Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SOPHIE
“Sophie.” My name from his lips sounded so soft. As every single time. Yet my stomach churned.
“Can we have some tea together?”
The question I’d been waiting for all day, but when it came, I couldn’t stop the trembling in my fingers. For a second, I couldn’t move, but then I turned toward the kitchen.
Viktor’s footsteps came behind me, and we moved in silence: he filled the kettle while I reached for the tea tin; he set out two cups while I measured the leaves; and when the water boiled, he poured while I watched the steam rise.
It was quiet.
Yet the silence that followed us to the patio was not.
We sat across from each other, glancing up for a second, then both looked down at our teacups. At least I wasn’t the only one who felt it. And though I knew the words I should say to make everything right, getting them out was difficult.
Viktor spoke before I could. “I want to apologize.” His voice was calm, measured. “Something I did this morning hurt you.”
I blinked, somehow feeling even worse. Was he truly meaning it? Or was he like me, trying to smooth the angles?
But he continued, “If there is something that bothers you…”
The apology I’d rehearsed all day sat ready on my tongue. But it died as soon as my mouth opened and a small crack appeared in my voice. “You left me!”
“Um?”
“Earlier this morning! Yes, I snapped at you. I shouldn’t have.” My voice was getting higher. “But you left me!”
“Sophie… I—”
“You didn’t even try—” My voice cracked again. “—try—” Everything in front of my eyes blurred, and my forearm burned with the urge to scratch. I gripped my hands together and got to my feet, unsure what to do.
It was like I was again in my room, and there was nowhere to go.
“You were forcing yourself to eat,” Viktor said softly.
“What?”
How did he know?
“You were watching the clock.” Viktor got to his feet.
Shame washed through my body, and I nearly curled up.
As he came around the table toward me, I muttered through my teeth, “Don’t touch me.”
Cold air. I needed cold air.
“I know I should’ve stayed and handled it better, but I… I didn’t know what to do. You never did that with me. And I…”
I took a few quick breaths, my gaze shifting around the room. “I need to go out,” I managed to say, pointing at the door.
Viktor nodded, moving to the side, letting me dart toward the exit.
My hand closed around the cold metal handle, and I pushed through to the terrace.
The night air hit my face immediately, sharp and biting.
I crossed to the stone railing and leaned against it, finally able to take deep breaths, feeling the cold seep through my dress, onto my skin, anchoring me.
Seconds passed before Viktor appeared beside me, draping his jacket over my shoulders without his fingers ever brushing over me.
“Thank you.” I pulled the jacket closer, breathing in his scent, while he leaned back against the railing. His eyes locked on me.
“How long have you noticed?” I asked.
“What?”
“That I’m eating that way when I’m—” My voice failed me before I could finish.
“At your family dinners. I assumed it was just the way you were eating. Yet with me your attention was never drifting.” He dragged a hand over his jaw. “So this morning when you started checking the clock… And you were in a bad mood. I thought maybe you were forcing yourself. I wasn’t sure.”
I lowered my head, looking at my fingers, and even under the moonlight the redness from the cold was visible on them. I closed them, tucking my hands under the jacket.
“I handled everything badly. I see that,” he continued. “But I promise, I only left because I thought you wanted space.”
“Oh—” I bit my lower lip. Of course he’d think that. Looking down, I mumbled, “I should apologize too.”
“Why are you—?” He shifted in his place.
I turned to him. “I was nervous. I didn’t mean to be rude… and… I also rolled my eyes.”
“I didn’t get offended by that,” Viktor said quickly. “But are you sure there was nothing else?”
“I—I was nervous about the report. You may think it’s nothing. A project that was already done. But it’s everything for me.” I looked away.
Viktor hummed. “So… is your checking the clock connected with nerves?”
I shrugged. “When… You know…” I took a deep breath. “When everything fell apart, I was barely eating, wasn’t actually hungry. Lost too much weight. And everyone was constantly nagging. So it happened.”
“You started checking the clock to regulate when to eat?”
“I know it sounds stupid.” I huffed, unable to face him.
