AN: Geez, I feel like all I write anymore is romantically-confused adolescent male angst, haha. The reason updates have slowed on this is because of school and because I have been focusing a LOT on my Twilight fic. But of course this story is still dear to my heart so I'm plugging away. I realize this chapter is sort of boring? I don't know if that's the right word. It's sort of transitional, but as you'll see, it's muy importante. So much is starting to go on, and to go wrong, and to go crazy. Anyways . . . guess that's all. Enjoy!

Chapter Eight

Tuesday afternoon found the girls again huddled in Susan's room, this time because the lighting was better and Lydia demanded the this if she was going to do Charlotte's make up properly. Charlotte had rung Lesley at the Savoy on Monday, and he had set the dinner date for Tuesday if that wasn't too soon for her, because he had a few friends he wished to "show her off to."

"Right, that's speaking proper," Peter had snarked, rolling his eyes when Charlotte quoted the conversation to Susan.

Fortunately, only Lucy heard, and asked gently, "What do you mean, Peter?"

"If any boy ever says he wants to 'show you off to his friends,' you tell me, Lu, and I'll teach him a thing about the proper way to treat a lady." Personally, Lucy didn't see what the big deal was, but then Peter had been in an awful mood since Sunday afternoon. She wasn't sure why, but it was bothersome, and so she avoided him in general.

Peter's mood had not improved when Lydia asked to postpone their cinema date until the next day so that she might help Charlotte get ready for her evening out.

"Anyway, who goes to the cinema on a Tuesday afternoon?" she had pressed when Peter tried to change her mind. The whole point of the cinema date, if he was honest, was so that he wouldn't have to be around for the preparations. If Charlotte was going to go flouncing off with some bloke that wanted to "show her off," he sure didn't want to be around for the preparations.

"Yes, well who goes on a dinner date on a Tuesday evening?" he'd retorted, which only made Lydia giggle and press her lips lightly to his. He was so cute when he was grumpy. She patronized him and it only made things worse.

"I think it is sweet," she mused. "He could not wait until the weekend to see her, I do not doubt. Imagine if the two of them became sweethearts. Hollywood would rejoice, do you think? They will be England's Fred and Ginger!"

Lydia's thoughts seemed to be shared by Susan and Lucy, and Peter tried to block their squeals of laughter out as he passed the closed door once. Twice. Again and again until finally he couldn't stand it anymore and knocked.

"Yes? This is a girl's dressing room," Lucy explained, only cracking the door, one wide eye peering up at her brother.

"Oh, he can come in," Charlotte laughed from behind. "We're finished anyways and I should be leaving if I don't plan on standing Lesley up."

"And of course you do not," Lydia giggled as Lucy sighed and stepped back, opening the door fully. The room was a mess –make up, brushes, curlers, and clothing strewn about. Preparing for evenings out was what Lydia did best, and Charlotte had been so kind to her that she couldn't help but make a big fuss, even though Charlotte had blushed and stammered that it wasn't that big of a deal. But who was to say? Lesley Stevens was a very good-looking man – a very single good-looking man.

"You are stunning, Charlie," Susan beamed, holding out a hand to help her friend up. She sent Peter a pointed look as he stood in the doorway and pressed, "Wouldn't you say so, Peter?"

Embarrassingly, the smirk on Charlotte's red lips was the last thing Peter took notice of as she stood awkwardly before him, held in place by Susan and awaiting his appraisal. The navy dress hugged every curve, the faux-wrap skirt accentuating her narrow waist and wide hips. It was the return of the hour-glass figure that had been leaning against the piano in a movie poster hidden beneath Peter's bed. Dark blue sequins lined the narrow shoulder straps and sweetheart neckline, and cut diagonally across the bodice, disappearing at the waistline where the fitted ruffles of the skirt clung lightly to her curves until stopping just above her silver heels. A simple chain ran over the bumps of her collarbone, dangling a small metal heart in the center of her chest. It was Susan's necklace, Peter recognized, but seemed made to match the silver heart studs in Charlotte's ears, partially hidden by the long waves Lydia was still combing through with her fingers, perfecting what was already perfection. The make up was a bit more than Charlotte usually wore, her warm red lips second in attention only to the blue eyes that seemed wider and rounder and more ready to pop from her face than ever before.

