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“That conversation we were always on the edge of having, runs on in my head..”
― Twenty-One Love Poems.
When Nadiya Kuznetsov fled Drachma at the age of six with her single mother and three year-old younger brother, she didn’t think she’d live past the age of twelve, eventually go to college, and end up with a psychology degree from the University of Amestris. It also never occurred to her that this psychology degree would be her gateway to becoming Amestris’ most renowned couple’s counselor. Now in her 50s, married and with two children of her own, Nadiya Kuznetsov-Vause has had quite the prolific career salvaging the high-profile marriages of the elites, settling their marital problems with the finesse of a seasoned political negotiator.
Her reputation even had Fuhrer Grumman cracking a joke about how Nadiya should be sent to the frontlines to patch things up between Amestris and her home country.
“Unfortunately, my Drachman has gone stale, Sir,” she answered back with a smile. “But if you’re looking to remarry, I can definitely help you out with that.”
Grumman simply laughed. He then followed it up with an offhand comment about a certain couple he’d definitely be recommending to Nadiya in the future.
“They’re not yet married though,” he told Nadiya. “Perhaps someday. Bah! Those two just love complicating things for themselves. You’d think with how intelligent they both are that they’d know how to navigate love.”
“I’m afraid love doesn’t care much for logic and intelligence, Sir.”
“Promise me that once I send them your way that you won’t give up on them.”
Nadiya had put on a determined face. “It can’t possibly be that bad, Sir.”
Grumman’s smile was grim. “Oh it is. It is.”
******
January, 1921 - First term of the newly-elected Fuhrer
“Miss Vause, they’re here.”
Nadiya’s secretary placed the client profiles on her desk.
“Send them in.”
The secretary nods before slipping back out. A few beats pass and the door to her office opens again. Nadiya rises to her feet.
The couple that enters her office is remarkably handsome. Nadiya has only ever seen them in the black and white photos plastered across newsprints and tabloids. On one rare occasion during a women’s charity gala, Nadiya was able to catch a fleeting glimpse of the couple from afar. Now that they’re up close, it hits Nadiya that photos don’t do them justice at all.
“It is a pleasure to have you, Fuhrer Roy Mustang and Madame First Lady Riza Hawkeye,” Nadiya greets them with an outstretched hand.
The Fuhrer shakes her hand. His smile is warm and genial. The First Lady also takes Nadiya’s hand, her grip surprisingly a touch firmer than her husband’s. Her grin is tentative and somewhat guarded. Instantly, Nadiya’s sharply honed intuition begins an initial diagnosis.
Ball-buster type. Husband doesn’t mind. For publicity reasons, it’s not ideal. Thankfully, there’s an absence of animosity between the two.
Nadiya gestures to the two sofa chairs. “Please, have a seat.”
The Fuhrer and First Lady settle in their respective seats while Nadiya takes the one across from them. Between them is a quaint coffee table with two distinct porcelain kettles and cups neatly arranged on its polished surface.
“I have tea and coffee,” Nadiya offers. “Please help yourselves.”
The Fuhrer smiles again. “Thank you, Miss Vause. But we’re good.”
The First Lady’s attention does not waver the slightest. Brown eyes trained on Nadiya in anticipation.
“Well then,” Nadiya starts. “I’ve read through your profiles and it seems that your reason for coming here is because your publicist, Miss Tessa Hastings, insisted upon it. Is that correct?”
“Yes, that is correct,” the First Lady confirms. Four simple words uttered in a way that does not hide the fact that she was once an officer of the military. Even in her casual beauty, the First Lady’s military training does not betray her. Shoulders straight and posture erect. Nadiya has faced rich oil merchants, tycoon moguls, pompous celebrities, and a slew of politicians in her career. Never once did she encounter a soldier before. Or former ones at that.
Nadiya has never felt more thrilled in her life.
