Chapter 10

Though I focus more on work, I make no effort to reach out to people. I move along the halls like a shadow, my footsteps swallowed by the winter air. The faint clinking of dishes and the conversations of the other staff feel like a world I'm no longer part of. I cannot remember the last time I spoke voluntarily, besides when people ask me things like, "Pass the potatoes," or "Where's the shoe polish?"

Occasionally, I'll catch Aleksi watching me, but he looks away as soon as our eyes meet. His gaze isn't sharp or challenging anymore—there's something softer there, something that makes my chest ache. 

Adah has begun watching me too, and she doesn't look away when I catch her staring. Her sharp eyes search mine, or maybe she is trying to see right through me. Concern is evident in her face, and I can't imagine why. 

I try my best to avoid her, but I can feel her gaze following me, as if she's waiting for me to crack. 

Clearly, I don't try hard enough. 

"Can you help with this?" she asks, cornering me in the mending room one day. Her tone is light and professional, but she's still watching me with that intense look. 

She gestures at a dress she's been pouring over, pointing to the stain that mars the light fabric. 

I nod and go to work, my fingers finding the familiar rhythm of scrubbing. 

"Did you know Aleksi once poured soup all over someone when he tried waiting tables?" 

She doesn't look up from her work, throwing out the words casually. I blink, sure I've misheard her. I can picture it clearly, though—his hands too large for the dainty dishes, his shoulders too broad for the small space, his livery still too tight. 

A laugh startles out of me, uneven and rusty, as though my body has forgotten how. 

Adah smiles, encouraged, and adds, "He can be such a krasivak." 

At my puzzled expression, she laughs and explains, "It means fool, or idiot in Slavokrainian." 

We laugh softly as we work, and she tells me more predicaments he's gotten himself into. I hear about the time a drunken bet left him swimming naked in an icy lake, and another about how he fell in horse dung and it took him three days to get the smell off. Each story paints a picture of a man who's more real, more open, than the distant Aleksi I know. 

I can hardly breathe—I'm laughing so hard. 

"How do you know all these?" I ask, chuckling. 

"Ah…" She hesitates, and I worry I shouldn't have asked, but then she smiles softly. "His family was never really around, and when he came to work for the house, he was still so young." 

Her smile turns sad as she gazes across the room, lost in thought. I'm bursting with curiosity, but I wait. 

"I had children once, you see, but… well, not anymore." 

An old sorrow shadows her eyes as she shakes her head, and my heart aches for her. 

"Aleksi reminded me of what I lost when I met him, but he was so young, so in need of guidance, I couldn't help but take care of him." 

I nod. Though I couldn't possibly understand, I see the same deep sort of anguish in her eyes that I see everyday in the looking glass. 

"He filled an old hole in my heart—helped me heal." 

I see it then, the motherly love for Aleksi so plain on her face. I think privately to myself that she must have helped him heal too. They needed each other. 

I jump slightly when her warm, calloused hand covers my own. 

"The sadness… it fades, Laura. Things will get better." 

I stiffen, unsure how to respond to such a simple yet blunt statement. Her openness startles me. My whole life, I've been used to the Anglorian attitude that feelings were best left untalked about. My eyes water under her gaze, and she pats my back gently. 

I sniffle and turn back to my work, my heart raw from all she said. 

I think she can tell I'm struggling because she launches back into funny Aleksi stories. Chuckling lightly, I continue to scrub. 

By the time the stain is fixed, my spirits are higher than they've been in ages—the dull fog in my brain pushed back. 

I'm blindsided by the sudden wish I could have known him back in Slavokrania. Maybe there, away from the weight of our roles and expectations, he could have shown me the man from Adah's stories. 

A man I might have called a friend. 

"Thank you," I say as I leave. I try to think of something to say—some way to explain what she did for me—but I just stand there, hesitating.

She only nods knowingly and says gently, "Off you go now." 

As I leave, a strange thought nags at me: the stain Adah asked me to help with was made on purpose. 

My heart swells, her kindness washing over me in warm waves. 

 —

I stew on Adah's words all day, replaying the stories over and over. That night, a laugh almost slips out when I see Aleksi standing in the hallway. A tightness grips my chest, and I almost let him pass without saying anything. 

When he sees me, he averts his eyes and makes to go away. 

I picture the outgoing, silly man from the stories, thinking about him instead of the closed off man in front of me. With a burst of confidence, I open my mouth: 

"Krasivak."

I'm sure my pronunciation is abysmal. 

He freezes with his back turned for a moment before whipping around with raised eyebrows. 

Is he—blushing? 

I force an awkward laugh when he doesn't respond and I paste my best impression of his signature smirk on my face. I feign bravado I don't really feel.

"What? I've called you a fool plenty in Anglorian—I would have figured it would be old hat by now." 

Recognition sparks on his face. His blush deepens and, for the first time in weeks, I feel a spark of warmth unfurl in my chest. 

Was it so bad he couldn't understand me? 

Embarrassment threatens to heat my face, but I shove it down. My breath huffs, and I clench my hands to stop their trembling. 

He scratches the back of his neck, looking almost shy. 

He smiles slowly, ruefully. 

"Indeed, Limonskiy." 

My muscles relax, and a real smile takes over my face. 

We stand there for a moment, grinning at each other. 

Shoes scuff behind him—signaling the end of this moment—and he nods in goodbye. 

Relief I don't try to understand washes over me, loosening my shoulders and pushing back the heaviness of my past. 

For the first time in weeks, the ache in my chest eases—just a little. 

I don't know what will happen from now on, but, for now, this moment is enough.