Chapter Text
The smoke from your cigarette went straight into Dieter’s face.
He pretended to not mind.
“And another thing,” uncle Wilhelm leaned forward now, trapping you both in his breath, “You young people rush weddings these days. No patience. No patience at all.”
Every guest was gone, even the lousy neighbour. Still, Dieter’s uncle lingered—refilling his glass, talking as if the room were full.
Dieter nodded, like it was a reflex he’d been born with. “We tried not to rush.”
“Oh, you did rush,” Wilhelm said cheerfully. “But that’s all right. Most mistakes are made young.”
You twirled your wedding ring, trying to soothe the irritated skin.
Family heirloom. Daisy-shaped, glittering shamefully—too bright, too heavy, too small
Dieter was to be stationed in France. You were fine with it, if you ignored the small gap in your routine.
Dieter wasn’t. Not when it meant leaving you behind.
He had proposed, in his own sterile way—at dinner, after the waiter asked if you wanted tiramisu.
“You should marry me.” Dieter had said.
You laughed and then refused. He only smiled calmly.
Two days later you returned home just to find him with your father in the living room, drinking schnapps. He looked comfortable, at home.
They shook hands. The marriage was set.
Two and a half weeks later you were dressed in your good ecru dress.
His pick. As everything else.
No one got married in three weeks.
You had a friend whose marriage was delayed for almost a year because of the RuSHA.
The paperwork, the racial background investigation—the presents that came along with marrying a Major—all conducted in a matter of days.And so you knew. The groundwork was laid long before you had refused.
“And now a Major. Imagine that.” The uncle smacked his thigh.
You stared at the parquet. The wood wax was drying your throat.
“You see this one,” he pointed his fat finger at Dieter. “He was never one to make demands. If he wanted a second slice of cake, one of his brothers would ask for him.”
“That was a long time ago, uncle.” Dieter shifted on the couch.
Wilhelm’s gaze fell on you. From instinct you forced a smile.
“His mother used to say he was ‘particular’. I used to think you’d always need someone to speak up on your behalf.”
You uncrossed your legs and then crossed them to the other side.
Dieter shot you a warning glance.
“Funny thing, authority,” the uncle went on. “Put the right title on a man, and suddenly people hear him perfectly well. Don’t need intermediaries anymore. Don’t need to ask twice.” He nodded, satisfied with the thought.
“And your little Frau?”
You put out your cigarette on the ashtray with force.
“A shame you’ll have to leave so soon. But it’s alright,” the uncle said, smoothing his trousers as if he might stand, then didn’t. “You’ll find dear, that a house like this keeps you busy.”
“It does take looking after.”
Dieter put your cigarette case in his pocket before you could take it.
The metal case clicked shut.
“Oh, constantly,” Wilhelm said. “Meals don’t plan themselves. Rooms don’t stay straight. People notice those things.” He looked at you, kindly, as if offering a tip.
An insult was at the tip of your tongue. You made a fist, nails digging into the skin.
“It’s — as my Frau likes to call it—the burden and honour of being the lady of the house.”
Dieter took your hand into his. The uncle smiled in secret approval.
“I remember your mother, Dieter. Oh, Irma knew how to keep the house in order.”
“I like things in order,” Dieter squeezed your hand. “It makes life easier.”
Wilhelm shook his head, gaze fixed on you.
“But don’t worry. Once you’re here most days, it comes naturally.”
You turned at Dieter. “Most days?”
There was a pause. Somewhere in the house, a door closed.
“You’ll find your rhythm,” his hand was heavy on yours. “Mornings go quickly. Afternoons slower. Then suddenly it’s evening.”
Wilhelm smiled, pleased, as if nothing of importance had been said. “That’s how it happens.”
Your eyes bore into Dieter.
He reached for his cup, found it empty, and set it back with a small, precise motion.
“It's not a burden if you settle into it. Mother did.” He offered. “Routine can be… reassuring.”
“For whom?”
“For everyone, I think.”
Wilhelm leaned back, satisfied. “You see? He understands.”
“And my job?”
Dieter finally looked at you.
“I don’t think uncle Wilhelm came all the way here to hear about—”
Your nails dug into your palm.
“It is late, uncle.” You said.
“Yes, yes I know. Parties end early.” He let out a sigh before draining his glass“Your mother would’ve stayed. She hated leaving things unfinished.”
He looked between you two before standing. In union you stood with him.
“Well, you've done well for yourself. Both of you have.
No sense dragging things out once the course is clear.” He lingered a moment longer, as if expecting agreement, then reached for his hat.
"Guten nacht."
He kissed your hand. His lips were chapped and wet at the same time.
“Goodnight. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“Let us walk you outside—“
Dieter’s hand pressed on the small of your back, guiding you toward the door.
