Hey pals! Sorry for no update in so long. I was doing things like finish my thesis, writing my English capstone and other final papers, saying good-bye to my friends, and then graduating from my dream university. I know a lot you were eager for an update- but schoolwork and friends always come before writing. I've no plans for the summer, so I'm hoping to start updating and writing more regularly than the last few months have been.
Also, while I've written nearly 50,000 words of this story so far, that doesn't mean that all those words are polished and ready to be read. I like working ahead so that I have the freedom to rearrange or edit scenes with a view of the long term path this work will take. For example, there was a scene I really liked from this chapter that wasn't working, so I moved it up to chapter 9 instead. Working ahead gives me the ability to have a better birds-eye view of the work!
Anyway, as promised last time, lots of angst this week. Sorry not sorry. Enjoy!
Chapter 6: Phase Six- Press Shoot
Mary opened her eyes to see sunlight flooding in from the crack between her curtains and instantly wanted to shut them. She was not ready to face today.
Just what happened last night? She thought, as she got out of bed to open her curtains. Her thoughts skimmed over their joyful reunion in the airport, their wanderings around the Marais and the Quartier Latin, their shared bottle of wine on the Seine, and then the Luxembourg. The memories of the garden at sunset, the Rutter Requim floating around them, warm arms around her back, and the lovely way Matthew's lips moved with hers. It had been everything she wanted.
She certainly had been leading him on to it. Her father's advice had indeed played a role at the beginning. Make him fall in love with you. But she knew that by the end of their date in Central Park, her father's advice had fallen away to her own feelings. She liked Matthew. She really did. He was smart. He cared about the world. And it seemed, despite the first disastrous date, he cared a lot about her.
So why was there a weird churning in her stomach when she thought of it all?
Because it could all be a lie. What if her father had sent him the very same e-mail? The thought kept her up at night. He could be playing her. It wouldn't be the first. Tony's betrayal still felt she was being stabbed when she thought of it. She couldn't do it again. She couldn't get her heart broken for a third time this year.
She had stayed silent after he kissed her, afraid to say anything back- because how could she? How could she tell him how badly she had been hurt? By Duke, by Kemal, by Tony. How could she tell him that she couldn't be hurt like that again? She couldn't make him promise to never leave her, to never hurt her- no one could promise that, really. She wanted to trust him, to adore him, but the fact remained he hardly knew her. He didn't know the secrets behind her headlines. How could he ever love her?
But today she couldn't bother with it. Regardless of how she felt, today her job was to be a puppet. She was to smile and dote on Matthew and be a model of perfect, young love. She felt exhausted from the demand already, but she had no choice. Sometimes she wondered if she really had that many choices in the first place.
She dressed for the day. A short, vintage pink dress, that was the sort of thing you see on an old postcard from Paris. Her mother had sent it to her earlier in the week and insisted she wear it in the shoot. She was just happy that her mother hadn't insisted on sending a full hair and make up crew. She grabbed a pair of nude heels and a beige handbag from her closet, assessing her look in her full-length mirror. Feeling decently dressed, she spritzed herself with perfume, added some pearls, and headed downstairs.
Matthew wasn't around yet, though she heard the shower running below and she knew that he would be coming up soon. She popped out to the boulangerie on the street below to grab some pain au chocolat. When she arrived back in her apartment, Matthew was seated in the living room, flicking through his phone.
"Good morning," She said, putting the bag of pastries down on the kitchen counter. "I'm making a cappuccino. Would you like one?"
Matthew nodded and came to sit at a stool by the counter. She watched him fish a pastry out of the bag.
"Mary," He said, "About last night-"
Her stomach lurched. She couldn't talk about this now, not before they would be spending a long day staging the most romantic afternoon in Paris possible.
"Not now, Matthew," She cut him off, "We'll talk of it later."
"But-" He began.
Mary shook her head, cutting him off, "The photographer will be here at half 9. I expect he'll have plenty of stuff for us today, so we best start making sure we're ready."
A half hour later, after a mostly silent breakfast, Mary and Matthew were greeting the photographer at the door.
"Premièrement, la tour eiffel, " the photographer declared, as they were ushered in the car. There were would be no wistful strolls through the city today, just business. They would be packing in as many cliché Parisian sights as possible, to create the ideal array of photos.
It wasn't a long drive from St. Germain-de-Pres to Trocadero, especially in the morning. They passed bistros just setting up for the day, servers writing out the specials on the board outside. There were people walking by with little dogs, bouquets of flowers, and baguettes. Paris was waking up.
