Chapter 8

Him: 

Now I really can't face her. Not only does she think I'm a raging idiot, she probably also thinks I'm a no-good brute who'll hurt her. 

I would never lay a hand on her—nor any other woman, or man for that matter— unless in defense. She may be a priss, but she did give us good advice when that valet set us up for failure. I had resolved to apologize, but any time I even attempted to approach her I couldn't go through with it. 

Adah tells me my male pride is a thing of wonder. I think it's more that I'm almost guaranteed to do or say something else stupid. Best thing now is just to avoid her and pretend none of it ever happened. 

Two weeks pass like this—me avoiding her while also feeling the increasing pressure about needing to apologize—when one day, Adah stops me in a hallway. 

"Enough. I care for you, and I did not want to push you, but I can't stand it anymore!" 

I stand bewildered as she finds her words.

 "Limonskiy deserves your apology. Or are you not the gentleman I believed you to be? I can't stand your whining about it. Either buck up and do it, or don't, but whichever you decide, quit being a baby and move on!"

She sees my surprise and huffs before rolling her eyes and walking off in a passion.

 I know I may have complained to her a few times over the past two weeks, but I didn't realize she had become so tired with me. I kick myself for letting this drag on so long. I won't be able to rest easy until my conscious is cleared. 

That Tuesday, I ask for the morning to go to the village. Thanks to my prior knowledge of her schedule, I know Limonskiy is going, and I would prefer not to do this in front of the other staff. I don't need to look more of a fool to the rest of them than I already do. 

I follow her easily into town and wait at a distance, hating my situation. I have just built up the resolve to approach her when I notice, for the first time, what she is actually doing. 

Limonskiy is crouched to eye level with some village kids, laughing. The sound is so foreign to my ears I move closer in wonder. 

So she does smile. 

No one could ever say she was plain, not by any stretch, but when she smiles, she's down right radiant. Her face transformed, softening into something open and radiant. 

The kids smile and laugh back, obviously familiar with her. She stands a moment, going into a store, and must tell them to wait because they line up diligently. 

I wait in anticipation until she comes out a minute later with a basket in her arms.

 The kids whoop and cheer and she shushes them halfheartedly with a smile, crouching back down. 

Leaning forward to get a better look, curiosity wracks me. 

Food. Sandwiches, fruits, vegetables—all of it. 

She takes it from the basket and hands a bit to each child, at which time they thank her and run off with it, some running to benches, others running away and sitting with friends, until every child is happily munching on some sort of meal. 

Seeing some of the children closer makes me realize what I hadn't before—some are without shoes, without coats, without any kind of thick clothing, even as winter fast approaches. 

Poor. 

She feeds the poor. 

Of course she does. 

It's so like her, getting the moral high ground right before I'm going to apologize. I might as well just fall to my knees and beg her for her forgiveness. 

Her:

I stand, warming my hands with my breath and look around. The kids are scattered around, eating. It brings a rare smile to my face. 

A frown replaces it soon enough, though. It will never be enough to truly keep away the hunger or the cold. 

I hadn't realized how few of them have warm clothes. I make a mental note to try to get warm things next week if I can—on top of the food. 

I go to move from my spot when I feel eyes on me.

 I whip my head around, searching the little square. 

No one is looking at me, and yet, I can't shake the feeling I'm being watched. 

Strange. 

I release a breath to clear my head and try to focus once again on work and make my way to do my errands. 

—

I'm on my way back when I see him, leaning against the servants door from the small courtyard out back. 

He's been avoiding me—or just not seeking me out. Either way I'm grateful. 

Our last encounters confused me to no end, and I can't afford the distraction of untangling them. 

He must be here by accident. 

I straighten my spine and put my chin up as I attempt to walk past him. 

"Limonskiy." 

The sound of his voice startles me, and I turn instinctively, against my better judgment. 

I search for his eyes, but they are in the shadow of a cap—

—which is when I notice he isn't in uniform. 

The casual clothes suit him; a simple white cotton shirt and brown pants. It looks much more natural than his uniform, and it startles me enough I don't respond. 

"I want to make things clear." His voice is hushed, almost hesitant. 

I hear my rapid heartbeat in my ears. 

"What I said that day on the stairwell… I didn't mean anything by it." 

Of course he didn't. I was a fool to consider something else. 

What was I really considering, anyway? 

I go to respond, but he speaks again. 

"I'm sorry for the day with the fabric."

His words take me by complete surprise. 

I stand stupidly staring at him. 

"I didn't mean to snap." His voice is tight—words clipped. "It was rude of me. I'd never— I wouldn't—" he sighs in frustration. 

"I know." 

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. 

They're heavy in meaning I don't even understand. 

We stare at each other, both at a loss. 

The cold air tightens around us, becoming charged. 

I see his chest rise and fall but can't look away from his eyes. 

A single snowflake—seemingly placed by God Himself—catches in his eyelashes.

I'd roll my eyes at the absurdity if I wasn't so busy staring. 

He steps forward, about to say something, and my heart jumps into my throat. 

His lips part, eyes searching mine. 

I lean in instinctively, drawn in despite myself. 

"I—"

The servants' door slams open.

 Mrs. Adah's voice slices through the air: 

"Aleksi!"

The spell breaks. 

He turns to her and I watch the snowflake melt, as if it were never there. 

"I'll go!"

 Aleksi says too loudly, breaking the tense silence and hurrying to her. 

He pauses in the doorway, glancing back at me. 

"I'll go." 

He says again, this time softly, almost gently. 

Something unspoken lingers between us—fragile and fleeting as that snowflake.

The strange tension leaves with him, and I'm left with the biting winter air. 

I shiver, though the cold I feel is deeper—like something I was clinging to vanished with him.