Chapter 11
Grimes
Florian takes an hour to get ready the next evening.
For a simple dinner at a neighbor’s house.
When he comes downstairs, he looks ready for a night at the most sophisticated restaurant in Rhennes.
He’s managed to save one pair of fancy breeches from digging for special occasions.
They encase his legs like they’re painted on.
The silver-buckled shoes on his feet are polished to mirror shine.
I’m surprised that he can manage that so well without the services of a valet.
His shirt is buttoned higher than usual, like he’s making an attempt at respectability.
He also wears a dark jacket made of some soft, lush fabric.
It’s expertly tailored, not an inch of material to spare, showing off the breadth of his shoulders and the triangle of his torso.
Obviously made bespoke just for him. And of course the famous mane of hair is gleaming.
I have no idea how he got it so shiny without proper running water to rinse out the soap.
It’s untied tonight, long and flowing luxuriously over his shoulders in all its glory.
Most of all, I notice his eyes: bright with joy at being allowed out for just one evening.
He reminds me of the inmates back at prison on the evening before their release.
Which makes me the jailer, I suppose. He gives me a twirl.
I have no idea why he thinks I want or need a twirl, but this is Florian we’re talking about.
“Well?” he says. “How do I look?”
“You know damn well how good you look,” I say, sounding sour.
Stars, do I sound jealous? Of course I’m comparing his joyous appearance to my dour, black-shrouded mien. I know I look better with the hood down, but I just can’t do it.
He comes closer. “You look good too, Boss,” he says. He sounds sincere.
Fuck that kindness in his eyes. This spoiled little aristocrat confuses the hell out of me. This is the same man who had me ruined on a whim because I crossed him once.
“You don’t think I’m overdressed, do you?” he says.
“Breta’s family are good people. They’ll be pleased to see you no matter what you wear.”
And now I’m being dragged into returning his kindness. I have a headache from overthinking already, and we haven’t even left the house. Though some of the ache can be blamed on his musky cologne.
“Good. I want you to be proud of your servant,” he says.
I can’t think of anything to say to that, so I just gesture for him to go outside in front of me and lock the door behind us.
**
Of course, Florian charms the whole household the moment we walk through the door.
“Florian, so lovely to meet you,” Breta coos. “Grimes should’ve brought you over to see us long ago.”
She isn’t the cooing kind of woman, and I have no idea why she’s doing it now.
She’s a tough prospector who’s carved out a life here with her talent of sniffing out just enough specks of gold to survive.
But now she’s acting like a fool, looking at Florian like he’s a poor, hurt little animal and she needs to take care of him.
She wraps him in a warm, motherly embrace, which he dives into with gusto.
He seems as happy in her arms as he was in mine last night.
So he’s as unfussy about his cuddle dates as his fucking partners.
“It’s lovely to meet you too, Breta,” Florian says, from somewhere deep in the hug.
“Meet my daughters, Prevana, Tav and Beveen,” Breta says, while Florian blinks, trying to keep up.
“Lovely to meet you all,” he says.
He can’t help eyeing up the eldest daughter, Prevana, the twenty-year-old.
But in fairness to him, he’s kind to the kids as well, listening with apparent interest as they start rattling off every little thing they’ve done today: going to their morning lessons in the city and coming home again (obviously), collecting eggs, and other such mundane things.
I nod along, bored already. What is it with children and that habit?
“How many eggs did you get today?” Florian asks them.
“Fifteen,” Beveen yells proudly, and Florian holds up his hand for her to slap in celebration.
Stars. I should’ve known he’d be popular with the children. All that annoying sunniness.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” Breta says, gesturing to a pot of traditional Galbravan soup hanging over the fire. The hot and savory scent of spices, beans and bacon fills the kitchen.
“Smells absolutely gorgeous,” Florian pronounces, earning another adoring maternal smile from Breta.
“Yes, I’m sure it will be,” I add. I’m determined not to be outshone in manners by sunshine boy.
We all take seats around the kitchen table.
Breta pours pre-dinner wine for the adults and juice in wine glasses for the kids.
Florian glances at me, a question in his eyes.
He’s waiting for permission to drink alcohol?
I nod, feeling uncomfortable. I don’t want Breta to know how many rules I’ve made for him, even if I technically have the legal right.
Breta lifts the lid of the pot to check on the soup, and the delicious scent intensifies a hundred-fold.
