Who: Raoul!Liam and Christine!Sam What: A meeting and a-- well, you'll just have to read. Where: A high end boutique in Vegas to a secret location When: Today! Warnings/Rating: None, really
Sam’s original instinct was to tell the driver to go to fucking hell.
It was the middle of the day, and she had gone back to Neil’s, knowing he’d be at work and intending to wait him out, like she’d promised on the phone. She’d been right, and when she’d let herself into the Aria suite it had been pindrop quiet. She’d missed the place, which she hated to admit. The quiet, the elegance, it was like the things she liked to weld, all fluid and understated, and that was without even considering the view. She’d grabbed a beer from the fridge, and she’d turned Bellini’s Norma on the suite’s crystal clear sound system. The opera, which would have driven her fucking crazy a month earlier, soothed her now, and she dropped onto the couch and closed her eyes.
She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t been feeling weird for the past two days. Not a good weird, either, but she was trying to shove it away and cast it aside. The stress from the door, combined with her feelings for Neil, mingled with Iris getting arrested? It was enough to drive anyone fucking batty. Screw this, she decided after a few minutes, and she climbed the stairs to her room and found her stash, the one she’d kept after leaving Clarissa. Two pills later, she was wandering around Neil’s bedroom and appropriating one of his shirts - gray, and thin and long enough to be a micro-dress on her.
A stolen belt later, she had slipped on her combat boots and brushed her hair free of its pigtails, and she was singing along with the opera like she’d known it all her life. Oh, she was still Sam, but there was a fair share of Christine peeking through, and when the driver knocked on the door, insisting she come with him to where Raoul awaited her, she couldn’t resist.
Oh, Sam tried, but it was fucking futile.
The car, large and impressive, drove her to some ridiculously expensive boutique on the Strip, and she thanked the driver politely before making her way inside in Neil’s appropriated shirt-dress, smelling like his cologne and wondering what the fuck she was even doing there.
Raoul, as that’s who he truly was though he wore Liam around like a fine suit, was living up the life in Las Vegas. Liam lived a simple life by choice, though he had the money due to his many books to live larger and better. But Raoul was not one who enjoyed simplicity; he preferred things to be grand and lavish, to live a life worthy of his station, and Liam’s bank account made that more than a little possible.
The boutique was upscale and pretentious, and he had the women within bustling around finding this and that as he surveyed his appearance in the large mirror in front of him. Where Liam was prone to several days worth of beard, his hair in need of a cut last month, Raoul was well groomed. Clean shaven and his hair freshly cut, even his nails gleamed with what was evidently a manicure. “Can we try this one in the grey, please?” he asked, peeling off the brown suit coat he had donned and holding it out, arm suspended in mid-air as he waited for one of the saleswomen to do as he asked. It was during this time that he caught sight of Sam standing in the doorway of the boutique.
Jacket forgotten, it dropped into the hands of one of the women as he stepped down from the elevated platform in front of the mirror and strode purposefully towards Sam, a welcome and warm smile on his lips. “I’m glad you decided to come, Samantha,” Raoul said, all warmth in his expression and eyes, something strange about it on Liam’s face. Liam wasn’t a stranger to smiles, but he was to all that gregarious warmth.
Sam was confused, which was pretty fucking evident in her features as she actually reached a hand out in greeting when Liam, no Raoul neared her. She wasn’t really sure she had decided to come, but she was there, wasn’t she? She looked around the boutique, strangely interested in the fine fabrics all around them, and she did a half circle, strangely elegant movements, before facing Raoul once more. “I shouldn’t have come,” she said, and she frowned at the formality of it, the statement, though she didn’t edit or change it. “I wanted to know if you’d change your mind,” she added, because, yeah, ok, that felt familiar. More familiar than the desire to touch the silky fabric that hung on a nearby rack. She had Christine’s wonderment in her eyes, as if she was seeing something previously not experienced. She was, really, Christine, Sam, both of them. Sam hadn’t stepped in a boutique in her fucking life, and such things didn’t exist in Christine’s time.
