vigorli

Title: Silent Partners (1a/?)
Author: Louby

fictionbylouby
Pairing: V/O, Orlando/Christian Bale
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The causes and consequences of infidelity.
Warnings: A.U, mentions of het, (non con & violence in later chapters)
Disclaimer: I have no affiliations with any of the actors, only the plot is mine.
AN: Beta read by my amazing twin sister Pippi.
AN 2: This chapter is Orli's 1st person POV

I’d always thought that adultery was wrong. I was brought up to think it was selfish and cruel, and I suppose I still do, not least because my father nearly destroyed my mother when he left her for her best friend when I was 16. They broke up 6 months later, or so I heard. I haven’t had so much as a postcard from him since he walked out on us. I don’t even think he loved her, he was just sick of playing the dutiful dad – I know deep down that he never really wanted my sister and I. All this family history is the reason I find it so difficult to talk about the most recent developments in my life.

I first met Christian when I was 17. My mum’s cousin was marrying some young executive from the Bale family company and we were both guests at the wedding. I suppose you could say we hit it off immediately. My Mum was definitely keen, she knew full well how rich and affluent his family were and she wanted me to have the stability that she never had. Needless to say he became a regular fixture in our family, and I fell for him. Hard. Chris on the other hand, having had the sort of education and upbringing that came with being born into money, never so much as looked at me the wrong way. He was the perfect gent, not that I wasn’t trying. I remember driving myself to distraction trying to figure out if it was that he was straight or celibate.

A year after we first met I fulfilled a lifelong ambition and was accepted into Guildhall Theatre School on a full scholarship, which was lucky since my Dad had left my mum with next to no money - she barely had enough to pay the mortgage, let alone pay for three years of private tuition fees. We were still facing the problem of accommodation however; the commute from Canterbury to the West End every day was too long and student accommodation in London was extortionate. This is where Chris had stepped in, offering for me to stay with him during term time, after all he only stayed in the flat four nights a week, spending weekends in his family estate in Wales. To this day I still don’t know how pure his intentions were, and despite my Mum’s initial reservations, I couldn’t have gotten there fast enough.

Throughout my first term Chris and I had minimal contact, he worked late and I was either studying or down the local. This all changed the week before I went home for Christmas. I’d staggered in a little worse for wear after the Christmas ball the same time that he that he waltzed in from the office party he father had organised, champagne bottle in one hand and covered in streamers. We both collapsed into a fit of giggles on the settee, making short work of the champagne and singing cheesy Christmas songs until the sun started to come it. That’s when he did it; he kissed me. I don’t know if were the champagne or Christmas spirit that made him throw aside his inhibitions, but I didn’t care; he felt incredible. Never breaking the kiss, he picked me up and carried me into his lavish bedroom. The rest of the evening was a blur; I was after all half cut at the time. I remember hitting the bed and pulling him down on top of me, making my need very clear to him as I forcefully brought his hand down onto my crotch. Suddenly he pulled away like he’d been bitten.

“Have you ever done this before?” he asked, full of concern.

“You know I haven’t” I whispered softly.

“Then we can’t do this now” he sighed, rolling off of me. I must have looked hurt, because the next thing he did was pull me into a gentle kiss. “It’s not that I don’t want to Orli” he murmured against my lips. “But we can’t do this now; we’re both drunk and exhausted. And I don’t want to hurt you anymore than I have to. I love you too much.”

I stared at him incredulously, eyes wide. “You love me?!”

“Of course I love you” he answered gently. “Who wouldn’t love you? Why do you think I’ve been making myself scarce since you moved in? Too much temptation. Your mum trusted you into my care and I wanted to be honourable, but it’s too much.”

“I love you too!” I whispered fiercely, tears welling in my eyes.

We fell asleep in each others arms soon after the revelation, still in our dinner jackets with the hangovers already beginning to emerge. That was a Friday night. It wasn’t until the Sunday evening that Christian touched me again. He went so slow, constantly asking me if I was O.K. It had hurt when he first pushed into me, a lot. More than I thought it would, but when I cried out, in fact every time I showed any sign of discomfort, he stopped immediately, kissing me tenderly. I never told that it had been worth the pain, that I was glad it was him that took my virginity, and that it had been amazing.

When I woke up the next day I was bleeding, just a little bit, but that hadn’t stopped Christian phoning in sick from work for what was probably the first time in his life so that he could take care of me. He’s been taking care of me ever since.

