After a fortnight of utter indifference on behalf of Julian, Freya had a sudden, heart-constricting flashback of the elder's funeral. She could not attend her mother's funeral, but was keenly aware of the general atmosphere.
What she failed to acknowledge at the time prior to the ceremony was that Julian had a tad too much glasses of whisky. He was not the typical knackered bloke, but the level of alcohol did unleash his wrath regarding his father. After the priest ended the prayers and invited the Duke to honour the elder's memory with a speech, Julian simply removed a mini-bottle of whisky from the inner pocket of his coat and dropped its content on the wood-sculpted coffin, stating in a tone that could have even set spirits free:
"Your pride spared me of the misery caused by our blood liaison. It is a merry day, father. Cheers as well."
Neither of the guests had the imprudence of speaking afterwards. A deadly silence – imagine the irony – was reinforced in the graveyard, making Freya doubt her ability to mould Julian. It seemed like he had not changed at all, if he were able to stain a man's death – despite the shared hatred.
He soon retreated to his office, locked the door and rested there for a couple of days before reconnecting with his peers. Those nights spent alone were not only dreadful for Freya, but also scattered with nightmares. It occured to the Duchess that her demons – the other ones, still unexpelled by Julian – withered only when sleeping next to her husband.
At the end of the grim fortnight, a new kind of storm consumed the grounds of the Duchy. Freya simply had enough of Julian's tantrums.
Twilight was settling in when the Duke entered the bedchamber while removing his tie. He did not even notice his wife leaning against the wall, her arms crossed tightly, her lips pursed in a thin line.
"May I have your attention, milord, or shall I make an appointment first?" Her bitter voice may not have been appropriate for a safe conversation, but her nerves were ceding as well and she needed as much comfort as she offered herself.
Julian heaved deeply, cursing his arrival. Why didn't he remain in his office?
"What?" His voice was neutral and he only half-heard his wife's protests. There was no need for losing his last ounce of sanity.
"Don't shut me down, you prick! I stood by your side in your darkest moments, and you never did the same! You caused my nightmares, you insensitive selfish wanker! I thought we would be each other's shelter, but apparently you had other plans!" Freya felt hot tears gliding down her cheeks as she gazed at Julian's back, who refused to return her scrutiny.
"You were not obliged to comfort me." The Duke retorted, his voice steel-toned.
"Well, excuse me for caring, alright? What can I do if I cannot control my heart? Yes, I care for you more than any of us could fathom, but don't I deserve at last a quarter of the empathy I gave you?! I had restless nights thinking about ending your misery, hours and hours of compiling methods of easing your pain. And you, what did you do? You took everything for granted, instead of appreciating me and returning my love!"
Apparently, Julian had enough as well. He spun on his heels, rushed to Freya and brutally cornered her. His touch did no physical harm, but her heart was already shattered to unretrievable pieces.
"Your love?! I told you I cannot return such emotions, I told you I cannot love you!"
"Fine, but at least be my friend! Friends mutually help each other, they don't sit around doing nothing and expecting everything! I needed you as well and you abandoned me! You left me all alone with my nightmares!"
She threw several frustrated punches at Julian's chest, her stream of tears incresing by the second. Her husband remembered his vow to reward her properly and felt beyond ashamed for not keeping it. He captured her trembling frame in his arms, squeezing her until she could no longer fight, but surrender. He did not stop her crying, for she needed to shed her burden. He simply held her tightly, their bodies plastered to each other, their breaths eventually becoming one.
"I am so sorry, my love. I am a coward and a traitor, I do not deserve the slightest ounce of your offerings. I should have kissed the tip of your toes for how wonderfully you took care of me when I failed to do it myself. I should have done a lot of things, but did none of them. I am terribly sorry, I feel ashamed and guilty and I swear you can punish me however you choose, for I deserve it and much more."
She sniffled rather ungracefully, leaning over Julian to take a tissue. Her husband waited for her patiently and then gazed at her warily.
"Would you like to tell me what your nightmares are about? Do they have anything to do with the night I found you collapsed in the bathroom?" His voice changed drastically, lacing itself with a sweet lullaby tone.
She nodded, shielding herself one more time in his arms. He complied more than willingly, massaging her back. When she rose her scrutiny to meet his eyes, he invited her to confession. They both took a seat on the bed, Freya quivering with emotion. Of course she forgave him. Living with a man of his caliber, she realised that his apologize was real and unaltered, for he honestly despised falsity and white lies.
