Baby, I'm gonna put your skin on mine

The rain was drizzling, the sort of cold, foggy mess that hardly deserves the name of rain. It sort of suited his mood, as he briskly walked in the direction of the private home of the Spanish Ambassodor. For the past four years, he'd been in some sort of limbo-like relationship with a young woman who had, at some point, stolen his heart. It wasn't supposed to be that, and it struck him deeply that their first romantic meeting had been in the rain like this, the forbidden kiss that had fanned the flames of their passionate affair. He'd always been told that Spaniards made the best lovers, he'd just never believed it until meeting Bethel.

He wasn't sure who to blame for the mess that they'd made of this situation. Upon meeting Bethel, he'd known she was betrothed- and she'd never made a secret of the fact that she intended to honor the plans her father had laid down before her. After all, she was a dutiful daughter, and one who loved her father. So no, he couldn't rightly blame her. And, if his memory served him correctly, he'd been the one to initiate the kiss on the roof, those long four years ago. Yet, he couldn't blame himself either. There was a passion about the young Spaniard, a zeal for life, that attracted him. At first, it had simply been a mutual loneliness. He was desperate to forget, and she was desperate to know. Perhaps there was nowhere to lay the blame after all, maybe it was just one of those moments where you knew that life was- no, he wouldn't say that either. Not ever having loved Bethel would be worse than this.

It wasn't like he was even mad at her, though the strict staccato of his steps might have indicated otherwise. He just didn't like people leaving him- Ruby had been first; he supposed he should at least be grateful to know that Bethel was going to be with someone else. Again, he'd always known, but he supposed he would hope that at the last minute, she would turn her back on this sham of a marriage, and choose him. Like they did in those soppy movies he so detested. Rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, Jerry Ferlito gripped a gift bag tightly with his other hand. In less than an hour, Bethel would board a plane, and return to Spain. A year from next week, she would be married. The thought of another man touching her, and loving her, as he had infuriated him. But he was helpless.

When Jerry had told his roommate that he wanted something nice to give Bethel before she left, the boy had recommended a soundtrack. One with a boring name, that she could play whenever she wanted, and think of him. Her husband would have no idea that she was thinking of another man when she listened to it. While it sounded horribly cheesy, Jerry was out of both time and options. At the last moment, a mutual female friend had come through, and presented Jerry with a locket, that she'd taken the liberty of putting his picture into. Grateful, Jerry had tucked it into his bag, and set off.

The walk had never felt this far before, though he could now see the house. Even from this distance, he could see Bethel, her bright red hair distinguishing her from the other figures. As he neared, he observed her hair caught into a french braid, as subdued as her green eyes when she lifted them to his. He stopped, not knowing what to say, or how they would make a farewell in front of everyone. Bethel's cousin, Isidoro saved the day, stepping in and asking the dignitaries if Bethel could have a moment. Once they were gone, he moved out of earshot, though Jerry knew he was still watching Bethel. He remained where he was.

Slowly, she reached out, her skin contrasting the black coat and dress with its paleness. Automatically, he took her hand, lacing their fingers. The feel of her skin against his remided Jerry of all of their moments of passion. Of dancing, or walking, or even of making love. He pulled her into his arms, resting his face against her hair.
"I don't want you to go."
"I don't either, Jerry."
He stroked her back, making a plea and desperate offer at once.
"Then stay, with me."
"I can't."

He'd always known it would be her answer. Bethel had always made it clear that she would respect the wishes of her family. He pulled slightly away, tipping her chin up, and kissing her softly.
"I brought you something to remember me by."
"As if I could forget you, Jerry."
He handed her the bag without another word, and then pulled her once more into his arms, lifting her off her feet as they kissed. His voice was broken as he whispered behind her ear.
"I love you."

Then he set her down, and walked away. There was nothing more he could say, because he wouldn't say goodbye. Nor could he look back, as he tucked his hands into his pockets, and walked away faster than he had come.