Outside the floor to ceiling length windows, the sky had long turned dark. The lights of the city glowed through the grand windows but the muffled symphony of the streets was barely noticeable in the peaceful apartment. June Iparis sat comfortably with her feet up on the soft, gray, couch, her back supported by the plethora of throw pillows as she leaned against the arm of the sofa. It had been a hell of a mission and June was thoroughly pleased to be back home. She'd stripped off her heavy boots and thick black clothing and practically dove into a hot shower. June was used to being tightly strung, but at the end of a long day, the simple bliss of hot water running over her sore muscles would always help her to relax. That and the long-stemmed glass of wine she swilled around in her hand while casually flipping through some paper work. Since she had been named the lead commander of all California units her documentation load had tripled and she had found it was best to squeeze some extra work in whenever she could.
"Hey," Anden said softly from behind her before bending down to place a kiss on the top of her head. A smile spread across her face; she rose from the couch and excitedly wove her arms around his neck. She had heard him moving about the moment he stepped off the elevator into their penthouse apartment, bidding the guards a good evening; but she liked to let him think he'd surprised her every now and then.
"Hey," she replied before planting a firm, longing, kiss on his mouth. Her job had taken her far from LA for the past several days and while she loved the freedom of being able to focus single-mindedly on her job, one thing she was sure she was good at it, she also enjoyed knowing that she would come home to Anden, who had missed her every moment that she'd been away. Their life together had become a well-rehearsed dance. A practiced and effortless routine of making time for each other in their busy schedules, of cooking meals side by side, of knowing that she preferred coffee over tea in the mornings, of remembering to water the plant on their windowsill that Anden loved, of having mapped each other's bodies so completely that there was not a freckle or scar or delicate hollow that the other hadn't noticed.
"I'm so glad you're back," Anden said contently, resting his forehead against June's before leaning in one more time for a quick peck.
"Are you hungry?" He asked, already heading for the kitchen.
"That depends, are we eating real food or dessert?" She responded.
"My dear lady, do you even have to ask?" He called out, his face hidden behind the freezer door.
"In that case, do you even have to ask?" She retorted playfully.
"Touché," he laughed, never having known her to turn down a dessert.
Moments later he returned to the living area, a small, glass bowl of lavender ice cream in each hand. June took one, skimming the spoon across the top of the frozen dessert. She watched Anden sink onto the couch next to her, his coat discarded, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, thick curls sticking out every which way.
"So how was the mission?" He asked eating a spoonful of ice cream.
"Long, but not particularly exciting," she responded nonchalantly.
"Really? I heard it ended in a shoot out on the corner of Eighth and Cherry," Anden said, one dark brow arched.
"It only lasted three minutes and approximately twenty one seconds; I didn't even take any kind of hit, that doesn't rank particularly high on my excitement scale. My life is very exciting you know," she teased, nudging his thigh with her bare foot.
"Yes, I know you're never satisfied unless you've sustained some sort of bodily injury," he replied unamused, he had been tasked with retrieving her from the hospital with swelling bruises, gaping lacerations, and glancing bullet wounds too many times to find her nonchalance funny. But June had to smile at that. Anden's concern for her flippant disregard of her own personal safety reminded her of her brother.
"How did the meeting go tonight?" June asked, changing the subject before he worked himself up into anymore worry.
"Well there was arguing, flatteries, passive aggressive comments, good food, so pretty much the same as usual. Don't you miss it?"
"Not even a little bit," she laughed around the spoonful in her mouth.
"No, it was good," he recanted, chuckling a little before adding, more soberly, "I think we're really making progress with the United Cities."
"I'm glad…," she said smiling at the young man she's become so proud of. He's kept his promise to her all these years, he hasn't let the stress, or the decisions, or the loss turn him into someone he's not. She watches him for a moment, so at peace with her, sprawling on their couch, eating dessert with zeal, rather than the refinement he displays at banquets. These are the moments when she is infinitely glad she did not become the young Elector's Princeps. She got to see the side of Anden that existed to so few; in which he was not always serious, diplomatic, and sophisticated. When they were working together as Elector and Princeps Elect everything felt strained, formal, observed. Had she become his Princeps, she can't help but feel it would have been hard to separate their working relationship from their personal one. Now they can simply be, here in their own world, with no one looking in.
"You know you didn't have to wait up for me, I know it's been a long couple of weeks for you," he said gesturing with his spoon.
"Yes, but I didn't want you to come home from your long day and have your ears immediately assaulted by the sound of my snoring," she replied, setting her empty bowl down on the small end table.
"It doesn't bother me."
"You don't have to spare my feelings. I commend you for being able to share a bed with me all these years without compl—"
"It really doesn't. I like it. Nocturnal respiration being the weakness of the Republic's prodigy… it's—it's endearing."
He stared down, seemingly trying to decide something, running his spoon along the edges of his bowl, even though it was now empty.
"June, I've been…" He paused, as if he couldn't find the right words. Which surprised June as Anden rarely got tongue-tied, having been graced with all the gifts of eloquence a politician could hope for.
