- Chapter Six -
He drove around aimlessly for about two hours, foregoing the bottle in his coat for the memory of her face. Every time he felt that click in his head, began craving the bottle, he pulled back the memory of her disappointed eyes into focus.
Finally, on the verge of passing out at the wheel from exhaustion, he decided to drive home. Not needing to be fussed over by maids, he let himself in through a side door, threw his jacket on a chair, and slipped, like a wraith, into his room.
"Took you long enough," a voice called in the dark.
Without needing to turn on the lights or even turn around, he knew who it was. Her perfume assaulted his senses.
"Get the hell out of my room," he growled, not in the mood to deal with his stepmother. He moved towards the bathroom, shrugging off his blazer and fidgeting with his tie.
A muffled thump echoed about the room as the bottle in his pocket made contact with the carpeted floors.
Reaching from his bed, she caught him before he'd moved more than a few feet, and pulled him closer to her. Then, rising to her knees, almost maternally, she undid the knot in his tie and slid it off him.
"Stop," he ordered, a dull thudding building at his temple.
She ignored him, fingers delicately moving down his chest, undoing the buttons on his shirt. He tried to swat her hands away, almost halfheartedly. Despite himself, his body was reacting to her, little flares of electricity surging through his nerves.
Reaching the final button, she peeled the shirt off his body and let it flutter to the floor.
"Veronica, stop," he pulled away, as her hand began an ascent along his abdomen, stomach, chest.
"What's the matter?" she purred, ignoring his words and pulling him back to her. Again, the long, delicate fingers began tracing patterns across his skin, burning into his body.
Instead of disgust, they churned a sense of familiarity and desire in him, and he found himself pulling her closer, ignoring the thudding at his temple which had quickly morphed into the fire of a migraine.
Her lips replaced her fingers, meeting and parting as they worked along his chest and neck, and more spasms of electricity flew through his body. His response was instinctive.
One hand wound its way around her waist while the other anchored his body to the bed, supporting their bodies as he guided her onto the mattress.
She locked her arms around his neck while he caught her mouth with his, hands moving to roam beneath the filmy nightdress she wore. She moaned into the kiss, calling his name.
Except it wasn't her voice calling his name.
It was softer and much sweeter, with genuine concern and warmth attached to every syllable.
His body went rigid, a pair of blue eyes scorched into his brain. Veronica, carried on, unaware of the turn his thoughts had taken, pulling at his now immobile lips, fingers grazing his nape.
Slowly, he peeled away from her and rose out of bed.
The pain that had been pushed to the back of his mind just seconds ago, reared back with a vengeance.
He groped for his shirt and blazer in the dark and walked out of the room on unsteady feet, ignoring Veronica as she called out his name. Thoughts of Rory preoccupied his mind.
---
He was waiting for at her locker the next morning, sitting with one leg sprawled out in front of him and the other bent at the knee. With his back against the locker next to hers', tousled hair standing out in all directions, eyes shut and long lashes fanned against his skin, he looked like some mythic hero in repose.
At her approach, the sound of her clicking heels echoing around a nearly empty hallway, his eyelids fluttered open.
"Rory," he smiled, and rose to his feet.
She went to return his smile but stopped as her gaze locked on his eyes. They were red and glassy, completely at odds with his distressingly beautiful smile. He pulled her rigid body into him and squeezed her tight, burying his face in her hair.
His cheek against her neck felt too warm and his grip too tight. Stiff beneath his blazer, his shoulders seemed knotted in tension.
She wondered whether he was drunk.
A few moments later, he pulled back, but kept his hands loosely around her waist.
"Are you okay?" she ventured, looking up into his eyes.
He chuckled. "Don't you mean, 'am I drunk'?"
"Tristan…I…"
"Relax," he smiled down at her "I'm not drunk. I've just been driving around all night."
"What?"
He moved back to lean against the wall of lockers, his hands moving from her waist to her hands.
"I just needed to clear my head and just…deal with some things."
She let out a breath that she had not realized she'd been holding and edged closer to him, taking in the crumpled shirt beneath his blazer, with only half the buttons done up. She realized that it was the first time she'd ever seen Tristan looking even slightly disheveled. Brought up in the DuGrey house, she knew that he'd been raised to keep up appearances, regardless of the turmoil within.