"Good, it's not terribly crowded," Mary remarked, as they made their way out onto the white stone plaza. She had worried Trocadero would be busy on a Saturday, but in the early morning, it was manageable.
The photographer found the perfect angle for their Eiffel Tower shot and set them up for it. He placed their hands and tilted their faces for a series of shots. A small crowd began to gather around them, the professional photographer causing them to notice that it was Mary Crawley and her new boyfriend being photographed.
"Maintenait, uh," The photographer said, turning to Matthew, his English choppy, but clear, "Now, uh, put her in dip and give her the kiss."
Matthew's arms wrapped around her and pulled her into an old movie style dip, his lips on top of hers.
She was glad he had kissed her the night before, or else she would have been blown away now. It was still the sort of kiss that made her feel like melting, but at least now she was prepared. She didn't want him to stop. When she was kissing him like this, her worries over her feelings for him, her fear of betrayal, were all far away. For a tiny moment, everything was safe. Not just safe, also brimming excitement and anticipation. Like her whole life was coming together, lighting up all at once, like hope.
"Bon, et maintenait, le Champs Elysées," the photographer directed.
Mary sighed as Matthew pulled her back up, squeezing her hand as they made their way back to the car. It was lost and she was back into her world doubt.
The rest of the day continued like that. They were pictured feeding each other macarons from Ladurée in front of the Arc de Triumph. They looked out at the city from the towers of Notre Dame. They posed on the steps of Sacre Coeur, then moments later over a staged lunch in Montmartre. For the afternoon they took an excursion to Versailles. They were photographed sharing an ice cream in front of a fountain, then laying side by side on a blanket looking up at the clouds, and then again with the pair holding hands beneath an archway.
It was nearly seven at night when they returned to Mary's apartment, both of them exhausted from smiling and holding poses. Mary dropped of her purse, took out Daisy, and then collapsed on her sofa. She balanced the rabbit on her chest, while she crossed her ankles and propped them up on the arm.
"I'm completely exhausted," Mary said.
Matthew slumped down on the other sofa.
"I could definitely say the same," He agreed.
"When do you fly back tomorrow?" Mary asked.
"I'm actually going to be doing business in Geneva for the week," Matthew said, "So I'll be taking the TGV Lyria at noon tomorrow."
"So, we'll have to get you there a hair early so you'll have time get on comfortably," Mary mused, "It'll be best to have you there at 11, to be safe."
"That sounds fair," Matthew mentioned.
She really wanted to change into her pajamas and order in food. She wanted to watch a movie with him, maybe snuggle, maybe make out. She wanted a quiet night in. But if they paused for just one moment, Matthew would to ask about last night, ask about her feelings- and she wasn't ready for that. She couldn't let them stand still for a moment.
"As for tonight," Mary said, "What do you say to a final small jaunt across town?"
"What are you thinking?" Matthew asked.
"You'll see," Mary said, "I'm going to change out of this dress. I'll be back in a moment. Can you hold Daisy?"
She left Matthew in the living room and headed up to her loft. She changed into a comfortable pair of leggings, a tank top, and a large maroon cardigan. She grabbed her sunglasses and a floppy black hat, before heading back down.
"I've texted for the car," Mary said, "He'll be here in a moment."
Matthew passed her Daisy back. She kissed the tiny bunny, thankful for her calming presence, before adding her to her purse.
"Car's here," Mary said, as they headed down the stairs.
They piled back in.
"Le BNF, s'il vous plait," Mary requested, as they headed eastward.
"Isn't that the national library?" Matthew asked perplexed.
"It is," Mary replied.
"I know we both enjoy literature, Mary, but I'm not sure you need to impress me with a library. I already fully believe in your intelligence," Matthew said, "I'm far more interested in dinner prospects."
"Funny," Mary said, "That's what we are going to."
When the familiar towers of the BNF came into view, the driver pulled over and let them out.
"Thanks," Mary said, to the driver, "Be back in an hour or so?"
She took Matthew's hand, hoping that he wouldn't become too attached. She led him over to the small square outside the library.
"Here," She said, "Will this suffice for dinner?"
The square was filled with different food trucks: burgers, tacos, thai, indian, and crepes.
"This is brilliant, Mary," Matthew said in awe. "How do you know about this?"
"When I did my exchange here, I took a few classes at the university down the street," Mary explained, "I took my literature courses there and then the design classes at a different university. But I'd come here with friends for lunch when we couldn't agree on what we wanted."
