01 septembre 1803
Roma, Italie

Dearest Journal-Friend,

It is official, and at least upon paper and in the eyes of those that are holy and care for the propriety of such things, I am free from Romano. Though some still scowl and whisper that my mourning period was too short for one first made an orphan, and then a widow with no surviving family, they do not know. Romano is not about to leave my heart or my memory soon, though there is no grief or mourning involved. Neither shall I forget Michel. I hope he lived long enough to see that I would survive, even if not as I'd imagined growing old.

It angers me when they speak of "no surviving family". When they say that, what is mean is that I have been too long without a father, a brother, or a husband to look after me. Yet, I am more than capable of handling my own affairs. Even if I come from a world where women of higher station than I could barely read or write, Maman would have no such thing. She often looked down upon La Reine for being able to sign her own name no better than a child, though to speak such thoughts should have been treason and scandalous indeed.

I learned to read and write and to keep accounts, and even something of history and politics, though Papa said such things were frivolous and should make me headstrong. Men would not want a woman who was too well-learned or too greatly entertaining, for men like to know their wives are in need of them and not to be troubled with jealousies. One who is too dull and plain is a liability, though one who is too sharp-minded and lovely causes worry. Men do not wish to worry about having taken an unfaithful and disobedient wife.

Maman's reply was very wise indeed. She said, "Men are foolish and could learn from the peasants. When tragedy strikes, a peasant woman is one of strength, not one who must be cared for like a child. When it is time to bear children, a peasant woman does not lie in bed with curtains drawn for three months praying for a son. A peasant woman is an intelligent creature who knows when her serving-girl or her husband is stealing from her, and when the butcher gives her less than what she paid. Why we consider this ill-mannered, I do not understand, except the insecurities of men weaken our people."

People always said Maman was quite sharp-tongued and did not know her place, as she married to her advantage when my father chose her. Yet, I think he chose her because she behaved as if she were born to rule and never pretended otherwise. People feared her. Because of her, I did learn to read and write and do sums as well as any boy, and learned to sing and dance. I have aptitude for music, though none for embroidery nor painting. 

I did not inherit Maman's strength from her, though I believe my Odelie did. When she was born, her blue eyes opened a bit, took in the world, and stared at it as if in defiance. I do think of them often, my children, and though I shall never be there to see them grow, I imagine what they shall be someday. I daydream that one day I shall find them and hug them. I know such things cannot be, for I shall not look a day older than I do at this moment. I still find peace in imagining who they will grow to be. 

It is Odelie I worry for the least. The best of Maman shall kill the shadow of her father. I cannot think of her as Romano's child any more than I think of the father of my other children. If I thought of such things, I should be filled with hatred for my own children. They should become symbols of my suffering and reminders of loss. 

In my mind, the period of mourning has been nothing short at all and if I have sinned, I have atoned in my thoughts and my boredom. The only way to be free of Romano officially was to become who I am now, Duchessa Eleonora Delphine Orsini, though I am still called Eleni by those close to me. It is thought an exotic name, just as they believe I am an unusual and exotic woman here. 

I have some enemies, I know. I think women must exist in society just to make enemies of other women. They speak of me and of Lucretia in hushed tones, calling us libertines. There are so few vices available, I should not be such even if I did wish to, and sometimes I do wish this. It is a dreadfully dull, repetitive place where people pray three times each day. I think an all-knowing being should not need such frequent updates.

Antonio tells me I made a stunning bride, though everything was so much more conservative than I should have liked. What is the use of having a face that is pleasing to look upon, and then to hide it behind a long, hot veil? We have a private church upon our lands and it is not truly a church, for it unconsecrated ground. It is a building that gives us the appearance of respectability without bursting into flames. I do think Antonio is a smart man, and thus far he has been a kind one. He wishes me to continue to learn and listen, about politics and gossip and whatever else others worry over.

He has told me there shall be another refugee from my world, the Marquise de Roussel. Her given name is Evienne, and she is but a few years older than me and dwelling in Paris under an assumed identity. He says she is "an independent woman", which is a polite way of saying that in this new world where a noblewoman is the worst thing one can be, she has chosen to live as a kept woman or a prostitute. It shocked me to know she was still desirable despite this. Antonio smiled, and told be I must understand a different world now, where people are free and have choices. It is not the world of the Churches and the Courts, but both are suffering.

