Chapter 3
An hour later, as I'm sipping away at a third glass, the brandy is gradually tasting better and better.
Hmm...I'd better not let this become a habit.
At some point, a thought occurs to me. I hope Magus doesn't expect me to fly the Epoch home. Time travel and alcohol do not mix. Even if I could get home without crashing, I'd probably get dizzy and hurl in the passenger side. Wouldn't that be a nice surprise for the next poor sucker who had to use the thing?
I glance up, and it's on the tip of my tongue to ask if he'd mind if I camped out in the Epoch outside his house.
Before I have the opportunity to ask, though, he gazes at me, apparently considering, and begins to speak.
"You do know there's no way I'm letting you leave in this state."
"U-um...what else can I do?"
Can I bluff or what?
"You'll stay here. I'm sure in this entire castle, I'll be able to find a room for you to stay in, far enough away from mine that you don't get in my way."
I laugh.
God, I must be horribly drunk, if I've just laughed at something Magus said.
He stands to leave and, not quite sure of what's going on, I follow.
Five more corridors later, I find myself alone in a large freezing cold bedroom, which hasn't yet been warmed by the fire that Magus left me to light for myself in the massive stone fireplace across from the bed. Shivering, I shoot a fireball into the dry kindling heaped in the fireplace, change hastily into the nightgown he's left me - at least it isn't pink and lacy, although I don't even want to know who it used to belong to; Flea, perhaps? Argh! No! I don't want to think about it! - and dive under the black and grey bedspread and sheets. Dreary, perhaps, but nice and warm.
Seconds later, it occurs to me that it might not be the safest thing in the world to sleep with a roaring fire right across from oneself. I am just in the process of climbing reluctantly from beneath my nice, soft, warm nest of blankets, when a sharp rap at the door echoes through the room.
Hastily pulling my sweater over the nightgown for some sense of decency, I hurry to the door.
"I thought you might need an extra blanket. These rooms tend to be cold," Magus informs me abruptly, shoving a navy blue wool blanket at me and eyeing the fire that I have managed to light without sending his entire home up in flames.
"Thanks," I say, taking it.
He continues to stand there, watching me, and after a time, it makes my skin crawl.
"Uh...something wrong?"
"No," he replies.
"Oh. Um, good."
"I'd like to talk to you tomorrow morning about this situation of yours, so don't run away too early," he requests in a tone that sounds more like a command than anything.
With that, he turns and leaves.
I stare at the door as it swings closed behind him, shaking my head in bewilderment.
Magus! I'm surprised! What would people say if they knew that you, a heartless sorcerer, were taking in former acquaintances and helping them deal with their problems? You'd be the laughingstock of the Mystics! I can just see it now:
'Hey, d'ya hear 'bout Magus?'
'Yeah! I heard he gave some old friend a room for the night.'
'Yeah! And an extra blanket!'
'Yeah! AND he offered to lend an ear!'
'Huh-huh...what a loser...'
Snickering at this imaginary exchange between two of the little green creatures we met in Medina, I climb back into bed and snuggle comfortably under the extra blanket he left.
What an odd sensation, I reflect moments later, once the utter hilariousness of my own little inside joke wears off. To feel such emotional and mental anguish in the midst of such physical comfort.
And so the dam, shakily reconstructed after nearly losing it in front of Magus, breaks again, and for the first night since the one following Mother's accident, but certainly not the last, I cry myself to sleep.
The next think I am aware of is a sharp rapping at the door.
"Who's there?" I call groggily, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. At least, I think I'm sitting. Of course, with this pounding in my head, I might be falling from a cliff, and I'd never know it. Until I hit the ground, of course. Well, maybe.
"What the hell are you doing in there?" a voice calls back.
I roll my eyes, which proves immediately to be a mistake as another wave of pain envelops my poor, abused head. Magus, you can be an enormous pain in the ass. Don't you know anything about hangovers?
"I've been asleep," I inform him, trying to make my tone icy. I have a feeling, though, that it just comes out plaintive and whiny.
"Well, you're awake now, so get dressed and meet me at the end of the hall."
Then I hear the faint noise of retreating footsteps against carpet.
