[bordeaux] snowfall left splinters; some winters never end { montse }

MARCH 2004

The bathroom had a very boutique sort of feel to it. There were fresh flowers in actual porcelain vases by the row of three sinks, and the cubicle doors were made of what looked and felt like expensive wood. It was all very rustic, and very clean. Smelled like cinnamon and spring. The whole vineyard had the same sort of feel, and Prosper could really understand why someone would choose to get married here (especially if their uncle owned the place). It was his favourite of his friends’ weddings he’d attended.

Not that he wanted to think about the other ones. Or even weddings in general, really, even though he was currently at one. He’d been to two other weddings in the past couple of years, and of course he’d taken — well, he’d taken his girlfriend, who was no longer his girlfriend, and he really didn’t want to think about that, or her, right now.

...Which was probably why he was here. Too-many-champagnes-in, with the second prettiest bridesmaid pressed up against the bathroom bench, his lips on her neck and his hands roaming. The prettiest one, of course, was Camille’s older sister Caroline, but she (like Camille, now!) was married. Of course, that hadn’t stopped him from trying his luck — he’d flirted with her a little, and had been promptly shut down. Camille had teased him, then pointed him in the direction of —

Mallory...? Margot...? Ah, fuck.

Prosper slid his hand down the side of her thigh, bunching up her dress until he found its hem, then sliding his hand back up, underneath. He supposed he didn’t need to know her name. Lots of people hooked up at weddings, never to see each other again. Right? Right. Of course, just as he had his hand on her ass the bathroom door opened, startling both of them. They hadn’t quite made it to a cubicle yet — he was getting there!

It took him a moment (he wasn't terribly bothered by the presence of another — what crime was he committing?) but Margaret (or whatever) put a hand on his chest, so Prosper withdrew his hand, taking half a step back as she adjusted her dress, looking flustered.

Compared to the last time she had found herself in the company of her old friends, Montserrat felt confident about the encounter and had even felt a sort of excitement—the more positive kind—at the thought of continuing to reconnect with the people she had left behind when she left for London. To make things even better this was a wedding, which could only mean there would be more cheer and goodwill to go around. Of course, the Prosper problem had not been completely forgotten. He wasn’t really a problem, in all honesty, but their last conversation had left her feeling nostalgic for something that she could not put into words. And though her intentions were not clear, even to herself, they left her feeling a little guilty.

Of course, Montserrat had made plans to bring Jeremy along as soon as she had heard that the wedding date and all of that weird tension had momentarily been forgotten—at least until Jeremy declined. A part of her had felt a little disappointed, not because she wanted all of his attention, but rather, she felt compelled to show Prosper just how happy she was with him. But in the end, Montserrat found herself in the middle of almost every conversation sans a date with friends wondering if that meant anything or if they’d ever get a chance to meet Jeremy in person.

“He doesn’t speak French, I don’t want to make him uncomfortable,” she explained, knowing that if she mentioned that Jeremy was spending time with his closest friends instead of accompanying her to a wedding a few of them would let their imagination run wild and make assumptions about what they believed to be the first signs of a breakup. But Montserrat knew Jeremy and his friends and how important they were to him; she didn’t mind at all.

Montserrat excused herself from the conversation when they started talking dream wedding destinations to go to the bathroom, sneaking out of the circle as soon as another couple of friends came to join in. Had she known what awaited her in the ladies’ room, she might have been much more inclined to stay put and listen to more unwarranted relationship advice.

“Sorry,” she said as soon as she realized she had interrupted something, making a beeline for the mirror in the corner and trying to ignore the situation hoping the two guests would leave. It wasn’t until she was applying her lipstick in the mirror, trying to act unphased, that she caught sight of their clothes and how identical they were to those of the wedding party. “Melanie?” she turned to look at the girl, who was obviously embarrassed before her eyes landed on Prosper. “Aren’t you—” seeing someone she started; her tone accusatory before she shook her head. “Never mind,” she said, her eyes focused on Melanie. “Camille is looking for you,” she said finally, nodding in the direction of the door to imply she ought to leave.