I did not even make pretense of a smile at this, for I know from my father what it means when a woman no one knows is brought by a man to Court. It is either a relation embroiled in some difficult life circumstance, or the man is keeping her as his mistress. This is especially true when the woman is of much lower rank and the man is not free to take a wife. I am afraid I felt the emotion known as jealousy and did not hide it well, for the indignation of being told of a mistress on one's wedding night was indeed humiliating. 

There was a dramatic few minutes indeed when I stormed out of the manor and into the gardens. I trust flowers so much more than people. Antonio was chagrined, and said I had misunderstood. He thought I should be happy having another Frenchwoman about. She is being brought here as a wife for his brother, and though that did not eliminate all doubt in my mind, it eased things a bit. He put his arms about me and told me I was charming to be envious, and it seemed to awaken some feeling in him I did not know he possessed for me. Antonio had treated me almost like a sister, even when we exchanged vows, I assumed he could not feel desire for me because--well, I am like him. I suppose it does make me more like family, or a companion, than one to be desired.

This was something I did not understand, and I was not correct. I learned others like me will still desire me, and I them, though not all. I learned have learned that so much is different about me now, that something in me is indeed quite bold and knows how to enjoy the things men and women do together when it is not a sort of punishment. Antonio told me that marriage is not as simple as vows and a piece of paper for us, that it involves the sharing of blood three times to bond to one another. 

He also told me he would not expect this from me if I did not feel for him, as marriage is a political arrangement but bonds are made from the heart. He said that if I wished to love him, it would be my choice.I looked confused and I did not know the right words to say. It was then I realised something very important. 

At long last, I am allowed to choose. It made me wish to weep, knowing that even if it is a thing that is kept secret, there is a world in which I may choose what happens to me and who I love.

I do not think I have ever been so happy, and now it is a beautiful time to celebrate my new life indeed.

Your devoted and ecstatic,

Eleni

November 19th, 2015
Aubrey Parish, Louisiana

Although the curfews that had slowed the city to an even slower pace than usual for the past two weeks were beginning to give the town cabin fever, life at Mudbugs hadn't changed much. Though things happened on an earlier time table, it was still the scene for celebrations and arguments, love affairs and decades-long enmities. Chance still kept guard with his intimidating presence, watchful eye, and baseball bat. Eleni still decorated the stool near the entrance, people coming in to flirt and gossip as if they were paying court to a Princess. It is what Chance called her, and she lived up to the endearment so well it made Keegan both infuriated and ill to watch.

Keegan Draesia had not been upset about the curfews, not in the slightest. If he couldn't go out into the world, it gave him a sense of comfort to know everyone else in the Parish was doing the exact same thing when the sun went down. Keegan spent a lot of time feeling isolated and different, and the whole city being safely tucked in their beds watching television after dinner gave him a strange sense of belonging and companionship. It was as if he could feel the town with him, keeping him company.

Misdemeanour offenses in Aubrey Parish were often dealt with quickly and fairly, bypassing trials, long stays in the local jail, and what most would call the criminal justice system. Instead, the Sheriff typically handed out a fine and an appropriate punishment. It was open to appeal, of course, though few did. If anyone asked the residents of the Parish, it would be said that Colton Ormond was an old-school Sheriff who was fair and believed in paying debts rather than suffering punishments. He lived by the rules of karma without knowing what it was.

As punishment for his little public outburst with a deadly weapon, Keegan had been sentenced to thirty days of house arrest. Since Keegan lived and worked in the same building, it meant he was relatively isolated from the rest of the world. However, the rest of the world was free to come to him, and he had pretty much everything a person needed in a single building. He was permitted to go outside the the area directly near Mudbugs, but if he stepped too far in any direction, an annoying alarm and red flashing light activated.