Three things happened simultaneously. Lucy elbowed Peter in the ribs, Lydia stepped back to clap with glee, and Peter snapped at Charlotte, "You're going to freeze."

"Well I'll be wearing a coat, silly," Charlotte snickered, also pulling up a gauzy white shrug from the bed. Peter recognized it as Lydia's. He continued to gape at Charlotte Auburn, the elegant and beautiful silver screen siren that had stared up at him from the movie posters, as she slid past him now. It was like she had dressed up and suddenly gone were the giggles and playful teasing and any pretense at all of including herself a member of the peasant class. She was kidding herself if she thought she could make a life for herself as some poor art student in Paris, rooming with Susan. She belonged in the spotlight. Lydia was beautiful, sure, but she could only long for that ineffable quality that now radiated from Charlotte's silhouette, that ability to captivate and dazzle with a simple warm smile. Lydia was a beautiful doll on display in the center of the room. Charlotte was the chandelier above her, casting light down on everyone in the room simply by existing.

Peter hadn't even realized he had followed the girls downstairs, all trailing Charlotte like stars following the moon across the sky. That was exactly what this felt like. Edmund appeared from his room, and Mrs. Pevensie was waiting at the bottom of the stairs to kiss Charlotte's forehead and tell her to enjoy herself. Susan helped her slip her coat on, and her gloves, and her scarf, and a white beret.

Suddenly realizing she was about to leave and all he had done was nag her like a mother, Peter added quickly, "Be careful, Charlotte." No, that wasn't what he had meant to say at all.

"I will," she returned off-handedly, apparently not reading anything at all into his comment.

"And if . . . I mean, if anything happens and you—if you need to leave, or want to leave, or anything—just call and I'll come—me and Ed will come pick you up."

Peter sounded like a damn fool. Fortunately, no one except perhaps Charlotte herself thought anything about it. She looked momentarily sad, but then Lydia cooed about what a good man Peter was, and Lucy all but shoved Charlotte out the door.

"Oh, she will have so much fun!" Lydia grinned, watching as Charlotte ducked into the cab waiting for her at the curb that Lesley had sent over. And that was exactly what Peter was afraid of.

Less than an hour later, Lucy threw herself onto the couch and sighed, "I wish she hadn't gone. It's awful dull without her here."

"It is very easy to get used to having that girl around," Mrs. Pevensie agreed, only glancing up from the papers she was pouring through. She loved grading essays, insisting it was her chance to 'really get into the heads of her students.'

Peter said nothing. He had given up talking. He didn't know what to say anymore. He either stumbled over words like an idiot or said the wrong thing and got everyone all upset. He couldn't figure out what was going through his head, but for now, he appreciated the simplicity of Lydia more he ever had before. Just after Charlotte left, she asked him to go for a walk, and he swelled with pride at the gazes cast at his sweetheart. She was beautiful, all right. Even now, as she sat on the floor at his feet, her fair face resting against his knee as she read through some glossy, the firelight casting rainbows in her blond hair, she looked like a fair angel lounging beside him. He ran his fingers absently through one of her curls and she glanced lovingly up at him, her brown eyes round and warm as her pink lips mouthed, 'Je t'aime.' At least he assumed. It was the only thing he knew in French, and so the only thing she would logically whisper to him in the language. He loved the way the words rolled through her pearly teeth, the elegance with which she carried herself, the tinkling giggle she rewarded the most inane 'English things' with. He loved everything about her. Maybe he should go find a ring right this very second and propose to her early. Insist he couldn't wait until Christmas for her to agree. He loved her completely and entirely.

But if that were true, why was he having to focus so hard to keep thoughts of that silly American chit at bay? Because were his mind allowed to wander where it wanted, engagement rings and French words were the last stop on its journey. He wanted to hear Charlie laugh at something he said – she was still hurt by how he had behaved Sunday, and they hadn't spoken since then, and he missed it. He wanted to see the firelight illuminating her enraptured smile as he told her tales of Narnia, the flickering light setting her hair aflame. He wanted to tell her it was all real and see how she reacted. He wanted, right this very second, to be sitting at the table with her and that Lesley bloke and his friends, making absolute sure no eyes or hands wandered where they weren't welcome.

