Chapter 16
Florian
Grimes goes into town to buy ingredients, leaving me at home alone.
He seems to trust now that I won’t run away.
When he comes back, he brings me a newspaper, throwing it at me with a bored grunt.
Even so the gesture warms me. He knows how I like to keep up with the outside world even as I’m stuck here digging the red desert dirt.
I spend the afternoon happily cooking Galbravan stew for our visitors later.
It’s a recipe I never heard of until I got here, but it’s quickly become one of my favorites.
I cut beef into perfect cubes, leaving just enough fat for flavor but not enough to weigh down the stew, then roll the meat in seasoned flour and put it in the pot to brown.
Back at home in Rhennes my house has a modern range, but here we just have the fire.
I enjoy the challenge of making complicated dishes with less sophisticated equipment.
I have the knowledge to make it work, thanks to the cook at my house in Rhennes.
My father didn’t like me sneaking down to the kitchen to visit with her and learn, but he was away often enough that I was able to spend hours there without his knowledge.
I get started on chopping the vegetables.
They’re very different here than in Rhennes, but variety is the spice of life as they say.
Just as I’m getting into the rhythm of chopping and singing to myself, my boss shoves me out of the way with a growl and takes the knife from me.
Weird. He’s insisting on helping? His technique leaves a lot to be desired.
The vegetable chunks are coming out in all different sizes.
I don’t have the heart to correct him. I sit down at the table and watch him work.
He’s acting like this is an incomprehensible math equation, the knife clumsy looking in his huge fighter’s fist. But he’s being careful, as careful as he can manage.
His frown of concentration is a nice change from his disapproving looks.
He can be quite pleasant sometimes, when he isn’t yelling at me.
Just for now, I can play that we’re happy co-hosts, not tyrannical boss and trapped, helpless servant.
I can’t wait for Breta and her family to get here.
It almost feels… normal. I love spoiling people with my cooking.
When they arrive, Breta’s hug is as warm and majestically maternal as the last time.
I surrender happily. This must be what’s it’s like to get regular hugs from your mother.
At least I think so. My mother left so long ago, I can barely remember what embracing her felt like.
It’s more like looking onto someone else’s memory from the outside.
I just remember blond hair spilling over my shoulder, and the sound of her laugh.
And of course, her singing. Breta finally lets me go, and gives Grimes a very cold double-cheek kiss in greeting.
The contrast is stark; she’s still mad at him for dragging me home early from her place.
Grimes looks livid. He clears his throat, with a meaningful look at me.
“Before we start the evening, I owe you all an apology,” I say, looking at Breta and her daughters, especially Prevana. “Last time, I disrespected your hospitality and I—”
“Nope,” Breta interrupts.
“Nope?” I say. “You’re just rejecting my apology?” I glance at Grimes, stumped. “Can they do that?”
“Sure we can,” Breta says.
“We all do,” the little kids say.
“You didn’t do anything wrong last time,” Prevana says.
I struggle to hide my smile as they all crowd into the kitchen and make themselves at home around the table, shoving dessert pancakes and sugary cream sauce at Grimes.
He looks even more murderous, but there’s nothing he can do about it if he wants to be a semi-gracious host. He takes the dessert out to the underground pantry without a word.
“You’re okay?” Prevana asks when he’s gone. “He seemed really angry at you the other day.”
“I’m fine.” I bite back a smile as I recall my so-called punishment.
Grimes clomps back into the kitchen, face like thunder. Breta looks at him and her expression softens.
Cheer up,” she says. “I’m sure we can find something else for you to complain about. Since you enjoy being grumpy so much.”
He can’t help cracking a smile, if only to prove her wrong. Though I’d love to hang around and join Breta’s family in teasing him, the stew needs attention. I wrap my hand in a cloth and lift off the scorching hot lid, peering inside.
“Be careful,” Grimes says, his voice sharp.
Breta looks at me with raised eyebrows, surprised at his concern. I’m not. Not after the way he tucked me in on the sofa after my spanking.
It’s time to plate up. No way will I allow Grimes to help with this.
This is my absolute favorite part, assembling everything in the prettiest possible way for the delectation of my guests.
First I lay out a bed of allo grains, pale gray and glistening like pearls, then a dollop of rich, meaty stew, and finally a drizzle of Galbravan hot sauce.
