Chapter 9

Two weeks pass without a word between us—neither of us are eager to break the silence. The thought of what he was going to say before we got interrupted haunts me long after I should be sleeping. I tell myself distance suits us both fine. We were never close anyway—the opposite in fact. 

The annoyance he presented is gone, and I am able to do my work uninterrupted. I lose myself in it as days blur together.

Nightmares smudge the line between sleeping and waking. Faces twisted with anger. Sharp words thrown at me like projectiles. I wake gasping, drenched in cold sweat night after night, only to fall into another dream where I'm lost in a labyrinth of shadows. They reach out their clammy hands for me, tearing the fabric of my dress and twisting my skin painfully. 

I start doing other people's work to keep them at bay. I keep going like that until I'm so tired my body forces itself into a blissfully dreamless sleep. Blotchy purple circles line my eyes, and getting out of bed each morning feels like a Herculean effort. 

I walk the halls day and night—haunting the house like I myself am haunted. The hallways blur together under the candlelight. The portraits grow deep shadows, transforming into ghosts that watch my every move. The distant hum of voices feels like they belong to another world. 

 I think no one has noticed until Mr. Stephens pulls me into his office. 

The moment I'm through the door, my legs go weak. My heart beats so loudly I can barely hear them. My mouth dries up, and my thoughts scatter. I want to yell, to ask them what they want from me, but all I can do is stare at the old floorboards under my feet. I'm not ready for this. 

He and Mrs. Hobbs stand there like my own personal firing squad. 

"Is there something you'd like to discuss with me?" I ask them, my voice raspy. 

"Laura," Mr. Stephens says sharply. 

I tense immediately. Ah. So they're finally sending me away.

I tell myself that I was ready for this, but my body betrays me. My eyes become wet with unshed tears. Fear crawls up my spine, wrapping its icy hands around my neck. I stare down at my shoes as the room blurs, my head starting to pound. 

What will I do? Where will I go? 

A tiny voice whispers in the back of my head, so soft it startles me: What about Aleksi? 

He's no business of ours, I tell it sharply. 

"Laura!" 

The shout snaps me out of my head, and my eyes meet Mrs. Hobbs'. Her face is softer than I've ever seen it, her usual frown smoothed into something almost… concerned. 

"We aren't letting you go, Laura. A mistake like this isn't worth losing a good worker over."

Confusion and gratitude collide, leaving me lightheaded. 

"M-mistake?" 

They look at me like I've grown a second head. 

"You washed the maids' uniforms with baking powder instead of talcum powder," Mr. Stephens says slowly, as if I won't grasp what he's saying. 

My blood runs cold, and I suck in air. They look similar enough, but how could I make such a silly mistake? My fear returns, and my eyes become wet once more. 

"I'm so, so sorry. It will never happen again. I don't know what came over me—" 

"Laura, stop." 

Mrs. Hobbs says, still gentle. She looks at me with what I assume is pity, though it's hard to tell with the amount of frown lines she has. 

"It's obvious that you've been… distracted these past weeks. We brought you in here to ask you… is this about Aleksi?" 

I don't know what I expected her to say but it wasn't that. 

I stare at her dumbly. Does she know about that moment in the courtyard? I blush at the thought. But nothing happened, so why am I embarrassed? 

I try to think of quite literally anything to say, but this situation is so strange words seem to have escaped me. 

Mrs. Hobbs is still looking at me, a sort of awkwardness taking over her features. There's also a heavy air of sympathy around her, which makes me uncomfortable, though I don't know why. Her voice is quiet when she speaks again. 

"Laura, if Aleksi… did something to you," she hesitates, " we need you to tell us so we can take action. You can talk to us. We can help." 

She keeps looking at me expectantly—silence suffocating the room. 

Realization strikes me like lightning. 

The air thickens with accusations, every word she isn't saying suspended between us. They think Aleksi hurt me. 

A bolt of ice slices my chest. 

They think this distance between us, this emptiness I carry around, is his fault. 

The truth grates at me. 

It's not him. It's me. 

But I can never tell them the whole truth. 

Gratitude for them and anger on Aleksi's behalf war within me. Their care and concern touch my heart, though I'm certain their assumptions about Aleksi's origins played a role. 

"No! No, of course not. He wouldn't do that." 

I shake my head so hard it hurts, desperate to make them understand. I see the doubt in their eyes, and I panic. 

"It's a… personal issue, what's been bothering me." 

I force the words out, but I almost choke on them, blushing furiously. I'm trembling, nervous energy wracking my sleep-deprived body. 

"Ah." 

Mr. Stephens sighs, looking almost disappointed. "We can't let personal matters get in the way of our duties here, Laura." 

He's right. Letting my own feelings distract me from work is simply unacceptable. 

"Yes, sir. Of course. It won't happen again." 

He nods, placated. Mrs. Hobbs steps in, however: 

"That being said, if you need to talk—or report anything—our doors are open." 

My heart squeezes at the surprising words. Despite their usual cool demeanors, they care enough to be concerned. Even if I'm sure a share of that concern is the desire for an excuse to sack Aleksi.

"Of course, not during working hours," she says, face tightening once more as her nose turns up. 

I smile and chuckle softly. Well, Rome wasn't built in a day. 

My spirits, however, are much improved walking out of the office. 

Alekis' sudden presence outside the office is a jolt to my system. 

I wasn't prepared to see him so soon, so close, his face so intense. 

I stop in my tracks, heart stuttering. 

Before I can gather myself, though, he walks right past me, a determined set to his jaw. 

His arm brushes mine, and a lazy spark shoots up to my shoulder from the contact. 

He walks through the office door and closes it. 

The snick of the latch shuts me out with ringing finality. I

 catch a whiff of his scent as he leaves, and the warmth of it lingers in the air. 

Curiosity lights itself in my brain. 

Was he here because of me? What's he talking to them about? 

But any rising emotions simmer down to nothing, the cold emptiness snuffing them out before they can take root. 

Maybe it's better to feel nothing at all. 

I stare at the door for a moment more before continuing down the hallway, but I swear as I walk away, I hear shouting coming from inside.