Foolishly Falling for You

32

Anita

The quiet in the house is intoxicating. There's no internal struggle, no desperate bid for attention or affection. instead, the two of us get along like two old friends. It's a quaint unstated agreement between us, draining the home of its former hostile environment. I stand in front of my mirror, cocking my head, examining my body. It's been a while since I looked at it. I avoid it, my biggest failure this body I live in. The marks from childhood have not disappeared. I don't like facing them.

The marks I've made stand out, fresh raw, clarity. When I was younger, I was afraid people would discover them. That I would lose my value. As I got older, I stopped thinking about people discovering it, I'm not sure why. This is another of the many confrontations I have been avoiding.

"I thought we could," Lance meets my eye in the mirror. I don't bother covering up. He's seen it all anyway. He shares my secrets.

I shift, shrugging, not knowing what else to do. What is there to say.

Lance clears his throat. "Forgive me, I didn't know you were busy." He pulls a robe off my bed, offering it to me. I take it, putting it on my arm.

He clears his throat again, clearly uncomfortable. It's almost cute. "I thought we might venture out to see a play this week end," He suggests, keeping fervent eye contact with me. I'm glad we've come to such an agreement. I've really turned it all around, I think. If I were to die now, I think my headstone would say Beloved Wife or something like that.

"Oh?" I say softly.

Lance nods, edging closer to me. "Yes. One of the books on your shelf has been adapted I thought...you may enjoy it."

I smile. How thoughtful. We've really come such a long way.

"That sounds nice. I'll just have to do some tidying."
"Tidying? We have maids."

"No, I know. I just mean, budgets, personal items, things like that."

Lance narrows his eyes. "Why do you need to do any do that?"

I shrug. "Just time."

Lance nods uneasily, standing behind me, gingerly taking the robe from my arm and wrapping it around it. There. Just like that, you can't see anything. Like nothing ever happened.

"You're worrying me again. Your favorite pastime it seems," Lance murmurs,
"Where is your cane?"
He scoffs. "Never mind that—"

"They'll call you back to lines you know? Especially now that you've gone against my father."

Lance's hands linger on my shoulder, as he towers behind me. We fit, outside of our contrasting personalities, varying beliefs about love, and...everything else about us.

"I do not worry about the Duke and his mediocre rage, I am more worried for you. You have an expression I've seen before."

I turn around, abandoning the sight of me for the visage of him. He looks deep into my eyes, surrounding me in a field of green.

"And what's that?"
"War...is...over," He whispers softly.

I chuckle, trying to escape his piercing gaze. His attention, once earned is not easily lost, I see.

"What does that mean?"

"When a soldier is dying, he gets this look of relief on his face. He's dying, he knows it. His body is cold, and his heart barely beats. He is dying...but war is over. It's over for him, and now reigns peace,"

His hand cups my face gently. "You said you were tired. Is your war over? Have you given up?"

Lance Mendoza is nothing if not observant, it seems. Those eyes, beautiful but so piercing down to the bone, the marrow the soul. Has he always been that way? I glance away. Lance grabs my chin, forcing my gaze to meet his.

"I will agree to divorce you if you insist. I will let you live apart from me. I will even allow you to marry again, without violence or protest from me—"

"—How lucky I am," I intone.

"However," He talks over my sarcastic quip, "I will not allow you to die."

As if it's something he can control. As if my life and death lie solely on his preference, if that were the case I would've been dead a million times over.

"Do you plan to disappear?" He prods.

I open my mouth but he pulls away. "Don't answer. I don't want to know. The answer is no."

I chuckle despite myself. It spills out of me. How fitting for the Admiral to make such demands. He stared at me, stern and unwavering.

"I see you will not give me a choice in the matter, Anita. I will make sure you are fine personally."