A Turn for the Worst
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and life took on a sort of languorous rhythm, so ensconced were Christian and Satine in their happiness and love for one another. As time passed, Alexander Castleton said nothing further of objection to Satine, though the two adopted a different manner of behavior around each other, interacting with cool civility. If Christian noticed the change, he said nothing—or, most likely, attributed it to the moody tendencies Satine was subject to in her delicate condition.
Satine had quickly decided she did not like being pregnant; the sickness, the size, and the general difficulty she had getting around due to the aforementioned added weight. That was not to say she didn't like the idea of having a baby—she wanted it then, to cradle the infant in her arms and sing it lullabies.
Of course, the physical act of having the baby was another matter. The idea of childbirth made her nervous, and though Christian didn't say so, it made him nervous as well—as his own mother had died giving birth to his sister Margaret.
Though Satine had never met Margaret in person, she felt she already knew her, as they had taken up correspondence through letters a few months before, a suggestion on Christian's part to give the restless Satine something to do. She thought Christian's sister was quite possibly the sweetest girl she had ever known, though the prim and properly written letters left something to be desired by way of figuring out her personality.
A few weeks before, another young couple had moved in across the hall, and Satine had quickly struck up a friendship with Verona Paris, who, like her husband Joseph, was an Egyptologist. It also happened that the woman had a French father, her maiden name being Cartier, and that only made their kinship with one another more ideal.
It was now September, and the remaining two or so months were looked upon with a sort of anxious anticipation. Verona and Joseph had joined them for dinner, but the men had gone back to the Parises' apartment so that Christian could no doubt ask Joseph further questions about ancient Egypt—or specifically, the royalty of it, as he seemed to have been struck with some sort of inspiration for a new story—leaving Satine and Verona to their own devices.
Devices which, at that moment, were nothing more than simply tea and conversation, as it had been a rather warm afternoon, the like of which tended to leave one with a lack of inclination to do much of anything at all.
"Have you picked out a name yet?" Verona asked, her lips curving up in an amused smile as she leaned back in the comfortable armchair and set her teacup aside.
Satine and Christian's inability to choose a name for the baby had become quite the subject of humor and debate amongst the four, as it was narrowed down only by the fact she was convinced it was going to be a boy.
Several names had been brought up, from the rather normal John and Peter, to Romeo or Othello. Joseph had suggested . . . well, Joseph, while Verona offered them ones like Nefer and Mehy, ever dedicated to her scholarly studies. Even one of the hotel attendants had given them his own opinion, stating that Abdul and Mohammed seemed like fine names to him. Or, failing that, perhaps Bob.
"Actually, yes," Satine responded after a moment, prompting a look of surprise from the Egyptologist.
"At last! We were beginning to think it would become as much a mystery as who built the Sphinx," she teased.
"I know." Satine laughed softly, a hand moving to rest on the rounded curve of her abdomen in consideration. "I suggested Thomas, which is Christian's father's name, but Christian said no, then said we should name him after my father—so we decided on Olivier Thomas James."
"A lovely name," Verona responded with a nod of approval.
Satine nodded in return, then reached for her tea. "I can't wait until the baby's finally born."
"It's not much longer."
"No, it's not." She paused, smiling secretively at her friend, then went on, "Christian and I also finally set a date for our wedding."
This piqued the scholar's attention, and she sat up in her chair, brows lifting in curiosity. "When?"
"February fourteenth," Satine replied with a soft laugh. "A Valentine's Day wedding—a bit cliché, I know, but we wanted to wait until after the baby's born, and Christian should have finished his book by then—though he swears now that his next project will be a book of baby names . . . but he really is a hopeless romantic."
"And I think it sounds positively romantic," Verona agreed sagely.
Unlike many might have, she didn't find it in the least scandalous or inappropriate that Satine and Christian were having a baby without being married yet. What was important, in her eyes, was that they loved one another—and from what she could tell from their story, they hadn't exactly had the time or opportunity before to exchange formal vows. And, of course, as Verona and Joseph themselves had been married in a small outpost in the desert, clad in field clothing, it took quite a bit to raise their eyebrows on the subject of propriety, or the lack thereof.
Their lazy sort of conversation continued on for a long while, until Satine finally succumbed to a yawn that was decidedly impolite, but she'd had to grow used to several impolite things over the past few months that were rather beyond her control. Verona noted the time and decided to get back home and allow Satine to rest, and assured her she'd send Christian back post haste.
After the other woman was gone, Satine set about cleaning up their dishes, but was interrupted by a knock sounding on the door. Distracted in her task, she glanced up at the door, then called out a simple, "Come in."
The door opened, and Alexander Castleton entered the room, sweeping off his hat. "Good evening, Miss Satine," he greeted her politely, but without emotion.
"Good evening, Mr. Castleton," she responded in kind, setting down the cup and saucer and turning to face him. "Christian's across the hall, if you need something—"
"No," he cut her off, "I came to see you."
Immediately, Satine felt a sinking feeling in her stomach, a sensation that was not caused by morning sickness or anything else of the like. Rather, it was recollection of what had occurred the last time he stopped in for a 'visit' such as this one.
"It's growing late," she said briskly. "Can't it wait until tomorrow?"
"I think it's waited long enough," Castleton noted, closing the door behind himself with a soft click.
An uncommon amount of anxiety creeping over her, Satine raised a brow and assumed the classic façade of detachment that she had used for so many people, though it was admittedly more difficult to look imposing now.
"I've remained silent about this for months," he went on, stepping further inside and setting his hat aside on a table. "But really, I can't any longer. Christian is a very talented young man, with a very promising future . . ."
She pressed her lips together into a stern line of disapproval at the man's words. "I don't believe Christian's future should be so much of your concern. Though," she added flatly, "I'm touched by your concern."
