dernière danse

part four

Authors Note- I've split this up into three parts so it's easier to read. I hope y'all enjoy it!

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"Letter, 98?" Bette asked, her eyes widened as she clutched her napkin tightly. There's an undertone of pain etched into Cleo's words as she speaks.

"Yes. I remember it by heart. I still love you, Bette. I get divorced at every single marriage I get tangled into because you are my ecstasy. You are the drug I got addicted to and I can't shake you out of my life. I never told you because I could never come back to you. I've memorized the words of every single letter you've written to me because they pain me that much. They pain me. Every syllable you dripped onto the parchment has been etched into the chambers of my heart. I bring 98 with me everywhere because it refills my body. It lets butterflies prickle my stomach again. I love you every day like I'll get to wake up to your perfume tomorrow morning. You were my sanity. I stopped living the day I was in France. You were my everything, and I couldn't do more than simply be alive after you were gone. I bled into my body every single night you weren't there. The fact that I couldn't talk to you, or write to you, or even just hang a photo of you, made me bleak. I couldn't give any of me because there wasn't any of me left to give to you. France was my nightmare, and I never wanted to be there," Cleo murmured, droplets trickling down her cheeks.

"Why didn't you send me a letter back? I wanted to roam the streets in the middle of nowhere with you. I wanted to bake something bad every day, just to see you struggle to eat and compliment it so you wouldn't hurt my feelings. I wanted to run around a field, dolled in the smile that you give me. I wanted to get drunk and talk about our love with random strangers at the bus stop. But, I couldn't. I couldn't, and that killed me for the past twenty-five years. I couldn't love you like the fool I was and the thought of it left me with eyes full of stars that had no place to go. It left me hollow, thinking that the only successful love story in my life was doomed, and long gone. A voice in my head never fails to bring you up. I can't concentrate when I'm making pancakes because I just imagine you, standing behind me, pouring the strawberry jam into the mixture. I'm so in love with you that I think of you when I'm with my husband. I'm so in love with you that I can't bring myself to go to picnics because it brings me back to us. I'm so in love with you that my mind brings it up every thirty seconds!" Bette padded the tears off her face, hesitantly reaching out to Cleo to do the same.

"My parents hovered over everything I did. They checked every one of my letters before I sent them out, so I couldn't possibly send you one," Cleo snapped, unwillingly tugging her head out of Bette's grip. "If I had the chance, I would still do every single one of those things with you. I'd run off with you right now if you asked for it," she continued, sobbing.

"I don't think we ever could do those things, anymore. Also, when did you stop fighting for me? Your parents are not a valid excuse to just abandon me without response-"

"Honey?" Someone's voice called out, the pair turning over to see where it came from. Dion was standing there, a glass of vodka in his hands, his eyes wandering to find the two of them sitting at the water fountain. Bette immediately stood up, walking over to him, and threading her arm through his.

Greeting him by the entrance back into the castle, Dion paused for a moment, turning back to the other woman to ask her something.

"I forgot to say this at the dance, but I never asked you for your name, miss."

"Cleo," she whispered, gaze still fixated on her lap.

Bette and Dion walked back into the ballroom, balancing themselves on each other, and laying their heads together. They moved nimbly, turning the heads of the people around them. When Bette saw the crowd staring at how perfect they were, tears were clotting her eyes again. How could she love a man when her heart belongs to the most rambunctious woman she'd ever met? How could Dion ever fill her heart when it already was occupied for so many years?