Seven Year Itch (8)

Lucas sat in a beautiful looking Café, he had dark circles under his eyes. Two days, his wife left the hotel two days ago and check into another a decent distance away. He hadn't been able to contact her and even when he tried to confront her personally, she had moved again. Constantly telling him to leave her alone or she will get even further away.

He hadn't slept, His wife had finally contacted him about talking, they are supposed to met at this café. His hand was crushing the note she left when she first left the hotel. I need time apart from you. 'Please let me be. I shouldn't have come. A Mistake. Sorry.'

'Sorry...' he thought, Lucas especially hated that word. The mistakes were his, damn it! Not hers. He'd tried to tell her so. Was she reading any of the messages he'd left for her? Did she even know he was here, waiting, hoping, desperately wanting her to come? He checked his watch again. Three minutes past eight. Held up in traffic? It wasn't far from the hotel in Piccadilly to Covent Garden. Rowen had a thing about punctuality. She'd never understood social lateness. If a time was given, that was the time one should arrive. It offended her sense of order to be late.

The fear Lucas had tried to keep at bay began sinking its teeth into him. The longer a rift went on, the more entrenched feelings and attitudes could become. This was not looking good.

Today was supposed to be their last day in Paris. Tomorrow they were scheduled to catch the train to London, for their arrival to Waverley house.

Rachel was sitting in the Café opposite, while Watching Lucas contemplate.

"He looks awful and its amazing" Bonnie said from across her, she have a delicious half-eaten cheese cake in front of her.

Rachel smiled, as she picked up a square piece of chocolate and severed its taste. Her eyes reflected something, but it wasn't cold nor warm. "I suppose I should get going. Lucas still thinks I'm a punctual person Afterall."

"Yea, Goodluck." Bonnie said her eyes went back to focus on the her sweet before her.

Rachel smiled and left a fifty-dollar bill on the table. As she walked across the street to the café Lucas was in. His head was bent, a hand covering his brow as though nursing a raging headache. Then he glanced up and saw her, and her feet 'instantly faltered'. It was as though he was starved for the sight of her, and he rose to his feet so quickly, He visibly restrained himself, pulling back the leg that had started forward, straightening his shoulders, remaining by the table while lifting an arm in a genteel gesture of invitation and welcome.

Moving Forward, Rachel felt Lucas Gaze darting all over her. Keen to take in every detail, as though she, and only she, was the focus of his caring and attention.

"Thank you for coming," he said, the words sounding deeply felt. Caring. Despite being invited to talk he felt that she wasn't going to come and talk to him. She nodded and slid onto the banquette across the table from Lucas, grateful to sit down, aware her legs were beginning to look wobbly.

"How was your week?" she asked.

"Hellish," he answered, a dark throb to his voice.

She flicked a nervous glance at him. "I'm sorry if I messed you up. I didn't mean to. I just wanted out of the situation," she said quickly.

"I know. I'm sorry you were put into a hurtful position, Rowen. It was blindly stupid mismanagement on my part, and I regret it very deeply."

"I guess overlooking me and my feelings had become a habit with you, Lucas. The wife who's a fixture. Taken for granted until it gets up and bites."

"That's not true," he retorted sharply.

"You're not going to pretend, are you, Lucas? This meeting is a waste of time if that's your plan."

He returned an incredulous stare, then shook his head in slow, helpless despair. "Have you read any of the messages I've left for you since Monday, Rowen?"

"I did ask you to leave me alone," she tersely reminded him. Her eyes glittered with angry accusation. "It wasn't much to ask in the circumstances, I would have thought."

"The circumstances weren't what you believed them to be," he said quietly, his eyes pained.

She shook her head in patent disbelief. "Please don't take this line, Lucas. It's beneath both of us."

He grimaced. "You really haven't read anything I've written you."

"Does it matter if I did or not. Besides , tomorrow , you'll be leaving Paris fo-"

"Do you plan to come with me?"

"No, I won't," she said coldly. "I came here because I thought we should come to an understanding."

"Understanding," he mocked. "What a wonderfully euphemistic word when a marriage is in trouble! Especially when communication has been steadfastly denied."

"Do you want a post-mortem on your failure to tell me where you were at, Lucas?" she shot at him.

"I don't want a post-mortem at all," he declared emphatically, his frustration breaking through. "This marriage is not dead for me, and why you want to kill it off so damned quickly—"

"I kill it off! Just because you want to have your cake and eat it, too, you think I'm prepared to swallow your—your infidelity and turn a blind eye? Go on as though it means nothing to me?"

"I have not been unfaithful," he stated vehemently.

"You expect me to believe that!"

"I know I'm at fault," Lucas conceded.

"Well, that's big of you!" Outrage burned off her tongue. "My God! You didn't even have the decency, the fair-mindedness to give our marriage a chance. You decided, by yourself, that I wasn't up to the mark of satisfying you sexually so you went about planning something else. That's the guts of it, isn't it?"