He wasn't the sort of person to mind the confinement, or the solitude. Keegan wasn't all that alone at Mudbugs, with Chance and the constant influx of people, and he could cook during the day and live the life he'd normally lived anyway when the dinner rush died down. He didn't really have much use for the entertainment others used to pass the time. In his heart, he was never alone as long as he could feel Ava somewhere nearby. The distractions of life took her away, and too many voices made it harder to hear her. Keegan felt the most lonely when people were surrounding him, which is why so few met the chef they wished to compliment. It was his food that was meant to be enjoyed, not him.

Three days into his sentence, Keegan fell apart. His breakdown started when he first realised something so devastating that it had him on the verge of tears all day long.

He wouldn't be able to visit Ava on Sunday, nor for a month of Sundays. For over seven years, he'd never missed a Sunday visit, climbing into her window when the rest of the world was hung over, at church, or enjoying time with the family.

She was his family, his church, and his alcohol. Each week, he stopped at the florist on Saturday and bought the same thing. Twelve white roses tied with a pink ribbon adorned the little table beside her bed, a breath of fresh air and springtime in a place that time had otherwise forgotten. He put them in a crystal vase with engraved flowers Ava had always used when he'd brought her flowers, her emerald eyes sparkling with joy.

"It isn't often people think of me, you know. I mean, not for the right reasons. It makes me feel like a little Queen because you do."  Her small face glowed every time, and he basked in her warmth as she pulled him into her arms. He still heard the words each time he put the flowers in the vase, her whisper reminding him of being held by warm, pale arms and hair the scent of cherry bark and vanilla. Her embrace was always there, waiting to pull him close and bring him home to her.

He'd never forgotten, not even after all these years. She wouldn't understand if he suddenly forgot her. She'd never forgive him. 

He'd never forgive himself. 

It was Eleni who found Keegan on the second floor of Mudbugs, a quiet space that was usually empty despite the beautiful view of the rain and the city the balcony afforded. It was designed for couples who wanted to go out yet maintain some level of privacy. As it turned out, those who came to the restaurant weren't that big on privacy. Chance often rolled his eyes and mentioned needing buckets of cold water to go along with the bat.

When he heard her footsteps, he straightened up quickly and inhaled his remaining tears. His eyes were red and bloodshot and his cheeks were puffy, so he avoided turning to look at her. Keegan was happy to not have to set eyes on Eleni most days. It didn't matter, though, and he knew it. She could detect emotion with little effort and he knew it. Eleni's results were more accurate if she sensed through touch, which was why he'd so far never let her put a finger on him. Keegan didn't know if Eleni saw the way he saw through her, but it was a definite part of the double-sided animosity

"What's wrong? You've been crying." Eleni sipped her usual Chance concoction, high-end whiskey with cherries that he'd somehow sweetened as if they were candy. "Are you having a hard time with everything that's been going on? I think if I had to spend a month in any place within the Parish, it would be this one."

Eleni's voice held a note of warmth, and he can hear the delicate movements that indicated she's decided to sit down. This annoyed him. He didn't ask for company, and she was never subtle about going where she wasn't wanted. Someone with her gift had to know, so it was almost as if she didn't care.

"Considering you spend all day on a bar stool gossiping with my boss and letting men buy you drinks, it wouldn't be a change for you, would it?" His voice snapped, almost viciously. "It has nothing to do with that. For someone who understands feelings so well, you're terrible at this game."

Eleni merely chuckled and responded. "How, pray tell, would you have the faintest suspicion I understand feelings well? I've never given you that impression." She sipped her drink, her tone almost flippant. "You have no idea what I do with my time when I'm not here."

"Right. I forgot. Sleeping with my boss counts as part of your job description." He stared straight ahead. "What do you want, Eleni?"

She paused, lingering in the silence like a note waiting to be struck. "i wanted to help you, though God knows why. You're horrible to me for no apparent reason, and you're not even close. Chance never laid a finger on me and never would. You're terrible at this game, too."

Keegan didn't say anything, though he felt a momentary twinge of remorse. "It's nothing you can help with anyway. I'm sad. I'm whatever is the level beyond sadness. This ankle thing means I can't go see Ava. She's going to think I forgot her, okay? She's going to be hurt and it's all my fault." The tears start to wobble in his voice. "I promised her I'd never forget."

