Author: RobertDowneyJrLove PM
After all, cerulean blue was such a lovely color. This was a random story I finished, almost a year ago, and it just sat on my hard-drive. Hope you enjoy it! Ilsa-centric.Rated: Fiction K - English - I. Pucci - Words: 787 - Reviews: 3 - Published: 11-19-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8719148
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
It's not the holiday itself, that she hates so bad but all the sappy traditions the holiday entails. She rather enjoys the actual holiday, as it's a rather fine excuse to indulge in some expensive wine and an old book, a rare occurence that she really thought should have been made a weekly thing. She usually found the month leading up to Christmas was a wonderful time to indulge in some lovely retail therapy. With the line of work, she had invested in- and the group of people she had invested in- she needed every single bit of therapy she could get, be it wine and books or retail therapy. She quite enjoyed having a day off once and a while but this particular day off usually meant spending the day with family.
Her parents were gone and now so was Marshall.
She didn't have much family left. Connie was not someone she wished to disturb, especially during the holidays. Holidays, Thanksgiving and Christmas, in particular had been cherished events in the Pucci family and even though she was technically still a Pucci, it would feel weird to intrude on such a personal holiday that is so cherished by them. She supposed that's why she was so much like Chance. She preferred to keep to herself. Especially now that she didn't have Marshall.
The soft strains of O' Holy Night sing out from the intercom system in the store. Her brown eyes scanned the variety of displayed before her sparkling gaze. She could never decide between going safe and classic with soft chocolate brown leather or going a little bit out there and doing something metallic. She liked to wear metallic colored blouses but that was as far out there as she could go with her personal and professional wardrobe choices.
Then again the cerulean blue was an appealing color...
No. She would not think about him. That was exactly why she was in the middle of a store trying to decide which purse she liked better. The chocolate brown or the bronze metallic, which would inevitably clash with anything in her wardrobe. Then there was that color. That color, which reminded her of her current employee. The one with the Machiavellian leer that could display a variety of emotions, from playful to just cocky. The one with the voice that could, if he so chose, get him any woman he wanted. The one with the eyes that she'd love to drown in for a while.
It was quite amazing really, how one color could inspire such a barrage of emotions, simply by reminding her of his eyes. It wasn't even emotions...it was just mental notes she had made of him. Everything from how his cerulean eyes changed colors depending on his mood, to the way his smile reflected whatever he was feeling.
Still, she couldn't help but feel like she was betraying Marshall in some way. He had been her husband and since he had died and she had gone after Christopher Chance, it seemed like betrayal. It always seemed to her like the closer she got to Chance, the farther away she was from Marshall. Her and Marshall had, had that closeness that she was now developing with Chance. Her and Marshall had been close friends before they had discovered that what they felt for each other.
That had been the color of Marshall's eyes. A dark, tender melted chocolate brown that just seemed so warm and lovely, one couldn't help but be attracted to them. Eyes that were so much different than the eyes she stared into now. Eyes that didn't hold the need for redemption, that didn't reflect the fearless bravado of a man who had long ago resigned himself to whatever fate's plans were for him. Marshall's eyes had been different. They had been warm and loving, too loving she supposed.
She wondered if maybe anything that woman had said held even some semblance of truth.
She doubted it.
She didn't want to doubt her own husband but the evidence was there and it was damning. The photos...the woman showing up, claiming to know who really killed Marshall, denying an affair with him. She didn't want to doubt him but she couldn't deny the evidence. Then there was him. The guy who had tried to protect her from it all. The guy with the cerulean eyes that just seem to make everything right with the world again.
Without a second thought, she snatched up a purse and went to pay for it.
After all, cerulean blue was such a lovely color.