They mingled into the food stands. Mary grabbed some pad thai, while Matthew got a burger.
"Come this way," Mary said, softly.
She led him towards the library complex. It was made up of four L-shaped towers which surrounded a wooden walk way. In the center of the walk way was a small forest.
"I rather like that," Matthew commented, "A forest in the middle of a library, in Paris, no less."
"It's is a bit of a strange place," Mary explained, "It actually costs money to get into the library, which seems rather pretentious, even to a Crawley. There is a rather good movie theater here though. I sometimes nip if there is something that I want to covertly see."
As they turned through the platform, the Seine came into view.
"I thought it might be nice to sit here," Mary offered, "It's not really the pretty part of the Seine, mostly the industrial part."
"I like it," Matthew said, "Secret forest, secret Seine."
He looked up at her, his face bright, shining with hope. His voice was a little softer now.
"And a secret Mary. Thank you for these past few days. Thank you for sharing the secret, real Mary with me."
Everything inside her broke a little, her voice catching in her throat. She couldn't reply. She couldn't say anything to that. Because the second she opened her mouth, she was going to break his heard.
Mary pursed her lips firmly closed. She gracefully lowered herself so that she was sitting on one of the large steps that lead up the BNF. Matthew plopped down beside her. They started eating in silence, both of them ravenous after the long of day of photos.
"Mary, we should talk," Matthew started.
The sun was setting over Seine and Mary knew that this conversation was going to happen. She could try to keep it from happening, but they needed to discuss what they were.
But she couldn't, she wasn't ready. Because being undefined was safe. She couldn't get hurt. The second there was a label, she became vulnerable.
"Mary, I like you quite a bit," Matthew said, "I know that this is supposed to be fake. I know that we both are dealing with a lot. I know that I've only known you a few days, but I don't want you to think that I'm just doing this because your father is paying me- I'm with you because I care about you."
Mary put a noodle in her mouth and chewed. Then sighed, put her chopsticks into her pad thai, and put her carton down. She took her hat off and ran a hand through her hair.
"Matthew, you don't know me," She said.
"But that doesn't mean-"
This was so hard. But she had to.
"A week ago, you were so quick to judge me because of some headlines you believed, and now you're in love with me?" Mary said.
"I didn't say that exactly," Matthew pointed out.
"Matthew, I've gotten my heart broken three times this year. I can't-" She broke off because she crying.
She wanted Matthew. She wanted this. But she couldn't. She couldn't tell him about the way that each man who came before him destroyed her. She couldn't tell him that she couldn't survive it again.
So she just started crying.
Matthew put down his food to put his arm around her. Mary wanted to shake it off, but she let it stay.
"Mary, I know you don't think that you matter," Matthew whispered, "I know that you think that you are a puppet to the whims of your parents, a photo splashed across the tabloids-but you aren't. You are a sensitive, thoughtful, real woman that I happen to think matters a great deal."
She couldn't lift her eyes to meet him.
If she did, she knew that she would tell him the truth. She'd tell him that she wanted to try this for real too. That no one had ever told her those things before. That she was starting to trust him.
Because it was just that- she was starting to trust him and she couldn't. She couldn't go down that road.
"Matthew, I can't."
Dammit. She was supposed to be making him fall in love with her. She wasn't supposed to be breaking his heart.
"I know that you feel the same way," Matthew said, "You haven't been shy for physical affection. You've been positively flirting with me. We have sincere conversations. Mary, I don't understand."
Then with a sob, she let the truth float out of her mouth.
"You deserve better than me, Matthew."
"No, Mary, no-"
"You deserve better than a washed up reality television star who is struggling to make it as a handbag designer because no one will take her seriously. You should have someone you are proud to be with, not someone who you have to be bribed to date- and even then you are still ashamed to be with."
"I'm not ashamed, Mary," Matthew said, his voice rising with feeling,"Maybe I judged you at first, but I was stupid to do so. I regret it."
"There are so many people out there who would be able to help you more than I can. That are better than I am. You could meet some young activist or maybe another actress like Lavinia," Mary muttered, "But you'd be better off without me."
"Mary-"
"When these four months are over, we'll go our separate ways. Sure people might bring up our relationship an interview down the road, maybe when you start dating for real again or if you get married, but you will be able to go back to your life," Mary said, "and if I'm lucky, if this works, maybe I'll have some sort of life of my own."
"You can't be serious," Matthew remarked.