“But we do consent to being here,” the Fuhrer adds. “Ultimately just to prove to Tessa that there’s nothing to worry about.”
Nadiya assumes a posture of ease—-leaning in slightly, shoulders more softened. “Tess is a good friend of mine. Trust me, she’s very happy to be working with the First Family. However, she’s simply concerned about, well, the temperature of things.”
Then Nadiya produces a stack of tabloids and newspapers from under the coffee table. She spreads them out carefully, making sure to avoid bumping the porcelain, and angling them just right so that the couple can read the headlines.
“You got married during the campaign which makes this your eighth month of marriage,” Nadiya says. Then she taps a finger on one of the newspapers. “For the first two months of your marriage, the public’s perception was very positive, as you can see.”
She checks for the couple’s reaction. The Fuhrer nods, but Nadiya can clearly see the wheels turning in his head. The First Lady remains unperturbed.
“Unfortunately, because politics will always be politics, detractors of your office began attacking your union by the third month.” Nadiya flips open a tabloid and another and then another.
Trouble in Paradise? Fuhrer and First Lady’s Marriage Already Showing Signs of Instability
Sham Union: Mustang Marries Former Adjutant for Political Gain
Mustang’s Secret Affairs
The Fuhrer leans over and he plucks one of the tabloids from the table. Then he shows it to his wife.
“You look very pretty here,” he says with a grin. Then he stares at the photograph again. “That dress definitely suited you.”
Nadiya catches the faintest blush on the First Lady’s cheeks.
“You have Evelyn to thank for,” the First Lady shrugs. “She picked it out for me.”
A charmer and a deflector. What a combination.
Nadiya clears her throat. “Anyway, I believe you understand why Tess would be worried. There is no doubt that as a politician, Fuhrer Mustang has been remarkable. But politics is also about image and public relations. Unfortunately, it seems that you haven’t been doing a good job of keeping up appearances when it comes to your marriage which already breaks one of the rules of public relations which is—-”
“Don’t give them something to talk about,” the couple recites in exasperated unison. Nadiya smirks.
“And if you are going to give them something to talk about?” Nadiya continues.
“Make sure it’s something you can control,” the First Lady finishes. Then she straightens in her seat. “Miss Vause, we already told Tessa that we don’t care about rumors and gossip. It’s trivial and a waste of time.”
Nadiya smiles as she slowly begins to clean up the clutter of newsprints on the table. “I left Drachma when I was six. We fled, to be more precise. My father was a member of the Drachman military, but when he joined the resistance group against the government, he was killed. Living in Amestris felt like an entirely different world from Drachma. No military running the government. No soldiers in the streets. That was until Bradley entered the picture. Most Amestrians will never understand how it feels because it doesn’t happen immediately. At first, you think they’re doing it for your safety, that it’s fine as long as they’re only killing ‘enemies of the state’.”
Nadiya arranges the stack neatly in one corner of the table. “When I found out that the parliament was reinstated and that Amestris was going to have its first democratic elections in over twenty years, I felt a sense of relief. The kind that I wish I would never again have to yearn for in my lifetime.”
She watches the couple before her. A smidge of remorse ghosts the Fuhrer’s features. The First Lady also appears the same.
“I believe you understand where I’m getting at, Sir Fuhrer and Madame First Lady ,” Nadiya says. “Because I’d really hate for all of this earnest hard work to end up by the wayside all because of some nonsensical rumors and gossip.”
“Of course,” the Fuhrer affirms.
The First Lady sighs. “What should we do then?”
Nadiya folds her hands on her lap. “Look, marriage is not easy. In fact, I’ve found that most husbands, unfortunately, end up cheating on their wives before their first wedding anniversary.
The Fuhrer coughs. “I am not cheating on my wife, if that’s what you’re implying Miss Vause.”
“My apologies, Sir. I did not mean to insinuate so,” Nadiya assures him. “What I’m merely trying to say is that I need to know from your end as to why it seems particularly difficult for you both to display your affections for one another so openly.”
