Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Aug 8, 2007 8:27:29 GMT -5
Title: In His Eyes [Esmé/Jerome]
Author’s Disclaimer: I do not own any of the A Series of Unfortunate Events characters or places mentioned therein. They belong to Lemony Snicket a.k.a. Daniel Handler.
Rating: G
Genre: Drama/Romance
Story-Type: One-Shot
Status: Complete
Summery: Twelve years after their initial divorce, Jerome proposes to Esmé for the second time— but will his love and forgiveness be enough to help her overcome the guilt she still feels for what she put him through so long ago? “In His Eyes” is part of The Spotlight Series, a collection of short stories that focuses around different characters in The Terrible Truth (my multi-chapter ASOUE fic), which take place both before, during, and after.
Author’s Note: Once again, I must apologize for yet another OOC fic. ^^;; Jerome being assertive… Esmé feeling guilty… Serious mushiness at the end… Maybe I should post this in the “Things ASOUE Characters Would Never Say or Do” section, though it’s probably far too long. *shrugs* Oh, well. That’s what comes from listening to HIM and being hopelessly obsessed with the whole Esmé/Jerome pairing, I suppose. I hope you all enjoy it anyway.
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It was Friday night and Esmé would be home from work any minute. It had been a week since she had returned to her job as the city’s sixth most important financial advisor, and Jerome had spent most of the afternoon and part of the evening getting a celebration in order. It had been years since he’d seen Esmé so happy and full of energy. She was even using words like “in” and “smashing” again. Emma was spending the night with Sunny and Beatrice, and so Jerome and Esmé would have the penthouse apartment all to themselves. He needed everything to be perfect before she walked through the door in ten minutes.
It was in the dining room where they usually had dinner that Jerome had arranged the table the way they did at the Veritable French Diner, which was the restaurant where he and Esmé had had their very first date. In the center of the table he had placed two tall, white candles inside of pewter holders and a bottle of sparkling cider. That morning he had spent nearly an hour on the phone with Carmelita while she read and reread to him Sunny’s recipe for pork skewers with sage, which was the very first meal he and Esmé had dined on together. Unfortunately, Jerome’s cooking skills were mediocre and so he was forced to pass on making a chocolate soufflé, which was the very first dessert he and Esmé had shared. He figured that they could go out for ice cream or something after dinner instead.
Suddenly Jerome heard the front door open and close, followed by Esmé’s voice as she called out cheerily, “I’m home!”
He hurried and stood by one of the chairs, ready to ease it away from the table the instant she entered the room. Five minutes later she did— for that was how long it took to get from the doorway to the third dining room where Jerome was. As he turned to greet Esmé with a smile, he was surprised to see the faltering expression on her beautiful face.
“What’s all this?” Esmé asked.
“Oh, it’s nothing special,” Jerome replied modestly. “I just thought we could celebrate your return to the working world.” He pulled back the chair from the table, motioning with his hand for her to come and sit down. “Is something wrong, dear?”
Esmé dismissed this with a flick of her right hand. “No,” she said as she sat down with all of the grace and elegance that Jerome admired so much. “You went to the trouble to cook me dinner, so let’s eat. It smells delicious.”
“Now don’t go giving me all the credit,” he said, setting a skewer down on her plate. “I got the recipe from Carmelita, who got it from Sunny.” Jerome wondered when Esmé was going to recognize the meal, or if he would end up having to give her a hint soon.
They ate their dinner in awkward silence. What does Jerome think he’s doing? Esmé wondered, though she could see he knew exactly what he was doing. After all, she had recognized the meal when she was more than halfway to the dining room. Jeez, wasn’t living together enough for Jerome? They could still share the same bed and kiss in public without being married. They could still raise Emma up to be a respectable and successful person without being married. Ever since she had been the one to catch the bouquet at Carmelita and Nero’s wedding, Esmé had been waiting for Jerome to pop the question to her. She just hadn’t expected it to be this soon.
At last, Jerome could stand it no longer and asked, “So, how was your first week back in the working world?”
Esmé picked up her champagne glass and took a sip of sparkling cider. “Fine,” she replied.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Jerome sipped the sparkling cider from his champagne glass and smiled across the table at the woman he hoped would be his fiancée before the end of the evening. “Esmé, I have a confession to make,” he said, setting his glass aside.
“What is it, Jerome?” Esmé asked, still hoping it wasn’t what she thought it was.
