They were at the front of the class, patiently awaiting the go-ahead from
Ms. Atergaph, who was marking down the last group's grade in her red book.
"Okay, Dean, Rory, Tristan, let's see it." She smiled and folded her hand
across the book. Tristan heard Rory swallow and begin the presentation.
"We chose Henry VIII's third wife, Jane Seymour. She was the only wife with the exception of his last wife, who was not beheaded or divorced.
Dean began his bit about their meeting, their attraction to one another, ending with the marriage. Tristan picked up where Dean left off, telling details about the marriage, how they had gotten along, and the significance of Edward in the marriage, concluding his speech with the death of Jane. Rory then led the analysis portion, and all three fielded questions.
Outside, after class, all three stood in a grouping similar to the one last week. "So, that wasn't so bad," Rory commented.
"Could have been worse," Dean agreed.
"Definitely," Tristan added unnecessarily. Dean looked at them and continued on his way to class. Tristan was careful to keep up with Rory. "So, my parents have this thing going on..."
Rory turned to him and raised her eyebrows. "Yes? Continue."
"Well, it's this big party, kind of a Thanksgiving thing."
"Keep going." Rory dodged a notebook sailing down the hall, colliding with Tristan on the side. "Sorry."
"I need a date."
"So? That should be no trouble. You could auction yourself, hold a drawing-- "
"The point is, I need someone who I'd feel comfortable meeting my parents."
"Take..." Rory pondered who he should take.
Tristan took a deep breath. Maybe he could convince her it was just a friends thing. It wasn't. But it was true that he needed someone there with him who could make intelligent conversation. "I'd like you to come with me."
Rory came to a full halt and stared. "Me?" she finally squeaked.
*
Rory breathed a sigh of relief when the project was over. She and Dean were so uncomfortable around each other, even Tristan began to feel misplaced when with them. Keeping her spine straight, Rory had told Dean she couldn't get back together with him. Seeing the expression on his face, she had almost reconsidered, but knew it wouldn't work. It couldn't. Not after breaking up once.
And there was Tristan. Always Tristan. Before her mother had mentioned it, Rory was perfectly content to have a platonic friendship with him. But now...what was she going to do? Her life had always been so planned: go to school, be valedictorian, go to Harvard. End of story. And now, there was all this confusion.
But it wasn't like she needed a boyfriend. Rory Gilmore could certainly survive without a boyfriend, and had done so admirably for the last several months. Rory couldn't bear to think about the pathetically superficial situation for a moment longer, but her attempt was thwarted when Tristan jogged up beside her.
"I'd like you to come with me."
"Me?" Ooh, off to a good start, Rory chided herself, although it was what she was thinking. "I don't know..."
"A friends thing."
"No, it's not that. I've just never been that good around..." Rory wanted to say rich people, but instead opted for, "...parties. You know."
"Rich parties?"
"Well...yeah."
"It's fine. Look, it's no big deal, Rory. There's no pressure, and if you don't want to go, I'll understand."
"When?"
"Friday."
"Hmmm." Rory had her Friday night dinners, but she knew her grandparents would let her out if it was for a Dugray party. "Well..." What could it hurt? "Okay."
*
"Well...okay." What? Okay?! This had the potential to be the best party his parents had ever thrown. Not because it would be like the Fourth of July with expensive fireworks, not because it would be like Christmas with the gaudy tree, but because Rory would be there.
Attempting to keep his excitement contained, Tristan said, "I'll pick you up at five."
"What time does it get over?"
"Nine or ten. Depending on who insults whom first."
"Ah."
"Lunch?" Tristan didn't want to press his luck, but hey, they needed to discuss plans, right?
"Oh--sure."
"Front doors," Tristan called over his shoulder as he rounded the corner. He felt like he was Gene Kelly, floating above everything. Rory would come to the party with him, would possibly dance with him, maybe even smile at him in that special Rory-esque way...Tristan began to feel stupid. He was fantacizing about a girl smiling at him. Now that was obsessed.
No, that was head over heels in love.
Tristan sensed her rounding the corner and turned. She wasn't alone; she and Dean were talking about something, and looked to Tristan's suspicious eyes, very content together.
He realized it was the one thing he hadn't considered when he invited Rory out: the chance that she and Dean might be together again, or close to it. When he looked at them again, he felt it could be true: Dean looked at her with an admiring expression written across every one of his features. And then Tristan knew it: he and Rory would never be more than friends because there was Dean, and there always would be.
Tristan almost decided to just go, but then rethought. At least he would be able to love Rory as a friend, and he couldn't jeopardize that. As he walked up behind her, he saw Dean's eyes change and avert abruptly from him. "See you around," he told Rory suddenly, and Rory turned.
"Oh, hi," she greeted him.
"Ready?" Tristan asked, hoping the disappointment of his latest contemplation hadn't affected his voice.
"Yeah, yeah." Rory followed him to the front doors, and stopped.
"What?"
"The rain."
Tristan gazed out the window and noticed that it was pouring. "Run?" he asked, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.
"One, two, three," she said, and they took off for his car. Rory squealed in delight as the cold rain pelted her, and Tristan laughed at her childlike innocence. He felt his shirt sticking to his chest, his pants adhering to his legs.
He unlocked the doors with the remote and flung himself inside, collapsing against the seat. Turning to Rory, he saw her giggling as she assessed the wetness of her knee socks. "They make good elastic nowadays, don't they?" she posed.
"Yes." Tristan dug through his backseat and emerged with a towel. "Here." He watched as Rory dried her hair, squeezing portions, letting the water drain. Her blue eyes lit up, her cheeks were a pleasant pink, and her face was dewed with rain. Tristan's stomach ached as he realized that he would never have her.
"Sorry, it's kind of wet," Rory apologized and handed him the slightly damp towel.
"No problem."
"Argh!" Rory chuckled at his lack of vocabulary and slumped against the seat.
*
Tristan took the towel, and Rory relaxed in the posh interior. Why was she feeling this way? Warm and free and almost...giddy around him. Rory surreptitiously observed him as he dried his hair and loosened his neck tie, and thought about the progression of feelings she had felt for him. First, contempt, then cautious friendliness, then a warm, caring emotion, and finally, love.
Though she was scared to admit it, she loved Tristan Dugray. Throughout the last several months, he had shown her that he wasn't really a jerk, it was all kind of a facade, but inside he was capable of loving someone, and perhaps even devotion. Still, there was always a slight air of arrogance, but Rory knew it never went away, that it was how he was born and raised. Most intoxicating of all, however, was the amazing self-confidence he had. Even now, just walking into a restaurant, he held himself well, and people noticed. "Coffee?" he asked.
"Why do you bother to waste your breath?"
"Right. Two large black house brews." Tristan handed her the cup and lead her to a table. "Okay, now if you don't like this, keep in mind there's a GM station down the street."
"No, I won't go to GM."
"Honda and Toyota, but not GM?"
"Not GM," Rory affirmed.
Tristan shook his head and sipped. "Never mind."
"So, is there anything we need to go over?" Rory hoped he knew she was talking about the party, because she didn't want to elaborate.
"I'll pick you up at five in Stars Hollow, we'll be bored out of our skulls for four hours, and then I'll drive you back."
"Sounds good. Formal?"
"Yes. Duh."
"How formal?"
"Are there that many different kinds?"
"Of course. There's ball gown formal, and you know, plaid skirt formal, and floral print dress formal or khaki pants formal or slip dress formal..."
"I'd say, like your birthday at your grandparents."
"Oh, kind of an Edith Wharton formal?"
"Since when did you bring people's names into the categorization?"
"Long story."
"Okay." Rory watched as Tristan applied himself to his cheeseburger, eating as though unaffected by anything around him. Who knew Tristan ate cheeseburgers for lunch? Rory realized that she might be one of the few.
Rory picked hers up and ate it quickly, starving as she was. "So, is there anything in particular I should know about this party?" Rory asked after her third bite.
"Well," Tristan began around a mouthful, "these people are snotty. Like, really arrogant." He paused to swallow. "Just don't say much, I guess, unless you're really perceptive about their social position."
"I think I've just stepped into 'My Fair Lady'."
"The weather and your health, Eliza," Tristan replied, imitating Henry Higgins. Rory couldn't help herself--she started to laugh. When she attempted to keep the volume to a minimum, she contracted the hiccups.
"Don't--[hiccup]--do that to--[hiccup]--me in a fancy--[hiccup]-- restaurant."
*
Tristan could hardly focus his eyes on the road. He had memorized every inch of the route to Rory's house, so there was no problem there, but it was difficult to comprehend the red lights and other motorists. Without any fatal incident, Tristan pulled up at the Gilmore household promptly at five.
Nervous, he rang the doorbell.
"He's here!" he heard from inside.
"What?" That was Rory.
"Yeah, right on the porch."
"Ahh! What's wrong with him? When did this punctual thing happen? I can't find my hair pins!"
"What do you want me to do?"
"Let him in!"
"Right!" The door swung open moments later, and Tristan was greeted by Lorelai, wearing a black miniskirt and purple blouse. "Hey there," she said by way of salutation.
"Hi, Ms. Gilmo--"
"Lorelai."
"Hi, Lorelai."
"Hello, Tristan. Well, come on in. Rory should be here in a sec."
"Sure."
"So, is this a big occasion?"
"Yeah, I guess. They're all pretty much the same."
"I hear you. You'll have to meet my parents sometime."
"That should be exciting."
"They'd love you." Lorelai smiled at him. "So, you've reversed your evil ways?"
"Yes. My name is Tristan and I'm a recovering torturer."