The First Lady casts a wary glance in her husband’s direction. The Fuhrer returns it with a tilt of his head.
“We know most people find our relationship to be unconventional,” the First Lady says. “And sure, we might have gotten married for the sake of the Fuhrer’s political career, but that’s not all there is to it.”
The Fuhrer looks over at the First Lady. “I love my wife, Miss Vause. But you have to understand that for most of our lives we had to operate within the rigid confines of the military code of ethics. Hell, it took me quite a while to even refer to her by her first name and we were already engaged by then.”
The First Lady nods. “The Fuhrer and I are very comfortable with the way things are because it’s what we’ve been accustomed to.” She pauses before huffing out a frustrated sigh. “And frankly, it’s a bit of a nuisance to see people completely misunderstand us.”
Nadiya carefully looks at the couple in front of her. Dashingly handsome Roy Mustang who was notorious for being a ladies’ man during his years as a bachelor. If it were all about political gain, he could have married the daughter of a wealthy businessman or better yet, the daughter of another politician. But out of all the eligible bachelorettes in Amestris, Mustang chose his bodyguard. Nadiya may not be all too familiar with the Amestrian military, but she’s always heard of Riza Hawkeye. A fearless sniper and among the very few notable female soldiers in Amestrian military history to have been awarded a Medal of Valor. She’s bred for battle and war, not for stuffy high society.
Yet again, Mustang chose her.
I love my wife, Miss Vause.
Without a doubt I’m sure, Fuhrer Mustang, Nadiya thinks to herself.
Nadiya sighs, but she punctuates it with a gentle smile. “I’m going to ask you both a question that might sound invasive, but I assure you I mean no malice by it.”
The Fuhrer looks at his wife and she nods her head.
Nadiya clears her throat and looks intently at the two. “The military is about performance and presentation. The formality of it all is part of upholding morale in the institution, yes?”
“Yes,” the First Lady agrees. “But like you said, it’s only part of it.”
“So I’m going to ask you—when no one is watching, when you’re behind closed doors and you don’t need to uphold these formalities, are you both capable of being intimate with one another?” Nadiya asks.
The Fuhrer raises an eyebrow at her. “By intimate you mean?”
Nadiya motions between the couple. “You know, physical and sexual intimacy?”
The First Lady visibly fidgets in her seat.
“By the way, in case you need to be reminded, everything we talk about here is strictly confidential. So be as honest as possible so I can know exactly how to help you,” Nadiya assures them.
The First Lady breaks through the silence first. “We’ve never really….umm….”
The Fuhrer’s ears turn a striking shade of red. “We’re working on it. I mean, we do sleep in the same bed.”
Nadiya nods assuringly. “So let me just clarify, in the eight months you’ve been married, you have never once engaged in any sexual activities together?”
“We embrace…occasionally,” the Fuhrer tells her almost defensively. “We’ve definitely held hands a few times, right?”
The First Lady gives a curt nod of her head, her discomfort manifesting even further in her increasingly stilted movements.
Nadiya takes a pause and assesses the two people sitting across from her. In her years of doing couple’s counselling, she has learned that the lack of sexual intimacy between couples can usually be narrowed down to two reasons: 1.) Both or either party grew up in hyper-conservative environments which can make initiating acts of intimacy very intimidating; or 2.) A simple absolute lack of desire on the part of either or both persons
Yet based on what Nadiya has observed so far, the first one is clearly inapplicable. As for the second reason, Mustang is undoubtedly besotted with his wife. Absolutely smitten in a way that he tries very hard not to make it so apparent, but the fact that he’s unabashedly relishing in her company gives him away almost immediately. As for Hawkeye, she’s definitely the more reserved one of the two.
Nadiya figures she can start with the First Lady.
“Fuhrer Mustang, would you mind stepping outside for a moment?” Nadiya asks. “I’d like to talk with the First Lady alone for a while.”
