The Other Brother

Chapter 8

Flight

Once back in town, both Belle and Rum have realized that the plans they had talked about up in the cabin - for Rum to go to Paris, to go live in the mountains - weren't going to happen – all of it was a fun fantasy fueled by passion and the thin mountain air.

Unbeknownst to Rum, Belle has talked at length with his brother, Jefferson, to let him know that she has realized she is not the one for him. She has encouraged him to pursue his relationship with Alice.

Things are tense between Rum and Belle as they ride into the office. Rum, once more, tries to persuade Belle to distance herself from him and she becomes angry at his continually pushing her away and making decisions for her.

At a late supper in his office, Belle, no longer irritated with the man, discovers the Paris plane tickets but consumed with guilt and grief, Rum shares with her that, all along, he was planning to send her off alone (with a multitude of gifts). Belle takes the plane ticket and tells him that he is a coward and just doesn't believe that she can love him.

Monday Night – Stiltskin Offices

"Belle, please, please take the other things. You deserve them. It would . . ."

"Make you feel better?" she asked him, interrupting. She shook her head. "No thanks. I'll just take the plane ticket. I see it leaves out the day after tomorrow." She sighed. "You won't see me again. I think that will make it easier."

"At least let me drive you home," he offered.

She gave him a thin smile and held up the plane ticket. "I'm flying home."

And then she walked out.

He did not go home that night. His office was set up to accommodate the occasional night in, not that he slept any. He sat up all night looking out at the city's lights in the darkness. He was a dark soul, a terrible excuse for a human being. And she had offered him a glimmer of light. But he had been more interested in his power, his money, his business than love. And she was right; he couldn't believe that she, that anyone, could love him. After all, what could love offer him?

Just closeness and comfort . . . and happiness.

He must have eventually dozed. The sun coming through the window woke him up. He'd been sitting in his chair. He stretched, sore from the awkward position, and got up. He went ahead and grabbed a shower and was shaving, getting ready to change into one of the suits he kept in the office for just such a purpose. He heard a knock on the door.

Belle! He almost said her name aloud. Belle! She'd come back! His heart leaped. He ran to the door.

It was Jefferson, walking unsteadily with a cane.

Disappointment swept over him. He had to take a moment to pull it together.

"You're up and about early," Rum managed to remark to his brother, doing his best to mask his disappointment. "This is good. I wanted to see you. I'm canceling the desalinization project. I've got a ticket to Paris here for you. You're the one she's always wanted. I was just a brief, unpleasant distraction. She'll be on the plane. Belle will be on the plane," he clarified. "There's also an apartment in Paris waiting. I'll speak to Alice's family and make it all right."

Jefferson walked into the office and took a moment to silently survey his usually dapper brother's state of disarray. He went over to the desk. "Nice," he said picking up the plane ticket and putting it back down. "I came by early to talk to you," Jefferson told him.

"You had a talk with Belle," Rum guessed.

"Oh, it involved a bit more than that. Did you know that she had dumped me the night before last, Sunday night after you two had gotten back off the mountain? Best dumping I've ever had. Made it sound like I was the good guy. That's not why I'm here."

"Listen, I think I . . . ."

Jefferson waved him off. "She dropped by to see me again late . . . very late . . . last night."

Rum didn't say anything.

"She said she'd be going back to Paris. And she gave me a kiss." Jefferson eased himself carefully onto the corner of Rum's big executive desk. "I guess I dodged a bullet with Belle," he began. "You'd think by now that I should be able to recognize the kind of woman who's just interested in money, but I guess I'm still blinded by a pair of great legs. I gather she realized you had a lot more money than I did and decided to go after you. Got to hand it to you. You were always so clever, about so many things. You recognized her for what she was – after our money and all. Not sure how you extricated yourself . . ."

Jefferson didn't get a chance to finish. Rum landed a punch on his jaw toppling the wobbly Jefferson over and off the desk. Jefferson dropped to the floor landing on his back. He pulled himself up to his elbows and started to laugh . . . then cry as he rubbed his wretched posterior. "Took you long enough," he told his brother.

"What?" Rum was confused.

"You're in love with the woman!"

"I can't be!" Rum protested. He held out his hand to help his brother to his feet.

"Of course, you are! It's just a feeling you've never felt before so you don't recognize it. You sure as hell don't recognize when a woman's in love with you, you big dumbass. And you're sending her off to Paris? What the hell are you thinking? Your relationship with her is not going to affect me and Alice. It's not going to affect the desalinization project. You're free and clear to be with her. Tell me, what's stopping you from doing that, from being with her?'

"I told her everything and now she . . . she thinks I'm an arse," Rum told his brother.

"Well, we all do. So what?" Now Jefferson was rubbing his jaw. "Go after her."

