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Chapter 13: Differences

Cecilia walked as though she had no feet. She hovered and floated like a butterfly over the open petals of a flower in bloom; she looked like one too. Her hair was a dark chestnut brown that had a red sheen in the sunlight. It contrasted dramatically with her chalk white skin but seemed to complement her ruby lips. She did not so much as to glance at Meliah or Vincent with her hazel eyes as she stepped unto the carpet.

With a smooth, fluid motion she came to Beaux's side to brush his cheek with a chaste kiss. She held out a hand and he returned the gesture.

"I last saw you when you were still a child! Look how you've grown!" Cecilia exclaimed in a high voice. Her eyes twinkled and she let out a small, incandescent laugh.

"And you as well," Beaux commented politely, "Beautiful, as ever."

"Oh stop!" she insisted, but she did not look displeased.

"Well, as you're here, why don't we have lunch together?" Vincent suggested innocently from the side. He appeared peeved by Cecilia's blatant obliviousness to his presence. He was tapping his fingers impatiently on his sleeve.

"Oh, I apologize! I was just so excited about seeing Beaux again," she said as she snaked her arm around Beaux's, "I could hardly pay attention."

"Who could?" Vincent asked sardonically.

"Lunch would be lovely," Cecilia said lazily. She stared at Beaux as though she had never seen anyone like him before.

"If I may intrude," a cold voice came from behind them, "I would like to request some privacy."

Surprised by the hostility, Cecilia swirled around and saw a very ruffled girl glaring at the three of them. She retaliated with an equally disapproving gaze. The girl's curly, dark hair was rumpled and her skin was sickly ashen. On top of it all, she was wearing a dowdy nightshift with a small hole at the shoulder.

Beaux smiled – unaware of the battle that was taking place.

"Cecilia," Beaux declared proudly, "This is Miss Meliah Lavoirsier."

"Oh," Cecilia whispered as she took a step closer to Beaux, "So that's her." There was a very derogatory pitch to her tone. She began to play absentmindedly with the ends of her red hair.

"Meliah," Beaux said as he brought Cecilia closer, "This is Cecilia Mansart."

"Hello Miss Mansart-" Meliah began icily.

"No, no, please," Cecilia interrupted with a flick of her wrist, "Call me Cecilia."

"Of course, Miss Cecilia," Meliah corrected herself, but it was not out of respect.

"Beaux's told me so much about you!" Cecilia exclaimed with a small jump. Her voluminous skirts flapped like a pair of satin wings.

"Truly? He's never told me anything about you."

"Well, I suppose it's because he writes to me-"

"Writes?" Meliah cut in.

"Oh yes," Cecilia confirmed with a nod, "We write all the time. Beaux's a beautiful writer. Did you know that? Splendid penmanship…"

"I had no idea." Meliah's voice was steely. "He had never written anything to me before."

Meliah looked at the sheets in her lap for a moment and then at the lamp at the bedside table. Cecilia beamed.

"Well then, gentlemen," Cecilia said as she pushed Vincent and Beaux toward the door, "Why don't we spare Miss Lavoirsier some privacy?"

"Come out when you're ready," Beaux called before the door was shut. He was already in the hall by the time Meliah burst into tears.

Lunch was an interesting affair. Cecilia was a vivacious young thing, who had a critical opinion on just about anything. Luckily, her incessant chatter filled in the lapses in input from everyone else.

"Oh, did you hear? It was on the headlines all yesterday! Apparently the mayor was caught in some illicit affair with a prostitute. Can you believe that? The mayor - of all people!" Cecilia would exclaim one moment. And in another, she would ramble, "The weather's been clearing up over the past few days. Wouldn't you agree? I've never seen such sun!"

Beaux nodded at the appropriate times and would casually ask for Meliah's opinion, but Meliah was as soundless and rigid as a log. He would desperately camouflage the question into a cough just to fill the awkward silence that followed.

Cecilia brought up their childhood once she was through discussing current events. She asked, "Oh, remember Beaux, remember? When I lost my favorite ribbon at that fair? I was so upset! And you searched all night to find it? And you did! You were such a dear."

She laughed when Beaux wrinkled his nose. "It was extremely difficult," he said teasingly, "I don't ever believe I've received my reward."

Cecilia pretended to ponder her options before answering, "Of course. How about several boxes of chocolate? It's your favorite food (I use that term loosely by the way)! You love the Swedish ones the most, I know."

"Chocolate?" Meliah mumbled to herself. Cecilia ignored her.

"Yes, did I not tell you?" Beaux asked brightly. Meliah ignored him.

