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Chapter 6: Lord Knows I Can't Sleep, Dreaming About You
The garden seemed endless, bathed in the warm glow of a setting sun. The soft rustle of leaves and the distant hum of birdsong were the only sounds. Maria stood a few steps away, her hair glowing like spun gold in the sunlight, her smile soft yet mischievous.
She moved closer, her hand brushing his, sending an electric jolt through him. Her laughter rang out like music, clear and unrestrained, wrapping around him and pulling him closer. His hand reached for hers instinctively, and when their fingers intertwined, he felt whole in a way he couldn't describe.
Her gaze lifted to meet his, and he felt the air still, his breath catching in his throat. There was something in her eyes – trust, tenderness, longing. She leaned closer, her voice a whisper.
"Georg," she said sweetly. It was like a soft caress, summoning him in. With her free hand, she reached out, tentative at first, as though testing the space between them.
When her hand finally came to rest on his face, tenderly, reassuringly, it felt like a spark igniting. He turned his face to press a gentle, lingering kiss on the palm of her hand, lasting longer than it should have. Maria kept her hand there and didn't pull away, but instead stepped closer, the fabric of her dress brushing against him, the faint scent of lavender surrounding him.
"You don't have to say anything," she murmured, her voice trembling slightly but steady in its intent. "I know."
His heart thundered in his chest. The barriers he had so carefully erected over years of restraint and duty crumbled in an instant. Without hesitation, his other hand rose to cup her cheek as well, his thumb tracing the soft curve of her jaw. She tilted her face into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut, and he was lost.
"Maria," he breathed, her name a prayer on his lips. He leaned down, his mouth brushing against hers, indefinite at first, teasing, testing. But when she didn't draw back, he deepened the kiss, their breaths mingling as the intensity grew. Her hands found their way to his shoulders, anchoring herself against him as though, she, too, had been waiting for this moment, aching for it.
His free arm circled her waist, roping her in closer, the warmth of her body igniting something primal within him. He felt the press of her fingers against the back of his neck, the way her lips parted beneath his, and it was intoxicating. The world around them dissolved, leaving only the two of them entwined in the golden light.
Her voice, breathless and delicate, broke the moment. "Georg… we can't…"
But even as she said the words, her hands betrayed her, holding him tighter, as if afraid to let go.
"Why not?" he whispered against her lips, his voice rough with longing. "Why can't we, Maria?"
Her gaze lifted to his, her eyes searching his face as though trying to find the courage to answer. But before she could speak, the dream began to shift. The warm sunlight dimmed, the vibrant garden fading into shadows. Her form began to blur, slipping away from him like a wisp of smoke.
"No," Georg whispered, his hands reaching out, desperate to hold onto her. "Maria!"
Georg awoke with a start, his chest heaving, the phantom sensation of Maria's touch still burning on his skin. He sat up, raking a hand through his damp hair, his mind racing. The dream had felt so real, so vivid, and the emotions it stirred within him were impossible to ignore.
He sank back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, the faint glow of dawn creeping through the edges of the heavy curtains. He had expected Maria's anger at the market, at his incessant prying, and he had braced himself for it. What he hadn't expected was the storm that followed, not from her but within himself. The feelings it had stirred in him afterward were unforeseen. Dangerous. Thoughts of her that no married man should entertain. An unsettling blend of frustration, yearning, and something he dared not name.
Thoughts of Maria refused to leave him, clinging to the edges of his mind like an unfinished melody. He closed his eyes, but the memory of her voice, the defiance in her tone, and the way her plump lips pursed when she was upset replayed clearly. It wasn't just the memory of her anger that lingered – it was the fire behind it, the passion that made her so undeniably alive.
It was a fire that burned brighter than anything he had allowed himself to feel in years. And that terrified him.
No honorable husband with even a shred of integrity should let his mind wander to the way she had looked at him, the brief flash of vulnerability that had softened her gaze before she turned away. He should feel ashamed, consumed by guilt for the way his mind betrayed his vows. But shame didn't come. And that absence terrified him more than anything else.
