Chapter Thirteen

Finally, a social engagement Elena and Irene were actually excited about. Elena had never been to the opera and had trouble imagining what Irene described to her with the sets, singers, and musicians. She had been to a few musicales, but they were not in a grand theater like this one was supposed to be.

As she regarded herself in her mirror, now her ritual before facing the world, she saw a woman in a silk gown of deep purple trimmed with a darker lace. Irene had pronounced it "aubergine," which seemed like a mouthful to Elena. Her hair was pinned and curled into a very sophisticated hairstyle Elena could not have recreated if she tried. Her fingers brushed her eyebrow as she ran her hand across her hair.

The scar was still there and would always be there. Sometimes, she would forget about it for long periods, but then she would look in the mirror and remember again. It had made her feel so wretched for so long, a constant reminder of the foolish girl she had been and what she had lost. And yet, lately, it was becoming part of her. She would likely always despise it, but she was coming to accept it more these days. She lightly ran her finger down the white line etched permanently across her temple and felt a slight push against her leg.

Goliath really ought not to be in her room, but she couldn't help herself from spoiling the great beast.

"Will I do, Goliath?' she asked.

"You'll more than do. You'll outshine everyone else there."

She hadn't heard her husband enter. In her mirror, she could see him in the doorway, though her body had an awareness of him that didn't require sight. He gestured as if asking permission to come past the door, and she gave a slight, nervous nod in the mirror.

"All this flattery can't be good for my disposition." As she turned to face him, she was grateful her skin did not give away much of a blush as she felt heat creep up her neck.

"It's not flattery if it's true." She saw his gaze start at her hem and travel up her body, lingering at every curve. She took a deep, shivering breath as his eyes met hers.

"I have something for you this evening. Well, two things. First this." He pulled out a small plate from behind his back. On that plate sat a small triangle-shaped pastry that Elena thought she would never see again.

"Baklava! Wherever did you find it?"

"After meeting with the ambassador, I asked him where to locate some. I remembered you had mentioned it on my first day back."

Elena was too moved to speak. She rose, picked up the triangle, and broke it in half. Carefully, she lifted one-half to her husband, who took the piece. She then lifted the other half to her lips, and even before it brushed against her tongue, the smell brought back a hundred different memories. Suddenly, she was breaking fast on Pa?tel e with her sisters, trying to cut the smallest piece so they could make it last longer. The taste was so familiar yet bittersweet despite the layers of honey.

"I cannot find the words in English to thank you. It has been so long since I have had anything of home. Sometimes, I fear I will lose it. The memory, the sense of it, the little things we did. And then one day it will all be gone, like a candle being snuffed out." Something caught in her throat, and she coughed. "Forgive me. Sometimes the words get away from me in your language."

"You have, um."

David ran his finger along the top of Elena's lips, then slowly drew it to his mouth, licking and then sucking his fingertip. Elena's breath caught.

"Honey."

She nodded, touching her finger to her upper lip, unable to put into words what this meant to her. Then she remembered something he had said.

"You met with the ambassador?"

His light expression grew heavy as he wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb. "I made several inquiries about your family. I should have done so years ago. I'm sorry, Elena."

She shook her head. "David, there is nothing to be sorry about. You had other things you had to deal with."

"I should have thought of it then."

She looked at him, searching his expression for good news or bad news. She could feel her heart swell with hope, even as she tried to quash it down.

"And?"

"And he doesn't have any news yet, but he will contact me immediately if he discovers anything." His face fell. "He said it was like finding a needle in a haystack." He must have noticed her confused expression because his lip curled up ruefully. "It's an expression. It means it will be rather difficult."

"No, you don't need to explain. That one makes sense." She put on a brave face to hide her dashed hopes, though she felt silly for setting herself up for disappointment again after all this time.

"Was I right to tell you? I didn't want you to get your hopes up."

Elena took hold of his hand. "I would rather know. I think honesty is usually best, yes?"

"Yes." He started massaging her fingers with his thumb, sending shivers up her arms, when the pad of his thumb grazed over her wedding band.

"That reminds me, I also have something for you to wear tonight." He set the plate on her vanity, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small box. David opened the lid of the box and produced the most beautiful necklace Elena had ever seen. If she was correct in the name of the gem, the dangling amethysts would go perfectly with her gown.

