A.N: Thank you for the reviews! :D
* * * * *
It Had To Be You
by inmyeyes
04 : She's The One
"Sometimes the most
important moments are the ones that never happen."
"So…" Paris began, peering interestedly at him. "Rory's the one who got away?"
Tristan leaned back on the downy cushions and took a swig of the brandy in his hands, his eyes running over the exquisitely-furnished living room. 'Mother must have redecorated,' he thought. Then his eyes caught the expectant look on his friend's face and he cursed his bad luck for the hundredth time.
He gave a casual shrug, striving to seem nonchalant. "You know how Natalie's mouth just shoots off."
Paris raised an eyebrow in response. "Oh really?"
Tristan hated how perceptive she could be. "Yes, really."
"So, she isn't the one who got away? You didn't draw a sketch of her?" She watched him shift uncomfortably and curbed her urge to chuckle.
"No , she isn't. Yes, I did," was his curt answer.
Paris put on a pensive look and drummed her fingers against her chin as she smiled knowingly at him. "Hmm… and when was it that you last saw her?"
"I don't remember," he mumbled, taking another gulp of his drink.
Her smile turned devious. "Oh wait, I know this! The last time you saw her-"
"-was at your Christmas party last year," he completed her sentence, his tone even.
Paris shook her finger. "Nuh uh. A quick glance at her before you ran out 3 seconds after coming doesn't count." She grinned at his disgruntled groan. "So… technically, the last time you saw her… was over 10 years ago."
"What's your point, Paris?" he asked brusquely. "Cos I know you have one."
"So let's add up the facts," she said. "The last time you saw her was that night of the play. Despite the fact that you both have been at the same parties and gatherings in the past ten years, you always seem to avoid her. And still, you can remember her well enough to draw her and do it well." She feigned confusion. "Odd, isn't it? To top it all off, you say she's the one who got away. Hmmm…"
"I hate your persistence," Tristan mumbled, his eyes shooting daggers at her over the rim of his glass.
Paris just crossed her arms and smiled smugly. "Thank you."
"You're like a vulture."
"And you're just stalling," Paris remarked. When he still didn't say anything, she added, "You know, if you're trying to spare my feelings… you don't have to. I got over you when I was 17."
"Gee, thanks," Tristan said dryly. "Nice to know that I'm so easy to get over."
"Nice to know that you're still hung up on Rory," Paris retorted.
"Shut up."
"Nice comeback."
Tristan raked his fingers through his hair and sighed heavily. "I'm not hung up on her, Paris."
"Sure you aren't," was her disbelieving reply which he ignored.
"It's just…" he broke off, trying to find the correct words, "I've never met anyone quite like her. There's just something about her…"
"Tristan-"
He shook his head quickly and held up a hand. "You don't understand. I-"
Paris cut him off. "I do. I get what you mean."
"She's my 'what if'. She's my 'could have been'." His voice softened. "When I think of her, I see how different I could be, might have been… if things were different." He looked up and saw an inscrutable expression on Paris' face.
The two of them shared a long look; their years of friendship producing an unshakeable bond and an understanding of each other.
Paris smiled softly at him before grinning. "Basically… you're hung up on her."
Tristan buried his face in his hands and groaned loudly. "Paris!"
She laughed. "I know, I'm just kidding."
"You are evil," he remarked.
"I learnt from the best." She decided to give him a break and changed the subject. "I'm actually acting as messenger today. Madeline's having a party tomorrow and when she heard you're in town, she told me to come over and invite you."
"A party?"
She nodded. "Her little girl's birthday. Emily will be two tomorrow."
"I still can't believe she has a kid."
Paris smiled. "Neither can I. But she's happy."
"That's good." His lips curled into a wistful smile. "That's all we can ask for, happiness."
"So you'll be there?" she asked for confirmation.
"Yeah sure. I'll drag Natalie along."
* * * * *
"She's still angry," was her opening sentence the moment someone picked up the phone.
"Hello to you, Lorelai."
Lorelai sighed. "I have no time for pleasantries, Chris. Our daughter is still upset."