Confusion dawns on the Fuhrer’s features. He still hasn’t risen from his seat. “I don’t understand.”
Nadiya walks over to the door of her office, her hand already curling around the knob. “This is something I usually do. It’s part of these kinds of sessions.”
He faces his wife. “Will you—”
“I’ll be fine,” the First Lady answers immediately. Then the cadence in her voice shifts entirely. Something softer, more comforting. “It’ll be okay, Roy.”
The Fuhrer finally gets up, but before he leaves, he briefly squeezes his wife’s shoulder along the way.
Nadiya is finally alone with the First Lady who instantly composes herself just as Nadiya returns to sink back down in her seat.
“So, what’s your initial assessment so far, Miss Vause?” the First Lady asks. Her legs are crossed now, her hands folded on her knee. There’s a hint of a challenge in her tone.
Nadiya pours herself a cup of tea. She takes a careful sip of the warm chamomile. “I think there are matters which you both haven’t talked about with each other yet and unfortunately that’s preventing you both from crossing these invisible boundaries.”
The First Lady’s gaze wanders to the office door. “My feelings for my husband used to be…very complicated. Things happened in our past that made it so that whenever I thought about him, there were very few positive emotions that I would associate with him.”
“Do you still feel the same way?” Nadiya asks.
The First Lady shakes her head. Then, the smallest of smiles crosses her face. “I love him. I love him in a way that feels like I’ve been unmoored from so many messy, unbearable, and painful feelings.”
“Have you ever talked to your husband about any of this before?”
The First Lady shakes her head again. “I’ve never been good at that. He’s aware of that too. Unfortunately, he’s not very good at that either.” She chuckles dryly. “I think being soldiers sort of stripped us of most of our emotional intelligence to make room for all the guilt and trauma.”
Nadiya smiles at her. “Don’t underestimate yourself, Madame. Your astute self-awareness makes you quite emotionally intelligent.”
She simply laughs at that. Then she slowly curls into herself. Gone is the ramrod straightness of her spine. “It’s not that I resist the idea of intimacy with my husband. It’s just that...let's just say there are unsightly things about our past that might get unravelled if we do become intimate.”
“And you’re not ready for that?”
This time, the First Lady doesn’t shake her head. Instead she looks at the office door again. “I’m afraid it will undo everything I’ve carefully built between us for years.”
“Madame,” Nadiya leans in a bit more. “This thing that you’ve carefully built…is it both for you and your husband? Or is it more for your own emotional benefit?”
“It’s for us both,” the First Lady answers without hesitation. Then her voice lowers to a whisper that Nadiya has to lean in closer to catch her words. “Because I believe that if it gets torn down, he’d probably want to kill himself. And that in turn would kill me.”
*******
Fuhrer Mustang reenters the office just as his wife leaves the room. Nadiya catches them sharing silent nods of assurance. A soft smile. A hand barely grazing a wrist.
Then it’s just Nadiya and the literal head of state of Amestris.
“I hope she didn’t bemoan my snoring,” the Fuhrer says as he plops down in his seat. “Has that ever happened before, Miss Vause? Divorce by persistent sleep apnea?”
Nadiya laughs. “You’d be surprised to know that some couples I’ve worked with were willing to separate for far less.”
She half-expected a playful remark from the Fuhrer, but his demeanor instantly turns somber, shedding the layers of his rank until he appears just like any other man wading through the uncertain waters of married life. It's a familiar sight to Nadiya, but obviously it's completely uncharted territory for the Fuhrer.
“You’re incredibly perceptive, Miss Vause,” the Fuhrer tells her. He has a smile on his face as he talks, but the distinct warmth has worn off. “You could very well work for the military’s intelligence unit.”
“I’ve more or less had a similar offer once,” Nadiya says, fondly reminiscing the former Fuhrer’s little jokes. “But the military doesn’t appeal to me.”