Why was it Maria who so easily unraveled him? What was it about her presence that felt like both a challenge and a balm? His chest tightened at the thought, frustration mingling with the longing he couldn't suppress. He tried to rationalize it, to relegate his feelings to the realm of unresolved questions and nagging misunderstandings. Perhaps if he could find the answers – if he could understand why she had built those walls between them – then he could silence the maddening pull she seemed to have over him.
But was that all it was? A need for answers? Georg wasn't sure anymore. The emotions churning within him – desire, guilt, and a longing so deep it felt like a wound – complicated everything. He wasn't a man given to flights of fancy, and yet his thoughts of Maria felt like more than the remnants of a fond memory or an unresolved argument.
They felt like a truth he wasn't ready to face.
He exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face. Perhaps it was just the dream, still vivid in his mind, that left him so shaken. But even as he told himself that, he knew it wasn't true. Maria's presence in his life, fleeting as it had been, had left an indelible mark. One that time and distance had done little to fade.
And now, with every chance encounter, with every look and every word exchanged, that mark deepened.
A soft touch on his arm startled him, tugging him from his thoughts. Georg turned to see Elsa beside him, her hand resting lightly against his tan skin. Her expression was one of concern, tinged with frustration, as though she had been watching him for some time.
"Georg," she murmured, her voice laced with sleep but edged with something sharper. Her eyes searched his face, her brow furrowing slightly. "You're restless again."
He sighed, his throat tightening as he tried to brush off her observation. "I'm fine," he replied, his tone more brusque than he intended. Shifting slightly, he wrenched his arm from beneath her touch, movement quick, almost involuntary.
Elsa's hand hovered in the air for a moment before she withdrew it. Her eyes narrowed, disbelief shadowing her features. "Fine?" she repeated, her tone skeptical. "You've been restless for weeks, Georg. Tossing, turning, and now…" She gestured vaguely toward him, her words trailing off as she examined him. "Now you barely seem like yourself."
Georg exhaled deeply, the weight of her scrutiny pressing on him. He knew she wasn't wrong. "Elsa," he began, forcing a steadier tone. "You know I have a lot on my plate."
Her brow furrowed further, and for a moment, there was a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. "Maybe I can help you alleviate some of that stress," she said softly. Her hand rested on his chest and moved down his torso, her fingers teasing at the waistband of his pants, her intentions unmistakable.
"Elsa!" Georg said, his voice piercing as he sat up abruptly, pulling away from her touch as though it burned.
Elsa froze, her hand retreating quickly, hurt flashing across her face. "What is wrong with you, Georg?" she demanded, her voice shaking slightly. "I'm your wife. Why won't you let me near you?"
Georg's jaw tightened, guilt washing over him in waves. He couldn't deny it – he hadn't been the husband Elsa deserved. His mind was too often elsewhere, his thoughts consumed by things he couldn't admit even to himself. His presence in their marriage bed had become more absent than ever, and he knew it wasn't fair to her.
"Elsa," he said, his tone quieter now, tinged with regret. "I'm sorry. I just… I've been under a lot of pressure."
Elsa's gaze didn't waver. Her voice smoothed, but the hurt in her words was palpable. "It's more than that, Georg. This isn't just about the children or the war or your work. Something else is distracting you. Something more."
Her words cut through him, too close to the truth for comfort. He turned his head away, unable to meet her probing gaze. How could he possibly tell her that it wasn't something, but someone? Someone who had no right to occupy his thoughts. Someone who had stirred unholy desires and complicated everything.
"I'm fine," he repeated, his voice subdued but no less evasive.
Elsa studied him for a long moment, the silence stretching between them. Finally, she sighed, shaking her head. "No, you're not," she said, her voice firm but plaited with resignation. "And I can't keep pretending that everything is fine either."
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her movements deliberate. As she stood, she turned to him, her expression a mixture of hurt and determination. "If sleeping here has no purpose for you anymore, Georg, you might as well start using your own bedroom," she threatened coldly, the words biting as they left her lips.
