Work Text:
“Absolutely not.” I stopped as suddenly as I could in my five inch stilettos without losing my balance, my frown deepening as my husband turned to face me.
“Shortbread,” he smiled, the one I knew only I got to see. It was heart-breaking, pearlescent. But the thing that made it different to his other smiles? This one was genuine. This one was happy . He took my hand, chuckling as I yanked it out of his grasp. “Please don't do this here.”
I didn't deign to give him an answer, wondering if I dared to attempt a step backwards in these shoes. Why did I think they were a good idea, again?
Sighing, he stepped closer, until I could feel his breath stir the top of my hair. He hooked a finger under my chin, forcing me to look at him. Petulantly, I screwed my eyes shut. That was my second mistake that evening. First the heels, now-
Damn him, but he knew I was unable to resist him when he kissed me like that. My eyes fluttered open, immediately meeting his soft grey eyes. Thy beauty hath made me effeminate, and in my temper soften’d valour’s steel . Although it had no relation to his eyes in the slightest, that line from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet always made me think of my Romeo… I could literally see the cold, hard steel melt into something kinder and more loving when he looked at me sometimes. Still, it seems like a bit of a tenuous link. Maybe it was because I was the only one whom he looked at like that. The only one he smiled at like that. The only one he-
“Please?” he murmured, not waiting for a reply before pulling me towards the hall. It was all I could do not to fall over, which I would have been tempted to do just to spite him if I hadn't thought he would catch me before I could kiss the concrete.
The only one he ever says ‘please’ to.
It was one evening, in a town where I'd grown up. I knew the people, knew their backwards ideals. Unfortunately, I also knew the mask I'd have to dust off and wear tonight. Resigned to my fate, I allowed my husband to wrap an arm around my waist as he escorted me into the building it had once been my dearest wish to raze to the ground. I winked at him when he glanced at me, pouting my lips slightly. If he wanted me here, fine - but he wasn't getting Dallas Costa. Dallas Townsend had returned to her hometown, and I hoped that they weren't ready for her.
If I got to cause a little chaos, how bad could the evening be?
The evening was terrible, and going downhill more rapidly than a rollercoaster heading for the heart of Hell.
For starters, despite knowing everyone at the annual debutante ball which had marked my first encounter with my now-husband, I had never felt more distant from them. I suppose back in Potomac I was able to romanticise them somewhat, and glorify my childhood. I had certainly acknowledged how backwards and claustrophobic their society was; how could I do anything but when I had suffered so much as a result of it? But now, after having seen barely any of them for a year, they acted as if I had grown three extra heads - and perhaps had burnt their manor to the ground too, for good measure. Although almost all the men had danced with me at a variety of functions, many from as long ago as when I was three and their wives would sit me on their knees and coo in my ear, that was forgotten. Everyone either shuddered away from Mr. and Mrs. Costa as if we were sin incarnate, or practically kissed the ground upon which we stepped.
“Really,” I whispered to Romeo, “how do they expect me to curtsy back in these heels?” He snorted, a small smile quirking up the corner of his mouth. Ice prince indeed.
It was with no small amount of amusement that I noticed the curtain which had been drawn along the back of the shallow stage in previous years had been forgone this year in favour of - shock horror - admitting that the room opened directly into the outdoors. Following my gaze (and probably expecting it to be locked onto a plate of those to die for shortbread biscuits which had first earnt me my nickname), my husband let out a humourless laugh. “It seems we left our mark, Sweetheart.”
I glared at him. “ You left our mark.” He held his hands up in mock surrender, a gesture made insincere by the barely concealed grin he directed at me as he chewed his gum. We'd been over this, before - how unfair it was that he'd trapped me into marriage, how demeaning it had been and still was when someone brought it up. Even though it was long forgotten - not forgiven, but carefully, meticulously forgotten - buried beneath love and sex, I wasn't above bringing it up every now and again. Hey, a girl can be petty. It was part of what he loved about me, I was sure.
We lapsed into a comfort silence, hands languidly intertwined beneath the table. I'm sure we looked a right pair - him, scowling frostily at any men who would have dared to request my hand in a dance, and me, glowering at any of the simpering debutantes who strayed a tad too close, obviously eager for a taste of Costa. Well, I'd happily give them a piece of Costa, just not the one they were after.
“Whilst I'd love to watch you unleash your wrath upon this backwater corner of the U.S. of A, unless you want to cause a scandal at this ball for the second year running, maybe we should dance.” I blinked at him in confusion, momentarily distracted from attempting to kill that girl with my gaze. She'd been eyeing my husband for the better part of the hour, and had fluttered her fan flirtily in his direction one too many times. Seriously, we may all heir from companies 200 years old or more but we needn’t act as if we were from then too. A fan? Who does she think she is?