"How did you know?" she asked when she recovered her breath.

"That you liked the color? I am slightly observant, Elena." He waggled his eyebrows devilishly.

She was usually a little jealous that he could move both eyebrows while she could only manage the one, but in that moment, she was so touched that she launched herself at him, almost knocking the box, him, and his cane over. He caught them all and returned her embrace, enveloping her in his strong arms as he sat them down on her bed.

"Oh, David, no one has ever given me anything so beautiful before. Or found me baklava in London. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"I should hope no one has brought you baklava in London," he grumbled, but he could feel him smile against her skin, a smile she knew by heart. "At first, I wanted to give you something of my mother's. I also thought about replacing your grandmother's cross you had to sell, but then I decided you ought to have something distinctly you. Not your common diamond, something more mysterious, but still infinitely precious."

She wanted to sit in his embrace for the rest of the evening, but she knew they were running behind, and Irene was anxious to go. She pulled back and looked up at him.

"Tell me about the opera. I have only heard of it from Irene." She turned so he could place the necklace around her neck. She closed her eyes briefly, feeling his rough fingers brush against her skin.

"Then you've heard more than you would want to know about it."

"I want to know it from you."

"Well, it is a bit of a social event for the ton." After he clasped the necklace, he ran his hands along the space where her shoulders met, which was bare due to the low cut of her dress, sending a shiver down her spine.

"They love music so much?" She tried to focus back on her question.

"No, more for the purpose to see and be seen."

"Ahhhh." The sound was one of understanding and of pleasure, as he had begun to knead her shoulders gently.

"Honestly, I would rather stay in and spend all night with you," he murmured against her ear.

"We must go. Irene has been dying to go, and it's the only thing she is excited about."

"Then we'll go, but I get to spend the rest of the evening afterward with you."

Elena rose to put her gloves on, then turned back to face him and pretended to think this through as she adjusted her glove, even though she had already planned to do just that. She could viscerally feel his gaze on her as the fabric covered her bare skin.

"I suppose that seems like a fair deal." She started to smile, then remembered something that had worried her. "Husband?"

He paused for a moment as his lip seemed to quirk up involuntarily.

"Yes?" he asked quietly.

"What language is the opera in?"

"This is the Magic Flute by Mozart, so I believe the libretto is in German. Though he may have written a few in Italian. You would have to ask Irene. "

"Oh." Elena felt rather disappointed. She struggled so much with English already, and she had so wanted to understand what they were saying. Some Germans came through Dobruja, but not many, and she had never learned more than hello and goodbye. Before she arrived at her next thought, he had taken her gloved hand.

"I can translate any part you wish. But I think you will enjoy much of it without understanding the language. Beautiful music has the power to do that."

She smiled up at him, grateful for all he did and was doing for her. She still didn't think she deserved such kindness, but David had a way of talking one into accepting help, and later, she would come to reflect, accepting happiness.

****

The building itself was large and imposing, but inside, it was beautiful beyond imagination, with its deep reds and burnished golds. They sat in what David called a box with a few other friends of his, including Lord Gaius and Annie, who sat next to Irene. Irene was practically buzzing with suppressed excitement, and Elena saw Annie lay a hand on top of her friend's as if to calm her. That left Elena to sit next to her husband. Leaning on his cane, he gave his arm to help her sit. When their gloved hands touched, there was that spark of combustible energy that Elena was coming to expect and understand better. After so many sparks, she ought to be used to it by now.

Once she sat, she quickly became aware of all the people sitting about the theater, the murmur of the crowd. Even though she had liked the cut of her dress, she did feel a little exposed. She would never have worn anything so revealing at home, where modesty was much more the fashion. She could feel the eyes all around her burning into her skin, branding her a fraud, a foreign whore, a peasant. While no doubt some of them thought that way, the voice she heard in her head was Anatole's, not the ton's. She reminded herself that on her own, she had crossed borders and survived war, poverty, and hunger. If she could survive that, she could survive anything. She would not let Anatole or anyone here stop her from enjoying something she had so looked forward to.