"But I am," Mary declared, "Don't you see, it's better for both of us. If you love me, if you leave me- I won't come back from it. If I touch your reputation for longer than these four months- you won't come back from it. We are safer this way."
Mary let out a huge sigh, all her words finally out. She'd said each painful and honest thought that floated around in her head since he kissed her. Sure, he might resent him now for it. But in the end, they would be happier for it.
She reached for her pad thai. Food always tasted funny after you'd been sobbing. Sort of muted, with the after taste of sniffles and sadness.
And the sad sort of feeling that the food wouldn't sustain the emptiness inside you now.
It's better for us both, Mary told her self firmly. She might feel empty, but it was better than ruining things for them both.
"So what are we now?" Matthew asked, her voice resigned.
"Fake lovers, naturally," Mary told him, "Friends, I hope."
"No," Matthew said firmly.
Mary looked up in shock. Matthew was gritting his teeth.
"I can't be friends with you Mary," He said, letting his voice become harsh, letting it hurt her, "I don't know how I am supposed to be your friend. Not after this. I will pretend to be your boyfriend in front of the crowds, but I can't behind the scenes."
Mary gulped. This was hard. But it would hurt more down the road right? It would hurt much more if it was August, if she was in love with him, when this happened. This was less painful. Right?
"I see," Mary let herself choke out. "Let's go back now, shall we?"
She stood, folding the lid on her carton of thai, most of it remaining uneaten, and tossing it into a waste bin. She led the way back through the courtyard, back to the Avenue de France, where the car had dropped them off. The sun was low in the sky. It was nearly dark. The towers of the BNF seemed shadowy around them.
The car was waiting when they got there and they got in wordlessly. Mary put her head against the window, her sniffles ringing out embarrassingly through the car.
She wondered what it would be like if she had been born as anyone else. If her father wasn't a billionaire CEO and her mother hadn't released a chart topper in the eighties. If she had grown up sheltered and safe instead in the glaring public eye. If her father had never said yes to the reality show. If anything different had happened- she might have been able to love Matthew Crawley.
She could picture it in her head, how it would look like, if she was an ordinary 26 year old woman. She might meet Matthew at a bar in New York when she was visiting Sybil, or maybe bump into him in Paris when he would be here on business. He'd initially think her a bit vapid for being a fashion designer, but her knowledge of French literature and suave wit would surely win him over. They'd go on normal dates- bumbling through awkward coffee shop conversations or feigning intellectual thoughts on art at visits to museums. She could picture their engagement. She thought Matthew might be the type for a nice dinner and popping the question. But he was rather romantic, maybe he'd take her back to the place they met, or the Eiffel Tower, or someplace exotic and pull out a ring. They'd have a normal wedding, not a society affair, no press. Just a simple gown of her own design, two rings, and smiles.
But Mary could never have that. She couldn't burden Matthew with her reputation. She couldn't burden herself with the pain of the possibility of heartbreak. It was never meant to be.
She watched the familiar sites creep into view: Les Deux Margots, L'Eglise de St. Germain. The car slowed and they got out.
"I'm really tired," Mary confessed, as they made their way to her apartment, "I'm going straight to bed."
Matthew nodded, still not speaking to her.
"I'll go with you to the station tomorrow," Mary said, "I'll meet you tomorrow at half nine."
"You don't have to," Matthew said, his voice empty.
"No, I should see you off," Mary justified, "Even if we aren't friends, I'm not one to be rude."
"Right," Matthew said flatly, "Good night Mary."
She turned on her heel and headed up to her loft. She kicked off her shoes, took Daisy out of her purse and placed her on the bed, and then let herself collapse in it beside her. She could hear Matthew retreating downstairs, so she knew it was safe to let her sobs fall out again.
She didn't want to get hurt. She didn't want to need him. But as she laid her bed, the sticky feeling of her tears against her pillow, she realized that in trying to prevent him from hurting her, in trying to save his career- she was only making things more painful, more disastrous.
It was too late. She was hurt now. She did have feeling for him. And there was no coming back from them. Except that now it was too late.
Matthew was surprised to find Mary in the kitchen the next morning when he climbed the stairs to her main floor. She was in the kitchen, fiddling with the espresso maker. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, revealing full view of the perfect bone structure of her face and her elegant long neck.