Almost without thinking, she reached out and began fastening the remaining buttons, pausing to linger at his collar. He caught her hands there and brought them up to his lips, before pulling her in for a kiss.
The tension she'd felt in his shoulders seemed to melt away from him as their lips moved alongside one another's, shaping and reshaping perfectly. He let his hands linger up her spine and into her hair while hers locked around his neck.
He clung to her and moved deeper into the kiss, parting her lips with his own and venturing in, crushing her body into his.
Smiling into the kiss, she pulled back, and he continued in his reverie, working down the length of her jaw line and along her neck, moving aside her collar to suck at a spot on her collar bone.
Laughing, she pushed him off.
"I don't mind an audience," he grinned, catching that her gaze had fallen on the steady stream of students making their way through the halls of Chilton.
She laughed again and placed a chaste kiss on his lips before untangling herself and moving to open her locker.
He lounged back against the wall, pocketed his fists and stared up at the ceiling.
She pulled out several textbooks from her locker and threw them into her bag, unable to keep the grin from vanishing from her face.
"Do you have any plans this evening?" he questioned, eyes still focused on the ceiling.
"No," she replied turning to face him.
Brows knitted, eyes fixed on the ceiling, he seemed lost in concentration.
"Good. I want to take you out tonight."
Noting the puzzlement that contorted her features, he kissed her briefly before taking her hand and walking her to her first class of the day. He embraced her again at the doorway of the classroom, a soft kiss on her temple, before disappearing into the crowds of people, all heading for one class or another.
Rory didn't see him at lunch or in the hallways for the rest of the day, but she didn't let it worry her. She was beginning to understand how erratic he could be.
He was there however in her last class of the day. But he seemed lost in his own thoughts, hunched over in his seat, biting his nails and gazing restlessly out the window.
He seemed perfectly composed when he caught her elbow on her way out of the class, exhaustion still hovering over his eyes but a smile tugging at his lips.
"I'll give you a ride home," he insisted as he walked her to her locker.
"Um…you're going on how many hours without sleep?" Rory questioned as she opened her locker and shoved several things into it.
He paused for a moment and contemplated. "About 32."
"Then maybe it's better if I drive."
"Rory," he smiled, running a hand across his eyes, "I've gone for days without sleep, okay. It's not a big deal."
She crossed her arms and glared at him. "That's supposed to make me feel better how?"
His deep, guttural chuckle almost melted her resolve.
"I'm fine, honestly," he responded, a note of finality in his tone, before extending a hand out to her. Sighing, she accepted his hand.
As if aware of her tension, he drove just above the speed limit, the best you could hope from him, and she could see that it grieved him to not be flying down the road at a hundred miles per hour.
He dropped her off in front of her house and told her that he'd be back in a couple of hours to pick her up. He wouldn't give her any details as to where they were going so after a quick shower, she settled on a deep red, long-sleeved shirt that sat beautifully against her porcelain skin, a black skirt that fell just above her knees, and a pair of black boots she took from her mother's closet. She wore her curls loose around her head.
A knock at the door sent butterflies fluttering about her stomach. Despite Tristan being her oldest friend, she realized she was nervous. This was after all, their first official date.
He stood in her doorway fiddling with his keys, trademark grin still in place, and looking as amazing as always. If his Chilton uniform did wonders for him, it was nothing compared to what a jet black sweater over a deep blue button down could do.
Apparently she was doing the same for him because he scanned her from head to toe and pulled her in for an embrace.
"Did I ever tell you that red is my favorite color?" he breathed into her hair, enveloping her in his arms.
She drowned in his scent; a combination of soap and cologne and something else she couldn't put her finger on. Pheromones, perhaps?
---
"So Lorelai is still on the fence about me?" Tristan questioned, bringing the car to a halt in front of a small building of three or four stories. During their drive, she'd plied him with questions about their destination but all he'd revealed was that it was his favorite restaurant in Hartford.
Sighing deeply and removing her seatbelt, Rory nodded. An autumn sun, hidden behind a block of small grey buildings and here and there a grove of tall trees, cast an orange glow over everything. Through her window, she read the name of the restaurant; Catania.
Without a word, Tristan slid out of the vehicle and came around to hold the door open for her.
"Just give her some time to come around to it," she tried to comfort him. "You know she can't harbor a grudge for too long."
He laced his fingers through hers and led her up a small flight of stairs and into the restaurant. Instantly, Rory understood why Tristan favored this place.
