Pairing: Christian/Satine (Moulin Rouge)
Three weeks. Three weeks filled with music, dancing, food, and love. Satine couldn’t believe it; she had never had so much fun in her entire life. None of the other men had ever made her feel this special.
But, surely all of this had to be an act. No one could be that genuine and real; it just didn’t happen. Everyone played a part, or that was what Zidler had taught her.
One night, she chose to pose a question to Christian.
“Christian, it’s been three weeks. How come you haven’t asked me to stay the night or even offered me money?”
The question caught Christian off-guard. He looked up from his typewriter, his blue eyes meeting hers. No matter how surprised he was, his answer didn’t miss a beat.
“Because I love you.”
Satine furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple.” Christian stood up and crossed to the bed. Sitting down next to her, he took her face in his hands. “I love you. Not your job. To me, you’re wonderful.”
“But, Christian, I’m a courtesan. Nothing special.”
He shook his head, a lock of dark hair falling onto his forehead. “You’re wrong. You are special. You’re the most wonderful, beautiful, talented woman I’ve ever known.”
Satine laughed at that. “How many women have you know?”
Christian shrugged. “Does it matter? All that matters is that I know you, and to me, you’re no courtesan.”
Satisfied with the answer, Satine kissed him. In that moment, she didn’t care about the Moulin Rouge, the play, or the Duke. Christian and his belief in her were worth risking everything.
Dean closed his eyes and listened to the crash of the waves as they hit the rocky cliff. It was a methodical pounding sound, almost welcoming.
He dug his toes into the warm sand. Each grain was soft and course at the same time.
Opening his eyes, he took in the blue-green color of the ocean. He never realized how beautiful it was. Now, after almost losing his life to it, he respected it.
This was home; he was home. He loved this place, and in that moment, he knew he was never going back to London.
Alex stretched out on the couch, holding a can of Pringles and the remote. Just as he turned on the telly, Juliet screamed.
“Alex Law!” Within a few minutes, she appeared in the living room doorway. “What is the meaning of this?” Juliet showed him her black sequined dress, which had a large tear in the bottom seam.
Alex glanced at it. “That wasn’t my fault.”
“Like hell! You’re going to have to buy me a new one.”
Alex scoffed. “But it wasn’t my fault; you stepped on it when you were drunk.”
“But you were the one wearing it!”