“Whatever helps us survive,” he said softly, making me finally look back at him. But his expression changed, and the muscles in his throat flexed as he kept looking at me. “I’m sorry… for what you went through. It must have been…” His gaze dropped.
“It was probably harder for my family. They were constantly worried about me. Whether I would eat. Whether I would leave my room. When I cut my hair…” I swallowed. “They never knew what I might do next.”
His eyes once again met mine as guilt crossed his face. “I—”
“But as you said, I survived.” I tried to smile.
His mouth trembled, and he seemed to want to say something, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out.
“If you’re blaming yourself for it…” I started, but he shook his head.
“I was just thinking… Did you ever consider…” His chest rose with a slow breath. “Maybe… Only if you want…”
I raised a brow, unsure what he was getting at.
“Therapy? Just give it some thought.”
My skin went cold. “Did my mother talk to you?”
He frowned, his lips parting.
“She was mentioning therapy at every dinner we visit,” I explained.
“Oh, no. It’s just—” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m talking from experience.”
“Experience?”
“Yes.”
“You went to therapy?” I couldn’t hide the surprise in my voice.
“Well, I would say Yann and Nessa forced me into it when… everything… fell apart.” He repeated my words, and even without saying it, I knew he was referring to the time when his father and half-brother crashed in a car accident.
“You missed them?” The question escaped me before I could process it.
He pressed his lips together and nodded. “They were my family.”
The affection in his voice tightened something in my chest, and I didn’t even notice when my hand moved toward him. I stopped only an inch away.
“And your mother?” I asked instead, trying not to focus on Viktor’s eyes as they followed my retreating hand.
“I never met her,” he said, still watching my hands as I started rubbing my ring. “As for the therapist, I actually still have mine ready if I want to rant.” He smiled, bringing his attention back to my face.
“Don’t you have friends for ranting?” I asked with a nervous laugh, but it died the moment I noticed the sadness shadowing his smile.
“What I want to say, if you decide you want, I can find you one. Even one outside of Montvarra, if privacy is what makes you hesitant.”
“I’ll think about that,” I said. And this time I really meant it.
When I looked into his eyes again, the same warmth that used to be there every other evening was back.
“Now, to be honest, I’m hungry as hell.” He rubbed his stomach. “Do you think Ms. Hale saved our lunches? Or threw them away?”
I blinked in surprise. It was the first time in my memory that I’d noticed playful notes in his voice.
“You also skipped your lunch?” I couldn’t help but notice the redness on Viktor’s ears—from embarrassment or cold, I couldn’t tell. But I gestured toward the house. “And you didn’t even eat properly at my parents!”
“I was worried!” His tone, though defensive, still didn’t lose the playfulness. “At worst, I think we can manage some sandwiches.”
My eyes narrowed. “I think I can manage to cook something for you. Hopefully I haven’t forgotten my skills.”
“I didn’t know you could cook?”
“Of course I can!” I laughed, hurrying him to go inside.
“I learned from my family’s chef! He was constantly nagging that there was no better way to win a man’s heart than through his stomach.
So I thought it would be nice to learn at least a few dishes.
Let’s see if he was right.” I mimicked Viktor’s playful tone as we entered the kitchen.
But when I looked back at him, his face was unreadable.
Did I say something wrong? I was probably overthinking.
I made myself smile at him before opening the fridge.
“Ms. Hale didn’t throw away the lunch, but we have salmon fillet.
And lucky you, I can see asparagus here as well.
I know how to make them really well. Oh, and perhaps, as our tea is already undrinkable, we can have some wine instead?
” I tapped my chin thoughtfully. “Can you pick one? Just make sure not to get lost in the gym on your way.”
Viktor chuckled before heading to the wine cellar, and I turned back, checking what I needed. By the time he returned with a bottle, I’d already laid out the ingredients on the counter.
I glanced back. Viktor was leaning against the frame, bottle in hand, watching me move through the space.
“Good choice?” I asked.
“We’ll see,” he said, setting it down and reaching for the corkscrew. “Would you mind if we eat here?” He pointed at the island, and when I nodded, he started setting out plates.
