What the hell am I doing? I am sitting in my office, at my desk, staring out the window at the falling snow, my mind more or less a blank. I glance around quickly at the surroundings and sigh quietly. Leaning forward, I take the frame sitting on my desk and hold it, almost reverantly. It is of my wife. This brings an involuntary smile to my lips. In all of the misery, tyranny, and hardness, she is the sole light of beauty and goodness in my life. She has never strayed from my side, and even I cannot fool myself into believing it is solely out of love. She fears me. It is very simple. She fears me and my power. It emanates from her whenever I draw near to her. There is nothing I wouldn't do for her, and I would never hurt her. But there is no way I can make her believe this. She wants things I cannot give her. She wants the warmth and comfort of a normal life. You cannot have a normal life when you're married to one with as much power as I. The power I wield puts any mob, crime syndicate, or government to shame. She wants for nothing, and yet I cannot give her what she wants. I close my eyes and rub them hard. I have not slept much in the past couple of days. I rise and wander slowly out of my office and throughout the maze of hallways, nodding to those that nearly bow before me. I make my way through several wings to my secluded residence. I ascend the stairs and open the door to our bedroom slowly. She is asleep in the cut-out bay window, a blanket nearly falling off of her legs. She has on the white dress that makes her look like an angel. Hell, anything makes her look like an angel. I walk over to her quietly and look down at her. She is nearly eight months pregnant with our first child and I lay a hand softly on her growing stomach. She stirs slightly and whimpers. Even in her sleep, she is uncomfortable around me. I move to sit down near her and stare. The backdrop of the falling snow makes her look ethereal. She is the world to me and I long to reassure her; to simply sit with her and hold her without her shaking or crying at my touch. I have offered to let her go several times, but she chooses to stay. I guess this is a good thing, but I don't know why she does. Maybe in some consideration, she does love me. She stirs again and her head falls to face me. I simply sit here, looking at her. I have never been very good at expressing my feelings to anyone, including myself. But sitting here, looking at her, I feel my eyes grow wet, and a tear begins to fall down my left cheek. I can have anything in this world?.except the one thing I want. I lean forward to put my head in my hands and begin to cry in earnest. I have never cried, that I can remember. Even as a child, I don't think I ever cried. I was taught not to cry. I am crying more because I am thinking about something she said a couple of days ago. When I was talking to her about the child, in answer to one of my questions, she placed her hands upon her stomach protectively and in a very small voice, said "I am afraid this child will become his father". She burst into tears and ran from the room. I was stunned and for the past couple of days, have shut that remark from my mind. But I hear her saying that now, and it hurts?..badly. My tears are flowing freely, and I am almost sobbing. I feel something on the back of my head and I whip upright quickly. She is awake, staring at me sorrowfully, her hand extended. She stops at the sight of my crying and I sit back, no longer hiding my face. She looks startled and swing her legs around slowly to face me. "Giovanni?," she asks quietly. I close my eyes then, the tears still flowing freely and I take a shuddering breath. She drops down from the windowsill and kneels at my feet, laying her soft hands upon my knees. "Giovanni? What's wrong?" I think the total absence from my normal façade has frightened her and she is staring up at me with total concern. I open my eyes and look down at her upturned face. I reach out and cup her chin softly, breaking a small smile to her. She cocks her head and reaches up, some of the fear melting away from her. She touches my face and wipes at the tears still falling. She looks at me like I am human now?..for once?.in ten years. She pulls herself up and clumsily wraps her arms around my neck, her protruding stomach hindering her movements. Her head rests against my own and she murmurs softly, hushing me like a child. Oh, the times I have wanted to be like this, to feel her comfort me in all of my hidden fears. I am a strong man, but even strong men need to feel warmth and comfort. "Oh Giovanni, what is wrong?" I have never heard the wealth of emotion as I do now in her voice. I don't even know what to say to her. She kisses behind my ear softly and holds me. "I am so sorry for being your misery." She stops at this. It is very cold in the room. I don't know why she turns the heat down at times, but I do not question this. She turns slightly, struggling with the extra weight she is carrying and pulls the blanket from behind her, draping it over my shoulders. That such a simple action could mean so much, and I feel the tears quicken. She murmurs to me as one would to a small child, and I realize what a wonderful mother she will be. I stand then, and help her to her feet. She watches me closely, concern reflecting in her eyes. I pull myself up, attempting to hold onto the walls that I have built for myself and I realize that I am so tired?.so drained. She reaches beneath my suit coat and encircles my waist and I am startled by this. I follow her lead to the bed and I sit down, leaning forward to lay my head in my hands. She stands before me and runs her fingers through my hair. I am mesmerized by this. It has been so rare for her to touch me of her own volition?.not that I have ever blamed her. I have never blamed her for anything. I hear her moving and look up to see her moving into the bathroom. I stand and follow slowly after her, and she emerges quickly with a washcloth. She reaches up and wipes at my eyes so gently, and I close them, sighing raggedly. She finishes and tells me to lay down. I listen to her and sit on the edge of the bed, finding my strength so gone. She pulls at my suit coat and I shrug it off for her. She is so small in the gown she is wearing and as the seconds go by and my exhaustion seeps its claws into me more and more, I think she really is an angel. "I'm so sorry I am not the husband you want me to be?." I am silent then, and I hear her begin to cry. She drops softly to her knees and begins to cry. I stare at the top of her head and touch her hair. "and I'm so??so sorry I am not the father you want for the child." She lets out a sob and looks up at me, shaking her head. "I don't know if you have ever loved me, and I am sorry for the life I have made you live." She struggles to get up, and I pull her to me, revelling in the scent of raspberries and peaches that is totally her own. She kisses me soundly on the lips, and somewhere deep, every wall I have ever built for myself has crumbled with that one kiss. There is a sincerity in her eyes that is simply truth in its purest form. "I do love you, Giovanni." I stare at her; what could I possibly say? She kisses me again, and presses her body against mine, in a gesture of love and trust. "You are as good of a husband as you know how, and I love you for that." I allow myself to wrap my arms around her, and I am numb with the feeling of holding her. She rests her head against my own and whispers, "and you will be as good a father as you know how, and I will love you for that, too." She moves to lay against me and I weakly wrap my arm around her. I hear her sigh softly as she nestles against me and I feel something as I drift to sleep that I don't believe I have felt in many ages?? Hope.
