last member of her family dead, and under sad circumstances. Darius agonized for Marianne, wishing he could ease her pain. For all that he had disapproved of Mr. George, he was still his wife’s father and loved by her. She had shared fond memories of him from childhood.
The sight of her mourning at the graves of her parents rent his heart. So sorrowfully beautiful, dressed completely in jet black, the only points of color being her blue eyes and the pearl crucifix he’d given her, would be an image of Marianne he’d never forget.
Darius could see that Marianne missed her father, and he began to worry. He worried that Marianne did not have cause to need him anymore. It was not necessary to be reminded of how he’d won her. She had sacrificed herself to save her father. Darius knew that. Well, her father no longer needed saving. He was dead. And because of that, Marianne did not really need Darius any longer.
She might not need him, but she was stuck with him, for he would never let her go. The very idea was an impossibility. She was his precious Marianne, whom he loved more than anything, the wife he loved, even though she clearly didn’t love him in return.
Loving was never part of the plan, but in matters of the heart, things rarely go to plan. It was simple, really. He loved Marianne and had told her so. Hearing the sentiment returned was his greatest wish. On more than one occasion he had told her, and the pain of the absence of those words given back was acute.
Darius didn’t know what he could do about it though. He’d made such a mess of everything and was now so entangled, he felt like a puppet bounced along on a string.
There was also the idea Marianne might be pregnant. They’d made love nearly every day, and she had never been indisposed to him. Not once. The fear that she could resent being tied to him was reminiscent of his own parents. He fervently prayed she would welcome a child. Marianne would be a loving mother, he thought, nothing like his own. ’Twas part of why he’d chosen her…
After the funeral, Marianne started having nightmares and awakened crying in the night. Darius always held her, speaking soothingly until she returned to sleep. Speaking in Italian to her seemed to help.
Marianne didn’t appear to recall what she cried out in the dark or the things she said, but Darius heard every word as he held her fitful body close to his, crying out for someone she had loved dearly and who was lost to her now. She spoke the name with regret and anguish. The name she cried out in the dark was…Jonathan.
* * * *
… The squall had sprung up out of nowhere. Jonathan! She ran to the sea as fast as her legs could carry her. The terror pounding inside her chest overrode the bursting need of oxygen for her lungs. Their boat was overturned in the surf. She counted boys. Only two boys! Jonathan? Noooooo…it cannot be true! Where is my Jonathan? Dear God nooooo! I am sorry…sorry…so sorry, Jonath—
“Shhh. Marianne, you are having a bad dream. Cara , I am here.” Lips kissed her forehead. Strong hands stroked her back.
“Darius?” She awoke quickly, panicked and sweating, trembling in his embrace.
“Yes, darling. It’s all right now. You were dreaming…again.”
Relaxing into his arms, she became aware of reality. “I am so sorry, Darius, for disturbing you. I don’t know what is wrong with me.”
“I think you are sad and missing those whom you have loved and lost.”
“…You are probably right, Darius.”
“Jonathan? You miss him?” His voice was low and clipped.
“You know about Jonathan?”
“It is his name you cry out in your sleep, Marianne. You loved him.”
“Very much. I loved Jonathan the most. He was my light…”
“I understand, Marianne, you grieve for him,” he whispered.
“I do, Darius.”
* * * *
Marianne started taking solitary walks along the shore. She tried to do it when Darius was busy for she knew he would not be pleased. He had
The sight of her mourning at the graves of her parents rent his heart. So sorrowfully beautiful, dressed completely in jet black, the only points of color being her blue eyes and the pearl crucifix he’d given her, would be an image of Marianne he’d never forget.
Darius could see that Marianne missed her father, and he began to worry. He worried that Marianne did not have cause to need him anymore. It was not necessary to be reminded of how he’d won her. She had sacrificed herself to save her father. Darius knew that. Well, her father no longer needed saving. He was dead. And because of that, Marianne did not really need Darius any longer.
She might not need him, but she was stuck with him, for he would never let her go. The very idea was an impossibility. She was his precious Marianne, whom he loved more than anything, the wife he loved, even though she clearly didn’t love him in return.
Loving was never part of the plan, but in matters of the heart, things rarely go to plan. It was simple, really. He loved Marianne and had told her so. Hearing the sentiment returned was his greatest wish. On more than one occasion he had told her, and the pain of the absence of those words given back was acute.
Darius didn’t know what he could do about it though. He’d made such a mess of everything and was now so entangled, he felt like a puppet bounced along on a string.
There was also the idea Marianne might be pregnant. They’d made love nearly every day, and she had never been indisposed to him. Not once. The fear that she could resent being tied to him was reminiscent of his own parents. He fervently prayed she would welcome a child. Marianne would be a loving mother, he thought, nothing like his own. ’Twas part of why he’d chosen her…
After the funeral, Marianne started having nightmares and awakened crying in the night. Darius always held her, speaking soothingly until she returned to sleep. Speaking in Italian to her seemed to help.
Marianne didn’t appear to recall what she cried out in the dark or the things she said, but Darius heard every word as he held her fitful body close to his, crying out for someone she had loved dearly and who was lost to her now. She spoke the name with regret and anguish. The name she cried out in the dark was…Jonathan.
* * * *
… The squall had sprung up out of nowhere. Jonathan! She ran to the sea as fast as her legs could carry her. The terror pounding inside her chest overrode the bursting need of oxygen for her lungs. Their boat was overturned in the surf. She counted boys. Only two boys! Jonathan? Noooooo…it cannot be true! Where is my Jonathan? Dear God nooooo! I am sorry…sorry…so sorry, Jonath—
“Shhh. Marianne, you are having a bad dream. Cara , I am here.” Lips kissed her forehead. Strong hands stroked her back.
“Darius?” She awoke quickly, panicked and sweating, trembling in his embrace.
“Yes, darling. It’s all right now. You were dreaming…again.”
Relaxing into his arms, she became aware of reality. “I am so sorry, Darius, for disturbing you. I don’t know what is wrong with me.”
“I think you are sad and missing those whom you have loved and lost.”
“…You are probably right, Darius.”
“Jonathan? You miss him?” His voice was low and clipped.
“You know about Jonathan?”
“It is his name you cry out in your sleep, Marianne. You loved him.”
“Very much. I loved Jonathan the most. He was my light…”
“I understand, Marianne, you grieve for him,” he whispered.
“I do, Darius.”
* * * *
Marianne started taking solitary walks along the shore. She tried to do it when Darius was busy for she knew he would not be pleased. He had
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