Chapter 26 #2
"I'll be right there."
Today, Kholod had miraculously arrived punctually for dinner. The staff filed in, presenting course after course of elegant dishes. The first was French onion soup, its aroma filling the air.
I politely tasted a spoonful, then grimaced slightly. Far too much thyme—that overpowering herb made my stomach turn. But I said nothing, simply set down my spoon and waited for the next course.
"Replace her soup." Kholod's voice cut through the quiet, calm but brooking no argument.
Everyone froze.
The staff exchanged bewildered glances, unclear about what had transpired.
"Sir, is there an issue with the soup?" the chef inquired cautiously.
"She doesn't like it." Kholod didn't even glance at the offending bowl, stating matter-of-factly, "Bring her a clear broth instead."
I gaped at him in astonishment. How could he possibly know I disliked the flavor? I hadn't uttered a word.
Anya's spoon remained suspended mid-air as she stared at us in disbelief, then silently resumed eating. Anastasia lowered her napkin, the ghost of a smile playing at her lips.
Within five minutes, a bowl of simple chicken broth seasoned only with salt and pepper appeared before me. Its clean, delicate fragrance was exactly what I loved.
"Thank you," I murmured.
Kholod made no response, simply continued with his meal as if what had just occurred was perfectly routine.
Dinner proceeded in a peculiar atmosphere. Kholod maintained his impassive expression, but I noticed he barely touched his own food, spending most of the time observing whether I was eating properly.
The second course was pan-seared cod with asparagus, the third roasted lamb, the fourth dessert—raspberry mousse. Each dish was exquisite and delicious. For once, I had a genuine appetite and ate more than usual. I caught the corner of Kholod's mouth twitching upward almost imperceptibly.
After dinner, Kholod departed first.
"Noelle," Anastasia called to me. "Walk with me a moment."
I followed her to her private sitting room. Though I'd been here before, I was still struck by the refined décor. Classical oil paintings adorned the walls, while the shelves held leather-bound volumes. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and the air carried hints of sandalwood.
She gestured for me to sit, then settled gracefully on the opposite sofa with her tea.
"Your work in the collection room has been exemplary," she began. "Far exceeding my expectations. You're both patient and meticulous. The cataloging of those pieces is flawless—I couldn't find fault if I tried."
"Thank you."
"I've been considering," she set down her teacup, her gaze gentle, "perhaps it's time you became involved in family affairs. Kholod carries an enormous burden, and many responsibilities require our support. You must fully understand how this family functions and what protocols govern us."
I was stunned. "You mean..."
"Naturally, this will require preparation time. You may ready yourself accordingly."
"I'll prepare thoroughly."
She nodded approvingly, then her tone warmed.
"Do visit me more often for conversation.
Anya is constantly occupied with her design company.
You could share discoveries from organizing the collection, or discuss your artistic insights.
I was passionate about art in my youth, though I was forced to abandon it later. "
A flicker of wistfulness crossed her features before quickly fading.
"I will," I said sincerely. "Thank you... Mother?"
"Oh, maybe just Ana." My form of address brought a soft smile to her face. "Go now, rest well."
In the hallway, I encountered Anya heading upstairs. Seeing me, she paused mid-step.
"Anya," I called out.
She turned, eyebrows drawing together slightly. "What?"
I approached quickly, withdrawing a folded paper from my dress pocket.
"This is for you." I felt nervous butterflies. "I often see you browsing jewelry magazines. While cataloging the collection, I noticed the iris pattern on the Faberge egg was stunning, so I sketched out a design. Perhaps it might inspire you."
Anya unfolded the paper with suspicion. I'd merged classical iris motifs with contemporary lines, creating a brooch design with careful notations about petal layering and gemstone placement.
She studied it for so long I was certain she'd tear it up and fling it back at me.
"It's... okay, I suppose." Her tone remained frigid.
But I noticed her fingertips delicately tracing the paper's edges, the gesture almost reverent.
"If you don't care for it—"
"Who said I don't care for it?" She interrupted sharply, turning away with obvious discomfort. "I didn't say it was terrible."
She carefully refolded the paper and tucked it into her handbag, securing the zipper.
"Well... thanks." Her voice was barely audible.
"You're welcome." I smiled warmly.
Anya regarded me with a complex expression, seeming about to speak, but ultimately just turned and ascended the stairs.
Back in my room behind closed doors, I leaned against the wood and exhaled deeply. The warmth blooming in my chest told me this house was gradually opening its arms to embrace me.