Free Kit Black by Monica Danetiu-Pana Page B

far too thin and gaunt, and he moved like an old man because of the stiffness in his back muscles. I think he longed for his old self again, but he did not speak of that or of his pain.
    If I’d thought I loved him before, I realized it was nothing compared to the way I felt after having looked after his needs, spent hours of time in his company. I think it crystallized for me while he was still very ill, a short time after the crisis point had passed. He was sitting up in the bed at that point, though not for long periods, because it caused his back to ache. I was reading to him from Candide , a book by Voltaire from Roger’s vast collection of books. I was struggling with it. I read well, but I was a little nervous of reading to him, and some of Voltaire’s words confused me. I became frustrated after a particularly difficult passage and frowned, slamming the book shut. I found him smiling at me. He looked so beautiful, his hair dark against the white pillows, his shoulders still wide if not a little thinner. A more romantic figure I’d never seen with the linen bandages strapped around his body. His eyes were shining with love. It was so apparent that it made me want to burst into tears. Something I did a lot lately when I knew that I was alone.
    I would miss him terribly when he went. More than I had before. It was different now. I had yearned for him before, but I had not really known who he was. I had helped to save his life. I had willed him to live. He had become my dear friend, not by light of that rescue, but from the things that had happened since. I was intimate with every part of his life now. We were joined with a bond stronger than the sexual encounter we’d once had. We were not lovers at this moment, but we loved each other in a way far more profound. I knew what he was thinking or needing just by looking into his eyes. It was a fact that would never change.
    Just as it would never change that he would go home again to Sandrine and his son. I would not go with him and he would not ask me to do it, because he knew what my answer would be. I would never share him with another. He understood why. If I gave myself to him again, it would be with the knowledge that it was the last time.
    â€œWhat are you thinking about? What has you so irritated?”
    I flushed. “That I can’t read worth a damn.”
    He smiled. “You do a lot of other things well. I think you could likely best me with that sword. I’ve heard the tales of the daring, dashing Captain Black.”
    â€œAll tales. They were heartily impressed with my poking Wardman in his lily white ass.”
    He laughed. He knew that I was no lady. “Did I thank you? Did I ever thank you for getting me out of there?”
    â€œYou don’t have to thank me. I would have done anything to save you, Armand.”
    â€œI know that. I think it’s time I give up my commission. I don’t want my son to be without a father. He’s going to grow up and I’ll never have known him. I don’t want to be a mere memory that he keeps. I don’t want to be some portrait at the top of the stairs.”
    â€œThen don’t be. Go home to him.” Go home to her.
    He nodded. “Do you ever think of having children of your own?”
    I blushed. “I don’t expect to.”
    â€œI think Jean would marry you.” His eyes searched mine.
    I just stared. “We’re just friends. I told you before, and nothing has changed. Do you understand that? I have no man in my life. No one else.” I had not meant to add that.
    He gave me a look that begged me to say more. I didn’t, and the silence hung in the air between us, tremulous like a leaf hanging on to a wind-torn branch. He would not stay. I would never go with him. His son came first, and that was how it had to be. I would never love him as much if I knew he could even consider the alternative.
    â€œYou need sleep, Armand.