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mariequitecontrarie · 8 years ago

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Love Beyond the Sea: Chap 21

The Fic: Librarian Belle French is a lactose intolerant American, soon-to-be-Canadian, who loathes the French and is terrified to fly. When her fiancé calls from Paris to confess that he’s in love with another woman, Belle decides to fly to France to confront him. On the plane, she meets Luc d’Or, a charming crook who turns her trip—and her life—upside down. Chapter Summary: At last, Belle has dinner with Victor, while Luc distracts Rubie (and himself) in the hotel bar. Rating: PG-13 | Word Count: 3,514 A/N: It’s been for-freakin’-ever since I updated this story. Last time, we got a little more insight into Rubie, and Ariel pretty much flat out told Belle to face the fact that she’s in love with Luc. Later, Belle and Luc had a little roleplay and dance to help Belle prepare for her makeup dinner with Victor which led to an electric moment. In this chapter, Belle’s confused, Luc’s confused…everyone is just confused. Thanks to my incredible beta @magnoliatattoo and thanks to @rumpledspinster for the pretty banner. {One} {Two} {Three} {Four} {Five} {Six} {Seven} {Eight} {Nine} {Ten} {Eleven} {Twelve} {Thirteen} {Fourteen} {Fifteen} {Sixteen} {Seventeen} {Eighteen} {Nineteen} {Twenty}

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“Cannes is a little bit like French wine. There are certain years that people prefer over others.” – Rob Lowe

Luc He wanted to get drunk. Very drunk. Mind-numbingly, truth-denyingly drunk.

Luc glared at the mahogany-lined walls of the smoky hotel bar, wishing he could peer through the thick wood into the dining room next door. Rubie Lupis and he were sitting at a cozy corner table, she nursing a glass of champagne while he drowned his frustrations in shots of whisky. He eyed one of the other occupied tables in the center of the room with a view into the hotel restaurant, willing the patrons draped over their martinis to leave. Perhaps he might see Belle if she decided to dance with Victor as he’d advised.

Merde. He was pathetic.

Meeting Rubie for a drink while Belle settled the details of her breakup with Victor had seemed like a good way to be useful, but now he regretted proposing the scheme at all. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest—Belle was using the dinner as an excuse to bring her fiancé back into her arms for good.

He tilted his glass and stared at the amber liquid. “Bon chance, cherie,” he mumbled, throwing back the drink.

“Luc?” Rubie took a dainty sip of champagne and laid a hand on his arm. “You’re angry with Belle.”

He snapped back to attention, forcing a smile. “Angry? Non.”

“Upset then.”

“Why should I be?” He shrugged. “We’ve known each other only a matter of days.”

Rubie’s eyes widened, no doubt at the implication that her own fledgling relationship was on shaky ground. He almost felt sorry for the little homewrecker.

He gulped down another glass of whisky, his fourth in fifteen minutes, and flicked his wrist in the direction of the bar for a refill.

Running a long, painted finger over a meticulously shaped raven eyebrow, Rubie preened in the mirror behind the bar. Luc bit back a disgusted snort at her obvious display of vanity.

He’d only been half-listening to the girl whine about Victor as he secretly moped over Belle, but it was time to stop wallowing and turn on the charm. Rubie was vexed with her lover. Vulnerable. Insecure. His job was to fan the flame of that anxiety. The irony was that he was the one on edge.

It was driving him insane. Belle was only a few hundred feet away, batting her huge blue eyes at that idiot Whale over a crust of baguette. He balled his hands into fists, wanting to tear into the dining room and beat the other man bloody. That bastard had flown to France, picked up a new fiancée, and broken up with Belle over the phone. Victor Whale didn’t deserve Belle’s devotion.

But who was he to hurl stones?

Wearing an exaggerated moue, Rubie droned on. Luc pasted a polite smile on his face, trying to disguise his annoyance. She was beautiful, there was no denying it, but she was also lacking. There was an emptiness inside her, a soullessness that he recognized all too well. In fact, she was exactly the type of floozy he’d grown accustomed to dating before he’d sworn off women for good. Pouty, pretty, and selfish as hell. Deep grooves of insecurity circled her green eyes. Suddenly he realized what made her so familiar—she was Milah all over again.

“I don’t understand how Victor could do this to me.” Rubie covered the back of his hand with her cool fingers and he shuddered involuntarily. “This never would have happened to me when I was younger. He would be upstairs with me, in my bed, and she would wait all night.”

“Oui, j’imagine.” He nodded sympathetically.

“What’s wrong with me?” she asked, her eyes big and beseeching.

“Nothing. He’s a waste of your time,” he said on cue.

