Chapter 10
Grimes
Florian might be right: we’re spending too much time together, just the two of us.
It’s claustrophobic. It’s making us look at each other in the wrong way.
Only because of proximity and boredom. I’m not like Florian.
I don’t think the answer lies in the arms of a stranger in the city.
But it couldn’t hurt to get out a little more.
The obvious solution is to widen our social circle.
Take our minds off each other. Dinner at Breta’s place should work.
Florian hasn’t met my neighbor or her family yet, not through lack of trying on Breta’s part.
She’s a kind, sociable woman, and she’s asked to meet him several times.
But I’ve kept him away. I suspect that Breta judges me for exploiting him with indentured servitude.
She knows about the bet, but not about Florian’s role in my past or my justified desire for revenge.
She thinks he’s just a stranger that I managed to entrap into some cheap labor because I can’t afford to pay real wages. She wouldn’t understand the truth.
While we’re drying dishes, I tell Florian we’ll be having dinner at Breta’s tomorrow evening.
“Both of us?” he says.
“Yes.”
“Will I be… I mean, will I be eating with you or the other servants?” His voice is quieter than normal and he’s rolling one of his beaded bracelets around and around on his wrist. Back in Rhennes his family must’ve had servants, and of course they didn’t eat with the family. Now he’s the servant.
“It’s just Breta and her daughters,” I say. “There are no other servants. We’ll all be eating together.”
“Oh. Okay.” He brightens up, right back to his usual sunny self. “I can’t wait. Of course, I’ll need to think about my outfit…”
Maybe I’ve been keeping him a bit too sequestered if he’s this enthused about a trip to the neighbor’s house.
“It’s just a quiet family dinner, not one of your wild nights out,” I warn.
“I know. Even so. Thank you so much for inviting me, Boss.”
He comes toward me, beaming. His arms are ominously open. I back away like he has a weapon.
“Are you trying to hug me?” I demand.
“Is that a problem?”
“Yes, it is. No hugging.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets, scowling. “How’d I know you wouldn’t be a hugger?” he mutters, loud enough for me to hear.
“Breta will most likely give you a hug tomorrow. She’s very warm and demonstrative.” I shudder. She’ll probably insist on hugging me as well.
“I miss it,” Florian says softly. “As much as I miss hooking up, believe it or not.”
Stars. Why does he insist on slipping into these moments of raw honesty, looking at me with those big eyes, like we’re friends or like I would care about his feelings.
“All right,” I say neutrally.
“Back in the city I would have cuddle dates sometimes,” he goes on, under the misapprehension that I’m interested. “Friends I would just cuddle with. You know how it is.”
I really don’t. I only hugged Jos, my cellmate and best friend, once in prison. It was when he was beaten within an inch of his life. Even then it wasn’t so much a hug as supporting his weight as we staggered back to the cell because he could barely walk.
“Your life is fascinating, Florian,” I say acidly.
“Thanks.”
I look at Florian with narrowed eyes. I can’t tell if he’s mocking me or if he missed my sarcasm.
“You might like it, you know,” he says. He’s fidgeting with one of his bracelets, not nervously now, but playful. His long fingers always draw my gaze when he does that. His manicure has long since been ruined, and there are lines of red dust that he can’t shake under his nails.
“Might like what?” I demand.
“Platonic cuddling.”
I snort. I can’t help it. “Platonic cuddling. For fuck’s sake, now I’ve heard it all. I can assure you I wouldn’t like it.”
“Have you ever tried?” he says.
He just doesn’t quit. I would pay a small fortune to anyone who could find me a foolproof way of shutting him up.
“No, I have not,” I say.
“So how do you know you hate it?”
“I just know.”
He tuts. “You’re very closed-minded, Boss. Just try it. Unless you’re scared.”
“I assure you I’m not scared of you in any way, Florian.”
He smiles, sidling closer. “I think you might be afraid of cuddling me.”
“Why the hell would I be scared of cuddling you?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “Why would you be?”
That decides it. I can’t back down now. With a sigh of annoyance, I open my arms for him.
“Come on, then. Get over here.”
He slips into my arms with disconcerting eagerness, holding me around the waist. He leans his head with its soft dark hair and velvet bow on my shoulder.
I’m tall enough to rest my head on top of his.
I resist for moment, but it might make him think I’m “scared” of cuddling, so I take a deep breath and lean my chin on his head.
His warmth suffuses me. His body feels firm and strong.
But there’s something about him that demands protection, something I didn’t notice until this moment.
It’s the way he melts so quickly into my embrace.
He wasn’t lying earlier. He craves this.
Affection, closeness. Even from me, who’s never treated him well.
“Boss, you’re good at this,” he says, snuggling even closer.
“You act like I never hugged anyone before.”