“I didn’t arrange this dinner just to celebrate your return to work. There’s more to it than that.” After feeling around for the item in his pocket to make sure it was still there, which it was, he got down on one knee and said, “Close your eyes.”
Esmé felt her stomach lurch. Oh, God, she thought, but closed her eyes anyway.
“Now, hold out your left hand,” Jerome instructed.
She did, and a moment later felt him slide something onto her finger. When she opened her eyes and laid them on the platinum gold cathedral style engagement ring, her jaw dropped and her eyes darted back and forth from Jerome to the ring until at last they settled on Jerome. His smile was so genuine as he stared up at Esmé, his eyes ablaze with all of the love and admiration he still had for her, that it brought tears to her eyes. Why was he forcing her to make a decision like this, and so soon after they had gotten back together?
“Please, Esmé,” Jerome said, taking her hands in his. “Say you’ll marry me… again.”
She had to struggle to hide her tears the instant those words fell from his lips. “Jerome, I—” She smiled pitifully, wanting to make this as easy as she could on the two of them. “I… I can’t…”
“Well, of course you can! I’ve already forgiven you, remember?”
“Jerome,” Esmé said, delicately caressing his cheek, “please. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”
“Well, I don’t want to argue with you,” he said, and immediately fought off the desire to back down. “No!” The sharpness of his tone startled Esmé, and for a moment she became frightened. “I promised myself I wasn’t going to do this again. That’s how I lost you in the first place,” he added, though it sounded as though he were speaking more to himself than to her, not to mention his accusation wasn’t exactly true. She had planned to leave him even before she married him. It had all been part of Olaf’s plan. But things were different now. Olaf was gone, never to return. Jerome had been there for Esmé when she needed him the most, making her realize that she could fall in love with someone like him. “Why can’t we get married?” he demanded, seizing her arm. “Tell me… tell me so I can fix whatever it is that’s wrong between us first!”
Jerome’s hold on her arm wasn’t very strong… in fact, it felt more like he was clinging to her, but she didn’t say so. “Nothing is wrong,” Esmé said casually. “I just don’t see why we should have to get married, that’s all. What’s wrong with the two of us just living together?”
“Nothing,” Jerome replied. “What’s wrong with getting married?”
Esmé sighed. “We could spend the entire evening having this discussion. So let’s do ourselves a favor and drop it before one of us says something we’ll regret.”
Jerome frowned. “I don’t understand. The night we danced at Carmelita and Nero’s wedding you said you loved me. Or was that just the wine talking and not you?” Jerome rose to his full height of six-foot-two and observed Esmé, forcing her to avert her eyes from his face and look at the floor instead.
“No,” she said softly, focusing her eyes on his face as she spoke. “It was me.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Jerome demanded, flailing his arms above his head impatiently. “If you love me then there shouldn’t be a problem!”
“Jerome, you’re so naïve…”
“Oh? And just what is that supposed to mean?”
“That you’re too kind for your own good,” Esmé explained. “Not only that, but you’re so quick when it comes to forgiveness. Sometimes it scares me. What other husband would take back the wife who left him for another man when she was carrying that other man’s child and support her without ever asking for anything in return? I don’t understand you, Jerome. I never have. I didn’t understand the first time how you could agree to marry me after spending only one evening with me, and now it seems that the same thing is happening all over again.”
Now it was Jerome’s turn to sigh. “Perhaps you’re right,” he replied. “Perhaps I am too kind.” He knelt down beside her once more and laid his hand on her knee. “But it’s only because I never stopped looking for the nobility that I knew was inside you all along. Do you remember the day before the fire at the Hotel Denouement, when everyone had gathered on the rooftop sunbathing salon and I said I had always known you could be a noble person again?”
Esmé smiled slightly at the memory. “Yes,” she said, “I remember.”
“Well, I meant every word.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“I’m sorry to have sprung this on you so suddenly,” Jerome said, leaning down to kiss the top of her dark head. “Perhaps I should have taken Nero’s advice and waited.”
Esmé’s mouth fell open and she fluttered her long, dark lashes up at Jerome in bewilderment. “You told Nero?” Esmé asked. “Carmelita’s Nero?”
“Yes,” Jerome admitted. “He is family now, after all, and I didn’t really have anyone else to confide in at the moment, so…”
“I see.” Esmé leaned her chin in the palm of her hand and directed her gaze to the clock on the wall. “What else did Nero tell you?”
Jerome seemed to hesitate.
“Well?” Esmé asked.
“Why does it even matter?”
“Because I want to know,” she said.