“So, going back to my parents’ dinner, you cut it short because you thought I didn’t want to eat?”
Viktor looked up at me, making a confirming sound. “I hope I didn’t make you feel even more uncomfortable.”
“No. I was actually relieved,” I confessed. “Do you remember the first time you agreed?”
“Mhm?”
“I was a bit angry at you.”
“I knew it!” he said. “You were looking at me with knives in your eyes. I was sure one would end up in my back the second I turned around.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Admit it!”
“Well, I was successfully avoiding my family’s nagging. And then they told me I had no choice but to attend without raising any concerns. As I said, I was a bit angry. But I wasn’t looking at you with knives in my eyes!”
“You do that quite often.” Viktor chuckled. Then he pointed at my hand. “And now you’re looking at me not only with knives in your eyes, but in your hand.”
I looked at my arm that was in midair and couldn’t help but laugh. The smile I noticed on Viktor’s lips made my heart pound faster. Trying to hide the blush on my cheeks, I moved to the stove.
“So you don’t like your parents’ dinners?” he asked.
“I miss them. But… I hate the way they’re walking on eggshells around me. And then the next moment saying something so radical I want to blow everything up.” I sighed. “Does that make sense?”
“I guess?!” Viktor looked at me a bit longer, then pointed at my hands. “I actually finished here, so if you don’t mind, I can cut cherry tomatoes for the side salad?”
“Still afraid of the knives?”
“Not really. Most likely trying to test the reverse of your theory.”
“What theory?”
“The one you told me earlier.”
I raised an eyebrow, unsure what he was referring.
“That there was no better way to win a man’s heart than through his stomach,” Viktor clarified. “Let’s test if it would work the other way as well.” He rolled his sleeves before taking the knife and getting to work.
Heat crept up my neck as Viktor was slicing tomatoes much faster than I expected. Though I wasn’t sure if my heart was pounding because of what he was doing or from the words he’d said.
“I see. So this is a competition?”
“Why would this be a competition?” Viktor answered curiously, giving me a wink.
That again didn’t help my heart stay quiet. “You also know how to cook?”
“Only if someone instructs me.”
I chuckled, turning my attention back to the stove. Something felt light in the air, made my chest warm as I kept teasing Viktor about his fear of knives.
When everything was ready and we sat at the island, the warmth lingered. Maybe it was the way Viktor poured us wine. Or the way his fingers wrapped around the glass when he toasted.
“No more assumptions?”
“Easier said than done.” I laughed, clinking our glasses. “But I will try my best.” I smiled.
“Me too.” He returned the smile.
The first sip warmed me from inside, and I continued in a much lower voice. “Just don’t leave me, unless I directly say so.”
“I won’t,” Viktor said. “And even if you tell me to leave, I will always wait for you.”
I looked at him again, unsure what to answer.
“I mean it,” Viktor said. “I wouldn’t promise if I wasn’t able to keep it.”
I held his gaze until heat burned my cheeks and my heartbeat grew too loud.
“Good. Let’s eat,” I said, taking the fork and digging into the tomatoes. “Can’t believe you starved me the whole day.”
“Are you sure you’re not confused about who starved whom?” He laughed.
“Viktor, didn’t you just earlier confess your fear of knives?”
“Oh.” He blinked as his hand went to his chest.
“What?” Confusion filled my voice when I noticed his chest starting to rise heavily.
And his face flushed.
“Do you have any allergies?” I asked, worried.
“No, no!” He dropped his hand back to the table.
“Then?”
“It’s just… I wasn’t prepared.”
“Prepared for what?”
“You—” he turned red, “—called me by my name. For the first time.” He looked away.
Had I?
“Viktor!” I didn’t intend to repeat his name out loud, but his words made my own cheeks redden, and my husband only made it worse by putting his hand to his chest again.
Was he really liking me? Like a woman—not just a Moreau asset or penance for his guilt? Was there a chance he saw me as more than that?
The thought scared me, and I pushed it away. But before going back to my meal, I once again looked at him. If Viktor meant what he said about waiting for me, then maybe… “I think I can try therapy.”