Eleni sipped her drink in silence, wondering how lucid Keegan actually was. The way she saw it, he perpetually walked a fine line between sanity and dwelling in an imaginary world that would bring him the kind of happiness this one could not. "When you say you can't go see Ava..."

"I'm not crazy, you know. You don't have to be a condescending bitch about it."  Keegan wheeled around, facing Eleni. Something about the way she looked at him made him want to poke her eyes out. "I know I don't see Ava. But I do, in my way. Every Sunday, I visit her room and bring her favourite flowers. I just--talk to her. It feels like she's still there, you know. She doesn't get many visitors, not anymore. I think she looks forward to seeing me."

Eleni's eyelids blink quickly, feeling the tears that aren't there. "I actually do know. You're not the only one who knows what it feels like to lose someone. Why do you think I left my house and my life to come here for a while? It was like living with the ghost of the life I should have had. It hurt too much." She toyed with her glass idly. "I know she looks forward to seeing you, Keegan. Believe it or not, I understand your pain."

Keegan turned away, staring out into the distance. "We're nothing alike. You left your dead husband's world behind because memories felt like a punishment. For me, they're all I have. I don't have much of a life, Eleni. What I have is her, and this place, and that's all I need. I'm not like you. I won't forget. I tried, and I failed."

There is little regret or sadness in his voice, thought it cracks painfully. "I blamed it on Azzie but the truth is, I couldn't bring myself to replace Ava. It isn't that I can't move on. It's that I don't want to. Letting her go would kill us both."  He sniffled away tears. "I never missed a Sunday. Now I'll be gone so long she'll forget me."

There is an impatient sigh from Eleni's lips, one that reminds him she doesn't always like him any more than he likes her. "She won't ever forget you, I promise you that. What if there was still some way to visit her, though? It would not be exactly the same, but you'd be there. Do you think that would be okay?"

The allure of the words was too much for Keegan to ignore, and he turned around to face her. "What do you mean? If I go out of range or take this thing off, it beeps. I couldn't make it to her before they'd haul me off."

Eleni chuckled, her eyes drifting down to the monitor. "We're the same height, did you ever notice that? Much to my great chagrin, you can't weigh more than ten pounds more than I do. We could pass for siblings if people didn't know better." 

She watched him, waiting for him to pick up on where she was going with this. "You'd have to go at night, when everyone sleeps but us. But you take a pill, a diuretic. It makes the water leave your body so you can slip the ankle monitor off. It could easily then fit on my ankle and I would stay here under the blankets so it looks as if you're the usual sleeping blob."

Keegan's eyes fly wide open, a ray of hope lurking within them. "Why...why would you do that for me, Eleni? And how will I get the monitor back on? People will notice it doesn't fit anymore."

A small peal of laughter came from Eleni, who obviously delighted in finding ways to torture the rules. "You take a sodium tablet and drink some water once we put the bracelet back on. You puff back up and no one knows the difference." Eleni paused, and murmured, "Why? I really should not care to help you, you are right. But I know what it is to lose someone and not even know what happened or why." An almost derisive snort hides the pain in Eleni's voice. "At least no one thinks you killed her."

Keegan's shoulders slumped. Suddenly, he was finding it harder and harder to hate Eleni. "Every Saturday, I get her flowers. A dozen white roses with a pink ribbon for Ava. They will think I am going to her if I pick them up, but I can't go without Ava's flowers." His eyes are heavily lidded and full of desperation as he sees Eleni, the fight having left him.

"I'll get the flowers. It shall be a good idea if I let everyone know I am taking them in your place. It is believable, and people here rarely question me. After all.." Eleni looked down, examining perfectly manicured nails. "I do technically work for the Red Question now. I suppose it's more mine than anyone else's, though I've not been there since Victor.."

Keegan felt afraid to breathe for a moment, but he finally did. "Hey, Eleni? Can I ask you a favour?"

"Of course."

