"The Other Wife" by: E. Marie E-mail: Emw712@aol.com

Author's Note: June 2, 2003: Wow! Thanks for the reviews! In response to a few inquiries, yes, I drew the inspiration from this story from Daphne duMaurier's "Rebecca"; I thought the connection between the manga series and the novel were very startling; Kagome feeling like she is a poor replacement for Kikyo, wondering about Inuyasha's true feelings reminded me so much of the plight of the narrator from the novel and the movie! For those of you who haven't read the novel, I command you to do so! Never fear, I don't plan to necessarily pattern "The Other Wife" after "Rebecca" for much longer-but I am glad that there are conscientious readers out there who picked up on what I was trying to do!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the house I live in. I don't own the car I drive. These things I borrow from my parents. I don't own Inuyasha. I borrow him from all of you. (Don't hate me!!!)

Chapter Four: Unanswerable Questions

My hair whipped about my face, wildly with the wind. The sea cliffs of Monte Carlo rolled by, the sea glistening from the glowing attention of the sun. Inuyasha, too, was bareheaded, but his long silver hair was captured in a long queue that stretched down his back. Studying this familiar stranger carefully, my cheeks colored at the thought of running my fingertips down his back and freeing that same silver hair, letting it run wild through my-
I was nearly thrown from my seat as he brought the automobile to a screeching halt. Trying to maintain my dignity, I smoothed my dress and gathered my arrows, which had been scattered all over the backseat by the wild ride and the force of the sudden stop. The look Inuyasha gave me was unreadable as he opened my door and helped me out. The view literally took my breath away....
The vista on which we stood was an abandoned villa on the very edge of the sea. From where we stood, I had a wonderful view of both the sea and the village at the other end of the tiny bay, created by the jutting cliffs. I felt as though we were the only two people alive in the world-me and this sad man, this Inuyasha.
Watching him stroll slowly, in an almost predatory fashion toward the edge of the vista, a tiny, taunting voice rang in my head for the first time.
'Perhaps he brought his wife here. Maybe he brought her to this same spot, maybe he kissed her here, with the sun burning its way into the sea...'
Shaking the voice from my head, I stumbled down the rocky path to stand cautiously behind Inuyasha, admiring the view...and his silhouette. Inspired by the wonderful scenery and the handsome man before me, I remembered the sketchpad and charcoal pencil I always kept tucked in the bottom of my arrow cachet, in memory of my grandfather, the eternal artist. "Never go out in the world without something to catch your creative impulses," he would say, waving a paintbrush at his reluctant apprentice. "How will you carry on the proud family tradition of aesthetics if you are not always prepared to create?"
Taking a seat on a nearby cliff rock, pencil in hand and pad on knee, my eyes narrowed on my subject and my hand flew across the page. Inuyasha's eyes remained fixed on the view; from my angle, I could capture the pensive expression on his face, the sea gulls, littering the sky, the small wharf and the village on the opposite shore. Prying my eyes reluctantly from my subject, I concentrated on some of the minor details of the sketch, touching up hastily drawn lines, making clearer strokes. When I was satisfied that I had done all that I could, I sighed and examined my work. My grandfather was the true artistic genius of our family, and the burden of carrying on his legacy was certainly misplaced in me.
"I like the attention you devote to your subject," he said into my ear. His warm breath so close to my skin startled me; I hadn't noticed him slip behind me to examine my work.
"Oh, this is really nothing, I just-"
Stilling my self- critique with a wave of his hand, he continued. "Nonsense, you do good work. However, I think you should take a closer look at my silhouette. Maybe it was the way of the wind, but, honestly, Kagome, it looks as though you've given me dog ears!"
Blushing at my obvious faux pas, I fumbled to erase my mistake. I couldn't bring myself to tell him that I wasn't paying attention to his ears; I was studying that look on his face, the sudden view of a battered soul.
Grabbing my hand firmly, Inuyasha took the eraser from my hand. "Feh, leave it. I think the ears suit me. Hey! You even captured those little boats in the bay!"
"Here," I said as I handed him the sketch. "You can keep this. I never liked boats anyway."
"That's ridiculous, Kagome; how can a big girl like you be so afraid of a little boat? I'll have to rent a skipper tomorrow and take you out on the bay myself, to get you over your childish fear!" Sticking his chest out in a triumphant stance, he grinned widely at me, like a school boy who had bested his best friend at long last.
Prickling at the thought of being thought childish (even while my heart pounded at the mention of another day in his company), I replied briskly, "I am not afraid of some little boat!"
Tweaking my nose playfully, Inuyasha asked, "Then what is it your afraid of?"
"Drowning!" I announced loudly, thinking my answer very clever.
In that instant, the light in his eyes was extinguished, and Inuyasha took a step back from me, as if I had brought my hand back and struck him full in the face. He seemed to look right through me for an instant, before he spun on his heel and returned swiftly to the automobile, leaving me where I stood. I felt as though every molecule of my body was made of lead; I could not follow him and my eyes welled with tears. What had I said to change his manner toward me? Was I that repulsive?
Wiping the drops of moisture from my cheeks, I gathered my belongings and trudged my way to the automobile, where Inuyasha waited, silent, eyes facing forward. This is how we returned to the hotel, not a word spoken, not a glance exchanged. When he brought the car to a stop outside the hotel, I did not wait for him to open my door. I vaulted from my seat and ran inside, no longer able to hold back my tears, thinking all the while:
'He'll never want to see me again.'