They made love that night in Christian's garret, and lay awake in each other's arms watching the sun rise. Satine told him that she loved him, how she loved him, that his eyes never made her feel like flesh but music, that no other man made her laugh without reservation. How she loved him. She couldn't say the reasons enough.
An emerald bracelet lay on the table on her side of the bed. Christian left her side to go get dressed. Satine remained, her eye fixed on the remembrance. She said nothing to him of that.
They were giddy in their secrecy. They flaunted it, daring more and more where they met and when. The Duke was a foolish man; they danced around him, the prerogatives of theater their footwork.
Promises were just words, after all, and like lines, could be faked and repeated until made good.
She never saw Zidler protecting them until he cornered her, the fury of his lies visible and electric. He made her make a promise. The infatuation would end. And Satine kept this one, for the infatuation was far behind both of them.
She owed the Duke time. They had not been alone together, ever: she had seen to that herself. But the Duke was money, and she was not the only one who depended on the Moulin Rouge. Harold had told him she would dine at the Tower at eight. There was not time to let Christian know.
She woke up in a room hidden far back in the building. Grave, anxious faces hovered over her. I've been here before, she thought. Marie spoke to her in whispers. Zidler only watched.
"What time is it?" Satine asked. She was glad when they told her. Her chest cavity ached, and her mouth tasted vaguely of coins.
You're dying, Satine. His banished voice murmured in her ear. She shivered, and asked for another blanket.
She spoke the words again that she so dreaded to say. We have to end it. Everyone knows. Soon the Duke will know and everything will be ruined and lost.
He sang to her. He wrote a piece into the show, right under all their noses. Sing out this song and I'll be there by your side.
They made love in the sunlight before they were to accompany the Duke on his picnic. The last warm days of fall were upon them. Satine closed her eyes and felt her lungs open a little. She was certain she had almost everything she wanted. Even on this tightrope. Especially on this tightrope.
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An emerald bracelet lay on the table on her side of the bed. Christian left her side to go get dressed. Satine remained, her eye fixed on the remembrance. She said nothing to him of that.
Reply
Promises were just words, after all, and like lines, could be faked and repeated until made good.
She never saw Zidler protecting them until he cornered her, the fury of his lies visible and electric. He made her make a promise. The infatuation would end. And Satine kept this one, for the infatuation was far behind both of them.
Reply
She woke up in a room hidden far back in the building. Grave, anxious faces hovered over her. I've been here before, she thought. Marie spoke to her in whispers. Zidler only watched.
"What time is it?" Satine asked. She was glad when they told her. Her chest cavity ached, and her mouth tasted vaguely of coins.
You're dying, Satine. His banished voice murmured in her ear. She shivered, and asked for another blanket.
Reply
She told him the truth, or the greatest part of it she would admit: I was sick.
-You should have stayed. I would have made you better. I would have kept you happy.
-I am happy, she retorted fiercely. I wouldn't trade what I've done.
Not most of it, anyway.
Reply
He sang to her. He wrote a piece into the show, right under all their noses. Sing out this song and I'll be there by your side.
They made love in the sunlight before they were to accompany the Duke on his picnic. The last warm days of fall were upon them. Satine closed her eyes and felt her lungs open a little. She was certain she had almost everything she wanted. Even on this tightrope. Especially on this tightrope.
Reply
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