"Glad to hear you're finally admitting it."
"The admittance was never the problem."
"True. Rory!"
"Yeah, yeah," Rory called back.
"How long have you been going to Chilton?" Lorelai asked to fill the conversational void.
"Since kindergarten. Twelve years."
"Tristan, look." Lorelai didn't smile, although her face was kind. "Rory is a great girl."
"This I know."
"And I won't let anyone hurt her, ever. If you ever, in any way, voluntarily or not, hurt my baby, you'll be subject to re-enaction of Dante's Inferno."
"Understood. But this is a friends thing."
"Uh-huh," Lorelai countered sagely. "I know you like her. And don't worry, your secret is safe with me."
"I don't--"
"You do." Lorelai grinned, and Tristan bowed his head a little. "Hey, babe," she exclaimed when Rory entered the room. "I have such exquisite taste."
Tristan was rendered speechless. Rory was...dazzling. She was wearing a deep red dress, one that hugged her curves without being tight, that ended just above her knees. The neckline was square, the straps leading back the chunky kind, the back dipping just low enough to show her shoulder blades.
"I picked it out," Rory responded with loving patience. "But someday, I hope to equal your fashion prowess."
"Off you go," Lorelai prompted. "Here's the phone, call me if you need me-- "
"You won't be lonely?" Rory's face scrunched slightly with concern.
"No, honey. I have a dinner party to go to! Oh, wait, it's not a party. Have fun. Back by twelve."
"Bye, Mom." Rory leaned over to kiss her mother on the cheek, and turned to Tristan, who managed a smile and a nod toward Lorelai, who was beaming.
*
Rory groaned when she heard the bell. Why did Tristan have to be on time today of all days? Her nylons were bunching, her hair was being stubborn, her makeup was unsatisfactory, and her dress wasn't zipping properly. Argh!
As she frantically finished dressing, Rory heard Lorelai and Tristan talking, although she couldn't make out words, just the hum of their voices. She wondered what her mother was saying; then again, maybe she didn't want to know.
When she emerged, she immediately saw Tristan's perfect tux, apparently his own. Wrenching herself from him, knowing she would be with him all evening, she said goodbye to Lorelai and guided Tristan to the door.
When they were seated in the Porsche, Tristan finally said something. "Nice dress."
"Nice tux."
"Rental."
Rory was dumbfounded. "Really?"
"No, not really. But the look in your face was pretty entertaining."
Rory sighed at how gullible she could be. Tristan turned to look at her again and chuckled. "You look scared," he observed.
"You make it sound like a scene from 'Gladiator'."
"Maybe just a PBS version. You know, no machetes."
"Comforting."
"No--"
"Stop right there."
Tristan averted his attention to the road, where the traffic had accumulated since he was last there. Rory took him in as he drove. His jaw clenched lightly as he maneuvered the car through the increasingly heavy traffic, and she noticed he tapped the shifter impatiently at times, frustrated with the incompetence of some of the other drivers. His cerulean blue eyes darkened with concentration as the cars started and stopped.
"I wonder who taught these people how to drive."
"Oh, it was probably someone at the IRS," Rory supplied.
"The IRS?" Tristan turned to her and raised his eyebrows. Rory almost couldn't speak, the gaze from his eyes was so intense.
"Yeah, the IRS."
"Any reason?"
"Oh, well, there is a way to blame everything on the IRS. I'm thinking of doing a research paper on it."
"Original topic."
"I know." Tristan returned her grin, then went back to the road. He muttered a few expletives at the faults of others, then winced and apologized. "Oh, don't worry. When we drive in New York, my mom sounds like the uncensored version of the Jerry Springer Show."
*
Tristan pulled up at his house, and held back a laugh when Rory saw it. Her mouth dropped slightly, and her eyes immediately became wide. After staring for a few seconds, she closed her mouth and twisted to face him.
"You live here?" she asked in disbelief.
"Yup."
"What was it, transplanted from the Royal Family's London estate?"
"Well, we decided it would be a bit difficult by boat, so we had the architect make an exact rendition."
"Is that a joke?"
"Yes."
"Good. Good, glad to hear it." Rory returned to her studying of the house, which looked so normal to Tristan after living there for seventeen years.
"I think it's time to face the music."
"Uh-huh." Tristan climbed out on his side, then went around and opened Rory's door. "You didn't have to do that. I may not be able to speak arightly, but I can certainly open a door."
"It's courtesy."
"In what generation?" Tristan held out his hand, and Rory grasped it. Inwardly, he sighed, wondering if Dean got the same sensations when he touched her. Maybe it went away with experience. What would it be like to kiss her again? Rory's small hand clutched his comparatively larger one and he lead her in the front door, which was opened by his butler.
"Ah, son," his father spoke when he came to the foyer.
"Father. Father, this is Rory, Rory this is my father, Edward Dugray."
"Hello," Rory chirped. Tristan felt a swelling of pride, knowing there was no way his parents couldn't like Rory, who was so sweet and timid.
"Hello there, Rory. Flavor of the month?" he asked bitterly. Tristan's eyes flashed when he saw the hurt and surprise in Rory's eyes, although he was pleased to notice she suppressed it well.
"My friend, Father, Rory."
"Of course. The upstairs bedroom is open, a different one for a different girl. Lucky we have so many." With that, Edward walked away, leaving Tristan seething silently. Rory still had the same shocked expression, but it slowly evolved into anger.
"Rory--"
"Was that your plan?" Rory's eyes welled up with tears. "I can't believe I'm here. I should have known." One trailed down her cheek. "I am not Summer or any other of your cache of dolts."
"Rory--"
"So, you thought you'd trick me into coming, since it's just a 'friends thing'. Then you'd somehow persuade me into one of those bedrooms and--" Rory cut herself off abruptly and wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. Tristan helplessly said her name, but she shook her head. "I'm leaving." With that, Rory spun on her heel and ran out of the house.
Damn his father! "Rory!" he called chasing after her, intending to tell her that it wasn't the plan at all, and that he really did want her to meet his parents, although he was beginning to think that had been a mistake. His parents weren't ready for someone like Rory, who wasn't like the others, who had grace and dignity. He frantically questioned the servants, but none could point in a definite direction. Finally, Tristan sat down on the porch steps.
"Oh, I thought you'd gone into the room already. Sylvia is here."
Tristan angrily faced his father. "Why did you do that?"
"What?" His father adopted an innocent look.
"Say those things in front of Rory!"
"I thought she was like the others."
"She's not! That's why I wanted tonight to be perfect! I love her!"
"Son, calm down. And do straighten your tie; the crookedness is unbecoming."
"Did you hear what I said?"
His father appraised him once more, then nodded slightly and strode inside.
*
Rory sprinted as quickly as she could out of that house. Why had she been so foolish as to think that Tristan actually ad any genuine feelings for her? He was in relationships for one thing and one thing only. She sat on the curb about four blocks away and dialed her mother's number. No answer. Rory tried again. No answer. Leaving a message would do no good, so Rory decided to use her last option: her grandparents.
"Grandpa?" she asked when Richard answered.
"Rory?" he questioned, confused.
"Can you pick me up?"
"From...your house?"
"No. I'm in Hartford."
"Did something happen?"
"You could say that."
"Where are you?"
"I'm on...Rose and Cliff."
"We'll be there."
Rory sighed in relief and leaned back against the light post, the tears flowing down her cheeks. Why had she even considered Tristan as boyfriend material? They would never be right together. Maybe he had just acted like this for a few months to get her to go out with him. Maybe it was all still a game to him. Unfortunately, her heart was the ball now, and he had just tossed it away. Rory chided herself for being so naive. Why hadn't her mother taught her this?
A few minutes later, her grandparents' car pulled up, and Emily came running out. "My dear, are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Why aren't you at the party?" Emily assessed the street corner with distaste.
"It got...cut short."
"Well, what happened?" Emily swallowed her pride and sat down next to Rory.
"It didn't work out."
"What didn't work out? What happened? Why didn't you call your mother?"
"I couldn't get an answer. It was just a big disaster."
Emily pondered the situation and decided not to press any more, although she was dying to know what had happened. "Let's go." Emily wrapped Rory's shoulder in her arm and led her to the car.
*
Tristan was not released from his social obligations, broken heart or not. So, he interacted with these pathetically narrow people, making dry replies to a plethora of unamusing jokes. Finally, he jogged upstairs when the last of the guests had left, and dialed Rory's number, memorized long ago.
The telephone rang and rang, and finally Lorelai came on the machine. "You missed us because we're busy, important people. Speak quickly or forever hold your peace."
"Rory, it's Tristan. Call me. I'll call you. I don't care. I'm sorry." He hung up, not satisfied with his message. However, proclaiming his love over the answering machine didn't seem like an appealing option, so he stopped there.
Tristan flopped dejectedly on his bed an turned on the Dave Matthews Band, his favorite. The slightly melancholy music was exactly what he needed. As he stared at his ceiling, he wondered what had made Rory run like that. His mission had not been to lure her into his house and jump her. Far from it.
He just wanted to spend time with her. Tristan picked up the phone and left another message.
When he woke the next morning, it was cloudy and rainy, appropriately so. He stumbled down the stairs and brewed some coffee, taking a cue from Rory. Coffee heals any wound.
Tristan seated himself at the bar and sipped distractedly. The maid asked him if there was anything he could do, and Tristan chuckled darkly. "No." When she left, his father came in and sat next to him.
"Son."
"Don't bother." Tristan started to rise from the seat.
