:Author's Note: Voila, sweeties! Here is another chapter, and it's better than the last one. I guess I am really improving my writing skills. (Well, it was time for that, wasn't it:horrid look at herself:)
:Disclaimer: I don't own POTO, no matter how much I dream about it. The quotes used are not mine but belong only to Charles de Montesquieu.
:Claimer: My idea! My plot! Leave your fingers off it.
:beta-reader: Incapability, astrakane, Olethron
:Thanks to: Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel, Gerardphantomhot, Snarky.Kitty.Dahlinz (were back! Yay! Loads of time to review my chapters! Lol) for reviewing chapter 6. Special thanks of course to all my readers.
"I have never known any distress that an hour's reading did not relieve." Charles de Montesquieu, 1689-1755
: The Empty Cage :
: Chapter 7 : N'ais pas peur du froid, Antoinette :
:Fear not the cold, Antoinette:
I swallowed and stared at Monsieur. A horrible thought crossed my mind. After several long seconds of watching my husband with an alarmingly fast heart beat, I realised I had to control my face or he would notice my distress. But he didn't. He only read the newspaper as intently as if it said Napoleon had come back to steal the throne.
My gaze wandered down to my plate full of meat and potatoes but I felt my stomach turn. Instead of fainting right on the spot, my shivering hand took the glass of wine and held it so tightly that I feared I could possibly break it.
The servant girl stepped next to me. "Madame, would you like a glass of water?"
I only nodded in response, unable to let any words pass my dry throat. Over and over again, I wondered how he had managed to come back that way.
The servant girl departed and I felt her sorrowful look prick into my back. Deliberately, I laid my fork and knife down and dared to peek at Monsieur. Pearls of sweat formed on my palms. He still ignored my silent cries for further explanations of where the man with the mask came from and what he wanted to do. The silence that lay between us did not gather his attention. It was not until the servant girl came back with the useless glass of water that he ignorantly looked up and said, "My dear! You are so pale. Is something wrong with you?"
I gulped and found the courage to ask the question that had burned on my tongue. "Where is he from, Monsieur?" With some shock, I heard my own voice speaking too sharply. I was unable to cover my mental state. Who could have resisted it? My emotions were too strong.
"Antoinette, I think you should lie down." He stood up, walked around the table and stroked my cheek almost like a caring husband. Almost like a loving husband. If his intentions hadn't been selfish… he needed me to represent his domestic luck and happiness, thus I had to be at the peak of my charms, which would hopefully represent themselves in my beauty and an endless smile on my lips . "We don't want you to become ill. All of us need you." I stared at the seat he had sat in and couldn't tear my eyes off it.
"Monsieur, how do you know him?"
"He is a rich man and I know him from work. As people have told me, he is new in town. He's from Toulouse." His warm hand gently squeezed mine. "He really is, apart from that white mask on his face, a very friendly gentleman. He was so eager to get to know you that I told him everything about you."
I nodded and closed my eyes. "So you want to be friends with this man?"
"Yes," he replied, "yes."
"Well then, I had better speak to the cook about tomorrow's dinner." I stood up and rushed out of the room, leaving my husband behind in the dining room. When there was nobody but me in the hall, I sank down to the floor, hid my face behind my hands and began to cry.
People say you cannot change your fate. Quotes rushed through my head and I hit the floor with my fist. Erik loved Montesquieu. He knew all his wise words by heart. "Friendship is an arrangement by which we undertake to exchange small favors for big ones." I knew he had something planned. Erik would not come back for nothing. He would snare my husband until he got what his mad heart desired.
He didn't want money. That was something he already had.
He wanted something he couldn't possess because somebody else already had it.
I counted up to a hundred and tore my thoughts from the horror they had just formed. Slowly, I stood up and moved to the bedroom only to sink down again. My bed was cold but comfortable and I rolled on my stomach to not stare at the ceiling. I was interrupted in my pathetic attempt to ignore the world as somebody entered the room. By the footsteps I could tell it was the servant girl. I did not listen to her words as she undressed me and laid me back into the bed, for I heard nothing but Erik's voice inside my head.
"Antoinette," he whispered, "Antoinette… I told you I'd come back. You thought yourself safe but I will love to prove you differently."
Some time later that night, my husband lay down next to me. His hands were cold as they touched my leg. "Antoinette," he whispered in Erik's voice, "Antoinette. It's me." I must have moved away from him. "Come closer," he kept on whispering, "it's your husband, Antoinette. I'll keep you warm, sweet love." But he was so cold… Erik began to stroke my legs and pulled the nightgown up. I winced. "But Antoinette," Erik objected and didn't show any shame for neglecting my mental state. "It is my right. You'll like it, too. We haven't done it in quite a while," he said, "it'll make your cheeks red again. You won't be ill anymore, but simply beautiful for tomorrow."
How disgusted I was by Erik's hands touching me, his lips on my skin… His voice ringing in my ears. His moans were revolting and grew in their horror as they got louder. When he finally sank down on me and breathed heavily into my ear, I sighed. It was over. At least for that day.
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"Friendship is an arrangement by which we undertake to exchange small favours for big ones." Charles de Montesquieu, 1689-1755