章節 21: Speaking of the devil
Tristan's skin, golden from the sun, had paled two notches as he levelled his wife with a harsh stare. The muscles of his forearms flexed when tightened his fists, revealed by the simple t-shirt Frances had bought him last month. A beautiful man, whose anger radiated off in such strong waves that she felt them crash into her. Impressive, and frightening at once.
Lise's shoulders slumped under such duress, and Frances found that her hands shook.
— "What are you doing here?" he ground, his voice distorted by the clenching of his jaw.
His ex-wife's body language changed at once, her chest puffing out as she turned to the man she had lost.
— "I brought you the final papers for the divorce."
A dangerous gleam passed in Tristan's eyes.
— "Because you couldn't post them?"
Lise hesitated, extracting the papers from her bag clumsily.
— "I … can I talk to you for a second, just you and me?"
— "No."
Cased closed. Frances had never heard such finality in Tristan's voice before.
— "We've talked enough," he added, then his gaze flicked to Frances. "Whatever you have to say can be said here."
Lise pursed her lips unhappily, sending a glare to Frances before her baby blue eyes returned to Tristan pleadingly.
— "Give me another chance, Tristan. Give us another chance, this is such a waste! Our love isn't dead, we can still repair it. I've started to see a psychologist, I'm sure we can mend the gap."
Frances' breath caught; the mere possibility of him walking away from hurt like a stab in her stomach. But Tristan was shaking his head already, his shoulders slumping from guilt.
— "I'm sorry, Lise. I have moved on. I wouldn't have if there was anything to save."
His words sent joy in Frances' heart. Of course, they had discussed his past relationship at length, but to hear it firsthand felt like a liberation.
— "She can't love you like I did, Tristan!" Lise screeched, pointing her finger like a kid.
— "Leave Frances out of this. Our marriage is over. Give me the papers."
Orders. Clean, and imposing. She had to give Lise some credit; it was difficult to resist him when he exuded such presence. But she had her neck on the line; this was her last shot. Desperate enough? Frances was really grateful no one was armed, this might have ended in a bloodbath.
— "Tristan!" Lise pleaded. "She's too young, she'll leave you as soon as your back is turned. Don't you see she's using you?"
Enough was enough. Frances circled the kitchen high table, and strode to Tristan's side to glare at the blonde woman.
— "Madam, you have insulted me enough, do not presume to speak in my name."
— "I'm not talking to you," she snarled, her lips curling like a she-wolf.
Tristan intervened before Lise could do more damage, grabbing her elbow none too gently.
— "Enough, Lise! Enough," he pleaded, his tone upset. "Give me those fucking papers, and get out of my life."
— "But…"
Tristan shook her arm, fighting to keep his calm.
— "Get out, please. Go back home, sell the house, do whatever you want; I don't care. Just set me free. There's nothing to save."
As he spoke, the teacher dragged Lise to the door. They both disappeared in the corridor. The conversation was much more subdued after that and Frances didn't try to overhear. Instead, she let the boiler fill the kitchen with white noise, blocking out the fact that husband and wife still lingered by the main door, exchanging their last words before the divorce would be pronounced by a judge.
The heat was getting to Frances, making her sloppy and faint. She was hyperventilating, damn! The young woman let her fingers work by themselves, pouring green tea into the filter, rinsing the leaves, setting the filter into the teapot. Automatic moves, if only to cover the nonsensical thoughts that threatened to scramble her brain.
A warm hand landed on her collarbone, pulling her close. Frances released the teapot from her grasp, leaving it on the counter as Tristan dragged her to his chest. For a moment, the young woman remained frozen, trying to process what had just happened. Until his lips landed upon her temple, and she melted in his arms. The familiar scent washed over her overdriven senses, bringing her back to reality. To safety. Her arms circled his waist and she sagged against his tall frame.
— "I'm sorry, love. Are you alright?" he asked.
Was she, really? She'd never been insulted so bluntly by anyone, and the attack was now registering in her brain. Her legs suddenly felt like jelly. Adrenalin crashing down.