"Tristan, sit down." Tristan was so shocked at his dad calling him by his name, he plopped in the chair. "I'm...sorry about last night. I didn't realize you had any actual feelings for this girl."
"Well, I do." Tristan marveled at how difficult it must have been for his father to apologize to someone, especially his own offspring.
"I apologize. She seemed very...sweet."
"She is. And she didn't deserve to be called a slut. Because she's not."
"I understand that now. I am so accustomed to your usual brand of girl, I was simply trying to accommodate you."
"I would appreciate it if you wouldn't do so in the future."
"Of course." His father rose, then turned. "Good...luck," he added awkwardly.
"Thanks," Tristan responded hesitantly.
Edward nodded and left, leaving Tristan astonished. It was the most open conversation he'd had with his father, ever. And possibly one of the longest. If his father had enough confidence in him to wish him luck, he must really be getting somewhere.
What was he going to tell Rory at school? She obviously wasn't going to answer the phone. Still, he decided to try again. No answer.
*
Rory left a message for her mother the second she was in the door. Her mother would be there any minute for the usual Friday night dinner, so it was pointless, but it occupied Rory.
The bell rang at five after seven, and Emily left the living room to go get it, and Richard lowered his paper. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.
"Not yet, Grandpa. But thanks."
"Hi, Mom," Rory said when her mother entered, followed closely by Emily.
"Hey, honey. What happened?"
"I don't know."
"Well, Richard, I think it's time for us to go to the dining room. Rory, Lorelai, when you're ready?" Emily stood and let herself be escorted into the dining room with Richard, whispering, "Did she tell you anything?"
"Why didn't you call me?" Lorelai cried.
"You weren't there."
"Oh. What happened?"
"Well, we got there, and things were going okay, and then I met his dad."
"Uh-oh."
"And he offered us the room upstairs."
"What?!"
"Yeah. Apparently Tristan doesn't attend the same parties his parents do."
"Aw, babe, I'm sorry. Was he trying to--you know?"
"I don't know. I kind of blew up at him, and then I ran to this street corner, and Grandma and Grandpa picked me up."
"Honey, I'm so sorry."
"Yeah. It's not a big deal, just kind of insulting, you know?"
Lorelai smiled sympathetically, knowing it was a very big deal. "I know."
*
Tristan rolled over and smacked his alarm. Monday already. Where had those promising twenty-four hours gone? Reluctantly, after hitting the snooze button as many times as possible, he dragged his tired body out of bed and into the bathroom where he ran the hot water for a shower.
He stripped and stepped in, letting the water course over him, massaging his tight muscles. Why, why had his father done that? Rory had probably told Lorelai, which didn't help his chances of reconciliation. He knew there was only one option left: talk to Rory. It wasn't appealing, but if he wanted her, he had to let her know how he felt.
He pulled on the boring uniform he had worn almost every day since kindergarten, first the socks, then the pants, followed by the shirt and tie, and finally the blazer and shoes. Tristan mussed up his hair until it looked properly messy, then picked up his bag and keys and left.
The drive was as monotonous as dressing himself in the uniform. He knew every twist and turn, which hadn't changed from his first day, when he was so scared, he had put his shoes on the wrong feet without even noticing. Tristan smiled fondly at the memory, which in retrospect was cute. How far he had come.
He paused to consider that statement. Had he really some so far? Or was he better off being the frightened little boy? The girls he dated were meaningless, shallow bimbos, the family life he had was nearly non- existent, and the people he called friends were all as conceited and obnoxious as he was--save for Rory.
Tristan pulled smoothly into his parking space, a practiced move that he accomplished every day, a maneuver he had down to perfection. When he got out, he found Dean waiting for him. "Yeah?" Tristan demanded, not ready to hear about his triumphant make-up with Rory.
"You dating Rory?" Dean asked, falling into step with Tristan.
"No." That was all Tristan cared to say, wondering why Dean was even asking.
"Doesn't seem that way to me."
"Well, you obviously weren't there on Friday night." Tristan turned the appropriate corner, but Dean kept following him.
"You have a thing for her."
"What incredible deductive skills. You have now passed pre-school."
"So why don't you just ask her?"
"She won't go with me, okay? Get out of my way." Tristan shoved past Dean and to his locker, where he didn't even flirt with the throng of girls gathered outside. After about a minute of his ignoring them, they finally got the hint and dispersed.
On his way to class--that he, of course, had with Rory--Paris blocked his way. "So, you love her, huh?" she spat.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Rory. Your party. Friday night."
"You were there?"
"Yeah." Paris shot him a look.
"How do you know?"
"The whole congregation knows. You have a loud voice, haven't you noticed?"
"Only when I'm yelling," Tristan muttered quietly.
"What did you say?"
"I thought I had a loud voice."
"Whatever."
"What is this about?"
"You should give up. She'll never go anywhere with you. She doesn't love you." Paris grinned maliciously at the crestfallen expression Tristan had. "She doesn't love you," Paris repeated.
*
"Hey," Dean said when Rory walked up to her locker on Monday.
"Hey," Rory said, yawning. She shoved the books she studied from in her locker, exchanging them for her first period class' textbook, notebook and folder.
"You look tired."
"I am. So, how're liking Chilton?"
"Better. Takes some getting used to."
"Yeah, I can vouch for that."
"What's the deal with you and Tristan?"
Rory felt her face contort in an upset motion. "Nothing!" she cried, slamming her locker, leaving Dean looking bewildered. She stomped down the hall and into her first period class, where Tristan was already sitting in his seat. Unusual, Rory thought. Generally, Tristan waited until the last second to enter the room. As she sat, she felt his eyes on her, but remained strong and didn't meet them.
Ms. Atergaph began on the day's lecture, and Rory forced herself to pay rigid attention, writing down almost everything, even some of the meaningless babble, just to keep herself occupied. All though the fifty minutes, Tristan stared at her, and Rory knew it. She refused to turn around, hoping he would get the hint, praying he would just leave her alone.
Rory exited the classroom as speedily as possible and almost knocked Paris over. "Sorry," Rory mumbled and tried to continue on her way.
"You jerk," Paris spat.
"Someone knows how to lay on the compliments."
"I can't believe you," Paris started, then looked at her and kept going. "You lead him on for half a year, and then he says he loves you and you just ignore it. Like it's nothing."
"He didn't say that. And even if he did, he isn't capable of loving someone."
Rory brushed past Paris and resumed her quick march to class, where Tristan, of course, was. His desk was right in her path, but Rory bypassed it without so much as looking at him. What did Paris mean back there? Tristan would never say that--much less confide in Paris. No, Tristan was definitely not in love with her, because he had been trained not to feel that kind of strong emotion from day one. He wouldn't recognize love if it were as obvious as spots on a Dalmatian.
For some reason, her classes moved more slowly than usual. She refused to admit it was because she couldn't make funny faces with Tristan at the hilarious comments the teachers made. It was just a boring day. Right? Right.
At lunch, Rory decided to skip the food and just go to the library. She sat in her favorite blue chair, in a corner, completely blocked from most angles by bookshelves and plants. She pulled out Anna Karenina, her favorite book, and read it hungrily.
"You said something to her?" That was Tristan's voice, and he sounded really angry. More upset than she had ever heard him.
"I didn't know it was a secret," Paris whined defensively. Where have I heard that before, Rory thought wryly.
"Why would you do that?"
"You shouted it for the whole party to hear!"
"She wasn't there! I was supposed to be the one to tell her, when it was right."
"Like you've ever cared about right!"
"What do you mean?" Tristan sounded even more mad as the discussion went on.
"Like when you asked me out!"
"I did that for Rory!"
There was a deafening silence. "What?" Paris whispered dangerously.
"I said, I did it for Rory. To appease her. She wanted to help you so much, I thought I might was well."
*
Tristan looked into Paris' hurt face, not really caring. Paris had always treated everyone like slime, especially Rory, who deserved none of it. And what he had said was the truth, which was supposed to be more valuable than lies, right?
Paris continued to stare, then stalked out angrily. Oh well. But why had she done that? He meant what he had said: he wanted to tell Rory when things were perfect, when he wasn't rushed, when she was gazing at him in the way only she could. Most of all, he wanted it to be him who told her. What had she reacted like? Before he insulted her, he should have asked Paris.
Tristan strutted out of the library, smiling at one of his freshmen admirers, who immediately grabbed her friend's arm and started giggling like mad. Tristan shook his head and kept going. That was why he had been attracted to Rory in the first place--she had never been one of those girls who were more concerned about glitter makeup than school. He smiled tenderly at the image of her, bent over her work, studying hard.
Mentally, he shook himself. She hated him, according to Paris.
His day went by in a blur of talking heads and the back of Rory. She wouldn't face him, didn't meet his eye. It was then that he knew: she was mad. Even in the beginning when she was exasperated with him, she spoke to him, and looked at him. But not now.
Did she really think he felt she was just another random girl? She was sadly mistaken. It was Rory Gilmore--not just some Summer. Tristan gathered his things up, and went to his car--where Rory was waiting for him.
"Rory," he began, jubilant to see her.
"Did you say that you loved me?" she demanded harshly.
"What?"
"Did you say that you loved me?" Rory repeated.
"At the party, yeah."
"To Paris?"
"No, to the gathering in general." What was she getting at?
Rory shook her head. "You have no idea what love is."
"Excuse me?"
"I said, you don't know what love is. Love is not sex, and apparently, you're not able to make the distinction."
"That's not true."
"Whatever."
Rory turned to go, but Tristan grabbed her arm. "I love you."
"Enough to get a room at your parents' house?" she asked scornfully.
"No, enough to never look at anyone else and be totally devoted to you."
