Christian reached behind the wooden columns and grabbed Satine's hand. She
jumped slightly, her head down, looking over her shoulder. She smiled
suddenly, but then looked away shyly.
"If I profane with my unworthiest hand, my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."
Satine suddenly pulled away and walked past him. "Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much! Which mannerly devotion shows in this: for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss." She pressed her hand to his.
Christian smiled. "Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?"
"Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer."
"O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair." He started to lean in, but she moved away, laughing.
"Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake."
He caught her hand as she was about to go. "Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. . ." he trailed off in a whisper, placing his hands behind behind her back and pressing his lips to hers.
Satine felt her lips quiver as she stared, dumfounded into his face.
There was an awkward silence, Satine missing her line, so Christian placed his hand on her cheek and smiled. "O trespass sweetly urged," he whispered. "Give me my sin again."
He closed the space between them swiftly, kissing her softly once, twice, and then going beyond a stage kiss and slipping his tongue in her mouth. A tear fell from Satine's eyes as she held on to him.
She broke away by a loud crash from backstage. She took in a breath, still circled in his arms and searched into his eyes. "You kiss by the book," she breathed.
Ariana rushed in, huffing, pulling on Satine's arm. "Madam, your mother craves a word with you."
Satine ran off stage, and safe behind the curtain she raised her hand to her mouth to try and keep back the sobs, as the actors continued on the stage. She looked up briefly and saw Christian staring through her, his eyes sparkling with delight. He left the stage with a few others, and with a sigh she emerged again.
"Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman?"
Ariana looked where the actors had just exited. "I know not," she said.
"Go, ask his name: if he be married, my grave is like to be my wedding bed."
Ariana left, and emerged a few moments later. "His name is Romeo, and a Montague; The only son of your great enemy."
Satine sighed as she leaned against a wooden column. "My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late!"
The lights dimmed and Satine ran off of the stage as she heard the director call, "Ok, that's a rap on today's rehersal. Tomorrow we'll go over where the lovers are discovered. . ."
Satine flung open the dressing room door, but suddenly someone on the other side held it open.
"Satine. . ." Christian pleaded, peaking his head over the door. "Please, talk to me."
She backed up, leaning against the doorframe. "There's nothing to say."
He shook his head. "When we're out there. . ." He took a step forward, backing her into the dressing room and letting the door close behind him. He encirlced her in his arms, his face inches from hers. "When I'm this close to you, when I'm touching you, when I kiss you, it's not pretend."
She stared into his blue eyes, so full of hope. So full of answers and warmth that she wanted to melt into it blueness to maybe feel free.
He rose his hand to her cheek as her chin quivered. "It's not pretend," he repeated, looking at her mouth, hungry.
Satine took in a deep breath. "It's called acting, Christian." She pushed out of his grasp. "It's called acting," she muttered, searching around the small room for her clothes.
"You can't mean that, Satine."
"Can't I?" she demanded, picking her pants and shirt up.
"You feel it too," he said, coming to her side and grasping her arm.
"Let me go," she whispered, shrugging out of his hold. She took a couple deep breaths as she slammed her clothes onto the counter. "Why CAN'T it be pretend? Why can't it all just be an act?"
"Because it's not," he whispered, looking into her eyes.
She was lost into the ocean blue depths. For a long time, she had been all alone, all by herself. But he was someone, and the first to ever make her knees shake and chin quiver. He was the only one she had ever. . . She shook her head. "I can't," she whispered, pushing past him and out the door.
Satine pulled into the parking lot and trudged the stairs up to her apartment. Just about to put the key in the lock, she was startled by a voice.
"Duckling!" She turned and forced a smile at Harold. "There you are, I just heard you pull in!"
"Hello," she whispered, working on the key again. "I'm really tired, so. . ."
He ignored her and took her hand, leading her to his apartment. "How was your day?"
She sighed. "Horrible."
"Aww, Daddy knows just want to do for his little Chickpea," he said, hollering for his girlfriend, Marie, to make some hot tea.
"No, Harold, actually, I'd just prefer to go to bed right now. . ."