“I was starting to think maybe you hadn’t.”
“Very funny.” I pull away, disentangling his arms from my waist. “Now I’ve proved myself, can we drop this?”
“Sure. For now.” He grins up at me, looking happier than he has for some time. His hair is a little tousled from the cuddle and he isn’t fixing it. Stars, I hope he isn’t expecting to make this an appointment thing.
“For now?”
“I should go upstairs and plan my outfit for tomorrow,” he says, ignoring my question.
“You don’t need to dress up that much. I didn’t think you’d be so excited about going to dinner at a prospector’s house, anyway.”
“I’m not a snob, you know,” he says, affronted. “That’s one thing I like about Galbrava. Less standing on ceremony than in Rhennes.”
“Callinth is even worse than Rhennes when it comes to hierarchy.”
He looks away, suddenly shifty. I suspected he might, which is why I mentioned it.
He always looks shifty when I mention Callinth, the empire that was locked in war with our home city Rhennes for generations.
A shaky peace deal was signed a few years ago and is holding, but the enmity still runs deep.
I’m beginning to find Florian’s behavior when Callinth is mentioned very suspicious.
Beginning to wonder if maybe his pale skin isn’t Vennan after all.
It could be Callinthen. I know Florian’s father by reputation.
He’s an aristocrat who owns large swaths of Rhennes.
But the mother Florian only mentioned once.
.. Could she have been Callinthen? Not that I care about his parentage.
My enmity is personal. I hate him enough already.
Being half Callinthen wouldn’t make much difference.
“So how’d you get to be friends with Breta, Boss?” he says, very obviously changing the subject. “I didn’t realize you had any friends.”
“I have friends,” I object, wondering if that’s true.
Breta is kind and a good neighbor, but I’ve never really confided in her.
She doesn’t even know I was in prison. Many of my friends back in Rhennes fell away when I was arrested, even those who were much shadier than me, with the smugness of the never-caught.
Others who wanted to stay close, who offered sympathy, I pushed away through pride.
And my biggest regret: losing my best friend Jos.
This revenge is as much for him as it is for me.
I confided my Florian-entrapping plan to him.
And though he’d been at my side for two years in prison and saw what that place did to me, he was firmly against revenge, saying it would destroy me.
That it was beneath me. He’s always been a foolish idealist. We quarreled bitterly.
When I left Rhennes, we weren’t even on speaking terms. I learned my lesson.
No one understands my need for justice, not even Jos.
It’s not an emotion, more like the laws of physics. I can’t move on until I have it.
Florian stares at me now, oblivious and sweet-looking as usual. Funny how a man who torched my life can look so sweet.
“Er, Boss?” he says.
“What?”
“You’re doing it again. Daydreaming.”
If only he knew.
“Let’s go over the rules for dinner with Breta,” I say.
He groans theatrically. “You don’t need to give me rules. Socializing is practically my job.”
“That’s not a job, Florian.”
“Well, no.” He’s unsquashed, as usual. “But you know what I mean. I’ll be charming, promise.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
“What, me being charming?” He pouts. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Just don’t take it too far.” I fold my arms and loom over him in an attempt to intimidate.
The move was already losing its venom, and the cuddle session has apparently drained the last of his fear.
I start to regret the loom as his gaze rakes up my body and lingers on my face.
He allows one corner of those pillowy lips to quirk at me. Quirk coquettishly.
“Florian,” I snarl.
“What? I’m not doing anything.” He fluffs up his hair, looking aggrieved. It’s an obvious lie, but I can’t prove it.
“You are not, under any circumstances, to unleash that charm as you call it on Breta’s daughter,” I say.
“How old is she?” His hands play with his hair, putting it up into a high ponytail and tying the velvet band.
He’s only wearing a sleeveless undershirt and I notice the definition on his muscles.
His biceps are bigger than they used to be and his shoulders more filled out.
He should thank me for all the work I’ve been assigning him.
He still isn’t built like me, but he’s not bad for a useless aristocrat.
“The oldest daughter is twenty,” I say. “The younger two are still children.”
“Twenty,” he says in a contemplative voice, his blue eyes dreamy.
“Stay away from her, Florian. You hear me?”
I put an edge in my voice. He holds up his slim palms, still soft but with a few calluses now.
“I hear you. Stars, Boss. You don’t have to treat me like a dog in heat.”
Then maybe he shouldn’t act like one. I choke back the insult at the last moment.
When I taunt him and throw hurtful words at him, he gives me a look which reminds me of Jos’ words: revenge is beneath me.
But justice… justice is my right. I’ll make him work, but I won’t be overtly cruel to him while he’s under my power.
I’m better than him. He’s going to be treated better than I was in prison while I extract justice.
But sometimes, he makes it hard.