how do you mean?
what next for us, Etienne... in the poem, what next? Is this where it ends? Is there no fulfillment for either of us? You promise to dance me, to make the world envious. but envious of what? You have danced me to the center of love, given me ambrosia to drink, but what next, Etienne.
I must admit, I did not expect this reaction. And truthfully, I never thought beyond reaching the opposite shore... the center
Men rarely do, she sighed
I hope you are smiling as you say this
No
What then can I do to make you smile, fair Angelina.
You call me 'fair' any yet you've never seen me. I could be ugly.
You're not
How can you know
Pia told me
Have you returned to your old lover then?
You know better...
Do I? You dance me beautifully to the center of your fantasy, and leave me unfulfilled with a glass of the best wine in Venice. What does Pia know of my beauty? To her I am whore! And yet it is she who has had you to bed, not I. When did you speak with her?
A week ago
A week. And you didn't think to mention this sooner? What did she say?
Are you jealous, Angelina?
Of course I am
But why? You have my heart...
Do I? You've only danced me to the center, but how far have you taken Pia? Give me what Pia has had, and more. Give it all to me. Every last dram of your heart and soul. We've been sitting in here all summer, all of autumn and winter and you've not once asked to see me. You want to dance me with words, undress me with innuendo and promise, but never do you step beyond innuendo, or offer more than promise. What good is a promise if it never holds you in it's arms? kisses you-- makes love to you? Answer me that, Etienne. You despise Pia, and yet you trust her word enough to believe her when she calls me beautiful, but you don't trust me enough to look into your eyes. What are you afraid I'll see? that you're not beautiful? Do you think me so shallow? I'm tired of this game, Etienne. I realize I set the rules, but I want it to end.
You write for me something truly beautiful, but you only take me halfway. I'm tired of halfway, Etienne. Take me home, or leave me altogether.
And with that she stood and he listened to her as she walked away.
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How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...
Three, he said to himself.
No. Don't write simply because she wants you to.
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