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Defeated yet defiant. Subservient yet willing. Desperate yet trusting. He always dubbed it my Oscar-winner because it conveyed so much in a single expression.I knew I had to do it. Despite every thought to the contrary I knew I'd regret it if not, or would always wonder what could have happened if I'd just been that little bit bolder. It was insane really, yet recent history indicated that similar acts of insanity were the ones in which I gained most; all of them part eccentricity, part trust and part leap of faith.Whether his threat of withholding services was real or not, there was no doubt I wanted his touch later and didn't want to risk losing out, so it had to be done.The decision made, I sighed again -- rather theatrically like I was beaten, while I back-flipped inside. More hormones coursed my veins as I slid my hands down the sides of my body, mindful of any external signs of discovery yet striving to act naturally. As if there was such a thing as acting naturally when trying. ‘But what I want is of no consequence, is it? No, only what the gods want. Tell me, mother, what did the gods want with my wife? What did they want with my Sorina?’ he sneered. ‘Tell me!’ Viorica Costin descended the steps warily, approaching her son as one might a wounded lion. She shook her head sadly and rested a hand on his cheek. ‘One cannot say what the Fates would ask of us, my son. One can only hope to serve their purpose well.’ ‘The Fates?’ he asked, incredulous. ‘Were Sorina and I not Fated for one another? Were we not meant to be? It cannot be the same Fates which brought us together that now so ruthlessly tear her away from me!’ ‘We cannot know,’ she repeated patiently. ‘We must serve them in whatever capacity they have need.’ A large solemn woman appeared at the top of the stairs then. In her arms was a small bundle of cloth. It took a moment for Valerius to believe his eyes. The woman was holding a swaddled newborn. Sorina’s child. His child. ‘She lives? Our daughter.
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