"You couldn't do that. You know why? You haven't been taught what it is to love someone. You aren't capable of feeling something that strong. You wouldn't know love if it was standing right in front of you." Rory jerked her arm away and ran to the bus stop.
*
Rory leaned against the bus seat and tried to keep herself from sobbing. The tears were quivering in her eyes. Tristan really did love her--and pride kept her from telling him what she felt. The evening at his parents' had been unforgivable, she told herself. No one who acted like that could ever have a legitimate feeling. Not a lasting, honest one. Right? Right.
She trudged home, her feet weighing her down with every step. When she pushed the door open, she found the house to be empty, no note from her mother even. Rory sighed and pulled some cold pizza from the fridge. Clearing a spot at the jumbled table, she sat and ate four pieces to comfort herself.
The phone rang and Rory jumped for it. "Hello?"
"Hey." Lane.
"Hi."
"What's up? Haven't heard from you in a while."
"Yeah. Been hectic."
"I bet. So, how are things with Dean at school?"
"Okay. I don't really have to talk to him so much if I'm not assigned any projects with him."
"That's good. Hey, have you seen Henry. Because..." Rory shifted the phone to rest between her neck and shoulder, knowing this could be a very long conversation. Or monologue.
After an hour, Lane finally hung up when Lorelai came in. "Hey, babe," she said. "You will not believe what happened today. This guy came in and he was like, 'I heard about this place from an acquaintance, and it sounds cool.' So I'm like, 'Okay. Smart acquaintance.' And then he goes, 'He works here.' I go, 'Good publicity. Does he have a name?' And he goes, 'Yeah, Rune.' And I was all, 'Um, hey, have you met Rune? He is so not friend material.' And then he was like, 'Actually, I was his old boss, and I just wondered if he actually could hold a steady job.'" Lorelai paused to catch her breath, then caught the bored look on her daughter's face. "Sorry. So, what happened today?"
"Tristan loves me."
"Now there's an eventful day." Lorelai didn't seem too surprised.
"After I left the party, I don't know it happened, but Paris said the whole group knew, and then she came up to me today and she was like, 'You're a jerk,' and it took me a while, but apparently, he actually said that."
"Wow."
"And then I confronted him by his car, and I really did something stupid."
"Couldn't have been more stupid than the green disco outfit I once wore."
"No, definitely worse."
"What?"
"I sort of...chewed him out, telling him stuff like he didn't know what love was, he couldn't feel anything like that, he didn't know the difference between love and sex..."
Lorelai looked at her daughter sympathetically. "Aww, hon, it'll work out. Just wait."
"Yeah, sure."
"Luke's?"
"Yeah."
Rory followed her mother out the door, relieved to have a familiar face to look at, and a familiar voice to comfort her.
*
Two weeks later, Tristan was still in a funk. Rory really did hate him. She didn't look at him, except by accident, when she didn't realize he was around the corner, or something like that. When he got home that Friday, he was exhausted from a combination of a wounded heart--and ego--and a pile of homework.
"Son," his father addressed him when he got home. "I have an invitation to a Christmas party tomorrow night."
"Don't they usually send those out earlier?"
"Well, I got it a week ago."
"Ah."
"And you are expected to come. 7:00."
"Okay."
"Thank you."
Tristan had forgotten to ask whose it was, although it didn't really matter; it was the same people he had seen at the Thanksgiving gathering, and before that, Halloween, and before that, Labor Day, and before that...
He removed his tux from the closet, then reconsidered, thinking of the connotations he had with that bit of clothing. Instead, he pulled out a black suit and red tie. How festive.
He lay lengthwise across his gigantic bed, in no hurry to begin the massive amount of homework that awaited him. Rory had probably already started hers, knowing how stellar her work ethic was. Argh! Couldn't he stop thinking of her for five measly seconds? Just five?
Frustrated, he vaulted off the bed to the desk and began feverishly working on History work, writing in firm, short strokes.
At ten, he decided to go to bed, and get some rest. If he could. While he was changing, Tristan realized he had never even gotten out of his Chilton uniform upon coming home. A break in the daily routine was a little unusual for him, but he was too consumed with Rory to even care anymore.
Why did his dad have to be the biggest jerk on the planet at the most inopportune times?
On Saturday night, Tristan was ready to go by 6:30. For some reason, there had been some higher power motivating him to spend time on his appearance. Even his father noticed the change and came close to a compliment. Tristan and his family arrived at the party at five after seven, despite Tristan's early preparation.
"Be po--"
"Mother, I know."
"Right."
Edward rang the bell, and the three of them stood in a rather uncomfortable grouping on the porch. The door swung open, and there stood Rory.
*
Rory and Lorelai knew through experience that Emily would have a Christmas party, albeit a small one. Emily, of course, said that their presence was required. "Maybe Dad won't have a heart attack if I'm there," Lorelai theorized.
"Could be the opposite," Rory warned jokingly.
Rory and Lorelai bought the obligatory gift, something more elegant than Lorelai would have chosen, but since Rory did the shopping, they figured it would be all right. Rory a new red skirt with sweater set, and Lorelai dressed in a green mini. "Elegant," Rory said dryly.
"Okay, George Eliot."
"George Eliot?"
"Yeah."
"Weird reference."
"Hello, heels."
"Right."
Rory and Lorelai sat in the living room with the punctual guests, and when the bell rang at five after, Emily asked Rory to answer it. Rory set her glass of egg nog down and opened the door. And there stood Tristan and his parents.
"H-hello," she stammered.
"Rory," Mr.. Dugray said. "How lovely to see you again."
"Same here," Rory said rather wryly. "Come on in," she said, widening the door's opening.
Tristan stepped past her and into the tastefully decorated foyer. Rory took their coats and hung them neatly on the gold coat rack. She lead them into the living room, where the host, hostess and other guests sat murmuring polite niceties. "Ah, Mr.. and Mrs.. Dugray, Tristan. How wonderful to see you again," Emily cooed.
"Always a pleasure, Emily," Mrs.. Dugray replied, shaking her hand; Mr.. Dugray did more or less the same thing. "You know my granddaughter Rory?"
"Yes," Mr. Dugray said simply.
"This is my daughter Lorelai," Emily continued, making her way around the room, acquainting people. Tristan took a seat next to Rory on the settee, since there was no other open spot. Rory didn't move.
"We need to talk," she said.
"Yes," he agreed.
"After dinner."
"Christmas tree." She nodded her appropriation, then sipped her egg nog delicately. What was she going to say? She couldn't very well just say that she made a huge mistake, that she loved him, and that she was a wreck without him. Could she? No. But was there any other way? If she needed him as much as the last couple weeks proved she did, then there were no other options. Rory almost began to shake at the idea of actually saying "I love you" to someone without legal assurance they'd have to say it back.
All through dinner, she stifled her need to look at him, instead focusing on the food and the questions people asked her. Lorelai looked beyond bored, but did consume an amazing amount of apple tarts.
Rory waited nervously by the tree for Tristan, who finally showed up after being held hostage by an older lady with tattooed eyeliner. "So?" he asked, rather abruptly.
"Uh..." Rory stalled for time, rethinking her decision. Taking a deep breath, she knew she had to do this. "I made a big mistake." She waited for Tristan to say something, but he didn't, just stared, so she went on. "That night at your parents' house, I overreacted a little." Tristan stayed in the same position, looking at her intently, making her nervous. "And I, um, didn't know what to do because I thought you loved me by then, but when your dad said that, I thought maybe you'd told him differently, and that it wasn't anything romantic, so on Monday I was a little disappointed, and then Paris went and told me that, and I was too proud to tell you how I felt..." Rory dropped her head. "I love you," she whispered.
*
Tristan listened closely to her babble, hardly believing his ears. Rory loved him. He couldn't speak for a while, and then it dawned on him that he was taking an extraordinary amount of time to say something. His mouth, however wouldn't work.
Rory stood there, anxiously peering into his face, looking like a little girl. After about a minute, she nodded, saying, "Okay. That's okay. I understand." Moving her eyelashes rapidly, she spun around and walked out of the room.
Oh no. He wouldn't let her go this time. Tristan waited a discreet amount of time before tracing her steps outside to the balcony. "Rory." She turned. "I still feel the same way."
"Love the enthusiasm," Rory said, obviously hurt.
"No, it wasn't lack of enthusiasm. I was just really surprised to hear you say that...to me." He walked up and stood next to her, leaning his forearms on the railing next to hers. "I'm sorry about what my dad said--he did that of his own free will." Rory was looking at him with a hopeful expression. Tristan leaned down so that he could whisper in her ear. "I love you," he murmured.
Rory turned to him, and Tristan decided it was time. Placing one hand on her waist, he moved her body to face him. Rory's eyes sparkled, dancing in the pale moonlight. Taking this as encouragement, Tristan put his other hand on her cheek, stroking it tenderly. Rory moved closer to him, put her arms under his blazer and tightly around his waist. Tristan leaned slowly, giving her ample time to run. But she met him halfway, and Tristan almost regretted it wasn't the Fourth of July. There were fireworks, the kind he'd heard about in movies and read about in books, but never felt for himself.
Tristan deepened the kiss a little, parting Rory's lips, judging how far she could go. When they parted, their breath melded together in the cool night air. "Why me?" Rory asked. "I'm not anything amazing."
"You are to me."
"Good answer."
"I pride myself on expressing myself eloquently."
"Maybe it'll be passed on to me."
"You're perfect as you are."
"Good answer."
"You already said that."
"Well, apparently you haven't passed it on yet."