"I know you don't like me very much, and you don't have to do anything for me. Please, though, for Ava? Please don't take her from me. That room in the Red Question belongs to Ava. It's her home. It's not just a memorial or burial place. I think it's the only true happiness she ever knew, and I will never forget she shared it with me. Please, Eleni, don't take that from her. Don't take her from me."

Eleni's heart felt as if it would break into two. It wasn't the sort of favour she expected. "Keegan, I do not know why you hate me so. I have no idea why you believe I should ever be so heartless and cruel. I would never let anyone hurt her, or take what you have left of her. I know how much it means, perhaps more than anyone you'll ever meet."

Eleni could see Keegan's face turn a whiter shade of pale, and he was flustered when he finally replies. "I don't hate you. I don't understand how you can love people and lose them, and go on with life flirting and drinking and laughing as if it doesn't matter. The whole merry widow act makes me very angry, Eleni. It hurts my soul to watch it."

She tilted her head in her thoughtful way and murmured, "I was very young when I learned of Death. I saw many, many people die. It does not matter if someone sleeps on a street corner or wears a crown, it ultimately does not discriminate." Eleni leaned in, her whisper contained. "If I have learned anything, it is that mourning drains the soul. Life is for the living, Keegan. I always keep the memories, but I go on living because I do not regret survival. It is that way when you fight for it."

Eleni's lips turned into a consoling smile as she makes her way back down toward the stairs, touching Keegan's shoulder in sympathy."I have fought Death, Keegan, and I won. Do not think I am unaware there will be a rematch."

That Saturday night, Eleni broke away from the crowd at Mudbugs and into Keegan's room, the last place anyone in the Parish would look for her. On the nightstand, she had placed a dozen long-stemmed white roses, neatly tied with a pink ribbon. 

Almost two weeks after confiding in her, Keegan watches Eleni curiously as she mingles in among the group of people who populate Mudbugs. As there often is in the evenings after dinner, a crowd gathers around the bar. She is speaking to a man who doesn't seem to pay much attention to what she is saying, although he buys her a drink and looks at her as if she were an object on display instead of a person.

He frowns, wanting to rush down there and throw the guy in a puddle in the rain.

It must be hard for her, he thinks to himself. Everyone comes here to see her, but no one really does. She is a woman, not a sculpture.

In that moment, Keegan doesn't remember hating Eleni. Instead, he remembers the figure of a terribly young, dark-haired woman. She is perched seductively on top of a piano while everyone, including him, stares in her direction. "I don't really like crowds," she admitted in a whispered voice, taking his hand to lead him away.

When a vaguely familiar man jogs in wearing nothing but running gear and pushes his way through the well-dressed crowd to get to her, a sense of sadness envelops his heart. As Eleni takes his hand and walks through the crowd with him, a tear falls. He only sees Ava in her perfect black robe, and recalls his own eagerness to be alone with her, somewhere, anywhere. 

I wasn't using you, Ava. I wasn't like all the others. You were my life the moment I met you.

Keegan's eyes don't leave Eleni and her too-scantily clad male companion, wondering why the scene always looks the same, men courting women with a mixture of bravado and fear. The man would always look strong, even obnoxious, while shaking inside and terrified of rejection. The woman would always lower her lashes, smiling as if though she'd never been complimented before. Everything about it was a lie. The scene was the same masquerade people agreed to wear for one another, over and over again. Shouldn't it look more like love?

Not for the first time, Keegan hopes that Ava knew how much she was loved. It wasn't infatuation, and it wasn't ordinary lust they had shared, but genuine love. It wasn't what he saw when he saw Eleni and noticed the way she accepted each compliment gracefully, but without feeling. It was as if being wanted too often had made Eleni cold, unable to tell the difference between desire and love. She didn't want to be hurt, so she chose to feel as little as she could. She didn't see the way her choice hurt others.

That was the real reason Eleni made Keegan so angry. Eleni had been given so much, and yet she was jaded, refusing love and settling for illusion.  Keegan wanted to strangle Eleni because she had let the world take what was pure and sweet from her a long time ago, and yet she was still here. Ava would never do that, but she was gone. There was no justice in the way the world worked.

