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They walked through the dark streets of Paris as the last of its lights began to blink out. Margarete was glad to realize that the nights were finally getting warmer after a hard winter when the prices of coal rose so high it was impossible to keep warm.
"You live in a beautiful part of the city," the German observed as they walked along the Seine towards the apartment Margarete had rented for her stay in Paris.
"Anywhere in Paris is beautiful," Margarete smiled as she dangled her purse in her hand. She saw him glance at her through her periphery but never dared to meet his gaze.
"I was meaning to ask you," he started, and she watched his gaze scale to the starry sky, knowing he couldn't see her looking. The sharp line of his jaw cut across the stars, his hair fell back, and she watched something twinkle in his stone hard eyes as he found constellations in the sky.
"What?" she asked cautiously, heart growing louder in her chest as he kept his silence for a moment too long.
"On the street, when we met," he started, gaze cutting straight to her so fast she had to fight to retain her even steps, "You looked at me, so strangely, I could tell there was something bothering you. Something in your eyes... I don't know," he shook his head as if he was saying something terribly silly.
"What did you see in that moment?"
He watched her hesitate, lips slightly parted as she cast her eyes to the pavement.
"I..."
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he shrugged.
Margarete could tell there was more he wanted to say, but they both froze as a loud shout came ahead of them with the bright flash of a light.
"Oh my God," she whispered, closing her eyes in despair as the evening grew even worse. If she was to get caught outside almost at curfew hour... She had to get to Manets tomorrow.
The German next to her visibly tensed, and she knew that he had to arrest her or risk losing his position. She could tell earlier, by the pitch black of his uniform when they first met on the street, that he was part of the SS. Now, as she stood motionless, waiting for the approach of the German night patrol, next to the member of the Nazi's most powerful organization, she could only blame herself.
"Hold my hand," he said suddenly, shattering her train of thought as he stepped closer hurriedly before the light could shine on them. She hesitated, not understanding what he meant. Hesitated because he was German, which made him the last person she trusted.
"Come on!" he hissed, suddenly all the more Nazi than he was in his uniform when they first met. His face changed, growing harder somehow, as her hand looped around his like lightning at the approach of the German screaming at them to freeze.
Margarete watched him straighten and raise a hand against the approaching light. When his voice flooded the night it echoed of millions of screams across Europe.
"Is there a problem?" he barked in German so polished it struck her ears like knives. She had seen Hitler's many speeches broadcasted in France as part of the German propaganda, and the voice of the SS officer, as it cut across the light shining straight in their faces... it left no room for questions as to his position.
"Sir, it is past curfew," the man ahead of them with the flashlight responded. His voice seemed smaller in comparison.
"And you think I do not know this?" questioned the German at her side. Margarete could see the shadow of a man behind the flashlight shift uncomfortably. "I am escorting this lady home. If you have a problem with that, sir, I suggest you take it to the SS headquarters."
There was a sound of an audible gulp from the soldier with the flashlight, as he tripped over his feet trying to apologize. As the German at her side waved a dismissive hand at the soldier he scurried away in the opposite direction with one more apology.
Margarete did not know she was holding her breath until she exhaled a shaky, shallow breath and closed her eyes in an attempt to slow down the frantic speed of her heart. So much for laying low.
"Everything alright?" she heard him ask, and looked up to see him watching her, their hands still clasped together. She hated herself for thinking that it made her feel safer that way. Somehow, behind the wall of the SS officer, she felt secure from the night where Germans lurked like sharks.
"Let's just go," was all she said as she walked on.
As they walked, she wondered if he thought that they were on the same side just because she spoke fluent German. She wondered if he even knew how much she dreaded being next to him, how suspicious she was of his every move, every syllable. She wondered if he knew how wrong everything he stood for was to her.
They walked in silence, turning onto a darkened street where the once beautiful building's stood ruffled by the violence of war. She came to a slow stop in front of her porch, carefully pulling her hand out of his.
He opened his mouth to say something, his grey eyes shining like two treacherous beacons in the dark.
"Tell me I can see you again," he said suddenly as she was about to smile a weak goodbye.
Margarete froze on the steps to her apartment.
She turned towards him. There, standing at the base of the stairs, he seemed all the less intimidating, less automated. Less a Nazi machine. He reminded her of the young man she danced with, in that room full of music, warmth and light, not the SS officer who barked out orders in the darkness of Paris.
"Just... tell me I'll see you again," he said, raising his hand ever so slightly as he, almost involuntarily took a single step up the stairs towards her.
She wanted to rush inside and start running at the first break of curfew in the morning, but something kept her there, silently looking at the German on her steps. If he knew who she was, he wouldn't be here. If he knew who she was, he would hand her over to the Gestapo.
It was not a question of the Capulets and the Montagues. It was a question of who would bleed first, and for which side.
"I think you will," she said with a sort of smile which saddened the stars.
