"You what?" he said a little too loudly, and she cringed.
"I- I've never been on a plane before," she whimpered. "And I'm scared of heights. It's not that high, is it?"
Erik gaped at her, eyes wide.
"It's not going to be that bad, right?" she insisted.
Erik turned and pulled the little curtain down over the window.
"Nooo," he soothed. "It'll be fine, I'm certain."
She bit her lip. She'd be more inclined to believe him if he wasn't looking at her like she'd just swallowed a bomb.
"Just try not to think about it," he offered.
She nodded and closed her eyes.
That only worked until the plane began to take off.
Her eyes flew open as the force of gravity pressed her back into the seat.
"What's it doing?" she nearly squealed.
"It's- leaving the ground," Erik said nervously.
A look of terror crossed her face.
"Do you want to hold my hand?" Erik asked, unsure what else to do for her.
She quickly grabbed his hand, squeezing it so hard her knuckles turned white.
"It's all right," he murmured. "It's going to be all right."
He began to him softly, just loud enough for her to hear, and some of the tension went of her body.
She felt so ashamed of herself - a grown woman panicking like this because a plane was doing what it was supposed to do. She was supposed to be the one there to support Erik, not the other way around.
Eventually the plane leveled off, and she let go of Erik's hand.
"Thank you," she muttered, embarrassed.
Her hand was sweaty. Could this get any more mortifying? At least she hadn't cried.
She reached down to her bag on the floor and pulled out a little book to read. Erik glanced at it and did a double take.
"Italian Phrases for Beginners?" he read the title and gave her a puzzled look. "You don't speak Italian?"
"No," she admitted.
"Like- none?"
She frowned and looked away. Now she might cry.
"I sing opera in Italian, but I doubt that's going to help us much."
"Well, no matter, I suppose," he said. "I'm quiet fluent."
She blinked at the pages of her phrasebook, trying to not let her thoughts consume her. It seemed she hadn't prepared very well for this trip. It seemed she hadn't prepared for anything very well - not the trip or her marriage. Everything was new to her right now, and she had precious little to anchor her in a sea of strange waves and emotions.
Erik dozed a little on the flight, and Christine wished she could sleep, too, but found the prospect impossible - being in the air was far too nerve wracking. Although she didn't feel panic like she did at the start, she felt nervous even still, and she wished Erik was awake to talk to her but she didn't have the heart to wake him. It struck her just alone she felt in that moment. She hoped they spoke French in Portugal, because once Erik died she'd be entirely on her own in the middle of somewhere so very far from home, not knowing a single soul or the langue.
She felt immediately guilty at the thought - Erik was dying and she was feeling sorry for herself.
She shoved her phrasebook back into her bag, unable to concentrate on it. She glanced over at Erik, at how he was sitting, arms crossed and chin resting on his chest. He was going to hurt his neck like that.
She pressed the button for the flight attendant and asked for a pillow for him. The attendant returned a moment later with one, and she gently shook Erik awake to give it to him.
He opened his eyes and breathed in deeply.
"It's okay, Christine, I'm not tired," he said, sounding half asleep still.
She just smiled a little and placed the pillow behind him and to the side, and he unconsciously leaned against it. She breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he wouldn't arrive in Italy unable to turn his head.
She leaned back in her own seat, looking across the aisle and seeing that the window on the other side of the plane was still uncovered. Sunlight filtered in, and they passed through a large, puffy cloud. She knew how high up they were, but she looked away and pretended not to know.
The landing was rougher and bumpier than she would have expected, but by that time Erik was awake again and she didn't feel quite so alone.
"Almost there," he said quietly, his golden eyes gleaming with anticipation.
She grit her teeth and nodded, hoping the airplane wasn't about to fall apart in the meantime.
She felt frazzled by the time they were on the ground, and all she wanted was to grab her luggage and head right to the hotel room so she could have a moment of peace and solitude.
It wasn't meant to be, however, because their luggage was seemingly lost.
She began to panic, thinking of everything that was in there - all of her new clothes that Erik had bought for her, extra medicine in case Erik had advanced symptoms... and tucked between the layers of a skirt, her extra months worth of contraceptives. Erik's luggage, too, had incredibly important and hard to replace items - his soft, comfortable masks that didn't chafe his face like the one he was wearing.
"It can't just be lost, can it?" she asked Erik anxiously. "How could they lose it?"