Tristan had to grin. It faded as he saw the loving, warm look in Rory's eyes. "I don't deserve you."
"I think it's the other way around."
"Or maybe we're just perfect."
"We chose Henry VIII's third wife, Jane Seymour. She was the only wife with the exception of his last wife, who was not beheaded or divorced.
Dean began his bit about their meeting, their attraction to one another, ending with the marriage. Tristan picked up where Dean left off, telling details about the marriage, how they had gotten along, and the significance of Edward in the marriage, concluding his speech with the death of Jane. Rory then led the analysis portion, and all three fielded questions.
Outside, after class, all three stood in a grouping similar to the one last week. "So, that wasn't so bad," Rory commented.
"Could have been worse," Dean agreed.
"Definitely," Tristan added unnecessarily. Dean looked at them and continued on his way to class. Tristan was careful to keep up with Rory. "So, my parents have this thing going on..."
Rory turned to him and raised her eyebrows. "Yes? Continue."
"Well, it's this big party, kind of a Thanksgiving thing."
"Keep going." Rory dodged a notebook sailing down the hall, colliding with Tristan on the side. "Sorry."
"I need a date."
"So? That should be no trouble. You could auction yourself, hold a drawing-- "
"The point is, I need someone who I'd feel comfortable meeting my parents."
"Take..." Rory pondered who he should take.
Tristan took a deep breath. Maybe he could convince her it was just a friends thing. It wasn't. But it was true that he needed someone there with him who could make intelligent conversation. "I'd like you to come with me."
Rory came to a full halt and stared. "Me?" she finally squeaked.
*
Rory breathed a sigh of relief when the project was over. She and Dean were so uncomfortable around each other, even Tristan began to feel misplaced when with them. Keeping her spine straight, Rory had told Dean she couldn't get back together with him. Seeing the expression on his face, she had almost reconsidered, but knew it wouldn't work. It couldn't. Not after breaking up once.
And there was Tristan. Always Tristan. Before her mother had mentioned it, Rory was perfectly content to have a platonic friendship with him. But now...what was she going to do? Her life had always been so planned: go to school, be valedictorian, go to Harvard. End of story. And now, there was all this confusion.
But it wasn't like she needed a boyfriend. Rory Gilmore could certainly survive without a boyfriend, and had done so admirably for the last several months. Rory couldn't bear to think about the pathetically superficial situation for a moment longer, but her attempt was thwarted when Tristan jogged up beside her.
"I'd like you to come with me."
"Me?" Ooh, off to a good start, Rory chided herself, although it was what she was thinking. "I don't know..."
"A friends thing."
"No, it's not that. I've just never been that good around..." Rory wanted to say rich people, but instead opted for, "...parties. You know."
"Rich parties?"
"Well...yeah."
"It's fine. Look, it's no big deal, Rory. There's no pressure, and if you don't want to go, I'll understand."
"When?"
"Friday."
"Hmmm." Rory had her Friday night dinners, but she knew her grandparents would let her out if it was for a Dugray party. "Well..." What could it hurt? "Okay."
*
"Well...okay." What? Okay?! This had the potential to be the best party his parents had ever thrown. Not because it would be like the Fourth of July with expensive fireworks, not because it would be like Christmas with the gaudy tree, but because Rory would be there.
Attempting to keep his excitement contained, Tristan said, "I'll pick you up at five."
"What time does it get over?"
"Nine or ten. Depending on who insults whom first."
"Ah."
"Lunch?" Tristan didn't want to press his luck, but hey, they needed to discuss plans, right?
"Oh--sure."
"Front doors," Tristan called over his shoulder as he rounded the corner. He felt like he was Gene Kelly, floating above everything. Rory would come to the party with him, would possibly dance with him, maybe even smile at him in that special Rory-esque way...Tristan began to feel stupid. He was fantacizing about a girl smiling at him. Now that was obsessed.
No, that was head over heels in love.
Tristan sensed her rounding the corner and turned. She wasn't alone; she and Dean were talking about something, and looked to Tristan's suspicious eyes, very content together.
He realized it was the one thing he hadn't considered when he invited Rory out: the chance that she and Dean might be together again, or close to it. When he looked at them again, he felt it could be true: Dean looked at her with an admiring expression written across every one of his features. And then Tristan knew it: he and Rory would never be more than friends because there was Dean, and there always would be.
Tristan almost decided to just go, but then rethought. At least he would be able to love Rory as a friend, and he couldn't jeopardize that. As he walked up behind her, he saw Dean's eyes change and avert abruptly from him. "See you around," he told Rory suddenly, and Rory turned.
"Oh, hi," she greeted him.
"Ready?" Tristan asked, hoping the disappointment of his latest contemplation hadn't affected his voice.
"Yeah, yeah." Rory followed him to the front doors, and stopped.
"What?"
"The rain."
Tristan gazed out the window and noticed that it was pouring. "Run?" he asked, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.
"One, two, three," she said, and they took off for his car. Rory squealed in delight as the cold rain pelted her, and Tristan laughed at her childlike innocence. He felt his shirt sticking to his chest, his pants adhering to his legs.
He unlocked the doors with the remote and flung himself inside, collapsing against the seat. Turning to Rory, he saw her giggling as she assessed the wetness of her knee socks. "They make good elastic nowadays, don't they?" she posed.
"Yes." Tristan dug through his backseat and emerged with a towel. "Here." He watched as Rory dried her hair, squeezing portions, letting the water drain. Her blue eyes lit up, her cheeks were a pleasant pink, and her face was dewed with rain. Tristan's stomach ached as he realized that he would never have her.
"Sorry, it's kind of wet," Rory apologized and handed him the slightly damp towel.
"No problem."
"Argh!" Rory chuckled at his lack of vocabulary and slumped against the seat.
*
Tristan took the towel, and Rory relaxed in the posh interior. Why was she feeling this way? Warm and free and almost...giddy around him. Rory surreptitiously observed him as he dried his hair and loosened his neck tie, and thought about the progression of feelings she had felt for him. First, contempt, then cautious friendliness, then a warm, caring emotion, and finally, love.
Though she was scared to admit it, she loved Tristan Dugray. Throughout the last several months, he had shown her that he wasn't really a jerk, it was all kind of a facade, but inside he was capable of loving someone, and perhaps even devotion. Still, there was always a slight air of arrogance, but Rory knew it never went away, that it was how he was born and raised. Most intoxicating of all, however, was the amazing self-confidence he had. Even now, just walking into a restaurant, he held himself well, and people noticed. "Coffee?" he asked.
"Why do you bother to waste your breath?"
"Right. Two large black house brews." Tristan handed her the cup and lead her to a table. "Okay, now if you don't like this, keep in mind there's a GM station down the street."
"No, I won't go to GM."
"Honda and Toyota, but not GM?"
"Not GM," Rory affirmed.
Tristan shook his head and sipped. "Never mind."
"So, is there anything we need to go over?" Rory hoped he knew she was talking about the party, because she didn't want to elaborate.
"I'll pick you up at five in Stars Hollow, we'll be bored out of our skulls for four hours, and then I'll drive you back."
"Sounds good. Formal?"
"Yes. Duh."
"How formal?"
"Are there that many different kinds?"
"Of course. There's ball gown formal, and you know, plaid skirt formal, and floral print dress formal or khaki pants formal or slip dress formal..."
"I'd say, like your birthday at your grandparents."
"Oh, kind of an Edith Wharton formal?"
"Since when did you bring people's names into the categorization?"
"Long story."
"Okay." Rory watched as Tristan applied himself to his cheeseburger, eating as though unaffected by anything around him. Who knew Tristan ate cheeseburgers for lunch? Rory realized that she might be one of the few.
Rory picked hers up and ate it quickly, starving as she was. "So, is there anything in particular I should know about this party?" Rory asked after her third bite.
"Well," Tristan began around a mouthful, "these people are snotty. Like, really arrogant." He paused to swallow. "Just don't say much, I guess, unless you're really perceptive about their social position."
"I think I've just stepped into 'My Fair Lady'."
"The weather and your health, Eliza," Tristan replied, imitating Henry Higgins. Rory couldn't help herself--she started to laugh. When she attempted to keep the volume to a minimum, she contracted the hiccups.
"Don't--[hiccup]--do that to--[hiccup]--me in a fancy--[hiccup]-- restaurant."
*
Tristan could hardly focus his eyes on the road. He had memorized every inch of the route to Rory's house, so there was no problem there, but it was difficult to comprehend the red lights and other motorists. Without any fatal incident, Tristan pulled up at the Gilmore household promptly at five.
Nervous, he rang the doorbell.
"He's here!" he heard from inside.
"What?" That was Rory.
"Yeah, right on the porch."
"Ahh! What's wrong with him? When did this punctual thing happen? I can't find my hair pins!"
"What do you want me to do?"
"Let him in!"
"Right!" The door swung open moments later, and Tristan was greeted by Lorelai, wearing a black miniskirt and purple blouse. "Hey there," she said by way of salutation.
"Hi, Ms. Gilmo--"
"Lorelai."
"Hi, Lorelai."
"Hello, Tristan. Well, come on in. Rory should be here in a sec."
"Sure."
"So, is this a big occasion?"
"Yeah, I guess. They're all pretty much the same."
"I hear you. You'll have to meet my parents sometime."
"That should be exciting."
"They'd love you." Lorelai smiled at him. "So, you've reversed your evil ways?"
"Yes. My name is Tristan and I'm a recovering torturer."
"Glad to hear you're finally admitting it."
"The admittance was never the problem."
"True. Rory!"
"Yeah, yeah," Rory called back.