Several minutes passed in this fashion. Cecilia and Beaux caught in their reveries; Meliah interrupting every memory with a horrified confirmation. Afraid that he was the cause of her discomfort, Beaux excused himself from the table. He did not catch the bewildered expression on Meliah's face as he left. Vincent followed, leaving the two girls alone.

Cecilia watched Meliah bemusedly for a while. Meliah was keen on avoid eye contact at eye costs; she occupied herself with her silverware.

"So, do you love Beaux?" Cecilia asked suddenly.

Meliah, taken aback by the abruptness of the inquiry, dropped her fork on her plate. Although it clattered noisily, Cecilia did not even flinch.

"I'm getting married soon," Meliah said bitingly, "Not that 'tis any of your business."

"That wasn't the question," Cecilia responded with an unfaltering smile.

"It's getting rather late," Meliah said, "I should best be heading home." She stood up ungraciously from the table.

"If you're not in love with him," Cecilia began; her voice starkly contrasted with her blithesome façade, "I will ask you to let him alone. I am tired of having to see him tormented by you."

"It's getting late," Meliah repeated. She ran out of the dining hall.

She was in such a rush to leave the chateau she did not realize she had collided with Beaux until she was sprawled in his arms.

"Where are you going?" Beaux asked. He was alarmed by her disoriented demeanor.

"I'm leaving!" Meliah spat back. "You can enjoy yourself, but I have other things to do. I have things to prepare!"

"What are you talking about?" Beaux asked with a puzzled expression.

"In case you have oh-so-conveniently forgotten, Beaux, I'm getting married tomorrow!" she fumed.

"How could I ever forget?" Beaux sighed regretfully. He stroked her hair to smooth out the curls. "But what's wrong? Did something happen while I was away?"

"Oh no, absolute not!" she said sarcastically. "Everything was wonderful! Why don't you join Miss Cecilia as you clearly want to?"

"Meliah-"

"I am completely serious Beaux. Go! I am sick of putting up with…with you! Go! She's probably waiting. Who knows? Maybe she'll remember some other incident in which you saved her life!"

"Did Cecilia say something that offended you?" Beaux asked with grave concern. His emerald eyes became onyx.

"Did I not tell you everything was fine?! Just leave me alone. Go write her another letter or ask her to buy you some of your favorite chocolates."

Beaux laughed. My darling Meliah, he thought, so easily unnerved.

"Are you jealous?" he asked incredulously.

"Of course not!" she snapped. "Why would I be jealous? I already have Andante, who happens to love me – and me alone!"

Her face was becoming blotchier with every word and her eyes were becoming watery. Beaux knew it would be a matter of time before she began crying. And sure enough, she began weeping into her hands.

"What's my favorite color?" she choked after most of her tears had subsided.

"Rose pink."

"What do I hate the most?"

"Insects."

"What is my favorite food?"

"Crème brûlée."

Meliah heaved a heavy sigh and shuddered as though she had been hit. She looked up at Beaux with a look of clear dismay. Beaux felt his lungs contract.

"How come you know everything about me, but I know nothing about you?"

"What in heaven's name do you mean?"

"How come you never wrote to me?"

"I didn't know what to write."

He knew that was the wrong response as soon as the words left his tongue. Meliah's ire was unleashed. He doubted whether there ever was a "right" response to begin with.

"Oh," she hissed, "But you can write to her? I knew it! You loved her and you never told me! I thought you loved… I can not believe you! You deceitful snake! Oh, I can tell by the way you look at her, you love her!"

Beaux was shocked by Meliah's eruption. Have you ever seen the way I look at you? Beaux wondered.

But something about the malicious hatred in Meliah's eyes stirred something inside of him, and he lashed back.

"Have it your way then!" he exclaimed. "So it makes perfect sense to you: you can play with my feelings while in the arms of another, but I have to remain steadfastly loyal to you? I can't have other relationships? But, of course, you can have Andante. I can't love Cecilia? Do I have to love you at all?"

He saw the assault before the pain. She had slapped him across the face, and he could feel his cheek becoming hot with the sting. Meliah's eyes had become mere slits on her pallid face. "It appears I have overestimated you," she said viciously before standing up and running out the door.

Beaux sat there, denying what had just occurred. He had lost his temper to the one person he promised he would never hurt. One would have thought he would feel the throb of his heartbreak. But on the contrary, he felt nothing. It was though his heart had ripped itself from his hollow chest to reside with the girl who was now stumbling piteously over his green lawn.

Cecilia came into the entrance hall and she looked at him with woe and sorrow etched in her features. Beaux did not look up as she wrapped him in a cold embrace. His eyes were vacant, dark, and dead. She began crying quietly in his shoulder.

"If it was going to hurt you this much, you should have just told her," she sobbed, "Why didn't you tell her we were cousins?"