"No, I'm sure they have it," he murmured. "Here-"
He began speaking fast and fluent Italian to one of the airport employees, and Christine stood there in the middle of the conversation, completely lost. If she had felt childish for being afraid on the plane, this only added to the sensation.
Erik huffed and ran a hand through his hair as the employee went to go check on something. She wished she could help him somehow, but she only felt useless instead. She could practically see the hourglass in Erik's mind, the one constantly counting down, and the precious sand they both realized was being wasted by the little inconveniences of life, sand that could have been spent doing something else but was instead wasted on waiting for lost luggage. She looked away.
"Do you want something to drink?" she asked suddenly. "Some water, or some juice? I'm going to go get something at that little gift shop over there."
"A coffee would be lovely," he replied.
She bit her lip.
"You can't have coffee," she reminded him gently. "The caffeine is bad for you."
"Just get me a coffee, Christine," he whined, staring at the door the employee had left through. "I need something to wake up."
She opened her mouth to say something, but decided not to. She left to go get their drinks.
From the little gift shop she could still see Erik. The employee had come back and they looked to be having a very animated and lively discussion. She wished she'd learned how to apologize in Italian - it seemed like a good skill to have in order to offset his temper.
She hesitated by the coffee machine, uncertain. He was going to have heart palpitations all day if he drank that. But he had asked for it specifically, twice.
She got a drink for Erik and one for herself and took them to counter to pay, greeting the woman there with a smile.
She tried to hand her some money but the woman shook her head. Christine tried Erik's credit card instead, but the woman shook her head again. Christine's brow knit. The woman was saying something but she didn't understand her. She looked back at Erik, hoping he would be looking at her, but he wasn't.
She sheepishly left the counter and approached Erik, who was still chewing out the now disgruntled employee. He didn't notice her appearance by his side. She tugged on his sleeve.
"What?" he asked sharply.
She hung her head.
"I don't know how to buy the drinks," she said quietly, fighting back embarrassed tears.
He sighed, his expression softening, and he followed her to the gift shop where he politely greeted and had a small exchange with the woman before pulling out his wallet and handing her a different credit card.
Erik pointed to a tiny sign by the cash register that showed a few credit card logos.
"They don't accept every card here," he explained to Christine.
Her face turned red.
"I didn't know... I never used a credit card before the one you gave me..."
But he'd already left to go see about the luggage.
She completed the transaction and thanked the woman, taking both paper cups back to Erik.
She handed him his and he took a sip of it, giving her a long, disappointed look when he realized she hadn't gotten him coffee.
"Decaffeinated green tea," she said, squirming under his look. "I got us both the same thing."
He said nothing but took another sip.
After another hour and half, the luggage was found at last - on a different plane. Apparently, it had somehow gotten put on a later flight than theirs, and they would need to wait two hours for it to arrive. Given the option of heading to hotel and having the luggage sent to them when it arrived or waiting for the luggage themselves, Erik chose the latter, not trusting them not to lose it again.
They amused themselves for a while in the various gift shops. Erik had no interest in the trinkets for himself, but Christine picked out a number of postcards to send to Raoul and Meg. They spent a great deal of time sitting and waiting, and Erik recounted some of his own disasters that had befallen him on his previous trips.
She listened intently, nodding along, secretly wishing she could be taking a nap. Why hadn't she tried harder to sleep on the plane?
Finally their luggage arrived, and they gathered it up and carried it with them.
Erik said nothing about it, but she could tell it bothered him. He'd specifically chosen the earlier flight so they'd have more time in Italy, but now they might as well have taken the later flight and been able to sleep in.
They took their luggage outside and Erik hailed a taxi, then told the driver the name of their hotel. Their bad luck was not at an end, however, because the driver got lost not once but twice, and Erik let him know how he felt about that in no uncertain terms.
Christine was getting a headache from listening to all the words she didn't understand.
They arrived at their hotel much later than anticipated, but he had paid enough that he was certain the room was still held for them. Hotel room keys procured, they made their way up to the top of the building.
She had half expected there to be some sort of "mix up" with the hotel room, that they might, in fact, end up with a room that only contained one bed, but the room Erik had rented was actually three rooms in one - a little living room with a bedroom in either side of it.
"Pick which room you'd like, my dear," he told her.
"No, you pick," she insisted.
