Author's Note: Just an aside. I looked up the spelling of fiancé. Apparently a woman engaged to a man is his fiancée, but a man engaged to a woman is her fiancé. So, I went back and tried to fix it...let me know if I missed any? (And, er, it's now a dead giveaway when Duo refers to his fiancés.)
Duo's POV
The Wedding Planner Part 10
My Side of the Story
I was half-tempted to stop in the hallway outside of the lounge after Yuy unceremoniously told me to leave; but frankly, the lovers' spat that was about to take place was not my concern. It might've been my fault, somewhat, but it wasn't my concern.
And honestly, I didn't think it was my fault, really. I had no idea Yuy would get home nearly a week early, or I would've put a lot of miles between me and the Peacecraft estate that evening. While I enjoyed baiting the man, that diversion required his presence. When I was alone with Relena, I stuck to my job.
Don't get me wrong. I was polite and even friendly with the pretty young bride-to-be. But I didn't flirt when there was no audience to torment. I had no intention of really trespassing on the territory of a guy I knew would love nothing more than to see me die horribly. (I'm not a fool...I could read his reactions like a book.)
That didn't mean that I wasn't friendly to Relena. She was a nice girl, most of the time, in spite of some attitudes that appalled me. For instance, who'd have thought she was fixated on the color pink? I considered it a major coup that I persuaded her to choose a deep rose color for her bridesmaids. Not everyone can get away with wearing "powder puff pink". But a darker shade can be downright flattering to complexions that would blanch next to pale pink.
Other than that little stumbling block, which we overcame in the first two sessions, things went quite smoothly. Relena was strong-willed, and very set on what she wanted for her wedding, but I'd worked with more difficult brides in my time. I was usually able to coax her into considering alternatives, if what she wanted was unreasonable. It didn't mean she changed her mind...but at least she let me show her other options.
And when Yuy arrived on the scene, that's exactly what I was doing. After a long day of walking the aisles of literally dozens of fabric shops, Relena and I were both footsore and weary. She insisted I stay for dinner and dessert before driving back to the city, and we took our tea into the lounge so we could watch the videos. So, you see, there was a truly innocent explanation for the way Yuy found us. And if he hadn't gotten so hostile, I might've shared that bit of information with him. But, once again, he pissed me off.
~*~
Checking my speedometer, I realized I'd better back off a bit on the accelerator, or I'd have a speeding ticket on top of a rotten ending to a very long day. So I slowed down and turned off at the next exit, heading for my favorite little getaway.
The street I turned onto ran parallel to the ocean, and eventually led to a secluded stretch of beach, with scattered houses and dunes. I turned off the paved road at a familiar real estate sign, heading down a winding dirt lane, and finally pulling up in front of a quaint cottage.
It was almost sunset, and I hopped out of the Jag and pulled off my shoes again, tossing them in the back seat with my discarded coat, before walking around the house to the beach just behind it. Savoring the feel of sand shifting under my feet, I headed for the water, letting the stress of the unpleasant encounter with Yuy slip away under the relaxing effects of the sea breeze and the crashing waves.
I stopped where the waves lapped up onto the beach, flattening and spreading, and just barely washing over my feet. Did I mention I love the ocean?
And not just the ocean. I looked back at the cottage, drinking in the sight of the whitewashed porch and the pale grey shutters. It wasn't a big place, but it was perfectly positioned on the edge of the beach, high enough to avoid storm damage, yet close enough that you could step from the porch right onto the sand. The shingled siding gave it a rustic look, while the lattice trim under the porch added a touch of class. I could easily imagine stepping out that screen door every morning to watch the sun burn through the sea mist.
I'd actually met with the realtor twice about the place, but there was no way I could afford it on my salary.
That hadn't discouraged the realtor, who took me on not one, but two walk-throughs, and told me to feel free to come back any time for another look. I'd wanted to cry when I saw the wide plank flooring, under positively quaint throw rugs. The damned place felt like home. I loved everything about it, from the drafty attic to the squeaky steps on the stairs. It broke my heart to admit I couldn't make a respectable offer.
Yet here I was again, my visits now numbering in the double-digits. And "my" cottage was still on the market, still closed up and silent...waiting for someone to fall in love with it...someone who could afford the cost.
You don't know how close I came to asking Quatre to front me the money. I'd have worked for free the rest of my life to be able to call that place my own. But after all he'd done for me, I couldn't bring myself to ask such a huge favor. I already owed him too much.
The ironic part was that even knowing the place would never be mine, I still felt like it was home, and I still came that way whenever I needed to clear my head and restore my perspective. And every time I passed the real estate sign, I breathed a sigh of relief that the cottage hadn't been sold.
Sooner or later, it would be, and I'd get my heart broken again. But, well, I was more or less used to that. It was the story of my life, as they say. And, as with most of the heartaches in my life, I'd deal with it when the time came, and not a moment sooner.
I must have spent longer than I realized standing there in the waves, letting my stress slip quietly away, because it was nearly dark when I finally headed back up towards the car. I tapped the weathered "for sale" sign by the porch on my way past, in a familiar ritual, hoping I'd stumble upon a windfall that would let me make the down payment before someone else snapped up my dream house.
"Wait for me," I whispered.
The sign swung slowly back and forth, the rusty hooks making a soft squeaking noise, as if to reply, and I smiled to myself as I hopped in the Jag.
~*~
I was almost back to the main road when the car phone rang, and I hit the speaker button. "Maxwell here."
Quatre's voice came through the speakers, tinny and distant. "Where are you, Duo?"
"On my way back from the Peacecraft estate. Why?"
"D'you know what time it is?"
I glanced at the clock on the dash. "Uh, almost nine."
"And you just left?"
I could hear the worry in his voice. "What's the problem, Q-man? Does the Jag turn into a pumpkin at ten?"
There was a chuckle on the line. "No-- We just missed you here."
I heard background noise that was a bit difficult to decipher. "Where are you, Quat?"
"The Circus."
"Ohhhh," I crooned knowingly. "Did ya hook up with the hot bartender yet?"
"Duo--!"
"Dare I ask what you're drinking tonight?"
Quatre chuckled, and then I heard a muffled sound and he gave a small gasp. "Ah...um...just my usual," he said fumblingly.
"Right," I drawled knowingly. "Finally made some progress with Trowa, didn't you?"
"Um...mmm...yeah."
Okay. Quatre was seriously distracted. And it didn't take a genius to figure out by whom. Much as I loved the guy, I didn't want to listen to him make out with his recently-acquired boyfriend. And yeah, it was a case of sour grapes...seemed like everyone but me was getting some. "Ah, well, as enjoyable as this obscene phone call is, I'm gonna hang up now, Quatre."
"Mmm...okay," came a very distracted voice.
I hit the off switch and sighed, pulling back onto the highway. The calm I'd left the cottage with was dissipating faster than usual, to be replaced with a restless feeling I knew well. It was the kind of feeling that had gotten me into trouble on more than one occasion.
Part of me wanted to drive downtown and find a smoke-filled, sweaty dance club to see what action I could scare up...and fuck the promise I'd made to Quatre about no drinking.
But then the sensible part...the part that was in debt to the sweet blonde kid forever...kicked in, and I decided to head back to my apartment and work on the Peacecraft-Yuy wedding. Besides, the sooner I finished, the sooner I'd be rid of the scowling, blue-eyed guy who was beginning to haunt my nightmares.
TBC...
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