Angel Dust

A/N: I say "thanks for the reviews" a lot, but I don't think I've ever meant it as much as I do this time. You guys don't know how scared I was to post this story, and to have so many of you open yourselves to the concept means more to me than you could possibly know. To Vera, thank you a million times over for encouraging my ideas and for being an all-around AMAZING friend. I don't know what I'd do without you. And to Keira, thanks for helping me with the names, and for letting me know that I can't please everyone - just do what I think is best for my story. You're the best, girlie.

It might help you, in reading this story, to know that Courtney is heavily inspired by actress Scarlett Johansson, who I am so in love with right now, it's bordering on obscene. Other than that, I disclaim on the names you know, and claim on the ones you don't. Enjoy!

Carrying two steaming cups of espresso, Courtney padded through the living room on bare feet, the soft carpet tickling her toes as she handed one of the mugs to Dave and then snuggled under his arm on the couch.

"I love your arms," she smiled, kissing the fingers on his left hand as the lightly brushed the side of her face.

Dave sat his coffee mug on the end table and pulled her into his lap, enveloping her in a huge hug. "They love you, too," he whispered, kissing the side of her face.

His broad shoulders, strong arms, and firm hands were the reason she had fallen for him in the first place. Not just because his tailored suits hung from them so effortlessly, but because he had a way of making her feel safe and loved, every time they were close.

She snuggled closer to his warmth and then turned her face back to the television, resting her head against his shoulder. "What are we watching?"

His finger danced over her flannel pajamas as he laid his cheek on her head. "Travel channel," he smiled. "Have you ever been to Italy, Princess?"

She sighed and shook her head. "No. I think it's the only place in the world that I've always wanted to go, but never had the chance."

Pressing his lips to the side of her head, he breathed in the scent of shampoo on her freshly washed hair and then whispered in her ear, "Someday, Princess, I promise to take you to Italy."

He had known that death was a probability for quite some time. He told her early on that he lived too fast, partied too hard, and took too many chances in life. He was sure that it would kill him before he turned fifty, but he enjoyed his life too much to stop.

On their first date, he had told her, "I'm not even sure some people realize when they've died. They lead aimless, miserable lives and by the time they leave, tripping out of this life and into the next is probably just a mild stumbling block. I want to live my life so hard, to experience everything so fully, that when I die, I know it."

He had known, and he had been prepared. Sure, he wiggled his way out of bets with Randy all the time. He used every possible form of manipulation and deception to score huge interviews and make a name for himself. But he had never, and would never, break a promise to his Princess.

So when, in his will, he left her a private villa in Stintino, on the Italian island of Sardinia, Courtney had been touched, but she wasn't surprised. Dave had always promised to take her to Italy, and he had always promised to protect her. The villa did both.

When word that one of the country's most respected news men had died from a cocaine overdose, the media machine kicked into high gear. Courtney found there was nowhere she could turn without flashbulbs blinding her view, and a tape recorder in her face. The Lanes had been described as this generation's Kennedys. And nothing made the tabloid presses happier than a scandal amongst their own version of royalty.

Her original plan had been to live in the villa for a few months, and then return to Washington to resume her childhood dream – a Senate seat by her 30th birthday. But upon arriving in the small fishing village, she found that Dave had also delivered on one more promise – one that she had nearly forgotten.

"You look tired."

"I'm exhausted." She slid her glasses off and placed them on the bedside table, smiling at him over the top of her laptop. "Lobbying against corporate financing is hard," she whined with a pouty expression.

His deep, rumbling laughter had filled their small bedroom as he pulled the computer off her lap and laid it on the floor beside the bed. Grabbing her hips, he pulled her over him, until she was straddling his stomach, and he rubbed her thighs softly. "So why do you do it?"

Slinging her hair to one side, she rolled her hips as she felt his stiffening erection against her ass. "Because the harder I work now," she moaned as his fingers moved under her nightgown. "The earlier I can retire," she smiled, a deep growl escaping her throat as his thumb found her swollen clit and nudged it.

"Why would you wanna retire early, Princess?" he asked, a satisfied smirk on his lips as she closed her eyes and wriggled against his skin. Her wetness against his bare stomach was about to be more than he could stand. Not that he would ever admit that to her.

Abandoning his fingers on her nub, he lifted her hips and lowered her, sheathing himself deeply inside her inviting warmth. Courtney fought like hell to keep her train of thought. "The earlier we retire, Lover, the sooner we can start spending our lazy days on some Mediterranean beach," she gasped her fantasy future as she rode him toward a fierce orgasm. "Sleeping in. . . Espresso and Biscotti on our veranda. . . Fucking in the sun. . . No photographers. . .Oh GOD," she hissed through clenched teeth.

Even as her body shuddered and collapsed against his, he pushed her blonde locks from her face and kissed her temple. "Oh, you'll have that life someday, Princess. I promise."