"I'm no good for her. She knows I manipulated her, lied to her, used her. She won't want to see me again."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," Jefferson counseled him leaning back against the desk.

"Why would you say that?"

"I don't have many skills, brother, but I actually do know a little about women. I told you that Belle had come by to see me and had given me a kiss. A very salty, very sad kiss. I began putting two and two together and, I may be slow, but given enough time, I am able to figure things out. I knew that she didn't love me anymore, maybe, probably, she never had loved me. However, sometime between Sunday night and Monday night, the woman's heart had been broken." Jefferson looked his brother over. "I figured you were the son of a bitch who broke it. The woman's in love with you and I had to come here to find out if you had any feelings for her. And yes, I had a long talk with Alice, told her the whole sordid story, including confessing my reprehensible role in the whole mess."

"So you're single again?" Rum managed to ask.

"No. Alice . . . is remarkable. I got a well-deserved earful and some, shall we call them . . . guidelines for future behavior. She's going to look over the pre-nup again but she . . . she's willing to give me a second chance. She then agreed to drive me in to see you. She's waiting for me by the way. We're thinking of setting the date for October thirty-first. It suits her odd sense of humor and I'm fine with whatever."

"All right," Rum replied, trying to take in everything his brother was telling him.

"Oh, I'll be wanting everything you've got on that desalinization project. Since it will involve my new wife's family, I'd kinda like to be on top of things – maybe taking a hand in running things – especially if you're going to be out of the country for a while."

Rum was a bit stunned. "You're getting involved with the family business?"

"Since you're going to be in Paris for a while, someone needs to run things," Jefferson told him.

Numbly Rum nodded, "Miss Gorim can help you out – she pretty much runs things anyway."

"Ah ha!" Jefferson exclaimed. "I'd always wondered about that. I'll be talking with her then." Jefferson looked his brother over thinking he looked like crap. "Well, are you going to go home and pack a bag? You don't have long to get ready for this Paris trip. I'll tell the Iron Maiden you're going." He paused as he got to the door of the office. "Oh yeah, before you go, can you direct me to my office? I thought that would be a good place for me to set up."

Midday - Wednesday

Belle was sitting on the plane.

She couldn't help but think back to her father and their tearful goodbye. She had confessed all to him – well mostly all – not the night of passion with Rum and all the orgasms, but all about her misguided love for the elder Stiltskin scion. And finding out that it was all a manipulation by the man to get her out of the picture so a multi-billion dollar deal could go through.

Once she had realized how she had been used, she had been devastated.

But she didn't blame Rum, not entirely. She had jumped headlong into his arms, into his bed. She had said she was an adult. She needed to take responsibility for her behavior like an adult.

A part of her had thought, had wanted to believe, that he might have some real feelings for her but . . . well, he couldn't accept that about himself. He would never take the risk of getting into a real relationship with her . . . with anyone.

After she had shared her sad story with her father, he had hugged her and did his best to comfort her – all without telling her "I told you so."

She loved her dad.

Then he had taken a moment and handed her a check he had written out.

"What is this? It's for ten thousand dollars!" she had exclaimed.

"A little starter money . . . for you to begin a new life," he had told her.

"Oh, Daddy, I can't take this. This must be your life's savings," she tried to hand it back but he had waved her off.

"I've got plenty. I've had a good salary, very few expenses, I've managed to save a lot and I . . . I've done a little investing," he admitted.

She laughed "What? You're going to tell me you have a couple of hundred thousand ferreted away?"

"A little more than that," he was slow to make his confession. "Actually closer to three million." Belle looked at him agape.

"But . . . but . . . how?" she asked stopping her packing to sit down.

"Well, nearly thirty years ago, when I started driving Mr. Stiltskin Senior, I would hear him investing - buying and selling. I talked with young Mr. Rum. At that time, he was in college and had already been very successful with his own investing. He gave me some advice and got me started. At first, I would follow along; when he or Mr. Stiltskin would buy a thousand shares, I would buy ten. Later I could afford to buy a hundred. When they would sell, I would sell. Later, I think because of all the reading I was doing, I was able to pick out some of my own investments, most of which have proven to be very, very profitable. When you were born, your mother and I started a little portfolio for you and, right now, you've got about a million in your own name stashed away. I got some of the others on staff investing too, so everyone is doing pretty well," he told her. He looked at her seriously. "Belle, I plan on retiring in about two years and I was thinking of asking Ms. Potts to share the wealth. Would you be . . . all right with that?"

"Of course! Of course. I love Ms. P, Daddy. She's always been like a second mother to me. And, of course, I want you to be happy, too."