Elena noticed she had been stuck in her thoughts, ignoring David, who did not like crowds. She looked over at him to find him watching her with concern instead of glancing at the rest of the theater.

"Does the crowd bother you?" she asked, hoping to deflect his concern.

"In this case, they are far enough away. I despise being jostled between people, so I am trying to avoid spaces where people are packed close around me. Here, I'm close to the only person I want to be near."

She bit back a grin and shook her head, recalling one of the expressions he had used when they first met. "Silver tongue," she muttered.

"It's gotten me this far, hasn't it?"

At that moment, she heard several instruments playing at once, and she looked inquiringly at David, who gave her an enigmatic look and turned forward.

As the musicians began to play, Elena felt every chord resonating throughout her being, as if th e tempo created by the strings was a heartbeat that ebbed and flowed through her. She had never heard anyone or anything play like this before, in perfect harmony and accordance. It made her want to cry for the sheer beauty of it, for the soaring high notes that made her feel as she had that night with David, as if she were more attuned to the world, like she was hearing music or feeling pleasure in a new, more wondrous way. She was struck by what this form of art offered: a feeling of being alive brought on by the fleeting nature of beauty, which was sad in its brevity but joyous for having been at all. For a moment, she wished she could live like that, appreciating life in the moment, without her head and heart stuck in the past. But the past had made her, shaped her into who she was. How could she completely forget it? Just then, the music ended, and she felt a sudden inexplicable loss, but then the red and gold curtain rose. A specular forest scene was laid before her, and she noted that Irene had not exaggerated the merits of the scenery. A man entered in an elaborate costume and began to sing. Elena was caught off guard by the beauty of his voice, and she felt tears start to well up, not quite spilling over. During the scene, in which a giant serpent appeared to attack the man, Elena was so enraptured that she did not realize that David had taken her gloved hand. She looked up and found him watching her, and she smiled, again unable to express in words everything she was feeling.

"What are they saying?" she mouthed to him. He leaned over so his lips were almost kissing her ear, his breath a caress, as Elena kept her eyes on the stage.

"Tamino, the prince, has just seen a portrait of the Queen of Night's daughter and lost his heart to her. He is saying…" David paused momentarily as if he had to think it through. "This image is enchantingly lovely. Like no eye has ever beheld. I feel it as this divine picture fills my heart with new emotion."

Elena felt as if every inch of her exposed flesh was a canvas of sensation, the notes and his words curling softly against her bare skin. She was acutely aware of every touch, every caress of his voice against her ear. She felt her chest rise and fall as she inhaled and exhaled slowly.

He went on. "I cannot name my feeling, though I feel it burn like fire within me." He paused again, and Elena felt her body will him to go on. "Could this feeling be love?" He waited so long that she wasn't sure he would continue, but then she heard him go on. "Yes…yes, it is love alone."

The intensity of his words and the way he said them against her skin both thrilled and alarmed her. She pulled back and looked up at him, mesmerized but apprehensive of what she would see there. His eyes looked almost black in the dark, full of fire and barely repressed passion. He was staring at her lips, and she heard him draw a ragged breath. Elena was filled with an all-consuming desire to meet his lips, to give in to the passion he had stoked in her through his words and through the music. It was as if it was just the two of them, wrapped up in this moment, in the beautiful, sensual haze of this faraway forest. However, the song ended, and she was suddenly reminded that they were in a room of hundreds of other people, including the judgmental eyes of the ton. She glanced around, which seemed to break the spell that had encompassed the two of them. David looked back to the stage but did not release her hand. Elena turned her attention back to the music, but despite its beauty, it did not distract her from the words she felt were now written across her skin.

While David translated a few more arias for her, he had been correct that she would understand the music without knowing the language. As they walked out at the end of the evening, she felt as though she were floating on air.

"You see now why I was so excited?" Irene hadn't stopped beaming since they had left their box.

"I wish we could do that every night." Elena linked her arm with Irene's. "Though…I suppose if we went to the opera every night, we might not appreciate quite so much."

"I would," Irene insisted.

"Only you, Renie. The rest of us might grow a little weary of the same thing night after night." David rolled his eyes indulgently at his sister, and Elena felt a pang in the region of her heart. How she missed the teasing and comradery of her sisters. She wished she could tell them about the opera, but she struggled to think of how to explain it.