"How long have you been going to Chilton?" Lorelai asked to fill the conversational void.
"Since kindergarten. Twelve years."
"Tristan, look." Lorelai didn't smile, although her face was kind. "Rory is a great girl."
"This I know."
"And I won't let anyone hurt her, ever. If you ever, in any way, voluntarily or not, hurt my baby, you'll be subject to re-enaction of Dante's Inferno."
"Understood. But this is a friends thing."
"Uh-huh," Lorelai countered sagely. "I know you like her. And don't worry, your secret is safe with me."
"I don't--"
"You do." Lorelai grinned, and Tristan bowed his head a little. "Hey, babe," she exclaimed when Rory entered the room. "I have such exquisite taste."
Tristan was rendered speechless. Rory was...dazzling. She was wearing a deep red dress, one that hugged her curves without being tight, that ended just above her knees. The neckline was square, the straps leading back the chunky kind, the back dipping just low enough to show her shoulder blades.
"I picked it out," Rory responded with loving patience. "But someday, I hope to equal your fashion prowess."
"Off you go," Lorelai prompted. "Here's the phone, call me if you need me-- "
"You won't be lonely?" Rory's face scrunched slightly with concern.
"No, honey. I have a dinner party to go to! Oh, wait, it's not a party. Have fun. Back by twelve."
"Bye, Mom." Rory leaned over to kiss her mother on the cheek, and turned to Tristan, who managed a smile and a nod toward Lorelai, who was beaming.
*
Rory groaned when she heard the bell. Why did Tristan have to be on time today of all days? Her nylons were bunching, her hair was being stubborn, her makeup was unsatisfactory, and her dress wasn't zipping properly. Argh!
As she frantically finished dressing, Rory heard Lorelai and Tristan talking, although she couldn't make out words, just the hum of their voices. She wondered what her mother was saying; then again, maybe she didn't want to know.
When she emerged, she immediately saw Tristan's perfect tux, apparently his own. Wrenching herself from him, knowing she would be with him all evening, she said goodbye to Lorelai and guided Tristan to the door.
When they were seated in the Porsche, Tristan finally said something. "Nice dress."
"Nice tux."
"Rental."
Rory was dumbfounded. "Really?"
"No, not really. But the look in your face was pretty entertaining."
Rory sighed at how gullible she could be. Tristan turned to look at her again and chuckled. "You look scared," he observed.
"You make it sound like a scene from 'Gladiator'."
"Maybe just a PBS version. You know, no machetes."
"Comforting."
"No--"
"Stop right there."
Tristan averted his attention to the road, where the traffic had accumulated since he was last there. Rory took him in as he drove. His jaw clenched lightly as he maneuvered the car through the increasingly heavy traffic, and she noticed he tapped the shifter impatiently at times, frustrated with the incompetence of some of the other drivers. His cerulean blue eyes darkened with concentration as the cars started and stopped.
"I wonder who taught these people how to drive."
"Oh, it was probably someone at the IRS," Rory supplied.
"The IRS?" Tristan turned to her and raised his eyebrows. Rory almost couldn't speak, the gaze from his eyes was so intense.
"Yeah, the IRS."
"Any reason?"
"Oh, well, there is a way to blame everything on the IRS. I'm thinking of doing a research paper on it."
"Original topic."
"I know." Tristan returned her grin, then went back to the road. He muttered a few expletives at the faults of others, then winced and apologized. "Oh, don't worry. When we drive in New York, my mom sounds like the uncensored version of the Jerry Springer Show."
*
Tristan pulled up at his house, and held back a laugh when Rory saw it. Her mouth dropped slightly, and her eyes immediately became wide. After staring for a few seconds, she closed her mouth and twisted to face him.
"You live here?" she asked in disbelief.
"Yup."
"What was it, transplanted from the Royal Family's London estate?"
"Well, we decided it would be a bit difficult by boat, so we had the architect make an exact rendition."
"Is that a joke?"
"Yes."
"Good. Good, glad to hear it." Rory returned to her studying of the house, which looked so normal to Tristan after living there for seventeen years.
"I think it's time to face the music."
"Uh-huh." Tristan climbed out on his side, then went around and opened Rory's door. "You didn't have to do that. I may not be able to speak arightly, but I can certainly open a door."
"It's courtesy."
"In what generation?" Tristan held out his hand, and Rory grasped it. Inwardly, he sighed, wondering if Dean got the same sensations when he touched her. Maybe it went away with experience. What would it be like to kiss her again? Rory's small hand clutched his comparatively larger one and he lead her in the front door, which was opened by his butler.
"Ah, son," his father spoke when he came to the foyer.
"Father. Father, this is Rory, Rory this is my father, Edward Dugray."
"Hello," Rory chirped. Tristan felt a swelling of pride, knowing there was no way his parents couldn't like Rory, who was so sweet and timid.
"Hello there, Rory. Flavor of the month?" he asked bitterly. Tristan's eyes flashed when he saw the hurt and surprise in Rory's eyes, although he was pleased to notice she suppressed it well.
"My friend, Father, Rory."
"Of course. The upstairs bedroom is open, a different one for a different girl. Lucky we have so many." With that, Edward walked away, leaving Tristan seething silently. Rory still had the same shocked expression, but it slowly evolved into anger.
"Rory--"
"Was that your plan?" Rory's eyes welled up with tears. "I can't believe I'm here. I should have known." One trailed down her cheek. "I am not Summer or any other of your cache of dolts."
"Rory--"
"So, you thought you'd trick me into coming, since it's just a 'friends thing'. Then you'd somehow persuade me into one of those bedrooms and--" Rory cut herself off abruptly and wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. Tristan helplessly said her name, but she shook her head. "I'm leaving." With that, Rory spun on her heel and ran out of the house.
Damn his father! "Rory!" he called chasing after her, intending to tell her that it wasn't the plan at all, and that he really did want her to meet his parents, although he was beginning to think that had been a mistake. His parents weren't ready for someone like Rory, who wasn't like the others, who had grace and dignity. He frantically questioned the servants, but none could point in a definite direction. Finally, Tristan sat down on the porch steps.
"Oh, I thought you'd gone into the room already. Sylvia is here."
Tristan angrily faced his father. "Why did you do that?"
"What?" His father adopted an innocent look.
"Say those things in front of Rory!"
"I thought she was like the others."
"She's not! That's why I wanted tonight to be perfect! I love her!"
"Son, calm down. And do straighten your tie; the crookedness is unbecoming."
"Did you hear what I said?"
His father appraised him once more, then nodded slightly and strode inside.
*
Rory sprinted as quickly as she could out of that house. Why had she been so foolish as to think that Tristan actually ad any genuine feelings for her? He was in relationships for one thing and one thing only. She sat on the curb about four blocks away and dialed her mother's number. No answer. Rory tried again. No answer. Leaving a message would do no good, so Rory decided to use her last option: her grandparents.
"Grandpa?" she asked when Richard answered.
"Rory?" he questioned, confused.
"Can you pick me up?"
"From...your house?"
"No. I'm in Hartford."
"Did something happen?"
"You could say that."
"Where are you?"
"I'm on...Rose and Cliff."
"We'll be there."
Rory sighed in relief and leaned back against the light post, the tears flowing down her cheeks. Why had she even considered Tristan as boyfriend material? They would never be right together. Maybe he had just acted like this for a few months to get her to go out with him. Maybe it was all still a game to him. Unfortunately, her heart was the ball now, and he had just tossed it away. Rory chided herself for being so naive. Why hadn't her mother taught her this?
A few minutes later, her grandparents' car pulled up, and Emily came running out. "My dear, are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Why aren't you at the party?" Emily assessed the street corner with distaste.
"It got...cut short."
"Well, what happened?" Emily swallowed her pride and sat down next to Rory.
"It didn't work out."
"What didn't work out? What happened? Why didn't you call your mother?"
"I couldn't get an answer. It was just a big disaster."
Emily pondered the situation and decided not to press any more, although she was dying to know what had happened. "Let's go." Emily wrapped Rory's shoulder in her arm and led her to the car.
*
Tristan was not released from his social obligations, broken heart or not. So, he interacted with these pathetically narrow people, making dry replies to a plethora of unamusing jokes. Finally, he jogged upstairs when the last of the guests had left, and dialed Rory's number, memorized long ago.
The telephone rang and rang, and finally Lorelai came on the machine. "You missed us because we're busy, important people. Speak quickly or forever hold your peace."
"Rory, it's Tristan. Call me. I'll call you. I don't care. I'm sorry." He hung up, not satisfied with his message. However, proclaiming his love over the answering machine didn't seem like an appealing option, so he stopped there.
Tristan flopped dejectedly on his bed an turned on the Dave Matthews Band, his favorite. The slightly melancholy music was exactly what he needed. As he stared at his ceiling, he wondered what had made Rory run like that. His mission had not been to lure her into his house and jump her. Far from it.
He just wanted to spend time with her. Tristan picked up the phone and left another message.
When he woke the next morning, it was cloudy and rainy, appropriately so. He stumbled down the stairs and brewed some coffee, taking a cue from Rory. Coffee heals any wound.
Tristan seated himself at the bar and sipped distractedly. The maid asked him if there was anything he could do, and Tristan chuckled darkly. "No." When she left, his father came in and sat next to him.
"Son."
"Don't bother." Tristan started to rise from the seat.
"Tristan, sit down." Tristan was so shocked at his dad calling him by his name, he plopped in the chair. "I'm...sorry about last night. I didn't realize you had any actual feelings for this girl."