He raised a covered eyebrow and glanced in each one before picking the room on the right. She went into her own room and settled her luggage, and when she came out she was about to suggest ordering room service and resting, but Erik had other ideas.
"Do you want to walk around the plaza? I'm sure there's some fine restaurants here."
She held her tongue. She felt in no mood to go exploring, but this was Erik's trip.
"Okay," she said.
She was glad, afterwards, that she'd gone out. It was an enjoyable, if tiring, experience. Erik apparently used to live in Rome, and he was eager to show her all the places he used to love going.
"Isn't the view beautiful from here?" he asked her eagerly.
"Oh, it's lovely!" she agreed.
"Let's get a slice of pizza here, I think you'll love it."
They ate the pizza as they sat at a little wrought iron table under the shade of a large tree, the sunlight warm and the birds around them chirping.
She managed to forget most of her tiredness, smiling as she listened to him tell stories of his days as a young man here. Underneath all of his happiness, though, there seemed to be a common thread of sadness, and she almost asked about it but decided not to.
"What work did you do when you were here?" she asked, curious - it was the one thing he hadn't mentioned. "Did it have to do with music?"
He chuckled nervously.
"Have you ever had a cannoli, Christine? There's a wonderful little place that sells them, just down the street, I think. I want you to try one. I hope the recipe is still the same."
They bought cannolis, and afterwards they found a street vendor selling hats. She convinced him to buy a black fedora, and he insisted on buying her an old fashioned wide brimmed hat in red, with large white feathers on top. She felt absolutely ridiculous in all the best of ways wearing it, and she couldn't stop giggling.
They received more than a few stares as they walked down the street donning their finery, and Erik went out of his way to bow to these people, and Christine found it endlessly amusing.
After a little more sightseeing on foot, Erik took them to a restaurant that used to be his favorite. They had to remove their hats for the sake of politeness, but they could watch the sunset from the large windows, and she let Erik order for her.
"And some red wine, I think," he concluded, telling her what he planned to order for them.
"No wine," she said. "Not with your heart..."
He looked somber.
"I want to drink wine with my wife in Italy," he said quietly.
She looked down, suddenly reminded of her place.
It was going to be difficult to balance, abstaining from things that would only kill him quicker or indulging in things that made his remaining days enjoyable. As his wife she should agree to whatever he wanted - as his nurse she needed to make certain he took care of himself. This was his trip to see the things he'd always wanted to see - except he'd already been to Italy. What he wanted was to share Italy with his wife, and that apparently included having wine.
"One glass," she conceded. "Just one."
He smiled warmly at her, and she returned it weakly.
The waiter brought them their wine, and then the plates and plates of food. Christine felt slightly guilty that he had ordered so much, knowing that even between the two of them they couldn't finish it all. It didn't seem to bother Erik at all, but she had not been brought up to be cavalier about wasting food.
Erik sipped his wine slowly in between bites of fettuccine Alfredo and boiled mussels and lasagna and eggplant parmigiana.
"I'm sorry you can't have more, Erik," she said apologetically. "I'm not trying to crush your fun, I just want you to be healthy."
"I know," he said kindly, taking another sip. "It's all right, my dear. I'm used to making due with a taste of something instead of the entire thing."
His gaze lingered on her as he said it, and she shifted nervously.
"It's no matter, Christine, I assure you," he chuckled. "How do you like your food?"
"It's good," she said. "I can see why you loved this place."
Their conversation thankfully turned light again, and she enjoyed the evening as much as she could, considering that her fatigue was setting in again. Erik seemed to thoroughly enjoy himself as well, telling little stories about fond memories of the dishes and making her smile with jokes.
It felt much later than it was when they finally got a taxi and went back to the hotel.
She was exhausted, but her brain was too wired to sleep just yet. She pulled one of the books she'd brought along out of her suitcase, a mystery novel. Erik had seemingly retired for the evening, having gone straight to his room as soon as they'd gotten in. She took her book and decided to sit on the sofa in the living room area and read until her head cleared enough to sleep.
Erik entered the living room, looking at her curiously. He wandered the tiny room aimlessly before coming to stand near the sofa again.
"May I- may I sit with you?" he asked, twisting his hands together.
She looked up from her book, brow furrowed.
"If you want."
He eagerly came and sat at the opposite end of the sofa. She looked down at her book, trying to keep her expression neutral.
They sat in silence for a while, with only sound of her turning the page every so often.
"Is it good?" he finally asked.