Prosper exhaled a frustrated sigh as he stepped back, and Mallory (?) quickly fixed the bottom of her dress, then adjusted her hair. Should they leave, or wait? Was there somewhere more private they could go? He didn’t have a room here, but she was a bridesmaid, so there was a good chance that she did. His mind was fixed on logistics and a way to get the girl in front of him out of her blush-pink bridesmaid’s dress.

He glanced over his shoulder at the intruder, just as she looked at him. His eyebrows raised slightly when he recognised her.

Montserrat. Because who else would it be?

He’d caught a glimpse of her earlier, but there were quite a lot of people here; it hadn’t been difficult at all to avoid her. Either Jeremy had told her he and Ariane had broken up, or he hadn’t and Prosper wasn’t sure which was worse. Interestingly enough, Prosper hadn’t seen Jeremy here. That part was definitely better, especially after all of the champagne he’d had. He was feeling broody and antagonistic. Horny, too, he thought, catching his breath.

His jaw tightened just a little when she started to speak; he could see the confusion and accusation in her expression, and he did not care for it one bit. Melanie shot Prosper a conspiratorial smile. He glanced over her head at his reflection in the mirror behind the sinks, then ran a hand back through his hair, messing it up just so.

Melanie looked concerned. “Is she?” she asked, hesitating before she looked back to Prosper. He took a chance to touch her again, reaching up to wipe a bit of smudged lipstick off of the corner of her lips. “Go, go,” he said, giving her a crooked smile and a nod. “I’ll catch you later.” She smiled, clearly still flustered (he felt smug about that), and then swiftly left the room. He resisted the urge to smack her ass on the way out.

Prosper sighed as the door swung shut, and turned so he could lean against the bench. He dragged the back of one hand across his own lips, glanced at it, then swiped again, trying to get her lipstick off of him.

"Is Camille looking for her?" Prosper asked, glancing down at the back of his hand again. He wasn't really able to avoid her gaze any longer, though, so he folded his arms across his chest and looked at her.

While Montserrat was technically not entitled to an explanation, that did not stop her from wanting one, finding too many connections between how she assumed Ariane would feel and how she herself had felt long ago. Of course, these were just assumptions, the scene she had walked into sort of jolting the memory back, one she believed she’d all but overcome by now. It wasn’t the same though. Prosper had been in an actual relationship with Ariana, Montserrat had only assumed that they were. Montserrat watched as Melanie finally walked out of the door, returning her attention back to Prosper and that smug expression on his face.

This wasn’t the same him from several months ago; sure, he was having fun but at his expense or someone else’s? “Her job is to look after the bride,” she said instead, not the answer he was probably looking for but enough to assume that Camille was decidedly not looking for her. “Not servicing the guests in the bathroom,” she added, it was unusually bitter coming from someone that was customarily so non-confrontational, but she felt the need to get offended on Ariane’s behalf. Or perhaps it wasn’t bitterness but rather jealousy, but it was a thought she silenced almost immediately, messy thoughts that she felt inappropriate to deal with considering the current circumstances.

Now that they had been left alone, however, there were many ways to breach the topic at hand and Montserrat had no idea which approach would be received best. Naturally, the easiest thing to do would be to accuse him of cheating on his girlfriend, or maybe she could slyly insinuate that he ought to feel guilty for what he was doing. Perhaps. Instead, she took some paper towels, running them under the tap to moisten them, and handed them to him. “What’s going on, Prosper?” she asked instead, hoping that her concern was obvious.

Prosper resisted the urge to point out that Camille had been the one who’d nudged him in Melanie’s direction in the first place. Her job is to look after the bride. So no, then, their blonde friend hadn't been asking for her bridesmaid. Well, that was just great, wasn’t it? Montse had flounced in here and dismissed his hookup and now he was stuck alone with her. Wonderful. He’d already had to deal with enough people asking where his girlfriend was, and by now he was feeling resentful of them all; he didn’t want to have to explain it to yet another person, let alone someone who actually knew Ariane.