The next few months of our whirlwind romance were the best of my life up to that point, culminating in Christian asking me to marry him only 3 months after we first slept together. I was gob smacked, I mean I knew he loved me but never in a million years thought would he want to marry me. But he did, and so in the summer after sitting my first year exams we got married in a small civil service in one of the gardens at his parent’s home. We took a three day honeymoon in Barcelona, Christian’s father apparently couldn’t manage without him for any longer, but it didn’t matter, it felt like everyday was our honeymoon. After about a year however, things started to change. I suppose it all started when Christian’s uncle was diagnosed with lung cancer, 40 years of smoking Cuban cigars finally catching up with him. The implication of this was that Christian’s already long working hours were almost doubled, meaning most days he was leaving for work before I’d got up and coming home after I’d already gone to sleep, that is if he came home at all, he’d taken to sleeping in the office to get an early start. I could literally go days without seeing or speaking to him – he could have been lying dead in a ditch and I’d have been none it wiser. When he was home he talked more on his mobile than he did to me, and when we did speak he was constantly irritable and on edge, it felt like I couldn’t say anything right. Needless to say our sex life all but disappeared; when we first got married we used to have sex almost every day, and sometimes more. But as soon as Christian got promoted he was always too tired. On the rare occasions when we did have sex I got the feeling that he was more bothered about trying to relieve stress than wanting to actually be with me, I might as well have been a blow up doll.

As amazing as the sex used to be, more than anything else I missed just being with him. I missed lazy mornings in bed reading the Sunday papers. I missed talking to him about the really mundane things in life, or how he’d help me use the computer to complete my assignments. I missed snuggling up to him on an evening watching the T.V, knowing that every night he’d be home on time to have dinner with me. You probably think that I just sound like some whining housewife, but I’m not, I have a life of my own. I just missed my husband. I know what you all must be thinking, poor little Orli with his rich, handsome husband in his £4 million docklands apartment, not to mention his villas in the Algarve, Bordeaux and Tuscany and his executive box at Stamford Bridge. Poor little Orli who has financial stability for life without ever having to do a day’s work, who could easily spend every morning shopping down Bond Street and every afternoon drinking cocktails in Soho before eating dinner at Claridges. God it seems like such a cliché even to my ears - poor little rich boy.

By the time I met Viggo I was deeply unhappy. Christian knew this and in his defence he tried hard to make it better, but because he didn’t know exactly what was wrong he didn’t know how to fix it. So he spent money. He bought me a new sports car, a pure bred black Labrador and even arranged for us to fly first class to New York for the weekend, only for him to phone up an hour before we were due at the airport to say he had to meet a client and that I should take my best friend Jake instead. I love Jake to death, but it’s not the same.

I met Viggo at the start of my second term in my final year. I recognised him instantly, he was a very well respected actor who’d recently quit the screen to teach film students, according to Stage Magazine. I had no idea it was Guildhall. The electricity I felt when I first saw him was the same feeling I’d had when I first met Christian, only stronger. He eventually told me that he felt the same. Soon I found myself finding any excuse to spend time with him, helping him set up for classes, seeking him out in his office to ask questions, I knew that I was being so obvious but I didn’t care. At this point I had no intention of getting involved with him, I loved Christian and the thought of cheating on him had never even crossed my mind. I was just so lonely and starved of affection that I was getting desperate. I thought I just had a crush that would go away as quickly as it arrived, I never thought I’d end up falling in love him, I think if I had known then I’d have kept my distance.

It had always been agreed between Chris and I that when I graduated we’d move to L.A to see if I could make it as a screen actor, Christian’s family had offices there so it wouldn’t have meant too much upheaval. However when the time came it turned out that Chris had made himself indispensable to the London offices and there was no chance he could leave. He made it very clear that he wasn’t happy with the idea of me moving to America on my own, but that ultimately it was my choice. He needn’t have worried; if I was miserable living in my home country then there was no way I’d survive living on my own on the other side of the Atlantic. I briefly toyed with the idea of working on the West End, before disregarding it. I saw little of Christian as it was without doing 8 shows a week.

Ironically, it was Christian’s failure to cooperate that threw Viggo and I closer together. I explained to Viggo everything that had happened and that I didn’t know what to do with my life, and he got me a graduate job at Guildhall, which meant we were working very closely together. I’d do his research, organise school productions and take seminar classes. Despite my desire to make it as an actor I loved the job and saw Viggo ten times as much as I’d see Chris. After a few months in the job I’d fallen completely in love with him and was in utter turmoil. I still had no intentions of doing anything about my feelings but they were slowly driving me mad. I knew that I still loved Chris very much, but I loved Viggo more. Despite him being a lot older than Christian, I felt much more his equal. We had so much more in common and if I was angry or upset he knew immediately and knew how to fix it. I knew he had strong feelings for me as well, but thought he was probably going through a mid life crisis. He was married and had two young children so I never thought he’d ever act on it. I was wrong.