"What?"
He nodded towards her book.
"Your book. Is it good?"
"Oh. It's okay. The plot is still building up."
He fell silent again and she turned her focus - which was rapidly disappearing - back to the pages.
"I used to read a lot," Erik said. "But crime novels never particularly interested me."
She dropped her book to her lap, staring at the wall across from her.
"Erik," she said evenly. "Is there something you want?"
"No, why?"
He looked confused.
"Why are you here?"
"Why- why wouldn't I be here?" he asked simply, innocently.
She rubbed at the bridge of her nose, frustrated and exhausted. It had been a long and trying day, and although she had had fun during the afternoon and during dinner, she wanted some time to relax now. Erik was enjoyable to be around, and she cared for him, but she had been around him now for nearly two days straight with barely a moment to herself, and his constant presence was beginning to grate on her already frayed nerves.
"I normally spend time alone in the evenings," she told him. "Once my work is over. I had assumed that my job was over for the evening. Is it not?"
"It's- yes?"
He looked like he didn't understand her question.
"Then why are you still here?" she breathed, giving him a wide-eyed sidelong glare.
His expression darkened.
"Oh," he said, standing up. "I didn't realize my presence was bothering you. My apologies, mademoiselle, but I didn't realize you had already clocked out of your shift and were done acknowledging me until tomorrow morning."
He bit the honorific out so it that sounded like a knife, a mockery of her status as a married woman who wasn't actually married at all.
"Erik," she protested. "I'm tired! Please! It's been a long day, I just want some time to myself!"
"I had almost been so foolish as to believe you might want to speak with me or - heaven forbid! - spend time with your pathetic husband! Don't worry, my dear, your arduous work is over for the day, and you'll be paid very well for it at the end!"
He stormed out of the room and into the hallway, letting the door slam behind him, and she burst into tears, sliding down off the sofa.
She was failing him. She was failing in him in his final months, and she didn't know how to fix it. She turned and pressed her face to the sofa cushion, soaking it with her tears.
That was how Erik found her when he came back a while later, when he sheepishly opened the door and had to creep by her to get to his room after he had finally cooled down from his anger. He froze when he saw her there on the floor, her back still shaking with her sobs, her hands white-knuckles and clutching at the blanket she had been sitting on.
"Christine," he breathed, running his hand through his hair. "What's wrong?"
He stooped down and pulled her up to sit on the sofa again, an involuntary noise of effort leaving his lips.
"Christine, don't cry," he fretted, pushing her hair out of her face and squeezing her shoulder. "I'm sorry..."
She looked at him miserably. She had to tell him. It was the only way to move past it.
"I don't know how to be with you, Erik."
He looked stricken.
"Are you changing your mind, then?" he tried to swallow around the lump forming in his throat. Was she leaving him?
"No, I don't mean like that," she wiped at her nose and eyes. "I mean- I just don't know what you want from me."
He sighed heavily, pulling away from her.
"This was a bad idea," he muttered. "We never should have done this."
"Erik, no- it's not that. I'm just- confused," she sniffled.
"About?" he asked softly.
"Well..." she scooted a little closer to him. "When we were at the hospital, we each had roles to play, and I knew what to do. You were my patient. I was your nurse. I knew what was expected of me. If we were-" she averted her eyes, her face coloring, "married, I would know what to do there too. We're married but we're not married, not exactly. You're not my patient at the hospital, not anymore. And I feel so out of my depth here, Erik. I don't know how to act around you."
"Oh," he said quietly.
"I didn't mean to upset you," she continued. "I just don't know what I'm doing. I'm not trying to be cruel to you."
She fidgeted with the pages of her book - she'd lost her place in it, the bookmark having fallen out in her fit.
"Do you need a 'list of duties' like you'd get at a job?" he said it jokingly enough, but when she looked up at him she could tell he was truly offering.
She sniffed a little.
"Maybe. Would you be honest about you expect?"
"Of course," he said it a little too fast, then added- "You may veto any item on the list, as well."
"Mm, okay," she nodded. "You write it up and I'll look it over."
"Okay," he stood to go to his room and begin the list, but paused in the doorway. "I didn't mean to overwhelm you, Christine. I'm sorry."
"I know. It's not your fault."
"Do you want to make a list too?" he asked uneasily. "What you want from me, or don't want?"
"Erm, let me see your list first."
He nodded and left.