Guilt underpinned it all, of course, but he leaned away from that, hard.

“Servicing guests in the bathroom?” he repeated, his tone cocky and condescending. He actually smirked a little at the phrasing, disbelief in his expression. Montse moved over to the sink and he watched her with what he hoped looked like casual disinterest. She held out one of the damp paper towels and he stared at it for a moment, not understanding. Then he sighed, straightening up and uncrossing his arms as he took them. He turned to face the mirror.

“It’s a wedding, Montse,” he replied lightly, copying the way she said his name, albeit with a condescending, rather than concerned, tone. He glanced at her reflection in the mirror, meeting her gaze before looking back at himself. “Isn’t it normal for people to get caught up at weddings?” He was being purposefully obtuse; clearly he knew what she was asking, and clearly he’d have to explain himself, but he was irritated and putting off the inevitable. He wiped at his lips a bit more, pleased when the lipstick came off. He checked his teeth, then fixed his hair a bit.

“You know what I mean,” she defended herself, realizing a little too late that her attempt to be polite and indifferent had probably made her sound much more concerned with Prosper’s private life than she wanted to admit. But she had always felt that way around him, compelled to know much more than she was allowed. Underneath the nostalgia, however, she wanted to believe that the two of them were still friends even if they were not as close as they once were. She wanted to believe that they’d be able to talk like adults as all had been forgiven the night they had sat on the beach and talked about how much had happened around them in so little time.

“No,” she retorted, leaning back against the sink as she watched him, feeling that his response had been cryptic on purpose—he was intentionally leaving her in the dark, but what was she missing? Had it been about his parents? It seemed inappropriate to make that connection and a little presumptuous. “Not when you’re seeing someone,” she noted, sure she was judging him, but this was a side of him she had not seen for a long time, and that partly concerned her.

“This isn’t like you,” she tried again, but he had been like this before, a long time ago when Prosper had been free and did as he liked. “Where is Ariana?” she asked, assuming that to be the only reason he’d self-sabotage like this. Montserrat looked at him through the mirror, much more comfortable staring at him when he wasn’t looking directly at her. “Did the two of you get into a fight?”

Prosper rubbed the last bit of lipstick off of the back of his hand with the paper towels, then balled them up and tossed the resulting damp lump at the open bin on the other side of the room. It bounced wetly off of the wall and fell into the rubbish container. He smirked, pleased with himself like it was some kind of win.

Not when you’re seeing someone.

“Ha,” he said, the single syllable a mocking start to a laugh he couldn’t follow through with.

— isn’t like you

Wasn’t it, though? Prosper clearly remembered having her against a wall at a friend’s party that she’d brought a date to, once. So wasn’t it like him, in a way? The bathroom door opened again and two older women came in, chatting about baby showers as they headed for the stalls. As fun as it was to pretend like he had no idea what Montserrat was talking about, Prosper didn’t enjoy the audience, for once. He paused, then nodded at the door. “Can we?”

He didn’t wait for much of a response before he started moving, pausing to hold the door open for her before he started walking down a path that led away from the busier courtyard. They were up a small hill, and to his right he could see a shallow, lush valley, and a pretty sunset that had the sky streaked with soft pinks and oranges. There were hundreds of floating lights above them now that it was getting dark; it was quite a beautiful sight. Prosper swatted at a couple that had drifted down to his eye-level.

“We broke up, I guess she's at Freya's?” Prosper said, his tone aloof and uninterested. “Are you going to her party after this?” he asked. Originally, that had been his and Ariane’s plan. Wedding first, then Freya’s twenty-first a little later in the evening. He doubted she’d be there now, given everything. Guilt tugged at him like a needy child and he felt the urge to be more of an asshole, as if it would offset it somehow. “That’s where Jeremy is, I presume?” he said, his words half statement, half antagonistic question.

