Only by You

“Josephine Beauharnais.” The guard announced, stepping aside to reveal the owner of the name.

    A white, gauzy gown clung to her form, and a burgundy silk turban adorned her curling dark hair. Pearl drop earrings hung by her face, which was flushed from the heat and travel. It had been a long carriage ride to Italy. She offered an attractive, toothless smile. It was neither reflected nor received.

“Leave us.” Napoleon ordered to the guard, who curtly exited through the flap of the tent. There was a brief moment of silence, which Josephine attempted to break.

“I am very glad to have finally arrived, mon cher.”

    The grey eyes of her husband flickered over her face, but he ventured no reply. Josephine shifted on her slippered feet, lightly bringing her hands together.

“I have missed you greatly.”

“Have you?” Napoleon asked, though it seemed more a dare than a question.

“Of course.” Josephine’s brow knitted.

“What exactly did you miss?” Her husband questioned.

Standing beside him was a small wooden table, covered in maps and other miscellaneous documents. As he spoke, he touched these papers with his fingertips, sliding them gently over the tabletop.

“What do you mean, my love?” Josephine wondered. Napoleon took in a breath, looking up into her face.

“What about me did you miss?”

“Well,” Josephine hesitated, “Everything. I missed your touch, your conversation-”

“There was no reason you should have missed the latter.” He cut her off shortly. “I gave you plenty of conversation. I wrote to you every day. My touch may have been in Italy, but my thoughts were always available.”

“I know, I know, mon cher.” Josephine cooed, moving close. “And to hear from you was always a comfort.”

“A comfort only you were allowed. Where was I supposed to deride it from? Where were your letters?”

    Josephine paused in her approach, though she was only now two or three feet from him.

“I-I was occupied.”

“Ah, yes, because drawing room gossip is so much more time consuming than campaigning into hostile territory.”

A frown crossed Josephine’s plump lips. “I did not expect to receive such an unwelcome reception from my own husband. I am here now. Why bicker over letters when we can speak face to face?”

    Napoleon’s jaw tightened and his gaze fell. In this moment of vulnerability, Josephine moved in, taking his slender hand from off the table. His grey eyes focused on the fingers intertwined with his own as Josephine drew his hand to her mouth. She gave it a gentle kiss before placing it to her breast.

“Napoleon.” She murmured sweetly, in a way especially tailored to break that stony facade.

    And for a moment, it did. The straight mouth softened, the hard gaze melted, the brows made a small crease on the smooth forehead.

    He pulled his hand away.

“Who is this man you have come with?” He cleared his throat, staring into her face like a schoolmaster would his student. Josephine’s countenance darkened at the question.

“He is a friend.”

“I am your friend. Why did you feel you had to bring another?”

    Josephine turned away, walking back towards the entrance of the tent. Napoleon continued, but for the first time, his tone became sharp.