“My father named me as a joke.”
Nikolett’s head snapped up from her small salad of greens and tart vinaigrette.
“There’s nothing wrong with the name, except that he meant for people to laugh at me because of it. Now, no one does. But when I was a child, they taunted me.” Gus’ smile was cold. “Looking back, if I’d been able to hide my feelings about it, I doubt they would have taunted me, but I cringed every time a teacher said my name, and the other children picked up on it.”
“I’m sorry. Your father sounds…”
“He was a right bastard.” Gus smiled, but there was fury in his gaze that made her catch her breath. “He didn’t care about me and the name is just an easy example of that.”
“Was?” she asked gently.
“He’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, I’m not?—”
“Not sorry he’s dead,” she cut in. “Sorry he was such a poor father. And sorry other children were cruel to you. What we think and feel and believe when we’re young… It imprints on us.”
“It does,” he agreed.
Silence settled over them, awkward and heavy. Neither one of them finished their salads, and Nikolett considered grabbing her phone and begging them to bring the next course just to break the tension.
The room now felt off-kilter, as if it were canted to one side and she had to tense her muscles and lean to stay upright. The imbalance was because he’d told her something intimate and real, while she was made of secrets.
She steeled herself. “All my father ever expected of me was to marry and be a good wife.”
It had been a very long time since she’d talked about her family to anyone. Even Nyx and Grigoris knew very little about who she’d been before she stepped into the messy world of Hungarian politics after university.
“I’m sorry,” Gus said simply.
“In Hungary, we tell stories about a king. A knight-king. King Ladislaus, who was so chivalrous and pious he became a saint.”
“Sounds a bit like Arthur—the piousness at least.”
“But your Arthur, he is fictional, yes?”
“Yes. And he’s not mine. I don’t have any love for British folklore.”
She was starting to get the impression Gus was ambivalent about his homeland, despite the detailed way he’d described parts of Scotland when they were discussing travel.
“Ladislaus was a real king. The stories about him turning gold to stone so the wealth wouldn’t distract his armies are a myth, but he was a real man.”
Gus was quiet, watching her attentively, but not in a way that made her nervous.
“My father loved to tell stories about Ladislaus. How he was so great that not only was he a saint, but his obedient, pious daughter was also made a saint. Saint Irene, Byzantine Empress.”
“Empress? Impressive.”
“Don’t worry, she didn’t rule with her husband. She devoted herself to the church and her children.”
Gus’ head tipped to the side as he studied her. “This is what your father expected from you? To be the pious daughter of a pious man. That you would marry and devote yourself to exclusively being a wife and mother.”
“I’m glad you added ‘exclusive.’ There is nothing wrong with being a wife, a mother. There is a problem when that’s all you’re allowed to be.”
“Right enough. My mother was a single mother and had to do it all.”
Single mother? His father must have left them.