But who's to say their advances wouldn't be welcome? Charlotte had seemed excited about the dinner. She didn't have a sweetheart, and probably could appreciate a companion to help her get over her past heartbreak. She had flung herself at him on the sidewalk. Even Lydia had never flung herself at Peter; she typically deemed such behavior as inappropriate.

But so were these thoughts! Peter was practically engaged. He should not be thinking of anyone else in any way that could at all be construed as romantically, particularly not the possibly scandalous best friend of his younger sister who at this very moment was most likely twirling around some hotel bar in the arms of some over-hyped actor. Peter tried to convince himself it was simply the high king in him, concerned for one of his subjects in a situation he couldn't control. And Charlotte was a friend, a sort of member of their family, and it was understood he would feel protective of her for his sisters' sake. No doubt Edmund was having the exact same thoughts.

But no, he looked completely absorbed in the ship in a bottle he was working at. It was a Christmas present for Charlotte, though. That had to count for something. She had mentioned to Edmund how amazed she was by his collection and the skill that it must take to build one.

"I love you," Peter suddenly blurted out, bending over to press a kiss to Lydia's temple. Mrs. Pevensie beamed; Susan rolled her eyes; Edmund coughed; Lucy's lips narrowed into a tight line.

"I love you, also, Peter darling," Lydia grinned, rising. "But I am so very sleepy I believe I will off to bed." He loved the way her English sentences sometimes didn't make complete sense. He loved her.

Others followed suit shortly after, and soon it was only Peter and Susan in the living room, both quietly contained in the books they perused. It was apparent to both, though, that reading was simply the other's excuse for not speaking. The silence was anything but peaceful, and it occurred to Susan she could throttle her brother right now and no one would know until the morning. It occurred to Peter that Susan was probably waiting up for her friend. As was he. But he shouldn't and he had no right to and he realized this. But perhaps she would return home, and he would feel at peace again, and then he could dismiss all of his confusion as simple concern for her safety.

Susan was just about to finally speak when a car was heard stopping, and giggles drifted along the sidewalk. Instantly she leapt to her feet and across the living room to the front door, flinging it open as Lesley helped Charlotte to the door. Peter rose and approached with interest, curious to see with his own eyes the state of things. Both were bundled, both laughing with red cheeks and bright eyes.

"You see, Miss Pevensie, I've brought her home safe and sound," Lesley grinned.

Peter saw Susan's jaw harden, but Charlotte quickly scolded, "Oh, don't give me that glare. I'm not drunk. Just a mite tipsy is all."

"No, no, of course, it would be most improper for Miss Auburn to have—I wouldn't have let her get too intoxicated, of course," Lesley stammered, but he was grinning and casting Charlotte a sideways look as he said it. The two finally laughed at some internal joke. Peter decided he hated this Lesley bloke very much.

"Well, thank you for bringing her home," Susan returned with a smile to hide her admiration, stepping aside so Charlotte could enter. Charlotte leaned around to give Lesley a quick kiss on the cheek, then waved as he ducked his head and departed. She tried to hang her coat up but missed the hook. Susan sighed and picked it up, then pulled Charlotte's scarf and gloves off. They looked very much like a mother-daughter pair, and Peter watched, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

"Honeset, Su, I'm not drunk," Charlotte insisted. "I promised – and I always keep my promises. I was very careful. I'm just very . . ."

She trailed off and Susan asked, "Well did you have fun?"

"Oh, I had a wonderful time!" she beamed, suddenly spinning a circle in the entry way. The wrap slipped from her shoulders and fell to the floor; Susan picked this up as well, but at least now gave a small laugh. "That's what it is more than the cocktails. I'm just very happy. I had missed him terribly. He's a very good man. He sent me a letter when—hello, Peter."

Peter looked up from watching her feet. They were much smaller than Lydia's, but then she was smaller than Lydia, so that was fitting. She stood on her toes when she twirled and it made her look like a little fairy.

"Hello, Charlotte."

"You mean 'good night, Peter,'" Susan corrected, grabbing Charlie's arms and steering her towards the stairs. "It's late."