You stood still—stiff like a statue.
“Oh don’t worry. I’m old but I remember where the door is!” He chuckled
“Make us proud in France, Dieter.”
Wilhelm patted Dieter on the back, making your husband’s polite smile falter a little. You relished that moment.
The uncle left and the whole apartment was swallowed in silence.
“I thought he’d never leave.”
Dieter let out a sigh.
You looked out the window. Berlin’s streets were empty by now.
Dieter paused for a second.
“Once he drank so much he spent the night on the couch.”
The ring shone brightly on your swollen finger.
“You’re tired.” He said it almost kindly.
You glared at him over your shoulder.
“Indeed.”
“You smoked quite a lot too. Frau Kübler said so.”
“Really?” You scoffed. “I’m surprised she could see anything underneath that atrocious hat.”
“You didn’t have to tell her that ‘Italian’ doesn’t mean kitsch.”
You hummed, pleased with yourself.
You twisted and tugged the ring, hoping it would slip over the knuckle.
“It doesn’t fit?”
He stepped closer and took your hand into his.
There was an odd gentleness. “I was certain it would.”
“A slip-up?” You asked. “ How did you allow it?”
He examined the ring as if he hadn’t heard.
“I really like it on your finger. Don’t take it off.”
You pulled your hand away.
“It’s stuck and it hurts.”
He opened his mouth to say something.
“Soap might help.” You cut him off.
He didn’t follow you. He didn’t have to.
You heard the clink of ice in his glass as you walked away.
You went to the bedroom.
Long after you were out of your wedding dress, Dieter still hadn’t come. You wondered if he was feeling guilty, if he was ashamed of being alone with you.
But you knew how men like him were.
In front of the mirror your reflection sickened you. Silk negligee, long and pale pink— meant to show purity.
Dieter walked in with a drink in hand. He didn’t glance at you once.
Somehow that felt better than if he had.
“I trust you enjoyed yourself today?”
You didn’t answer. It wasn’t a question but a statement like the one he made in his reports.
With quiet precision you took the pins out of your hair.
It felt oddly domestic.
“I only mean to ensure you’re taken care of before I leave,” he said.
With one hand he undid his tie. The movement was mechanical and smooth.
“I presume you understand that.”
Your hand stilled.
“I do.”
His reflection tried to suppress a smile. He stepped closer, unable to resist the indulgence.
“I knew you would.” He hovered behind you. The scent of something bitter and wooden flooded your senses.
You had almost missed that.
His gaze fell on your robe. Examining, not touching.
“This is for your own good, you know,” he murmured.
“It’s not distrust.”
It was.
“War just doesn’t favour loyalty.”
His chest was against your back, firm and unmovable.
Your body caved in.
“I didn’t know we had promised each other loyalty.”
He didn’t bother answering.
“I didn’t know you even wanted my loyalty.”
“I changed my mind.” He spoke the words as if they weighed nothing.
His hand slid smoothly down the satin fabric— from your ribcage to your waist. There was a slight frown on his face, a quiet determination.
He had touched you countless times before yet this time was different. Tonight was something worth remembering.
“Will you take this off for me?” His voice dripped with mock politeness. His hand tugged gently at the fabric. “There is no need to hide yourself from me.”
“I’m not hiding.”
He tolerated your lie the way one tolerates a child’s caprice.
The robe draped on the floor with no protest.The cold was piercing like needles.
He shunted it aside with his foot, then wrapped his hand around your waist like a viper.
You felt his lips on the nape of your neck, where he knew you liked it.
You shivered, body reacting before the mind could.
“Dieter—”
A kiss on your shoulder hushed you.
He pressed his cheek against your face, nose nuzzling your hair, smelling—consuming you whole.
“Don't fight me.”
It was spoken kindly.
His breath was warm on your skin.
His gaze met yours through the mirror.
“Don’t fight me— not now or ever.”
The strap of your nightdress fell off your shoulder. For a second you thought he’d pull it up, allow you the slightest dignity.
He cupped your breast, his palm spread flat against your sternum, intruding under the slippery fabric.
“Selbst hundert französische Huren können mit dir nicht mithalten.”
He murmured against your skin.
He bit down on your neck. Your lips parted a moan threatening to betray you. He squeezed your breast to get the sound out of you.
You refused.
“Don’t-“
He pressed you closer— not to harm but to remind.
You stood still, eyes never leaving his reflection. Your jaw tightened.
“Don’t.” His lips brushed against your skin. His hand left your breast and he pushed off your nightgown altogether.
A whimper. Your chest heaved up and down with each ragged breath.
His body was warm against you. Never inviting but always familiar.
“This will be good to you.”
You closed your eyes too tired to pretend you were stronger.
“In time you’ll understand.”