Well. Okay, then. No more sleep for poor, exhausted Lucca and her poor, exhausted hangover. No, on second thought, the hangover doesn't get any sympathy. It's the one responsible for making my head hurt and making me pray for death.
Okay, wrong again. Isaac is the one responsible for making me pray for death.
However, there will be plenty of time to dwell on this later. Right now, I'm not anxious to test the extent of Magus' patience with women suffering hangovers, whether or not they had good reason.
So, reluctantly, I leave my nice, safe, soft, warm cocoon of quilts and blankets, and climb out of bed. Then I proceed to stand there, in a borrowed nightdress, shivering.
Then, several minutes later, it occurs to me that I probably wouldn't be so cold if I'd put on some clothes.
Finally, fifteen minutes later, I have managed to get through to my brain, despite the heavy fog of hangover surrounding it, and I slip quietly from the bedroom assigned to me for the night.
I hope fifteen minutes wasn't too long to keep him waiting...
From his annoyed demeanour, his crossed arms and impatiently tapping foot, it doesn't look good.
"How long can it possibly take a person to get dressed?" he demands as I pad down the carpeted hallway toward him.
He is, of course, already neatly dressed, and observes me with cool, appraising eyes that make me very aware of the fact that there was no brush to be found within that room, and that little wisps of purple are dancing haphazardly around my face, and that my clothes are horribly wrinkled from spending all night on the floor.
All in all, I'm quite the little mess.
Not that I care, of course.
"What time is it, anyway?" I finally venture, quite proud of myself for not sounding timid, as we set off together down the corridor.
"Two hours until midday, I would assume," he replies carelessly, swinging open a door to his left and standing aside to let me enter first.
"Thanks," I murmur. After all, I still have SOME manners.
Well, as many as I ever had.
Not that that's saying much...
As he follows me in and shuts the door, I notice that it's the same room we were in last evening. I solemnly greet those nice, soft couch cushions good morning under his watchful eye, watchfully eyeing me as though I've gone suddenly insane, and then proceed to further show my appreciation by sitting on them. Wordlessly, Magus hands me a cup of coffee.
Wow. This is nice. I ought to have marital disasters more often.
I immediately bash the part of my brain flippant enough to voice such a thought into non-existence as a wave of pain that has nothing to do with my hangover washes over me. Then I sit there for a time, hunched over dejectedly, clutching the coffee mug for warmth.
"Thanks," I manage after another few minutes. "So...you wanted to talk to me?"
"I'm simply interested in knowing what you're going to do now," he replies tonelessly. Interested...right. You sure sound interested, Maggie, dear.
Of course, I don't say this out loud. I still don't REALLY want to die. Although, it might be worth certain death, just to see how he'd react to such a degrading little nickname.
"W-well, I don't know. I think I'll probably just go back home and tell Isaac that Dad and I stayed an extra day in Porre."
"You aren't planning to confront him?"
I freeze for a moment.
"No."
He sighs.
"Well. I suppose you are more of a fool than I ever imagined."
"Thanks," I beam at him, taking a gulp of coffee and then recalling immediately why I DIDN'T wanna do that. "Ow! Hot hot hot!"
"Listen, when you find yourself being fed lie after lie, helpless to make him admit what he's been up to, don't ever try to say I didn't warn you."
"I won't, because I won't be fed lie after lie, because this was obviously just a one-time thing," I shoot back at him, desperately wishing that I could believe it to be true. "Thanks for letting me crash here last night, but I should probably get home."
He shrugs noncommittally, pouring himself another cup of coffee.
Without another word, I stand and leave.
"Oh, shit," I mutter to myself fifteen minutes later, landing the Epoch on a flat patch of grass some miles from Truce as a fatal flaw in my planning suddenly becomes apparent. If Isaac sees me returning the Epoch to our shed, he'll know for a fact that I've been home.
Great. What am I going to do now?
After sitting for fifteen minutes, ignoring the strange looks I'm receiving from passers by, I decide what must be done.
I'm goin' to visit the king!
Do you recall back when I said that I hate to push myself in where I'm not wanted?
Well, didn't I tell you right away that that was crap?