A part of her longed to reach out for him, knowing that more than a simple gesture of comfort, she’d have the ability to feel his feelings rather than try to wade through the snide remarks and gestures he was giving her. But he would know, and in a way, it felt like a disservice to not try to pry the truth out of him. So, she persisted, grateful that the arrival of the two older women turned into an invitation to walk outside where she hoped that he would explain himself.

She walked out of the door without hesitation, allowing him to lead her outdoors and grateful for the fresh air and the open space. Of course, it was just like Prosper to choose the most aesthetically pleasing area on-site without so much as thinking twice about it, the sunset would serve as a pretty backdrop to what she anticipated might become an unpleasant situation. While she might have otherwise commented on the landscape, she reserved her words, waiting for him to finally speak up and grateful that he did.

We broke up, he started but the second part of his sentence felt like a non sequitur, two expressions seemingly disjointed—the tone in which he said them further confusing her. All she could think about was how in love he had sounded when he spoke to her about Ariana for the first time, it was strange to hear him talk about the same person in such a disconnected manner and for a moment Montserrat wondered if she had imagined it all.

“Oh-” she said, attempting to match his tone but falling short, a hint of befuddlement lingering in the air before she moved on, “I’m not sure,” she confessed. Even though Jeremy had graciously introduced her to his friends, and they spent time together often, Montserrat didn’t feel like she could ever fit into their dynamic, one girl, Freya, seemed more than enough and with the bond that the three of them shared, she felt like the third wheel to a pre-established relationship.

“It’s her birthday,” Montserrat said in his defense, “anyway I don’t really think these sorts of things suit him,” she said, but she meant no malice by it. These sorts of events were only fun because she had friends there, Jeremy would have had to rely partially on Prosper for entertainment, she assumed, and in the mood, he was in, she doubted he’d enjoy himself at all.

“I’m sorry to hear about your breakup, though,” she said, rerouting the conversation back to him, “you two seemed very sweet together.”

He exhaled a short puff of air through his nose. “That makes sense,” he said, not without a malicious edge.

Did she ever feel like her redheaded beau wasn’t very interested in her life outside of him? Prosper, of course, thought his French was atrocious. Personally, though, he thought that seemed a good reason to study it more, instead of skipping out on events that were important to her. Of course, Prosper’s perspective was extremely biased, and had been from the start; he hadn’t ever tried to correct it.

Quite simply put, he thought Jeremy was far beneath either Ariane or Montserrat, and he couldn’t see the other man’s appeal as a romantic partner at all. Drunk and pissed off as he was, his judgements took on a crueler edge.

Prosper wasn’t rushing, now that they’d left the crowd behind. The path was slightly downhill but he kept his pace casual, faux-relaxed, his gaze forward. “Did we?” Prosper asked rhetorically. He was sick of people saying that. He knew they’d been sweet together. He knew they’d seemed like a solid, stable couple — hell, they had been a solid, stable couple! Everything had been completely fine until he’d started feeling restless for no good reason.

But, he didn’t want to think about that.

“Excellent,” he muttered under his breath, spotting a waiter with a tray of drinks heading up towards the chateau courtyard. Prosper stepped to the side to let him pass, scoping up two glasses of champagne as he did so. "Could you hold these?" he asked, slowing to pass the glasses to his ex. Prosper shrugged off his blazer impatiently; it wasn't exactly warm this time of year, but this place had warming charms firmly in place at every turn, so he felt a little restricted with his jacket on.

He unbuttoned his collar, flicked his blazer elegantly over his shoulder, then reached to take one of the glasses back. When she offered it, their fingers brushed for the briefest of moments. He met her eyes and wondered for a paranoid second if she'd done it on purpose. Then he started walking again, and she fell into step beside him. He sighed. "It's recent," he said reluctantly. "I just... I'm sick of thinking about it." As if to make his point, Prosper tilted his head back as he downed half of his glass in a couple of mouthfuls.

Half-expecting that he’d use her remark to create a jeer of his own and criticize her boyfriend, Montserrat was relieved by his disinterest in his whereabouts, choosing to focus on the fact that he had moved on from that rather than the double meaning she could almost hear in his voice. But she wanted to believe that he was hurting and that was enough to explain his actions even if that didn’t exactly justify them.

