Your Infidelity: Allowed It, Because I Love You

Lost Pair of Lips

Perspective d' Mary

"Louis, are you fond of coffee?"

Prince Condè's lips lift up to his right cheek and as that happens he instantly looks down as if he were shy.

Shy, why? Because he is with the company of a queen?

"You do ask quite adorable questions, my queen."

Adorable? What a flirtatious word.

"Ah. So, answer the question." I implore him further. Francis is right. I am utterly impatient.

My command makes Condè combust into laughter. I smile, but try to remain impassive.

"No, your majesty. I am definitely not fond of coffee. That recent invention is supposed to alter one's mood. And, it is not what my nerves need. I think too much. About life, about my country. So, I would need tea. To calm down my nerves, rest my brain." I am mesmerized by how well he knows himself.

"Ah. Well Prince Louis, you would be a great king, if you were ever to become one sooner rather than later. You know what you want." His eyes are glued to mine as he listens intently to the words I say, especially now that my words are compliments about him. "And, most importantly, you are a man of your own opinion when it comes to your country. You help many, when you don't even get to work on yourself."

"Mary, that is-- that is the most beautiful speech I'd ever been told to about myself," he says softly. "Thank you."

The impulsive part of my brain wants me to reach out and squeeze his right hand, and I want to as well, but I become afraid of how physical connection will affect me. I want to feel his skin against mine.

I am still in pain that hurts so monstrously.

I have not even told Francis about what had really occurred last night. Why I couldn't bare to be near him.

I am proud that he fought to urge the Vaticans into tolerance, but these last few weeks all I ever wanted was to be cherished by him. He is my husband, and he failed to do just that. And after what's happened, he needs not to push me away further, because I have no intention to crave for his touch and petty romance. After last night, I have lost my dignity. My heart stopped working. Stopped loving.

Though, suddenly. . . Looking at Louis for so long these past several seconds I realize that-- that I want him. Feel his lips against mine. Every moment that I interact with him, talk to him, I glance at his lips more often that at his eyes. I want so devastatingly to know how soft they'd feel. My husband's lips weren't always so soft. They feel rough. And his kiss, it's filled with stress and worry behind it. No passion, always worry.

I doubt Louis' would feel like that. But I am tired of speculating on his lips. I want to know for sure. So, a few seconds later, I grab his head, bringing it close to mine, look into his eyes and start to lock his lips relentlessly with mine.

They are soft, and they taste like leaves and sugar. Maybe he's just finished drinking tea.