It had been two weeks, and Satine was exhausted; despite the fact that she had grown accustomed to working on little sleep over the years, she was losing so much rest over the prospect of this Christian that he himself had begun to worry about her.
"Satine, are you feeling okay?"
She nodded quickly, smiling a little. She could no longer truthfully say that she hadn't grown to like him, that his now subtle attempts at endearing himself to her weren't accomplishing anything. "I'm fine, thank you," she said brightly. Then she sighed, shifting uncomfortably in the hard wooden chair a he shuffled through his own painstakingly typewritten pages. "Christian, would you mind if we continued this outside? It's feeling very stuffy in here."
But once they'd settled outside under the shade of a large tree, it was Christian who seemed distracted.
"Have faith—the Maharaja shall never discover…discover…." He trailed off for a moment, then searched among the wind-scattered papers for the one containing his line. "Discover…."
"Our secret," Satine provided. "The Maharaja shall never discover our secret. Christian, dear, you used to know these lines like the back of your hand! Now you seem ill. What's bothering you?"
He looked at her intently for a full minute, noting the concern splayed across her face, gathering his courage. "Satine…" he finally blurted, "do you love me?"
If Satine was surprised by his question, she didn't show it. Instead, she hesitated for a moment, considering it. "I suppose…."
Christian frowned a bit. That wasn't the most satisfactory answer, and certainly not what he'd been hoping for.
"Oh, Christian, is that what's been troubling you?" She laughed softly, "You know I can't…."
He nodded slowly, unconvinced. Then his eyes traveled up over her head, and Satine became aware of a presence behind her. She turned to see the Duke.
"My dear Duke! How delightful! Do you wish to join us?" Satine shifted over, patting the soft grass next to her flared green skirt.
The corners of his mouth turned down as he skeptically peered over his nose at the ground. "I'm afraid that would be just a bit beneath my dignity, my dear. Actually, I was hoping you'd join me for lunch at the little café just down the street, to discuss your…wardrobe for the performance."
Satine smiled dazzlingly and rose.
Christian, however, did not take the Duke's proposal quite as well. "S-Satine and I were going over our—her—lines, if you could—"
"Oh, Christian, don't be silly. This can wait until tomorrow. Besides, I do believe I know your own words better than you do." Behind her scornful laugh, she shot him an apologetic look, then winked at him and strode off, arm-in-arm with the Duke.
"You look simply stunning this evening, my dear."
Satine smiled modestly, but didn't care to return the compliment. Such a lie would undoubtedly go to the Duke's head, and while that was more or less the effect she was intended to bring upon his ego, she didn't think she could bear his company if she began her flattery so early in the afternoon. Besides—how many times had he repeated that statement in the past ten minutes?
Her ankles were beginning to ache as they continued to walk down the seemingly endless lane. 'Just down the street' had stretched to what felt like miles, and Satine had been anxiously squinting ahead for quite some time now.
To her relief, there came into view what might have been a café. Satine opened her mouth to mention it, but just at that moment, the Duke stopped. "Dear Satine, might you wait a moment?"
Satine glanced down the street longingly. "Of course! What is it, my sweet?" Her interested smile masked the urge to gag at the term of endearment.
"My dear," he began, then frowned as she swallowed hard, through her polished mask, "You are a great actress…."
Oh, if you only knew.
"…And I have the power to make you a star. I offer you security, for the rest of your life. I think it would be in the best interests for both of us for you to become my wife." His speech given, he pursed his lips, mustache twitching anxiously and blinking at her intently, and waited for her response.
Satine's eyes grew wide, and her mouth gaped open, jaw moving in a fishlike fashion as she tried to form words. Marry this Duke? On the surface, it didn't look all so terrible; she didn't loathe him any more than usual when it came to the men she pleased nightly…not any less, either, but regardless…marry him? Become his…a chill ran up her spine at the thought. Satine had been a possession all her life, handed from owner to owner—but in that shifting of hands, she had gained her own way of control backstage. Her manipulative abilities gave her a certain power. But a single man—he would learn her tricks soon enough. And he was powerful, too….
