That's How You Know
Chapter Four: Revelations and Desires
It's not enough to take the one you love for granted…
You must remind her or she'll be inclined to say –
"How do I know, he loves me? How do I know, he's mine?"
After a day of feasting and fashion, Robert had called it a day and was trying to fall asleep. But he couldn't.
The restless, hungry feeling that possessed him reminded him of the night Giselle had first fought with him. She'd touched his chest in a surprisingly intimate gesture that had sucked the air from his lungs and sent his head spinning. That was the first time he'd really… seen Giselle. He went cold with fear at the upheaval, but now, everything was okay.
He was at peace with Nancy. He hadn't had contact with her for a while and didn't know what had happened. But their relationship was over. And it had been empty and cold compared to what he had with Giselle.
At first, he'd tried to refrain from feeling anything. He convinced himself it was lust, not love. But the way he found himself smiling in her presence, along with the gradual easing of feelings for Nancy, finally made him relent.
I love you.
He tensed. She threw the words around, but he had never once uttered them to her.
You got to show her you need her,
Don't treat her like a mind reader…
And he was suddenly overcome with the desire to do so.
Throwing off his covers, he stuffed his feet into his old slippers and padded into the living room. He hesitated for a moment to admire the sleeping beauty, feeling slightly apprehensive about waking her.
He stood there for a moment in the pitch black, hovering over Giselle like a nervous parent. He watched her chest rise and fall with gentle breaths. Twisting his hands together, he took a tentative step forward but halted.
One of his fingers twitched, then, as if it desired to be entwined in those red tresses. They were beginning to grow back. A sudden realization dawned upon him that change was generally uncommon in Andalasia. Hair did not need to grow – it wasn't cut. Furniture did not need to be rearranged – it was satisfactory as is. He looked upon Giselle's flawless skin, rounded eyelids, and altogether perfection; wondered briefly: does anything ever break?
Her.
He shivered at the memory of seeing her vibrance stilled, a pale and empty shell of her frozen on a couch in the grand ballroom that denied the drama unfolding within it. He recalled the apple itself, crisp, and infused with the scent of vengeance.
One night, a while ago, Morgan had woken from a nightmare and asked him what he was afraid of. He kissed her goodnight without answering, but now he could tell her: loss. Of familiarity. Of stuff. Of loved ones.
As much as he wanted to draw Giselle to him and enclose her in his arms, he couldn't shake the nagging thought that she would leave him, too.
Don't leave me.
He drew in his breath sharply before retreating to his room. He paused to check on Morgan – his baby. His constant.
Shoulders hunched, he inched deeper and deeper within himself. The surrounding silence was oppressive.
"Daddy?"
Robert's head broke of his self-made cocoon, freed by the urge to protect the daughter with a voice that suggested vulnerability.
"What is it, Morgan?"
"I had a bad deam."
She padded over to his bed and nestled into the warm dent made by her dad's sleeping body. Suddenly, she was small again, abandoned by her mother and so desperate for love she took up sleeping next to Robert. He hadn't encouraged it, but it happened.
Some things you just can't stop.
Robert blinked and got to his feet, permitting Morgan to sleep in his bed. He gave her a kiss worthy of the gift she'd just given him.
Perhaps he could try to keep himself from loving Giselle, but he knew he couldn't.
His step was jaunty as he strode out to the living room. It wasn't that he wasn't scared – he knew he was. But he was more afraid of loss. And Giselle expected nothing less than Prince Charming to keep her around.
He stood beside her, in closer proximity than his last attempt. Suddenly overwhelmed with desire, he found himself wandering ever closer. He ran his finger lightly over her arm, tracing the pale network of veins, and sending an electric tingle up his own.
She was so beautiful. They had kissed before – during what Robert had dubbed That Night – and it had sent such euphoria through him that it had seemed forbidden.
But then he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.
"Robert?" she mumbled, her eyes fluttering open.
His face softened at her sweet voice, and her perplexity urged him to apologize.
"Oh… ah…" he stammered. Unable to say anything intelligent, he simply took her face into his hands and kissed her again. For a moment she was rigid, but quickly relaxed.
"Robert," she said again, with more conviction.
"Hmmm?" His face was almost dreamy.
She laughed.
"What are you doing here?"
"Oh. Right." He sat next to her and laced his fingers through hers. "I wanted to tell you something."
"Oh." She waited. "What?"
"Giselle, I want you to know."
"To know…"
"To
know, for sure, that's it true, that I'm yours," he breathed,
meeting her eyes in the darkness. "I love you Giselle. That's
what I've been trying to tell you. The flowers, the dancing, the
picnic… I wanted you to know," he finished.
"Oh, Robert," she whispered. A shiver of happiness thrilled through her. "That's so beautiful." A little joyful shriek escaped her lips and she covered them quickly, still not managing to hide the giant smile there. "You used my song."
Robert sighed, the tension of telling gone.
"I'm so very glad you feel that way," Murmured Giselle, leaning against him as if her stability depended on his presence. "Normally, I can tell. But things are strange here – I didn't know."
"What do we do now?" he asked, softly.
"I suppose whatever it is we want to do. Together," she added, squeezing his hand.
"So what do you want to do?"
Giselle smiled brightly.
"Everything."
His grin flashed. Robert found himself no longer defining the possible as what he had seen happen, but what he believed could happen.
"Okay."
--
After he met Giselle, Robert decided he was a morning person. Mornings were so full of promise. And each day after that night, before he went to work, he made a point of reminding Giselle of his feelings with some small token of kindness.
Robert Philip knew what love was. And he knew that it wasn't about flowers. Or dancing. Or dates. It's about the person you share it with, and loving hem so wholeheartedly that you can tell them and be sure. Because when he looked into the eyes of his true love, he'd found his happily ever after. He knew it.