As she reached her hand out, Raoul was quick to take it, fingers gripped lightly in his own as he bowed over her hand, pressing her knuckles to his lips for a brief moment before once again giving her her freedom back. He saw the way her gaze wandered, and as he stepped back, hands clasped behind him, his smile took on a knowing note when she finally faced him again. “Shouldn’t and didn’t are an ocean apart, I fear, because here you stand, where you claim you shouldn’t be.” A soft laugh escaped him at her question, and he answered with a tilt of his head before sidestepping to a display of gowns, cut for the summer in flowing fabrics sure to be cool against the heat of the Las Vegas desert. “Change my mind about...?” he inquired as he pulled one dress from the display and stepped closer, holding it out as though to get an idea of what it would look like upon her. “I’m horrible at making these decisions on my own, but I feel you would look rather striking in this.”
Sam looked down at her hand, like it would do a trick or something when he gave it back to her, and she just refrained from rubbing it against her hip, against the fabric of Neil’s stolen shirt. “About giving Liam control back,” she said, because, yeah, that’s what this was about. Right. Her gaze followed his progress to the dresses, and she stepped forward and reached out a long arm and ran her fingers along the one he held. It was fucking gorgeous. Lovely, and she wondered what it would feel to wear something like that. But, no, fuck, and no, and she stepped back and tried to will whatever the fuck was happening to stop. “Listen, it’s not right,” she said, without raising her voice, because there were people watching, and when the fuck had she started caring about that shit? Right, no, she didn’t. “It’s not fucking right,” she said, louder, yes, better. And, ok, so maybe she glanced back at the dress, maybe.
“Who’s to say what’s right and what isn’t right? I don’t recall being given a rule book when all of this started, and if he’s weak enough to relinquish control, then who am I to refuse?” He could see the interest in her eyes as her fingers skimmed the fabric, and that was enough interest for him to push forward. Pulling the dress back away, he glanced over towards one of the saleswomen hovering close by, holding the garment out to her. “This in her size, please. And whatever else you think might look good with it.” Hands emptied, Raoul turned back to Sam and gave her a long look, tugging at the sleeves of the stark white shirt he wore, pulling them back to their home at his wrists. “And I’ll thank you now not to draw their attention. They don’t know our situation, and it would spare us all awkward conversations if you could keep your questions to an appropriate level.”
Sam was about to argue right and wrong, but then he was asking for the dress and, admittedly, she wanted the dress. It didn’t make any fucking sense, and she tried to tell herself she didn’t want it, that she wasn’t Christine, that she didn’t even like dresses. But the saleswoman began leading the way to a dressing room, and Sam followed without any real thought, almost like an irresistible compulsion. He was turning his sleeves up then, and she slowed to hear his voice, his chastisement, and she stopped in the middle of the boutique and quirked a brow, almost herself for a moment. “I’ll be as loud as I fucking want,” she said and, yeah, that felt better, but the fire was gone a second later, and she looked around, worried as the employees and shoppers began to whisper behind their hands. The saleswoman attempted to soothe it over by offering to lead them both to the fitting area, but Sam stayed precisely where she was.
At Sam’s outburst, Raoul merely gave her a look, brows lifted as if to say I do hope that was worth it, before he was giving a nod of his head to the saleswoman and her offer. “She’s a lively one,” he said by way of explanation before moving close to Sam, too close, a long, elegant arm winding its way around her waist as he began to lead them to the dressing area. The gesture was familiar, almost affectionate, and before they had gone too far, he turned to look back at their saleswoman once more. “Perhaps a glass of ! wine for myself and the lady?” he requested, and then Raoul’s attention was once more fully on Sam.
“If you want to yell at me, please do so in private,” he said quietly as he led the way towards the back of the boutique, a curtained area and plush couches for resting upon decorating the intimate area.
Sam would have shoved him off, had she been purely Sam. But she wasn’t, and Christine was accustomed to the polite rules of her time, so Sam merely smiled in apology at the saleswoman, and she glared at Raoul a moment later. But, she didn’t continue to make a scene, and she didn’t refute the request for wine. Wine would help. Sam thought booze would help with fucking everything, and this was definitely a drinking moment. She wasn’t sure what she wanted, and confusion was a new thing for her. Sure, she’d been confused about her feelings lately, but this wasn’t that, this was like some terrible internal war that she was afraid she would lose.