"But it's only 8:00! You can't go to bed now! I have the most wonderful news!"
Satine sighed and sat down on the couch, trying to make herself comfortable Once Harold got to talking, there was no stopping until he was done. "And what is that?"
"There is going to be a wedding around here!" he exclaimed excitedly, Marie coming to his side and giving her the cup of tea. She beamed.
"Oh, Harold!" Satine said, truly surprised. "You're finally going to marry Marie?"
Harold's eyebrows pinched together. "When did I ever say that I was tying the knot?"
"Well, I. . ."
Harold kissed Marie's cheek and she left to go into the bathroom and take a bath, as she always did at this time of night.
"No, Gosling, I'm not the one getting married!"
"Well, then. . ." She stopped in mid-sentence and her jaw dropped. "Oh, what did you do?"
"You're getting married, darling! Isn't that wonderful?" he beamed, taking her hands and standing her up.
Her arms and legs felt like rubber. "Wonderful?" she spat. "What the hell are you talking about? This is a nightmare! Tell me I'm dreaming, I beg of you!"
"No!" he said, still smiling.
"I. . ." She looked at the floor, searching for the right words. "I. . . I won't do it!"
Harold finally dropped her hands and looked her square in the eyes. "Oh yes you will," he said sternly.
"I will not!" she yelled.
"I'll throw you onto the streets! You'll rot in a foster home for the rest of your days."
She laughed. "And I'll be considered an adult in less than a year and able to go where I please."
"I. . ." he looked, for once, stuck for words. He narrowed his eyes. "You WILL marry, my dear. You will WANT to. You know why?"
She scoffed and crossed her arms, heading for the door. "Nothing could make me." She reached for the doorknob.
"He's the son of a movie producer." Satine froze as he laughed a bit. "I knew you'd want to. He'd get you into the biz real fast."
Satine was silent for a moment as she bit her fingernail. "What. . . what's his name?"
"Robert Duken, son of-"
"Stephen Duken," she interrupted. "Yeah, I've heard of him." She sighed. "Have I met the son?"
"Well you most certainly have. Don't you remember? He was awfully rich."
"They're all rich," she spat.
Harold scoffed. "Well if you want to get huffy about it. . . He saw you one night performing, not that night when you ran off stage, thank God. Said he fell in love with you, and then you spend 'the most beautiful evening' with you, and offered for you this afternoon."
"And you told him. . .?"
"Well, of course I told him yes!"
Satine glanced behind her shoulder, feeling sick with something she wasn't sure of. Being married into the family of movie producer. . . she'd be the top. All her dreams could come true finally, after so many years of suffering. But now there was something different than that in her heart. She bit her lip and opened the door, fumbled with her lock and fell down on the couch, crying.
She hugged her pillow as she looked at the coffee table and turned on her laptop, her mouth pressed into the soft fabric. And as she logged onto the internet, the annoying 'You've Got Mail' sound popped up, and she clicked the mailbox.
She froze when she saw the recipient's name of her only letter: Christian James.
Satine bit her lip as she hugged the pillow to her for comfort, and slowly moved the mouse and clicked on the letter.
"I'm sorry for everything I've said, and for anything I forgot to say. When things get so complicated I stumble at best, muddle through. I wish that our lives could be simple. I don't want the world, only you. oh I wish I could tell you this face to face, but there's never the time, never the place. So this letter will have to do. Satine. . . I love you."
Satine broke down crying as she read. Stifled by sobs, she some how managed out, "I love you."
------------------------------------------ Disclaimer: All characters belong to Baz, me, and my good friend William Shakespeare. And, um. Stephen Duken is not a real producer, I just made him and his son up.
A/N: Ok, well I guess it just got good. I never noticed before when I had this idea that Juliet had an arranged marriage, too, and that I decided to use that for this story. Hmm. . . strange. Well, I hope you guy's like this! It's been a while since I wrote, so I hope I'm not rusty. Started school last week(bleh!) and haven't had much time for my homies that I love! Don't stop being cool(and reviewing)!
