Page 15 of Antiletum
Same with the way he’s constantly rubbing some secret item in his pocket; a nervous habit that has become increasingly more consistent. Even when I’ve tried not to notice, a part of me wants to ask what it is that brings him such comfort.
Not so wise to voice curiosities about a person you’re actively trying to not peer at too closely though. I’m worried that if I ask, it will just lead to more conversation.
Val pours steaming brown liquid from a fancy frosted glass carafe, lifting it high to let it pour in an exaggerated and loud waterfall. He goes to set the pot back down, but pauses. “Would you like some,ocellus?”
Unsure of how to respond, I give a shallow nod, still trying to wrap my head around the situation in my grogginess. I’m getting theinkling that my husband was meticulous in his being here when I woke, leaving me too disoriented to give a proper reaction.
“Why do you call me that?” I blurt, unable to keep that precise curiosity stuffed in any longer.
I’ve heard him refer to me by the moniker a handful of times when I haven’t been able to evade him. It’s from the ancient language of thedeos, but not a regularly used word mixed in the common tongue. Its meaning is just at the back of my throat, but I can’t quite taste it.
With a satisfied smile, Val pours me coffee into a mug, his plan working all too well. “Because it fits you perfectly. With every single translation.”
Surmise to say my husband has no intention to inform me on what said translations happen to be.
Enjoying himself far too much, Val deposits a spoonful of brown sugar into his own drink. Another. And another.
Oh, and just one more.
The urge to laugh is strong, but I strangle my humor down like a jack-in-the-box before it can escape in a cloud of endearment, one I’d never be able to collect and cage again. Val doesn’t look like the type of man to be harboring a sweet tooth; not with that tall stature, wide shoulders, strong jaw, and serious mouth. Almost commenting on the trait, I force myself to hold steady to the trepidation hand-delivered to me from my dead sister. The only one keeping me rooted in reality.
The more rational decision, rather than allowing myself to have any fuzzy feelings towards my forever bonded spouse. Obviously.
I settle on a drawn out, “What are you doing here?”
“We are going to breakfast together.” Val says it so nonchalantly, factually, heaping food onto the plate opposite the table from him—serving me.
“Breakfast together?” I ask, disbelieving at his audacity at telling me what we aregoing to do.
My sheet is slipping from my loosening grasp.
“Yes.” One simple word holds such a tone of seriousness, leaving no room for argument. The air of a man accustomed to getting his way. “Every day, starting today. As most married couples do.”
He indicates his head to the empty chair, voice gentler. “Come,ocellus, join me. Please.”
It’s the manners and softness that get me. That gentlepleasethat encourages me to drop my blanket and unfold myself from my bed. Definitely the manners, not his lingering air of command. Or the mystery nickname.
Val sweeps to his feet, collects a black and silver robe embroidered with a barn owl (that I have never seen before in my life), and strides over to me. My husband makes an astoundingly clear statement.
I suppose I can assume that Val is finished giving me space.
Something cracked between us yesterday, my carefully constructed composure falling away to thin the precarious veil I placed between us. Val is clearly as aware of the change as I am. Even more, he seems to very much be leaning into it.
Suspicion trains on him as he holds up the garment with a kind smile.
Against my better judgement, I allow Val to slip the robe over my arms, for the first time accepting the colors and owl symbol meant for my sister. Maybe it will be easier, taking it now rather than waiting until the last moment, when we make it to The Citadel.
When everyone truly is watching.
When he’s finished, I tie the sash as his huge hands affectionately cup my shoulders. He bends forward, hot breath skimming against myear. “My intention is to behave as a gentleman for you this morning. Best to have you more properly covered in order to do so.”
Thismorning? Does that mean he doesn’t intend to be a gentleman at every one of his predetermined breakfasts?
My cheeks heat as I turn to face my husband, but he’s already making his way back to the table.
Val serves his own plate while I’m still grappling with my feet to move. He pours an alarming amount of maple syrup over everything. Nothing spared from the thick, sugary pool. Not even the scrambled eggs. The utter normalcy of it pulls me towards him.
He’s always so quiet. Intense. Bordering on grumpy. It’s easy to forget that he’s an actual person with needs and preferences and most likely an entire personality hidden under that exterior.
