Mr. Evergreen stirred. His arm left his torso to pat the ground beside him, and though I could’ve said anything to repierce the peace between us, I heeded his request, crawling slowly and carefully into the spot he’d offered.
As I leveled to his shape, I ached at how amplified his breathing became. He handed me a brick of cheese without rustling too much, and I tried not to consider if the sensations I felt were the effect of the wineor him.
After some time, Mr. Evergreen and I moved to face one another. He started it, but we began to share memories from our childhoods. It was not long before the stories turned dark.
“You said your Governess was strict…” He watched me. “Did she hit you ever?” In my silence, he said, “I won’t tell Sameer.”
I nodded. I ran my fingers across the back of my other hand. “She used her cane a lot for it.”
His jaw flexed. “She struck you with her cane?” he asked.
My shoulders danced. “Not always. Only if I answered something incorrectly or I mispronounced a word. Once, I called it matronarch, not matriarch. I couldn’t grip my pencil right for a day or two.”
“Was she not punished?” he asked.
“It was a few bruises,” I said.
“A few bruises, and you cannot grip a pencil? Tell me the truth.”
I adjusted.
“Tell me,” he said.
“All girls are disciplined by their governesses, Mr. Evergreen. And now I am well-versed in definitions and names and politics. I had a brilliant education. Should I complain?”
“If I were King, I’d hurt her back for marring you,” he said.
I laughed but he was serious. “Mr. Evergreen…”
“I would, I promise you,” he said. “I would punish her, and I wouldhurther, and I would keep her far away from you and from any children and for all of time.”
“W-Well.” I replayed his words. “Not to worry. I cannot say she is an issue for any children these days.”
“Your father denounced her?” he asked.
“No. She died.”
Cyrus blinked. “She’sdead?When?”
“A few years ago. She fell down the foyer stairs,” I explained.
“Did she suffer?” he asked.
“No.”
“A bloody shame.”
“Tell me something happy,” I hurried. “Please? Don’t let me ruin our time with such things. Tell me how to break a horse.”
He sighed. “You have to repeat yourself a lot. Repetition is your kindest friend.”
“Have you broken many?” I asked.
“Yes. Quite a few,” he said.
There was a warmness in my belly. “Quite a few,” I imitated him. “Your accent is thicker now.”
“Your pardon?” he asked.