Georg's head snapped up at her remark, guilt twisting in his chest, but he remained silent, unable to muster a response.
Elsa shook her head again, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Don't forget the dinner tonight," she added, her tone clipped and harsh. Without waiting for a response, she walked out of the room, her posture rigid, the door closing behind her with a resolute click.
Georg sat in the silence she left behind, her words echoing in his mind. He let out a long, unsteady breath, running a hand over his face. Elsa's ultimatum sliced through him, but the truth it carried stung even more. The growing distance between them wasn't just about their bedroom arrangements; it was a symptom of something much deeper, something he couldn't bring himself to confront.
His thoughts, unwelcomed, drifted back to Maria, to the warmth in her gaze, the way her presence had always seemed to ground him. He pressed his palms into his knees, frustrated with himself, with everything. The weight of his choices pressed heavier than ever.
TUWSTUWSTUWSTUWS
The soft glow of chandeliers bathed the dining room in golden light, the flickering flames reflecting off crystal glasses and polished silverware. The restaurant was the epitome of luxury, its vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes, and the rich hum of conversation blending seamlessly with the strains of a string quartet in the corner. The scent of roasted duck and truffle oil mingled with the faint aroma of fine cigars, creating an air of opulence that perfectly matched the glittering gowns and tailored suits of its patrons.
Georg adjusted his cufflinks as he surveyed the room. Despite the lavish setting, a sense of unease gnawed at him. Elsa had insisted on this dinner, assuring him it would be a "delightful evening among friends." He had agreed, more out of duty than desire, and now he found himself seated at a long, elegantly set table with Elsa and several of her acquaintances.
The conversation flowed freely, accompanied by glasses of vintage champagne. Plates were brought out in meticulous courses – oysters on the half shell, velvety bisques, perfectly seared lamb chops adorned with edible gold leaf. Yet, despite the extravagance, Georg found himself barely able to stomach a bite.
The evening had begun innocuously enough, the group exchanging pleasantries and idle chatter. But as the courses continued, the conversation began to shift, taking on a tone that made Georg's jaw tighten.
"I tell you, this is exactly what Austria needs," one man, a sharply dressed industrialist, said, his voice carrying over the table. "Strong leadership. Order. A vision for the future."
Another guest, a woman with pearls glistening against her silk gown, nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely. Germany is a shining example of what we could achieve under proper guidance."
Georg's fork clattered against his plate as he set it down, his appetite disappearing entirely. He glanced at Elsa, his brow furrowing as she smiled politely, offering no disagreement. A wave of anger rose in his chest, hot and insistent.
One of the men turned to him, his smile too wide, too eager. "What do you think, Captain von Trapp? Surely a man of your stature can see the benefits of aligning with Germany. It's the dawn of a new era."
Georg leaned back in his chair, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "What I see is a dangerous path, one that sacrifices liberty and humanity for the sake of so-called 'order.'"
The table fell silent, the jovial atmosphere evaporating in an instance. Elsa shot him a sharp look, her lips tightening as she placed a hand on his arm. "Georg," she said softly, her tone a warning.
But Georg pulled his arm away, his anger simmering beneath the surface. "If you'll excuse me," he said icily, pushing back his chair. He rose from the table, the scrape of wood against marble echoing in the suddenly quiet room.
He strode out of the dining room, the crisp night air hitting him like a splash of cold water as he stepped onto the restaurant's terrace. He heard Elsa's heels clicking behind him, swift and purposeful.
"Georg, what in heaven's name was that?" she demanded, her voice low but brimming with irritation. "You embarrassed me in front of my friends."
"Your friends?" Georg spun to face her, his countenance dark. "Your friends are sycophants and fools, singing praises to a regime that will destroy everything it touches, destroy this country I sacrificed everything for to protect. And you sit there, smiling as if you agree with them."
Elsa's cheeks flushed, whether from anger or embarrassment, Georg couldn't tell. "You're being dramatic," she retorted. "Not everyone sees things the way you do. And you can't expect me to start a fight in the middle of dinner."