My stomach grumbles in anticipation. Florian giggles, and cuts it off fast as I glare at him.
Trust me to embarrass myself. So much for competing with him.
Of course his flawless manners are going over a charm.
And wouldn’t you know, he’s managed to seat himself beside the eldest daughter somehow.
The two of them keep snatching glances at each other as everyone makes small talk.
“So, Florian, how do you like working for Grimes?” Breta says.
“Oh, it’s fine,” Florian says. “I think at first he didn’t know what he’d gotten himself into. I didn’t have much clue about digging and all that.” He gives me a shy look. “But I’m a little better at it now.”
“He’s more than adequate,” I say, sounding stiff and pompous.
“You work hard for him?” Breta says to Florian.
“Oh, yes,” Florian says. “I want to do my best, of course.”
He takes an elegant sip of wine, the move emphasizing the delicate line of his jaw, his pretty hair flowing.
And now I look like the bad old ogre forcing the sweet little prince to toil at my wicked schemes.
Breta narrows her eyes at me. It says: look at this precious creature you’re torturing.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes back. If only she knew what this precious creature was capable of.
“You’re building a boxing gym, aren’t you?” Prevana, the eldest daughter, addresses her question to Florian, not me. She trails a lock of lustrous dark hair around her finger as she speaks. She and Florian match in that regard: I guess they can bond over their extreme beauty.
“Yes, though Boss is pretty quiet about it,” Florian says, glancing at me.
“There’s no big secret,” I say. “It’ll be the biggest for miles around when it’s done.”
The little kids grin, wide-eyed.
“Can we come to fight at the gym?” Tav says.
“Of course, once it’s open,” I say.
“We’ll see,” Breta says, giving me another glare. I’m being a bad influence.
“Can I come?” Prevana says.
“Sure, as long as you go easy on the other customers,” I say.
She has quite a reputation for brawling in the city pubs. Something I haven’t told Florian yet. Why forewarn him? It would be funny if he pissed her off and got thumped in that regal nose of his.
“We could spar,” Florian says to her, arms folded prettily on the table, flirtatiousness oozing from him. “You could teach me.”
She leans forward, meeting the flirty note with interest. “Don’t be so modest. I’ve heard you’re the best at Stav’s gym.”
I look at him sharply. “Is that true?”
“Well I don’t know about the best…” His cheeks go prettily pink. Prevana smiles at him.
Breta gives me an amused look, which I’m much too sour to share. If I’d known Florian was going to flaunt himself like this, I never would’ve brought him here. Prevana’s younger sisters are watching. Not to mention her mother. He’s embarrassing himself. And me.
“I didn’t know you could box,” I say to him. He mentioned something about visiting a gym weeks ago, but I didn’t take him that seriously. I assumed he just played at training.
“Not like you,” he says, still disarmingly modest. “But I try.”
“I bet you’re really good,” says Beveen loyally.
“I bet you are,” Florian counters. He puts up his fists. “Show me what you’ve got.”
Florian and the kid start trading teeny, adorable little fake punches. I drain half my glass to hide my jealousy. I’ve known the family for longer, but he’s already surpassing me in popularity.
“Well, dinner’s ready,” Breta announces, getting to her feet. She ladles out the soup. The ingredients are much cheaper than what Florian would be used to back in Rhennes, but he digs in with obvious enjoyment.
“Is this flying rice in the soup?” Florian asks.
Prevana smiles at him. “Yes. Lots of people think it’s—”
“Too bitter,” he says, with an even bigger smile. “But the trick is to—”
“Soak it overnight first,” Prevana finishes. “You know cooking.”
“I love cooking,” Florian says. “When I lived in Rhennes, my family had a cook and I got her to teach me as many recipes as I could remember.”
“I’m sure Grimes is very grateful to have someone so skilled in the culinary arts living with him,” Breta says, with a big smile for Florian and a scowl for me.
So far, she’s pointedly refused to refer to him as my servant.
Apparently we all have to act as though he’s a long-lost friend who just happens to be staying with me.
“I don’t know if Boss likes my cooking that much,” Florian says, glancing at me.
“You know I do,” I protest, as the women at the table all fix me with evil stares. Even the little kids. It’s scary, especially coming from the six-year-old.
“Do I? All you ever say is that it’s all right,” Florian says, his pretty mouth turning stubborn.
“That’s a compliment where I come from,” I mutter.