two kinds of love ;; [a mq valentine's]
He may have gone a little overboard for her birthday, but that was sort of the whole point. A day for her, as almost all others now were, but special — as cliche as it that may sound. But Valentine's, that — that would be about them.
Yes, they had been together long enough to be a them. That was all he truly wanted them to be. Not when all this had started, no, but it took only a few months to fall for this woman again, harder and more completely. Enough so that he had finally had enough, too much, and told her so.
He loved her. More than he could really explain. And he could see it was better he didn't try too hard to. They hadn't spoken much at all about it since then, but it did nothing to steady the beat of his heart when she was near. Nor to make the words ring any quieter. And he didn't want them to. They were a welcome change from anything else that might linger in his mind, like the nightmare he'd had only days before. Perhaps that was another difference between his slightly over the top plans for her birthday, and his decidedly more low key plans tonight. Well, low key for him, at least.
Three dozen roses — because four would have most definitely been a little excessive. But that would be the end of the material items for the evening. The rest was a little more of the moment.
With a fire roaring, a (hopefully) highly enjoyable meal already having been consumed, Jefferson would sit down at his piano, something he had done a few times for her, but never like this. Never when what he played was all his own. Was all for her.
It had come to him a few days prior, while she was out and he was left to wander his house yet again. He'd only given it a glance as he passed by the room, with no real intention to do anything more. But a little stir had started in him, a melody, dark, but beautiful, as she was. And since he really had nothing better to do he sat down to let the notes ring out.
What was at first a few sparse chords then began to grow, and he spent the next great deal of hours perfecting it. Until it was her in a song. He could only hope that the sentiment meant as much to her.
The majority of Jefferson's, as per usual, not in any way small gift of roses was left in a vase, though Regina had chosen the most pristine looking blossom to keep with her, breathing deeply of its scent anytime he wasn't watching her. Dinner had been enticing, though she didn't want to admit to him that her appetite was very small. It had been small for the last two days. Some part of her still wanted to deny what she now knew to be true...to reason it away, but she knew it would not be long before the evidence was undeniable. And as terrifying as it honestly was to know, and attempt to understand the implications of what was happening to her, she didn't think such news was befitting of her first Valentine's Day spent with this man who said he loved her.
Though perhaps his professed love would soon be put to the test, she was trying to put all of it out of her mind and focus only on him. The room was warm as she followed him in, rose in hand. Her eyes drifted towards the roaring fire for a moment, letting the licking flames entrance her with their intimate dance. She was almost hypnotized by the way they caressed one another so closely that soon one flame became another, and then another yet again. Shaking her head clear of the ridiculous thoughts, she turned to face him again, realizing that perhaps she wasn't as free of the stress and thoughts as she had hoped.
Still, this night did not need to be ruined, and there was just no way of predicting how he was going to react when she finally told him.
Having a seat on the cushioned couch, she gave him a faint and questioning smile, wondering what he had in store for her next. The rose was set gently next to her, a reminder, she supposed. An anchor to keep it in her mind that tonight wasn't just an excursion into carnal pleasures. It wasn't just a celebration of their need for one another. I love you, he had said. Love. Impossible and preposterous as it was, he had said it, and even now he hadn't taken it back. She did not want to admit to how deeply the words' impact was felt within her, but her admissions, or lack there of, did nothing to alter the truth.
"It's rather warm in here," she noted lamely, finding nothing better to say as she stubbornly tried to ignore the niggling doubts and voices in her mind. Her hand laid over the step of the rose the louder the worries became, gripping it just enough to leave it's rigid and gnarled impression in her palm.