Ava was not as physically flawless, nor as statuesque as Eleni, but she was desirable and lovely in a very different way. Eleni didn't attract him. Keegan found no charm in the way she appeared cold, perfectly created and painted, made of too-visible bones and sharp edges. Eleni was almost like marble. Ava was real, all flesh and warmth and emotion. Ava was true beauty and he felt more desire in her presence than was right, but it wasn't wrong, either. He just loved her.

Men and women alike stared at Ava all day, every day, but she was untouched by it all. The world she called home could have corrupted her. Ava was unique and strong. She didn't let it ruin her as Eleni had. Instead, Ava retained a kind of purity, an innocence no one could take from her. She still knew how to love. Ava hadn't ever turned cold inside.

Had she?

He wonders if Eleni is ever tired of being watched, and face full of guilt, turns away and retreats to his room. Keegan's head spins as he climbs the stairs.

Ava was a warm, loving soul who would give of herself until there was nothing left. He never saw her cry or look resentful.

She never would have left him on purpose. Ava wouldn't have hurt him like this.

Whatever pain she suffered, she had to know it would get better. He would always find a way to rescue her.

She knew that, didn't she?

The tears flow freely into Keegan's pillow as he buries himself under the blanket. Victor was dead, but nothing had changed. The pain hadn't left, the questions had no answers, and peace was still so far from his grasp.

It wasn't Eleni who made him feel so angry and so full of hate, after all.

It is with a mixture of trepidation of regret that Marius comes wandering by Mudbugs that evening. It is not the first time he'd done so since the last day he saw Eleni, but for some reason, the early morning rituals of an empty bar and the familiar silhouette that made his heart skip a beat had come to an end. He knows it is his fault. He is not one to make a woman feel rejected or offended, especially one he truly wanted in his life. Marius simply didn't know how to explain to her that wanting someone and being good for someone were two different things.

Something about the normally well-groomed Navy man is different today. He is not out for a jog but certainly not dressed in much. Those who knew him knew he was dignified, almost stuffy. That is not all he ever was, though, and he felt the need to show the world. Marius needs to see Eleni, to let her know he isn't exactly what she thinks him to be. He had let himself get carried away with his own illusion, but recently, reality had come crashing down around him and the pretense of his life feels heavy.

Instead of his proper uniform, or the outfit of the well-dressed country gentleman, he has on a pair of running shorts that reveal his tattoos, works of art that run the full length of his well-toned body. The pockets jingle with keys, a water bottle, some cash, and other items. Ten years ago, Marius wouldn't have bothered with anything that would slow him down. Times change, though, and so do people.

Marius wears sneakers, but no socks, and is conspicuously lacking a shirt today. Maybe he is trying to tempt Eleni by showing her why he is the only man in the Parish who wears long sleeves and long pants in the sweltering Louisiana heat. Maybe he's just tired of sweating his ass off in order to impress people. He doesn't want to be ashamed of the tattoos, but he is. He thinks of them as a reminder of who he was. Marius left it out of the stories he told Eleni, but he had grown up in a world so far from anything she could comprehend. He doesn't like to think about it much himself.

Marius took great pride in looking like the clean-cut, proper, authoritative officer he was. He'd had become the alpha. He wasn't simply given respect, but had spent a lifetime earning it. Three tours of duty and a bullet to the shoulder that still ached sometimes were the dues he'd paid, but that was only half the battle.

The other half was leaving behind the white-trash Southern boy he used to be, the same as so many in the swamplands that the Parish mostly ignored. They didn't want to think about what it was like to call a shack with no electricity or running water home, or about the children who washed their clothes in the river before going to school. Marius tried not to blame them. His own experience had shown him how easy it was to forget, like being let out of a prison you never want to revisit.

The world changed for Marius the first time he got on an airplane, the first time he went to a party and sipped champagne. He'd felt so awkward the first time someone taught him not to say "ain't" or belch in public and that different foods had different forks to go with them. At first, he thought it was absurd and uppity. People were starving and homeless in the world but it somehow mattered to have four forks at dinner. Women like Eleni with their jewels and impractical shoes and gloves that came up to the elbow were ridiculous, like living trophies. He liked the pretty girls in ripped jeans and crop tops that hopped into the back of a pickup truck and got tattoos to match his.