“No, you’re wrong about that. He’s wonderful. Tender and sweet.” She smiled, her eyes glazing over with a far-off look, then flipped her gaze in the direction of the dining room. “What do you think they’re doing over there?”

“Who cares?” he asked, tossing back another drink.

“I care, and I think we should we find out.”

She stood up and he caught her arm, easing her back into the chair. “No, no, no; you don’t want to do that.” Luc couldn’t bear to see Belle smiling into Victor’s small, cold eyes. Mon dieu! He couldn’t stop himself from thinking of her. Her softness, the fragrance of her skin, how she swayed in his arms like a sapling, strong yet pliable, yielding to his lead but always standing her own ground.

He snuck a glance at Rubie’s worried expression. Perhaps she really did love Victor. A nagging sense of guilt overcame him, but he quashed it like a bug. What difference did it make what she wanted? Neither of them had considered Belle’s feelings when they’d broken her heart.

He had promised Belle that he would do anything in his power to help her win back Victor. He owed her everything. She could have turned him over to the police for smuggling; she’d had ample opportunity. Instead, she’d helped him to get his vine so he could return to the countryside, buy his land, and make a great wine. Perhaps then, when he was worth something, he could find his way back to his boy.

As for Belle, her destiny was far away from the likes of him.

When she’d been dancing in his arms upstairs, the glow of a Mediterranean sunset reflected in her eyes, he had almost kissed those lush, rosebud lips. He’d nearly fallen to his knees and begged her to break it off with the spineless doctor for good, almost thrown her down on the nearby bed and made love to her until she’d screamed with such pleasure that she couldn’t remember the name Victor Whale. But now wasn’t the time to slake his lust and his ego. Belle had come so far to win back her fiancé. She wanted to marry Victor, longed for the security of a home and family. The right thing to do was to help her find happiness.

He could offer Belle no more than a passing dalliance that would end in certain heartbreak. Besides, his focus needed to be on his vineyard and his son.

Tonight, though, he would settle for getting drunk.

Victor Victor swallowed hard and loosened his tie, shifting in his chair. As an emergency room physician, he typically didn’t cave under pressure. But that was Doctor Whale, the professional. Cool, collected, measuredly compassionate. His personal life was another matter entirely.

He had been so nervous about the prospects of this dinner, the scene Belle might make, that he’d taken a sleeping pill this afternoon and passed out in the hotel room. Rubie was irritated with him when he woke up and rushed out the door—he was running late for dinner. Soothing her would have to wait until after he settled things with Belle.

Belle. They hadn’t been alone together since his drunken breakup call, and that didn’t technically count since he’d ended their engagement from 6,000 kilometers away. When they’d sat down at the cozy bistro table, he’d hardened his jaw, expecting her to wheedle and coerce him to come home. He’d been fully prepared to fake a medical emergency. Instead he found himself wanting to linger, to prolong their last meal together.

She shone in a blue dress with her hair swept off her neck, her collarbone glowing with diamonds. This sparkling, ethereal creature wasn’t his Belle. The Belle French he knew was reliable, dependable, practical. And safe.

Belle was, well…Belle. A woman he once loved. Or loves? He wasn’t sure what to feel anymore.

This vibrant, glorious version of her was completely disinterested in him, and he didn’t know what to think. Since she’d come to Cannes, she’d changed her style, her hair, everything. She was light, carefree, and happy.

Victor swallowed past the lump of regret lodged in his throat, trying to get her to meet his gaze. Did she have d’Or to thank for the sparkle in her eyes? He wished she would look at him, but she was studiously checking their belongings off on a laundry list of items. Always the librarian—prim and organized. At least that hadn’t changed.

“You’ll keep the bonsai. The lamp we bought in New York is mine. The books will be tough, though. Why don’t you just let me keep the books?” she asked, checking another box.

“Whatever you want,” he said. She could have everything, for all he cared. Dividing the details of their life into columns labeled ‘His’ and ‘Hers’ felt mercenary, and he started to sweat.

“Victor, are you all right?” She looked up from her list, her eyes narrowed. ”Your eye is twitching.”

“Can we not talk about this? It’s so depressing.”

“Well, it’s business.” She propped her elbows on the table and chewed on the end of her pen. “This is the business of breaking up. You know, if you can’t handle it, I can have a yard sale and wire you half the cash.”

“You must hate me.” He picked up a crust of bread, crumbling it in his fingers.

“No, I don’t.” She looked down at her checklist again.

“You don’t hate me?” he pressed.

“Well, I did, Victor, but now…no.” She smiled brightly.

He stiffened at the reminder. Now she had d’Or to help her forget.

“Belle…”

“What?”

“Nothing. I don’t know.” He sighed. “I just feel so guilty.”