She moved away once they were in the private area, even as the saleswoman returned with the wine. She took the stem of the glass between her fingers, and she took a long (unladylike) swallow, as she watched the dress get hung in a dressing room for her. She wasn’t going to try that fucking thing on, she decided, even as she finished off the wine and moved forward. Fuck.
There was nothing anxious or uptight about Raoul as he sat down on the plush couch, sipping at the wine that was offered to him as he watched her move about the private area that was theirs for the time being. “You ought to try the dress on,” Raoul advised her with a lift of his glass, the wine only half gone with how slow he drank and how he savoured the different notes. “I do hate returning things due to them fitting poorly, and I truly think it will look marvelous on you.” His smile was easy and warm as he shifted, crossing one leg over the other and letting one manicured hand rest upon his bent knee. “Is it so bad, Samantha, having me around? Be honest, please.”
She needed another glass of wine, and she waved the attendant over and swallowed down another glass. The woman gave Raoul a warning look, wanting to ensure he could control the unpredictable woman in the boutique, but Sam didn’t care about that. “Will you talk to me if I try it on?” she asked, willing to barter. She was here, right, and she might as well try to make him see reasons. And if she tried the dress on, so what? It’s not like it was any big fucking admission of anything. Part of her realized she should find a phone and call someone, and that she should do it now, while she was still herself enough to manage it, but fuck that, and another wine glass later she ducked into the dressing room, without letting him respond, anticipating consent.
The dress truly was marvellous, and maybe putting in on was a real shit idea, because she stared in the mirror a few minutes and smoothed it down over the soft curves of her hips. She even sighed, which was just wrong, and she kicked off her combat boots and stepped out into the sitting area, the evening gown baring her shoulders and trailing behind her just a touch. “You can’t do this,” she said, but there was a tremulousness to her voice, more Christine than Sam, more uncertainty than conviction. He was Raoul; of course he could do this.
“Of course I’ll talk to you,” he answered without hesitation, and there was a moment of triumph when she disappeared into the dressing room moments later, the dress in hand. Finishing off his first glass of wine a moment later, the glass was set aside just as she emerged again from the dressing area, and for a long moment, Raoul said nothing, words lost to him.
She was a vision, that was for sure, with the bared shoulders and the hem that just brushed the ground, and he couldn’t help the way he stared. It was done so not in a way of a man sizing up a woman that he wanted to bed, but in an appreciative manner that was full of respect and adoration. “Breathtaking,” he said softly, his voice holding a certain reverence as he stepped closer towards her, daring to reach out and push a bit of her hair over her shoulder, away from the bare collar bones. “And I most certainly can do this, I assure you. Money, even here, is no issue, and I would empty my pockets if it would make you happy.” He was so Raoul then, there wasn’t a breath of Liam visible as curious fingers dared to touch her arm, meeting her gaze a moment later. “You are beautiful. Truly, beautiful,” and whether he said it to Sam or Christine was unknown, for to him, there was no difference. Different sides of the same person, for he knew that deep within, his Christine lived there, and both women would be respected and adored.
She stood still for the compliments, for the touch of his hand, for the reverent brush of his fingers. It wasn’t really clear who wanted the compliments, but what woman didn’t? Well, little girl, really, since she played at being so much older than she was, but no, it wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t one or the other, and that’s what made it so hard for Sam to fight past it, because it was still her, even if it wasn’t. “I’m not Christine,” she said, unwittingly addressing his thoughts, because she wasn’t. Maybe something had gotten all screwed up, but she was still her. She didn’t look like the soprano, and she didn’t act like her, and she wasn’t her. “You’re in love with Christine, and I’m not Christine,” she added, with more strength. “Or is it a game?” she asked. “Between you and Erik, and it doesn’t matter who you’re fighting over?” Because she’d always suspected that, hadn’t she? And this development of Christine’s tastes, her tremulous fear, that didn’t change that.
The arguments she brought up were valid, Raoul knew, but that didn’t mean there was any truth to him from his perspective. Those gentle fingers that touched her arm became somewhat insistent as he urged her towards the couch to sit, where they might have some comfort while they spoke. “You are not Christine, but yet you are in the same breath. She lives within you, is part of you even now, and I dare you to say differently and be honest about it.” Sitting, Raoul’s gaze became distant, his brow furrowing together as he thought on how to respond to her second question. It wasn’t a game, and he knew that, for he truly loved Christine. Opera Ghost or no, his feelings would not change, had not changed since they were small children and he fetched her scarf from the sea.
