Author’s Notes: Okay, yeah, so I started this fic nearly two years ago. I’ve put off actively working on it for so long because it intimidates me, and its survived solely by ghostgirl13‘s prompting. Therefore, I lovingly dedicate this story to her. She kept me on my toes, even when I didn’t want to be kept.
My semester is going to be hellacious, and now I’m officially writing four different stories – this and GoCR, plus two Ameeya WIPs that I haven’t posted anywhere yet. I hope to get a chapter of some fic done a week, and hopefully I’ll space myself out enough that it’ll mean just a week between updates for each fic. I rather doubt I’ll be able to stick to this, but that’s the plan for now. A chapter a week of whatever fics I’m actually posting at the time. One of Ameeya’s fics likely won’t be posted until it’s either well underway, or nearly complete…just because it’s long, dark, angsty, and involved. And I’m so psyched about it I can hardly contain myself.
For this fic, thanks to megan_peta, therealmccoy1, dusty273, ghostgirl13, and everyone else who’s helped me with this fic over the past couple years. I’m so sorry I can’t remember everyone. *facepalm* And I’ve since changed comps, so I don’t have your original revisions. Feel free to resend them to me.
Finally, thank you to vampkiss for making me the banner so long ago.
Here’s the prologue to Tempesta di Amore, my Spuffy-tribute to my favorite book of all time, Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier. I only hope I can do it justice.
Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again…”
The man was going to jump.
She knew it; just as surely as she knew that it was Wednesday and the sun would rise in the morning. The man was going to jump. No one ever looked that long—that seriously—at the sea at the bottom of a cliff without thinking of becoming a part of it. He was going to jump. And the swelling rage of the waters below roared their welcome.
She screamed before she knew what she was doing. Called out at the top of her lungs and nearly startling him to the next life with her voice alone. Pale blue eyes took up a storm of frenzy, finding her with both annoyance and relief. She was still screaming, but she did not care. He had not jumped.
He had not jumped. And now they were caught in the middle. Captured in one moment together; looking at each other. She did not realize that she had stopped screaming until the dying sound of her voice was thrown back by an angry sea.
No, he had not jumped. Instead, he was looking at her as though she was the most foolish thing he had ever set eyes on, which she wagered was the truth. A steady moment passed between two unremarkable souls. The man at the edge of the cliff, she in her white frock, barely aware of her thundering heart.
Stupid, stupid girl.
“Right,” he said harshly. That was it. One word. Voice thick with something too large to identify. And then he backed away and turned from her, storming intently back to civilization. To the club that sat beyond the quaint wilderness. The place she was sure he was staying.
The place she was staying as well. For now. Until her employer tired of the scene and moved them some place different. Some place that was not here. Not this place.
She released the breath she had been holding when she was alone again.
The man had not jumped. The cliff was proud but similarly sullen and empty. The waters below raging in anger over their loss.
Buffy was numb but oddly satisfied. And she turned to leave the cliff just as it was. Proud and alone.
The man had not jumped.