Faeling

The moment Merritt knocked on the door, it opened to reveal Rhiannon, looking beautiful and perfect—as always. One of the few things that Merritt really liked about her was that she was never a second late. If someone said eight o’clock, she was ready as the first of the eight chimes went off. Merritt had never dated a woman as punctual as Rhiannon. Usually he knocked and they would shout for him to come in and sit down as they rushed around their closet, perfecting themselves for the date. Merritt found it a silly ritual, but to be honest, he never looked anything less than impeccable.

Rhiannon beamed at Merritt as they walked down her front steps, immediately babbling about this, that and the other. He nodded silently as she jabbered on, completely unaware that he didn’t care a whit—as always. Merritt opened the passenger door to his car and helped her in, letting her fuss with her flowing skirt before shutting it. He slid into the driver’s seat and gave her a wan smile as he started the car. She paused her story about Shelley, one of her shop girls, long enough to give him a seductive smile and lean forward to give him a short kiss. Neither the kiss nor the bountiful cleavage she showed meant much to Merritt—she was attractive, of course. In fact, she was gorgeous—not to mention well-bred, successful in her own right and the master of every social grace. It didn’t matter. She did not interest him in the slightest. She had been convenient—and even fun—for a bit, but that time was over. He had never planned to stay with her forever. He had told her this to her face, with plain words and no hidden motives. Merritt would date her for a while and eventually move on—that was how it had to be. So many things came before his romantic life, and even if that wasn’t the state of things Rhiannon would never be the kind of girl Merritt would marry. He tried not to shudder at the very idea itself. Marriage wasn’t something that had ever appealed to him, but he knew that someday his political career would demand it. No matter what happened, however, Rhiannon would not be the woman he married.

Merritt pulled up in front of Stella Luna and helped Rhiannon out of the car before handing the keys to the valet. It was a lovely little Italian restaurant that had just recently started to get popular. His father knew the owner and they always made sure to keep things discrete. Most of Merritt’s break ups happened at Stella Luna. He ushered Rhiannon inside and they were quickly seated in a small booth in a dimly lit corner of the restaurant. He supposed it was supposed to be romantic. Romance was never exactly Merritt’s priority. Courtesy and chivalry, perhaps—but never romance. Romance implied love.

Rhiannon continued her story about how Shelley’s now-fiance had proposed and it was just so beautiful and she just couldn’t wait to get married and don’t you think that’s wonderful, Merritt? He nodded, of course, and agreed that it was a lovely proposal and that Shelley was very lucky before turning the subject elsewhere. He had broken enough hearts to know that Rhiannon’s mind should not be on weddings. She should not be thinking of their future—because there wouldn’t be one. As callous as Merritt seemed and generally acted, he didn’t much want to hurt anyone’s feelings. It was a necessity. He didn’t enjoy it. It never stopped him, but he didn’t enjoy it. Merritt looked into Rhiannon’s eyes as she prattled on about her day, her business, her cat. As always, he glimpsed the weaknesses she held—her jealousy, her immaturity, her vanity, her pettiness. True, she was also kind and sweet and beautiful, but he saw none of those. His skill saw only her failings—the places where he could push.

Finally, Rhiannon stopped speaking. She batted her long lashes at him and gazed at him with love in her bright blue eyes. Had they belonged to anyone else, they would look like ice. Rhiannon was both too sweet and too dim for that to be true of her eyes. “And how have you been, darling? I was so glad when you called. I feel like I haven’t seen you in for-ever.” She reached over and took his hand with one of hers. The sight of her long pale fingers intertwining with his for some reason made him feel slightly ill. Refusing to let it show, (he was a better actor than that) he gave her a bright smile and was about to launch into a mundane story that she would love when a waiter came over to offer them wine—on the house of course.

Merritt gratefully pulled his hand away from Rhiannon’s clawed grasp, knowing she would chalk it up to his hate of public displays of affection. He accepted the wine and took a large swig once it was poured. Most women would have disapproved of such behavior, but Rhiannon hardly seemed to notice. For someone who was as well brought-up as she was, it was an odd thing for her to overlook. He recognized the look of longing in her eyes. She knew it well. He pushed lightly on her jealousy, trying to lessen her possessiveness. She desperately wanted Merritt to be hers—permanently.

