When it came to titles, Alois had warned her. They were sitting on the dock, holding hands, watching the sun dip into the edge of the sea. It was a few days before they would be married. Lily's head tucked under his chin, their hands nestled together in the warmth of her lap, the subtle chill of the coming evening bringing them closer together, it was the perfect moment- but Alois couldn't ignore an odd, unwanted dread.
"Last chance," he muttered jokingly.
"For what," Lily mumbled sleepily, her eyes closed. She could feel the rumble of his deep voice in his chest, an echo that she always wanted to call back to her.
"To jump," Alois continued, too scared to say what he really meant. Lily didn't move her head. Only her hand rose from their combined grip to settle a gentle touch over his heart. She could feel it was beating too fast. She rubbed small circles over it, to calm it, to cool it. It did.
"You'll be known as the executioner's wife," he told her.
"I've been called worse."
"People will stare at you and talk about you."
"They already do that."
"You might not make friends."
"Really, Alois? I'm not five years old."
Alois chuckled, and she felt its vibrations rock against her cheek. She moved closer into him and sighed deeply.
"What about you? This is your last chance to jump, too."
"What do you mean?"
"You'll be the husband of a dark-skinned foreigner. What will the people say?"
"I don't care what they think." He had learned not to, a long time ago.
"They might come up with rumors about your wife. They might say I cast a spell on you."
"You did cast a spell on me." He grinned. She poked him in the gut, and he caught her hand.
"But the children, Alois... what if they make fun of our children?" she pretended to faint. Alois steadied himself to catch her with his shoulder and smiled.
"Our children?" They'd spoken about it before, the idea of having children, but the idea had never been closer to reality. He could have children with Lily, a family. One day of course, a few years down the road, when they were ready. But he pictured it easily. He could see Lily, swollen and beautiful with the baby they had made together. He could see himself picking out clothes for a little girl who would have Lily's almond eyes or a little boy with the button-like seed of his strong nose. He could see himself singing and reading stories to Lily's belly, rubbing her aching feet, fetching the foods she was craving, holding her hands and encouraging her as she pushed a wailing new love into their lives. He could see it, as surely as he could see the sunset right in front of them.
"Our children," she repeated, like the final words of a dream.
And he could see right then, that it was impossible for him to care what the people thought of him or Lily with something so glorious on the horizon. Lily hadn't moved once from his chest since he'd announced his insecurities. He knew she wasn't going anywhere. And neither was he.
YOU ARE READING
The Executioner's Wife
RomanceAlois swallowed, and the pain of what he had to do eclipsed the burned skin of his wrists and the pulsing throbs of his head. He tried to speak, but he only managed to give a weak gasp. "Please, please, please," Lily implored him, kissing his cheeks...
