Katerina can feel her lips drawing back in that line again when D’mitri speaks of money once more. Ooo! When is he going to get it! What does she have to do to make him see that money is not an issue? That as her husband he will never have to fear or fret over such things again? Does she need to take him by his broad shoulders and shake him? Scream with fire in her eyes? Let his father keep the thirty-thousand, hundred thousand! It does not matter at all in the presence of her wealth. Katerina did at least a little bit of research of the father D’mitri had spoken so briefly of that day she came to his jail cell to aid his debts. Wealthy, yes. Not near as wealthy as she. Wake up! She wants to shout. Wake up! You desire thirty-thousand roubles? Here! Take it, take it twice, three times! It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter… No gambling habit in the world could dent her purse. But it doesn’t matter. He won’t listen. He’ll say it’s about something more than money, about something she can’t buy or promise. He’ll be stubborn and righteous, and speak of dignity. He’ll show her the man that sent her away silently, having pushed a wad of folded bills into her hands.
The exchange between Ivan and D’mitri is thick, and when D’mitri lets her hand go, it feels she’s grabbed ice in his place. One would assume that there is nothing between the two brothers, but Katerina sees something. A rift, and awkward rift, covered in ice. It makes her swallow, trying to understand. Agafya loves her, and she loves Agafya. Imagining the two of them being so distant is… well, goodness. It’s just so painful to think about. Here for her. It doesn’t feel like that, not one bit. But. But. He’s here. That’s what’s important. This isn’t about hearts and flowers, anyway. Not yet. That will come with time, after all, and soon they’ll have all the time in the world. The rest of their lives, in fact, for real, true love to consume them. So… so for now. Something else, a different topic than themselves. But what— To push the men together would only send them farther apart but to do nothing is worse, isn’t it? Oh, but they’ve nothing in common! What could she possibly speak of? Different mothers, a father neither respects nor obviously cares for. Why, outside of herself, the odds of both of them knowing a mutual party are just—
“Oh!” Katerina hasn’t been slouching, but her back certainly snapped straighter when the thought crashed into her spine. The jolt is enough to bring one of her hands to her temple, using two fingers to smoother some curls back. She smiles at D’mitri, hoping that this will do. After all, she can’t have him speaking to just her, talking only about her. Why, he’ll burn out before he’s forty! And it would be good for Ivan too she thinks.
“Ivan,” she turns on the couch, the skin around her eyes softening when they make eye contact. “Tell him about Alyosh—tell him about Alexey.” She makes a point of correcting herself on purpose; of course she can’t possibly know this third and youngest brother, but! If she’s referring to him so affectionately, then surely Ivan has said a good many things. Which is partly true: Ivan has said good things about this Alexey. D’mitri not knowing Ivan must mean he doesn’t know much of Alexey, either. Her D’mitri isn’t the kind of man to ignore one brother over the other, no no. “I know I would certainly like to hear more! If I don’t meet your father, I want to at least meet him.”