Hey, let's be fair. I'm just going to leave the Epoch there and zip on home before Isaac chances to see my father in the village, finds out that I was to have been home last night, and puts two and two together.
Then again, maybe that won't be an issue. After all, Isaac has admitted to himself and to me often enough that he has no mathematical skills at all. And when Isaac admits that he has no skill at something, you know it's true. He isn't one to belittle his own skills. Thus, putting two and two together might prove beyond him.
I can hope, anyway.
Hmph. Isn't the cheating spouse supposed to be the one sneaking around?
Ten more minutes see me wandering aimlessly about the training range set up for the castle's military. This, I have learned after numerous frustrating attempts to find Crono within the castle, is always the first place to look for him.
The range is, thankfully, quite empty today. This is a blessing for two main reasons. The first is, obviously, that I look a fright that only a best friend for over fifteen years could see without turning to stone. I don't want to waste time explaining to various and sundry men that yes, I am perfectly fine, and no, I have not been assaulted.
The second reason, I reflect with a smile as my gaze lights on a bobbing patch of flaming red not far away, is that this will make Crono even easier to spot than his hair does normally.
Just now, Crono is completely engrossed in beating up ruthlessly on a corn husk training dummy that I'm beginning to feel very sorry for as the Rainbow, glittering and deadly in his hands, slices easily through it and it falls to the ground in pieces.
"Good job, slick, but now you know you'll need a new dummy," I call, laughing slightly.
He utters a startled shout and whirls about, his expression of surprise and anger vanishing instantly when his eyes light on me.
"Lucca!"
"Yup, that's me."
"Uh...well, good to see you." Now his expression morphs in record time from the wide grin of slightly bemused welcome to one of alarm as he takes in my swollen red eyes, mussed, dirty hair and wrinkled clothes. "What happened to you?" he demands, taking my arm gently.
I wince, tugging my arm away.
"Look, Crono, I really can't talk about that right now. I've gotta leave the Epoch here for a while."
The puzzlement on the poor boy's face right now is absolutely hilarious to behold.
"The...Epoch? Why did you have it out? Seriously, Lucca, what's going on?"
"It's nothing that's threatening to bring an end to life as we know it, if that's what you mean," I tell him, trying for impatience, but sounding more sad and lost than anything as I pick a leaf absently out of my hair and fiddle with it, not lifting my gaze from the crumpled, brown object as it spins around in my fingers.
He sighs.
"Then what IS it?"
I don't answer.
"Listen, you're my best friend, and everything's obviously NOT alright. Tell me what happened."
"Alright," I shrug, irrationally furious at him for being so kind, so considerate, so composed, but most of all, so happy in his own perfectly successful union with a partner who loves him and would never conceive of hurting him as Isaac has hurt me. "What do you want to know?"
"Let's start with WHY you need to leave the Epoch here."
"Fine," I shoot back, crossing my arms. "Because I came home early from a trip yesterday to find out that my husband's screwing some gorgeous blonde behind my back, and after I trashed the house and the girl's things, I had to get out of there because I'd have been arrested."
His eyes widened, and I am smugly satisfied to see that his expression has grown every bit as horrified and furious, as I knew I could count on from my best friend.
However, before he can say anything, something beyond my shoulder catches his gaze. I turn to see a palace official approaching quickly.
"Shit, the meeting," Crono mutters, rolling his eyes. "Is it eleven already?" Then he turns to me. "Look, Lucca, don't go anywhere. You can come wait inside, I'll get someone to get you a cup of coffee..."
"Eleven?! Dammit!" I yelp, then recover and beam at him. "Hey, I know you're busy," I assure him. "I've gotta get home, anyway, before Isaac runs into Dad somewhere and finds out that I should have been home last night."
"Lucca, wait a second-"
"I just left the Epoch with some guys. They said they'd take care of it."
"Hold on, Lucca-"
"Bye, Crono," I toss over my shoulder, nearly taking out the uniformed official as I bolt past him.
It's at least an hour's walk back to our little home on the outskirts of Truce.
Not that the walk won't be welcome.
I've got a lot of thinking to do.
By the time I reach the little, low stone fence encircling our small, yet comfortable home and the similarly small, yet adequately roomy lot it's built on, I have done the requisite thinking, and I know exactly how I'm going to react to all of this.