“I guess I assumed wrong,” she said in response to his question; it wasn’t fair for her to assume what had been going on in their relationship, but they had been together long enough for her to draw conclusions about their interactions. Even so, explaining that she thought they were good together probably further emphasized the fact that they were not together at all. Her opinions on his relationship, of which she had plenty, had no place here.

Montserrat continued to follow him, taking the glasses as he handed them to her, reaching out further forward than necessary, a subconscious action, surely, but one that gave her the information she needed. It was a momentary touch, but enough to fill her with the storm of emotions she assumed he was experiencing sadness, anger, desire, and guilt, the tips of her fingers tingling in response before the feeling traveled up and along her arms. As soon as she pulled her hand away, she took a small breath, looking away from him as her cheeks reddened a little in response. To which emotion she was responding, however, she wasn’t entirely sure, just that she felt flustered, a bit upset herself, and guilty.

“I wish I would have known,” she said, though she wasn’t sure what she would have done about it. How did you comfort someone who had just broken up from a serious relationship? Montserrat hardly had to deal with that sort of thing. “Then don't, let me distract you, let's talk about something else,” she offered instead, not pushing the topic further. She understood it now, why he had done what he did, and just like that all was forgiven.

She wished she would have known? “Why, would you have sent me a card?” he asked condescendingly. It came out a little meaner than he intended, and he sighed, feeling frustrated both with himself and the world. He didn't apologise, though. And she didn't leave.

Prosper looked out at the sunset again, admiring how pretty the colours looked against the few clouds streaked across the sky, and trying not to think about too much else. Should he ditch Montserrat and go find… Fuck, what was it? Mallory? Should he go and find Mallory (?) again? He felt all kinds of pent up, and he’d thought he’d located the perfect release for the time being. He was sure he could get her to take him back to her room or something...

It was easy for him to get caught up in one (1) thing. Always had been. He just didn’t think about things. Prosper had matured a lot in the past few years, but a lot of that had happened hand in hand with someone he’d been extremely in love and content with, and with that stability suddenly gone, he felt a bit disoriented. Falling back on old chaotic, impulsive, selfish habits was the easy thing to do.

Let me distract you. Prosper tried not to muddle their probably-very-different ideas about what a good kind of distraction would be right now as his feet carried him down a couple of stone steps and out to a much smaller, leafier courtyard. He didn’t try very hard, though; he wasn’t in the mood for self-restraint. In fact? fuck it. "I did have a distraction lined up, you know," he said, glancing at her with a little smirk in his expression. He was teasing now, though, and it was a little more well-natured than it had been earlier. Prosper turned to her, taking the last couple of steps backward until his legs bumped into a low, wide stone wall. "A pretty one, wrapped in up in a ribbon and everything." Ribbon, satin sash, whatever.

Prosper sat down on the wall, kicking one leg over to the other side for balance. To his left, on the other side of the wall, was a small drop. The hill continued down to the actual vineyard; they had quite a pretty view from up here. Prosper held out his glass to clink against hers, his smile still teasing, but more genuine now. "To Camille and Anton, married after less than a year of dating, probably to be together for the rest of their disgustingly happy lives."

“Maybe I would have,” she offered, not sure how to navigate Prosper when he was not devastatingly charming but also acknowledging that this was a better representation of how he was feeling, or at least a more honest one. “I know what it feels like,” she continued, her gaze avoiding his as she explained; she could empathize with this, she, too, understood what it felt like to lose someone that represented a fragment of stability. Though Montserrat was not sure if the breakup had been poor behavior on the part of one party or another or if they had slowly drifted apart like the two of them had. “I would’ve have been there for you,” she added.

Montserrat’s gravitation to Prosper’s side when she was not even sure about the details of the breakup was entirely a cliché, but it was difficult not to sympathize with him when he looked like the forsaken prince of a fairy tale gone wrong where the love interest was not right. Either way, Ariana was not really her friend in the traditional sense of the word, it wasn’t as if they’d spent much time together outside of their circle of friends though that was partially if not entirely, Montserrat’s fault. But she supposed it didn’t matter now.

