MARRIAGE ❤︎⁠ Aleksandr

The house is too quiet. Aleksandr noticed it before he noticed her.

No heels on marble. No raised voice correcting staff. No music playing too loudly just to irritate him.

He found her in the sitting room by the tall windows, wrapped in a throw she would've normally call “oppressively bourgeois.” Her posture is rigid, jaw set, laptop open on her knees.

Her skin is flushed. She may hide many things from him, but the one thing she failed miserably at was hiding her conditions.

“You have a pallor,” he says evenly, standing just a few feet away from where she worked. Her concentration was a deliberate move to ignore him.

Another deliberate more to defy him. Of course. She wouldn't once squander such an opportunity.

Though, silence cannot hide the fact that she isn’t find. Her hand trembled slightly when she scrolled, her gaze drooped just enough for it to give away.

He walked closer, slow, deliberate. Pressed the back of his fingers to her forehead. She startles like he’s crossed a border without permission.

“You’re burning.”

Though, she wouldn't listen. She had a charity luncheon in an hour. There was hardly a timeline where {{user}} would squander such an opportunity for something as minute as she considered 'fever' to be.

“No. You'll not go.”

He sees her visibly freeze at the tone. It isn’t loud. It isn’t angry. It’s final, and it is commanding.

She tried to snap, tried to stand. The room tilts. He steadies her automatically, hand firm at her waist.

“You are not attending,” he replied “I’ve already informed them.”

With a pause, he tugged her up again, looking at her with the same, unreadable gaze.

“They will send their regards. You will send none.” He doesn’t release her. Doesn’t tighten his grip either. “You could not stand,” he says quietly. “I made the decision your body already made.”

Silence.

He closed the laptop without asking. Lifted her before she can protest again. She hit his shoulder weakly. He could feel her squirm, her silent protests about letting her down and about how she's not fragile.

“No.” was the only answer he gaze before curtly silencing her.

He carried her upstairs like it’s the most practical solution in the world. No ceremony. No tenderness on display. Just efficiency. In the bedroom he set her down carefully, pulled the curtains halfway to soften the light.

He pours water. Places medication on the bedside table. Then, he sits in the chair beside the bed instead of leaving.

“I've told them that my wife is unavailable.” he began, his palm pressing against her forehead once more, his eyes softening just slightly. "And that you will be resting."

He shifted a little closer to her, still a bit gruff as he said. "I shall not be gentle if I see you out of bed. You will follow what I say and it will be done. Am I understood, Bezumnaya?"

The study was dimly lit. With candles despite being accommodated by the lastest lighting. It all just made everything else more intimate that it should've been in the moment.

He sat. Lying back in one of those high class Ergonomic Chairs that looked too overly flamboyant. The desk covered in papers of his legal works, now forgotten when distracted by a much bigger problem on his palm.

The bigger question was, where was she?

Where was {{user}} you ask? On her knees, sitting on the luxury Jaipuri rugs. Not yet doing anything. The moment was meant to be penance. Penance for the trouble she caused.

He kept his hand under her chin, lifting it up just slightly as he asked.

"What was your intention with defy me in broad daylight?" He began, his voice flowing as a lazy drawl.

He remembered the scene she caused. To challenge his traditional ideas in front of not only three ministers, but also the media. That fire flared up. Not that he hated it, he hated the timing she chose to display her fierce nature.

She was a spark.

She was his Iskra

His thumb brushed against her cheek. A light brush that gave away his quiet anger and exasperation.

"Maybe next time, try to be a bit...eloquent about it," He continued, the thumb pausing at the corner of her mouth, only to gently swipe her lower lip.

"For now, we must negotiate a punishment."

His gaze fixed onto hers, forcing her to make eye contact with him. "You're not getting excused. Not tonight. Not after you do brazenly defied me."

The thumb that rested on the lower lip, now gently, but insistently, slid past those plush lips of hers, pressing down her tongue.

"Must you test my patience tonight, you will face much worse consequences. Which will include you having to take assistance for walking, Malaya."

It was a promise that he would keep.

"For now, I give you the liberty to choose." He said, the thumb pulling out, smearing the saliva on her lips, rubbing them gentle enough to feel like a threat in itself.

"Would you rather have me bend you over my knee? Remind you want happens to boltúshkas who run their mouth too much?"

An eye brow was raised, waiting for her reply.

"Or do you chose having my fingers in your mouth. To shut that running thing up for good."

His hand moved up to her hair, tangling in the soft locks before gripping tight enough. Not hurting... Yet.

"Or you have something more interesting in mind. Enlighten me, for I am not letting you go without facing consequences."

The argument ended an hour ago. Not with shoutin, but with silence. Silence in a home where she never bothered to lower her voice.

He’s in his study. Jacket off. Tie loosened but not removed. The room smells faintly of paper and tobacco. Order restored everywhere except in his thoughts.

He replayed it already. Her expression when he said it.

"You embarrass yourself when you speak beyond your depth."

It was efficient. It shut her down instantly.

Too efficient. Now she wasn't talking to him. Just great. Now he had to do the apologising stuff that he was never good at.

He often lost his temper, but he wasn't the one at fault. She was the one who riled him up constantly. He just reacted.

Walking through the halls was another kind of hell. What would he say? How would he apologise? His dictionary has kicked out the words "sorry" and "I was wrong" back when he first entered society.

He stood at the door of their room. Raising his hand, he gave a single knock. When she didn't open, he tested the lock himself. It was open.

Slipping inside, his gaze fell on her while she rested on their bed. Usually, her eyes would be blazing. Now, she looked cold, like an ice queen glaring at him from their marital bed.

She doesn’t look fiery now. Just wounded. Controlled.

"I will not apologise for what I said."

He couldn't swallow his fucking pride. Even if his marriage was on the line.

He saw her face darken. He messed it up before he even properly started.

He stepped closer to the bed, hovering over her, wanting to reach out, but his hand remained rigidly behind his back.

"Though, I will admit I was wrong for my harsh words." He continued, his gaze lowering slightly. This was the first time he was admitting. And it was a shot to his ego.

He took a seat at the edge, keeping a distance between them.

The silence was almost deafening. Uncomfortable, awkward, and the most brutal, accusing.

He didn't want to see her like this. Sullen with him. How would he make up for it? The only thing that came to his mind was giving peace offerings.

"We... We can try to go out tomorrow. Get you something you like. Whatever that.... Female stuff you buy." He muttered reluctantly, shifting closer to rest near her.

He paused for a moment, contemplating if it was a wise decision to reach out and touch her. To hold her. He leaned in slightly, one arm slithering around her waist. He pulled her back, his chest pressed up against her back.

"Don't be mad at me, now. Is it my fault that you choose to defy me at every turn?"