“Has there ever been something in your world, Samantha, that you were terrified of losing?” Raoul finally asked, turning honest blue eyes towards her, something serene and quiet resting there.
She went when his fingers became insistent, not even thinking of resisting, as if it wasn’t done, and she took a seat and smoothed the dress around her legs as if she’d worn a thousand such garments in her life. She couldn’t argue about Christine, though she wished she could. She knew she was not entirely herself, knew she would not be sitting here calmly having this conversation as she was. “That doesn’t mean I’m her,” she countered, because it was the only argument she had. “I have things I want, things I care about, and they aren’t the things she wants and cares about,” she explained, though the argument sounded weak to her own ears. But what was she supposed to do? Tell him about Neil? Not when it was just all confused with Erik, and when she thought he was all confused with Erik, whether he admitted it or not.
His question threw her off, and honey-blond curls tumbled over her shoulder as she thought about it. “No, not until recently,” she admitted. She had never worried about losing her family, never worried about anything but herself until recently, which she definitely blamed on Christine’s fucking influence.
“And Liam and myself do not have the same wants and cares, but that does not mean we do not exist in the same body, as it were. I don’t think I explain myself well, but none of us are alone in this world. And I think it’s a remarkable thing to be able to experience.” His back rested against the cushions of the couch, his posture at ease even if a certain amount of tension pulled at his face, straining his neck and the lines of his shoulders. “And I am terrified daily that I will wake up some morn and find her gone,” Raoul finally said, his voice soft, pitched low just for her. Blue eyes closed and he reached up to rub the bridge of his nose with one hand.
He was quiet for some time, just the steady sound of his breaths filling the air. “I love her. It is no game that I play but fear. I fear being without her, and these are thoughts I did not entertain until I saw her again that night when she sang that beautiful aria. I was preparing for a life of adventure, of heading north, of exploring and discovering, and then I found her and my life changed.” Raoul opened his eyes once more and let out a long, deflating sigh. “I love her. I want to make her my wife, to have beautiful children with her. To build a family and a life. But I am afraid that it will not happen.”
She was quiet for a very long time after he was done speaking, and when she finally spoke it was with a serious effort to keep herself present and keep Christine - with all her stupid hopes and dreams - from taking over. “If that’s true,” she said, words tight in her throat, because she wanted the things he said for herself. Sam, maybe not with him, but in general, and she’d never wanted anything like that before. Maybe she’d just never admitted it to herself and, definitely, not to anyone else, but it was there, and fuck it all. “If that’s true,” she said, trying to get the words out, “then why the fuck not leave Erik alone? Why risk losing her over your obsession with him? Because that’s what you’re doing,” she told him bluntly, all Sam in the words, if not in anything else.
She stood up, but there was nowhere to go, and so she simply paced without outlet. “I’m not her,” she reminded him, looking over her bare shoulder. “You want all those things, but not with me, and Christine isn’t coming back.” It was bravado, but there it was.
He was ready to counter some of her words, to defend himself against her statements, but her final words, the simple statement that Christine was not coming back, had him quieting, mouth closing tightly over whatever it was he had been about to say. In the moments that followed, Raoul was truly fragile, vulnerable, and he too stood, pushing a hand that shook back through his hair, fingers coming to rest at the back of his neck. Her words stung, a sharp pain that ran through him, that denial of the person he loved more than anything else in the world. And she slapped him with it as though it were a weapon she could use against him.
But Raoul was not weak, he was not one to stand down in the face of a fight. It took only a few moments for his thoughts to gather and he turned towards her then, hand dropping down to his side. “You say she’s not coming back, but I know that you lie. She’s there, listening to me, and it is to her that I speak now.” Raoul squared his shoulders and stepped close to Sam, a warm hand coming to rest on her bare shoulder, blue eyes imploring. “Christine. If you marry me, I promise to leave him alone. I will not speak rudely to him, I will not threaten or fight with him. If you would let me take your hand in marriage, I promise to trust you and any associations you would have with him, so long as it is me you love at the end of the day. Me that you hold in your heart as your husband.” There was warmth in those words, rich and heady, and as he spoke, his fingers trailed down her bare arm, touching fingers against the palm of her hand.
