“She flinches. A lot. Any time someone makes a sudden move near her, she

shies away, covering her head.” He made a face.

Adrian arched his eyebrow. “Does it surprise you?”

Christopher sighed. “No, not really. I just wish… she didn't do it to me, that

she trusted me not to hit her. I suppose it's too soon.”

“Does she shy away from every touch?” Adrian asked.

“Not at all, she's quite… affectionate.” His cheeks warmed at the pleasant memories those words stirred. “Just easily spooked.”

“Well then, she's not reacting to you. It's the movement,” Adrian reassured his son.

“Right. Of course.” Christopher pondered. “Do you think she'll ever stop

doing that?”

“Perhaps,” Adrian allowed cautiously, “but even if she doesn't, is it so bad?

Many people have one or more annoying mannerisms, like nail biting or

mustache twirling. I used to know a girl who chewed on her hair. It was revolting.”

“Yes, it's bad.” Christopher made a face. “Biting one's fingernails isn't very

tidy, but it's hardly the same thing. Do you really think I want a wife who recoils

from every movement?”

“It doesn't mean she mistrusts you,” his father pointed out. “She can't help it.”

Christopher looked out the window. The cold weather barely allowed for a

dreary drizzle. A few degrees colder and ice would pelt the city. The bone-chilling droplets obscured the unlovely view of the tenement across the street.

He debated whether to say more. I shouldn't… she'd be embarrassed, but we're

married. Everyone knows what that means, and I need advice about how tohandle this. At last, he blurted, “We were making love at the time. All I wanted was to caress her face.”

“Sorry.” Adrian grimaced. How unpleasant that must have been at such an intimate moment. “You know, son, in all marriages, there are things each spouse dislikes about the other. That's simply the nature of close relationships. You're not required to like everything about her in order to have a happy union, and I'm

sure I don't have to tell you there will be things about you she does not prefer as

well.”

Christopher nodded.

“Listen,” Adrian continued, “you're putting a great deal of pressure on

yourself. Any marriage would have created this same period of adjustment.

Allow yourself to dislike things about her—they don't imply you dislike her—

and then remind yourself what is good about her. She's affectionate, she plays the pianoforte well, and she is quite lovely. I'm sure you can think of more positive qualities. Aren't all those things much better than a little nervous gesture she can't control?”

“Of course.” Christopher scowled, affronted at the very suggestion.

“More will come, good and bad,” Adrian reminded his son. “That's real life.

That's your marriage becoming real. Does it help any to think of those things?”

“Some. I just wish she hadn't been so terribly hurt.” Distress twisted

Christopher's scowl into an expression of sad vulnerability.

“You know,” Adrian said thoughtfully, “she may not be the only one with

some grieving to do.”

The unexpected comment seemed to jar Christopher from his

contemplations. “What do you mean, Father?”

“Just this,” Adrian replied. “You care about her. You've married her, and she

belongs to you. That means her suffering affects you. She's not the only one who

lost things she wanted. Weren't you cheated of a normal courtship, of the opportunity to take your time with her and let the relationship develop more naturally?”

“Yes.” The bleakness in his son's voice rivaled the view through the office window.

“Doesn't it bother you?” Adrian insisted.

“Yes.” Christopher ceased staring at the rain and focused on his desk.

“You now have to look at this woman—your wife—and see painful injuries on her body and know someone harmed her and you were powerless to prevent

it.” I wish I didn't have to say it, but he can't pretend it isn't an important aspect of their relationship.

“I know. I hate that!” Christopher exclaimed, audibly grinding his molars.

“You should hate it. It's monstrous.”

“My poor Katerina.” Christopher's voice broke. He looked out the window

again for a long moment. Then, eyes red, he turned back to his paperwork, ending the conversation.