Songs used: No songs in the story, but Christian's letter was actually a song. 'Radames' Letter' from Aida.
"If I profane with my unworthiest hand, my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."
Satine suddenly pulled away and walked past him. "Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much! Which mannerly devotion shows in this: for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss." She pressed her hand to his.
Christian smiled. "Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?"
"Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer."
"O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair." He started to lean in, but she moved away, laughing.
"Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake."
He caught her hand as she was about to go. "Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. . ." he trailed off in a whisper, placing his hands behind behind her back and pressing his lips to hers.
Satine felt her lips quiver as she stared, dumfounded into his face.
There was an awkward silence, Satine missing her line, so Christian placed his hand on her cheek and smiled. "O trespass sweetly urged," he whispered. "Give me my sin again."
He closed the space between them swiftly, kissing her softly once, twice, and then going beyond a stage kiss and slipping his tongue in her mouth. A tear fell from Satine's eyes as she held on to him.
She broke away by a loud crash from backstage. She took in a breath, still circled in his arms and searched into his eyes. "You kiss by the book," she breathed.
Ariana rushed in, huffing, pulling on Satine's arm. "Madam, your mother craves a word with you."
Satine ran off stage, and safe behind the curtain she raised her hand to her mouth to try and keep back the sobs, as the actors continued on the stage. She looked up briefly and saw Christian staring through her, his eyes sparkling with delight. He left the stage with a few others, and with a sigh she emerged again.
"Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman?"
Ariana looked where the actors had just exited. "I know not," she said.
"Go, ask his name: if he be married, my grave is like to be my wedding bed."
Ariana left, and emerged a few moments later. "His name is Romeo, and a Montague; The only son of your great enemy."
Satine sighed as she leaned against a wooden column. "My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late!"
The lights dimmed and Satine ran off of the stage as she heard the director call, "Ok, that's a rap on today's rehersal. Tomorrow we'll go over where the lovers are discovered. . ."
Satine flung open the dressing room door, but suddenly someone on the other side held it open.
"Satine. . ." Christian pleaded, peaking his head over the door. "Please, talk to me."
She backed up, leaning against the doorframe. "There's nothing to say."
He shook his head. "When we're out there. . ." He took a step forward, backing her into the dressing room and letting the door close behind him. He encirlced her in his arms, his face inches from hers. "When I'm this close to you, when I'm touching you, when I kiss you, it's not pretend."
She stared into his blue eyes, so full of hope. So full of answers and warmth that she wanted to melt into it blueness to maybe feel free.
He rose his hand to her cheek as her chin quivered. "It's not pretend," he repeated, looking at her mouth, hungry.
Satine took in a deep breath. "It's called acting, Christian." She pushed out of his grasp. "It's called acting," she muttered, searching around the small room for her clothes.
"You can't mean that, Satine."
"Can't I?" she demanded, picking her pants and shirt up.
"You feel it too," he said, coming to her side and grasping her arm.
"Let me go," she whispered, shrugging out of his hold. She took a couple deep breaths as she slammed her clothes onto the counter. "Why CAN'T it be pretend? Why can't it all just be an act?"
"Because it's not," he whispered, looking into her eyes.
She was lost into the ocean blue depths. For a long time, she had been all alone, all by herself. But he was someone, and the first to ever make her knees shake and chin quiver. He was the only one she had ever. . . She shook her head. "I can't," she whispered, pushing past him and out the door.
Satine pulled into the parking lot and trudged the stairs up to her apartment. Just about to put the key in the lock, she was startled by a voice.
"Duckling!" She turned and forced a smile at Harold. "There you are, I just heard you pull in!"
"Hello," she whispered, working on the key again. "I'm really tired, so. . ."
He ignored her and took her hand, leading her to his apartment. "How was your day?"
She sighed. "Horrible."
"Aww, Daddy knows just want to do for his little Chickpea," he said, hollering for his girlfriend, Marie, to make some hot tea.
"No, Harold, actually, I'd just prefer to go to bed right now. . ."
"But it's only 8:00! You can't go to bed now! I have the most wonderful news!"