As they sat in the carriage, Elena did something she had never done before and set her head on her husband's shoulder. She did not know what moved her to do so, but after he whispered those words, she felt a new closeness to him she hadn't felt before, as if she were compelled just to be near him, to physically touch him. Leaning further against his broad chest, she heard his heart speed up, then gradually ease back to a steady beat. That was an apt description of the man sitting next to her, steady. For all his charm and silver tongue, he was solid and real, and part of her wanted to reach out and grab onto him and never let go. And yet, the other part of her cautioned not to grow too attached to anyone, that her life could be ripped apart again in a moment. But, oh, how she wanted to silence that side of herself as she was lulled to sleep by the steadiness of his heartbeat.

****

The next thing Elena knew, they had arrived home, and her husband was carrying her inside, speaking quietly to Fields so as not to wake her.

"Husband?" She could not miss the sweet, small smile that graced his face this time.

"Yes, Wife?

"How can you carry me with your cane? I do not want you to hurt yourself."

"Sometimes a man wants to know that he can still be a hero to a beautiful lady, even in a small way."

"But my skirts." She was mortified to think that the heavy crinoline weighed him down.

"Are of no concern." She looked around and saw that they had arrived in her bedchamber. He set her down on the end of her bed, then sat himself. For a moment, they did not speak, the air thick with the spell that had woven around them that evening. She was so curious as to what they could be together, but she was still so afraid. She had conquered so many of her fears, but she was unsure she was ready to take the next step. But at the same time, she did not want him to leave. Slowly, he removed a glove, then reached out his finger and stroked her bottom lip, causing her heart to beat wildly.

"The moment I realized you weren't a dream or figment of my imagination, that I wasn't actually dead, I wanted so badly to kiss you. Even when I felt such muted desire. You had the fullest lips I'd ever seen."

She could feel a blush heat her face and neck and gave thanks again that blushing did not always show on her skin. His finger traced the line of her jaw, and then he brought her chin up so she could look at him.

"I would offer to help you remove your gown, but I must admit, all the buttons and laces might defeat me. But I would very much like to see you tonight."

"Well, it was in our agreement." She tried hard not to smile.

"Is that the only reason you will see me, our agreement?" He began to trace his fingers down her neck to her collarbone, the rough skin of his hands creating sensations of pleasure against the contours of her skin. He then brought his hands to the back of her neck and unclasped the necklace, and the beads skittered down Elena's chest, to the tops of her breasts, and into her lap. Putting his finger back to the pulse of her neck, he replaced his hand with his lips.

"Am I so mysterious?" She was barely able to get the words out.

"There are times I would give anything to know what is happening inside of that head of yours," he murmured against her skin.

At that moment, all that went through her mind was pleasure, just endless, endless pleasure. Her senses were full of the things he could do with his mouth and tongue, the way he could find these points on her body…

"Should I come to your bedchamber, my lord?"

"David," he corrected.

"Husband."

She could feel him smile against her skin.

"If you give me leave tonight, I will come to you, Wife."

****

After she had dismissed her maid and sat braiding her own hair, Elena reflected on how she had been sitting here at her vanity just a few nights before when she had decided to go to see her husband in his bedchamber. That night, he had shown her pleasure she had never known before, not even with Anatole. Would it be like that again? Could it always be like that?

As she called for him to enter and saw his broad, strong body wrapped in that blue robe in her mirror, an erotic chill ran down her spine, and she felt with strange surety that together, they could always feel passion like that.

As her husband's tall form appeared behind her, she noticed he wasn't using his cane. Something else was also missing.

"Where is Goliath?" She felt terrible she hadn't noticed the dog had not been there to greet her that evening. Her mind, as well as her body, had been wrapped up in other things.

"I sent him to Irene tonight. She doesn't mind."

Coming up behind her, her husband's hands reached for her collarbone, which he traced with reverence. His fingertips skirted the tops of her breasts, then coasted down between them, grasping them through the silk night rail she wore just for that night. She heard his intake of breath and began to turn her head, but at that moment, he knelt down and caught her mouth with his.