Charlotte laughed, "All right, all right, Mum, don't push. Goodnight, Peter."

It was the most she had said to him, really, in several days, and Peter felt a warmth wrap around his neck as he nodded, "Good night, Charlotte."

"He's been so odd lately," Susan shook her head once she and Charlotte had reached the landing. "He only gets stranger the older he gets. Can you get ready for bed all right?"

Charlotte pouted and gave Susan a tight hug, "Won't you forgive me for Paris, Suzie?"

"Forgive you for what?"

"For all the times you had to take care of me?" Susan started to object, but Charlie insisted, "I'm not drunk. I promise. I just needed a few drinks to help me relax . . . it was wonderful to see Lesley, but it did stir up some old bad memories. He was very good friends with Jack."

"Oh?" Unwittingly, Peter's comments stirred in the back of Susan's mind. "How did they know each other?"

"Jack directed a couple films he was in. And anyways, everyone knows everyone in Hollywood. It's just this drunk, spoiled incestual family, really." She frowned at the carpet in the dark hall for a moment, then shrugged, "But Lesley's a wonderful man. Peter needn't have worried."

"He seems like it. But go get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning." Charlotte bid her goodnight as well, kissed her cheek, and then tiptoed into the room.

Susan took her time preparing for bed before curling down beneath the covers. As soon as her body stilled, though, her legs itched to pace. Her brain suddenly jumped to a dozen different places and sleep was certainly not one of them. Lucy was already snuggled in her bed across the room, her eyes flickering around the dream world she walked in. Susan couldn't quit tossing and turning. She sighed and stared at the ceiling, trying to organize the thoughts that suddenly overwhelmed her.

Peter needn't have worried. What in the world had Charlotte meant by that? Had Peter worried? Was that why he had sat up late? But that made no sense because Peter had no reason nor right to worry about Charlotte. Even hearing them call each other by first names was odd to her because they didn't exactly ever talk.

But the more Susan thought about it, the more suspicions began to take shape, ideas that were certainly ridiculous and uncalled for but not entirely without foundation. She hadn't missed the hard set of Peter's jaw when he'd shook hands with Lesley Stevens, going out of his way to make his grip firm. It was a stance she hadn't seen him take in ages, not since he'd worn a crown and greeted ambassadors as the High King of Narnia.

She so rarely thought of their time there, pushing those memories to the back of her mind to suppress the overwhelming sadness that accompanied the knowledge that she would never get to go back. She wished Charlotte had gotten to go with them. She was sure Charlotte would have loved Aslan and Cair Paravel and the fauns and centaurs, probably even more than she had. Such a place seemed right up Charlie's alley, and Susan liked to think of how safe her friend would be there, hidden away from the vices of Paris and the pressure of intrusive questions and the heartbreak of wicked ex-fiancés.

As a queen, Susan had learned to interpret her brother's expressions alarmingly well. He had reacted to Lesley as though Lesley formed some sort of threat, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out what it was. Lesley hadn't even batted an eyelash at Lydia –and though this gave Susan a secret thrill, because obviously Charlotte was more captivating, she didn't see how it concerned Peter. But then, Peter was making a habit of sticking his nose where it didn't belong. Perhaps he had felt protective on behalf of his sisters, or even of Charlotte, but she didn't see where he got off feeling that way. Clearly Charlotte was overjoyed to see Lesley, and the way she spoke of him alluded to pleasant memories. That was good. Charlotte deserved good people in her life, even beautiful cinema stars that Susan could gape at all day long.

Anyways, there had always been aspects to Peter's personality that Susan didn't understand. They were friendly, but he was definitely closer with Lucy, and herself with Edmund. There was no telling what Charlie had said or done to make Peter view her as a subject of his kingdom that needed ruling over, as he apparently did. But this only annoyed Susan because they weren't in Narnia anymore. They were in London, and Peter had no right to act as though everyone around them existed in homage to him. Peter had no right to go digging for secrets of Charlotte. Her dear friend was being all together too forgiving of this outright insult, Susan decided. She would speak to her brother again and make it very clear that he was to have nothing more to do with Charlotte. Not even to behave protectively – it wasn't his place. Certainly not if he was going to go around asking intrusive questions one minute and then intimidating Charlotte's old friends the next. What a nutjob he had turned into since meeting Lydia! Perhaps it was all her fault . . .