“We never used to argue like this,” Jerome pointed out.
“We never used to argue period. You never wanted to, remember?” Esmé smiled then for the first time since sitting down to dinner, and Jerome soon found himself returning the gesture. “You’ve changed a lot since the day of the In Auction,” Esmé said. “Like a little boy who’s grown up.”
Jerome slipped one arm around her back and the other beneath her legs, and scooped her up into his arms. “So have you. Except…”
Esmé furrowed her brow at him. “What?”
“You’re still as thin as ever,” said Jerome. “Tell me, is that ridiculous concept still ‘in’?”
“Jerome, you’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?” He carried her into the bedroom they shared and set her down on the queen-sized bed as if she were a delicate piece of china, which to him she was.
“Arguing,” Esmé said. “And I like it.”
Jerome smiled. “Really?” he asked.
“Yes.” She patted the empty place on the bed beside her, indicating for him to sit. He did, and in another moment their lips had locked and they had their arms around each other.
Nothing more was said about the engagement ring that still remained on the finger of Esmé’s left hand until the next morning. Jerome was twirling a lock of Esmé’s dark hair around his finger when she opened her eyes.
“I do,” she said, and tilted back her head to look up into his eyes.
“What did you just say?” he asked incredulously.
“I said ‘I do’,” Esmé said again. “As in yes, I do want to marry you again.”
“Whatever changed your mind?” Jerome slid further up the bed and leaned against the pillows that were propped up against the headboard to stare down at her.
“I was thinking about what you said the other night, and you’re right. There is no reason why we shouldn’t get married.”
Jerome’s eyes filled with tears and his handsome face broke out into an enormous smile. “Oh, Esmé,” he said, “I’m going to make you the happiest bride in the world! We’ll have an even bigger wedding than our first one and invite everyone we know— Emma, Sunny and Beatrice can be your maids of honor, and Fernald and Colette’s two children can be the ring-bearer and the flower girl.” In one great sweep Jerome lifted Esmé into his arms and spun her around the room. “Oh, darling, you’ll see! It’s going to be the most smashing reception you or I or anyone has ever seen, I promise!”
Esmé’s eyes filled with tears of joy and she smiled through them at the way Jerome sounded using one of her favorite routine phrases. “And I promise to always stay with you,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. “This time, and forever afterward.”
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Author’s Disclaimer: I do not own any of the A Series of Unfortunate Events characters or places mentioned therein. They belong to Lemony Snicket a.k.a. Daniel Handler.
Rating: G
Genre: Drama/Romance
Story-Type: One-Shot
Status: Complete
Summery: Twelve years after their initial divorce, Jerome proposes to Esmé for the second time— but will his love and forgiveness be enough to help her overcome the guilt she still feels for what she put him through so long ago? “In His Eyes” is part of The Spotlight Series, a collection of short stories that focuses around different characters in The Terrible Truth (my multi-chapter ASOUE fic), which take place both before, during, and after.
Author’s Note: Once again, I must apologize for yet another OOC fic. ^^;; Jerome being assertive… Esmé feeling guilty… Serious mushiness at the end… Maybe I should post this in the “Things ASOUE Characters Would Never Say or Do” section, though it’s probably far too long. *shrugs* Oh, well. That’s what comes from listening to HIM and being hopelessly obsessed with the whole Esmé/Jerome pairing, I suppose. I hope you all enjoy it anyway.
*************************************************************************
It was Friday night and Esmé would be home from work any minute. It had been a week since she had returned to her job as the city’s sixth most important financial advisor, and Jerome had spent most of the afternoon and part of the evening getting a celebration in order. It had been years since he’d seen Esmé so happy and full of energy. She was even using words like “in” and “smashing” again. Emma was spending the night with Sunny and Beatrice, and so Jerome and Esmé would have the penthouse apartment all to themselves. He needed everything to be perfect before she walked through the door in ten minutes.
It was in the dining room where they usually had dinner that Jerome had arranged the table the way they did at the Veritable French Diner, which was the restaurant where he and Esmé had had their very first date. In the center of the table he had placed two tall, white candles inside of pewter holders and a bottle of sparkling cider. That morning he had spent nearly an hour on the phone with Carmelita while she read and reread to him Sunny’s recipe for pork skewers with sage, which was the very first meal he and Esmé had dined on together. Unfortunately, Jerome’s cooking skills were mediocre and so he was forced to pass on making a chocolate soufflé, which was the very first dessert he and Esmé had shared. He figured that they could go out for ice cream or something after dinner instead.
