bianca p. aubrey (persephones) wrote in valesco,
@ 2012-05-06 19:05:00

Entry tags:

bertram aubrey, bianca aubrey, danielle rookwood, derek dobbs, donovan rookwood, gabriel corner, group, heathcliff shimpling, katerina edgars, michal conway lynch, mirabelle jasper, rachel corner, therese bonaccord

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She'd done it. Bianca wasn't even going to apologize for the thought; she'd done it. These past few weeks leading up to the wedding had been so nerve-wracking, worse than any training she'd gone through, more terrifying than any mission she'd been on, worse than...she really thought that she was not going to make it down the aisle. The guilt and the fear had nearly paralyzed her, but putting on her wedding dress, seeing her closest friends dressed up and looking so very happy for her, a last minute owl from Bertram that made things all seem right.

Well, she practically ran down the aisle after that!

The reception had turned out beautifully, and she really, really had to thank her mother for making her have such an event. All the planning leading up to it had been stressful, but it had made her stronger, and Bianca's life depending on being able to push through anything life threw at her. Her hair was down and out of the twist it had been forced into this morning; if she was going to dance and party, she was surely going to have her hair flying about.

A particuarly happy tune came on and she grabbed Amissa's hand, bouncing happily with the little girl who was now officially her step-daughter. The thought thrilled her, and Bianca caught Bertram's eye with a big grin.

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malengled
2012-05-15 03:18 am UTC (link)

Yes, Rachel thought with relief, they could talk about Danielle and Donovan for as long as she could possibly stretch out the topic. She could ignore that pesky smile while Gabriel would fill her in on all that she had missed over the last four years (or, rather, could not remember) and it would—what?

She looked up at him with what must have been an insultingly shocked expression, and on the tip of her tongue were all the excuses and refusals one could possibly imagine. Her feet hurt—her head hurt, that was a good one—she hated dancing, she never danced, didn't he know? But Gabriel's hand was outstretched, and just on reflex, even though her mouth was forming "not on your life," her hand was in his. Even if her mind protested, her body certainly knew what it wanted.

Following his lead to the dance floor, her thoughts cycled the eloquently repetitive refrain of we'retouchingwe'retouchingwe'retouchingwe'retouching, and for the life of her, she could not recall the last time they had done so. Touched, that is. It was for a good reason that it had not been recently, as the moment he placed his arm around her, Rachel's lungs decided breathing was a strictly optional exercise.

When they began to move, a wave of déjà vu struck her so suddenly that she stumbled into him. His arm around her waist was the only thing that saved her, and her grip on him tightened considerably after her loss of balance. This moment, with their arms wound around each other, no space to speak of between them, seemed so familiar, yet still sent her heart beating a million miles a minute. Rachel's mind went completely blank—more so than it was—and her gaze at Gabriel must have been slightly dumbstruck.

"I—" she began, her eyes dropping immediately to his neck—even his jugular was attractive, for Hera's sake—no, to his shoulder, as a dull blush was creeping up her own neck, "I'm not certain I care all that much for dancing." Her grip might have tightened infinitesimally.

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coverstory
2012-05-16 03:15 am UTC (link)

It may have been selfish, the way he was so tightly wrapped around her. Gabriel showed concern for Rachel's falter, but his chest constricted at the feeling of her so close, the warmth she provided him by being in his arms. This sort of embrace had been long missed and desired, and his gaze upon her mimicked Rachel's startled expression. She was the only woman, the only person that could break his calm demeanor, to shake him up so that he couldn't find it in himself to compose his thoughts and body to regain some sort of sense. In the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by a flood of wedding guests, Gabriel felt like they were being swallowed up by silence.

"Rachel," he said. It felt like a gasp. Gabriel felt a quick panic arise in his chest; he couldn't continue like this, he could not resist her any longer. What was he to do? Should he pull himself away from her, unwind himself from around her and revert back to their seats so they could sit apart, facing away from each other? Even if he wanted to, if he were able to will his body to do such a thing, Rachel's own grip on him seemed unbreakable. Was it out of fear? No. The way she stared at him wasn't from fear, though---Gabriel could not have been more confused with a situation, but at the same time he knew precisely what to do.

Madness, love was madness.

His hand dared to leave the small of her back, but it was quickly put to the side of her face. Gabriel allowed himself to let his fingers graze along her cheeks and jaw before gently lifting her chin so that he could look her in the eye. It was probably the last thing she wanted, but her eyes brought a smile to his face and he ducked his head close.

"We don't have to dance," he breathed, knowing she'd be able to feel his heart pounding madly straight through his chest.

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malengled
2012-05-17 02:45 am UTC (link)

What was this feeling, like she was two people at once. One Rachel wanted to rip herself out of his arms and keep him far from her, the other wanted to clutch him tighter so he didn't have even the option of pushing her away. She could feel her pulse jumping not only in her chest, but in her stomach, her neck, her wrists, mirroring the dull thud of his. Under his touch, her blood was singing, charmed in her veins. Perhaps it was temporary insanity. Or perhaps she was just tired of being scared and confused and angry and so terribly lonely, even when she was in a house full of people. Even when there was a man with whom she had made a family, who claimed to love her with no evidence to the contrary, she could not trust herself to believe in it, in the fantasy of it all, for a moment. Even when she wished that she could.

Spots swam in her vision, and she knew without a doubt the only thing keeping her upright was Gabriel's arms around her. There would be no undoing what was about to happen, no stepping back from it. In truth, she did not want to. It would be a selfish thing to do, but Rachel had learned that a leopard could not change its spots. No matter what her resolve was in the beginning, she proved to be a creature of self-interest time and time again. Even if it was just for a heartbeat, she wanted to not feel the cloying loneliness, the deep-seated fear that she was unworthy or incapable of some kind of love.

"I can't breathe," she murmured dazedly. She must have blacked out. Surely that was what happened, because if Rachel was conscious, she couldn't have allowed herself the weakness of her lips pressed to his. She wouldn't be clinging to him as though he were all that weathered her through a storm more literal than her own emotions. But she was, raised on the tips of her toes to better her grip, not thinking of steps forward or backward, or unremembered years, or selfish shortcomings. For a moment, it was all she wanted.

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