“Don’t feel guilty.” She set down the clipboard, pinning him with earnest blue eyes. “Because then I’ll feel guilty that I made you feel guilty. And…” She stopped midsentence, shaking her head. “No, you know what? That was the old Belle. Go ahead and feel guilty. Swim in it, till your fingers get all wrinkly.”

He chuckled. “You’re amazing. You really are.” His focus shifted to the dance floor where couples were swaying to “Dream a Little Dream of Me.”

Say "nighty night" and kiss me, Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me, While I'm alone and blue as can be, Dream a little dream of me.

Had she been missing him and dreaming of their life together, as the song suggested? If they were home in Toronto, they would order her favorite pizza with no cheese and spoon on the sofa, watching Seinfeld reruns until they fell asleep. They weren’t, though. They were here, in France - together, the way they should have been all along. Of course that was what Belle wanted. Why else was she here?

“I know you’re with Luc now, but what do you say to one last dance? For old times’ sake.” Reaching across the table, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Come on.” Rubie Rubie studied her companion openly, drawing her gaze down the long, tanned column of his throat. He was a handsome one, she thought, this Luc d’Or. Dark and charming, with a hint of sophistication. But he was a Frenchman, and that spelled trouble. All her worst relationships had been with other French guys. Still, she wouldn’t mind if he kissed her, or took her to bed.

Rubie tossed her head. Belle was probably digging her claws back into Victor as they spoke, and he, weak-willed man that he was, would allow it. Men were fragile, egotistical creatures.

“Tell me more about Belle. Are you two very happy together?” she prompted, trying not to sound too eager.

“Eh, we have a good time, you know.” His long fingers mimicked the motions of intercourse.

Rubie frowned. She hadn’t expected the little bookworm to be good at sex. “Sexual compatibility is important.”

“Oui.”

Rubie pressed her lips together, wishing Luc would be more forthcoming. She wanted to question him about Victor’s love life with Belle, but she didn’t want to look like a fool or to appear threatened. No, asking too much would be giving away too much. She busied herself with watching her engagement ring sparkle and reflect in the mirror as she waited for him to say something, anything.

In the glass, she saw a table with a view to the dining room open, and rose. “Let’s sit over there. The lighting is better,” she lied.

Luc shrugged again and moved to follow her. “As you wish.”

She made a show of crossing her legs as they settled at the new table with fresh drinks.

“Victor was obviously looking for something…more,” she observed, testing the waters. “Something Belle couldn’t give him, maybe?”

Luc rolled his eyes and blew out a loud breath.

“What? Have I offended you?” she asked wryly.

He barked a laugh, startling her. “Non. Je ne comprends pas. Help me understand. Why would a woman like you want him?” His gaze was appreciative as his eyes ran up and down her curves, warming her body and soothing the sting of Victor’s rejection. “You could have any man you set your sights on.”

“Do you think so?” she asked, giving him her best flirtatious smile.

“Plein de poisson, n’est pas?”

She laughed, delighted by Luc’s dry humor. Victor was never funny.

“Oui, many fish in the sea.” She shifted her chair closer, then put her hand on his knee, tapping lightly with her nails.

Luc downed another drink, his bleary eyes focused on the entrance to the dining room.

Ruby followed his sight line until she spied Victor, speaking animatedly with his former paramour. The smile he gave her was tender and loving, and their hands lay entwined in the center of the table, fingers laced together for all to see.

Jealousy reared up, biter and ugly. Fine. If he could forget about her, she could forget about him. At least for a while. It was time to up the stakes.

“You invited me here tonight, Monsieur. And now that you have me here,” she squeezed his firm thigh, “what are you going to do with me?”

“I think you know,” he said, his eyes burning.

Whether it was lust or anger fueling that fire, she didn’t know and didn’t care. She licked her lips in invitation. “Why don’t we go upstairs to my room?”

Belle “Belle? Belle, look at me,” Victor said.

She studied the clipboard she’d borrowed from the hotel desk. She didn’t want to look at him; she wanted to keep checking off boxes. She just had to plow through this meeting and this list without overthinking.

Displaying a bravado she didn’t feel, she asked, “What do you think about the couch? Would it be madness to take a chainsaw and cut down the middle to make two, huge, overstuffed chairs?”

“Belle, seriously, enough with the division of property. Dance with me.” He rose and held out a hand, that boyish glint she’d always loved in his eyes.

Her stomach flipped over and she twisted her fingers in her napkin. This was the moment she’d been building toward for days—ever since she’d boarded that airplane. Now that it was here, and Victor was looking at her the way he used to, everything felt…strange. Pushing aside her doubts, she plastered a sunny smile on her face and accepted his hand. “Why not?”

They strolled to the dance floor like they had countless times before. On autopilot, she stepped into his arms and moved with him to the music the way they always did. Dancing with a familiar partner was like riding a bicycle around your block. Safe, comfortable, and one never forgot how.

