Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
SOPHIE
The next morning, I’d barely managed to open my eyes when Ms. Hale knocked on the door.
“Ma’am, Mr. Rowks asked if you would like to join him for breakfast.”
“Mmm…” I turned over. It was already getting light when I’d finally managed to fall asleep. Despite all my attempts, all I could do was turn from one side to another, unable to find a comfortable position.
First, I was angry at him, then at myself, then just angry. At everything.
I’d replayed our conversation several times, trying to analyze every detail. And it drove me crazy—I could have handled it so much better.
I sat up in bed, barely opening my eyes, letting them adjust to the morning sun. It took another second for Ms. Hale’s words to hit my brain. My eyes widened as I got out of bed.
The knock repeated. “Ma’am?”
“I’ll be there in five minutes,” I managed to blurt out before heading toward the bathroom.
I rushed through getting ready, brushing my teeth and eyeing my closet at the same time, trying to decide what to wear. My eyes stopped on a blue gown, the one I’d been wearing when I first met him outside Papa’s office doors.
Blue suits your eyes, his words echoed, and warmth spread in my chest.
I stopped only when my hand reached the handle of my door.
Why was I so excited? I should have been angry! Or ashamed!
I took a deep breath before opening it and stepping out. I stopped again in front of the dining room doors, taking another breath.
But Viktor wasn’t there when I entered the room. The second I turned my head, though, I noticed him through the open door to the patio.
He was sitting at the small, circular table I usually used for breakfast. Well, not that it belonged only to me. As I moved toward him, I stopped for a second near the kitchen, where Ms. Hale was giving instructions to the two other staff members.
“Good morning,” I said, sitting directly across from Viktor.
“Morning, Sophie.” He gave me a small smile. “Did you sleep well?”
“Well enough.” I turned my head slightly. “And you?”
Ms. Hale entered with our dishes. And Viktor waited until she’d set everything on the table and left, closing the door behind her, before answering.
“Well enough.”
He picked at his omelet, chewing thoughtfully, while I looked over the table. Next to my usual teacup sat a cup of coffee. Ms. Hale knew I wasn’t fond of it, but perhaps she’d decided I needed the stronger option this morning. Surprisingly, it was good. Better than I remembered.
I picked up my fork and knife, cutting into my own plate, unsure how to begin. There wasn’t mockery in his voice. Nor was there tension.
He looked at me again. “Would you like to go out for dinner, or have one at home?”
“At home,” I answered without hesitation.
“Then how about I ask Ms. Hale to prepare something special?” He looked at me, then at my plate. A strange smile appeared on his face.
I nodded, lowering my head, trying to hide the heat rising from my neck.
“If there is anything bothering you, you’re always welcome to ask me.” He continued, “I assume there are things you didn’t voice yesterday?”
“Mmm…” I looked at him. “And you’ll answer me honestly?”
“Of course.” He checked his watch. “I only have fifteen minutes. But I’ll be back by seven o’clock.”
My eyes went to the clock on the wall. Eight fifteen. But it wasn’t the time that startled me. I hadn’t been watching the clock at all. I’d eaten without counting ticks. Something I did only when alone; sometimes with Cath or Anne, when one of them visited my room for a late-night snack.
But Viktor wasn’t them.
“We can talk about all your questions then,” he told me, snapping me out of my thoughts. “And Sophie, thank you for yesterday.”
“Hm?” Why was he thanking me? For what?
He held my gaze. “And for joining me today. I do appreciate that.”
All I could do was let out another hm.
Was he flirting with me? Or was it the guilt that was making him act this way?
That didn’t matter, I told myself a few hours later.
No amount of tender gestures that sparked this strange prickling sensation in my heart should cloud my judgment.
I wasn’t a young girl anymore who could easily fall in love because of a few kind words.
Besides, there was no love involved in this marriage.
But we could still manage to have a good partnership.
If Viktor was sincere, then that was a good possibility.
Viktor had told me I could ask him any question I had. And I had plenty. Yet I doubted I’d have the courage to ask even half of them.
I went back to my wardrobe, unsure if I should change my clothes for dinner or stay in the same ones.
My hand moved through the dresses, touching the velvet fabric of my red dress that I’d never worn.
And then the soft cashmere fabric of my beige dress that I’d worn to the last family dinner.
The black top that highlighted my chest, and a skirt that complemented it.
What was I doing? It wasn’t like the dress I wore would matter at all.
One question I was at least sure I would ask was about my role. What was he expecting of me? He said he wanted me safe, wanted me protected. But what if by that he imagined me raising our children, managing the household, traveling, shopping—all the things I was supposed to want?
And while it didn’t seem like a bad deal, my heart ached at the thought. Not in a good way.
I closed the door of my closet and leaned my back against it.
Viktor arrived early as he’d promised, and I couldn’t help but feel a special warmth in my chest.
I helped Ms. Hale decorate the table, though the housekeeper kept insisting I rest. But it was better than sitting and waiting while Viktor was changing upstairs.
At least this way my mind was busy. And while helping Ms. Hale bring out the dishes the staff had prepared, I couldn’t help but notice a small smile on my lips.