“For tonight, sure, and tomorrow?” she asked, raising an eyebrow in question, “Anyway, that isn’t what I meant—” she added as an afterthought, not sure how he’d take her criticism or if he’d assume she was biased due to their past.

But Montserrat didn’t push for an explanation as to why Melanie and why at the wedding, instead, she watched as he clinked their glasses together, her expression softening as she heard his toast, though it was rather dark. “They’ll be very happy,” she added, “And you will, too, when you find the right person.”

He glanced at her when she said she knew what it felt like, but she was looking away now. Prosper felt a narcissistic urge to point out that he and Ari had been together for far longer than any relationship she’d ever been in (including her current one!), and that she couldn’t possibly understand. He felt like the lead character in a play, being offered advice from his trusted-but-ultimately-inconsequential butler or handmaid. The feeling passed, though, because Montserrat was Montserrat. Too kind, beautiful, and unassuming for him to derive much pleasure from cutting her down.

Her next words felt like a direct response to that last thought; perhaps another day he would have felt a little guilty for wanting to. “Well,” he said, following her lead by glancing away too. “It’s recent, like I said.” Plenty of time to ‘be there’, whatever that actually equated to in real terms. Every time they were alone together, there was talk of making plans, staying in touch… Even now, Prosper felt himself leaning into the idea of actually being friends with her outside of their respective lovers. Well, just her respective lover now, he supposed.

Prosper was amused as he watched her understand his meaning, though he was less amused by her insinuation that his impulsive hookup with the second-hottest-bridesmaid was a temporary solution. Of course, it was a temporary solution, but that was sort of the point. “There are four other bridesmaids,” He shot back with a mischievous smile, unable to resist teasing her. He was weaving through some pretty serious feelings here, and drifting between letting himself feel them — letting her see that — and playing it off like it was all some nonsense unfolding far below him. Either way, though, it was Prosper who would set the pace.

Find the right person? He quirked one eyebrow, then brought his glass to his lips, finishing his drink before he looked out at the valley again. Prosper had thought he’d found the right person. He’d really spent such a long time feeling so deeply in love with her, too. He wanted to tell Montse she would be happy someday too, to make a mean joke of what he was sure were meant to be reassuring words. He wanted to deflect from the bad feelings that she was stirring.

But he didn’t.

“Ah, we're young," he said instead. "Who'd want to be tied down at twenty-two anyway." There was probably a dig at her in there somewhere, but the comment didn't have any kind of edge to it; his words were belied by the thoughtful look in his eye as he cast his gaze out over the valley, the slight crease between his brows. He was quiet for a moment, pushing down feelings of guilt tinged with nostalgia. Then he remembered where he was. "Well, aside from Camille and Anton, of course," he said, his tone mock-gracious, "best of luck to the happy couple." Prosper leaned in and tapped his empty glass against hers again, a crooked smile appearing for a moment as he met her eye.

"So how are you, anyway?" he asked, bringing one knee up onto the wall so he could rest his elbow on it, his champagne glass dangling between two fingers.

It’s recent, he noted but that didn’t stop her from wondering how soon or under what circumstances, questions that would not help her help him but rather, selfish little curiosities that only he could satisfy. In fact, Montserrat had not even noticed that Ariana had not arrived with Prosper until well after the wedding ceremony had started when her eyes wandered in search of the pretty French brunette but could not find her.

Not that she was looking too hard, for that matter, Montserrat had spent equal parts trying not to focus on Prosper, either, even if their last interaction had been much more pleasant than the one they had had when they initially reconnected. There was this desire to become more than just occasional acquaintances, but one that came with the dangerous implication that she would overstep. Boundaries around Prosper felt like imaginary thin lines that often begged to be crossed. But there had to be more than lines holding her back and there was.