“Who does she think she is?” I repeated out loud, watching furiously as she openly stared at Romeo. I couldn't blame her - it was odd to see masterpieces out of the museum, yet here he and I both were - but it was bad form to lust so openly over a married man.
Romeo stood, offering me his arm. “Whilst I'm sure you know-”
He was right, her name was Caroline Edelin and she was new money, which only mattered as it meant that she had no right to be so awful as she didn't exactly learn the behaviour from her parents like the rest of us-
“-I would rather know whether or not you will do me the honour of dancing with me.” He raised a single eyebrow, daring me to deny his request.
Smiling blandly - politely - in a way I knew made him see red, I accepted his hand and stood up. It's a good thing he was such a good dancer - these new heels were killing me. I would have more blisters than there were books in our home, and that was saying something. It was all I could think about, and it had been taking all my willpower not to complain about them.
I know - self control. Go me.
“It's been a while, Husband.”
He didn't deign to reply, and I wondered if he recalled the last time he danced with me. Whilst I loved it, it had become somewhat of a sore point between us; before we fully… understood each other, he'd labelled my dancing ‘provocative’, and ‘indecent’, even going so far as to suggest I had experience as a prostitute despite knowing me to have been virginal at the time. The last time we danced together had been during our honeymoon do-over, when I had barely convinced Rom to slow-dance with me. We had been on the balcony, admiring the breathtaking view after the privately catered meal. Through the open door which spilled soft light, we could faintly hear the lilting melody of Einaudi, as rendered by the classical musician Romeo had hired to soundtrack our evening. I still remembered the breeze which tangled my hair and fluttered my skirt…
It had been magical. And Romeo had looked as if he couldn't escape quickly enough.
So, I was surprised, and perhaps a little… Offended? Confused? Overall, I was more scared that this was going to turn out to be a huge joke at my expense than Frankie was willing to burn this place down, or die trying.
Frankie had stashed matches in one of her pockets tonight.
“Chin up, Shortbread,” Romeo caught my eyes, easing me into a firm ballroom hold. Well, truth be told, he held me a little bit closer than was correct or proper. I should have taken him up on that offer to buy this place for me so I could demolish it. Part of me wondered whether he'd be willing to revisit the conversation. Although he'd probably prefer it without what had followed immediately afterwards.
The talent of waltzing was wasted on a man who seemed so resolute to detest it. Damn him, but he made my heart hammer at what was almost definitely a lethal pace. I certainly felt ready to drop dead, and drape gloriously in his arms. People would praise him all the more as the epitome of the perfect husband if I fainted dead away in his arms, though, so I would have to come up with another way to repay him for the emotional torture he was inflicting upon me. My nerves felt pulled taut enough to snap, still not convinced that Romeo wasn't about to release me and reveal some cruel twist.
“What has you frowning like that? I'll kill any man who has upset you,” Romeo growled, twirling us about the dance floor. I couldn't help but notice that many of the couples had removed themselves to the roles of observers; even the couples that remained hugged the fringes of the space. We were as good as alone in the centre of the room.
Pulling out the Dallas Pout - which I knew for a fact drove people crazy in a good way - I answered, “You’d catch me if I swooned.”
He had the audacity to laugh. Loudly. I loved the sound, and it made me more miserable. “Is that not a good thing? We wouldn't want you to hit your pretty little head. I heard there's a brain in there to damage, after all.”
“You'll pay for that, later,” I hissed. I wasn't really angry at him, but if he worried that I was, all the better. The medicine doesn't taste as good as it smells, hmm, Honey?
Although he winked, murmuring, “Oh, I'm counting on it,” in my ear, I could tell I'd gotten to him. Good.
Eventually, the song ended, and we escaped to the gardens before anyone could trap us in conversation. We ended up in the rose garden which had hosted our first rendezvous, to my wry surprise. Seeing as Rom had been the one doing the leading, he couldn't have been shocked. God, did he want me to twist an ankle, dragging me along like a stuffed toy behind a toddler? I was tempted to fake it, just to make him show me some sympathy. Obviously, the fact that I would have to be carried back to the assembly in his strong, warm arms held absolutely zero appeal to me…
“What did I do wrong?” My husband's voice was soft and begging. The power I held over him was heady, and the only reason that feeling wasn't vaguely sickening was because I knew he held equal power over me.
I wanted to make him writhe. But I also knew that keeping him in suspense wasn't the best way to ensure his attentions. Keeping him in guilt , though, was. “You don't like dancing.”
“What?” He dropped my hand. The night air was biting, the chill exacerbated by the thin fabric of my dress. And these heels …
I stared at him. “I love dancing. You hate it. I don't trust your intentions are as pure and simple as enjoying a twirl around the ballroom with your wife.”