It was of a moderate size, straddling the line between relaxed and refined. The circular tables were small, wooden and decorative, with mismatched antique chairs surrounding them. Red table lamps provided the only sources of light in the building. To say the place was atmospheric would have been an understatement.
Tristan shook hands with a tall, severe looking man at the welcoming podium, and Rory was sure that in the same swift movement, he also handed the man a tip. But instead of moving towards a table or one of the booths that ran along the side of the restaurant, Tristan led her up a winding flight of stairs and into a small hallway. After another small flight of stairs, she moved through a door he held open for her and emerged on the roof of the building.
Here and there, several tables, set in the same style as below, dotted the length of the roof but they were all vacant. However, unlike the set up below, most of the tables were decorated with candlesticks in addition to the small, red lamps.
The sun had set and Rory broke away from him to survey the landscape over the small railing that ran the perimeter of the roof. Though they were only a few stories above ground, the world and reality felt light years away. He came up beside her and leaned on his arms against the railing.
"I met the owner of this place a few years back…she and I share the same therapist."
Rory turned on the spot to face him.
"You want to talk about…about those first few years, I mean."
He inched closer to her so that their bodies were now touching. "Not tonight."
The patter of feet caught their attention and both Tristan and Rory turned in the direction of the stairwell.
A waiter, balancing a basket of breadstick along with two menus entered through the open door and moved towards a table at the centre of the roof deck.
As the man began setting up, Tristan took Rory's hand and guided her to the table.
"Can I start the two of you off with drinks?" the waiter inquired after they were seated.
Tristan looked at Rory.
"A glass of water please."
"I'll have the same," he added before, with a nod, the waiter disappeared back into the stairwell.
"I like this place," Rory spoke up, as a subtle breeze picked up. "It's like something you'd find in Stars Hollow."
He lounged back in his chair. "I guess that's one of the reasons why I kept coming back here. It reminded me a little of the town."
"Why didn't you ever come back for a visit? I mean, that time at the bookstore was the first time I'd seen you there in years." Unaware of her actions, she leaned towards him, hands bent at the elbows on the table, fingers moving to drape over his hands.
"I did…a few times," he sighed, meeting her gaze.
"You did?"
"A few years ago, I almost made it to your front door but turned around at the last second."
"Why?"
"I don't know. I wasn't sure if you wanted to see me." His brow furrowed as if uttering the words caused him grief and Rory stroked his hands, clenched into fists on the table, with her thumbs.
They broke apart stiffly as the waiter returned with their drinks.
"Are you ready to order?" he inquired, placing a glass each in front of Rory and Tristan. Water, sloshing back and forth within the confines of a crystal decanter, was placed at the center of the table.
"Um…" Rory deadpanned. She hadn't even glanced at the menu.
After a quick scan, she ordered the seafood linguini while he settled on a rib-eye steak with portobello mushrooms.
The waiter collected the menus and descended once again down the spiraling set of stairs.
"When was the last time you had something to eat?" Tristan questioned, sliding the basket of breadsticks towards her.
"Oh, a few hours ago…mom," Rory retaliated, curling a hand around a breadstick and brining it to her mouth. "But I appreciate the concern."
He grinned, helping himself to a breadstick as well and pulling his chair closer to her.
"Tell me more about your life," he asked.
For a few seconds, she simply gazed back at him, watching in fascination as he munched on his food. He had a beautiful mouth, generous and just the right shape. She continued gazing as he swallowed a mouthful of bread and his jaw and Adam's apple took more focus.
"Rory," he called to get her attention, fingers moving to graze the side of her face.
"What?" she said, leaning into his touch.
"I was asking about your life. I feel like all I've been talking about is myself."
She smiled.
"Not much to tell really."
"Are you still set on Harvard?"
"Yeah…but lately, I've been considering Yale as well. How about you? Have you given any thought to where you're going to college?"
She knew she'd stumbled onto hostile territory because a shadow passed over his eyes and he pulled back his hand from where it had been busy playing with a curl of her hair.
"My dad went to Princeton."
When he didn't elaborate, she ventured on, feeling her way over the ice. Realizing that all he'd talked about was his past, she wanted to get him talking about his future, his hopes and his dreams. "Princeton is a beautiful school. My mom and I went on a tour of the campus a few months ago."
His eyes narrowed to a blistering glare. "I wouldn't know."