We’d been cooped up in Viggo’s office all day trying to decide on the casting for the school’s production of The Beautiful Game. Viggo had left to get coffee, giving me a chance to check my voice mail. It was my birthday so Chris had promised to leave his office early for once so we could go to my favourite restaurant. When I checked my messages I found that Chris had left me a half hearted apology, something about a client having flown in from Brussels for one night only so it couldn’t possibly wait. Having heard his lame excuse I’d lost it, and threw my phone at the wall, screaming as it shattered against the plaster just as Viggo walked back in with Starbucks. He looked at me, shocked as I burst into tears, mumbling incoherently between sobs. He must have known immediately what had happened. “He doesn’t deserve you” he stately coldly as he put the coffees down in the filing cabinet before pulling me into a comforting hug. “I can’t take anymore of this” I sobbed against his chest. “I’m trying so hard Vig, I don’t even know if he wants me any more.” “Then he’s crazy” Viggo had retorted, holding me tighter against him as I began to shake. “He doesn’t realise that he’s the luckiest man in the world. If I had you, I’d never let you go. I’d tell you every day that you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever met, that I want to grow old with you. That I love you.”

Suddenly my crying stopped. I looked up at him like a lost little boy, red eyed and runny nosed. His eyes locked with mine and ever so gently he pressed his lips to mine. After a few seconds I closed my eyes and returned the kiss. The next thing I remember he’d lifted me up onto the desk and was lying on top of me, kissing me with a ferocity I’d never felt before. My arms found their way around his neck, pulling him closer, all my anguish pouring into that one kiss. I’m in no doubt that we would have ended up having sex right there on his desk, that is if a student hadn’t knocked on his door to hand in some work. I’m sure the student must have known what we were doing as soon as she saw us, flustered, breathless and creased clothes.

The student left and I was right out the door behind her, until Viggo grabbed my arm and pulled me back in, locking the door behind him. “Where are you going?!” he asked urgently, still holding on to my arm. “I’m going home to my husband” I snapped.

“He’s not there!” He snapped back. “He’s never there! He’d rather be at work than with his husband on his birthday!” That comment enraged me, not because it was a lie, but because it was probably true. “You know nothing about our relationship!” I shouted. He looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language, a look of disbelief on his face. “Of course I do Orlando” he answered. “I know that you’re miserable, that you have been for a long time. I know that he’s married to his job, not to you. I know that instead of love and affection you get a credit card and frequent flyer miles.”
His features softened. “Can we not please just talk about this?” I felt myself tearing up again. “There’s nothing to talk about” I said, looking away. “I’ve seen what infidelity does to people, I can’t inflict that on Chris, and I don’t think you can inflict that on Maria.” I started to pull away. “I love you” he whispered desperately. Only one other person other than my mother had ever said those three words to me, but this time they came as no surprise. “I love you too” I stated mater of factly. “But it’s not enough.” This time when I pulled away, he let go.

Instead of going home like I said I was, I ran to the nearest tube station and got on, because Viggo was right, Christian wasn’t there. I must have rode around the London underground for hours, getting more than a few funny looks when I’d periodically burst into tears. By the time I looked at my watch, I realised that Chris would have been on his way home, if his was coming home. As soon as I got back to the apartment I peeled off my clothes and climbed into bed. Despite being physically and emotionally exhausted, I couldn’t switch off. The events of the day kept going round and round in my head. When Christian finally got home I was still wide awake.

He climbed into bed, making no attempt to see if I was awake and instead curled up on the other side of the bed. For the first time in what seemed like forever I bridged the gap between us and breathed a sigh or relief when he allowed me to snuggle up next to him, giving me the comfort that I badly needed. He never asked me what was wrong, or why I wasn’t asleep, but he did place a chaste kiss on my head. Encouraged by this, I started kissing his chest, making my way south until I reached his boxers. “Not tonight darling” he said sleepily. Not deterred, I slowly started to inch his boxers down over his hips, stupidly thinking I just needed to get him in the mood. “Seriously Orli” he implored, “I’ve just worked a 16 hour day, and I really need to sleep.” When I didn’t relent, he roughly pushed me away, pulling the covers tightly around himself. “What’s wrong?” I asked gently, placing my hand on his shoulder. I jerked away in shock when he suddenly turned round, anger evident on his face. “What’s wrong?!” he hissed. “What’s wrong is that I’ve had the day from hell and all I want to do is pass out before I have to get up in a few hours and do it all over again. But instead of being understanding you’re trying to jump me like some cheap hussy! Are you so insatiable that you can’t go a day with Orlando?!” He was shouting now, something had snapped in him as I hung my head in shame. “Now can I get some rest without worrying if you’re going to molest me in my sleep like some dirty little pervert?”