"A fight?" Georg's voice rose, his frustration boiling over. "You think this is about a fight? This is about principles, Elsa. Morality. Do you even understand what's at stake?"
"I understand perfectly," she snapped, stepping closer to him. "What I don't understand is why you insist on alienating everyone around you. You can't change the world by shouting at dinner parties, Georg."
"No," he said, his voice quieter now but no less firm. "But I also can't sit by and pretend everything is fine while the world burns."
Elsa's eyes narrowed, her expression hardening. "Maybe if you weren't so busy finding reasons to be angry, you'd realize that not everything is black and white. You can't live like this, Georg – constantly fighting battles that don't need to be fought."
Georg stared at her for a long moment, his jaw taut. Finally, he let out a sharp breath, his hands clenching at his sides. "Maybe you're right," he said, his voice cold. "Maybe I can't."
Without another word, he turned and walked away, his steps echoing on the stone terrace as he disappeared into the night. Elsa stood frozen, watching him go, her face a mixture of frustration and disbelief.
Inside the restaurant, the laughter and music resumed, but outside, the air was heavy with unspoken words and fractured trust.
TUWSTUWSTUWSTUWS
The chill of the night air wrapped around Georg as he wandered aimlessly along the cobblestone streets, his steps eventually leading him to the riverside. The faint murmur of water lapping against the stone embarkment was soothing, a quiet rhythm against the disarray of his thoughts. The moon hung high, casting its silvery glow across the city, turning the world into shades of soft gray and silver.
He stopped, leaning against the wrought iron railing, letting the night air cool the heat of his anger. His fists unclenched, but his heart still pounded from the dinner's revelations and the argument with Elsa. He stared at the shimmering reflection of the moon on the rippling surface of the river, seeking solace in its constancy.
And then he saw her.
Maria.
She stood a little further down the embankment, her figure framed by the ethereal glow of moonlight. Her hair shimmered, catching the light with a delicate softness, and the calm expression of her face was unlike any he had seen recently. She seemed at peace, a stark contrast to the tension that had radiated from her during their previous encounters. Her hands were clasped in front of her, her posture relaxed, her gaze fixed on the water.
Georg felt his breath hitch, an unbidden pull drawing him closer to her. His feet moved of their own accord, the sound of his shoes against the stone too loud in the quiet night. Maria turned at the sound, her eyes meeting his. Surprise flickered across her face, quickly replaced by something softer, more open.
"Captain," she said, her voice cutting delicately through the stillness. There was no edge to it this time, no formality. Just recognition.
"Maria," he replied, his tone quieter, almost reverent. He stepped closer, the gravel crunching faintly under his shoes. The moonlight softened her features, highlighting the curve of her cheek and the gentle slope of her nose. Her shoulders seemed less burdened than he'd seen before, as if the weight of the world wasn't pressing down quite so hard.
"You're out late," he observed, his voice low.
She offered a small smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He noticed it had grown longer, curling slightly at the edges. It suited her – softer, freer. "I couldn't sleep. I thought the river might clear my mind."
"An excellent choice," Georg said, his gaze drifting briefly to the water before returning to her. "It's a beautiful night."
"It is," Maria agreed, her voice conveying the calm of the water. For a moment, silence settled between them, not awkward, but laden with unspoken words.
Georg broke the stillness first, his brow furrowed slightly. "You seem… different tonight," he said, trying to read her. "Relaxed. I dare say, more at peace than I've seen you recently."
Maria tilted her head, considering his observation. "I suppose I am," she said with a soft sigh. "It's the water, the quiet. It has a way of settling everything, doesn't it? All the noise, all the chaos – it just… fades."
Georg nodded, though his gaze remained fixed on her. "It does," he murmured. "Though, I've often found that in the quiet, the things I've been avoiding seem to grow louder."
Maria gave a fleeting, almost wistful smile. "Perhaps that's why I don't seek it out often. Sometimes it's easier to stay busy, to keep moving. The quiet has a way of forcing you to face things you'd rather not."