She had to smile through her tears, happy for her father and, honestly, glad to have the security of a substantial nest egg to buffer her until she could settle in and start her life over. She had asked her father to continue to manage her account since he obviously knew what he was doing. At the moment she had two thousand in her pocket – she'd changed it into traveler's checks and Euros before she left and the rest she'd put into the bank. She was sitting in first class, thanks to Rum's plane ticket, so she had a lot of room. She'd already ordered herself some wine and was doing her best not to keep crying. Maybe with the wine, she would make it.

She would have thought that she had cried herself out but odd things would make her tear up again – trumpet music, the smell of curry, the smell of newsprint.

She looked over at her seatmate, someone swathed up head to toe in blankets. He. . . she . . . it had been there when she got on. She sincerely hoped the person wasn't ill.

The plane began to taxi down the runway. Belle pulled out her tablet and began reading. No, not reading, she was looking at the words but nothing was sinking in. If she could only get focused on the story. Then maybe, between her story and the wine she would make it.

Concentration failed. She began to make plans for what she would do once she got to Paris. She thought perhaps she'd give the old Baron a ring when she got to Paris. He could probably recommend a place for her stay and perhaps point her towards some employment.

The stewardess had come by and was addressing her seatmate. "Wine, sir?"

"Can you put it in this?" the voice was muffled but vaguely familiar. However, the chipped cup that was being held out was quite recognizable.

"Rum? Rum!" She was stunned. He pulled off the blankets that he'd wrapped around himself.

"A very good friend told me that I really needed a vacation. Said I might enjoy Paris."

"You will," she was brushing tears away. "But I don't understand. Why . . . why are you here?"

"I'm here because this is where I'm supposed to be," he answered simply.

"But . . . " she stumbled, trying to begin. "But . . . but everything was a lie. You don't care about me. You never cared. You only wanted to get rid of me."

"That's how it started," he admitted. "But then . . . things changed."

"How . . . however can I believe you now?" she asked, shaking her head.

He didn't answer right away. "Because you know me," he told her. "You know me better than I know myself."

Belle sat quietly, staring blankly at her e-reader, trying to sort things out. How could she trust him again? How could she believe him? Should she believe him?

"My friend promised me that she would show me around Paris," he reminded her gently. He looked at her, brown eyes meeting blue. "Does . . . at least . . . that offer still stand?"

Belle hesitated, "Yes . . . yes, of course, it does!" She looked at him intently, "What . . . what changed your mind? Why did you come after me?"

"Because, according to . . . everyone we know, I'm an idiot, who let the best thing that's ever happened to me slip through my fingers. I got to hear this from my brother who was the first on the scene yesterday morning. Also from Alice who was pretty colorful when she cornered me about what I'd done. And Miss Gorim, who called me a, try to be calm here – this is swearing for her – she called me a blockhead. And . . . your dad, who said you'd be better off without me. The toughest lecture came from Ms. Potts."

"Dear Ms. Potts. She never has a cross word for anyone," Belle said.

"Well, she did for me," he told Belle. "She sat me down to tell me how disappointed she was with me. But then she fixed me some tea and told me she knew I would figure things out and do the right thing."

Belle had to smile. Ms. Potts was such a dear.

"The only person who didn't tell me I was being an idiot was my father who thought I'd done the right thing – which sent a cold shiver up my spine because my father is . . . probably one of Satan's favorites." He looked into her eyes, "Belle, I realized I was . . . I am . . . in love with you. I don't think I'm good enough for you, I know I'll continually disappoint you, but I'm still in love with you. I am the man that I am, Belle. I'll try to be the best man I can be, but, you understand, I am a man who makes bad decisions about relationships. But you make me want to be better. I'll spend the rest of my life trying to be better if you'll have me."

He waited nervously. When he had talked this over with Maurice, the man had finally given Rum his reluctant blessing to go after Belle, after securing his promise that he would do his best not to break her heart again. Maurice had agreed with him that he wasn't good enough for Belle. It hurt, but it was true.

And when he had talked this over with Alice, she had assured him that Belle was in love with him and if he told her the truth, he might, maybe, just maybe, have another shot with her.

Belle spoke slowly, "Was that a proposal?"

He gave her a slow smile. "Belle, I come from a family of men who all have histories of impulsive marriage proposing and, very often, it doesn't work out well. Having said that, I've gotten to my position in the financial world by recognizing a great deal when I come across one. And you, my dear, are the best deal I've ever come across. What I would like to do . . . "

And Belle recognized that he had gone into his business negotiation mode the same mode that took over weaker companies, that crushed competition, that brought powerful organizations to their knees. She waited.

