Chapter 12
Anne didn't even remember she was a Queen. As for her, she was born to do that: being a good mother and a good wife.
What she was sure to not be, though, was a good cook.
She was standing in a little kitchen, full of pans and pots and she didn't have idea of what she was cooking, but a pretty nauseating smell stung her nose and made her wanting to throw everything away. She was tired, sweated, messy and frustrated. Plus, the baby had started to cry and it wasn't no use to reassuring him by saying that his father would've come home soon. Actually, this thing didn't reassure her either, because dinner wasn't ready at all and she didn't want to disappoint him in any way. She went back reading the big kitchen book next to her, but she found herself more confused than before, among words she hadn't never heard before and process too hard to follow. The anger went up to her mind and she threw on the floor the heavy book, which fell with a thud. Not happy, she kicked it angrily, but she didn't got anything but moving it few centimetres and a hurting toe.
She smothered a scream, trying to maintain a little control, even if she had her privacy by then and wasn't surrounded any more by dozens of lady-in-waiting following every move she made. She grabbed her foot and jumped to the nearest chair, taking off her shoes. One thing she regretted were her beautiful dresses... She was wearing a simple robe – now filthy and greasy, but usually – and a pair of battered but comfortable sandals.
Tears filled her eyes for the pain, and she was about to go kicking also that stupid cauldron full of an indistinguishable swill, but she held herself. She sighed looking at it and shook her head. The baby was still crying and every scream made her wanting to cry.
"What's wrong, Philippe?" she wheezed, going and picking him up. In that moment she heard the door opening and she instinctively turned to the entrance.
She felt a wave of extreme affection for the man who had just walked through the door and who was lovingly smiling at her. She saw him looking around and laying his eyes on her bare foot, on the cauldron – from which a brown foam was now coming out – and on the book on the floor.
"So, what we're having tonight?" he asked anyway.
Anne felt overwhelmed by inadequacy, mixed with the deep love she felt for her Musketeer, even if he wasn't wearing the uniform any more. When he got closer she could smell the gunpowder and through her mind ran the picture of Aramis assembling and charging a musket, showing it to a couple of interested men.
"I'm sorry... I... Philippe..." she babbled exasperated, but he was unperturbed.
He kept smiling reassuring, then he took the baby from her arms. The baby seemed to calm down immediately. She couldn't do anything but thinking how wonderful was the man she loved. With her sleeve she wiped from her face a tear, from soot and she didn't know what else, and she kept looking; Aramis had the look and the attitude of a father. And – she realised that when he turned to her – of a loyal and devote husband.
He made her smile just with a little movement, then he grabbed her hand.
"Are you happy, Anne?" he asked suddenly. She was moved again, and she nodded.
"How could I not?" she replied in a low voice.
Aramis pressed his lips on her hand; he kept staring at her adoringly.
Viktoria opened her eyes and she realised she was smiling.
So, that was how it ended... Both of them had found a new life, happy, satisfied and in love. Would it have ended that way between her and Ben?
Oh, dear God! Ben! Suddenly everything came back to her mind and her smile widened even more. She felt him next to her, he was emanating a pleasing warmth and his deep breath inspired her with tenderness. It happened for real, so...
She rolled on a side and stared at him while he was sleeping, resisting the temptation of caressing and kissing his face that now appeared so innocent, but that few hours earlier... Well, it was everything but candid. But she liked that shade of him that had been keeping hidden until then. He had something resolute that made her feeling safe. For a second, she wondered if he acted that way with his wife too, but then she repulsed the thought. It was just about the two of them.
She deeply sighed, trying to relive on her skin those feelings that anybody else ever made her experience, without be ashamed at all of what happened in that bed.
She waited a little longer for him to wake up, but he must have been really exhausted, because he didn't open his eyes even when she got up from bed without trying to do it silently. On one hand she wanted him to wake up to tell about her dream, but on the other hand she didn't want to do it directly to not seem too impatient. The sun hadn't rose yet, but the lamp was still burning: none of them have had the strength to do the simple movement of turning it off, they just collapsed from exhaustion.
Viktoria got dressed, turning her back to him and imagining that he'd opened his eyes, admiring her, but when she turned again, she found him in the same pose as before. A little disappointed, she started looking around. She found the crucifix on the table and she wore it around her neck. But where was the album where he drew her gone? For a few days, she had been wanting to take a closer look to it and see if maybe he drew also her mother.
The table had a drawer. She hesitate a little before doing it, wondering wether it was right or not, but then she shook her shoulders. After all she wasn't doing anything wrong, she just wanted to see his drawings, she wouldn't have poked around.
But as soon as she started opening the drawer, she heard Ben moving in the bed. He was stretching, but his eyes were still closed; Viktoria closed the drawer and smiled to him.
"Ben!" she exclaimed like a child who sees a dear person after a long time. She jumped into the bed, overwhelming him with her impulse and, without leaving him time to connect, she kissed him. He winced at first, but then he hugged her, returning the kiss while sitting up. Viktoria realised something was different. He wasn't that man any more, that expert and flirty man who seduced her with a glance a few hours earlier. He was... Ben again. And this thing drew her crazy, because she couldn't understand how two different behaviours attracted her in the same way.
She looked into his eyes, peacefully, and suddenly she remembered.
"Oh, I made a dream again!" she exclaimed thrilled, and she started telling it in detail all at once. He listened, half-asleep and half-astonished, until Viktoria stopped talking. In that moment he spoke, simply commenting: "A baby?!" while widened his eyes.
Oh yes. She deliberately skipped that part when she told him about the previous dreams, but now it had slipped out. And as she couldn't understand if Ben was upset or glad, she just nodded, closing her lips. But when she saw him laughing, she let herself go too.
"A baby... We were happy... And we had a baby." he sighed, running his hand through his hair. Viktoria kept smiling, but she became thoughtful.
"What does that mean?"
He stared at her for a while, as if he was uncertain of speaking, but in the end Viktoria's insistent glances convinced him. He grabbed her hand and he kissed it in their usual ritual.
"I know it's hard to understand. But it's the only explanation that clarifies what is happening to us... And I think you should accept it too, even if our faiths don't consider it."
The girl moved her hair behind her ear and her smile turned into a face concentrated in focusing every single word Ben was saying.
What was he trying to say? Did all of that make a sense? Wasn't it just a figment of her imagination and... Well, coincidences?
It was true, there was something really strange in the fact that he knew her face before meeting her, and that mole that they both had... She'd explained it just as a sign of fate, or a sign from heaven. She thought it was God trying to made them understand that they were meant to be together, no matter their ages or their faiths... But while she was thinking about these things, Viktoria realised herself how ridiculous it sounded, once she got all the jigsaw's pieces together. She was just trying to explain something inexplicable and arcane, justifying it as a miracle. But she stopped believing in miracles the day her mother died.
"What do you mean?" she asked, determined to open her mind to any absurd explanation Ben would have given her. After all, she deeply trusted him.
"I think these are memories from a past life."
