You don't love me, do you?

“So, you don’t love me, do you?”

Dabbing the corner of his mouth with a white napkin in a manner that was most infuriating, he murmured, “Now, what have I done this time to provoke it? But, my dear, isn’t the answer very obvious to you?”

“Has anything been plain and simple – or, using your term, obvious – between us?”

“Everything has always been just so,” he nodded and got up from his seat. “Let me take the plates. This set is rather expensive and we haven’t used it often enough to not care for it, suppose something happens.”

She glanced at him as she collected the empty glasses. “But did you think that I would carry that stack to the kitchen by myself?”

“Yes, I forgot my wife was far too clever to let her kindness get the better of her and waste one of the most expensive china in our possession. I do beg your pardon.”

She followed him into the kitchen. “You don’t love me, do you?”

“Is this the last way of asking the question yet?”

“If it is, you know I will easily make up a new one anyway.”

He took the glasses from her. “Sometimes I wonder why I chose a woman with stubborn intellect over a woman with overflowing love.”

“Because it would be troublesome for you to divorce after getting married to her for only three days.”

“It is troublesome,” he admitted and handed her a rinsed plate.

“That’s why you married me even though you never loved me…or did you?”

“A little more," he murmured, "and we won’t be having a complete set of these wonderful china anymore. Did you forget already that something always breaks when we discuss nonsense?”

“But nonsense is entertaining,” she handed him a soapy glass. “But I will stop when you find the exchange becoming irritating.”

“I don’t love you.”

She dropped a plate she was washing.

Smoothly, he caught it and, calmly so, rinsed it.

For a while she was quiet. For a while he washed the plates and glasses by himself.

“Sebastian,” she said finally. “That wasn’t very nice of you.”

“It did stop you, didn't it?”

“Admittedly,” she nodded and washed the last glass. “It’s unfortunate that you stopped it so soon. I was having fun coming up with new ways of asking.”

“Must you ask me something that we both already know the answer?” he took the glass from her, rinsed it, and put it in the rack along with the rest.

“Not that I mind it so much but, it does affect me once every long while. Your question, that is.”

She was drying her hands but then paused at his words. “This is definitely unusual of you,” she observed, frowning slightly. “Have I irritated you very much?”

“Today, perhaps,” he turned from her and went to the counter.

She watched him. Distress and uncertainty played about her features for a moment, then, shaking her head, she walked up to him, a determined look on her face.

His back was still turned to her. He was preparing tea. It was her favorite one.

“Sebastian,” she began.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push it too far. You can hit me if you want.”

The hot water spilled from the pot but at least he didn’t burn himself. He turned to her, looking somewhat startled.

“Hit you?” he murmured blankly. “Whatever made you think that that would help anything?”

She shrugged, grimacing. Annoyance, helplessness, embarrassment flickered in her eyes as she tried to explain in her flattest voice. “How would I know? You have been irritated with me many times before but never once have you been so direct about it. Well, at least that was after we got married anyway.”

“Felicia,” he blinked. “Felicia, I do not remember ever hitting you since we’ve known each other.”

She waved impatiently. “That’s not the point! What I mean to say is that I don’t know how to—how to make you not angry with me when I do something wrong! You were never too angry with me before (or as far as I could tell) and—and you never made things simple! I don’t know how to deal with it and I’m not going to pretend that I know and go on with blind guesses like some stupid idiots and--- Why are you laughing!?”

His shoulders shaking, his hand covering his mouth, Sebastian was having a very hard time preserving whatever composure he had left to stay standing and be as still as possible.

“I—I’m sorry,” he mumbled through gasps. “I didn’t think you would take it so seriously. I thought—I'm truly sorry—I thought you knew!”

“Knew what?” she scowled. “Sebastian, I’m going to hit you!”

“Felicia…” he pulled her to him. “I will not grudge you if you kick me for it but let me say two things?”

She glared. “What?”

He bent down and kissed her cheek, “I love you.”

She went stiff in his arms. Then, feeling the familiar tremor running along his shoulders, she frowned.

He pointed to the other end of the wall. Her eyes followed.

“Happy...April Fools' Day to you.”

Felicia did kick him for it. She kicked him very hard.