And of course a few raw fruits and vegetables cut into the shape of flowers.
I love making everything look perfect. I can’t draw or paint, so this is the closest to being an artist that I’ll ever get.
I wipe away any tiny spills or specks on the edge of the plates.
It’s a trick I learned in restaurants when I went into the kitchens to congratulate the chef.
Sometimes I wished I was working there too, but of course my father would never allow that.
The reaction when I set the plates before my guests makes all the effort worthwhile.
Breta and family actually clap. I feel like the ground is going to swallow me up, but in a good way.
I’m not used to being praised for anything but my looks.
I try not to look too pleased with myself.
“This looks very good,” Grimes says. He looks up to meet my eyes briefly as I place his plate in front of him.
It’s his version of an olive branch, for making me apologize.
I get a sudden urge to reach out and touch his face, ease back the hood and touch the back of his neck.
I turn away fast, neck heating. We start to eat, me sitting next to Grimes at the big round table.
It all feels so normal and domestic. Like an ordinary life in an ordinary family home.
I’ve never had that before. My father was almost never at home to eat with me.
I have no siblings. This is the closest to a family I’ve ever had.
Which may be weird, considering I’m still an indentured servant.
After the meal, Prevana and I go outside together.
Grimes doesn’t complain this time. We stroll through the yard as insects make a cacophony around us, and the evening scent of kive flowers drifts on the wind.
A few stars are starting to appear in the black sky.
Way out here in the thick of the desert, they stand out more sharply than in the town where the oil lamps in every window dim their shine.
I tip my head back, take a deep breath, and drink them in.
“Prevana, I really do want to apologize,” I say. “And not just because my boss told me to. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I just... I felt lonely, and we were getting on so well, and…” I feel like an idiot, scared to look at her. “But I can’t take it any farther. I’m sorry.”
I glance up to see her looking amused. And not at all heartbroken.
“Relax, Florian,” she says. “I don’t want to take it any farther either. It was fun and everything, but I don’t see the two of us together.”
I blink. She’s acting exactly like I told Grimes she would. Or even cooler and more unconcerned, to be honest. I didn’t expect her to want to get married, of course, but she’s rejecting the idea of us as a couple with ungratifying speed.
“Oh,” I say. “You don’t?”
“We’re much too different. Don’t you think?”
“Oh, of-of course. If you say so.”
She’s right, of course she is. And it’s better than her being hurt. It’s a blow to my ego to be rejected so casually, but it makes sense. I can’t complain, not when I’m rejecting her too. In favor of my asshole boss, of all people.
She looks at me, matter of fact. “You’re not offended?” she asks.
“Not at all.” Only a tiny lie.
“It’s just that I need someone who’s a little more used to… roughing it.”
“Someone to help with gold prospecting and all that,” I guess.
“But you’re a really lovely guy.” She leans close, eyes warm. “And I’ve never tasted such soft lips before.”
I laugh, mollified. “Well, I guess it comes with not being prospector material.”
She nudges me with her elbow, mischievous. “I bet you didn’t expect to find anyone in Galbrava to object to your background.”
I think about it for a moment. I like to think I’m fairly egalitarian…
for an aristocrat, which I’m sure Grimes would point out is a big caveat.
But yeah, if I’m honest, it does feel weird to meet someone who isn’t impressed by my family.
In fairness, my family name doesn’t help much with prospecting.
“New experiences are good for personal growth,” I say grandly, and she laughs at me.
“So what happened when you got home?” she says. “Grimes seemed pretty pissed at you for kissing me.”
I feel my face flush as I remember the smack of his hand on my ass. Blushing always looks obvious on my pale skin. Maybe she can’t see it in the gloom of dusk.
“Nothing much,” I mutter. “His bark is worse than his bite.”
“That’s good. I was afraid you would get a beating.”
I clear my throat, almost choking. “Nope. Nothing like that. Don’t worry.”
Mercifully, she changes the subject. “So how are you getting on with the foundations for the gym?” she asks.
“Pretty good. Grimes is a machine, though. I can’t keep up with him.”
She looks at me sideways. “I don’t think manual labor is what he really wants from you.”
So much for changing the subject. I’m torn between embarrassment and wanting to pump her for information.