Then again, he offered her everything she had ever dreamed of. Fame, fortune…not to mention a slight change in career, were all well within his abilities. But to her surprise, even the latter thought, her constant dream of 'flying away' began to frighten her, now that it was in her reach….
"I…I'll have to consider it…." Anticipating the Duke's rage, she once again plastered on a dazzling smile, one that was self-assured, confident, and pleased beyond words. She was a great actress, indeed. "Now, dear Duke, I've only just met you a couple of days ago—surely you wouldn't expect me to accept such an offer so soon…."
In response to Satine's cheerful tone, the Duke pouted ever so slightly and began to walk again, sulkily pushing her along beside him. "Surely not," he muttered, and flicked an inconvenient lock of hair away from his eyes.
~*~
Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and all the while, the Duke grew more and more impatient with Satine.
And quite rightly, I might add.
Satine seemed to have all but forgotten his proposition in the first place, and he fully meant to repeat it, only they somehow got off subject at every attempt he made, much to his displeasure.
"My dear, I've been thinking…."
"Oh, have you, dear Duke? Why, so have I! That scene with the Maharaja on a white horse—it's entirely unacceptable. If that silly writer truly thinks that I will cower on the filthy floor while that, that beast clamors past—kicking up billows of dust—and while I'm in my full attire! Preposterous, if I may say so…."
"But—my Dear, if you would only—"
"Why, my dear sweet Duke! What a brilliant idea! I shall tell him, right away tonight. The scene must be rewritten, and in time for the opening tomorrow."
"Yes, now Satine, you must—"
"Oh! My carriage has arrived. Thank you kindly for the lovely dinner. I shall see you promptly at seven, correct?"
"Yes, but…but…."
This could go on no longer. If he didn't succeed that evening, he would have to go to Zidler. Yes. That's what he would do.
"Satine! Satine!" Toulouse hobbled to catch up with his friend, as fast as his stubby little legs could carry him. "…Satine!"
Satine turned around, surprised. "Toulouse! I haven't seen you around lately. What is it?"
"Oh, I'm sowwy," he panted with a grin, "I've been hewping Chwistian with the finishing touches on the pway. He says I keep his wife intewesting."
Satine smiled down at him, humored. "I'm sure you do. But, do you have a message or something?"
He nodded hastily. "The Duke has twagicawwy taken iww—you'we not to meet him fow dinnew. Instead, Chwistian wants youw hewp fow…something…." Toulouse left off cryptically, and patted her hand, which held her richly embellished headpiece. Rehearsal had ended only minutes before, and the Duke's absence had sent a hundred rumors murmuring through the cast and crew. But Satine had seen Warner out of the corner of her eye as she passed by the sick room, and didn't doubt Toulouse's sources. "Have a nice day!" He said merrily, then tottered away.
"Thank you, Toulouse."
"Bonjour, Mademoiselle."
Satine giggled as Christian swept the door open with a flourish. "Hello, darling." A wave of his arm invited her inside the small garret, and she sniffed the air with interest. "Mmm, it smells lovely in here. What is that?"
"The scent of love is in ze air." Christian's eyes danced with humor as she laughed and waved his comment away.
She shook her head as he grinned. "Silly," she chuckled. "Really, what is it?"
"Roses." He took his coat off the hook near the door.
"Roses?" Satine's eyebrows met in a look of confusion.
He nodded, then gave a dramatic groan. "Look, you're making me ruin the surprise."
Letting her puzzlement go for the moment, Satine noted that Christian had begun to put his coat on. "Are we going out?"
He opened the door. "After you."
"Where is Mademoiselle Satine?" the Duke rasped. This was followed by another fit of coughing, and Marie passed a handkerchief to Warner, who looked down at the material—foreign to him—before giving it awkwardly to the Duke. After coughing into it several times, the Duke reached for his glass of water. Swallowing painfully, he added, "I would like to speak with her—tonight."