Isaac will have no clue that I suspect a thing.
But that doesn't mean that he won't suffer. I'm quite looking forward to watching him try to maintain his emotional equilibrium in the face of all that has happened to his lady-friend in the past twelve hours. After all, he won't be able to tell his loving wife what the matter is.
'I'm in a bad mood, my love, because the girl I have taken for a mistress for a bit of fun while you were out of town, has had her book of poetry ripped up, her nutritional guide likewise destroyed, and her carriage pushed into the water.'
Right. Although it would likely be the best thing for both of us, as I am completely unwilling to admit, I know for a fact that he won't admit to what he's been doing. He'll just leave it for me to find out from some kindly neighbour. He's hoping that I'll start sobbing and declare tearfully that the marriage is over, so that he can claim to have no responsibility of the utter failure of the union. Notoriously selfish, this husband of mine.
Then again, perhaps this isn't his plan at all. Perhaps he honestly IS so stupid as to think that I won't find out from anyone about his new toy. In that case, if I call him on it, again tearfully, he can give me a big, comforting hug, telling me that it's over, that she never meant anything, that it was me he loved all along. And, of course, my heart will melt and I'll forgive him without question. The saddest thing by far is that, if he told me all of this right now, I would react that way. To the letter. Heart melting and all.
But I won't play into his perfect little plan. No, if he wants to run off and play with his little blonde with impunity, he will have to tell me first. I plan on being utterly and unexplainably clueless as to his extramarital activities. I refuse to approach him. Who knows? Maybe having to actually end the relationship will make him think twice before doing this to another woman. For the first time, I feel wracked with sympathy for they mysterious Madelynne Donia. She was exactly where I am now, and worse. He hadn't even bothered to marry her before discarding her like a used toy before going on to something new and exciting like the spoilt brat he is.
That doesn't mean I don't still love him.
God, if only.
A/N: Tune in next chapter to see the full wrath of Marle earlier alluded to, as Crono shares his best friend's revelation with his wife, who goes immediately on the warpath. Will Isaac survive? ^^
An hour later, as I'm sipping away at a third glass, the brandy is gradually tasting better and better.
Hmm...I'd better not let this become a habit.
At some point, a thought occurs to me. I hope Magus doesn't expect me to fly the Epoch home. Time travel and alcohol do not mix. Even if I could get home without crashing, I'd probably get dizzy and hurl in the passenger side. Wouldn't that be a nice surprise for the next poor sucker who had to use the thing?
I glance up, and it's on the tip of my tongue to ask if he'd mind if I camped out in the Epoch outside his house.
Before I have the opportunity to ask, though, he gazes at me, apparently considering, and begins to speak.
"You do know there's no way I'm letting you leave in this state."
"U-um...what else can I do?"
Can I bluff or what?
"You'll stay here. I'm sure in this entire castle, I'll be able to find a room for you to stay in, far enough away from mine that you don't get in my way."
I laugh.
God, I must be horribly drunk, if I've just laughed at something Magus said.
He stands to leave and, not quite sure of what's going on, I follow.
Five more corridors later, I find myself alone in a large freezing cold bedroom, which hasn't yet been warmed by the fire that Magus left me to light for myself in the massive stone fireplace across from the bed. Shivering, I shoot a fireball into the dry kindling heaped in the fireplace, change hastily into the nightgown he's left me - at least it isn't pink and lacy, although I don't even want to know who it used to belong to; Flea, perhaps? Argh! No! I don't want to think about it! - and dive under the black and grey bedspread and sheets. Dreary, perhaps, but nice and warm.
Seconds later, it occurs to me that it might not be the safest thing in the world to sleep with a roaring fire right across from oneself. I am just in the process of climbing reluctantly from beneath my nice, soft, warm nest of blankets, when a sharp rap at the door echoes through the room.
Hastily pulling my sweater over the nightgown for some sense of decency, I hurry to the door.
"I thought you might need an extra blanket. These rooms tend to be cold," Magus informs me abruptly, shoving a navy blue wool blanket at me and eyeing the fire that I have managed to light without sending his entire home up in flames.
"Thanks," I say, taking it.