Suddenly Jerome heard the front door open and close, followed by Esmé’s voice as she called out cheerily, “I’m home!”
He hurried and stood by one of the chairs, ready to ease it away from the table the instant she entered the room. Five minutes later she did— for that was how long it took to get from the doorway to the third dining room where Jerome was. As he turned to greet Esmé with a smile, he was surprised to see the faltering expression on her beautiful face.
“What’s all this?” Esmé asked.
“Oh, it’s nothing special,” Jerome replied modestly. “I just thought we could celebrate your return to the working world.” He pulled back the chair from the table, motioning with his hand for her to come and sit down. “Is something wrong, dear?”
Esmé dismissed this with a flick of her right hand. “No,” she said as she sat down with all of the grace and elegance that Jerome admired so much. “You went to the trouble to cook me dinner, so let’s eat. It smells delicious.”
“Now don’t go giving me all the credit,” he said, setting a skewer down on her plate. “I got the recipe from Carmelita, who got it from Sunny.” Jerome wondered when Esmé was going to recognize the meal, or if he would end up having to give her a hint soon.
They ate their dinner in awkward silence. What does Jerome think he’s doing? Esmé wondered, though she could see he knew exactly what he was doing. After all, she had recognized the meal when she was more than halfway to the dining room. Jeez, wasn’t living together enough for Jerome? They could still share the same bed and kiss in public without being married. They could still raise Emma up to be a respectable and successful person without being married. Ever since she had been the one to catch the bouquet at Carmelita and Nero’s wedding, Esmé had been waiting for Jerome to pop the question to her. She just hadn’t expected it to be this soon.
At last, Jerome could stand it no longer and asked, “So, how was your first week back in the working world?”
Esmé picked up her champagne glass and took a sip of sparkling cider. “Fine,” she replied.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Jerome sipped the sparkling cider from his champagne glass and smiled across the table at the woman he hoped would be his fiancée before the end of the evening. “Esmé, I have a confession to make,” he said, setting his glass aside.
“What is it, Jerome?” Esmé asked, still hoping it wasn’t what she thought it was.
“I didn’t arrange this dinner just to celebrate your return to work. There’s more to it than that.” After feeling around for the item in his pocket to make sure it was still there, which it was, he got down on one knee and said, “Close your eyes.”
Esmé felt her stomach lurch. Oh, God, she thought, but closed her eyes anyway.
“Now, hold out your left hand,” Jerome instructed.
She did, and a moment later felt him slide something onto her finger. When she opened her eyes and laid them on the platinum gold cathedral style engagement ring, her jaw dropped and her eyes darted back and forth from Jerome to the ring until at last they settled on Jerome. His smile was so genuine as he stared up at Esmé, his eyes ablaze with all of the love and admiration he still had for her, that it brought tears to her eyes. Why was he forcing her to make a decision like this, and so soon after they had gotten back together?
“Please, Esmé,” Jerome said, taking her hands in his. “Say you’ll marry me… again.”
She had to struggle to hide her tears the instant those words fell from his lips. “Jerome, I—” She smiled pitifully, wanting to make this as easy as she could on the two of them. “I… I can’t…”
“Well, of course you can! I’ve already forgiven you, remember?”
“Jerome,” Esmé said, delicately caressing his cheek, “please. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”
“Well, I don’t want to argue with you,” he said, and immediately fought off the desire to back down. “No!” The sharpness of his tone startled Esmé, and for a moment she became frightened. “I promised myself I wasn’t going to do this again. That’s how I lost you in the first place,” he added, though it sounded as though he were speaking more to himself than to her, not to mention his accusation wasn’t exactly true. She had planned to leave him even before she married him. It had all been part of Olaf’s plan. But things were different now. Olaf was gone, never to return. Jerome had been there for Esmé when she needed him the most, making her realize that she could fall in love with someone like him. “Why can’t we get married?” he demanded, seizing her arm. “Tell me… tell me so I can fix whatever it is that’s wrong between us first!”
Jerome’s hold on her arm wasn’t very strong… in fact, it felt more like he was clinging to her, but she didn’t say so. “Nothing is wrong,” Esmé said casually. “I just don’t see why we should have to get married, that’s all. What’s wrong with the two of us just living together?”
“Nothing,” Jerome replied. “What’s wrong with getting married?”
Esmé sighed. “We could spend the entire evening having this discussion. So let’s do ourselves a favor and drop it before one of us says something we’ll regret.”
