Chapter 6

Him

"You know, if you spent half as much time thinking before you spoke as you do worrying about what's for lunch, maybe you wouldn't be avoiding Laura like a kicked puppy." 

I feel heat rise to my face as Adah nudges me with her hip, teasing me about Laura like she has been all week. She's right, though—I am avoiding her. 

I honestly don't know what came over me that day. She was so close I could see a stray eyelash sitting delicately on her cheek. I had suddenly been overcome with the urge to brush it away for her. The thought annoyed me more than her lemon-eating face does. 

My usual jabs didn't seem like enough, but I didn't know why. I had almost stepped away without saying anything, but that wasn't like me. 

Did I want to confuse her as much as she confuses me? Maybe.

I know Adah's right—I should explain. Or maybe apologize? But I don't want to accept it. That would mean she won, and I'd have to admit just how much she affects me. 

I form a different, less embarrassing plan instead—I'll nurse my pride a bit and then go back to teasing her just like before. 

I put my head in my hands and groan as Adah laughs. I'm shamelessly wallowing in self-pity when her laugh turns into a huff of dismay.

"What is it?" I say, snapped out of my reverie. 

"Look here, this stain won't come out. I don't know what to do." 

Adah wasn't actually a ladies maid before—just a maid who occasionally sewed patches and was a friend to the mistress. I know sShe worries that she doesn't know enough to make mistress proud now that we're in Angloria with all the fancy folks, though she won't say it. 

"Let me try." 

I scrub at it and try all I know, but I'm no better off than her when it comes to things like this. 

"You'll have to tell the Mistress that you couldn't get it out." 

"She's a Lady now, Aleksi," she says sharply. 

I'm about to roll my eyes and complain about Anglorian ways, but I see Adah frown and her shoulders drop ever so slightly. I hate to see her upset, and because of what? These stupid, uppity rules? 

I'm about to crack a joke to get her to smile when the Lord's valet walks in. 

I keep my distance from all the Anglorian servants, but the valet especially. He hasn't done anything to make me dislike him exactly, but his smile is too greasy. I've known men like him in the past, and they all turn out to be slippery little buggers. 

"That's a bad stain," he says, pausing as if considering, then smiles. "Try these—if you mix them, it should come right out."

 The relief on Adah's face is clear as she hurriedly thanks him in broken Anglorian. He nods amiably and leaves the room with whatever he set in to grab. 

Maybe I've misjudged him. 

We hurriedly gather what he said and mix it in a bowl. We're about to put it on the fabric when Limonskiy walks in. 

The effect on me is immediate. My whole body becomes wracked with tension. I feel my face drop, and I fix my gaze pointedly on the garment—but I can feel her eyes. 

"What are you doing?" 

Her voice sounds so alarmed my head snaps up without thinking. 

What could make her sound so alarmed?

I see her eyes trained on the things the valet told us to mix, her expression tight with concern. 

"It will ruin the fabric if you use that." 

She names a few things instead, then turns her gaze to me, her eyes going icy cold–accusing.

 My fists clench. 

Shame and indignance bubbles up in me. Her judgment pricks my skin, and her assumption that I'd do anything to harm Adah pushes me over my proverbial edge. 

"Why should we listen to you?" 

The words are sharper than I mean them to be, and my voice twists itself into an ugly growl. 

Her reaction is immediate—she flinches and shifts back, clutching the door frame with white knuckles. A flicker of some emotion—fear— crosses her face, her eyes glazing over, making it feel like she's no longer in the room with us. 

My stomach twists, but my pride shoves the building apology down my throat. 

"Do what you want," she says flatly, looking anywhere but at me. 

Turning stiffly, she rushes from the room. 

She never grabbed anything, forgetting in her hurry to get away from me. 

Brute indeed. 

Shame is already hot on my face when Adah smacks me on the arm.

"What was that? Did you leave your manners in Slavokrainia?" she scolds, eyeing the cloth worriedly. I know she probably didn't understand our whole exchange, but got the main message. 

As much as I hate to admit it, Limonskiy is a good lady's maid, and maybe she's right. 

Although, after my teasing she might want to get back at me. I honestly might deserve it—but Adah doesn't. 

Although… I have been wary of the Valet since I got here. Maybe he's trying to make a fool of Adah, and by extension, me. 

I contemplate my options before grabbing a stray scrap of fabric and bringing it over to her and she understands immediately. 

We pour a bit of the mixture onto a scrap and wait. 

The fabric looks fine.

I scoff. I knew it. What a priss, what a brat, what arrogance—

"Aleksi!"

 Looking where Adah is gesturing I realize in the few moments it took me to completely condemn Limonskiy, the fabric had changed. 

The stench of rotten eggs hits my nose as the mixture burns right through the fabric. 

My throat tightens painfully. 

We grab what Limonskiy recommended and put a small amount on the garment. I hold my breath as we watch it lift the stain completely, as if it was never there.

 I slam my hand down on the table, the hollow thud echoing in the small room.

 I'm so conflicted I can't even recognize whether it's guilt for snapping at her or embarrassment for being wrong that's burning its way through my chest. 

I should have known about the valet. 

I should have been more gentle with Laura. 

I also should have known that Limonskiy would be just that good at her job, as painful as it is for me to admit it. 

"Ah, Aleksi, when will you learn? It's not enough to scrub a stain out—you have to know when to hold your tongue too. Maybe you should leave the talking to the professionals."

Adah chortles, seeing my change in demeanor.

She looks at me, expecting to see something—anything—light or playful in my face after her teasing, but my expression remains stony. 

Sighing, she takes the dress and pats my arm gently. 

"Don't sulk too long, Aleksi. You're better than this." She says warmly before leaving the room. 

She'll never talk to me again now. 

Why does that thought bother me so much? 

What do I care if she thinks I'm scary?

I don't have the answers, but I already know I'm going to apologize. 

I don't know what to say or how to say it, but I know one thing: I'm not going to let her think I would ever hurt her. 

The thought of her walking around thinking badly of me is unbearable. 

Something I plan to shove down as far as possible. 

Damn it all.