Several of you have requested Dimitri's side of the story—so here you go. Hope you enjoy it, he was blushing an adorable shade of red the entire time he was telling me what happened. ;o)
I swear—with God above as my witness—I did not consciously mean to say it. Frustrated as I was—and honestly, my anger was mostly at myself for being so irritated over what she'd done—I was doing my absolute best to put the event out of my mind so we could have a nice dinner, enjoying our alone time together. It is something I look forward to all day, you see—the moment we shut the front door behind us, closing out the world. Here in the privacy of our small apartment, we aren't student and mentor or two co-workers—we're simply Dimitri and Roza, a man and woman deeply in love.
As we prepared our meal—that is to say, I prepared it while she assisted with the tiny things that were not likely to set the kitchen on fire—I mentally chastised myself for becoming so upset over something that was really just an inconsequential thing. After all we've been through to finally reach this point, it was petty of me to focus on a few meaningless words of chatter; females exchange secrets—even the most quiet and demure of them discussing private things that most men would find shocking. I know this first hand, having been raised in a houseful of women. Even if I used all my fingers and toes to count it would not be enough to list the number of times I'd fled Mama's kitchen with my hands over my ears and my cheeks bright red from the things I'd heard. My sisters never seemed to understand why I found their talk of menstrual cycles or issues they were having with their bodies embarrassing—and it was something I certainly couldn't explain to them since that would involve my talking about the very things that had sent me scrambling up the stairs to the safety of my room.
I suppose that is the source of the problem; I am a very private man, and always have been. There are some things you just don't discuss in the company of others—some matters should be kept to yourself and only shared with the person they concern. Even with Ivan—who was like a brother to me—I never discussed certain personal matters. I would listen as he talked about his conquests and the experiences he'd had, nodding and making the expected responses, but the whole time I was wishing I was somewhere… anywhere else, not wanting to hear the things he felt compelled to relay. Perhaps if he and I had shared a bond the way Roza and Lissa did, things would have been different—but I honestly suspect that even then, I would have felt the same way. Some people are just more naturally reserved than others—and that is the way it is with Roza and me. She is the life of the party and I am the quiet one, content to watch her outlandish antics from the corner and laugh about them with her later, when we are at home, away from prying eyes.
I had almost reached the point of dismissing the matter altogether when Roza noticed how quiet I was being—and that's when the questions began. Why was I being withdrawn… what was wrong… one after the other she threw them out, refusing to accept my answer when I said I had something on my mind that I was trying to put in order. Unfortunately, Roza is very tenacious when she sets her mind to something—she won't let a subject drop until she is satisfied with the answer she receives. It is one of the many things I love about her, however at times such as this it frustrates me—so when she kept pushing me, demanding to know what it was that had me so deep in thought… it slipped out.
I snapped at her, telling her point blank that she had a big mouth.
As soon as the words left my lips I wanted to reclaim them; the crestfallen, hurt look on her face cut me to the core. Had she snapped back at me I might have retracted what I'd said, phrasing it in a way that was a bit more diplomatic, but for once, she didn't argue. She just stood there, chewing at her lip… her eyes dropping to the floor, and she looked… completely broken by what I'd said. Without a word she turned and left the kitchen, and a moment later I heard the sound of her quietly shutting the door— followed by a sound that was like a razor blade slicing my soul to shreds.
She was crying.
Because of what I'd said.
Cursing, I threw the pan of vegetables in the sink, retreating here—to the oversized couch in our living room—to brood about my idiotic way of handling a delicate situation. Perhaps I should have just come right out and told her what was bothering me, but I cringed at the thought of repeating what I'd caught her giggling about with the queen. Some men might be pleased to hear the woman they loved bragging about the size of their…attributes, feeling a sense of pride at hearing her say the prior nights activities had made it hard for her to walk… but me? I find it so embarrassing that I couldn't even look in Lissa's direction for the rest of the afternoon. I just hope and pray she doesn't repeat what Roza said to Christian. If she does, I'll never hear the end of it—and that is something I absolutely could not bear.
Like I said before, some things are best left private—and discussions about the size of my... manhood… definitely fall in that category. Now I just have to figure out how to explain that to Roza without sounding like an eighty-year-old prude.
Wish me luck… I'm going to need it.