“What do you mean?” I say. “What else could he interested in?”
She laughs. “Don’t play modest. You must see how he looks at you.”
I do. With definite lust. But it never gets any farther. Something is holding him back, and I still have no idea what.
“How well do you and your family know Grimes?” I ask.
“We haven’t known him for very long, but he’s a good man.”
“How do you know?”
She looks back at the house, the glow of soft light in the window.
“A few months ago, Beveen got a fever. Things looked bad for a few days. Grimes sat up with her and Mama all night, keeping watch on her breathing and giving her medicine every few hours. He was so relieved when the danger passed. I even saw a tear in his eye.”
Wow. I can barely imagine Grimes crying. I turn that over and over in my mind. It’s hard to square that image with the man who looked at me so ruthlessly as he stole me from the afi table. Which one is the real Grimes?
When we go inside again, Breta and Grimes are talking, their backs to us. Breta is suggesting a game of afi.
“I don’t know if Florian would like that,” Grimes says, sounding unusually hesitant.
Why does he think I’d object… ? Oh. He’s afraid it would make me feel bad.
Remind me of my loss in the casino. Maybe he thinks it would look like taunting me, after the way he won me.
He taunts me plenty, sometimes, and then at other times, like now, he doesn’t want to bring me down? I really can’t figure him out.
“I don’t mind,” I say.
He jumps at my voice, looking discomfited. Mad that I overheard his concern, probably.
I sit down at the kitchen table and watch as Breta deals the cards. We divide up into teams of two: me and Beveen, Breta and Grimes, Prevana and Tav. I wink at Beveen.
“We’ve got this, no problem,” I say.
Grimes scoffs at my confidence. He shouldn’t.
I might not be able to beat him at boxing, or digging foundations, or shooting dark grumpy looks at people, but afi is my game.
I’m not drunk this time, not distracted by lust. He has no fucking chance.
After a couple of hands, sure enough Beveen and I are running away with it.
She’s not bad, but even alone I’d be winning.
This is my game. Grimes stares at me as I win hand after hand, eyes wide with admiration he doesn’t try to hide.
“Surprised?” I say, smiling.
“How do you do it?” he says.
“I know where the cards are.”
“Sure, where they started out,” he says. “But they’ve been moved dozens of times.”
I shrug. I’m not even sure how I do it. I can just keep track in my mind.
“I had no idea you were so clever,” Grimes says, sounding half impressed, half mad about it.
The evening ends on a note of success, unlike the last time.
Beveen and I are gracious, popular winners, and after a final cup of coffee the family takes their leave, promising to come back soon.
Grimes closes the door after them and turns to me with a satisfied smile, like we’re a team.
It almost feels like we’re playing house together.
“So, that went well,” I say, trying to sound light.
“Very well.”
He picks up a few afi cards and runs them through his fingers, like he’s thinking about his next words. “Florian, I didn’t mean to imply that I thought you weren’t clever, or anything like that.”
“I know. Though I wouldn’t blame you. Losing two years of my life to you wasn’t exactly a smart move.”
“You were inebriated. Stars, I’ve made many a foolish decision while under the influence.
” He gives me a brief smile. His smiles are so quick and then gone.
At least when he aims them at me. Maybe other, more prized people are treated to longer ones.
They remind me of the flash of a perfect sunrise caught over the brow of a hill as you gallop by on a fast horse.
“You’ve made foolish decisions too?” I ask.
He sets the cards down. “Of course. Who hasn’t?” His tone makes it clear that the mood of almost-closeness is over. “Well, we should go to bed.”
“I’ll do the dishes first.”
“You will not. You cooked. I’ll do them.” He looks over at the huge pile and lets out a mammoth yawn. “Tomorrow. I’m exhausted.”
“Socializing takes it out of you,” I tease. “You’re more tired than after a day of digging.”
“I am,” he says, completely serious.
“Weird. I’m more tired after digging.”
“That’s because you’re what’s known as a social butterfly.”
“True. I don’t like being alone much.” I sneak a little closer, begging him with my eyes not to go to bed alone. To bring back the confiding mood. To invite me to come with him. I’d fit so snugly under the crook of his arm. But he doesn’t get the hint, or ignores it.
“Goodnight, Florian,” he says, turning on his heel.