Belle watched as Gaston transformed right before her very eyes when they stepped into the building, as if he were an actor who had just been given his cue. He was all teeth, grinning and greeting anyone and everyone they passed as they made their way inside. He seemed to know a few people and he called them by name, while others he took the effort to introduce himself to, dragging Belle along as he offered everyone he met a handshake.
Ever since she was a child, Belle had never quite felt like she fit in anywhere, but especially here among the elite upper crust of society, she was sure she stuck out even more as an outsider. Yet no one seemed to notice, and the first time Gaston introduced her as his wife to an overweight man with gray hair, the stuffy aristocrat's eyes seemed to light up, kissing the back of her hand in earnest.
"He's the Treasurer of the club," Gaston murmured as an aside when the man had walked away from them, and Belle nodded her understanding. It was a large party, with at least 100 or so guests, and Belle was sure she wouldn't be able to remember all of them. It was a tad overwhelming to see so many finely-dressed strangers in such a luxurious space. As the brown-haired woman looked around, she also realized that, at only 24 years of age, she was easily the youngest person in attendance.
Gaston had gone across the room to grab them something to drink from the bar, leaving his fake wife by herself. Dinner would soon be served in the great dining hall, but for now Belle stood off to the side, picking nervously at a beige thread that had come loose in the hip of her gown, looking down to avoid making eye contact with anybody. She could feel their eyes on her, could hear their whispers about her beauty, and the unwanted attention made Belle yearn to run out the nearest door.
"Are you lost?" a masculine voice boomed, and Belle spun around to see an unknown man staring at her with squinted eyes. He was tall, almost as tall as Gaston, but older, with olive skin, bushy eyebrows that matched his mustache, and curly dark brown hair that was graying at the temples.
"Uhm, no," Belle replied awkwardly, sucking in her lower lip nervously. The last thing she wanted was to be stuck talking to someone without Gaston. "I'm just waiting for my... husband."
"The beautiful ones are always taken," the man lamented sourly, the heavy timbre of his voice reverberating in Belle's ears like a growl.
Gaston returned then with their drinks, and Belle felt a wave of relief wash over herself at seeing him. He handed Belle a glass of something light and fizzy, then used his newly-freed hand to clap the strange man on the back.
"Bouche, what are you doing over here with my wife? Shouldn't you be chasing after your own?"
The man scoffed, loudly. "She's the one always chasing me. I can't even get a goddamn minute alone to piss!"
Both men howled with laughter then, as if they had shared some hilarious inside joke that Belle failed to understand.
"There you are!" a voice sing-songed, and Belle looked to see a pleasantly plump woman with frizzy blonde hair approach their small group, holding her own flute of champagne. Her incredibly long acrylic nails were painted a vivid shade of scarlet that matched her lipstick, and on each and every finger she wore a bejeweled ring. The rest of her person was just as decorated as her fingers, Belle noticed, with layers of pearls and diamonds around her neck and wrists. Her sparkly chandelier earrings hung low enough to brush the cap sleeves of her sage-colored chiffon dress. Belle could see that her skin had a slight wrinkle to it, and was covered in brown spots and freckles, evidently from years of sun exposure.
"Belle, this is Bouche, and this is his wife, Big Mouth," Gaston introduced in jest, placing his hand on the small of Belle's back, causing her to arch slightly. "Guys, this is my wife, Belle."
"Hey, that's Mrs. Big Mouth to you," the woman chortled with a wink. "But you can just call me Madame. Everyone else does."
The woman called Madame seemed to stiffen then, her thick false lashes blinking repeatedly and rapidly in succession as she registered Gaston's words.
"Hold on," she said with a start, her drink sloshing in its glass. "This pretty little thing is your wife?"
"Settle down, Joanne," Bouche scolded mildly, causing his wife to hit him in the arm.
"Shut up, Brian," she snapped, her voluptuous chest jiggling from the effort of her punch. Her tone wasn't wholly angry; more than anything, she seemed disappointed. "The boy's run off and gotten himself hitched and we weren't even invited to the wedding."
Bouche rolled his eyes and took a swig from his glass of red wine, obviously indifferent to the topic. "He's not a boy, he can get married if he damn well pleases."
Madame scoffed, offended. "We practically raised him like the son we never had! How could you not care about something as important as this?"
As the oblivious older couple delved further into their bickering, a bewildered Belle turned to Gaston for some sort of clarification. He only shrugged, as if this was completely normal, and sipped his whiskey. Belle followed his lead, taking a sip of her own drink; it was bubbly and tingled her lips and tongue. When she sniffed it, it smelled like fermented citrus. She had never had champagne before, but didn't find the taste altogether unpleasant. Each sip of the butter-colored liquid went down smoother than the last, and soon she found that she had downed her entire flute in only a few minutes.
The dinner bell rang then, and Belle suddenly found herself wrapped up by a pair of cushiony, feminine arms.
"Dinner time," Madame sang into her ear, ushering the younger woman along eagerly. "You're at our table. And I am simply dying to hear all about you and our Gaston!"
–
Unsurprisingly, Belle was sat beside Gaston at dinner. He had even pulled out her chair for her, and Belle had to remind herself that he was only playing the part of a gentleman to give a good impression as her fake husband.
Etiquette seemed to dictate an alternating man-woman seating arrangement, and so on Belle's left-hand side sat Bouche, then beside him sat his wife, then Cogsworth, and then three empty chairs. When Bouche inquired about Mrs. Cogsworth's absence, the portly man muttered an uncomfortable excuse about trouble with the missus, and that was the end of the discussion.
