I shrugged.
“Answer,” he said, voice allowing no room for disobedience.
“A while now. After Mother died, it needed to be done,” I said, staring at him, imploring him with my eyes to understand.
“To protect Santo?” he asked, his voice twisting when he uttered my father’s name.
“Yes. And no,” I said on a whisper.
He narrowed his eyes and I continued. “Doing that, making sure families got a little of what they’d need to move on…after, helped it. Kept people, if not loyal, then at least believing in fairness,” I said.
“And?” He’d tilted his head down, practically glaring at me now, though I thought I saw some softness in his expression, but that could have simply been a wish.
“And it was the right thing to do,” I said, speaking with conviction that I actually felt.
“Why?” he said.
I moved toward him, the depth of my feelings on this topic making it impossible for me to stay still.
“The widows, the wives, they—we—make our choices, but that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve compassion, don’t deserve to be cared for if the worst happens. And yeah, that may have helped Santo, maybe not. But what it did do was make sure no kids would go hungry, that no wife with no means of support would be forced into a bad situation. It was the right thing. A minuscule act of good in this world that has so few,” I said.
When I finished, I stood toe-to-toe with him, my hands balled into tight fists. I realized after I’d stopped speaking that my voice had dropped, could feel the way my face had twisted as I spoke, my mind full of all of the faces I’d seen, the slight measure of relief that came from knowing that you wouldn’t be destitute. I was right to do it. I knew that to my core.
The question was, did my husband agree?
I looked up at him, and though the sun behind him somewhat obscured his face, I could see enough to see that it had very little expression. My heart lurched. He might be upset at what I’d done.
He continued to watch me, that unreadable expression on his face, and I thought I would break from the tension of the moment. Just when I would have spoken, he did.
“Daniela,” he said, his voice emotionless, “that is one of the kindest things I’ve ever heard.”
“I’m sorry! I just did what—What?” I said, frowning at him.
He smiled, and I thought my heart would soar when I saw that beautiful, beloved expression on his face. “I said, that is one of the kindest things I’ve ever heard.”
“You—Oh,” I replied, laughing at my overreaction and how wrong I’d been about his.
His expression soon darkened, and I knew this conversation was not fully closed.
“It’s over,” he said, voice again flat.
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you did what you thought was right, but that’s over. You can’t ever do that again, Daniela,” he said, expression hard, voice even harder.
“But I—”
His flashing eyes killed the words I would have spoken.
“Over,” he said.
I stared up at him, watched as he pressed his lips against mine, his kiss soft, yet firm, sending shivers all over me. He met my eyes. “Those who need to be taken care of will be, but not by you, Daniela. It’s over,” he said.
Then he kissed me again, a hard peck he used to punctate his words before he pulled back and stared into my eyes. I saw sternness in his, but even more I saw compassion. Knew that unlike almost anyone else that had ever been in my life, I could trust him.
“It’s over,” I whispered.
He nodded, exhaled hard, making me wonder if he’d thought my answer would be different. Which made me wonder how he would react if I disobeyed. I looked into his eyes again, and again felt that trust, felt secure in the knowledge he would never hurt me. I stretched up on tiptoe to kiss him, kneading his lips with mine.
Sergei kissed me back, his lips against mine, his strong hands on my skin only intensifying the safety, the trust I realized I only had for him. Then he suddenly broke the kiss and stared down at me, his eyes dark, unreadable, but soft, tender. That look in his eye, he led me to our room, didn’t break contact as he undressed quickly and then undressed me, pausing to kiss and touch each patch of skin he exposed, lingering over my nipples and kneading my breasts with his hands as he tugged them to hard points.
He again paused to stare at me, his body heaving from his deep breaths, his cock hard, ready, but Sergei was in seemingly no hurry to bring us together. I’d thought I’d get used to the way he looked at me, would become immune to the intensity of his stare, but I knew that was a lie now. Because even though he’d had me so many times, looked at me so many times, I still lit up with a single glance from him, a feeling that was only stronger now that I knew I trusted him.