He asked her what she would like to eat, doing his best to keep the conversation from turning towards them. It was a union he was ready to dissolve. One of the few things Rhiannon knew a fair bit about was food—how else was she supposed to be a supreme hostess? They discussed the menu, picking apart the side dishes and pondering the seasonings before deciding on Veal Osso Buco and Filet Mignon in Chianti sauce. The conversation had started to dip again when, thankfully, a young woman carrying a basket of roses came over. Merritt gladly bought one of the crimson flowers and offered it to Rhiannon.

“I know it’s nowhere near as lovely as your flowers are, Rhiannon, but I thought the gesture was appropriate.” She smiled and took the flower from him, its petals immediately looking healthier and opening a bit. He gave her a stern look. “You know you’re not allowed to openly use your skill like that.”

Her smile turned impish—a look that wasn’t entirely attractive on her. “I know, I’m sorry. It just looks so much prettier this way, doesn’t it?”

He sighed. “Yes, it does look prettier. Please don’t do any more tricks in public though, I really can’t afford to be called in before the Council.”

She nodded and replied, “My uncle could get any charges revoked though, Merritt. I’m his favorite.”

Merritt was taken aback. Rhiannon was a bit of a child, yes, but charges of public skill were quite serious. The penalties could range from the fae equivalent of community service to exile or even death. “Your uncle couldn’t sweep something like that under the carpet, Rhiannon. I don’t want either of us to get in trouble. I know sometimes little tricks are forgiven, but it would still be on our records forever.”

She simply shrugged. “You’re right, Merritt,” she said. He fought the urge to tug on her emotions, to force her to open up. Now more than ever, he didn’t want to be entangled with this girl. If she was stupid enough to use skill in public he would not allow his name to be tarnished by association. He talked instead about work—the recent success of the Daedalus Gallery. Rhiannon was cultured enough to know a bit about art, despite being almost entirely disinterested in it. She was too polite to change the subject, and too fascinated by Merritt to act bored. He, of course, took full advantage of both facts and would talk about nothing else until their food came and they could discuss their dinners.

“I’ve decided to become a vegetarian.” Rhiannon blurted out as she cut a small piece of veal and happily put it in her mouth.

“You have?” Merritt asked with a raised eyebrow. He almost asked her if she knew what the word meant. “Is the veal that bad?”

She smiled at his joke and dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “No, of course not.” She didn’t elaborate.

“And why have you decided this, Rhiannon?” Merritt put down his silverware, waiting for her answer.

“It just seems like the popular thing to do.” She said confidently, taking a swallow of her wine.

Merritt simply blinked, picked up his silverware and continued to eat.

By the time both of them had finished and were sipping wine in the candlelight, they had decided that the Filet Mignon was near perfect but the accompanying mashed potatoes were lacking and that the Veal Osso Buco was acceptable, but not the best either of them had ever tasted. After a bit, Merritt put down his wine glass and admitted, “There’s something we should discuss, Rhiannon.”

“What is it, Merritt?” She asked brightly, missing entirely the seriousness of his tone.

“I wanted to take you out on one last date, which is why I didn’t mention it at the beginning of dinner,” he paused, “but I need you to know that we can’t see each other anymore.”

Her already pale face drained of color. “You what?” Her voice raised a bit too much to be acceptable.

“It has nothing to do with whether or not I care about you, Rhiannon. I do care for you,” he lied, “but I have recently found the woman that my prophesy mentions.”

Bright spots of color bloomed on her cheeks and the rose, which she had been toying with, withered in an instant. Merritt’s eyes widened in surprise and he tried to calm her with his skill to no avail.

“How dare you!?” She screeched. “I am the niece of Kiernan Grey! How dare you break up with me?!”

“I know perfectly well who you are, Rhiannon. This has nothing to do with you. I told you when we met that if I happened to find the person my prophesy mentioned that I would no longer be able to court you.” He pushed hard on her sympathy. “I hope you know that if the situation was reversed, I would be very happy for you.”

A nearby plant began to wilt and the dry rose in her hand began to smoke.

“I will get you back for this, Merritt Peters,” she hissed, her eyes like ice, before pouring the remains of her wine into his lap and storming off.