Their kiss began like a wildfire, barely controlled and devouring, as his hands crept along the silk to cup and massage her breasts. His thumb gently circled her nipples, the silk making them more sensitive to his touch as she arched forward against his hands. There was something unbearably erotic about being caught in an embrace like this, unable to move but also unable to let go. Tentatively, she used her tongue to explore his mouth, and he met hers with reckless abandon.

Suddenly, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed, just as he had days earlier. Elena briefly worried that he did not have his cane, but the thought quickly left her mind as he threw her down and straddled her on the bed with palpable urgency. He interlocked their fingers together, kissing her hands, then pushed both arms over her head, holding them there with one hand. Her initial alarm at being trapped gave way to the pleasure this position provided her, and she arched her breasts against him when he claimed her mouth. She felt desirable and powerful all at once and decided she wanted to feel his skin against hers. Breaking the kiss, she pushed him up, stripped off his robe, and then switched positions so she was on top, holding his arms over his head. She saw him look up and then look at her for a moment, as they both knew he could break her grip in an instant. She put her hand up as if to say, "Stay." His breathing turned harsh, but he left his hands above his head, and she removed hers. She wanted to enjoy his body, to bring him the same pleasure he had brought to her. She ran her fingers down his arms, lightly scoring her fingernails across his skin. She used her lips to further appreciate his chest, then his abdomen, until she reached the length of him. She looked up at him to find him watching her with something like awe. She dipped her head toward him, and he gave a small, swift grunt of consent. She proceeded to stroke one finger from the base down his shaft. She then took her tongue and ran it along the underside of him, feeling the tremor throughout his body before completely taking him in her mouth.

"Elena," he growled.

Her name sounded like a prayer, and she used her mouth and tongue to almost bring him to the brink, but he caught her and drew her against him before he reached a climax. He cupped her face, leaning his head against hers, breathing deeply. Elena realized that though she had lost her wrapper somewhere along the way, she was still wearing her night rail, which she sat up and forcibly removed. Her husband stared as she lay back down beside him on her side. His hands again found that space between her breasts, which he stroked with infinite slowness, making a circle with his fingertips as if moving through honey. He ran a hand down all the contours of her body, lingering around the curve of her hips. Gently, he pushed her hip, easing her onto her back.

As his hands began to move between her legs, she had a flash of those men, with their rough, large hands, tearing at her body, using their fingers to enter her, hurt her. She stared for a moment at David's hands, which were also rough and large but tender and warm. Even though they were journeying into new territory, she recognized she felt safe in his battle-scarred hands as he looked in her eyes, and she gave her consent with surety. His fingertips found her sex, stroking with the lightness of wings, and she spread her legs wider to give him greater access. She hadn't understood how wet she was, how ready for his hands, for him. The ache that had been building in her was turning into a fire as the gentleness of his touch fed the intensity of her desire. His thumb found that spot at the top of her sex—she did not know the word in English—and she almost peaked, arching against his hand as he gently circled his thumb around that spot. She began to hear the music from that evening building around them, almost cresting, almost there, but then dying back down, increasing the ache.

"Husband, Husband, please," she moaned.

"Yes, Elena?"

"Now, yes, now!"

He positioned himself on top of her, the length of him against her sex.

"Yes?"

"Yes, David."

The sound of his name seemed to enrapture him, and he entered her with a groan. He began tentatively filling her, and she raised her hips to meet him. She felt the music die down again, but there was something in the air, a quiet anticipation of when the momentum would pick up again. Just as she raised her hips, he slammed into her, then looked up to check with her. She gasped in assent, then increased her speed, raising her hips to meet him in time. She felt the music inside begin to build, wilder and faster. She was closer and closer to something, then she felt the word as she heard the music— crescendo. He found her eyes for a brief moment, and she wondered if he could hear the music too, if he was also reaching for that faraway peak. As their eyes locked, she felt that ache turn into a wonderful, all-consuming pleasure that gripped her entire body. She gasped and wrapped her arms around him, feeling the muscles and the sweat and the beautiful movement of his body as he cried out as well. Their breathing seemed in tandem as he dropped his head to her chest, to the space between her breasts.

When she had recovered her ability to speak, she murmured, "You like that spot."