“Prosper,” she said his name in that exasperated sort of tone an older sister might use on her mischievous younger brother, “Be serious,” she continued, a little annoyed by the fact that he felt the need to be witty when she was trying to have a serious conversation with him. It was like he’d reveal, little pieces of emotional hurt only to revert back and hide behind that charming façade everyone loved so much. In the beginning, Montserrat had assumed that knowing how he felt would make things easier, not she was beginning to realize that with the knowledge came the painful acknowledgment that she could do nothing about it.

“Perhaps, but I doubt either of them sees it that way,” she considered, Anton and Camille didn’t look like they were tied to each other, they were much too young and too in love to have married for the sake of social expectation, or anything like that. “Tied down sounds so…negative,” she explained, though she wasn’t sure if that was the right word for it. But she knew what he was doing, or at least assumed that he did; talking about how much he didn’t want something would eventually make the sting of reality go away. But she smiled back at him instead, not saying anything else on the matter of Camille and Anton but silently wishing them many years of happiness as well, they deserved it.

She took a small sip from her glass, “I’m fine,” she said in response, “I love weddings, but they take so long,” she complained with a smile, had Jeremy been there he’d probably make the time go that much faster, he was good at that sort of thing. “Anyway, it’s nice to get away from work, it’s busy in the spring, lots of new babies at St. Mungo’s this time of year,” she added. “I’ve moved recently, bigger apartment and more space, otherwise nothing new. Are you still living in London?" 

She chastised him, told him to be serious, and he glanced down at his empty glass, biting his tongue. Why should he be serious? Why shouldn’t he fuck half the bridesmaids at the wedding? Where did she get off on telling him how to process his own shit? She was more fun when she was less sober, he thought. After a beat, he glanced at her glass, still mostly full, and silently urged her to drink up; it was a wedding after all.

She wasn’t having it. He met her eye when she said that she doubted Camille or Anton saw being tied down as a negative thing, half ready to defend himself and say that he hadn’t meant them and that they were clearly ready for the commitment, or whatever, but her next words made him want to switch and tease her about being tied down in other ways. The two directions clashed in his head and he ended up saying nothing, just offering a quiet “Hmm,” of neutral semi-agreement and a crooked smile.

“At least there’s food now,” Prosper offered, nodding as another server walked past the entrance to their stone courtyard, a silver tray of canapes in hand. What he really wanted was another drink; he wondered if he could nick a bottle from somewhere. Of course, that only reminded him of the time he’d done the same thing with Ariane, the first night he’d kissed her. He glanced back down at his empty glass, feeling impatient and trying not to feel guilty. Talking wasn’t a good enough distraction, he thought, feeling frustrated again.

“Really?” he asked, “that’s nice.” If talking in general wasn’t good enough, small talk was even worse. Prosper looked out at the valley once more; it was getting darker every second, the colours more vibrant and the sky a lot less blue. Above them, the fairy lights seemed a little brighter in comparison. Prosper cocked his arm back, holding the empty champagne glass like it was a javelin or something. “Not —” he flung the glass forward, throwing it off into the sky, to land somewhere amongst the vines. “— Anymore,” he finished, catching the blazer that had been draped over his shoulder as it slipped.

It was juvenile of him, but he’d just come out of a long term relationship; he figured he’d earned these moments of petty immaturity. Never mind that he was 100% to blame, give or take, for it falling apart. He exhaled heavily, turning back to her. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said, before she could chastise him for that, too. “I know I’m not good company today.” It was easier when he was with someone he didn’t know at all — eg. the second-hottest bridesmaid. Montse always wanted more of him, though; more of his thoughts, his feelings, than he necessarily wanted to share. She usually knew the right ways to ask, too, which was annoying.

His grey eyes met her brown ones. “Honestly, I’m a lot messier than I look,” he told her quietly, offering just a small smile. He was still teasing a little — Prosper knew perfectly well that he looked very put together and handsome in his suit — but it didn’t have a teasing edge at all. After a beat, he turned both of his palms upward, holding them out. “You can see if you want,” he said. “It’s not nice.”