She took and deep breath and closed her eyes, feeling a hint of a headache brewing. She so badly wanted to be whatever he was hoping for, but she was afraid of losing herself in the process. At least it couldn't be as bad as marrying Raoul - Erik only had six months. Six months of being a wife, of putting her husband first, of ignoring her own comfort in favor of catering to his every whim. She thought, not for the first time, that perhaps after this she wouldn't marry Raoul at all. She pushed the thought away immediately. That was a worry for a different day. Her worry right now was Erik - and what he would ask of her.
This was for the best, she decided. Still, she regretted snapping at him. It wasn't his fault he was lonely and wanted someone to talk to, or that she was beyond tired and stressed. But at least now she would know what he wanted of her - no surprises down the road, no more waiting for the other shoe to drop. She would know. Perhaps it wouldn't be that bad, really. Erik was kind, and sweet. He'd never hurt her, not purposely.
She closed her eyes, trying to think of anything she would definitely have to put her foot down about. She would agree to whatever he asked, she'd already decided - as long as it wasn't too outlandish or too much. She'd known what a marriage entailed when she'd accepted his proposal, and though she had hoped she might avoid the more unpleasant aspects, she knew it was time to pay the piper, especially considering all he'd done for her.
She stayed like that on couch for nearly an hour, just thinking, the soft glow of the lamp the only light in the room. She didn't bother with her book, now.
List in hand, Erik slowly entered the living room. He looked vaguely uncomfortable, like he was turning in a paper to a teacher for a test he hadn't studied for. He approached and handed her a folded piece of paper.
"We can discuss it tomorrow, if you wish," he said, not making eye contact, and quickly turned to leave.
She let him go, then opened the paper to read it.
Christine's Expectations
Her lips quirked into a smile at the header.
travel with Erik not only to destinations but also accompany him on daily outings
eat two meals a day with Erik, choice of meal at Christine's discretion
perform any necessary medical tasks related to Erik's health
pretend to enjoy Erik's company for a minimum of five hours a day
Her heart twisted. Pretend?
one conversation per day with Erik on something other than small talk
smile at Erik when saying goodnight
hold Erik's hand while walking on outings, three minute minimum at least twice a week
allow Erik one hug per month, to be initiated and fulfilled by Christine at her own discretion and on her own timetable
The list ended with his request for a hug. She dropped the paper down to the sofa, having to wipe at her eyes again as tears sprung up anew. Was this all he wanted?
She stood and went over to his room, finding him nervously pacing the floor. He stopped and looked at her as she entered, and she suddenly realized he looked terrified. Terrified of being turned down, perhaps. Of being rejected.
"You can veto any of them, Christine," he told her as soon as she appeared.
She just shook her head and approached him, wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him.
"I don't have to pretend," she said, and his arms soon found their way around her, too.
He hugged her tightly to himself, and it broke her heart to feel how desperate that hug felt. Like how a drowning man out at sea might cling to a life raft.
"We can make this work," she whispered thickly. "This'll work."
Erik didn't say anything, only held her.
"I'm sorry," she told him. "I'm sorry I made you feel like I didn't like you, or that I didn't like spending time with you. It's not true. I like you, Erik. I do. I'm just- I'm scared."
"Of what?" he whispered.
She laughed a little, but it sounded more frightened than humorous.
"I'm scared of everything I guess. I'm scared of losing you. I'm scared of losing myself. I'm scared that I won't be what you need me to be. I think you fell for the wrong person, Erik. I'm not terribly strong, or brave, I'm afraid. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry," he told her, rubbing her back. "I love you, flaws and all, Christine - every imperfection and shortcoming. I don't expect you to be everything to me, or to be perfect. I only expect you to be there beside me, and to be you."
She sobbed into his chest.
"I'm sorry I can't be a wife to you," she cried. "But I can be a friend. I'll try to be a better friend - I don't think I've been a very good one to you lately."
He brushed her hair away from her face, and pulled her back enough to look into her eyes.
"I would love to be friends with you, Christine," he said tenderly.
She gave him a watery smile, then sniffled.
"You aren't mad at me?"
"No. Never."
She wiped at her eyes.
"Thank you," she sniffed. "I wish I could be more for you. You deserve- you deserve more."
"You never have to be anything other than what you are, my dear, not with me."
"Oh, Erik-"
She rested her head on his chest again. Did he really mean it? Were the things on his list really all he wanted from her, all he was expecting? Was that it?