"Did you expect any less?"
"No. But-"
"She has a reason to be upset. We kept this from her."
Lorelai hit her head against the kitchen table once and groaned. "I kept this from her. And she does have a reason to be upset. Just you like you do." She bit her lip, wondering if she should ask the question weighing on her mind. "Are you still angry at me?"
"It's been years. You know I'm not, Lorelai."
"You're just saying that," she accused.
"Lorelai." His tone of voice told her not to kid around.
"What am I gonna do, Chris?" she moaned.
"Wait for her to come around," he advised.
"That could take forever," she complained.
"Then you'll wait forever."
"Some help you are," she said dryly, getting up and pouring herself a cup of coffee.
"You're welcome."
* * * * *
She cradled the cup of steaming coffee in her hands, her eyes focused on a young couple who were sitting on the steps of the gazebo. She watched as the boy brushed back the girl's hair and kissed her lightly. She saw the way the girl looked at him adoringly and smiled shyly at him as her cheeks turned a shade of pink.
A pang of… something hit her heart and she had to look away. She didn't want to think about love and relationships. Pulling her jacket closer to her body, she sighed, then took a sip of her coffee, hoping that it would warm her. But the chill still remained.
"Makes you think about our own teenage years, huh?" came the voice from behind her.
Startled, she turned around and immediately smiled when she saw her long-time friend. "Lane!"
"Rory!" Lane mimicked the excited tone of voice that Rory had used.
As they both burst out in laughter, hugs were exchanged.
Moments later they were seated at a corner table at Luke's, a plate of fries between them and a large mug of coffee for each. Rory suddenly felt years younger; it almost felt as though they were 17 again and gossiping about boys. 'Well,' she mused, 'There'll still be gossiping about boys.'
"What's up with you?" Lane asked, munching on a fry.
Rory narrowed her eyes in mock-annoyance. "You're asking what's up with me? You're the one who's engaged! Tell me all."
"Well-"
"Speaking of that, did Jess come with you?"
Lane shook her head. "Nope, he's busy with work. But he'll be here for Christmas. You are gonna be here for Christmas, right?"
"Where else will I go? Of course I'll be here," she laughed.
"Well," Lane bit her lip, "I wasn't sure… after all that happened-"
Rory shook her head briskly, her hair falling into her face. "Tell me about Jess."
Lane looked over her friend, taking note of the weary expression in her eyes coupled with her silent plea to let the matter go. Biting back a sigh, she asked, smiling as cheerfully as she could, "What do you wanna know?"
* * * * *
"Tristan!" The yell was followed by a thunder of footsteps. Slightly out of breath, Natalie entered his room. Her hair was in her curlers, her make-up was half-applied and she had two dresses in her hands.
Her shout and sudden appearance in his room didn't faze him at all. He continued to look through his closet, trying to find his black shirt. "What do you want, Natalie?"
Natalie leaned against the door frame, then cocked her head to the side, looking him over. "Have you been working out?"
Tristan turned around and shot her an incredulous look. "What?" He looked down at himself, seeing the dressy slacks that he had decided to wear.
She shrugged. "Just asking."
He chuckled, going back to his search for the elusive blue shirt. "You're weird, you know that?"
"I need help."
He laughed loudly at her words. "Yeah, you definitely do."
Walking into the room, Natalie let out a huff of indignation before plopping down on the unmade bed. "I can't decide what to wear."
"I can't find what I want to wear," he replied, his voice muffled as he moved deeper into his walk-in closet. Seconds later, his head popped out. "Have you seen my black shirt?"
"Wear the blue shirt. The one I got you," she advised, as she held up her two dress choices and stood in front of the mirror. "It makes your eyes stand out."
He snorted. "It makes my eyes stand out?"
She turned to him and sighed. "Yes, it does. It makes your eyes look bluer. Trust me, girls notice these things."
He disappeared into the closet again. "Yes, master," he said mockingly, as he walked out of the closet, buttoning the shirt.
"Choose one," Natalie asked, holding out the two dresses.