He continues to stand there, watching me, and after a time, it makes my skin crawl.
"Uh...something wrong?"
"No," he replies.
"Oh. Um, good."
"I'd like to talk to you tomorrow morning about this situation of yours, so don't run away too early," he requests in a tone that sounds more like a command than anything.
With that, he turns and leaves.
I stare at the door as it swings closed behind him, shaking my head in bewilderment.
Magus! I'm surprised! What would people say if they knew that you, a heartless sorcerer, were taking in former acquaintances and helping them deal with their problems? You'd be the laughingstock of the Mystics! I can just see it now:
'Hey, d'ya hear 'bout Magus?'
'Yeah! I heard he gave some old friend a room for the night.'
'Yeah! And an extra blanket!'
'Yeah! AND he offered to lend an ear!'
'Huh-huh...what a loser...'
Snickering at this imaginary exchange between two of the little green creatures we met in Medina, I climb back into bed and snuggle comfortably under the extra blanket he left.
What an odd sensation, I reflect moments later, once the utter hilariousness of my own little inside joke wears off. To feel such emotional and mental anguish in the midst of such physical comfort.
And so the dam, shakily reconstructed after nearly losing it in front of Magus, breaks again, and for the first night since the one following Mother's accident, but certainly not the last, I cry myself to sleep.
The next think I am aware of is a sharp rapping at the door.
"Who's there?" I call groggily, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. At least, I think I'm sitting. Of course, with this pounding in my head, I might be falling from a cliff, and I'd never know it. Until I hit the ground, of course. Well, maybe.
"What the hell are you doing in there?" a voice calls back.
I roll my eyes, which proves immediately to be a mistake as another wave of pain envelops my poor, abused head. Magus, you can be an enormous pain in the ass. Don't you know anything about hangovers?
"I've been asleep," I inform him, trying to make my tone icy. I have a feeling, though, that it just comes out plaintive and whiny.
"Well, you're awake now, so get dressed and meet me at the end of the hall."
Then I hear the faint noise of retreating footsteps against carpet.
Well. Okay, then. No more sleep for poor, exhausted Lucca and her poor, exhausted hangover. No, on second thought, the hangover doesn't get any sympathy. It's the one responsible for making my head hurt and making me pray for death.
Okay, wrong again. Isaac is the one responsible for making me pray for death.
However, there will be plenty of time to dwell on this later. Right now, I'm not anxious to test the extent of Magus' patience with women suffering hangovers, whether or not they had good reason.
So, reluctantly, I leave my nice, safe, soft, warm cocoon of quilts and blankets, and climb out of bed. Then I proceed to stand there, in a borrowed nightdress, shivering.
Then, several minutes later, it occurs to me that I probably wouldn't be so cold if I'd put on some clothes.
Finally, fifteen minutes later, I have managed to get through to my brain, despite the heavy fog of hangover surrounding it, and I slip quietly from the bedroom assigned to me for the night.
I hope fifteen minutes wasn't too long to keep him waiting...
From his annoyed demeanour, his crossed arms and impatiently tapping foot, it doesn't look good.
"How long can it possibly take a person to get dressed?" he demands as I pad down the carpeted hallway toward him.
He is, of course, already neatly dressed, and observes me with cool, appraising eyes that make me very aware of the fact that there was no brush to be found within that room, and that little wisps of purple are dancing haphazardly around my face, and that my clothes are horribly wrinkled from spending all night on the floor.
All in all, I'm quite the little mess.
Not that I care, of course.
"What time is it, anyway?" I finally venture, quite proud of myself for not sounding timid, as we set off together down the corridor.
"Two hours until midday, I would assume," he replies carelessly, swinging open a door to his left and standing aside to let me enter first.
"Thanks," I murmur. After all, I still have SOME manners.
Well, as many as I ever had.
Not that that's saying much...
As he follows me in and shuts the door, I notice that it's the same room we were in last evening. I solemnly greet those nice, soft couch cushions good morning under his watchful eye, watchfully eyeing me as though I've gone suddenly insane, and then proceed to further show my appreciation by sitting on them. Wordlessly, Magus hands me a cup of coffee.