— "Frances?"
The young woman nodded, keeping her face buried against his t-shirt. His anger, Lise's hostility, the insults, the confrontation … it was taking its toll.
— "I think I need to sit."
He picked her up easily, and she let him. Her muscles didn't quite respond properly, barely allowing her to wrap her arms around his neck. Slowly, Tristan lowered the young woman on the sofa, taking a seat beside her.
— "Better?" he asked, worry dancing in his grey eyes.
Frances gulped a mouthful of hair, trying to keep her limbs in check. Still trembling, damn.
— "Yeah. I'm sorry, I'm not used to confrontation. I can handle pressure, but outright anger is difficult for me."
Tristan sighed, passing a hand over his face tiredly. His gaze travelled to the window, fleeing to busy streets and overheated tourists deambulating in the city. Or perhaps, to his last years of marriage with a venting woman screaming at him.
— "I get that," he said, his voice uncertain. "Unfortunately, I am. Lise can be pretty difficult when she disagrees."
Frances bit her lip to prevent from asking him why he'd stayed so long with a harpy; it wouldn't do to tear apart his previous relationship without the proper insight.
— "… You are impressive when you are pissed."
Tristan's hand snaked around her shoulder, pulling her against him in an awkward hug.
— "I'm sorry," he rasped.
Then he grabbed her face in his hands, calling her eyes back to him. His gaze was so earnest, so open that she had no trouble hearing his apology.
— "Frances, forgive me. I lost it when I heard her attack you."
She nodded, her cheeks creasing in his hands.
— "I understand, really. I was so pissed when she said those things about you."
Another sigh, a mixture of relief and defeat, followed a kiss to her temple. Then his eyes returned to her, trapping her in his thrall.
— "You know I won't leave, do you?"
Frances' lips quirked slightly.
— "I know Tristan. I trust you. I'm not afraid. And I'm not letting you go now that I've found you."
The teacher brushed a strand away from Frances' sweaty brow, his other hand cradling her nape.
— "I'm sorry I scared you."
Her chocolate eyes considered him for a moment, assessing his intentions with the seriousness of a young mind and the wisdom of an elder.
— "Just … promise me you'll never yell at me like this."
This wasn't a difficult promise; Frances would never attack him this way. He just knew it, she was too gentle, too kind to ever seek to hurt him.
— "I promise. Neither you nor our children"
Frances' mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water. Her cheeks reddened, and a tiny squeak escaped her.
— "Children?"
Tristan froze, suddenly self-conscious. They had not talked, yet, of his desire for a family. Frances was barely out of school and in the process of choosing where she would be shipped for the next three years. It was hardly time to think about those things.
— "Well, only if you want some."
A smile broke upon her lips, as incredulous as it was wistful. The response was written upon her face, plain as day, and he couldn't help his own lips from curling up.
— "Yes, I do. Just, not now."
Tristan nodded, taking in her flushed cheeks and bright eyes. Gone was the guilt, the pain and the defeat brought back by Lise. Just one peek at Frances' flustered face was enough to flood his chest with joy. A little fairy working its magic, feeding him with love and pride, with a sense of worth he'd never experienced before. His finger caressed her cheekbone lovingly.
— "Of course, not now. But I'm glad, I'd like a family someday."
A gleam of hope passed in her chocolate eyes, golden flecks dancing as she gazed at his face. Then, she rose on her tip toes and kissed him gently. His lips tasted her slowly, dancing around hers until she pulled away, just enough for her breath to fan his face.
— "You'll be such a great father," she murmured.
Another kiss.
— "And you the best of mothers. All in due time."
Frances licked her lips, and Tristan wondered if she wasn't about to throw him in bed to get a little practice. Until her eyes widened.
— "Darn. I forgot the tea. It's going to be undrinkable."
Tristan gave her this very fond smile he kept just for her, watching her with amusement.
— "Never mind. I need something stronger tonight."
And when they stumbled into bed, they were more than slightly intoxicated. But it didn't matter, for they had all the time in the world to sober up.
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