She ducked her head and took a sip of water before continuing. "I think my grandparents are set on me going to Yale, though. I mean that was where my mother was supposed to go."
"That shouldn't matter," he spoke up and Rory caught the intensity in his tone. "Harvard's been your dream so it shouldn't matter what anyone else thinks."
"It used to be your dream too," she pushed, recalling a trip she, her mother, Tristan, and an angry Luke had taken to Harvard on her tenth birthday. Lorelai had irritated Luke into driving the bunch up to the campus, having lost her car that weekend to an angry meter maid and the impound lot.
She looked up expectantly and saw that his gaze had moved to settle over the outline of the dark shapes beyond the railing.
"Remember the trip we took on my tenth birthday?"
He nodded stiffly, but refrained from looking at her.
The waiter returned with their food, balancing two steaming plates and cutlery on a long silver platter.
"Seafood linguini for the lady and rib-eye steak for the gentleman," he beamed at them.
Rory returned the smile but Tristan merely handed the man a tip before taking a sip of water. With a firm nod, the waiter disappeared.
Flustered, Rory unwrapped her cutlery before taking a bite of linguini, and then a sip of water. She couldn't understand why his mood had changed so suddenly. From beneath her lashes, she watched as he cut up his steak into small pieces with grace most likely acquired over the course of hundreds of formal dinners.
Involved yet not entirely entangled with the kind of life Tristan lead, mostly due to the influence of her grandparents, Rory wondered what life was like for him at home.
She dug into her own food, skewering a piece of pasta and scallop.
After a few bites, she realized that he'd stopped eating, head turned towards the horizon beyond the railing again. Brows contorted, jaw set in a rigid line, and hands clenched into fists on either side of his plate, he looked pained, as if he was internally grappling with something heavy.
She put down her knife and fork and reached out to take his hand.
As if singed, he cringed away from her touch, eyes darting back to her face.
Confused, she retracted her hands but held his gaze.
"I'm sorry Rore," he said, eyes lightening and features relaxing, like a sleeper resurfacing from a bad dream.
She returned the smile hesitantly. "You looked like you were a million miles away."
He nodded, but said nothing. Instead, he skewered a piece of steak with his fork and brought it to his mouth.
Rory ventured on. "What were you thinking about?"
As if he hadn't heard her question, he continued eating, attention focused squarely on his meal.
"Did it have anything to do with my question about college…"
"You've barely touched your food, Rore," he interrupted, the same beautiful smile moving to curve his lips. "Do you want to order something else?"
"No Tristan, I'm fine," she said, trying to keep her voice composed, despite the irritation working along her spine.
When he continued to gaze at her, head cocked at an angle, she took another bite of pasta. It tasted bitter in her mouth but she forced it down with a chug from her glass. He seemed pleased, or pacified at the least, because he also resumed eating.
They ate in silence, but unlike earlier, when the silence had sat comfortably around them like a warm blanket, it felt suffocating now. Rory felt it weighing down upon her from all sides.
She put down her knife and fork and tried hard not to sound like a sulking child.
"I'm trying here Tristan, but you're not making this easy."
He looked at her in puzzlement.
"I need you to talk to me," she pleaded.
"I do Rore, I've told you everything…"
"Not about the past. I want to talk about right now, the present…and the future too."
"There is no point in discussing something you have no control over." His voice was low and dangerous.
"What do you mean?" Her question came out as a whisper.
"Nothing. It's not important." He drained his glass of water and poured himself another glass before refilling Rory's glass as well.
"Don't do that," Rory said, watching as he brought the glass to his lips.
"Do what?"
"Shut me out. Not again."
"This has nothing to do with you Rory," he set down his glass and reached across the table to take her hands in his. "It's something I need to figure out on my own."
"Tristan…" Rory pressed, but he just shook his head.
"Just let it go for now, please."
At the tenderness in his voice, Rory bit back her questions and concerns, simply letting him play with her hands, thumbs rubbing warm circles into her wrists.
"Do you want to leave?" he questioned several moments later, neither one having moved to finish their meals.
Rory nodded.
They walked back down the stairs in silence and Tristan shared a quick exchange with the maître d' before he and Rory exited the restaurant. The sound of their footsteps echoed across the pavement.
Tristan held open the passenger side door, head down as she got in. A few seconds later, he was around the car and in the vehicle. He revved the engine to life and pulled into the road.