He drew her closer, splaying a hand across her bare back. His voice husky, he murmured in her ear. “You seem so different. But the same. Like someone turned a light on inside you. Why wasn’t it me?”

Tears stung her eyes and she wrapped her arms around his neck. She was overwhelmed by the events of the past several days, and being in his arms was making her weepy. Yes, that had to be it.

The arm around her back pressed tighter, and he led her out to a quiet terrace that overlooked the sea.

“Belle, don’t cry. I’m sorry for everything. If only I’d brought you with me—insisted on you being in Paris by my side—none of this would have happened,” he crooned.

When he moved his lips over hers, she acquiesced. The kiss was friendly yet awkward, like meeting an old friend she’d lost touch with—ill-fitting, but after so many years invested, it seemed a waste to let it all go.

Now wasn’t the time to back away, not when victory was so close.

She closed her eyes tighter and kissed him again. But it was no use. She stepped back, breaking the kiss, and crossed her arms over her chest.

“None of this would have happened?” she echoed. “What do you mean by that?”

Victor looked at her, surprised confusion written across his once-dear features.

“Why wasn’t it you who turned on the light?” Belle asked in an angry whisper, choking on tears. “The bright shining Belle light that burns so bright now that you can’t resist dumping your new girlfriend for your old one!”

Belle studied him, waiting for a response. Sometime in the past few days, she had stopped fantasizing about Victor’s cool blue eyes and his straight, perfect nose. His image had melted away, replaced by shaggy brown hair, sardonic chocolate eyes, and an adorably crooked nose. Luc. He filled her thoughts, fueled her dreams. Nothing about the man standing in front of her was anything she wanted anymore.

“What are you talking about?” he sputtered. Didn’t you come here for me?”

She snorted. “Yesterday, all you wanted was Rubie.”

“Rubie is wonderful; exciting. And when I met her, I wasn’t thinking. Sometimes you don’t think. You just do what you’re feeling.”

“Go on.”

“Maybe I was afraid of where we were headed. I was afraid of getting married,” he explained, moving in for another kiss.

“Bullshit.” Belle ducked away.

“Bullshit?”

“That’s right, bullshit. You weren’t afraid of getting married to her!” Belle took a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have to chase you halfway around the world to make sure this ‘wouldn’t have happened’! Looking over your shoulder to make sure you’re not flinging up the skirts of every tart that happens by!

“You know, no matter what I might seem like tonight, it’s still the same old me from yesterday that you wake up with tomorrow. The same old me, who wants a home and a family, who wants to plant some seeds and see them grow.”

“Like a garden?”

She glared at him, then softened. A lot of aspects of this situation were Victor’s fault, but her blindness wasn’t one of them. “No…yes.” She wanted Luc. A life with him, his son. Whatever that looked like, whether it was a flat in Paris or a vineyard in Provence, she wanted to be with him.

“There’s just one thing I don’t want anymore,” she said.

“Me.”

“It’s over, Victor. I’m sorry." She stepped out of his reach. "We walked the same path once, but somewhere along the way, we started wanting different lives.”

“I know,” he said, his nod sheepish. “You’re right.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Goodbye, Victor. I hope you and Rubie will be happy together.” The farewell smile she offered was wistful, but she wasn’t sad. The only emotion she felt regarding Victor was relief. That, and a newfound confidence that she was making the right decision.

What a fool she had been. Victor, and the life she thought she wanted, was the whole reason she had forced herself to get on that plane. Pride had gotten in the way. She’d been so hell-bent on not losing him to another woman that she’d missed the fact that she’d fallen in love with another man. Now she realized the truth: while she had been chasing her past, fate had stepped in and guided her toward her future.

She only hoped it wasn’t too late to tell Luc that she loved him.

Belle hurried out of the dining room, weaving through the tables, desperate to get back to the scene of his rendezvous with Rubie. A few patrons dotted the bar, but Luc and Rubie were not among them. She scoured the lobby and the annexes, but Luc was nowhere to be found.

Had they left together?

Dread churned in her gut. All of her planning, scheming, and stubborn determination to win Victor back may have sent her true love catapulting into another woman’s arms.

Dashing tears from her eyes, she hurried back to the room she was sharing with Luc, but it, too, was cold and vacant. She thought about seeking out Ariel for comfort, but she couldn’t bear to hear any more I-told-you-sos.

Collapsing on the bed, she stared at the ceiling, waiting for Luc’s return, until she fell into an exhausted, fitful sleep.

###

Up Next: The morning after, and Belle and Victor head to Cartier to sell the diamonds.

#Love Beyond the Sea #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #it's good to be back to this story

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