“Mrs. Costa!” He feigned hurt, clutching a hand to his heart. If only the world could see him now - they'd have to eat all their Ice Prince headlines. But, of course, it couldn't last. Flatly, he said, “I'd rather not have to spring my wife from jail, and for murder no less.” As if as an afterthought, he added, “The paparazzi would have a field day.”
I didn't reply, waiting him out. We'd played this game before, and he always flinched first. He always had, although I'd long since gathered that he wasn't used to doing so. Dallas Costa never lost when it came to stubbornness and daring. Finally, he relented. I didn't bother trying to hide my smug grin.
“I’m sorry, Dallas. Whatever it is I did… I’m sorry. I'm sorry I dragged you here, and I'm sorry I thought you might need the closure of it. I'm sorry I didn't tell you this is what we were doing before we arrived, I'm sorry I thought you'd refuse to come. I'm sorry that I asked you to dance.” He ran his hand through his hair, unable to meet my eye. I felt the familiar desire to cry pressing on my soul, my heart, but was unable to release it as usual. “I was trying to make you feel better. I didn't realise you still trusted me so little.”
Instantly, I felt bad. Because I did trust him. It was my experiences and lack of naivety which led me to believe that anyone doing something nice for me had an ulterior motive. “If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't have danced with you. I would have made up some excuse. You know me well enough to believe that, at least.”
“You danced with me the first time we met,” he pointed out. Lord help me, I could drown in his eyes. In the wicked, heavenly mouth which made a good effort of mimicking my trade-mark pout. Romeo was a better actor than me, but even I could see it for what it was. A façade.
Suddenly, the lack of contact between us formed a gaping chasm. Instinctively, I threw myself at him, burying my face in his chest and crushing myself to him too tightly. His arms held me to him, and I breathed a sigh of relief, not realising until I did so how much I feared him pushing me away. “I'm older now. Wiser. And I would have refused you, but I was too curious, too certain I would get something out of it.” I laughed. It sounded slightly hysterical. “At the very least, I was certain to inspire envy and admiration. Two things every goddess should aspire to.”
“Well, then, Goddess.” His tone took on a dangerous tone. “Allow me to show you just how thoroughly I worship at that altar of yours.”
Hearing Romeo's promise for the threat it was, I leant back, looking up at him. “I thought that some of the waiters came here to smoke.”
“All part of the web of lies, Shortbread,” he breathed in my ear. “You were right when you told me no one would find us here, last year.”
“What?” I couldn’t help it, regretting the single syllable as soon as it was exclaimed. He stared at me unapologetically, the jerk. He was lucky I loved him, and I told him as much. He flicked my nose, laughing deep in his chest.
“Perhaps we should take this back to the hotel suite,” he suggested, “Unless you would rather stay and finish another dance. Or another tray of shortbread.”
“As much as I would love to-” And I really, really did want to- “It seems we have somewhere to be. Plus, I'm freezing, and these shoes are going to leave me unable to do anything but crawl for the rest of my extravagant life.”
“Poor thing.” Romeo shrugged off his jacket, draping it over my shoulders. I made no attempt to conceal how I breathed in his scent from it, delighting in the way his gaze sharpened as he noted the action, although I hadn't done it by design. Or at least, it wasn't particularly premeditated.
I shrieked as he scooped me up in one smooth movement, wrapping my arms around his neck. I kissed him, and would have preferred to do so for longer, except that I preferred not to be dropped more. Depressingly, he was liable to trip in the unfamiliar and dark gardens if I distracted him. “Whatever will people say?” I asked, not really caring. People always talked, and always would. We may as well give them something true to gossip over, rather than something that was pure speculation and outright fabrications and lies. Anyway, we had vanished into the gardens, and after dancing… Surely, it would appear to be the same play as last time, only without an audience.
“That you sprained your ankle in those ridiculous shoes, and that your gallant husband came to your rescue.” He quirked an eyebrow, smiling teasingly, and I knew that he would have sketched a mocking bow if he hadn't been cradling me in his arms.
Snug in his embrace, I whispered back rather smugly, “The only problem with that plan is that Dallas Townsend practically crawled from the womb in stilettos, with a full face of make-up, and with pearls and diamonds draped around her throat.”
“It's a good thing that I don't see a Miss Townsend, then.” Romeo replied. “All I see is a Mrs. Costa.”
He paused, just out of sight of the hall. Currently, we were hidden by some sort of hedge, but the wide entrance (where we had made our grand entrance through the curtain last year) was a mere two or three metres away.
I kissed Romeo chastely again. “Well, I can't find any holes in your faultless logic.” Sharing smiles between us, we braved the stares of the gathered once more. This time, though, we left immediately. Having each other’s company was enough.