left: politely though sadly, without Elizabeth to see him to the door.
She burrows more deeply into her bed, wishing to stay there forever.
"Elizabeth." A distant knocking. "Elizabeth, open up."
Groggily, she opens one eye.
"Elizabeth!" The voice and the sharp taps on the door become louder, and Elizabeth, slowly pulled back into consciousness, props herself up in bed.
"Veri…?"
"Elizabeth, are you still in bed? You've got to get up. You're gonna be late for school."
"No… I'm not going!" she calls back hoarsely.
"You can't miss again! You slept through it yesterday!"
Blankly, blearily, Elizabeth feels around in the bedcovers for her phone. Veronica is right; today is Tuesday, and it's almost 7:30. She must have slept through yesterday, and she will be late if she doesn't get a move on…
"Elizabeth, I'm coming in." Before her younger sister can protest, Veronica swings the door open and marches in, already dressed in black leggings and a pink jacket with a fur-lined hood. "You're still in bed!"
Elizabeth blinks again, though this time it's a clear indication of Why does this surprise you? Veronica rolls her amber eyes in reply.
"Here, Ellie." She thrusts an excuse note for yesterday into her sister's hand. "Get up, or I'll tell Father that you've been skipping school, and I'll tell him why."
This presents a fresh set of problems; Elizabeth hadn't yet even considered what Bartra might have to say about the break-up. She falls limply back into the pillows in despair.
Veronica softens. "Okay, Ellie. I'll let Margaret break the news. But you really have to come to school today; you can't avoid it forever."
She sighs and tosses back the covers. "Can you give me a ride?"
Her sister turns up the corners of her lips in a devilish smirk. "Oh, I think somebody already has that covered."
Elizabeth stares at her. "Who?"
—but Veronica is already heading out the door.
It must be Veronica or Bartra then, Elizabeth reasons, and she should not keep them waiting—particularly her father, who would prefer to have an early start in his office and would be displeased to have to wait an hour for her to get ready for school, when already she will probably be late… In lieu of a shower, then, Elizabeth throws on a camisole, cardigan, and leggings, twists her hair into a ponytail, and generously douses herself in deodorant and perfume. She tosses a piece of gum in her mouth as she scoops up her bag and descends the stairs. "I'm sorry, Father, I—" Stopping short a few steps from the bottom, completely thrown off by the cocky grin on Meliodas' face, leaning casually against the banister as if he stands in her foyer every morning.
"Yo, Elizabeth!"
Immediately she regrets not taking longer to freshen up.
He opens the front door for her. "Ready to go?"