"Well, I do." Tristan marveled at how difficult it must have been for his father to apologize to someone, especially his own offspring.
"I apologize. She seemed very...sweet."
"She is. And she didn't deserve to be called a slut. Because she's not."
"I understand that now. I am so accustomed to your usual brand of girl, I was simply trying to accommodate you."
"I would appreciate it if you wouldn't do so in the future."
"Of course." His father rose, then turned. "Good...luck," he added awkwardly.
"Thanks," Tristan responded hesitantly.
Edward nodded and left, leaving Tristan astonished. It was the most open conversation he'd had with his father, ever. And possibly one of the longest. If his father had enough confidence in him to wish him luck, he must really be getting somewhere.
What was he going to tell Rory at school? She obviously wasn't going to answer the phone. Still, he decided to try again. No answer.
*
Rory left a message for her mother the second she was in the door. Her mother would be there any minute for the usual Friday night dinner, so it was pointless, but it occupied Rory.
The bell rang at five after seven, and Emily left the living room to go get it, and Richard lowered his paper. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.
"Not yet, Grandpa. But thanks."
"Hi, Mom," Rory said when her mother entered, followed closely by Emily.
"Hey, honey. What happened?"
"I don't know."
"Well, Richard, I think it's time for us to go to the dining room. Rory, Lorelai, when you're ready?" Emily stood and let herself be escorted into the dining room with Richard, whispering, "Did she tell you anything?"
"Why didn't you call me?" Lorelai cried.
"You weren't there."
"Oh. What happened?"
"Well, we got there, and things were going okay, and then I met his dad."
"Uh-oh."
"And he offered us the room upstairs."
"What?!"
"Yeah. Apparently Tristan doesn't attend the same parties his parents do."
"Aw, babe, I'm sorry. Was he trying to--you know?"
"I don't know. I kind of blew up at him, and then I ran to this street corner, and Grandma and Grandpa picked me up."
"Honey, I'm so sorry."
"Yeah. It's not a big deal, just kind of insulting, you know?"
Lorelai smiled sympathetically, knowing it was a very big deal. "I know."
*
Tristan rolled over and smacked his alarm. Monday already. Where had those promising twenty-four hours gone? Reluctantly, after hitting the snooze button as many times as possible, he dragged his tired body out of bed and into the bathroom where he ran the hot water for a shower.
He stripped and stepped in, letting the water course over him, massaging his tight muscles. Why, why had his father done that? Rory had probably told Lorelai, which didn't help his chances of reconciliation. He knew there was only one option left: talk to Rory. It wasn't appealing, but if he wanted her, he had to let her know how he felt.
He pulled on the boring uniform he had worn almost every day since kindergarten, first the socks, then the pants, followed by the shirt and tie, and finally the blazer and shoes. Tristan mussed up his hair until it looked properly messy, then picked up his bag and keys and left.
The drive was as monotonous as dressing himself in the uniform. He knew every twist and turn, which hadn't changed from his first day, when he was so scared, he had put his shoes on the wrong feet without even noticing. Tristan smiled fondly at the memory, which in retrospect was cute. How far he had come.
He paused to consider that statement. Had he really some so far? Or was he better off being the frightened little boy? The girls he dated were meaningless, shallow bimbos, the family life he had was nearly non- existent, and the people he called friends were all as conceited and obnoxious as he was--save for Rory.
Tristan pulled smoothly into his parking space, a practiced move that he accomplished every day, a maneuver he had down to perfection. When he got out, he found Dean waiting for him. "Yeah?" Tristan demanded, not ready to hear about his triumphant make-up with Rory.
"You dating Rory?" Dean asked, falling into step with Tristan.
"No." That was all Tristan cared to say, wondering why Dean was even asking.
"Doesn't seem that way to me."
"Well, you obviously weren't there on Friday night." Tristan turned the appropriate corner, but Dean kept following him.
"You have a thing for her."
"What incredible deductive skills. You have now passed pre-school."
"So why don't you just ask her?"
"She won't go with me, okay? Get out of my way." Tristan shoved past Dean and to his locker, where he didn't even flirt with the throng of girls gathered outside. After about a minute of his ignoring them, they finally got the hint and dispersed.
On his way to class--that he, of course, had with Rory--Paris blocked his way. "So, you love her, huh?" she spat.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Rory. Your party. Friday night."
"You were there?"
"Yeah." Paris shot him a look.
"How do you know?"
"The whole congregation knows. You have a loud voice, haven't you noticed?"
"Only when I'm yelling," Tristan muttered quietly.
"What did you say?"
"I thought I had a loud voice."
"Whatever."
"What is this about?"
"You should give up. She'll never go anywhere with you. She doesn't love you." Paris grinned maliciously at the crestfallen expression Tristan had. "She doesn't love you," Paris repeated.
*
"Hey," Dean said when Rory walked up to her locker on Monday.
"Hey," Rory said, yawning. She shoved the books she studied from in her locker, exchanging them for her first period class' textbook, notebook and folder.
"You look tired."
"I am. So, how're liking Chilton?"
"Better. Takes some getting used to."
"Yeah, I can vouch for that."
"What's the deal with you and Tristan?"
Rory felt her face contort in an upset motion. "Nothing!" she cried, slamming her locker, leaving Dean looking bewildered. She stomped down the hall and into her first period class, where Tristan was already sitting in his seat. Unusual, Rory thought. Generally, Tristan waited until the last second to enter the room. As she sat, she felt his eyes on her, but remained strong and didn't meet them.
Ms. Atergaph began on the day's lecture, and Rory forced herself to pay rigid attention, writing down almost everything, even some of the meaningless babble, just to keep herself occupied. All though the fifty minutes, Tristan stared at her, and Rory knew it. She refused to turn around, hoping he would get the hint, praying he would just leave her alone.
Rory exited the classroom as speedily as possible and almost knocked Paris over. "Sorry," Rory mumbled and tried to continue on her way.
"You jerk," Paris spat.
"Someone knows how to lay on the compliments."
"I can't believe you," Paris started, then looked at her and kept going. "You lead him on for half a year, and then he says he loves you and you just ignore it. Like it's nothing."
"He didn't say that. And even if he did, he isn't capable of loving someone."
Rory brushed past Paris and resumed her quick march to class, where Tristan, of course, was. His desk was right in her path, but Rory bypassed it without so much as looking at him. What did Paris mean back there? Tristan would never say that--much less confide in Paris. No, Tristan was definitely not in love with her, because he had been trained not to feel that kind of strong emotion from day one. He wouldn't recognize love if it were as obvious as spots on a Dalmatian.
For some reason, her classes moved more slowly than usual. She refused to admit it was because she couldn't make funny faces with Tristan at the hilarious comments the teachers made. It was just a boring day. Right? Right.
At lunch, Rory decided to skip the food and just go to the library. She sat in her favorite blue chair, in a corner, completely blocked from most angles by bookshelves and plants. She pulled out Anna Karenina, her favorite book, and read it hungrily.
"You said something to her?" That was Tristan's voice, and he sounded really angry. More upset than she had ever heard him.
"I didn't know it was a secret," Paris whined defensively. Where have I heard that before, Rory thought wryly.
"Why would you do that?"
"You shouted it for the whole party to hear!"
"She wasn't there! I was supposed to be the one to tell her, when it was right."
"Like you've ever cared about right!"
"What do you mean?" Tristan sounded even more mad as the discussion went on.
"Like when you asked me out!"
"I did that for Rory!"
There was a deafening silence. "What?" Paris whispered dangerously.
"I said, I did it for Rory. To appease her. She wanted to help you so much, I thought I might was well."
*
Tristan looked into Paris' hurt face, not really caring. Paris had always treated everyone like slime, especially Rory, who deserved none of it. And what he had said was the truth, which was supposed to be more valuable than lies, right?
Paris continued to stare, then stalked out angrily. Oh well. But why had she done that? He meant what he had said: he wanted to tell Rory when things were perfect, when he wasn't rushed, when she was gazing at him in the way only she could. Most of all, he wanted it to be him who told her. What had she reacted like? Before he insulted her, he should have asked Paris.
Tristan strutted out of the library, smiling at one of his freshmen admirers, who immediately grabbed her friend's arm and started giggling like mad. Tristan shook his head and kept going. That was why he had been attracted to Rory in the first place--she had never been one of those girls who were more concerned about glitter makeup than school. He smiled tenderly at the image of her, bent over her work, studying hard.
Mentally, he shook himself. She hated him, according to Paris.
His day went by in a blur of talking heads and the back of Rory. She wouldn't face him, didn't meet his eye. It was then that he knew: she was mad. Even in the beginning when she was exasperated with him, she spoke to him, and looked at him. But not now.
Did she really think he felt she was just another random girl? She was sadly mistaken. It was Rory Gilmore--not just some Summer. Tristan gathered his things up, and went to his car--where Rory was waiting for him.
"Rory," he began, jubilant to see her.
"Did you say that you loved me?" she demanded harshly.
"What?"
"Did you say that you loved me?" Rory repeated.
"At the party, yeah."
"To Paris?"
"No, to the gathering in general." What was she getting at?
Rory shook her head. "You have no idea what love is."
"Excuse me?"
"I said, you don't know what love is. Love is not sex, and apparently, you're not able to make the distinction."
"That's not true."
"Whatever."
Rory turned to go, but Tristan grabbed her arm. "I love you."
"Enough to get a room at your parents' house?" she asked scornfully.
"No, enough to never look at anyone else and be totally devoted to you."
"You couldn't do that. You know why? You haven't been taught what it is to love someone. You aren't capable of feeling something that strong. You wouldn't know love if it was standing right in front of you." Rory jerked her arm away and ran to the bus stop.