"The white one is too short," he commented, as he looked in the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair.
She smiled brightly as she waltzed out of the room. "The white one it is," she called out over her shoulder.
Tristan just rolled his eyes.
* * * * *
"Natalie, get down here!" he yelled up the stairs.
"Give me a second, I need to find my shoe!" was her muffled shout.
Shaking his head in amusement, he sat down at the bottom step of the staircase, whistling lowly as he threw his keys in the air and caught them.
The loud sound of approaching footsteps made him stop and when he saw his father's imposing figure walk into the foyer from the study, he quickly stood up and pasted a polite smile on his face.
"Hello father."
He got a nod in return. "Please ensure that you'll be free tomorrow evening."
"Why?" he asked, suspicious.
"We're having dinner with an associate of mine," was the clipped answer.
"I don't-"
"You will be there," he said firmly. "We will all be there."
Tristan glared defiantly at his father for a few seconds, but knew that resistance was futile. "All right," he conceded.
"Good."
He remained standing, watching his father's ramrod-straight back as he walked away. He had the strongest urge to throw that Ming vase on the nearby table against the pristine white wall and watch with satisfaction as it shattered into tiny pieces.
But before he could do anything of that sort, he heard the sound of Natalie's heels clicking against the marble floor. Sighing, he ran his hands through his already tousled hair and tried not to seem too troubled.
"What's wrong?" she asked, worriedly, noticing the tense set of his jaw.
"Nothing," he answered, smiling slightly. "Let's go."
* * * * *
"Rory!"
At the sound of her name, Rory spun around and was met by a pair of arms that immediately surrounded her.
"You made it!" Madeline chirped happily as she pulled away.
Rory grinned. "Paris badgered me into coming." She held out a small, wrapped package. "And this is for the birthday baby. Where is she, by the way?"
Madeline accepted the gift, smiling gratefully. "Thank you. She's worn out by all the festivities. Brad's upstairs, putting her to bed."
"Seems like yesterday that she was born… and now she's two," Rory remarked, her eyes softening as she remembered the day when she visited Madeline in hospital and saw the baby for the first time. "She was the most beautiful baby."
"That she is," Paris piped up, coming up from behind Rory with two glasses of juice. "Look, you're gonna make Mads cry."
Through her slightly watery eyes, Madeline giggled girlishly. She reached out and squeezed Rory's hand lightly. "Nah, I'm okay. It's just that she's growing up so fast."
The three women shared smiles.
* * * * *
"I still don't see why you wore the white dress. It's not like there are gonna be boys your age at this party, anyway," he pointed out as the two of them made their way through the mass of people crowded in the living room.
"You never know who you'll bump into."
"You're so vain sometimes," Tristan remarked, lightly pinching her cheek.
She slapped his hands away and glared at him. "Stop that."
"Oh, so you can pull my hair but I can't pinch your cheeks?"
She nodded. "That's right." Before he could say something, she caught sight of Paris, sitting by herself at a corner of the room. "Oh, look, there's Paris!"
"Bonjour, Mademoiselle," Tristan said smoothly when they reached her. "I see you're the life of the party."
"Don't be a smartass, DuGrey," she snapped but her grin clearly told him that she was merely joking.
"Yeah, don't be a smartass, DuGrey," Natalie said mockingly, sitting down next to Paris.
"You're looking nice, Nat," Paris complimented.
Natalie grinned, smoothing down her dress. "Thank you. Doesn't my brother look fabulous?"
Paris smirked and gave him a cursory glance before commenting, "Well, he looks like crap as usual."
"Excuse me but-"
Natalie cut in. "But high-class crap, right?"
"Of course," Paris nodded sagely. She leaned back and looked at him again. "But his eyes do look bluer for some reason," she said, after her scrutiny.
Tristan groaned loudly, and rolled his eyes. "I'm gonna go get something to drink," he announced, before spinning on his heel.
Paris and Natalie looked at each other before simultaneously laughing.
"You're good," Natalie said, impressed.
"Naturally." Paris grinned. "Now you hold up your end of the bargain."