No- he had to stop doing that. He couldn't notice her like that now. Nothing was every going to happen between them, so he needed to lose those thoughts as soon as he could. He needed to not think about how nice she looked in the early morning sun with her jeans and light pink t-shirt, thin enough that he could just see the outline of her bra through. He needed to not notice the way Mary had matched her lipstick to the color of her shirt- even when casual she was meticulous about details. He needed to not gaze at the way her simple golden necklace dress attention to sharp lines of her collarbones. If Mary didn't want to seriously be in a relationship with him, he couldn't let himself have feelings for her. He couldn't let himself take in her physical beauty. He had to cut himself off.
She looked up at him when he approached the counter. She placed a cappuccino in front of him.
"I got a few different pastries than yesterday," Mary murmured, nudging the bag to him, "If you want to try something new."
He reached for the bag, peering in at the variety. He tried to decide between a long pastry filled with chocolate chips and another with an apple filling. For a moment he was touched by her thoughtfulness.
Stop, He told himself, pulling himself from his warm thoughts. He wasn't letting himself go there. He pushed the bag away, telling himself he'd buy breakfast on the train.
"I'm going to finish packing up," He declared, rising from his seat before he had hardly sat in it, leaving the cappuccino untouched. He decided that removing himself from her presence was the only way to prevent himself continuously falling in love with her. "Let me know when it's time to go."
He could see Mary roll her eyes briefly, but he didn't care. He went back downstairs and carefully folded his clothes back into his suitcase. He was a neat man. Nicely folded vestments, organized suitcases, clean spaces always provided him comfort. It was almost cathartic to pack now. It helped him block out how immensely wounded he felt. He couldn't even talk to Mary with out feeling an obscure, but painful mix of hurt and adoration. This was going to be a long four months.
He took his suitcase back upstairs with him to find Mary gone, so he resorted to sulking on her sofa, both dreading and eager for her return.
At half nine, Mary descended from the upstairs and helped usher him to the car. They rode in silence again, which seemed to become the "new" normal thing for them. He didn't know what else to say. He wanted to apologize. He wanted Mary to apologize. He wanted them to slip back into the comfortable friendship and flirting that had possessed them just a day ago. But he was paralyzed with pain. He couldn't say what needed to be said to change it.
They got to the train station. Matthew got out of the car and Mary followed.
"I'm fine from here," He said to her, "You don't have to see me off."
Mary gulped and nodded.
"Look I'm sorry," she began, "I didn't mean to offend you or make you uncomfortable. I didn't mean to ruin our friendship- I just can't-"
Matthew shook his head and bit his lip, trying to hold it back. But he couldn't.
"Mary, you aren't the only person who has been hurt before," He said, his own pain lacing his words.
She nodded, again, her head still forward.
"A year ago, my fiancée died of a really horrible disease," Matthew said, reliving the past, watching it dance before his eyes, "It was all my fault. I've just started figuring out how to live with that. How to live with that pain. But I was willing to open myself to the risk of falling for you, to whatever risk you might pose to my reputation, to whatever being with you might bring. I was willing to open myself up to all of that for you. Why can't you do that too?"
He watched tears form in Mary's eyes again.
"Matthew, don't you see? Didn't you listen to me last night? It's better for both of us this way," Mary said, her voice clearly trying to hold back sobs.
"I don't understand you, Mary," Matthew said.
Mary shuttered out a sob, "I know Matthew, I know. You don't understand me. And that is the reason for all of this."
He looked at her, trying to reason out how she could do this. How she could destroy the easy trust they'd work so hard to find in each over the past week? How she could hurt him while she lamented being hurt herself?
She sniffled, "You should go. You are going to miss your train if you wait longer. Next weekend is the Cannes Film Festival. I'm going and I'm expecting you to be there. My father will arrange the tickets and e-mail you the details."
Of course the Crawley's already had the next phase planned out. He had been planning on going home to New York the next weekend. He was already missing his mother and William. But now it appeared he would be staying in Europe a week longer.
"Well good-bye, Mary," He said, putting a hand on his suitcase that the driver had gotten out for him.
She was glancing over her shoulder to where a few giggling girls had their iPhones out, taking pictures of them.
"Crap, do you think they saw me crying?" Mary asked.
"Maybe they'll think that it's because you will miss me too much," Matthew suggested.
He watched her pause for a moment, thinking through the situation, before she launched herself at him. Her lips were on his and it still felt like coming home. He didn't wanted to cherish this feeling, her warmth, but he did. He knew it was just acting. It was just for the cameras, but he relished her kiss none-the-less. And he hated himself for it.
"Good bye, Matthew," She said, as she pulled away, offering him a tiny smile.
Check out some pictures and coverage from the current Cannes Festival if you want to get excited for the next chapters :)