Chapter 21
Imogen
According to the colossal grandfather clock in the hallway, it’s a little after eight, and traditionally the time when Pierre
retreats to his own room on the ground floor of the house. I’m curious to see inside, but too respectful of his privacy to
ever venture in.
However, I’m feeling . . . not exactly lonely, but like I want some company. It’s an unfamiliar feeling when I’ve always been
so used to being on my own, and more than content with the company of books. And as well as that, I’ve been dreaming of a
drink that some characters had in a TV show I watched last night.
I pause outside Pierre’s room. A faint amber light peeks out beneath the door and the muffled sound of the TV carries through
the solid oak door.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for his potential rejection, and knock.
The TV is silenced and the sound of Pierre’s footsteps signals his approach. A few seconds later, he opens the door, wearing
the most adorable silk pajamas with a peacock pattern. For some reason they endear me to him even more. “Are you okay, mademoiselle?”
I swallow down my nerves, masking them with practiced ease. “I wondered if you’d like some hot chocolate? I believe I saw
some in the pantry.”
He frowns. “You want me to make you some hot chocolate?”
“No. I can make the chocolate. What I wondered is would you like to join me for some?”
“Hot chocolate?” he says, seemingly mystified.
“I’ve heard it’s nice, and I’ve never tried it. I didn’t want to make some just for myself, so . . .” I leave the rest of
the question unspoken. “I could make it and bring it to you?”
He clears his throat and there’s a few awkward seconds that sow the first seeds of regret at interrupting him. But then he
offers me a faint smile. “I would be delighted to try some of your chocolate, mademoiselle. The instructions on how to make
it are on the tin, I believe.”
I smile, relieved and full of joy that he’s agreed to my suggestion. With a little luck, he’ll let me drink it in his sitting
room with him, but even if he doesn’t, it will be nice to do something nice for him, given how well he takes care of me, even
if it is a small thing.
As Pierre said there would be, there were instructions on how to prepare the chocolate on the tin. I followed them to the
letter and then added a sprinkling of tiny marshmallows that I found high up on a shelf, just like I saw them do in the TV
show. And fifteen minutes later, I return to Pierre’s sitting room carrying two mugs of steaming delicious-smelling hot chocolate.
He’s left the door ajar and I poke my head inside the room, but Pierre has already heard my approach and he beckons me inside,
pausing the TV.
I pass him the mug and he lifts it to his nose and inhales deeply. “Smells delicious, mon chou. How did you know that this was my guilty pleasure?”
“I didn’t,” I giggle. “But I’m very glad that it is.”
He pats the seat beside him on the sofa. “You may sit and drink it in here, so long as you are quiet and don’t interrupt my
movie.”
“Deal!” I agree without hesitation.
He switches the TV on and we both settle back against the sofa. A giant green monster of a man appears on the screen, grunting
and slamming his fist.
“Why is he so angry?” I whisper.
Pierre sighs. “Because he is the Incredible Hulk. He is always angry.”
“The Hulk? Is he an alien?”
“No. He’s a man who was exposed to gamma radiation.”
I stare at the screen and now a beautiful red-haired woman in a skintight leather suit is on the screen with the Hulk character.
“Wow! Who is she?”
Pierre pauses the TV again. “Did we not just agree on your silence, mon chou?”
“Sorry. It would just be easier for me to follow if I knew who main the characters were.”
“There are many main characters. They are the Avengers.”
“The Avengers?”
He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You have never heard of the Avengers, I assume?”
“No, but they sound cool. Are they like vigilantes?”
“No, they are superheroes. Captain America. Thor—”
“Thor is the god of thunder,” I tell him proudly.
He mutters a French curse under his breath and then he puts his chocolate on the table and turns off the movie. My heart sinks.
He did ask me to let him watch his movie in silence, and I did agree.
Before I can apologize, Pierre speaks. “I can see I am going to have to give you an education, mon chou. One cannot have their first introduction to the Marvel universe midway through The Avengers.” He holds a button on the TV remote and for some reason I can’t fathom, he speaks into it. “Iron Man.”
I stare at him, transfixed and confused, feeling like I’ve stepped into an alternate universe. And I’m even more stupefied
when a few seconds later, a movie called Iron Man appears on the screen.
“How did you do that?”
“It’s called voice recognition software, mademoiselle.”
“It’s incredible. You spoke into the remote and the TV heard you.”
He laughs softly. “It’s very common technology, mademoiselle.” He picks up his chocolate and settles back against the sofa
again. “Any introduction to the Marvel universe has to start with Iron Man,” he declares with confidence.
I’m still perplexed, but I wrap my hands around my mug and settle in to watch the movie.
Two hours later when the credits roll, I am obsessed with Tony Stark and Pepper Potts and I’m eager to watch the second Iron
Man. Then I’m reliably informed by Pierre that I need to watch Captain America after that, followed by Thor.
“When can I get to the movie with the kickass sexy woman in the leather suit?”
“Ah, Natasha Romanoff,” he says with a knowing smile. “Black Widow.”
“Like the spider! When does she get a movie?”
“Patience, mademoiselle. Iron Man 2 is next. We can watch it tomorrow after dinner if you would like.”
I’m filled with so much affection for him that I almost throw my arms around his shoulders and hug him fiercely, but as always my years of conditioning and the realization that I’ve shown too much emotion already stops me. Instead, I offer Pierre a polite yet heartfelt thank-you.
“It has been my pleasure, mademoiselle.”
Mine too. “I appreciate you letting me into your personal space, Pierre. I know you enjoy your time alone.”
He smiles. “I do, mademoiselle. And while this cannot be an everyday occurrence, it would be nice to watch a movie with you
from time to time.”
“I would love that, Pierre.”
I know he usually watches TV until the early hours of the morning and I don’t want to encroach on any more of his time, so
I wish him good-night. And then I head to bed and wonder what this warm fuzzy feeling is I’m experiencing. It’s completely
different from how I feel whenever I spend time with Lincoln. Being with him is thrilling, and it usually leaves me breathless—filled
with excitement and adrenaline. While time with Pierre leaves me peaceful and content. I think for the very first time in
my life . . . maybe I’ve found myself a true friend.