Natalie stood up and winked. "No problemo."
* * * * *
As Rory left the nursery, a sliver of want bubbled in her. She always thought that she would be absolutely content being a career woman… and she was, to a certain extent. But there were times like this, when she saw happily-wedded couples like Madeline and Brad and the family that they were starting, which made her feel like she was missing out on something big. Something meaningful… something that would make her life completely perfect.
She shook off those wistful thoughts and chided herself for her foolishness. She had long ago resigned herself to the fact that when the time was right, it would happen; when the time was right, she'd know. 'Plus,' she told herself, 'Right now, you've got no time for that kind of stuff.'
Rory was so absorbed in her own musings that she didn't see the figure coming out of the bathroom and was unable to stop the collision.
"Oh," she exclaimed, reaching out to steady the girl. "I'm sorry about that. I wasn't watching where I was going." She looked up and was disconcerted by the fact that the girl's eyes struck something in her. They reminded her of… someone.
Natalie smiled and tried to disguise her surprise when she recognized the woman in front of her. In real life, her beauty was even more breath-taking; her brother's charcoal sketch didn't give a hint of her sky blue eyes or creamy complexion and she exuded this charm that immediately drew Natalie in.
"No, it's all right. Of course, if I had been hurt, I would have forced to sue you," Natalie said, grinning unabashedly.
The girl's smile was infectious and Rory found herself playing along. "Oh, of course. I wouldn't have expected anything else."
"I'm Natalie," she offered, holding out her hand.
"And I'm-"
"Rory Gilmore," Natalie said. She tilted her head and smiled cheekily. "I know."
Rory laughed. "Okay. Normally, I'd be more than a little freaked out-"
It was Natalie's turn to laugh. "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not a stalker. I know Paris and she's mentioned you a few times."
"Oh. It's nice to meet you then, non-stalker Natalie," Rory grinned. "Speaking of Paris, do you know where she is?"
"She said she was feeling a little queasy so she's probably in one of the empty rooms downstairs."
"All right, thanks," Rory said. "I'll see you around."
"I'm sure you will."
* * * * *
It figured that he would end up in this room.
He had been searching for either his sister or Paris but they were nowhere to be found, something that worried Tristan immensely; whenever those two were together, they were always planning something and that something more than always had to do with him. When he had finally given up, he had stumbled upon this room. And being the masochist that he was, he couldn't stop himself from walking in.
It was scary how he seemed to remember what the room had looked like over ten years ago; the flowers had inevitably been changed, the painting on the wall was the same and of course, the piano was still the centrepiece of the room.
And then somehow he found himself sitting on the piano bench and surprised himself by remembering and playing the song that he had played that night. At first the notes were hazy in his mind, but as his fingers steadily drummed out the melody, he gained more confidence. Closing his eyes, he lost himself in the music as he relived that night in his mind.
* * * * *
She was about ready to quit looking for Paris and just leave when the sound of music reached her ears. Curious, she followed the sound; it led her to a room a few doors down from the last one that she had looked into. Standing by the door, she peeked in and her breath caught in her chest.
There was no mistaking the man who was beautifully playing the piano. Little had changed about him; his hair was still that same shade of blonde, still as messy and she was quite certain that his eyes were still that cerulean colour. The years had been good to him- there was now a different air to him; his face expressed a maturity that he didn't have before and the arrogance he once had was replaced with a quiet sort of self-assurance.
A tiny part of her was silently screaming out warnings, telling her to bolt and leave before he realized that she was there. Tristan was always a complicated person - she doubted that that had changed- and well, she didn't need, or want, any complication in her life. And she didn't think she could walk in there, say hello and then walk away.
She took one last look at him, not really surprised by the jolt of lust that ran through her. He was a good-looking man and had always been, she conceded, and she figured that she was old enough to accept the attraction that she had for him and chalk it up as just that- an attraction and nothing more.
But she must have spent a second too long gazing at him because on their journey back up, her eyes collided with his.
'Yes,' she thought hazily, 'they're still that same cerulean colour.'
* * * * *