Satine sighed and sat down on the couch, trying to make herself comfortable Once Harold got to talking, there was no stopping until he was done. "And what is that?"
"There is going to be a wedding around here!" he exclaimed excitedly, Marie coming to his side and giving her the cup of tea. She beamed.
"Oh, Harold!" Satine said, truly surprised. "You're finally going to marry Marie?"
Harold's eyebrows pinched together. "When did I ever say that I was tying the knot?"
"Well, I. . ."
Harold kissed Marie's cheek and she left to go into the bathroom and take a bath, as she always did at this time of night.
"No, Gosling, I'm not the one getting married!"
"Well, then. . ." She stopped in mid-sentence and her jaw dropped. "Oh, what did you do?"
"You're getting married, darling! Isn't that wonderful?" he beamed, taking her hands and standing her up.
Her arms and legs felt like rubber. "Wonderful?" she spat. "What the hell are you talking about? This is a nightmare! Tell me I'm dreaming, I beg of you!"
"No!" he said, still smiling.
"I. . ." She looked at the floor, searching for the right words. "I. . . I won't do it!"
Harold finally dropped her hands and looked her square in the eyes. "Oh yes you will," he said sternly.
"I will not!" she yelled.
"I'll throw you onto the streets! You'll rot in a foster home for the rest of your days."
She laughed. "And I'll be considered an adult in less than a year and able to go where I please."
"I. . ." he looked, for once, stuck for words. He narrowed his eyes. "You WILL marry, my dear. You will WANT to. You know why?"
She scoffed and crossed her arms, heading for the door. "Nothing could make me." She reached for the doorknob.
"He's the son of a movie producer." Satine froze as he laughed a bit. "I knew you'd want to. He'd get you into the biz real fast."
Satine was silent for a moment as she bit her fingernail. "What. . . what's his name?"
"Robert Duken, son of-"
"Stephen Duken," she interrupted. "Yeah, I've heard of him." She sighed. "Have I met the son?"
"Well you most certainly have. Don't you remember? He was awfully rich."
"They're all rich," she spat.
Harold scoffed. "Well if you want to get huffy about it. . . He saw you one night performing, not that night when you ran off stage, thank God. Said he fell in love with you, and then you spend 'the most beautiful evening' with you, and offered for you this afternoon."
"And you told him. . .?"
"Well, of course I told him yes!"
Satine glanced behind her shoulder, feeling sick with something she wasn't sure of. Being married into the family of movie producer. . . she'd be the top. All her dreams could come true finally, after so many years of suffering. But now there was something different than that in her heart. She bit her lip and opened the door, fumbled with her lock and fell down on the couch, crying.
She hugged her pillow as she looked at the coffee table and turned on her laptop, her mouth pressed into the soft fabric. And as she logged onto the internet, the annoying 'You've Got Mail' sound popped up, and she clicked the mailbox.
She froze when she saw the recipient's name of her only letter: Christian James.
Satine bit her lip as she hugged the pillow to her for comfort, and slowly moved the mouse and clicked on the letter.
"I'm sorry for everything I've said, and for anything I forgot to say. When things get so complicated I stumble at best, muddle through. I wish that our lives could be simple. I don't want the world, only you. oh I wish I could tell you this face to face, but there's never the time, never the place. So this letter will have to do. Satine. . . I love you."
Satine broke down crying as she read. Stifled by sobs, she some how managed out, "I love you."
------------------------------------------ Disclaimer: All characters belong to Baz, me, and my good friend William Shakespeare. And, um. Stephen Duken is not a real producer, I just made him and his son up.
A/N: Ok, well I guess it just got good. I never noticed before when I had this idea that Juliet had an arranged marriage, too, and that I decided to use that for this story. Hmm. . . strange. Well, I hope you guy's like this! It's been a while since I wrote, so I hope I'm not rusty. Started school last week(bleh!) and haven't had much time for my homies that I love! Don't stop being cool(and reviewing)!
Songs used: No songs in the story, but Christian's letter was actually a song. 'Radames' Letter' from Aida.