Jerome frowned. “I don’t understand. The night we danced at Carmelita and Nero’s wedding you said you loved me. Or was that just the wine talking and not you?” Jerome rose to his full height of six-foot-two and observed Esmé, forcing her to avert her eyes from his face and look at the floor instead.
“No,” she said softly, focusing her eyes on his face as she spoke. “It was me.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Jerome demanded, flailing his arms above his head impatiently. “If you love me then there shouldn’t be a problem!”
“Jerome, you’re so naïve…”
“Oh? And just what is that supposed to mean?”
“That you’re too kind for your own good,” Esmé explained. “Not only that, but you’re so quick when it comes to forgiveness. Sometimes it scares me. What other husband would take back the wife who left him for another man when she was carrying that other man’s child and support her without ever asking for anything in return? I don’t understand you, Jerome. I never have. I didn’t understand the first time how you could agree to marry me after spending only one evening with me, and now it seems that the same thing is happening all over again.”
Now it was Jerome’s turn to sigh. “Perhaps you’re right,” he replied. “Perhaps I am too kind.” He knelt down beside her once more and laid his hand on her knee. “But it’s only because I never stopped looking for the nobility that I knew was inside you all along. Do you remember the day before the fire at the Hotel Denouement, when everyone had gathered on the rooftop sunbathing salon and I said I had always known you could be a noble person again?”
Esmé smiled slightly at the memory. “Yes,” she said, “I remember.”
“Well, I meant every word.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“I’m sorry to have sprung this on you so suddenly,” Jerome said, leaning down to kiss the top of her dark head. “Perhaps I should have taken Nero’s advice and waited.”
Esmé’s mouth fell open and she fluttered her long, dark lashes up at Jerome in bewilderment. “You told Nero?” Esmé asked. “Carmelita’s Nero?”
“Yes,” Jerome admitted. “He is family now, after all, and I didn’t really have anyone else to confide in at the moment, so…”
“I see.” Esmé leaned her chin in the palm of her hand and directed her gaze to the clock on the wall. “What else did Nero tell you?”
Jerome seemed to hesitate.
“Well?” Esmé asked.
“Why does it even matter?”
“Because I want to know,” she said.
“We never used to argue like this,” Jerome pointed out.
“We never used to argue period. You never wanted to, remember?” Esmé smiled then for the first time since sitting down to dinner, and Jerome soon found himself returning the gesture. “You’ve changed a lot since the day of the In Auction,” Esmé said. “Like a little boy who’s grown up.”
Jerome slipped one arm around her back and the other beneath her legs, and scooped her up into his arms. “So have you. Except…”
Esmé furrowed her brow at him. “What?”
“You’re still as thin as ever,” said Jerome. “Tell me, is that ridiculous concept still ‘in’?”
“Jerome, you’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?” He carried her into the bedroom they shared and set her down on the queen-sized bed as if she were a delicate piece of china, which to him she was.
“Arguing,” Esmé said. “And I like it.”
Jerome smiled. “Really?” he asked.
“Yes.” She patted the empty place on the bed beside her, indicating for him to sit. He did, and in another moment their lips had locked and they had their arms around each other.
Nothing more was said about the engagement ring that still remained on the finger of Esmé’s left hand until the next morning. Jerome was twirling a lock of Esmé’s dark hair around his finger when she opened her eyes.
“I do,” she said, and tilted back her head to look up into his eyes.
“What did you just say?” he asked incredulously.
“I said ‘I do’,” Esmé said again. “As in yes, I do want to marry you again.”
“Whatever changed your mind?” Jerome slid further up the bed and leaned against the pillows that were propped up against the headboard to stare down at her.
“I was thinking about what you said the other night, and you’re right. There is no reason why we shouldn’t get married.”
Jerome’s eyes filled with tears and his handsome face broke out into an enormous smile. “Oh, Esmé,” he said, “I’m going to make you the happiest bride in the world! We’ll have an even bigger wedding than our first one and invite everyone we know— Emma, Sunny and Beatrice can be your maids of honor, and Fernald and Colette’s two children can be the ring-bearer and the flower girl.” In one great sweep Jerome lifted Esmé into his arms and spun her around the room. “Oh, darling, you’ll see! It’s going to be the most smashing reception you or I or anyone has ever seen, I promise!”
Esmé’s eyes filled with tears of joy and she smiled through them at the way Jerome sounded using one of her favorite routine phrases. “And I promise to always stay with you,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. “This time, and forever afterward.”
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The End