Author's Notes: The last chapter for this update. I'll try to update soon. -; Unlike the gap between my first post and this update…
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing is not mine. I am just a teenage dirtbag with an unhealthy obsession for Milky Way Midnight candy nibbles.
Four Weddings and a DivorceChapter 7:
"Thank you," Dorothy said automatically when Quatre pulled out her chair for her. He smiled lovingly as he sat down the chair on the other side of the round little table.
A waiter had been by their side since they entered. He handed each of them a menu and waited patiently for their order.
"I will have a glass of coffee liqueur with cream." Dorothy said, without even glancing at the menu.
"A cup of Tazo Chai." Quatre said, handing the waiter their menus. He and Dorothy had been going to the place so frequently since it first opened that they could probably recite the menu in reverse order.
"Would that be all?" The waiter asked.
"A platter of hors de oeuvres," Dorothy added. She looked at Quatre and said, "And a platter of mussels cooked in butter and garlic as well. That is all." The waiter nodded politely and took his leave.
Quatre gave her hand, which he had never let go, a squeeze. He was pleased that she could still tell what to order for him intuitively.
The waiter came with their drinks but neither noticed.
Dorothy locked gazes with him, losing herself in the sparkling emerald of his eyes just as he drowned into those glittering ice blues of hers. She fleetingly remembered a silly little 'personality test' she had taken as a child in her preppy all-girls school. One of the questions was: how would you describe a forest? She marveled at how she still remembered her answer back then: deep, so mysterious, there is danger lurking amidst the vibrant greens—so you'll have to be careful or you'll get lost—but it is so beautiful and utterly alive…
Funny how that now gave her yet another oh-so cliché metaphor with which to describe her beloved. Quatre's eyes were like forests: lush green, beautiful, deep—it's so easy to lose yourself in them as they are cloaked in mystery, they are potentially dangerous and simply alive.
Quatre was almost afraid to blink. She was looking at him, with that look of love. She would look at him; oblivious that blatant adoration was painted on her face, the show of emotion being spontaneous and absolutely unaffected. It wasn't there to tease or move him—she just couldn't help it.
The object of her affections blinked and brought Dorothy out of her trance. She looked down at the table, her fair cheeks tinged with crimson. That moment had been warm, comfortable and tender—even more dangerous than any hot, sexually charged interaction. She was capable of falling even more in love with him every day—sharing with him a single moment of such pure love wouldn't ease the exquisite torture of loving him.
She tried retrieving her hand but he maintained his firm grasp upon it. "Dorothy…" Quatre began. He had it all figured it—he would give a no-holds barred speech about his feelings for her, bombarding her with kisses, she would initially resist of course but eventually, she would yield to him, this whole divorce nonsense would be scrapped and he would whisk her to his office to ravish her in ways she had forgotten were possible—
"Quatre…" Dorothy murmured.
He gave her a seductive grin and leaned towards her, dropping a kiss on her hand. "Darling, I wanted to tell you—"
Dorothy all but yanked her hand from him. "They redecorated, have you noticed?" She knew it was a pathetic attempt at distracting Quatre from his objective but any topic was fair game. She took the intricately folded napkin in front of her on the table, and placed it on her lap.
At first Quatre nodded mutely, thrown completely off-balance. Then he realized what she was doing and chuckled under his breath. If she wanted to delay the inevitable moment of truth, then he could play her game. He would soon be able to back her into a corner and have his way with her. Figuratively of course. The literal manifestation would have to wait until later…
"Yes Darling, I have noticed." Quatre told her. He stirred his cup of tea and drank.
"I like this," Dorothy said, gesturing at the wine-red roses and beige tapestries. Because of the gauzy curtains of creamy tan that hung on the windows and the faint light bulbs, a soft yellowish light prevailed. "It's a lot better than the last motif."
"Oh, the lemon yellow and white? And with bare windows and cotton draperies. I suppose they thought it suited the summer."
"Yes, it did, but it had been a little too harsh. Peaches and creams would have been lovelier." Dorothy wiped the moisture off her glass of coffee liqueur and cream with exaggerated care, took a dainty sip.
"This one really suits the season."
"Uh-huh. Very autumn-esque." Dorothy finally settled her hands on her lap. One can only pretend to be adjusting their dinner napkin for so long. "It makes me think of Treize and how he decorated Mariemaia's room."
The third floor café was called Cinnamon Rose and actually had two levels, each occupying about a fourth of the floor areas of the third and fourth floors of the building. But everyone just called it third floor café since the main entrance was situated in the third floor. It was an establishment of low-key elegance, with an ambiance both serene and romantic. The chairs were cozy and covered with velvet that it was so easy to sink into them and just relax. The tables were widely spaced, adding a more private feel. Mood music wafted from the hidden speakers everywhere, so quiet they were seemed like nothing more than wistful sighs.
