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He treats you like a princess.
You cannot help but wonder how much of it is fueled by guilt.
Sometimes, the wonder becomes too much to bear.
“Love?”
(The word feels bittersweet on her tongue, like the taste of sour orange, on its way to rot. Perhaps it’s already there.)
Her voice pierces the almost-comfortable silence, and she winces at the sound, too-loud, echoing back to her in the emptiness of their room. For a moment, Claudio doesn’t stir, and Hero considers taking it as a sign (she should have been asleep hours ago, anyway) — until he shifts, the arm thrown loosely across her middle, warm and strong and so achingly close to feeling right, tensing ever slightly and sending her already shaking heartbeat rattling through her chest. For a moment, she thinks he’s going to reply, but then the silence stretches on, and she takes it upon herself to break it once more.
Carefully, tenderly, cautiously, she lifts her hand to his hair, curling her fingers through the short strands as she brushes her thumb against the smooth skin of his temple. Her voice is as soft as her touch, and he seems to sink into it.
(Sometimes he shies away from it, now, guilt outlining his suddenly tense jaw, so this may be a good sign.
Or, considering the question curling at the back of her throat, a bad sign.)
“Are you awake?”
She knows he is. His breathing is as uneven as her own.
After what feels like years, he finally tilts his head to face her, the movement so slow and heavy she wonders if he feels the weight of the words on her tongue already. There are no lost tendrils of sleep still clinging to his eyes when they meet hers, and she has to bite her tongue to stop herself from asking why he’d waited so long to answer her.
(Not for the first time, she wishes she had a flicker of Beatrice’s fire.)
“Are you alright?” he says, brushing a wayward strand of hair from her cheek, and the sweetness of the concern lacing his voice almost takes her by surprise. She wishes she could drop the weights from her chest and fall into him fully, shut her eyes and let herself float away in the warmth of his arms like she had in those blissful days before their first wedding — or, well, calling it a wedding at all is rather generous, isn’t it?
The rot climbs up her chest, curling through her ribs, and her mouth opens before she can think through the words that stutter through her, gunfire quick.
“Do you — did you … do you truly believe I’m capable of — of …” her breath hitches, and she hates herself for it. Hero glances upwards, and the stricken look in his eyes sends her reeling, her barely-mended heart threatening to tear through its seams and spill down her front once more.
“... Hero,” he starts, voice strained, and her chest lurches. She barely even realizes she’s sitting up until she looks over at him and has to look down, and the look in his eyes makes her chest twist painfully. This time, the words come out all at once, ripping through her throat so violently she hears the war drum beat of her heart in her ears.
“How could you think I would do that?”
He jolts to sitting as though he’s been shot. It’s hard to bite back the satisfaction of seeing her own months-old reaction mirrored in his own eyes. A tentative hand rests against her arm, and for a moment, it isn’t Claudio’s, it’s Beatrice’s, holding her fallen cousin up against her chest as the shattered pieces of Hero’s world rained against the church floor, until the sudden chill of Claudio’s wedding ring against her skin sends her ricocheting back to reality so quickly she feels sick.
She wants to move her arm away. She wants to lean into his touch. She doesn’t know what she wants anymore.
Mostly she just wants to cry.
Seemingly stunned into silence (or perhaps he just doesn’t want to admit the answer), Claudio stays quiet by her side. The silence buzzes in her ears, his unspoken words wedging themselves into the gaps in her ribs, and tears pool in her eyes as she glances towards him, wild-animal panic in her eyes. His breath hitches at the sight of her.
Finally, the question that had wrapped itself barbed-wire tight around her heart since the day she’d tumbled to the floor of the church, staring hatred in the eyes she’d grown so used to seeing filled with love, finally slips out.
“Why did you think I would — be with a man ?” She shakes her head hard, her hand shooting out to wrap around Claudio’s wrist, and he looks down with so much shock she wonders if he forgot she could move. Her voice softens as her grip tightens, eyes shimmering with heartache. “I would … I would never — in general , I would never, but — with a man? ”
It had been one of the first things they’d spoken about in their first moment alone. She’d taken his hand in a moment of boldness, lacing their fingers together, and led him to the garden, where they’d sat and talked for what had felt like hours. To the soundtrack of the party, still murmuring through the open windows despite the stars glittering above their heads, she’d spilled her heart, and gained a piece of his in the process. She’d tucked the piece of hers into the breast pocket of his military jacket that had looked far better on him than she’d ever seen it look on any man, and let her fingers trail upwards to linger against the smooth skin of his collarbone as she adjusted the collar of his shirt.
He’d kissed her then, his arms wrapping around her waist, so strong and so right, so dizzyingly sincere she could’ve sworn the stars were dancing above them when he’d pulled away. If she thinks hard enough, she can still feel the buzz of warmth on her lips.
She would never. He’d known that - should have known that.
“I…” His voice stirs her from his thoughts, much louder than she expects, and it takes Hero a moment to realize he’s leaning towards her, wiping the tears from her cheeks. His touch is feather-light, like he’s worried anything more may shatter her all over again. For once, she doesn’t blame him. She feels as though she may shatter. She feels as though she’s already shattered. His wedding band brushes against her cheek, the metal cool against her skin, and by the way his breath catches, he notices at the same time she does. Something like shame pools into his eyes, and it’s a familiar sight. She lets him speak anyway.
“I don’t know. I didn’t want to believe it, and I didn’t at first, but … ” She’s not sure what he sees in her face that steals the rest of the sentence from his throat, but he cuts himself off with a hard swallow, and for once, she’s thankful for Claudio’s hesitancy to mention the past. “I’m sorry,” he whispers for what must be the hundredth time, and just like every other time, she can tell he means it. His thumb brushes against her cheekbone, so gentle it sends the tears springing back to her eyes, and the words tumble from her lips in a plea she’s not even sure is meant for him.
“Are we going to be alright?”
She doesn’t know the answer. She doesn’t think he does either. But there are wedding rings on their fingers, and shared sheets tangled between their legs, and a stubborn, beautiful, perhaps doomed love that still beats between their hearts, and she thinks she may be naive enough to hope that one day they may be.