“Believe it or not, but that used to be the First Lady,” the Fuhrer says. An ounce of warmth trickles in as he speaks. “Way, way back when we first met.”
“How did she end up joining the military?” Nadiya asks.
The Fuhrer sighs and he leans back against the chair. Unlike the First Lady, he’s more easily disarmed. Fingers twitching and pressing against each other.
“I think it was my fault,” he confesses. There’s a slight bitterness to his tone. As if this were a terrible truth he had fought hard to accept a long time ago. “I sort of planted the idea of the military in her head.”
Nadiya hums. “You know, Sir, sometimes, we tend to blame ourselves for the choices that other people make because we either want to believe we have that much of an influence over them or we simply wish to relieve them of the burden of their choices especially when they’re bad ones.”
The Fuhrer scoffs. “And you believe I fall under which of the two?”
Nadiya smiles. “The latter one, obviously. Like you said, I am quite perceptive. Even before you declared your love for your wife, I could tell that you do. Very much so, in fact.”
The Fuhrer laughs. “I’ve never been very good at hiding it. Even when I was her commanding officer. Don’t tell anyone that, though. Heaven forbid another scandal starts nipping at our heels.”
Nadiya smiles. “I think it’s lovely that you’re honest with your affections for her. But based on what I’ve observed so far, it seems that your military professionalism continues to overwhelm your civilian relationship, and unfortunately, it’s not doing you both any favors.”
A mild frown crosses the Fuhrer’s features. Less anger and more of exhaustion and frustration. “We’ve just…known each other for so long and most of that was within the context of being superior and subordinate. We couldn’t just tell each other how we were feeling. And so all of these complicated things, they’ve been sort of swept under the rug. I know she was quite upset with me before. I’d go even as far to say she abhorred me. But we never really talked about it. And as long as they managed to be resolved on their own, it was fine.”
There was no other way to describe it. Nadiya is witnessing two people who have never really bothered to sit down and talk to each other without the conversation needing to involve their professional duties and responsibilities. This was certainly quite new to Nadiya who only ever had to listen to the whiny diatribes of a lousy husband or the frustrated confessions of a repressed wife. Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye stand on equal footing with one another. Sure, Mustang was once Hawkeye’s commanding officer, but their subtle interactions alone have given Nadiya every bit of information she needs to conclude that ranks were merely their facades.
“It’s strange,” the Fuhrer says all of a sudden. “Back then I used to envy couples who can be openly affectionate. However, over time, I’ve grown quite fond of what I have with my wife. It’s like speaking a language that no one else in the entire world knows except for us.”
Nadiya nods. “I understand. The time you’ve spent together has definitely foregone the need for a ‘honeymoon phase’. In fact, I think it’s quite nice that you’ve both reached a level of mutual comfort and ease in your relationship. However, I also do think it has allowed for too much complacency.”
The Fuhrer’s gaze lands on the office door. “We know each other so well that sometimes…sometimes it’s hard to accept that there are things that we don’t know about each other at all.”
Nadiya rises to her feet and she makes her way to the door. “Well, we can start working on it. It might be slow and tedious, but it will be worth it.”
The Fuhrer grins and it’s no longer hollow. “I’ll look forward to it.”
*****
Nadiya never thought that her keen perceptiveness could ever be rivaled. However, as she watches the couple reunite in her office, their slight yet endearing awkwardness towards each other is proof of their impeccable sensitivity to one another, almost as if they could do away with words entirely.
Hence why they’re in this predicament in the first place.
“Now,” Nadiya begins. “I’ll leave you both with an assignment before we end.”
“Are we going to be graded afterwards?” the Fuhrer asks cheekily.
The First Lady simply rolls her eyes. Nadiya smiles.
“We’ll see after two weeks,” Nadiya continues. “You will return after two weeks.”
“Duly noted,” the First Lady says. “What’s the assignment?”
“The both of you…,” Nadiya tells them. “...shall bathe together.”