"But, dear Duke, you look quite uncomfortable…perhaps another time, say—"
"Tonight," the Duke snapped, cutting Zidler's protests short.
"How is he, Marie?" Harold asked, turning to the woman.
"He shouldn't have any trouble by opening night tomorrow."
"No," said the Duke, "I want to see Satine tonight."
"Very well," Harold consented quickly, "I'll go find her myself."
"Where are we going, Christian?"
"Just downstairs, and to the Bar. We can take it back up to eat."
"Mightn't the gentleman have arranged for this ahead of time?"
A playful gleam in Satine's eye suggested that she was teasing, and he responded with a similar sparkle in his own, "What makes you think I'd behave like a gentleman? We have work to do."
"Satine's not in her room," Zidler reported later. "She isn't in the tower, either. I'm sure she heard of your…misfortune, and took the evening off for a leisurely stroll."
The Duke frowned. "See that the girl is found, and brought directly to me. I've something important to ask of her."
At this, Zidler's eyebrows shot up. Marie gave a thoughtful look to the side, and the corners of Warner's thin lips hinted that they wished to turn up—regardless, the look in his eyes told that he knew. After only a brief moment's hesitation, however, Zidler gave an obedient nod, and Marie followed him out.
Watching from a corner, Nini waited until the Duke had dismissed Warner with an impatient wave of his hand, then had leaned back on the sick bed. Only then did she step out of the shadows, smirking brazenly.
"Ey, Duke," she greeted him. His head whipped around, first startled, then irritated by her unexpected presence. Nini sat herself down on the bed, never dropping her sensual air. "I might just know where your Satine is."
"Is that so?"
Nini cackled at this—the man was obviously trying to mask his interest. Then she commented slyly, "Ya know, I hear she knows them lines better than our writer."
The Duke's eyes narrowed. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying," she breathed, leaning over his face, "that they've been 'practicing' an awful lot, eh?"
Edging subconsciously out from under her, the Duke frowned, his face taking on a look of disgusted realization. "Find Zidler," he commanded.
Nini sat up, and winked at him on her way out the door. "As you wish."
"Mm, my compliments to the chef." Satine raised her fork for emphasis.
"Oh, don't mention it, darling," Christian said, feigning humility, "it was nothing, really."
Satine giggled. "You don't say." Then her voice took on a different tone. "But from he who is penniless can come great things!" Christian strummed an imaginary sitar, encouraging her to continue. "For who would have guessed that I, a beautiful courtesan, should choose you as my love, over the Maharaja?"
Christian sighed softly. "You say that so very convincingly."
She shrugged, eyeing him sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Christian. That's my job."
Nini returned a few minutes later, with Marie in tow. "I'm sorry, Duke, she's the only one of 'em I could find."
"Harold went out into Montmartre—Heaven knows where," Marie explained.
The Duke nodded dismissively. "Marie, you go and check the writer's 'humble abode.' And if you find Satine, direct her here immediately."
After a slightly awkward pause, Christian began reciting again. "…For with no words can I, a penniless sitar player, express my love for you…." Satine was eyeing him strangely, as he'd skipped ahead considerably, but spoke with passion. "…And I have no gifts to offer you—only my heart. But is that not enough to give? For, my darling, it is true…" here he hesitated for a moment, looking into her eyes, and then saying softly, as he lifted a rose from a nearby vase, "It would illuminate my life and put joy in my heart if you should become my wife."
The door swung open.
Disclaimer: The names of the characters, the setting, the entire Moulin Rouge story belongs to a brilliant genius named Baz Luhrmann, (and a bunch of other people, companies, etc. I'm sure…).
Author's Note: Yes! An actual chapter-length chapter! :o) This is as close to fluff as I get, so enjoy it. ::Grins.:: And the "…only my heart" thing was the words of Bethany, not so very long ago, about a certain other person's er…well, Joe. They know who they are. Anyway.
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