Belle assumed the other two were reserved for Lumiere and his wife, neither of whom appeared at any point during the course of the meal.
"So, Belle," Madame purred, leaning forward. "How did you and Gaston meet?"
"At work," both Belle and Gaston inadvertently answered simultaneously.
Madame laughed. "Look at them, Brian, already so in sync."
Bouche grunted, too engrossed in his soup to be bothered.
"When did you know?" Madame asked, her jovial green eyes fixed on Belle; they were permanently creased with smile lines.
Confused, Belle scrunched her face. "Know what?"
"That he was 'The One!'" the older woman sang in a melodic tone.
"Oh," was all Belle could manage, looking to Gaston with her amber eyes, silently pleading for an answer. Gaston smirked at her, his blue eyes full of mischief.
"Go ahead, dear," he egged her on. "Tell the story."
Belle narrowed her eyes. "No, dear, I really think you should tell the story. You love telling it, after all."
"Honey, I insist," Gaston bellowed with vigor, slamming his open palm on the table. Belle gave him the most threatening stare she could manage and he only grinned.
Hiding her annoyance, Belle turned back to the group, trying to come up with the words when an idea clicked into her head, like somebody flipping on a switch.
He wants me to do all the dirty work? Fine. Then we're going to do it my way.
"Well," Belle began, adjusting her napkin in her lap as she straightened up. The creative writer inside herself was ready for action. "It was Gaston who made the first move. Moves, actually."
An intrigued silence fell over the table, as everyone focused on Belle. Even Gaston sat up a little straighter in his chair.
"He was so desperate," she laughed, playing it off as though she found Gaston's behavior charming. "He would ask me out daily, sometimes twice a day. And he was always trying so hard to impress me. I thought it was actually kind of pathetic, the way he was always bugging me, and–"
"Actually, sweetie," Gaston interrupted with a nervous chuckle, leaning over the table in an attempt to overshadow her. "I think you're remembering incorrectly. It was you who wanted to get with me, remember?"
Belle tapped a finger to her lips and acted as though she were trying to recall. "No, no… I distinctly remember you being the one who followed me all around the office like a lovesick puppy."
From the other side of the table, Belle heard Cogsworth snicker. When she glanced at Gaston from out of the corner of her eye, she could see him pursing his lips, his face flushed with embarrassment.
Got him.
"Anyway," Belle continued. "This went on for months. He just would not give up. Then one day, I came into my office to see this giant bouquet of flowers of flowers on my desk. I felt so bad for him, the little softie, that I finally agreed to a date. Isn't that right, Gaston?"
Gaston gritted his teeth, humming his reluctant agreement.
"Fast forward a few months, and here we are." Belle smiled smugly at him. Reaching for her glass of wine, she took a victorious swig as Madame clapped her hands excitedly.
"Oh, my sweet boy!" she hollered. "We never thought he would settle down."
"Never," Bouche agreed with his wife.
"Never," Madame reiterated for emphasis, clasping a hand to her heart. Belle couldn't help but giggle and Gaston groaned.
"Alright, enough," he snapped, his face marred with disgust. "Can't we enjoy our meal in peace?"
"No," Madame and Belle both answered in unison, giggling together.
The rest of dinner was rather uneventful. After Gaston spent some time bragging about both his career and his hunting prowess, the men began discussing the upcoming season while Belle did her best to answer all of Madame's questions, telling the older woman about her line of work and even her dreams of becoming a published author; when Gaston eavesdropped, listening in on the women's conversation with a raised eyebrow, Belle didn't notice.
Madame, in turn, told Belle about her life as a celebrity stylist, going on and on about how she used to travel all over the world, working on fashion shows, movie sets, and the like. It was actually rather fascinating to Belle, who found herself quickly growing fond of the older woman.
After dinner, Madame stopped Belle as she rose to join the rest of the guests in the ballroom for after-dinner cocktails and dancing, letting the others leave while they stayed behind. Gaston shot her a questioning look but Madame shooed him away. With one last quizzical look at Belle, he disappeared with the others into the ballroom.
"My goodness, you are such a doll," she began, taking Belle's hand in her own. Her skin was soft and smooth. "I can't even begin to express how happy I am for you two."
Belle swallowed hard. She was starting to feel sorry about lying to such a kindly woman. "Thank you. We're very… in love."
The words felt peculiar on Belle's tongue.
"I can see that," Madame agreed, her eyes twinkling. Then, her usually musical voice dropped to a serious whisper. "I never thought I'd see him love anyone ever again. Not after his parents died– bless their souls."
Belle nodded, unsure of what to say. Her mouth went dry and she wished for nothing more than another glass of champagne to calm her nerves.
"He's different now, you know," Madame continued, her eyes misting over. "I can tell. I've been like an aunt to him since the day he was born. He used to be such a good-hearted, fun-loving boy. After his parents passed away, he became– well, horrid. He was moody and depressed. And angry. Refused to let anybody in. But now… you've changed him."
She dabbed at her eye with her fingertips: "You've changed him for the better. I can see it in the way he looks at you."
Madame pulled the younger woman into an embrace then, squeezing Belle tightly to her chest, the way a mother would hold her daughter.
"I'm so thankful for you. Thank you for loving him."
Belle hugged the older woman back, the icy cold tendrils of guilt– and something else– snaking into her heart.
–
Side note: For those of you wondering (or if you didn't guess), Brian Bouche is based off of the stove/chef and Madame Joanne is based off of the wardrobe.
Also, the character of Monsieur is based off of the bookkeeper in the movie ;-)