"I think it's my favorite place in the world. I ought to claim it." He let out a breath, then turned his head to kiss her there, pausing to kiss both of her breasts as well. "Grayston's Valley, what do you think of that?"

She had been lightly stroking his hair, which she gave a playful tug.

"Valley? My breasts are not so big."

He glanced up and gave her a look. She looked down.

"Well, perhaps they are."

They laughed together until both their breathing slowed. He looked as exhausted and sated as she felt. As she began to drift off to sleep, she heard him softly repeat the words of the opera that evening.

"Could this feeling be love? Yes, yes, it is love alone."

Despite her fatigue just moments before, she felt wide awake as the icy hand of panic gripped her heart. While the two halves of her had warred, her passionate, impulsive side had won out for most of the night. But now the fearful side, the side that warned her away from any happiness for fear it would be snatched away, had awakened and would not grant her reprieve. She thought of one of the stories she had read from a book of Greek myths in the library, of Prometheus, who was punished for stealing fire from the gods with an eagle ripping out his insides every day. Was this her punishment? Was there always a price? Because of her foolishness, was she cursed to always be afraid of happiness and love? She imagined a bird swooping down to tear open her chest and feast upon her. But once it reached her heart, it spat it back out, as the organ was frozen and worthless. She didn't want to have a frozen heart, but Anatole's betrayal and the cost of not knowing what had happened to her family, the numerous times when she had gotten her hopes up only to be bitterly let down, had caused her heart to freeze in place.

She cursed herself a fool for not foreseeing that love might complicate her marriage. For not realizing how much she feared love before she ended up in a situation that she did not know she could escape from. Or want to escape from. While the voices in her head warred, she realized her husband had fallen asleep. She wondered if he would even remember what he said or if he meant it. What if she couldn't love him back? Would he cast her out? Love had made Anatole so angry and volatile that he had hurt her, tried to disfigure her. She stroked David's hair, which looked black in the dark of night. No, here lay a much better man than Anatole. Yet, no matter how she tried she could not drive out the panic from her heart, nor the fear of the future, which she would likely have to deal with sooner rather than later.

****

Honey and amber. David awoke in a cocoon of bedclothes and a delicious warmth throughout his entire body. He had moved to a pillow at some point in the night, but his arm was draped across his wife's full breasts.

Lucky arm.

He watched her for a few minutes as she slept. She looked young in sleep, with all the troubles of the world gone temporarily. Her lips were full and pillowy, her golden-brown hair covering her scar. He wondered if she dreamed in English and what she dreamed of. He would have to ask her someday. He had so many questions, he realized, he could talk to her every day for the rest of his life, and he would still think of more. She shifted in her sleep, and he had a sudden recollection of the previous night. Had he told her he loved her as he drifted off to sleep? He felt a slow trickle of dread build in his heart. While they were making love, he had never felt so close to another person before in his life, and several times, he had to stop himself from expressing all he felt for her. Something told him deep in his bones that she was not ready to hear such things, and he did not want to drive her away. But as he lay listening to her heartbeat, the words from the opera, which had been the most erotic moment of his life, came back to him, and he feared he had spoken them out loud. He had never said it before, even to himself, but in that moment, he knew it for truth. Maybe he had always known deep down. Since he had returned, his love had only grown deeper, surer, and clearer because of the thousand ways she was exactly herself, with no ulterior motives or artifice. How she pushed him to go beyond what he thought were his limits without actually pushing him, and how she always seemed to know when he needed to breathe. How she took care of his family when he was away, even if she claimed they took care of her. How she trusted him with her well-being and with her body, a trust that meant more to him than he could ever put into words.

In the morning light, he heard her breathing change and watched as she slowly opened her eyes, and her body immediately stiffened. There was fear there, fear he felt in his soul. He had not dreamed what he had said, he now remembered saying it. He knew he had to address this head-on, so he stroked her face as gently as possible and prayed for the right thing to say.

"Elena."

"My lord."

Ah, the formality.

"My lady. Could you do me a favor?"

She searched his eyes. She clearly wanted to hear him out before she agreed to anything.

He had to get this right.

As he stroked down her face, he began, "I think that I might have told you that I loved you last night." Her intake of breath confirmed his fears, but he quickly went on. "It's the truth, and I can't take it back. I always have, and I always will."