She felt his hand tentatively move from her shoulder to the back of her head, resting there a moment before gently running down the length of her hair. She could feel his breath stutter as he did so.
How could she have ever believed that this man would make demands of her? That he would insist on his husbandly right? He was afraid to even touch her hair. He thought she'd want to veto holding his hand as they walked somewhere. What kind of life had he known?
"Are you sure?" she asked softly. "Are you sure that's all you want? There's so much more you could have asked for."
"I'm sure there is more," he said quietly. "But not for me. This is all I want, Christine. Just this. Just what I put on the list. That's all I ask of you."
"Well, I can do that."
She stayed there a little while longer, just letting him hold her. It surprised her, how safe she felt there in his arms. Although he occasionally stroked her hair, he made no move to turn the embrace into anything else.
At last she pulled back from him, and he let his arms drop from around her.
"Are you okay?" she whispered, noticing how he appeared to be on the verge of tears.
"I'm fine," he said, a slight waver to his voice.
"Are we okay?"
He laughed and wiped a finger across each eye.
"Yes," he said, smiling. "I think we are."
"I hope so," she said gently. "Can we talk more tomorrow?"
"Of course."
"Okay."
She hesitantly took a few steps backwards. She was exhausted and just wanted to lay down and rest, but she felt bad to leave him all by himself. He was probably still lonely, even though they had managed to set the groundwork for more comfortable future interactions.
"Um, I guess I'll be getting ready for bed now," she said awkwardly.
"Okay," he said, nodding. "Get some sleep, my dear."
"Goodnight," she said, then remembered what had been on his list. "Oh! Um-"
She gave him her most winning smile, and he chuckled.
"Goodnight, dear."
She turned to leave, pausing in the doorway. She ducked her head, one hand clutching the doorframe, glad that she was facing away from him so that he couldn't see how hard she was blushing.
"I'll just be in my room, in case- if you- need me."
Perhaps she felt she could say it precisely because he hadn't asked, because she felt he likely wouldn't take her up on the offer. Perhaps she was disoriented to receive a list of such innocent requests when she had been bracing herself for so much more. Perhaps she had realized that having his body pressed so closely to her was not as unwelcome as she had thought it would be. She didn't fully understand her own reasons for saying it, but she said it, all the same.
But he seemingly missed any deeper meaning of what she'd told him, or, if he hadn't, perhaps he was simply too overwhelmed at the moment, or too tired from the trip to take her up on the offer.
"Sleep well," was all he said.
The door to her room, unlike the door to Erik's guest room, had a lock on it. She did not lock her door that night. She didn't even close her door, not fully. She wanted to be able to hear him if called out for help during the night - and she wanted to let him know that she didn't find him an insufferable brute that she had to lock out of her room.
After she'd finished dressing for bed, she sat on the edge of her bed a long moment, gazing at the sliver of dim light that came in through the crack of the door. It wasn't much, but it was enough.
He hadn't even asked for a kiss.
He had obviously expected that they would negotiate the list of expectations, obviously assumed that she would want to talk him down from his initial requests. Why hadn't he asked for anything more? Wasn't that how negotiation worked? She would have understood if he'd asked for more than what he really wanted so that what they eventually agreed upon would have seemed reasonable to both of them. But this?
Her eyes watered just thinking of it. A hug once a month, smiles and conversation, to chastely hold her hand... Did he really think she'd object to that? That she'd refuse?
She laid down and pulled the covers over her, her brow furrowing as she closed her eyes. Had she really made him feel that she wouldn't even welcome a simple hug from him? The guilt was crushing.
He could have asked for a kiss. She would have granted it, she thought. Should she offer that, initiate that? But he hadn't asked for that. Did that mean he didn't want it? Or was he just too afraid she'd say no?
It made her a coward, she knew, but she didn't want to be the one to bring it up to him. She would tolerate his kisses if he saw fit to kiss her, but she would not kiss him under her own volition and unprompted. If he wanted that, he would either have to ask, or to take it.
Weren't men supposed to take it?
She wondered if she would have left her door open had they not talked tonight, had he not explicitly spelled out exactly what he did - and didn't - expect from her.
She could still recall with striking detail the conversations she'd had with her Mamma Valerius, her father's cousin, when she was a girl and then later a teen. She had always been close to her, thinking of her almost as a second mother, and there were conversations a young girl needed to have that were too awkward to be spoken between a girl and her father.