A deafening silence hangs thickly in the air.
The Fuhrer opens his mouth to speak, but his wife beats him to it.
“I don’t understand,” she tells Nadiya. “What purpose will this serve exactly?”
“Bathing with another person is an intimate, non-sexual act,” Nadiya says plainly. “It’s also an activity that will allow you to do something other than just sit around. Which means, even if you’re not ready to talk to each other, you don’t have to. You can just wash each other’s backs for all I care.”
The Fuhrer clears his throat. “Does it really have to be this activity in particular?”
Nadiya shrugs. “I mean, you don’t have to do it if you don’t really want to. It’s not as if I’m going to have Tess monitor you. It’s just that…the notion of being literally stripped bare of uniforms and ranks and titles, just naked and alone together without it being sexual, I think that’s going to be a conducive environment for you to be more…open and honest with each other.”
The First Lady nods. “I see.”
“You can start slow,” Nadiya suggests. “Stay partially clothed while sitting in the tub. Just anything that can get you from point A to point B.”
The Fuhrer casts a wary glance in his wife’s direction. “We’ll try.”
“Well then!” Nadiya stands up and she clasps her hands eagerly. “I’ll see you both back here in two weeks.”
******
The Fuhrer’s Official Residence
Riza runs the bath an hour after dinner. She’s still in her trousers and wool sweater. By her bare feet lies her ageing pet dog, Hayate. Riza crouches to the ground to run her hands through his black and white fur. Sensing her nerves, Hayate perks up and licks her hand.
“You always know, don’t you?” Riza whispers, amused. “Think I can be brave enough to do this?”
Hayate barks once and licks her face. Riza smiles.
“You’re right,” she tells him. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
“Oh, you’ve run the bath.”
Riza looks up to see her husband by the doorway. He has a relaxed grin on, but Riza can tell he’s just as apprehensive as she is.
She tells Hayate to move to the bedroom until finally they’re alone in the bathroom.
“Well…” Roy gently closes the door behind him. “Do we just do this at the same time or do we take turns? Shall we flip a coin?”
For some reason, Riza laughs. A bright, full-belly one that nearly has her tearing up. She notices Roy laughing as well.
“We’re the most pathetic couple in all of Amestris,” Riza says after catching her breath.
“I’ll take it,” Roy says. “Sounds like a unique title to hold.”
Another pause. Before Riza can say anything, Roy starts to unbutton his shirt and on instinct Riza turns the opposite way, her eyes trained on the tiled walls in front of her.
“I’m sorry,” Riza hears Roy tell her. “I should have warned you.”
“No, it’s fine.” she answers back. She can hear the rustling of clothes, the sound of a belt buckle and the whisper of a zipper. Riza closes her eyes as a gradual wave of dizziness creeps in. She takes a shuddering breath.
It’s Roy. Your husband. You love him and he loves you. It’s okay.
Riza’s hands are shaking, but she manages to pull off her sweater before neatly folding them and placing them on the bathroom counter. She still has her bra on and she knows that the band is thick enough to cover most of the array on her back.
But it doesn’t hide the scars.
This is the first time that Roy is seeing her bare back since he burned it.
For a moment, she hears nothing but the sounds of their breathing. And then—
“I’m so sorry…”
His voice is a whisper. Shaky as if it’s desperately holding onto crumbling pillars and he’s trying to keep them both safe from the falling debris.
“Riza, I’m sorry.”
She turns around to face him and she breaks. The pillars fall apart and what has been carefully built collapses into a heap.
They hold each other, arms scrambling to keep each other steady as their tears flow in unending streaks. Their apologies become lost in the mess of trembling gasps and wet sobs and Riza feels both heavy and light, fiery and cold, and singular and limitless all at once.