*
Rory leaned against the bus seat and tried to keep herself from sobbing. The tears were quivering in her eyes. Tristan really did love her--and pride kept her from telling him what she felt. The evening at his parents' had been unforgivable, she told herself. No one who acted like that could ever have a legitimate feeling. Not a lasting, honest one. Right? Right.
She trudged home, her feet weighing her down with every step. When she pushed the door open, she found the house to be empty, no note from her mother even. Rory sighed and pulled some cold pizza from the fridge. Clearing a spot at the jumbled table, she sat and ate four pieces to comfort herself.
The phone rang and Rory jumped for it. "Hello?"
"Hey." Lane.
"Hi."
"What's up? Haven't heard from you in a while."
"Yeah. Been hectic."
"I bet. So, how are things with Dean at school?"
"Okay. I don't really have to talk to him so much if I'm not assigned any projects with him."
"That's good. Hey, have you seen Henry. Because..." Rory shifted the phone to rest between her neck and shoulder, knowing this could be a very long conversation. Or monologue.
After an hour, Lane finally hung up when Lorelai came in. "Hey, babe," she said. "You will not believe what happened today. This guy came in and he was like, 'I heard about this place from an acquaintance, and it sounds cool.' So I'm like, 'Okay. Smart acquaintance.' And then he goes, 'He works here.' I go, 'Good publicity. Does he have a name?' And he goes, 'Yeah, Rune.' And I was all, 'Um, hey, have you met Rune? He is so not friend material.' And then he was like, 'Actually, I was his old boss, and I just wondered if he actually could hold a steady job.'" Lorelai paused to catch her breath, then caught the bored look on her daughter's face. "Sorry. So, what happened today?"
"Tristan loves me."
"Now there's an eventful day." Lorelai didn't seem too surprised.
"After I left the party, I don't know it happened, but Paris said the whole group knew, and then she came up to me today and she was like, 'You're a jerk,' and it took me a while, but apparently, he actually said that."
"Wow."
"And then I confronted him by his car, and I really did something stupid."
"Couldn't have been more stupid than the green disco outfit I once wore."
"No, definitely worse."
"What?"
"I sort of...chewed him out, telling him stuff like he didn't know what love was, he couldn't feel anything like that, he didn't know the difference between love and sex..."
Lorelai looked at her daughter sympathetically. "Aww, hon, it'll work out. Just wait."
"Yeah, sure."
"Luke's?"
"Yeah."
Rory followed her mother out the door, relieved to have a familiar face to look at, and a familiar voice to comfort her.
*
Two weeks later, Tristan was still in a funk. Rory really did hate him. She didn't look at him, except by accident, when she didn't realize he was around the corner, or something like that. When he got home that Friday, he was exhausted from a combination of a wounded heart--and ego--and a pile of homework.
"Son," his father addressed him when he got home. "I have an invitation to a Christmas party tomorrow night."
"Don't they usually send those out earlier?"
"Well, I got it a week ago."
"Ah."
"And you are expected to come. 7:00."
"Okay."
"Thank you."
Tristan had forgotten to ask whose it was, although it didn't really matter; it was the same people he had seen at the Thanksgiving gathering, and before that, Halloween, and before that, Labor Day, and before that...
He removed his tux from the closet, then reconsidered, thinking of the connotations he had with that bit of clothing. Instead, he pulled out a black suit and red tie. How festive.
He lay lengthwise across his gigantic bed, in no hurry to begin the massive amount of homework that awaited him. Rory had probably already started hers, knowing how stellar her work ethic was. Argh! Couldn't he stop thinking of her for five measly seconds? Just five?
Frustrated, he vaulted off the bed to the desk and began feverishly working on History work, writing in firm, short strokes.
At ten, he decided to go to bed, and get some rest. If he could. While he was changing, Tristan realized he had never even gotten out of his Chilton uniform upon coming home. A break in the daily routine was a little unusual for him, but he was too consumed with Rory to even care anymore.
Why did his dad have to be the biggest jerk on the planet at the most inopportune times?
On Saturday night, Tristan was ready to go by 6:30. For some reason, there had been some higher power motivating him to spend time on his appearance. Even his father noticed the change and came close to a compliment. Tristan and his family arrived at the party at five after seven, despite Tristan's early preparation.
"Be po--"
"Mother, I know."
"Right."
Edward rang the bell, and the three of them stood in a rather uncomfortable grouping on the porch. The door swung open, and there stood Rory.
*
Rory and Lorelai knew through experience that Emily would have a Christmas party, albeit a small one. Emily, of course, said that their presence was required. "Maybe Dad won't have a heart attack if I'm there," Lorelai theorized.
"Could be the opposite," Rory warned jokingly.
Rory and Lorelai bought the obligatory gift, something more elegant than Lorelai would have chosen, but since Rory did the shopping, they figured it would be all right. Rory a new red skirt with sweater set, and Lorelai dressed in a green mini. "Elegant," Rory said dryly.
"Okay, George Eliot."
"George Eliot?"
"Yeah."
"Weird reference."
"Hello, heels."
"Right."
Rory and Lorelai sat in the living room with the punctual guests, and when the bell rang at five after, Emily asked Rory to answer it. Rory set her glass of egg nog down and opened the door. And there stood Tristan and his parents.
"H-hello," she stammered.
"Rory," Mr.. Dugray said. "How lovely to see you again."
"Same here," Rory said rather wryly. "Come on in," she said, widening the door's opening.
Tristan stepped past her and into the tastefully decorated foyer. Rory took their coats and hung them neatly on the gold coat rack. She lead them into the living room, where the host, hostess and other guests sat murmuring polite niceties. "Ah, Mr.. and Mrs.. Dugray, Tristan. How wonderful to see you again," Emily cooed.
"Always a pleasure, Emily," Mrs.. Dugray replied, shaking her hand; Mr.. Dugray did more or less the same thing. "You know my granddaughter Rory?"
"Yes," Mr. Dugray said simply.
"This is my daughter Lorelai," Emily continued, making her way around the room, acquainting people. Tristan took a seat next to Rory on the settee, since there was no other open spot. Rory didn't move.
"We need to talk," she said.
"Yes," he agreed.
"After dinner."
"Christmas tree." She nodded her appropriation, then sipped her egg nog delicately. What was she going to say? She couldn't very well just say that she made a huge mistake, that she loved him, and that she was a wreck without him. Could she? No. But was there any other way? If she needed him as much as the last couple weeks proved she did, then there were no other options. Rory almost began to shake at the idea of actually saying "I love you" to someone without legal assurance they'd have to say it back.
All through dinner, she stifled her need to look at him, instead focusing on the food and the questions people asked her. Lorelai looked beyond bored, but did consume an amazing amount of apple tarts.
Rory waited nervously by the tree for Tristan, who finally showed up after being held hostage by an older lady with tattooed eyeliner. "So?" he asked, rather abruptly.
"Uh..." Rory stalled for time, rethinking her decision. Taking a deep breath, she knew she had to do this. "I made a big mistake." She waited for Tristan to say something, but he didn't, just stared, so she went on. "That night at your parents' house, I overreacted a little." Tristan stayed in the same position, looking at her intently, making her nervous. "And I, um, didn't know what to do because I thought you loved me by then, but when your dad said that, I thought maybe you'd told him differently, and that it wasn't anything romantic, so on Monday I was a little disappointed, and then Paris went and told me that, and I was too proud to tell you how I felt..." Rory dropped her head. "I love you," she whispered.
*
Tristan listened closely to her babble, hardly believing his ears. Rory loved him. He couldn't speak for a while, and then it dawned on him that he was taking an extraordinary amount of time to say something. His mouth, however wouldn't work.
Rory stood there, anxiously peering into his face, looking like a little girl. After about a minute, she nodded, saying, "Okay. That's okay. I understand." Moving her eyelashes rapidly, she spun around and walked out of the room.
Oh no. He wouldn't let her go this time. Tristan waited a discreet amount of time before tracing her steps outside to the balcony. "Rory." She turned. "I still feel the same way."
"Love the enthusiasm," Rory said, obviously hurt.
"No, it wasn't lack of enthusiasm. I was just really surprised to hear you say that...to me." He walked up and stood next to her, leaning his forearms on the railing next to hers. "I'm sorry about what my dad said--he did that of his own free will." Rory was looking at him with a hopeful expression. Tristan leaned down so that he could whisper in her ear. "I love you," he murmured.
Rory turned to him, and Tristan decided it was time. Placing one hand on her waist, he moved her body to face him. Rory's eyes sparkled, dancing in the pale moonlight. Taking this as encouragement, Tristan put his other hand on her cheek, stroking it tenderly. Rory moved closer to him, put her arms under his blazer and tightly around his waist. Tristan leaned slowly, giving her ample time to run. But she met him halfway, and Tristan almost regretted it wasn't the Fourth of July. There were fireworks, the kind he'd heard about in movies and read about in books, but never felt for himself.
Tristan deepened the kiss a little, parting Rory's lips, judging how far she could go. When they parted, their breath melded together in the cool night air. "Why me?" Rory asked. "I'm not anything amazing."
"You are to me."
"Good answer."
"I pride myself on expressing myself eloquently."
"Maybe it'll be passed on to me."
"You're perfect as you are."
"Good answer."
"You already said that."
"Well, apparently you haven't passed it on yet."
Tristan had to grin. It faded as he saw the loving, warm look in Rory's eyes. "I don't deserve you."
"I think it's the other way around."
"Or maybe we're just perfect."