"What?" She prompted, wondering what this was about and, as usual, having little patience for obfuscation.
"…I was thinking maybe we could talk about marriage again…"
June froze; she'd been dreading the day this came up again. She supposed it was too much to hope that he would just let it lie forever and they could pretend like he never asked in the first place. She took a deep breath.
"Anden, I don't kn—"
"I know you said you weren't ready when we talked about it before but it's been almost a year since then. I love you, June. I want to marry you," his face is so earnest, so hopeful that this time the conversation will be different. It breaks her heart.
"I'm sorry, I love you. I do. But I'm just not—"
"Not what?"
"Ready," she breathed.
"You're not ready," he echoed back, as if he hadn't understood her.
"I just don't think it's time, okay?" June held his gaze for a moment hoping this answer would pacify him. He looked back at her, his brows knitted but not saying anything. She took the empty bowl out of his hands and picked her own up off the end table. She moved to the kitchen, placing their dirty dishes in the sink. She wanted to remove herself from this situation. She couldn't deal with the question of marriage right now. It was a question that would never have easy answers and it felt out of place in their carefully balanced life.
Anden seemed to sit in a stupor for a minute before answering, "When would the right time be, June? We've been together for four ye—"
"I don't want to do this right now, Anden!" June snapped more angrily than she meant to. She couldn't quite explain her vehement opposition to marrying her longtime boyfriend. She skirted around the issue, even in the safety of her own mind, knowing it would unearth too many things she'd worked too hard to bury.
"Why can't we talk about this? Every time I bring it up you shut down!"
Anden was off the couch now, moving towards her. She could sense his temper rising.
"Why can't you just accept my answer?"
"Because it's not a real answer, June! Why don't you want to discuss this?"
June ran a hand through her dark hair, taking a deep breath, trying to decide how to twist the knife in the heart of yet another person she loved.
"Anden, I like where we are. I like what we have. I just don't understand why you need more!"
Her words are hurting him she can tell by the way he swallows hard before speaking.
"It's not more, it's just..." he was struggling to find words again," I want to know where things are going, okay?" He implored her.
"I don't know, I don't know what's going to happen months from now or years from now. You have to take things as they come because I've learned too many times that everything can change in an inst-
"June," his rising voice startles her, "what happens months from now or years from now isn't going to change how I feel about you. I can take anything life has coming, as long as you're right there with me."
The way his eyes held hers was magnetic. Before she could make the conscious choice to do so she'd walked into his arms, resting her forehead against his chest. She breathed in that familiar scent of his, let him stroke her hair and run his hand up and down her spine soothingly.
"What's scaring you, June?" he whispered in her ear.
The words gave her a jolt. She was June Iparis, she'd survived escape from both the Republic and the Colonies, she'd survived a war, the plague, a crash landing, she'd been shot, and stabbed, and beaten; she wasn't scared of anything.
She tried to picture it. What it would be like to be Anden's wife. At formal events she would no longer be announced on her own as "Commander June Iparis." She would be announced in conjunction with Anden, "Commander June Stavropoulos."
No, she couldn't do that; she couldn't take his name in exchange for what had been her parent's name, Metias' name. She was an Iparis… the last Iparis… she would remain so until she died. But Anden would understand that, he took her as she was. He loved even the most insufferably stubborn parts of her. June knew that to pretend this was the problem was to be grasping at straws. He wouldn't care that she didn't want his name, if only she wanted to be his wife. He wanted to be the person she would go through this life with, who he could count on to stand by him… she wasn't sure how she felt about someone counting on her that way. Did she want to spend the rest of her life with Anden? She couldn't be sure. Her experiences thus far had shown June what a fluid concept "rest of her life" could be. If the "rest of her life" was ten years, okay. But what if the "rest of her life" was thirty years? Forty years? Suddenly it didn't seem so easy.
She wished it were enough that she loved Anden here, now.
"June," he continued to murmur in her ear, "what we have makes me so happy, but I want to make that commitment to you. I want to introduce you to people as my wife not my girlfriend, I want to be a part of a family again, I want our kids to know that I couldn't wait to marry their mother."
He was elated by this imaginary future, but a shiver ran through June. Yet another thing she'd avoided discussing, even when it was absolutely imperative. The resurfacing of harbored guilt made her feel like she needed to vomit but instead she just pulled out of Anden's arms.
This wasn't at all how she'd thought the night would go. She thought she'd exchange stories with her boyfriend and get a good night's sleep cradled in his arms. June had planned to wake up and expend little effort convincing Anden to reschedule his early meetings. She thought they'd spend the morning in sweat-drenched sheets, skin flushed, lips full, and hearts racing.
But instead she was taking a deep breath and saying, "I'm sorry, but I can't promise you forever, Anden. Too much has happened," she finished sadly, uttering as much of the truth as she was able to verbalize.
She made a break for the bedroom; not wanting to see the way his expression would fall, ignoring the slight tremor in her hands. She hoped Anden would follow her. He didn't; rather, he stopped her in her tracks.
"Is this about the baby?"