FIC : more to come
[Title:] More to Come
[Setting:] AU. Modern day.
[Character(s):] Mireille
[Summary:] She isn't waiting for him to propose.
[Author's Notes:] Inspired by the prompt, "a replica of reality".
The contract as involved as they are themselves, undoubtedly, isn’t material. Seeing how the apartment isn’t in her name and the band of precious metal on her finger without engravings. The glimmer of silver catches the light and her attention with it, while she prepares café latte in his coffee machine for the highly advanced, her eyes lingering only momentarily.
She isn’t waiting for him to propose and she has no one else to do so on her behalf. Mother may be uninformed, but she certainly isn’t ignorant; not blind to the emptiness of Mireille’s room at home, nor to where exactly Mireille is spending her days. Her nights with them. Yet, her own process of transition takes precedence, doesn’t it? - Her preparations for an impending return to Boulaide. The tabloids, too, share a generally consistent idea about what the implications might entail, judging from the immense interest they are paid whenever they’re in public together. Jean Louis and she, Barrault’s prodigal daughter.
Outside the kitchen window, the sky is overcast, for the season. August drawing to a close. During the five months that have passed them by, at the pace one must expect when one party is Luxembourg’s political leader and the other public property by courtesy of her… perhaps unexpected presence alone, their relationship has become fully established. As is. Already. Officially and in private. This time, they have been hiding nothing. Because the development they’ve undergone -- has left its unmistakable imprint on their choices, in addition to everything else which has changed, completely. Finally. Neither of them believes a mistake can’t be rectified. Neither of them would accept the appertaining consequences. That their past should prove obstructive for the progression of their future, rather than functioning as its very foundation.
Father hasn’t been forgotten, of course. In this aspect, death isn’t the definite end and the same query surfaces continuously, as a result. The thoughts he might have expressed. The concerns voiced. Her hands have long since stopped shaking, when she returns to sender. Her prior centre. Raising the glass filled with a mix of hot milk and coffee extract to her lips, she doesn’t reject the pause, either.
An engagement would hold symbolic value in excess. Be of outward significance solely. Marriage to an even greater degree. In essence, however, it shan’t bring any alterations worth of notice. If noticeable at all. What they share isn’t capable of exceeding its current rate of exchange, because it has reached its peak - in these surroundings and on their personally determined terms. Surely a ring won’t denote decline by itself, but it is representative of an empty institution. Transparent beyond the walls that they themselves erect.
When he isn’t here, to give her away. Freely.
Such blankness isn’t a familiar point of departure, for her. Literature replicates reality - and is never without substance. Even the textual surface must be viewed as inherently meaningful in its design, if nothing else. Depicting the essence of that which it addresses. The necessity of reaction is, however; well known and well adopted. By presenting her with a tabula rasa, were he to ask her to marry him…
In turn, her answer would be given.
She can’t say whether it’s something, in all its minute details, that he’s contemplating. If their approaches to the matter match up, expected and surprising in equal measure, he should find the question superfluous and she shan’t be one to disagree, isn’t that so? The entirety of Luxembourg might be holding its breath, waiting for him ‘to pop the question’ as has been the increasingly recurring phrase in Bild the closer they’ve drawn to her birthday, but Mireille doesn’t. Doesn’t consider it necessary, although she does consider it. Naturally. Still, she isn’t waiting for him to propose. She refuses to think that her finger is poorer for the lack of gold and rocks, but to refuse the possibility by proximity - that it could also easily be enriched by the addition, would be unreasonable. As well.
Meanwhile, the latte has turned lukewarm. Not cold. Another sip and she leaves the glass on the table. In its present state.