Things You Said Too Quietly
It wasn't so much that it was difficult to learn, rather that she wanted it to be perfect. The videos didn't help, not really, what with conflicting comments claiming that the accent was off or the word choice was poor.
What in Death's name had compelled her to try to write her vows in German?
She grumbled as she turned the pages of her book, glancing at the phonetic pronunciation and scrunching her mouth to the side when the vowels fit clumsily on her tongue.
Language wasn't her strong suit. It took her four years to learn enough English to pass in Nevada after leaving Sweden, and the accent still returned after her phone calls with her mother. It wasn't that she hadn't been trying, spending days on Stein's computer and deleting her browsing history whenever he'd get curious.
His hypothesis of her looking up porn was just rude. Not to mention untrue.
She didn't delete that particular history. Why would she try to hide her hints?
But, no, she didn't want to let him know that she was doing something so sentimental for him. From the countless novels he kept in his room in his native tongue, the fact that he barely got to speak it, she thought he'd appreciate her efforts for their wedding.
However, effort or no, she was ready to call his mother on the phone and ask for assistance. The woman would undoubtedly spill to Stein, absolutely ecstatic that her daughter-in-law (future, they'd always reminded her, though she never listened) was going to such great pains.
It had been two weeks, and the only thing she felt comfortable saying was "Ich liebe dich" though even that felt stilted against her teeth.
Slowly, she whispered it to herself, trying to fit the sounds properly together, threading it all through.
"Hm?" she heard, coming into her left ear, and she jumped, slamming her book shut and whipping her arm out to wallop whoever had the poor sense to spook her.
Stein, of course. Always Stein.
"Don't do that!" she said, and the ring on her finger caught the light when Stein's hold on her tightened fist loosened, having caught her punch before it landed against his nose. It turned into more of a caress than anything else.
He didn't even shrug, simply smirking at her as she turned to him, rolling her eye.
"What were you saying?" he asked her, lifting a brow behind his glasses.
"I said don't do that-"
"No. Prior."
She blinked, looking to the side before she flopped the book over.
"Nothing."
He chuckled at her, focusing on the bright title of the text she'd accidently flipped to the wrong side.
"You're pronouncing it wrong," he said, his smirk softening. The embarrassment on her face felt warm.
"What?" she replied, feigning ignorance.
"Ich liebe dich," he corrected.
And though it was barely a whisper, at least she knew.