Sam didn’t argue about Christine’s presence, and she didn’t pull away from the hand on her shoulder, even when the vulnerability was dropped and replaced with something different. Whether it was Christine or Sam that paid more attention to the words, that was questionable, but the consideration was the same in the end. He was offering what they wanted, wasn’t he? No fucking deaths. No one getting hurt. She could even see Neil, Erik, whatever if she complied. Refusal, what did that mean, though? She didn’t fucking know, and that was totally Sam, the not wanting to know. But she looked back at him with clear eyes, not needing to ask. Because Christine knew Raoul wouldn’t quit, and that knowledge was there, in her eyes as she regarded him.
“And Liam?” she asked, because that seemed important somehow. Not as important, maybe, but important. There was, in her eyes, the reality that she was close to agreeing. So close. “You’ll keep trying, if I don’t let you have her?” she asked, the last line of defense, and the last bit of defense against it.
He could see in her eyes that she was on the cusp, the very edge of agreeing, and that was what he held onto as she turned towards him with those clear eyes that were so different from Christine’s, but the same in a way he could not put words to. “I could never give up on this,” Raoul said honestly, and he grew more brave in his touch, his free hand lifting to let his fingers brush ever so lightly over the soft skin of her cheek. “What kind of man would I be if I let the woman I love drift away from me? And as for Liam...” Raoul trailed off as his hand fell away, glancing off to the side to some point beyond her, his gaze distant.
“We will come to an agreement if time beyond the door continues to be impossible. I will not monopolize his life, but I refuse to be locked away and forgotten as well.” Glancing back towards her, he met her gaze once more. “I am a man of my word. I would not jeopardize my life with Christine.”
“If Neil- Erik- agrees, we can open the door again, if you remain true to your word,” she said, the proverbial noose closing around her throat. It was very much Christine that nodded her assent. “Of course. I will do what you ask,” she agreed, hoping to soften the statement about Neil with her own agreement. Christine was marrying him anyway; after all, what could this hurt? “How would you have us do this?” she asked, Sam shrinking back enough to allow the language to be nearly all Christine. Christine, who felt the gamble had paid off, despite this and how it had turned out. She felt badly for Sam, but not to the extent where she was not glad of peace. She did not want the blood of either of these men on her hands.
“If I do not remain true to my word, then I will accept any punishment that you deem appropriate,” Raoul said with firmness in his words, but all of that was forgotten on the heels of her agreement, and he would have sworn then and there that his very heart took flight. The mention of Erik, of Neil, went largely ignored, for that was not something he would worry about now. Now was the time for plans, for steps taken forward, and the smile that curled his cheeks was true and heartfelt.
“I’ve no need for a ceremony full of pomp and circumstance if you do not,” Raoul said, and he took both of her hands in his own then, lifting them to press a kiss to each, lips brushing the ridge of knuckles. “I have heard talk that there are places here where one can wed in an hour, if you are comfortable with this.” He had no thought of the agreement that would be made, how it would affect the bodies they inhabited, for he felt only as himself.
She wasn’t comfortable with any of it, but there was too much Christine in her for her to say as much. “Anything you wish,” she said, looking down at the dress, and thinking it appropriate. Sam had never pictured a wedding, not a true one. Her own wedding had taken place in the justice of the peace, with her in cutoff jean shorts and a wifebeater, and she didn’t have a very positive feeling about married life in general. Maybe she should tell him she was actually already fucking married, but Christine chased that thought away almost immediately. “Now?” she asked, before she changed her mind, which she would if she had long enough to think it over, to consider Neil and the implications of it. She watched his lips against her knuckles, and she gave him a smile, one lost somewhere between being the woman he knew and someone else entirely.
“Now,” Raoul agreed, and there was nothing that could compete with the brightness of the smile on his face as he turned from her, calling out to the saleswoman that had hovered nearby, ready to wait on them at a moment’s notice. “We’ll take everything here, if you could also find some shoes for my...” Raoul paused then, glancing back towards her with that same warmth in his face. “My bride.” The word was said with reverence, with adoration, and he leaned close to press his lips to her cheek before pulling away, going to retrieve one of the jackets he had tried on, something that complimented his trousers before he turned to face her once more. “I do hope you approve of your groom, even if it isn’t proper attire for a wedding.” And it wasn’t. The slacks were cut to his slender frame, the jacket a modern cut that he wore well, but traditional it was not.