Maybe he hadn't intended for her to stay there. She knew that he never would have guessed she would buy a coffee shop in the heart of downtown, content to live her life as the caffeine hook-up for locals and tourists who stopped by her comforting little shop. But she was happy. As happy as she could be without him.

"Courtney Lane," an amused voice sounded across the counter from her.

Looking up, Courtney felt all of the wind in her lungs escape. "What are you doing here?" she asked, an excited laugh escaping her lips as she threw her rag down and ran around the side of the counter. "How did you find me?"

Dave's attorney, Ric Flair, just enveloped her in a tight hug and laughed again. "Your father," he admitted, holding her shoulders as he stepped back and looked her over. "You haven't changed a bit, Courtney," he winked.

She nodded and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She had changed in innumerable ways, but she knew those ways weren't visible. And she wasn't about to talk to him about them, either. "Ric, what are you doing here?" she asked again, walking back around the counter and fixing him a cup of coffee.

Ric stood at the counter and opened his briefcase. "I'm actually here on business, Sweetheart," he cleared his throat and withdrew a large, manila envelope. "You know what today is, right?"

With her back turned, she nearly dropped the small mug in her hand. Taking a moment to collect her emotions, she cleared her throat and turned with a forced smile. "Yes, I do," she admitted.

Sliding the envelope across the counter, Ric held her gaze, as though searching for some crack in the Courtney Lane exterior. But, as usual, there wasn't one. She was tough as nails, and that wasn't going to change.

"I was given very strict instructions to make sure you got this envelope today," Ric stated, raising the coffee to his lips as Courtney stared at the counter. She made no attempt to take it in her possession, but watched it closely, as though it would soon take on a life of it's own. "It's from Dave," Ric added.

Courtney nodded numbly, her eyes drawn to her husband's elegant script on the front of the envelope. "Courtney Lane-Batista. My Princess. Always." An involuntary shudder ran down her spine, and if she believed in the supernatural, she would have sworn he was standing there with her at that moment. Of course, she had felt that more times than she could count over the course of the last year.

Turning her attention to a few tourists who entered the shop, Courtney put on her happy face and chatted comfortably with the couple from Albuquerque. Wordlessly, Ric laid a few coins on the counter, smiled at her slightly, and left the shop. She would read the letter when she was ready. He wasn't there to force her.

Traffic through the coffee shop picked up after Ric's departure, and after closing and cleaning up, Courtney finally turned her attention to the envelope he had left behind. Sitting on the floor behind the counter, she pulled her knees to her chest and ran a long fingernail under the flap. Withdrawing the heavy ivory paper, she sucked in a deep breath and began to read.

My Princess,

If you're reading this letter, it must mean my luck ran out exactly one year ago today. I hope you enjoy the villa, and that you get a chance to drink espresso and eat Biscotti overlooking the Mediterranean in the morning. I hope the media attention isn't TOO outrageous. I know we can be heartless bastards when there's a story to expose, and I'm sorry that you will be left to carry that on your own. Though I can't imagine anyone else would handle such a scandal with the grace and dignity that you will, without a doubt, carry yourself.

Now onto the real reason I'm sending you this letter from "beyond the grave."

Bracing herself for what he had to say, she leaned against the counter behind her and gripped the paper until her knuckles turned white. For the first time in months, tiny tears pricked the backs of her eyes.

I have loved you, at least in part, since the moment I laid eyes on you in your father's kitchen. You werestunning, so confident. I remember that night in my office. Two in the morning, too much wine and take -out. The look on your face when I laid you on my desk. The way you whispered my name, like we should know better. The way you screamed it, like nothing else fucking mattered.

I have done things to make our lives harder, and you have never complained. I have made decisions that have rattled our relationship, and you have never waivered. You have done favors for me, knowing full well they were not in my best interest. You have run errands for me, knowing that they were only going to make things worse for yourself. And you have bailed me out of so many occasions, knowing that I would stupidly put myself right back in those situations, sometimes mere days later.

She almost smiled at his analysis of their relationship. He was right, but none of those times seemed important now. She would have gladly gone on a midnight run to his dealer's house if it meant having him back with her again.

No one in my life sacrificed more to be with me, to see me happy, to let me be myself, then you did, Princess. And now I have one final request for you: Live your life.

Rolling her eyes, Courtney shook her head slightly and chuckled as she read the next line.

And stop making that face. I know you, Courtney Elizabeth Lane-Batista, and I know you're rolling your eyes and thinking something like "What do you think I've been doing, jackass?" And the answer is "Existing." Stop.

"Cocky motherfucker," she laughed, wiping tears with the back of her hand.

I died, Princess. You didn't. Spend a day on a yacht. Lie naked in the sun. Throw a party. Get a lap dance. Drink something other than espresso or aged wine. Fall in love. Go ahead, read it again. And then do it. Because you are never as radiant as you are in the glow of love.

Be beautiful for me, my Donna Bella.

Always,

Dave

She read the letter again and then carefully placed it back in the envelope. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to live without him. But he had asked her to – and she had never been able to say "no" to Dave Batista.