“Have a nice evening,” Ms. Hale said. “If you need anything, please give me a call.”
“Everything is fine. Please rest well.” I smiled.
Ms. Hale and our other staff members lived on the same property in a smaller building.
From what she had told me, there had once been many more back when Viktor’s father was alive.
Now it was just her with two younger maids, the gardener, and a few trusted guards who worked at night.
All others were called in if there was a special need.
But until recently, with only Viktor, there hadn’t been much to take care of.
“And don’t clean afterward! I’ll do that in the morning,” the housekeeper said.
I let out a small chuckle, remembering her bewilderment when she’d come one morning expecting the usual mess from the previous night and found that I’d already taken care of everything.
The moment Ms. Hale left the room, a strange panic settled in my stomach. Our first dinner together. Though we’d had some sort of conversation yesterday and again at breakfast, this one was planned. With no one around.
Gripping the back of my chair, I checked the table once again. Perfect. Nothing to move or add. Yet I didn’t hurry to sit, unsure whether I should remain standing. But when his footsteps approached, I slowly took my seat.
“How was your day?” Viktor asked, sitting across from me and surveying the table. He rolled up his sleeves to his forearms before serving himself salad.
“Good. Yours?” I asked.
“Nothing special.” Viktor shrugged. “Spent half the day in an investment committee meeting.” His gaze shifted to me. “You look great.”
My cheeks warmed. While I didn’t change my dress, I’d spent an hour on my hair, and even put on a little makeup. Something I’d never done in the past few years. The only exceptions were Rafael’s and my own weddings.
Did I overdo it? Or underdo it? A man falls in love through his eyes, Mamma used to say. It took all my effort to keep my expression steady.
“Thank you. You too,” I said, trying not to look at the white shirt wrapping his forearms or the upper two buttons that were unbuttoned, revealing dark hair on his chest. I kept my eyes on my plate, playing with the roasted vegetables, unsure how to ask the question without sounding extremely interested.
“So, what were you discussing… at the meeting?”
His fork paused on its way to his mouth.
“CAPEX for one of our lines.” He said it in a single breath before putting the vegetable in his mouth.
And while chewing, his gaze shifted to the cake in the middle of the table, then to me.
He hurried to swallow before adding, “Think bakery gear: a bigger mixer, a depositor, and a flow-wrapper. That’s CAPEX. ”
I knew what that meant, but it was still nice that he tried to explain it to me, without any judgment or superiority in his tone. I hid my smile behind my glass of orange juice. “For which line?”
“Metal stamping. We approved die sets and two stamping presses for sheet steel.” He shrugged.
I was expecting him to be more closed, more serious, with a bold expression. Instead he was relaxed. Warm. Open. So perhaps that was the reason my voice got smoother.
“Why now? Are you clearing a bottleneck or buying ahead of demand?”
“Bottleneck,” Viktor said. “Changeovers are choking the line, and the order book’s full through autumn. Quick-change clamps and die carts will cut swaps from forty minutes down to ten. Scrap will drop a couple of points too.”
“All right… How are you funding it?”
“Half vendor finance, half cash. Depreciated over seven years.”
“And what’s the payback period?” I wanted my voice to stay casual, but an edge of interrogation crept in that surprised me—and Viktor too, judging by his expression.
“About eighteen months, base case.” He looked at me more closely before continuing, “The committee capped it at twenty-four on sensitivity. The second press is conditional on the trial.”
I nodded, then went straight to the next question, my tone still carrying a hint of interrogation. “What are the biggest risks?”
“The risks?”
“Yes. Aren’t there always risks?” I clarified.
“There are.” He looked faintly amused. “Die lead time and the tryout. The toolmaker quoted ten to twelve weeks. If they slip, we miss the autumn window. And if the first article doesn’t hit numbers, the case weakens.”
First article? I couldn’t place the term. I caught Viktor’s investigative gaze on me. But he wasn’t judging or showing superiority as I would’ve expected. His expression was so open that the words came easily: “Did you mean first batch by first article?”
“Not a batch. First article means the first few pieces we make at production settings. We check dimensions, changeover time, strokes per minute, and scrap—yield.” A soft smile appeared on his lips.
“Ah.” I felt a little embarrassed. It wasn’t that I didn’t know—the term was starting to surface in my mind, but it would probably be childish if I started to justify myself. I only hoped the redness in my cheeks wasn’t too visible to Viktor.
Taking a deep breath, I continued asking questions, and he answered all of them. There were still a few times I couldn’t understand the terms, but once Viktor started to explain them, it only took a few words for me to connect them with my knowledge.
It was nice, considering that Viktor’s attitude stayed calm during the whole evening… and night.
At some point we switched to the couch and only went to sleep when the clock showed past three.
My head was actually a mess, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking more.
And it was so nice to finally be able to speak about the things I was so interested in without being downplayed or treated as less.
I squeezed my toes, feeling a strange warmth swirling in my chest. And Viktor’s “Goodnight,” said in a calm voice before I entered my room, kept ringing in my ears.