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There's something almost dazzling about the gala - about the shimmering Christmas lights and the heavily decorated tree that looms over you, the garlands sprawling over the banisters and endless glasses of champagne flourished around. Your fiancé's hand sits on your lower back, warm and gentle, hovering so that his palm just barely brushes against you.
"Oh, we haven't set a date yet," Bruce smiles politely, all perfect charm and dazzling wit. "We're just… taking it slow."
You nearly flinch at that - nearly. You almost shudder at the reminder of the gap between the two of you. But this is all for show - every part of it, so you just offer your own blinding smile and excuse yourself politely. You murmur something, you think, about having to go speak to someone else, and when you move away and Bruce lets you so easily, something lurches a bit in your chest.
But this is what you both wanted, you remind yourself as you wind through crowds of people. This was the agreement, you tell yourself as you walk through the endless halls of the manor. This was the contract, this was -
The air, as you stumble out onto one of the endless balconies, is cold enough to be biting. Snow crunches against your feet as you shiver, the champagne flute in your hand fogging up at the dropping temperature.
You sniffle a bit, shaking your head as if it could blow away the snowflakes that drift down onto your cheeks. But nothing, you find, unsticks the feeling that you have - the weight in your chest that sort of hangs there, swaying back and forth to the unsteady beats of your heart.
"You'll freeze out here," Bruce's voice is formal, polite and clear as he shuts the balcony door quietly behind him. You don't move, just standing and staring out at the sprawling gardens as you swirl the champagne in your glass. He moves to stand next to you, his hands stuffed into his suit pockets as he watches you.
"I don't mind the cold," you offer eventually, your murmur a futile attempt to get his gaze off you, to direct his attention somewhere else. It never works, of course, and Bruce's eyes are fixed on you as you drain the rest of your glass.
"You look like you mind it," he pointed out, and you can feel the goosebumps on your arms as you shiver slightly in the frigid air. But you just hum in disagreement, plucking his champagne out of his hand and replacing it with your empty glass.
He lets you, much to your surprise, and watches with something akin to amusement as you take a sip from his champagne flute. But then you flinch, spluttering a bit, and he laughs for the first time that you've ever seen.
"Oh my god - you're drinking apple juice?" you cough, and Bruce settles, humming in agreement.
"Yes, I… don't drink," he tells you, and you pause with the glass halfway back to your lips.
"You don't?" you ask in bemusement. He looks down, toeing at the snow with his dress shoe.
"No," he says simply.
"Ok," you offer carefully. "Um… May I ask why? Is it -"
"Oh, no, no," he rushes to say. "It's just, it's for my health. I just like to take care of myself."
"Oh, uh… sure," you nod, and the silence that falls between the two of you statics a bit with awkwardness. You stare down at the apple juice that sloshes in your fiancé's champagne flute, and you wonder how long you would've gone without knowing him if you hadn't stumbled upon the truth in such a way.
You're interrupted, finally, by the weight of Bruce's suit jacket being draped around your shoulders, and he nearly smiles at the way you jump a bit at the contact. But then the dark fabric swallows you just a bit, and his cologne pricks at your nose as he shoves his hands back in his pockets and takes a step back.
"You're cold," is all he offers, and you nod silently as you tuck yourself a bit further into the jacket. The smell of it sort of wraps around you, the unfamiliarity of it twisting into you, and you wonder with a little spark of nerves what it will be like to spend the rest of your life with this smell. Bruce continues to watch you and you wonder, with a bit more anxiety, what it will be like to spend the rest of your life with that gaze on you.
"Do you want to talk about whatever you're thinking?" Bruce asks quietly, and you purse your lips in fake thought.
"Do you want to talk about what you're thinking?" you counter. He doesn't laugh this time, doesn't take the bait and let the seriousness slide away. He just sort of nods, following your gaze out toward the sprawling gardens of his home, as he sighs.
"I think this'll get awfully lonely if we don't speak to each other," he murmurs, and you're not sure the scoff that you let out in response is truly warranted.
"I didn't realize companionship was part of the contract," you snipe, and he hums thoughtfully.
"It's still a marriage," he points out. "Just an arranged one."
"You seemed fine with how we were up until tonight," you counter. "What changed? What's going on with you?"
"We're getting married," Bruce says bluntly. You squint.
"Did you just find out?" you quip, and he heaves a long-suffering sigh as he tips his head back to look up at the snowflurried sky. You wonder, as you watch him, how this will go if he's already so weary from it - from you.
But then you look down to the sprawling gardens again, and the Christmas lights strewn across every available branch and bush twinkle in and out. The sounds of the party - laughter and clinking glasses and music drift up toward the two of you, and when you look over at your fiancé, he's already looking back.
"You know," you start quietly, "sometimes I think this life is… um, it's long, you know - and it's lonely."
"Sure, yes," he nods.
"I don't know if… we need to make it lonelier for ourselves," you continue quietly, and a flurry of snowflakes has you shivering. "Or, you know… for each other."
"So, we agree," Bruce says gently. You press your lips together.
"Maybe," you say reluctantly, and he snorts out a laugh.
"Well, I'll take that for now," he concedes. "Are you ready to go back inside?"
"In a minute," you say softly, tugging his suit jacket a bit tighter around you. "I wouldn't mind just…staying like this for a bit."
"We have all the time in the world," he shrugs in agreement, and the little smile that you shoot him is a bit more genuine than you intend.
"Yea," you nod gently. "I guess we do."