"I don't think you understand," he said, shaking his head. "Christian could make me a lot of money—"
Satine's eyes narrowed slightly; so that was it.
"—and whenever I invest in something, I like to be sound. Nothing against you, of course, but I'm not a gambling man," Castleton continued, and he stalked closer toward her, waving a hand in the air in emphasis. "And you . . . you are a liability."
"You have no right—" she started, but he cut her off angrily.
"No, you have no right to be manipulating him like this. Oh, I know your kind," he stated venomously. "You've snared him in your trap like a fly in a spider web, and now you're out for the kill. You're just seeing how much you can get out of him, how much you can use him."
Now it was her turn to become outraged. "You know nothing about what Christian and I—"
"I see straight through what you're doing! All of this, the wedding, the baby . . . you're just doing it to keep him, because you're afraid he'll see you for what you really are—a common whore."
Satine lifted a hand and slapped him angrily across the face.
He stared at her in a brief moment of shock, but quickly enough recovered and shook his head furiously. "You cheap bitch, maybe if I had you, I'd figure out just what he sees that's worth giving up everything else!"
She started past him, fully intent on leaving and finding Christian. Now, it didn't matter what she had decided about not telling him of Castleton's betrayal. It had gone entirely too far now, and she knew he only intended to use Christian as a means to achieve his own ends—but he stopped her with a viselike grip on her wrist.
"Let go of me," she demanded in a hiss, and jerked her wrist in an attempt to free it, but his fingers only dug in more tightly, until she was certain there would be bruises left circling her arm.
"You know he's not going to need you," Castleton went on, ignoring her protests and backing her toward the desk. He didn't even seem fully conscious of his movements, frenziedly ranting on, "He saved the prostitute from the underworld! What more use could he have for you than lust?"
"Let . . . go . . ." she repeated, and drew in a breath with the intention of screaming, but he clamped a hand down over her mouth.
"He's probably only staying with you now because of that bastard child! You're all alike, you're all—GAH!" His words ended in a shout as he drew his hand back, realizing that she had bitten him.
Satine took advantage of his distraction and wrenched her wrist free, then broke toward the door, but he intercepted her again, and her vision filled with stars as the back of his hand connected soundly with the side of her face. The force of the blow knocked her to the floor, and she landed upon the hardwood with a cry of pain.
Her hand immediately found her abdomen in fearful concern. The baby . . .
Then he had her by the wrist again and jerked her sharply up to her feet again, the abrupt motion causing her hair to fall loose from its chignon. Panicked sickness swept over her, and she was certain she would faint—then suddenly, he was wrenched away from her and it all stopped.
Satine sank back to sit upon the floor, not trusting her legs to support her, and looked up to see that Christian had come back during the confrontation, and pulled Castleton off her, his expression contorted in the sort of rage she had never seen before.
"What are you doing!?" Christian demanded of the other man, "Are you insane?"
Castleton pulled away from Christian, his eyes narrowed in anger and his voice dripping venom. "I think you're the one who's insane. What kind of life do you think you can make with this pathetic whore?"
That simple word, that simple five-letter insult was enough, and before any of them were even fully conscious of what was happening, Christian lunged forward and swung his fist at the other man, the blow landing against the American's face with a sharp cracking sound.
Castleton stumbled back, with a look of utter disbelief, his nose pouring blood and obviously broken, then launched himself at Christian, where they landed on the floor in a tumble.
"Christian! Stop!" Satine cried, clambering back to her feet, but both men were too outraged to listen to her protests.
It was only a few seconds later, when Joseph and Verona came spilling into the room, that Joseph managed to pull them apart.
"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" he questioned, staring at them both.
Castleton said nothing, simply tore his handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his nose, then he abruptly grabbed up his hat and hastened toward the door, before wheeling back around to face them.
"I'll make you regret this," he said lowly, in a manner that suggested that was a promise rather than a threat, then he vanished out the door.
"What was that all about?" Joseph demanded then, helping Christian back to his feet and dusting him off.
Christian had an angry bruise developing on his cheek, and was rumpled and disheveled from the fight, but seemed barely conscious of it as he ignored the question and rushed over to Satine. "Are you all right?"
All she could do for a moment was nod numbly.
Verona crossed the room and led Satine over to sit down on the couch. "Would some tea make you feel better?"
Satine gave another nod in response, and Christian sat down beside her, drawing her into his arms. She leaned her head against his chest, and as Verona set about preparing the tea, Joseph again ventured to ask, "What happened?"
After a few deep breaths, Satine finally seemed to find her voice, and out spilled the entire story, going back all the way to March when he first confronted her, until now, "And I'm sorry, Christian, I know I promised not to hide anything from you again, but I thought that would be the end of it, and . . ." Sometime during the relation of the tale, she had begun to cry, and at this she simply trailed off and quietly wiped the tears away, awaiting a reaction from the others, who had remained silent the whole time.
Christian only held her more tightly, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. "What's important is that you're all right."
"And I'd say," Joseph offered, "That you're better rid of that bastard."
"Joseph," Verona chided, then she paused and agreed, "You're quite right."
Satine nodded, but she couldn't help but think that his promise of making them regret it would not be in vain.
Author's Note: The Abdul, Mohammed, Bob thing was a cheap gag borrowed from The Mummy, one of my favorite movies, which I happened to have watched just a while ago. Verona, and by extension Joseph, are not mine—they belong to the ever-fabulous Anna (Arauka Pilininge), but were used with permission. The use of the name Margaret for Christian's sister was borrowed from the eloquent and wonderful drama-princess, and also used with her consent. Now, if only I could contact Baz Luhrmann and ask nicely about using his characters . . .