"I'd like to put the offer of marriage on the table . . . for your consideration. It will stay on the table, a day, a week, a month or a year or however long it takes until you accept it or you tell me to take it off." He seemed unsure of himself. "If you want to wait a while before you answer, I'll completely understand." And he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. "Jefferson and Alice helped me pick it out. I don't know if it will fit, but that can be corrected." He added, almost shyly, "I know this is quick, very quick, and I don't want you to feel you have to give me an answer right away . . . but I wanted you to know how I feel."

She opened the box and gasped. "This is too big for a diamond. It's like an itty bitty ice skating rink." She slipped it on and held out her hand. "It fits. It's beautiful."

"So your answer is . . .?"

She considered a moment let him squirm a bit. In her most severe librarian voice she spoke slowly, "I'll give your offer serious consideration. Perhaps what we need is a long engagement, maybe like a pre-engagement. We can get to know each other better, see how much we really have in common, see how well we can accept our differences?" And she handed him back the ring. "You keep this for now."

He nodded, hope blooming. She hadn't told him to jump out of the plane without a parachute. "That's acceptable." He continued eagerly, "We don't have to stay in the same apartment in Paris. I don't want you to feel any pressure."

There was another pause.

"We can stay in the same apartment," she told him quietly.

He was a trifle surprised. "You can let me know where you want me to sleep. I'll take the sofa if you want. Hell, I'll sleep on the kitchen floor if you want me too, but," he gave her his sexiest smile, "it would be a lot more fun if I slept in your bed . . . with you."

She smiled very slightly, "We'll see." Well, just darn. Even being angry and upset with the man, he could still make her insides all warm and tingly.

"It's not just about the sex," he followed-up. "What we had was . . . fantastic. And there are so many things I'd like to do to you, to show you, when you're ready . . . assuming that you want to again, at some point. But you know it's not just about sex. I like being with you, talking with you, seeing things through your eyes, hearing about your day, all those regular everyday things that would be boring to me if they were about anybody else."

"When you aren't being . . . unpleasant, I like being with you too," she told him.

He sat back and stretched, relief flooding him. "How long you think this pre-engagement should be?"

"Well, let's see. For your family a long engagement is what? Six weeks?" she asked him.

"Pretty much," he agreed. "Although Jefferson and Alice are going for a new record. They're planning on a late October wedding, so that makes it nearly," he paused while he counted things up, "Nearly six months since they first met before they're getting married."

"Then we can wait six months too," she told him.

He took a deep breath. She had not spit on him, smashed his special cup, or told him she never wanted to see him again. She was willing to give him six months to try to make things up to her! She was willing for them to stay in the same apartment. Images of Belle in a bed, his bed, wearing some little white lacey thing, smiling at him, holding her arms out to him came into his head – nice, comforting images. He was starting a new life. It was . . . wonderful.

She leaned over to him and whispered. "You do know that I love you too."

He reached for her hand. "Actually, I do," he told her with that smile that made her insides flip over. They held hands as the plane left the ground and took them aflight.

Gosh, I've had such lovely comments and support for this little drabble of a story. I want to thank those recent reviewers for taking out the time to send me a line: lovepeacebubble121x, Wondermorena, juju0268, orthankg1, Grace5231973, MyraValhallah, fire90, Melstrife, Robin4, Erik'sTrueAngel (Guest), BloodyTink, jewel415, DearieGleek, and deweymay.

I've had this remix in my Twyla Files for a while. In case there is anyone out there who doesn't know/hasn't realized, this is based on the movie Sabrina (which was originally a stage play). Mostly, I worked from the original version with Bogey and Audrey Hepburn (both people I really like, but who sadly lacked chemistry between them in this movie). It was remade with Harrison Ford and Julia Ormond and I did use elements from the second movie here and there in this version.

I got the idea watching the original movie during the pivotal scene wherein Sabrina discovers that it's all been a ruse and the oldest brother never had any intention of going to Paris, so she, classily, elects to be the one to go away. It reminded me so much of the Skin Deep break-up scene: the brave, stalwart heroine who's not afraid of love and the tormented hero who doesn't feel he's worthy of love and doesn't want to lose his power/business - was just too much overlap to ignore. In Sabrina, the hero goes after her (which darn it all, Rumple should have done too).

I did alter the character of Elizabeth (Jefferson's fiancée) into Alice. She was quite unsympathetic in the first movie (the remake did a much better job with this character). The card playing scene where Alice lays down two pairs (of ones) was ripped off from a Bugs Bunny cartoon, Barbary Coast Bunny (I guess the rabbit thing and Alice and Jefferson/Mad Hatter was playing in my unconscious and bubbled up when I was writing my own Alice/Mad Hatter scenes).

Stay tuned, I'm hoping to get out my next work (working name is still The Grey Hunter) next week. It's an ambitious piece and a bit grim (as people requested when I was working on Some Soul of Goodness - not light and fluffy, as I might have guessed). luv to all -twyla