She bit her lip, and he noticed her clench and unclench her hand on the bedclothes. He remembered her doing that their first night together, but those had been very different circumstances. He put that thought aside for later as he pressed on.

"I know you might not be ready to love me back." He swallowed. "Or you might not ever love me back." He hoped with all his heart that was not the case. "But can you try to just let me love you? Just try it on like a coat." He hadn't planned on that last part, but he was desperate to regain some semblance of control of the situation, and that was where his mind went.

"You-you're not angry with me?"

His heart ached for all she had been through, for the question in her voice. His old self might have been angry that she thought he would have hurt her, but he knew what devastation war and grief could bring. What being scarred and betrayed by someone who was supposed to love you would do to you. His fingers reached her scar, still the same mark as when he had first seen her three years ago.

"Elena, how can I say I love you and not try to understand you? You are the most wonderful, fascinating subject I have ever had the privilege to study, and I feel lucky you give me the time of day. I know that when you loved before, you were left with literal scars." He stroked down her scar with reverent tenderness. "It would be the thrill of my life if you loved me back, but I love you so much I want to give you the time and space to do it. To see if I'm worthy of it."

"Oh, David, it's not a matter of worth."

He kissed her scar, trying to convey everything he couldn't quite say.

She closed her eyes briefly, and her next words nearly broke his heart.

"I do not deserve such kindness or love. I have done such horrible things."

He lifted her chin so she would look at him. "Elena, you made one rash choice in a lifetime of thinking of your family first. You even tried to go back and do it differently. It wasn't your fault you were in the middle of a war not of your making." He had often thought of himself and other soldiers as victims of the war, but much more so were the innocent people whose lives were destroyed and displaced by the whims of empires.

"I have one more request." He paused, not sure quite how to phrase what he wanted to say. "Elena, could you also work on forgiving yourself? Just try. Because if you could only see what you mean to your friends, to Irene. To me." He added that last part quietly. "If you could see what you mean to all of us, you would see yourself as we do. Someone worthy of love and admiration. Someone brave and sometimes unintentionally funny and—"

She swatted him gently in the shoulder. He knew he was succeeding if she found him amusing.

"So, will you take my requests into consideration?"

"You want me to try on your love like a coat?"

Bizarrely, this just made him love her more.

"I never said I was poetic."

Her mouth, which had been in a pained straight line, gave a small twitch in the corner.

"I will try to…try it on then. I want our marriage to work, David, I do. I wish I were different. I wish I could know. I wish I could grieve. Do you understand? If I knew what happened, either way, even if it was the worst, then I could move on, I could mourn. But not knowing, it feels like the worst kind of punishment. What is the English word? Purgatory. Like my heart is stuck, not knowing which way to go."

He thought for a moment. "Is that why you always wear dark colors but never black? You don't know if you are meant to mourn, but you don't want to be too joyful?"

Elena gave a small, humorless laugh. "I don't think I noticed I was doing so, but I suppose without thinking, yes, that is true."

He thought of his parents' deaths and tried to imagine not knowing whether they were dead or alive for years. Would he be able to trust in anything without it being snatched away?

"Elena, I promise you, we will find out. And I will be here for you, whatever the truth is."

She looked up at him, her golden-brown eyes wide and sad.

"I do not deserve you." She laid her head against his.

He saw now that he was in his own kind of divine punishment. In the wild days of his youth, just after his father's death, he had been known as something of a heartbreaker. While he had never purposefully hurt anyone or set out to break hearts, he had given little thought to those he left behind. Now to be so in the thrall of a woman who might never love him back, this must be some kind of retribution for his reprobate past. For the carelessness with which he had breezed through life when he was younger.

"Elena, I know you think I have a silver tongue, but please believe me when I say that we are exactly what the other deserves."

She sighed and looked down. Her expression was still shuttered, but there was a new lightness to her sigh that gave him hope.

"Husband."

She had moved on from "my lord." This was good. This was progress.

"Husband, will we continue to sleep in each other's beds? Is that what is done?"

If she was thinking about sleeping in his bed in the future or possibilities in addition to sleeping, he couldn't have messed up so badly.

"Oh, it isn't fashionable, but it can be done. I can make certain of it."