Wow. This is nice. I ought to have marital disasters more often.
I immediately bash the part of my brain flippant enough to voice such a thought into non-existence as a wave of pain that has nothing to do with my hangover washes over me. Then I sit there for a time, hunched over dejectedly, clutching the coffee mug for warmth.
"Thanks," I manage after another few minutes. "So...you wanted to talk to me?"
"I'm simply interested in knowing what you're going to do now," he replies tonelessly. Interested...right. You sure sound interested, Maggie, dear.
Of course, I don't say this out loud. I still don't REALLY want to die. Although, it might be worth certain death, just to see how he'd react to such a degrading little nickname.
"W-well, I don't know. I think I'll probably just go back home and tell Isaac that Dad and I stayed an extra day in Porre."
"You aren't planning to confront him?"
I freeze for a moment.
"No."
He sighs.
"Well. I suppose you are more of a fool than I ever imagined."
"Thanks," I beam at him, taking a gulp of coffee and then recalling immediately why I DIDN'T wanna do that. "Ow! Hot hot hot!"
"Listen, when you find yourself being fed lie after lie, helpless to make him admit what he's been up to, don't ever try to say I didn't warn you."
"I won't, because I won't be fed lie after lie, because this was obviously just a one-time thing," I shoot back at him, desperately wishing that I could believe it to be true. "Thanks for letting me crash here last night, but I should probably get home."
He shrugs noncommittally, pouring himself another cup of coffee.
Without another word, I stand and leave.
"Oh, shit," I mutter to myself fifteen minutes later, landing the Epoch on a flat patch of grass some miles from Truce as a fatal flaw in my planning suddenly becomes apparent. If Isaac sees me returning the Epoch to our shed, he'll know for a fact that I've been home.
Great. What am I going to do now?
After sitting for fifteen minutes, ignoring the strange looks I'm receiving from passers by, I decide what must be done.
I'm goin' to visit the king!
Do you recall back when I said that I hate to push myself in where I'm not wanted?
Well, didn't I tell you right away that that was crap?
Hey, let's be fair. I'm just going to leave the Epoch there and zip on home before Isaac chances to see my father in the village, finds out that I was to have been home last night, and puts two and two together.
Then again, maybe that won't be an issue. After all, Isaac has admitted to himself and to me often enough that he has no mathematical skills at all. And when Isaac admits that he has no skill at something, you know it's true. He isn't one to belittle his own skills. Thus, putting two and two together might prove beyond him.
I can hope, anyway.
Hmph. Isn't the cheating spouse supposed to be the one sneaking around?
Ten more minutes see me wandering aimlessly about the training range set up for the castle's military. This, I have learned after numerous frustrating attempts to find Crono within the castle, is always the first place to look for him.
The range is, thankfully, quite empty today. This is a blessing for two main reasons. The first is, obviously, that I look a fright that only a best friend for over fifteen years could see without turning to stone. I don't want to waste time explaining to various and sundry men that yes, I am perfectly fine, and no, I have not been assaulted.
The second reason, I reflect with a smile as my gaze lights on a bobbing patch of flaming red not far away, is that this will make Crono even easier to spot than his hair does normally.
Just now, Crono is completely engrossed in beating up ruthlessly on a corn husk training dummy that I'm beginning to feel very sorry for as the Rainbow, glittering and deadly in his hands, slices easily through it and it falls to the ground in pieces.
"Good job, slick, but now you know you'll need a new dummy," I call, laughing slightly.
He utters a startled shout and whirls about, his expression of surprise and anger vanishing instantly when his eyes light on me.
"Lucca!"
"Yup, that's me."
"Uh...well, good to see you." Now his expression morphs in record time from the wide grin of slightly bemused welcome to one of alarm as he takes in my swollen red eyes, mussed, dirty hair and wrinkled clothes. "What happened to you?" he demands, taking my arm gently.
I wince, tugging my arm away.
"Look, Crono, I really can't talk about that right now. I've gotta leave the Epoch here for a while."
The puzzlement on the poor boy's face right now is absolutely hilarious to behold.
"The...Epoch? Why did you have it out? Seriously, Lucca, what's going on?"
