In the snow

*Zac*
She makes me feel small, petty, and ashamed. In the midst of my stunned silence, she stalks from the library, taking her magnificent fury with her. I want to rush after her, drag her back into this room, shove all this unimportant garbage off my desk, and lay the most important person of all upon it and have my way with her.

Let her have her way with me.

Instead, I drop down into my chair and, with a shaking hand, I snatch up a letter and read words that no longer have any meaning because hers have rendered them all into insignificance. Why, why can’t I let it go? And every time I think I have, it returns with a vengeance, demanding that I seek answers.

I don’t know how long I stare at the scrawl of ink on parchment. She is right. I find no answers there. They are inside me, locked away, possibly forever. All the dangers had been in the war. What I can’t remember can do me no harm here unless my obsession with not knowing drives my mate from my side.

That would be tragic. That would be unbearable. That would be a hell worse than the empty pit in a distant part of my mind.

I catch a movement out of the corner of my eye, something moving past the window. Shoving the chair back, I rise and stride over to the sitting area that looks out on the garden.

I can’t prevent my mouth from slanting upward ever so slightly at the sight of Calliope, holding Zane close. Her heavy red cape swirls around her ankles as she twirls in the descending snow. My son’s gleeful laughter fills the air and causes a painful knot to form in my chest. What a turn of events my life has taken.

Zane’s father will be Sir Zac. There is honor in that. For me and my son. I have never before given much thought to how my actions fall on those around me. I have always only cared about playing. Now I have a chance to play with my son, and I’m ensconced in my library reading letters in an effort to reassure myself that the Queen has not made a mistake, that I am worthy of this honor.

Who am I to decide?

Surely, Calliope is right. They wouldn’t confer it upon me if I didn’t deserve it. I wish I’d known the man I’d been in the East. I wonder if it’s possible I haven’t lost him completely, that remnants of what I’ve done, who I’ve been, remain, even if I don’t recognize them. Surely, the life I’ve led for two years influences me to some degree.

Calliope moves beyond my sight. I wonder what else she will share with our son. We will discuss it during dinner, if she is talking to me by then. Her temper has been royally pricked. The thought of having her in bed with that fire blazing…

That isn’t going to happen, not when I’ve disappointed her once again. Strange how it has never bothered me to disappoint my family. Well, except for my mother. I’ve always gotten angry with myself when I’ve let her down, but I’ve continued to disappoint her just the same. My needs, wants, desires have always come first.

What a selfish bastard I’ve been.

But when it comes to Calliope, she is all that matters.

I have a servant fetch my coat, hat, and gloves, and before I realize what I fully intend, I scour through the winter gardens searching for my wife and son. I find them on a bench covered with a light dusting of snow. She appears serene. No evidence remains of the firebrand that had been in my library.

“You have quite the temper, Mrs. Dragan. Had I my memories, would I have known that?"

She glances over at me, her mouth twitching as though she fights back a smile. She can’t stay angry with me for long. I take comfort in that knowledge because I have years left in which to prick her anger.

“A spinster is agreeable in all things with the hope that she will not chase a prospective suitor away. I don’t recall if I ever put my temper on display for you before. I rather doubt it."

I sit beside her and stretch my arm along the back of the bench. “Well, if you had, I can tell you I’d have thought twice before marrying you.”

She smirks. "You thought twice anyway."

“I thought about it a great many more times than that." I touch her cheek. "I’m sorry, Calliope, sorry for everything I said in the library."

“I’m sorry, too, sorry that I can’t comprehend your situation. You’re correct, though. If I lost the memory of a single moment with Zane, I would be devastated."

Sitting on her lap with his back to her chest and her arms holding him upright, our child is completely ignoring us, making nonsensical noises, and becoming fast friends with the snowflakes.

“I think he took your temperament more than mine," I say.

“I’m not so sure."

An oddness marks her tone, as though she’s embarrassed by the thought. She curls her gloved hand around my arm. “I’m not even sure if I should congratulate you for receiving the honor, but I am proud, and I know it is deserved."

“I shall take your word for it."

“I would never lie to you. You must believe that."

Such earnestness in the whiskey of her eyes. God, I could drink from them all day and all night. I never want to be denied the pleasure of gazing into them.

“There are times when I think that the details of what happened in the Crimea must reside deeply within me, must somehow still have some influence. The man I was before would have laughed at the absurdity of a knighthood, and then he’d have snatched it with both hands and not given a damn as to the reasons that he was being knighted. In here…” I touch my list to my chest. “There are times, Calliope, when I swear to God I do not know the man I have become. I am a stranger to myself."

“You are no stranger to me." She leans in and kisses me, sweetly, softly. A brief touch of our lips that promises more later. She’s forgiven me. Now if I could only forgive myself.

If only I could come to accept that a stranger does not live inside my skin.