Mamma Valerius had made no attempt to sugarcoat what Christine could expect from the changes her body would go through as she became teen, and when Christine was old enough, she had made no attempts to sugarcoat what she could expect from her wedding night, either.
"You have to be a good wife to your husband, Christine," she explained. "He'll probably want to do things you don't want to, but that's part of being a wife - making concessions to him like that. You'll have to keep him happy. But it won't be all bad! It usually doesn't last very long, and you'll get used to it, after a while. You might even find you come to enjoy it!"
Fourteen year old Christine sat and listened, ashen-faced. The things explained had not sounded enjoyable in the least.
"What if I don't want to?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Mamma looked momentarily disconcerted.
"Lots of women don't want to, at times," she shrugged a little. "You can ask him not to, but- well, sometimes it's better to just get it over with, I think."
Christine shook her head. Her Mamma hadn't quite understood her question.
"No," she said slowly. "I mean- what if I don't want to, ever?"
Mamma frowned.
"Life is difficult for a single woman, Christine," she said gently. "You don't have to marry if you don't want to. But it really does make so many things easier, having a husband. It's not as bad you're thinking, I'm sure."
She'd spent the next three years insisting she'd never marry, only to receive patronizing smiles and shakes of the head and insistences that one day she would change her mind. Although Mamma Valerius tried her best to answer all of her questions, Christine had fretfully come to realize that she simply didn't understand the questions she had been asking.
"What if- what I get married but I- I don't like it?"
A small smile formed on Valerius's lips.
"Oh, that won't happen, don't worry," she said.
"But if it does - what would happen to me? Would I get divorced?"
"Good Lutherans don't get divorced, Christine."
"But if I have to stay married, do I have to keep- doing it? Even if I hate it?"
Mamma Valerius threw her hands up in the air.
"Christine, I assure you that you will not hate it! Really, you bring up the strangest ideas sometimes! Trust me, it will work out fine."
Eventually, after never receiving an answer that took her concerns seriously, she stopped asking and instead began to focus her energy on how she might succeed in a man's world while still being in control of her bodily autonomy. It had seemed a daunting task indeed, but then there was Raoul. Dear, sweet Raoul who made her laugh and always listened to her the first time when she told him to stop. She loved him, but none of the feelings that Mamma had assured her would come along with love ever showed up. Mamma had seemingly been right about one thing, however - she didn't hate Raoul's touches or kisses. But they weren't particularly enjoyable for her, either, not in the way she'd heard other girls giggle about.
But things that were unwanted with other men might be... tolerable with Raoul, she had thought. It was seemingly the most she could hope for. She didn't think she would ever like it, but at least with Raoul she didn't think she would hate it.
She didn't think she would hate it with Erik, either, but she was not eager to find out in a hurry. It seemed he wasn't in a hurry to find out, either.
When she awoke the next morning, her door was just as she'd left it. She closed it just for a moment to have privacy as she dressed, and unfortunately that was when Erik emerged from his own room, completely oblivious to the fact that she'd slept with her door open. She found him in the little living room once she stepped out, dressed for the day.
"Good morning," she greeted as she approached him, holding her arms out to him.
He stared dumbly at her as she first tried to reach her arms around his neck, but then, realizing he was too tall, settled for hugging him around his waist again.
"Oh," he said, letting his arms wrap around her hesitantly. "Is this next month's hug early, then?"
He sounded terribly disappointed.
"What? No!" she pulled back from him and wrinkled her nose.
"Oh," he looked confused now. "I thought maybe you wanted to get them all out of the way as soon as possible..."
Her face fell.
"Well, would you prefer I only hug you once a month?" she asked.
"No..."
He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, seemingly unsettled by her display of affection.
"I just wasn't expecting it," he said at last, puzzled.
"I'm-" she looked down at her hands as she fidgeted with them. "I'm trying to be a better friend. Friends hug, sometimes."
"Hmm. Indeed. Thank you."
She didn't mind hugging him, not now that she knew he wouldn't take it as invitation for something more.
"Did you sleep okay? Any congestion this morning?"
"I was okay. And just a little, but I'm fine. Do you want to get breakfast now?"
"Okay," she agreed. "I think we still have some things from last night to talk about, too."
She grabbed her purse and in a moment they were out the door, still a little tired but ready to start the first part of their adventure together.