"When I had the nightmare that night, I was visiting my mother at the asylum. I was still small, but mature enough to notice my mom's shifting moods. She enjoyed being violent with herself, and one day, she took that brutality to the highest level. She commited suicide, jumping out of the window, while I was watching. I was still so small, Julian." Freya's tears started soaking her cheeks again, but that time, her husband removed them one by one, rubbing his thumb tenderly.
"You can take your time." He whispered, holding her while she was talking.
"She also had cuts on her wrists, and even though she was extremely supervised, that day was an exception. The staff usually did not let me alone with her, but they considered a change in the name of mother-and-daughter bond. I do not blame them at all, for it was my mom's fault entirely. I do reproach her with commiting suicide in my presence. I have been having flashbacks of that day ever since. Well, until we slept next to each other."
Freya revealed a toothy smile, fluttering her eyelashes in content. Julian returned her smile, but was still very much concerned. His wife had a much more poignant burden than he had, yet he unhesitantly undermined the importance of cherishing her.
"I was then sent into foster care, but luckily enough, I had been treated well. I mean, they ignored me completely – apart from bed and meal time – so I was never a subject to violence ormockery."
"Did you not know your father?" Julian inquired, having an odd feeling of trespassing.
"No, and I have no intention of doing so. Most people would search for their parents, but I would not. He abandoned me."
"Well, I partly did it too, but I will not anymore. It may be a bit difficult, for I was not accustomed to emotions, but I think I will strive. For you." That time, Freya unearthed her dimples in a radiant grin, placing a butterfly kiss on his lips.
He admitted to himself that he desired to ravish her lips more firmly, but she was still frail. He could not afford the luxury of pursuing another mistake that would have diverted her away from him.
"Did I have a faulty hearing, or did you tell me you loved me? In the heat of the moment, I was to enraged to assimilate your words." His tone was playful, but sincerely speaking, he was afraid of her answer - afraid that he may not live up to her expectations, even though she once stated that she had no expectations. Everyone did.
"You did have a faulty hearing. I said that I care about you. It is an enormous difference." She was confident with her answer, but was she really? Despite being constantly irritated by his mood swings, tantrums and retorts, she could not bear a day without seeing him – without smelling his manly fragrance, or helping him tie his knot, or stealing a piece of strawberry from his breakfast plate.
All those small, apparently insignificant details added to a rather unavoidable truth – it was more than simple caring. She was afraid, nevertheless, of pronouncing the word - even to herself, in the intimacy of her mind. Distracting herself from the belly knot caused by his question, she responded with another question, about which a few months ago she would have been so shy.
"Can't you just kiss me?"
Julian stiffened. She must be bluffing, mustn't she? "Are you sure? You have just confessed a trauma, don't you think we should wait?" He inquired, feeling unsure about testing her boundaries.
"Don't you want me anymore?" Her voice was not teasing at all, for she felt rather disappointed with his mien.
Julian climbed the bed and towered over his wife, playing with a few rebel strands of her hair. How could she possible believe such an absurdity?
"Give me your hand." He instructed.
Freya obeyed and extended her palm, which Julian gently inserted in his pants. His inexperienced wife gasped at the feeling of his pulsating flesh moulding under her jittery fingers. Julian released a soul-shattering growl as Freya soon stripped off her inhibition and started stroking his member with oddly skilled movements.
He was still on top of her, but her confident touch made him eagerly reverse his role. Her plump buttocks were stradling his pelvis, while her thighs were on each of his sides. His back was fully arched, his eyes rolling back in his head, his breath hectic.
"I had no idea you could be that wicked." He chuckled, his breaths coming in uneven pants. She took his statement as an invitation to deepen her exploration of his large, aroused member. Her strokes intensified along with his moans, back-and-forth, back-and-forth, until Julian reached his glass-breaking climax and covered her hands with his semen.
She stilled for a moment, gazing at his semen shining on her hands. Freya had a sudden flashback of her abuser's release, but came back to present time the moment Julian took a towel from the drawer and cleaned her.
"This is how much I want you. This is how much I want to breath you, taste you, and kiss you until our bodies are no longer separated. Do you understand?" His voice was laced with raw emotion, his scrutiny oozing desire.
She only nodded, for her words were ceased in her throat. She leaned in to kiss him softly and briskly, stroking him one more time before zipping his pants. He moaned against her lips, half-smiling, half-laughing.
"You are a work of art, my love." He whispered as they stripped off their clothes and cuddled under the blanket. "Will you ever forgive me for my self-indulgence?" He continued.
"I already did." She responded sheepishly, yawning like a child. He kissed her forehead, thanked God for her lively presence and embraced her sleepy frame.
They soon fell asleep, not before Freya admitted to herself that she did love him after all.