Over time, though, Marius started to forget the heat and the mud and the shacks without electricity where people ran around outside and the air crackled with laughter. He fell in love with the respect, the dinners with four forks, and the little glasses of champagne. Marius always wore socks, and said "Please", "Thank you", and "Yes, sir".

There was a lot of "Yes, sir" in Marius' life. He'd repeated it so many times until respect replaced sarcasm and young men with dirty sneakers and fingernails started saying it to him. He taught them how to behave like gentlemen, took away their firecrackers and tobacco and made them do push-ups every time one of them said "ain't".

Marius learned one of life's great mysteries, how to tie the knot on a tie that didn't clip on. He suddenly looked at women like Eleni as if they were beautiful, which they all were. They were ladies who wore perfume and roses on their wrists, and danced with their clothes on. Ladies knew how to take care of themselves well. They didn't get tattoos, or knocked up in the back of some guy's pick-up truck when the moon was full. His disinterest turned to admiration.

So much had changed. Marius had grown, prospered, but he lost touch with himself. He lost touch with his family. When his mother passed away, he got a brief phone call. He didn't make the trip back for the funeral. When his father died, all he had wanted to hear was that he'd made something of himself that made the old man proud.

He never did.

Seventeen years later, Marius runs down the street in his ridiculous shorts with bulging pockets and dirty sneakers, showing the world his tattoos. He still feels like that young kid from the wrong side of the bayou, the kind women like Eleni wouldn't know existed. He chose to come to find her and apologise as the young man she'd never gotten to know. Marius is reasonably sure that she never wants to see him again, so it's not as if he can make the situation worse.

The only thing worse than losing a lover is losing a friend, Marius decides. Even his thoughts are filled with regret

Marius is sorry for hurting Eleni, so sorry that he'd been spending the past two weeks imagining every possible thing he could say to her. He wants to explain or to somehow take it all back. He wants the hotel to stop feeling so empty without her. Every time he picks up the phone, he hears the gentle, lilting accent within the charming voice telling him to leave a message. Every time, there are no words.

Since the day he'd met her, Marius had been battling with himself. He wants her, but he needs to tell her the charming officer who brings that enchanting smile to her lips is a lie. It never occurs to Marius that he isn't, that the man he's become is his reality. There are a few things about Marius that make him a liar. Still, Marius is the only one who sees himself as a fraud, through the eyes of a father who never said he was proud of his son.

As he approaches Mudbugs, Marius decides he doesn't want to go through with any of it, but it is too late to turn back. The path has been decided. His heart already lurches in regret. He doesn't want to face Eleni hating him. She deserves to know, he reminds himself. Her smile, her wit, her flirtatious banter, they are all for the kind of man who can impress her. I'm not that man, but I try. I still want her. I still love her.

Marius cringes, correcting himself internally. His thoughts are too loud, and that is not a mistake he can afford to make.

He has to do the right thing, and for once, he isn't sure what the right thing is.

After a moment's hesitation, Marius turns around, and starts jogging back home. He is glad no one can see the little tears forming in his eyes. Hurting people is exactly why he doesn't do relationships, and the fact that all his choices hurt Eleni wounds him deeply.

Tomorrow. I'll do this tomorrow. He is conflicted, knowing every day he waits is one more day Eleni will never forgive him for being the sort of man capable of breaking her heart. Nevertheless, Eleni isn't the only woman in his life he has to consider, and that torments him. He doesn't even know if Eleni wants to be part of his world anymore.

It is probably only the second time in his life Marius had gotten up the nerve to make an impetuous decision. He remembered what it felt like to be free and reckless, and wanted desperately to recapture that feeling.

He knows it's the wrong thing to do, but it doesn't make him want it less.

Marius isn't much of a gambler, and he never has been. Deep down inside, he knows Eleni is worth betting on.

All the way home, he both reassures and chastises himself. She won't ever forgive me, and I'm only asking for the humiliation I know I deserve. His heart sinks, and he quickly becomes the epitome of a man who has lost hope for something great.

Marius doesn't know he's the one who can't forgive himself.