I stared at him for a moment, not quite believing that he’d just spoken to me that way. And then I was out of bed, furiously pulling on my clothes and grabbing my car keys. “Ger back here right now Orlando!” I heard him yell, as if I was no more than one of his office juniors. “Where do you think you’re going?” “Far away from you!” I spat back, slamming the door as I left. By the time I’d stormed down the stairs and reached the lobby I’d calmed down a bit. So I waited a few minutes for him to follow me, stupidly believing that he would try and stop me. But he never did. Viggo was right, he didn’t care. Viggo. Once again the man was all I could think about. He’d said earlier that day that Maria and the kids were visiting a college friend in Sheffield. He was alone.

At that point Chris could have came running down the stairs in tears, begging forgiveness and it wouldn’t have made any difference, I’d made my mind up. I didn’t know what I was going to do when I got there; all I could think about was getting to the only person that had shown me any sort of compassion or affection in recent months.

The 30 minute drive seemed to take forever, despite the lack of traffic on the road. I drove on autopilot, having done the drive many times in the past, Christian’s cruel words replaying themselves over and over. When I finally pulled up in front of Viggo’s house I stopped, not knowing if he’d even want to see me. I must have sat outside his house for close to an hour before finally plucking up the courage to knock on his door. If he wasn’t in, or worse, Maria and the kids were home, I didn’t know what I would have done. Finally Viggo came to the door, obviously having just woke up. “I don’t know what I’m doing here” I told him honestly as he looked at me. “It doesn’t matter” he soothed, pulling me inside. “You’re here, that’s all that matters.” I don’t know what happened next, maybe it was because my emotions were all over the shop, maybe it was the look of absolute devotion in his eyes, but the next thing I know I’ve launched myself at him, pulling him into a bruising kiss that seemed to be never ending.

“Do you want to go upstairs?” he asked breathlessly as he pulled away. My mind was screaming no, but instead of trying to rationalise what we were about to do, I decided to follow my heart.

He made love to me that night, more tenderly and lovingly that Christian ever had even when were first got together. No one other than Christian had ever been inside me, but didn’t feel like cheating, it felt like I’d found my other half. I didn’t try to kid myself that it was a one off, that I’d simply gone looking for solace. I knew that night that I’d be with Viggo for the rest of my life.

When I went home the next day I was convinced that Chris would know, I felt so guilty that it felt like I had “adulterer” tattooed on my forehead. But he was so happy that I’d come home unhurt and that I’d forgiven him that he hadn’t even asked where I’d stayed - the cynical part of my mind kept telling me that it was because he didn’t care. The next few weeks were incredibly hard because Christian was now making a real effort, only this time it was me that was too busy, always sneaking around so I could meet up with Viggo. It would have been so much easier if Chris had kept behaving the way he was before the fight; maybe if he was a bastard to me I wouldn’t feel like I was being such a bastard back. But it still didn’t make me change my mind.

I’d let slip to Jake what had happened, all the secrecy was getting to me, I needed to get it off my chest, and he’d always been the one I’d talked to about my problems. I suppose that says something about my relationship with Chris, but as Jake said, it’s only because Chris was the problem. Jake had never been keen on Christian, and there had always been a little unspoken tension there. I think he thought Chris was just another rich arsehole who’d pushed a naïve 19 year old into a marriage that he wasn’t ready for when he should be out having fun. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t worried about what I was getting myself into, he understood completely how it had happened, but he thought I was playing with fire and didn’t want me to get hurt. Jake was also very handy at acting as our alibi. I hated asking him to lie for us; it was almost worse than lying myself, but he willing and said it was worth it to finally see me happy again.

So now here we are, only three weeks before I leave Christian and Viggo leaves Maria. We made the decision to set a date so that we were prepared. We’ve set up a joint bank account that we’ve been slowly adding to, Viggo couldn’t bear to take any money from the kids and I won’t have Christian’s family thinking I’m just another gold digger. We’ve found a small two bedroom flat in a decent area that’s already for us to move into, just need to pick up the keys. I’ve also been gradually moving my things into Jake’s flat, a few bits at a time so that Chris won’t notice. It make seem that we’re being really calculating and methodical, but it’s only so we can make the process as fast and as painless as possible, like pulling off a plaster. I’ve almost gotten past feeling guilty, although it still rears it ugly head pretty often. All I know is that Viggo makes me happier than I’ve ever been in my life, and when me and Chris first got married I didn’t think it were possible to be any happier. But I am. It would be so easy to end things with Viggo. I could go back to Christian and really make an effort and I’m in no doubt that I’d be reasonably happy. But that wouldn’t be fair to Chris or to me. Reasonably happy isn’t good enough anymore.

TBC