Susan sighed and pushed herself out of bed. A glass of water might help her sleep. Quietly she shut the door behind her, pressing her lips together to keep from laughing as Lydia's snores rolled out from beneath the guest room door. The house was dark and silent as she crept along the hall and down the stairs.

The creak of the last step before she landed on the floor seemed to echo through the house only to be sucked into the warmth of the living room where the fire was dying in the hearth. A lone figured lounged on the carpet, staring into the low flames.

At the creak, he turned, blurting out as he did so, "Look, Charlie, I'm sorry about it all, I just—oh! Um . . . hi, Su." He seemed to shudder and quickly turned back to the fire.

Susan's eyes narrowed suspiciously before she demanded, "Don't just turn away, Peter. What was that?"

"Huh . . . what?" he tossed back, not bothering to turn around. His guilty behavior was making this worse, he knew, but he didn't know how to act that wouldn't appear guilty – and anyways, what should he feel guilty about?

Susan strode fully into the room, stomping over to him to demand, "Don't 'what' me. What made you think I was Charlotte?"

"Nothing," he shrugged, trying to play casual.

"She's in bed. Asleep."

"All right! I didn't mean anything by it. I thought you might be her and I was going to apologize. You should be happy about that."

"But why would you assume someone coming down the stairs at night would be her?" And suddenly things clicked in Susan's head. Peter saw it on her face but didn't realize what assumption she had made until she pressed, "Has something been going on between you two while everyone else is slee-- "

"Geez, Susan, what are you—how is that even— are you honestly accusing us of that?"

"No, no, I know, I'm sorry," she quickly apologized, wiping at her face. "That—that's awful to think. I'm sorry. I know, she's not—she wouldn't do that."

"Neither would I!" he retorted, standing and glaring at her. "You forget my girlfriend is sleeping upstairs right now."

"Right. Well then what has been going on?"

"We just talked a couple times when we couldn't sleep," he retorted defensively, still irked by her assumption.

"About what?"

He shrugged, "Nothing important," suddenly not wanting to tell. Those were his and Charlotte's private conversations. Besides, she was just blowing everything out of proportion, per usual, and trying to make him out to be some philanderer. Peter Pevensie might be many things, but he would never cheat on Lydia, and he would never make a move on his sister's friend, nor take advantage of a guest of their house, or any of those other rotten things Susan seemed to imagine him capable of. He wanted to yell at her, wounded by her accusations, but the last thing they needed was someone coming downstairs.

"Well they should stop," Susan insisted, snippily crossing her arms. "It's inappropriate. Like you said, your girlfriend is upstairs and—"

"What, it's my fault? I didn't make her talk with me. It's not like we're having a secret affair or anything, Susan. We just talked. Edmund talks to—"

"Not in the dark living room while everyone else is sleeping!"

"We didn't do anything wrong."

Susan suddenly dove closer and glared straight into his face as she warned, "If I find out you have done anything to take advantage of my friend's fragile condition—"

"Fragile condition? She can go out drinking with some hot-shot party man but I can't talk to her in our own living room? What fragile condition is she—"

"She has had a rough few months. She automatically trusts you because you're my brother, and she feels indebted to you for the train ticket so of course she would trust you--"

"Susan, we just sat and talked. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Do not talk to my friend again. Do not look at her. Do not stand near her. Do not think about her! Is that clear?"

"She doesn't talk to me anymore after Sunday anyways," he mumbled, his glance falling to the ground. He felt the heat of Susan's warning glare, but it honestly bothered him less than that simple truth. It wasn't his choice that there were no more nighttime conversations.

Unsure what to make of his comment, Susan turned and stomped back upstairs. She had never thought her own brother would try to take advantage of a poor broken-hearted girl. Of course Charlie would talk to him. She was kind. She would politely put up with his advances and not want to cause disrupt in the family. That was probably why she was so nice to Lydia. She pitied the girlfriend of the wandering Pevensie boy.

Across the hall, Charlotte crept silently back to bed and prayed to God she hadn't just done it again.

Prove Twilighters aren't the only ones that can review! haha. :) See ya next chapter!