She lifted her head, her blue eyes shadowed by fatigue not anger. “When haven’t you?” she asked.
“I am not a neglectful husband.”
“If you say so.” She let her head fall back against the headrest and closed her eyes.
“It’s not even worth arguing with me over?”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there are very few things I find worth arguing with you over anymore, Alexandros.”
When she used to argue about everything, screaming when he would not listen. She hadn’t even argued over her refusal to bring their daughter to the family dinners.
Pollyanna had simply pointed out in a very reasonable tone that since Helena was usually in bed by the time they ate, keeping her up was not conducive to the baby’s well-being. She’d added that Athena and Stacia were welcome to visit during little Helena’s awake hours.
She hadn’t mentioned his brother because Petros had made an effort to spend time with his sister-in-law and then his niece from the very beginning, the only person in Alexandros’s family who had accepted Pollyanna’s joining the family without any reservations. He and Corrina now came to Villa Liakada to visit once a week, frequently opting to stay the weekend and fly back into Athens on Sunday evening with Alexandros and Polly for the family dinner.
Petros and Corrina had made their visit midweek this time around however.
Though their daughter, Helena, was now three, she was still too young to be kept up. Alexandros and Pollyanna had yet to revisit the issue.
“Why didn’t you ever suggest that my mother change our family gatherings to the midday meal so our daughter could be included?” he asked.
“Why would I? I have no sway with your mother. She’s not my family.” The last was said with absolute certainty.
But it was not true. His mother was her family. Only clearly, Pollyanna did not see it that way. Had Pollyanna refused to accept the connection, as he had always assumed, or did that lack lay at his mother’s door?
Had he made too many concessions to his mother because of her emotional fragility and too many demands of his wife because of the strength he knew she possessed?
Emotional self-analysis was not something he was comfortable with, but he was beginning to see that so much he had taken for granted was not as he believed it to be.
“Did you expect me to make the suggestion?” he asked her, trying to understand a relationship he had thought he had figured out perfectly.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Did you make it?” she asked wearily.
“No.” He had never even thought of changing a long-standing tradition until just that moment and was a little ashamed of that fact.
Not only would his daughter have gotten to spend more time with her yia-yia, but the more casual setting of lunch would have been easier on his wife. Though she’d never said so.
“Then?” she prompted, with little interest lacing her tone.
Having no answer and not even sure why he’d brought it up, he admitted, “I don’t like you telling my brother he’s a better husband than me.”
“I would never presume to comment on how good a husband your brother is.”
“You said he was more attentive and considerate than I am.”
“If those are the traits by which you measure good or bad, you might take issue, but we both know you don’t.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” he demanded, noticing as if from outside himself that his voice was rising.
She didn’t seem to care he was practically shouting, not bothering to open her eyes or look at him again. “If you wanted to be attentive, you would be. If you wanted to be protective, you would be. If you wanted to be considerate, you would be.” She stopped, thought. “Maybe. Being considerate means noticing how the decisions you make affect others, and I think you’re really bad at that.”
“I make decisions that affect thousands of people all the time.”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t think I care how they are affected?”
“No.”
Just that. No. Not a reason why or a maybe. Just no and he knew she meant it.
She had no idea that he did his best to maximize jobs and keep people employed in jobs they wanted, even if it couldn’t always be in the same company, or even country. And she assumed those kinds of considerations never made it past his ruthless need to also maximize profits.
“I can be considerate,” he informed her, wondering how she’d missed his efforts in their marriage.
Had he really got it so wrong? For five years?
“To your mother, maybe,” Pollyanna acknowledged without missing a beat. “But even as much as you spoil Stacia, I wouldn’t say you are particularly considerate of her feelings or desires when they conflict with what you want or the way you think things should be done.”
“Is this another argument where you lament the fact I won’t always take your part against my mother?” Even as he asked the question, he tried to remember the last time they had had that disagreement and knew it was years past.
“No. I wasn’t aware we were arguing at all.” She sighed, still not opening her eyes. “Is there a reason for this conversation? Only I’m really tired.”
“I forgot. I’m not worth arguing with.”
“Alexandros, what exactly do you want me to say here?”
“That I’m not a bad husband,” he blasted her.
Finally. Finally, her head snapped round, her eyes opening to flash at him with anger he remembered but had not seen in too long.
“Alexandros, I am six months pregnant and the mother of a very active toddler. Even without all the committees you insist I chair or participate in, I would be exhausted. Not just tired. Exhausted.” And suddenly she looked it, her usual vibrancy so muted as to almost be extinguished.
She placed her hand protectively over her baby bump. “I am making new life inside me and I still suffer from nausea. It hurts to sit in any but the most comfortable chairs, hurts to walk and stand. Just like with my last pregnancy. But still you insist I suffer through a stylist’s ministrations so I can attend these unpleasant family dinners, which require an uncomfortable fifty-minute helicopter ride each way.”
“I did not realize it was such a struggle for you.” But he should have.
Damn it. He should have.
“Of course you didn’t, and if you had? You would not have cared. Never once, in our entire five years of marriage, have you ever made a decision with my happiness, or even my well-being at the forefront of your mind. A bad husband? No, you’re not a bad husband. You’re a terrible husband.”