"It's nothing that's threatening to bring an end to life as we know it, if that's what you mean," I tell him, trying for impatience, but sounding more sad and lost than anything as I pick a leaf absently out of my hair and fiddle with it, not lifting my gaze from the crumpled, brown object as it spins around in my fingers.
He sighs.
"Then what IS it?"
I don't answer.
"Listen, you're my best friend, and everything's obviously NOT alright. Tell me what happened."
"Alright," I shrug, irrationally furious at him for being so kind, so considerate, so composed, but most of all, so happy in his own perfectly successful union with a partner who loves him and would never conceive of hurting him as Isaac has hurt me. "What do you want to know?"
"Let's start with WHY you need to leave the Epoch here."
"Fine," I shoot back, crossing my arms. "Because I came home early from a trip yesterday to find out that my husband's screwing some gorgeous blonde behind my back, and after I trashed the house and the girl's things, I had to get out of there because I'd have been arrested."
His eyes widened, and I am smugly satisfied to see that his expression has grown every bit as horrified and furious, as I knew I could count on from my best friend.
However, before he can say anything, something beyond my shoulder catches his gaze. I turn to see a palace official approaching quickly.
"Shit, the meeting," Crono mutters, rolling his eyes. "Is it eleven already?" Then he turns to me. "Look, Lucca, don't go anywhere. You can come wait inside, I'll get someone to get you a cup of coffee..."
"Eleven?! Dammit!" I yelp, then recover and beam at him. "Hey, I know you're busy," I assure him. "I've gotta get home, anyway, before Isaac runs into Dad somewhere and finds out that I should have been home last night."
"Lucca, wait a second-"
"I just left the Epoch with some guys. They said they'd take care of it."
"Hold on, Lucca-"
"Bye, Crono," I toss over my shoulder, nearly taking out the uniformed official as I bolt past him.
It's at least an hour's walk back to our little home on the outskirts of Truce.
Not that the walk won't be welcome.
I've got a lot of thinking to do.
By the time I reach the little, low stone fence encircling our small, yet comfortable home and the similarly small, yet adequately roomy lot it's built on, I have done the requisite thinking, and I know exactly how I'm going to react to all of this.
Isaac will have no clue that I suspect a thing.
But that doesn't mean that he won't suffer. I'm quite looking forward to watching him try to maintain his emotional equilibrium in the face of all that has happened to his lady-friend in the past twelve hours. After all, he won't be able to tell his loving wife what the matter is.
'I'm in a bad mood, my love, because the girl I have taken for a mistress for a bit of fun while you were out of town, has had her book of poetry ripped up, her nutritional guide likewise destroyed, and her carriage pushed into the water.'
Right. Although it would likely be the best thing for both of us, as I am completely unwilling to admit, I know for a fact that he won't admit to what he's been doing. He'll just leave it for me to find out from some kindly neighbour. He's hoping that I'll start sobbing and declare tearfully that the marriage is over, so that he can claim to have no responsibility of the utter failure of the union. Notoriously selfish, this husband of mine.
Then again, perhaps this isn't his plan at all. Perhaps he honestly IS so stupid as to think that I won't find out from anyone about his new toy. In that case, if I call him on it, again tearfully, he can give me a big, comforting hug, telling me that it's over, that she never meant anything, that it was me he loved all along. And, of course, my heart will melt and I'll forgive him without question. The saddest thing by far is that, if he told me all of this right now, I would react that way. To the letter. Heart melting and all.
But I won't play into his perfect little plan. No, if he wants to run off and play with his little blonde with impunity, he will have to tell me first. I plan on being utterly and unexplainably clueless as to his extramarital activities. I refuse to approach him. Who knows? Maybe having to actually end the relationship will make him think twice before doing this to another woman. For the first time, I feel wracked with sympathy for they mysterious Madelynne Donia. She was exactly where I am now, and worse. He hadn't even bothered to marry her before discarding her like a used toy before going on to something new and exciting like the spoilt brat he is.
That doesn't mean I don't still love him.
God, if only.
A/N: Tune in next chapter to see the full wrath of Marle earlier alluded to, as Crono shares his best friend's revelation with his wife, who goes immediately on the warpath. Will Isaac survive? ^^