Thin flakes of snow begin to fall from the sky. A brisk wind lifts my hair from my shoulders as I step out of the buggy and onto Aurick’s eleven acres of land. There is a freshly cut lawn, an asphalt driveway wrapping around a granite courtyard fountain, and a three-story bluestone mansion. Its sides are covered in ivy, just barely reaching the bottom side of the roof.
The ruby-red front door glides open and Aurick smiles at me wearing a white dress shirt with a double-breasted vest. He steps out of his home with the easy grace of a dancer. A tall and lean frame, with the face of a young professor, and the eyes of a dreamer. His irises swirl with the color of the frozen pond by his northern cottage.
He looks recharged, like the luxury of his estate breathed sophistication back into his body. He runs one hand through his raven-black hair, and his long fingers wave me to come in.
The snow melts on my cheeks as I shuffle up the porch steps to greet him. Aurick’s hands theatrically extend to the mansion—presenting it as if for an applauding audience.
I nod with raised eyebrows. “Not bad at all.”Wow. I mean,wow.
He smiles. “Come in, please.”
I’m guided through the front door, allowing a rush of warm air to hit my skin. Aurick’s home is nothing short of intimidating, like walking into a Gothic fairy tale with dark wooden walls and a common theme of gold lining. I notice the dining room table, set for a feast and a centerpiece bouquet of red roses.
I stand there, looking at every detail, consciously holding my mouth closed. The manor matches his demeanor perfectly. It’s beautiful and lonely, cuddled together under a cashmere blanket.
“It smells nice in here,” I comment. “Like potpourri and cigars.”
Aurick helps me out of my coat and holds his arm out to keep me balanced while I remove the heels from my sore feet. I’m not accustomed to wearing nice things. I’m accustomed to running barefoot in the mud and swimming in dirty creek water.
“Welcome home,” he announces with arms outstretched to the mansion.Home.The word itself holds warmth, but this atmosphere does not match. The cold floor underneath my bare feet, the shadows pouring out of every corner and crevice, the dim flickering lights of the gaslit chandeliers and wall lamps. It reflects the same haunted sadness that Emerald Lake Asylum cast on to me earlier today.
“Would you like to dine first or after the tour?” He opens a closet to his left, hanging my coat and setting down my shoes.
“I’m famished.” I haven’t eaten all day. While I was observing the patients, Suseas offered me a meal from the grand dining hall. I refused, claiming I was still utterly full from breakfast. She gave me an approving nod. I learned some time ago that women are praised for refusing meals. It’s a sign they’re keeping up with their lady-doll regimen—to uphold a thin and fragile womanly frame. Little did she know that was far from my reasoning. I refused the meal because I feared the extra food in my stomach would give me away, sell me out as an empathetic fraud. I would merely have to think of Chekiss being drowned over and over again, and the contents of said meal would pressurize in my mouth and come spewing out between my fingers.
Aurick nods knowingly. He escorts me to the feast. After only a few steps in that direction, I’m hit with the rich aroma of hot melted butter, freshly baked bread, and roasted turkey.
Aurick seats me at the end of the table, where he pours a large glass of white wine. His focus jumps to the empty glass in front of me.
“Water or wine?” He raises an eyebrow.
“I’ve never had wine.” I shrug, glancing over to his glass. “But after the day I’ve had…”
He chuckles, nodding his approval as he fills my glass half full.
I don’t wait for him to sit down to begin eating. I bite into the turkey leg first, dripping with a bourbon glaze. The juices spill over my bottom lip and glide down my chin. I’m overwhelmed with the succulent flavors purging from the tender meat.
I use my fork to stab at a few slices of cheese from the charcuterie board while using my fingers to pluck rosemary roasted potatoes from the other side of my plate. They’re all crammed into my mouth simultaneously. The stickiness of the potatoes makes it hard to swallow down my food. I lift the bowl of hot soup to my lips and slowly fill my mouth to gulp the rest down.
“Do you always hum when you eat?” Aurick severs the comatose state I was hypnotized into by all of these savory foods.
I smile shyly, wiping the juices from my neck and chin with the back of my hand.
“Only when the food isreallygood.”
“You would make for an amusing date at one of these political dinners I attend monthly.” He shakes his head—then stops—raising his eyebrows at my frozen expression.
Date. Man. Lover.They’re only interested in the slickness between your legs.
Scarlett.
He winces, as if reading the thoughts being printed across my forehead.
“We should address that rather large elephant in the room, shouldn’t we?”
Yes. I don’t want to. But better now rather than later.
“I should have made my intentions clear when we first met,” he admits, setting his fork and knife back down to the table. “I won’t presume to guess how you feel on the matter, but I recently lost my fiancée in a tragic accident. My heart is no longer open—I only seek friendship from you.”