When Roy pulls them apart, he wipes her tears with his thumb and he kisses her forehead, her cheeks, and finally her mouth. Roy kisses her like he's in disbelief, like he’s just realizing that he’s finally able to perform alchemy for the first time. It’s clumsy yet eager and exuberant.
They stand there for a moment, catching their breaths, arms still around each other.
“Do you think we should still do the assignment?” Roy asks.
Riza tilts her head up to look at him. Courage surges through her and she kisses him. “I think we still have a lot to work on.”
“We better get in then,” Roy says while tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Before the water gets cold.”
*******
Roy squeezes out the extra water from the wash cloth before he slowly brushes it against the scarred skin of Riza’s back. Meanwhile his other hand pushes the wet strands of her blonde hair to the side.
“I’m due for a haircut,” Riza notices. “It’s getting too long.”
“You’re pretty either way,” he tells her. As if to make his point, he presses a kiss on the back of her head. “You’re always very pretty to me.”
Without saying a word, Riza leans back and Roy welcomes her in his arms. He sets the wash cloth aside, his hands finding her waist as he brings her closer to his chest.
“This is really nice,” Riza admits. “Miss Vause is frighteningly good at what she does. She should work for the military.”
Roy laughs. “I had the very same thought.”
They’re then quiet for a while and Roy simply basks in this uninterrupted solemnity. Of the sounds of their synchronous breathing, their chests rising and falling in perfect tandem.
“Can I tell you something, Roy?”
“Of course.”
A pause. A slight shift in their position.
“I never thought we’d ever be together like this,” Riza confesses. “When you suggested marriage back then, it felt so surreal to me. I actually thought I’d gone delirious.”
“Really now?” Roy asks, incredulous. As far as Roy can remember, when he jokingly told Riza that they should get married, she scoffed at him and in her typically stoic-fashion, reprimanded him to take his precarious approval ratings more seriously.
“You just seemed so…indifferent when I suggested marriage,” Roy tells her. “Granted I didn’t have the best delivery, but I was quite sincere. After all, I did make a promise to myself that it was either you or no one else."
“Really now?” Riza teases him. “You’re actually willing to stay unmarried for my sake?”
Roy sighs dramatically. “Heartbreaking for all the women of Amestris, I know.”
At that precise moment, a splash of water strikes his face and before his wife is able to launch another attack, he grabs her wrist just in time.
“You’re making it very difficult for me to remain a gentleman, Riza Hawkeye,” he says. It was supposed to be a lighthearted jab. Just another teasing remark intended as payback. But Riza blushes furiously at his statement and he releases his hold on her wrist.
Roy suddenly becomes acutely aware of their nakedness, the skin of their bodies in contact in a way that has never happened before.
“Perhaps some day, you can stop being a gentleman,” Riza tells him. Her voice is an almost whisper. As if she’s testing the waters with every word. But she doesn’t waver when she continues, “You don’t have to be with me.”
He takes in her brown eyes and the fierce assurance behind them. Roy can only pull her in for an embrace. More water sloshes outside of the tub. He doesn’t care.
“I love you,” Roy says.
He feels his wife’s arms tighten around him. “I love you too.”
They stay in the bath until the water turns cold.
*****
“Come in!”
Nadiya’s secretary enters with an armload of client profiles as well as the day’s newspaper.
“Here it is, Miss Vause,” her secretary says as she places the newspaper on the desk. “As requested.”
Nadiya thanks her secretary before turning her attention to the spread in front of her. She’s unable to suppress her smile as she sees the front page. There, right in the middle, is a photo of the Fuhrer and the First Lady. It appears to have been taken in the midst of an official event set outdoors. Despite the flurry of snowfall, the photographer managed to capture the very moment when the First Lady was wrapping a scarf around her husband. Their faces mere inches away from each other, their grins cloyingly sweet.
Winter Chill is No Match for the Fuhrer and First Lady’s Romance
Nadiya folds the newspaper and tucks it inside one of her drawers.
See, Grumman? It wasn’t that bad after all.
END.