Sam tried not to feel sick, and she wished she could smack him, or knee him, or bitch at everyone that they were fucking insane, but Christine wouldn’t let her, and fuck that bitch anyway, dammit. She got it; she did. Protecting everyone, and that was all Christine really wanted, for the two men she - no for the two men in her life to be safe, to be unharmed, and she was meant to marry Raoul anyway. She didn’t approve of his actions, but this was a good solution, and she smiled and accepted what the saleswomen brought her, slipping her feet into a pair of shoes that matched the gown. “I think you look handsome,” she said, which was true enough. Her problems with Liam had never been in regards to his appearance.
Her words seemed to brighten his smile even more, and as she slipped her feet into the shoes, Raoul approached her once more. “And you beautiful. Let me pay, and we’ll be on our way shortly.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek, brief and gentlemanly, before disappearing around the corner to settle the bill with the saleswoman. Inside, he felt a lightness that he had not felt in some time. This was going to happen, a union between himself and his Christine, and he would hold to the promises made to her. What fault could he think to have in whatever friendship she had with the Opera Ghost when it was he who called her his wife? There would be no complaints, no competition, and perhaps there would finally be peace.
The car was summoned and moments later, Raoul returned to her side, extending a hand to her. “Shall we be off?”
Sam knew what it felt like to be cornered. She had enough collars under her belt to know precisely what that shit felt like, and this was it, and she couldn’t fight it. She could kill Christine for this, but, on the flip side, she got the reason why the other woman was encouraging this, pushing it, forcing it. And the smile Sam gave him was genuine, Christine’s smile, and maybe she didn’t realize that things could be different, the chorus girl who had never known better and who was so very young. She put her hand into Raoul’s, and she nodded. “Yes,” she agreed. She didn’t have the light-heart Raoul did just then. In fact, she knew she would try to break free of this grip as soon as she could manage, though Christine insisted that no, it would ruin everything, and he had agreed. There was too much mixing, too much confusion in her muddied mind, and she went without protest. A wedding. “I will need to collect my things after,” she told him, and perhaps that was an intentional bid for time. No, not perhaps, but it wasn’t writ anywhere on her features.
“After we are married, I assume,” Raoul stated plainly, for that was the only after he could possibly conceive of, even with a makeshift wedding on the horizon. He remembered the grand affairs that weddings were in Parisian society, parties that went on for hours, ceremonies that were long and elaborate affairs, and he felt somewhat free in approaching this union in such a non-traditional manner. The car waited for them outside, the same one that had been sent to fetch her originally, and he released her hand long enough to step forward to open the door for her.
Waiting until she was seated, Raoul slid in beside her and leaned forward towards the driver to speak of their destination. “We wish to be married,” he stated simply, as though this was something that happened every day, though in Vegas, it was likely that it happened every minute. “I have heard of places where we can do this this afternoon. Please, take us to the one you think best.” With directions given, he sat back, reaching for her hand again to give her fingers a tight squeeze.
She squeezed his fingers, but she was looking out the window now, and she didn’t look away. She nodded when he asked if she meant to collect her things once they were wed, and it was as much Sam as Sam could muster just then, that desire. Christine knew it was a terrible idea, going anywhere near Erik- Neil- For her, they were beginning to become one in the same, at least in the capacity of being the same kind of problem on either side of the door. It was a bad idea, but she wanted it too, and she did not push as she ought to have it not occur. He’d said she could see him, given his permission, and she would take that at face value without pressing the issue, lest he become concerned. She trusted him to command the driver, and she watched the scenery pass by. The day seemed overcast, despite the sunshine, and she wondered at it. The car was beautiful, the dress too, and the man at her side was handsome and everything a girl could wish for. Why, then, was she not pleased? Yes, definitely Christine, and she hummed to herself, a soft Aria from memory, without even realizing she was doing it.
