A request for willwrite4wine
Our secret moments
In a crowded room
They got no idea
About me and you
There is an indentation
In the shape of you
Made your mark on me
A golden tattoo
All of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation
My hands are shaking from holding back from you (ah, ah, ah)
All of this silence and patience, pining and desperately waiting
My hands are shaking from all this (ha, ha, ha, ha)
Wanting.
From the very moment they met, from the instant their eyes locked. They both knew it, too. Connection, she knew, entailed many things, on many different levels, but theirs was something not defined in a way she could explain.
It was the way glances collided, anywhere, anytime, and they could read the other's thoughts without a single utterance. It was both comforting and entirely disconcerting and after awhile, they were not the only ones who recognized it, who understood what went unsaid.
Swallowed down, ignored, quieted; it didn't matter. They could be respectful, they could do the right thing, they could deny it out loud until they were both blue in the face but there was no changing the fact of the matter.
She'd become his; her heart was his. It was hard to reconcile at first, though she would have been only lying to herself if she'd silently admitted the contrary. It wasn't intentional, this ownership. Not when everything else was tied up in the neat ends they were supposed to; partners and a baby and a film to promote and a job to do. It was the last thing she had planned for but looking back, it was inevitable, just the same.
Venice.
A dress the color of cotton candy, making her feel whimsical and like a princess, all at once.
A Marilyn Monroe-esque number, light and floaty.
He couldn't stop staring.
They could have blamed it entirely upon the romance of the city with its towering cathedrals and twinkling lights that seemed to emerge straight from childhood fairy tales. Love was engrained there, palpable, and she was swept up dizzily in it.
The problem was, she was entrenched in the beauty not with her fiancé, who had accompanied her. And when she realized it, the fear hit her squarely in the center of the chest. The sickening knowledge that they were doomed.
"Play it up," the movie's publicist advised the two of them in between interviews that week. "The red carpet thing...really play it up. It's a love story, after all."
They'd shared a laugh but it had slowly dawned upon her how Bradley had been looking at her all week. The tiny, intimate glances she'd catch out of the corner of her eye when he was certain she was preoccupied, the way his thumb brushed over her fingers when they passed a microphone back and forth, how he held her hand to walk her through a crowd and he wouldn't let go right away. Innocuous gestures that she could've played off as friendship; after all, they'd become close.
But she caught the spark behind all of them. The inkling of something that sat dormant under the surface, laying in wait for the day when the dust finally settled and the pieces fit.
The thought made her weak kneed.
From the second he helped her out of the car; Cinderella and her Prince Charming, her tunnel vision allowed her to see only him. Only him through a sea of flash bulbs and peals of shouts. His eyes bore into hers, saying all of the right things to calm her and she leaned into him, selfishly, perhaps but he took her hand, caressing it to convey gentle reassurance.