Georg leaned against the railing beside her, his shoulder brushing hers lightly. The contact sent a vague jolt through him, and he wondered if she felt it too. "What is it you're trying to avoid?" he asked placidly, his tone laced with genuine curiosity.
She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the water below. "I think everyone has their burdens," she replied evasively. "Things they carry but would rather not speak of."
Georg studied her for a moment, the moonlight highlighting the tension in her features. "Maria, you've always faced things with strength," he said calmly. "It's one of things I admired about you at the villa. You never seemed to shy away from a challenge."
Maria let out a soft, mirthless laugh, shaking her head. "You have no idea," she muttered. "Sometimes facing things doesn't mean conquering them, Captain. Sometimes it just means surviving them."
Georg straightened, her words striking something deep within him. "Maria," he said, his voice soft, but persistent, "you can call me Georg. We're not at the villa anymore."
Maria glanced up at him, her eyes wide with a flicker of surprise. She stood unmoving for a second, seemingly unsure of how to respond. "Georg," she said tentatively, the name foreign on her lips. She looked down again, as if saying it aloud had unsettled her.
He smiled faintly, the sound of his name from her lips filling him with an odd sense of satisfaction. "Better," he said warmly.
Maria's lips quirked upward for a brief moment before her expression grew more serious. "You've changed," she said suddenly, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. "You're… different than I remember."
"So are you," Georg replied, his tone thoughtful. "But that's to be expected, isn't it? Life changes us, whether we want it to or not."
Maria nodded, her gaze distant as if lost in her own thoughts. The silence stretched between them again, but it was not uncomfortable. It felt like an unspoken understanding - a shared moment of reflection.
Finally, Georg broke the silence, his voice low and unchanging, carrying a quiet determination. "Humor me, Maria."
Maria turned to him, her brows furrowing in question. "Humor you?" she repeated warily. "What do you mean?"
He exhaled, his gaze steady on hers. "I've asked you before, but I don't think I've ever gotten the full answer, the full truth," he said carefully. "Why did you leave the villa so suddenly last summer?"
Maria stiffened, looking away while her hands gripped the railing tightly. "Georg, I thought we'd already discussed this," she replied, her voice clipped but wavering slightly.
"We did," he admitted, "but I don't believe you told me everything." His gaze searched her profile, his expression a mix of inquisitiveness and something deeper, harder to name. "I want the truth, Maria."
She drew a slow, steadying breath, her shoulders visibly tense. "The truth?" she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. "The truth is… my obligation was fulfilled. The children were prepared for their new mother. That was what I believed was my role, my purpose. And once it was done, there was no reason for me to stay."
Georg shook his head slowly, his brows knitting. "That's what you've told yourself," he said mellowly with an undertone of frustration. "But that's not the whole truth, is it? Otherwise, you wouldn't have left in the middle of night without much of a goodbye – just a hastily written letter."
Maria flinched at his words, her fingers curling tighter around the edge of the railing. "What else was I supposed to do?" she asked, her voice trembling, but defensive. "Draw it out? Make it harder for them? For me?"
Georg took a step closer, his gaze unwavering. "You could have stayed. You could have trusted that we –" He paused, catching himself. "That I – would have wanted you to stay."
Her breath caught, and she looked away, blinking rapidly as she struggled to compose herself. "Georg, it wasn't about what you wanted," she said finally, her voice quiet but firm. "It was about what was best for the children. They needed stability. A proper mother. And once Elsa arrived, they had that. I wasn't needed anymore."
Before he could respond, she spoke out again. "Anyway, why does it matter so much to you, Georg?" she asked, her voice breaking slightly as she spoke his name. "It's in the past."
"Because it does matter," he said firmly, his voice low but filled with emotion. "You mattered, Maria. You still do."
Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she couldn't find the words to respond. Instead, he spoke again. "Maria," he said, his tone dipping lower, more insistent. "You didn't just prepare them for a new mother. You became part of their lives. They didn't just need you – they loved you."