With her as quiet as she was during the ride, Raoul kept to his own silence as well, though his thoughts hardly wandered down the same paths as his future bride’s. He thought of nothing in particular, no worries to plague him, no hesitations to wrestle with. Soon, there was just the soft hum filling the air and his thumb stroked the back of her hand in response.
Eventually, the car pulled up outside the Little White Chapel, the driver assuring them that it was one of the most well-known in town, and they would surely be pleased to exchange their vows there. Raoul glanced out the window to the building, something fluttering in his stomach before he released a breath he did not realise he had been holding, looking back towards Christine, for it was her that he saw now, even if it was Sam that was truly there. No words were offered, no whispers of adoration as he opened the door and stepped out, holding his hand out to her to help her from the vehicle. The gaze spoke of the very real fact that he had eyes only for, wanted and loved no one but her.
There was enough Sam present to want to bolt, to want to climb back into the car and threaten the driver with a broken fucking nose if he didn’t gun it. But there wasn’t enough of her to stop it, and she took his hand and let him lead her into the chapel, which was nothing like any wedding she expected or anticipated. The dress was beautiful, the groom was handsome, but she felt like a mouse in a trap, one that needed to be very careful lest the springs release causing the metal to come down on all of them. His money made quick work of the ceremony. Or, perhaps not. Perhaps it took ages, and she simply did not notice the passing of time. Sam screamed, somewhere, but it was in vain, and then it was done and they were told they could kiss. She - Christine - had kissed Raoul more times than she could count on both hands, but it was before everything went wrong, before things had changed and his cruelty had risen to the surface. It didn’t change how she felt on some level, but it was a grown up thing, and not the blind love of the teenager she truly was. She turned her face up to him, and she did not pull away from his lips.
Everything was finally going the way it was meant to, at least to his perspective. He had his wife, and he intended on keeping his promise to her no matter what happened in the days, the weeks, the years that followed. And as she turned his face up to hers, he could feel the warmth of emotions spread through him, tingling through his limbs, and hands lifted slowly to cup her cheeks, leaning down to press his lips to hers in a kiss that was all tenderness and adoration, for that was how he felt for her. But, as a gentleman, he did not let the kiss go as far as he might have preferred, breaking moments later with a smile that lit up his entire face. “I love you,” he whispered, kissing her again briefly before the officiant was making the announcement of their union to the few gathered in the chapel as their witnesses.
They were ushered down the small aisle in a shower of rice, his hand gripping hers tight, eyes never straying from her face for even a breath.
She kissed him back, and she closed her eyes when he whispered his declaration. She would be a good wife to him, she decided, Christine. She would speak to Neil, and she would get his agreement, and the door would be opened. Until then, she would remain with him. Sam would accept it, and this is how it would be. It was as things were meant to be, and if there was something missing, then it was because of Sam’s influence, she thought. And Sam, so tired, just gave the fuck up. She’d fight this shit once she was home, once she was away and could think and do something other than yearn for the kind of love he was expressing and yearn for the fucking dress she wore.
She smiled at him, her fingers wound in his. “Let me collect my things, and I shall meet you at your- our home?”
He had to resist the urge to pinch himself as they stood outside, fingers tangled together, so very close to one another. It didn’t seem real, everything that was happening, but it was, and she was here, as was he, and they were together. “Of course,” Raoul answered, for anything she asked, he would give her without even thinking twice. “Take the car. I shall call a cab for myself, as the driver knows my residence. I shall see you soon?”
She nodded her agreement. “I shall have the driver wait for me,” she assured him, and Sam was all silent agreement, which should have been worrisome. But for Christine, this was a light at the end of a very dangerous tunnel, and she knew he was happy, genuinely happy, and that must bode well for all of them. She would speak with Neil, and Neil would ensure Sam opened the door. It would, in time, be as it should. She nodded at him once more, her expression reassuring. “Husband,” she added, a smile intended to appease on her lips.
The word on her lips warmed something deep within him, and he leaned forward to give her one soft kiss, just at the corner of her lips. “My wife,” Raoul whispered before he pulled away, giving her a long look as though he simply could not get enough of her, and then he stepped away to open the door to the waiting car. This was the edge of new beginnings, she knew, a road that would be smoother than the ones they had travelled in the past. He truly felt as though there was nothing he could not and would not accomplish now that he had her with him, at his side, as his wife.