Dorothy's cousin, Mariemaia Krushneda, owned and designed the place. Influenced by her father's love for dreamy surroundings, and yet not succumbing to his tendency to be excessive, Mariemaia did a wonderful job and the third floor café was popular not just with the people within the Winner Corporation, but also with the other people around the area.
The waiter finally came with their snacks. Dorothy gobbled a quiche—with as much poise as she could muster—and another.
Quatre watched her. He swallowed his mouthful of mussel, sipped some more of his tea before speaking again. "I thought you didn't like quiche."
"Whatever gave you that idea?"
"You always said too much cheese with the flaky pastry was nasty."
"I never said that." She frowned at him.
"You did. A lot." Quatre insisted. "Besides, you never take one from a tray of hors de oeuvres."
"Oh." Dorothy shrugged. "I just decided that I liked them after all." She popped another quiche in her mouth. She took an oyster cracker then grimaced. She pushed all the oyster crackers to the side of the plate.
"Why aren't you eating your oyster crackers?" Quatre asked. She loved oyster crackers—he was sure of it.
"I don't like oyster crackers."
"You don't," Quatre sighed. "You love oyster crackers!"
"I don't."
"Yes you do."
"I said I don't." She glowered at him. Her temper was shorter than usual.
"Dorothy I've been married to you for fourteen years, I'm sure I know what I'm talking about when I tell you I know you love oyster crackers."
"You're sure?" Dorothy gazed at him wistfully. Her next words broke his heart. "You've been married to three other women in the last five years, it wouldn't be too difficult to forget me. I hardly matter anymore."
That her words were devoid of bitterness only intensified the pain. It's as if she had resigned herself to the idea that Quatre loved her less. The mere thought was preposterous to Quatre—he loved Dorothy and only Dorothy, loved her with his entire being that he can't even look at another woman without comparing her to Dorothy and noticing how she can't ever compare to his beloved. His heart belonged to Dorothy, even a fool could see that, so why couldn't she?
"My love, how can you say that?" Quatre's voice almost broke. "There is nothing about you I could ever forget, nothing about you that would go unnoticed.
"I know that you have gotten a manicure since I last saw you, for the tips of your nails are now more square than round. I remember how you plaited a ribbon through Wendy's hair, matching the ribbon that you wrapped around your own hair, when you took the children to see me. I know that you've given me exactly seventeen copies of divorce papers; six of them mailed, four of them delivered by Rashid and seven of them you personally gave me. I remember how, right after Wendy was born, you made me lay beside you on your bed and you slept with your head on my chest. I know that you take two lumps of sugar with your coffee, and full-cream milk—not artificial creamer. I remember how the sunlight glanced off your hair on our wedding day, and how your hair fell down your back so freely, only a wreath of fresh white roses and a veil adorning it. I remember how I felt when I first laid my eyes upon you, I followed the overwhelming compulsion to look into your eyes and I felt like I was drowning in a pool of ice and liquid fire.
"So don't ever even think that you don't matter, that you aren't precious to me!" Quatre grabbed both of her hands and pulled them towards him across the table. The sudden movements caused his tea to slosh over the brim of its cup, but it was the least of Quatre's concerns.
"Quatre…" Dorothy whispered. "I am… precious to you?"
"Yes!!" He stood up and then kneeled before her with a flourish. He didn't care whether other people in the café were watching him. As far as he was concerned, there was only he and Dorothy.
"Oh…" Dorothy leaned forward, bringing her face closer to his.
Quatre fought to urge to lunge forward and kiss her. Instead, he brought up her hands to cup his face, hoping she'd take the hint…
"Quatre…" Dorothy stroked his cheek. "I want to believe you, Quatre. I want to believe you so badly."
"Then believe me."
"I tried to, Quatre, for five years..." Her lower lip trembled and Quatre just wanted to still it by capturing her lips with his.
"Dorothy—"
"No Quatre, listen to me." She tilted his head slightly to lock his gaze with hers, like she would have done with a child. "I can't feel that I am precious to you. I am only one of your wives, Quatre, not the only one. Just one of the many. How can I feel precious in that situation?"
"Dorothy, to me you are the only woman in the world!!"
She shut her eyes, savoring his words. Even though words are never enough. It was something Quatre never did understand.
She stood up and pulled him up as well. He stood in front of her; his head turned down, his eyes never leaving her face. She brought up her hands to his face and gently ran them over his eyes to close them. She tilted her head up and brushed her lips against his—a phantom kiss so soft, Quatre wasn't even sure if it really happened.
After a few minutes, his eyes still closed, he heard her voice, as if from very far away. "How can a man honestly say there is only one woman for him when he has three other wives?"
Quatre's eyes flew open. She wasn't in front of him.
He looked around, turning in a full circle, scanning the café. There was crisp twenty on the table to more than cover the check, but no other sign of her. Quatre sighed in frustration and threw another twenty on the table.
Dorothy had left him. She was gone.
Author's Notes again : Okay, that's the last of it. For now. -