Maria's head snapped up at his words, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. "And you," Georg continued gently, "you loved them too. Didn't you?"
Maria swallowed hard, her gaze dropping back to the ground. "Of course I did," she murmured. "That's why I had to go. Staying… it would have been too much."
"Too much for whom?" Georg pressed on, stepping closer still. "For the children? Or for you?"
She closed her eyes, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the railing. "Georg, you must know I don't like talking about my emotions," she admitted quietly, her voice tinged with vulnerability. "It… brings back things I'd rather forget."
Georg's expression softened, his gaze unwavering. "I understand," he said gently. "But sometimes talking is the only way to make sense of it all."
He could slowly see her defenses breaking as she glanced at him, her eyes filled with equal parts hesitation and gratitude. "I don't know if I can."
Georg nodded. "You don't have to do it now," he said softly, his tone patient. "But I would like to hear, when you're ready. I'll be here."
The sincerity in his words shifted the air between them. For a moment, she looked as though she might tell him everything then and there. But instead, she drew back slightly, retreating into herself.
Georg offered a small, understanding smile. "Meet me at the café," he said, his voice gentle. "Our café. I think we owe ourselves a better conversation than the last."
Maria blinked, the unexpected request catching her off guard. "Why?" she asked cautiously.
"Because I want to understand," he said simply. "And because I think you do too."
She looked at him a long moment, before nodding slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Alright."
Georg's smile widened just slightly, a rare glimmer of hope breaking through the weight of the night. "Good. I'll see you there Monday. When's your lunch break?"
Maria hesitated for a moment, her gaze searching his. "Noon," she said simply.
"Monday at noon. It's a plan," Georg said with a quiet nod, his voice warm and consistent. "Goodnight, Maria. Be careful on your way home."
"Goodnight, Georg. You as well," she replied, her voice holding a rare softness, as if she, too, felt the weight of the moment.
He lingered for a heartbeat longer, his eyes meeting hers one final time before he turned and began walking back toward the city.
The night was calm, the cool air brushing against his skin as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his coat. His steps were unhurried, his thoughts trailing behind him like shadows.
The simple joy of their conversation remained in his chest, a warmth he hadn't felt in months – even perhaps since the summer. Maria had always had that effect on him, hadn't she? On anyone, really. Bringing lightness to the heaviest of days, clarity to the murkiest of thoughts. He couldn't help but marvel at the way her presence, even in brief moments like this, could shift the very ground beneath his feet.
But as his thoughts meandered, they inevitably returned to Elsa. Her sharp tone earlier that evening, the way her touch felt repulsive. Their lives, once so carefully aligned, now felt like two parallel lines – close but never truly meeting. He sighed deeply, the contrast between the two women bearing down on him.
Elsa was everything society had told him he needed: poised, elegant, and unwaveringly composed. And yet, with all her refinement, she lacked the warmth, the vitality, that Maria seemed to exude without effort.
Maria. He shook his slightly, chiding himself for the direction his thoughts were taking. She wasn't his to dwell on, wasn't his to miss, and yet he couldn't seem to help himself. The way she had said his name tonight – tentative but oh so sweet – echoed in his mind, stirring unwanted, sinful thoughts.
He glanced up as he neared his home, the grand façade looming before him in the dim light. It felt hollow somehow, despite its grandeur. For a fleeting moment, he wished he could turn back, find her still standing by the river, and continue their conversation until the sun decided to rise. But he shook his head at the irrationality.
With a heavy sigh, he stepped inside, the warmer climate of the house doing little to thaw the bitterness it brought. As he made his way upstairs, he realized that despite the heaviness of the evening – the dinner, the argument, the weight of his marriage – Maria's presence had left him lighter than he had been in a long time. And that, perhaps, was what unsettled him most.
Surpriseeee! Chapter number 2 for the day. Another chapter I adored writing.
The heat is picking uppp (yet still very slowly hehe)...
I love y'all and hope you keep enjoying!
I own nothing of the Sound of Music.