Page 35 of A Slipper in the Smoke
“You answered too quickly.”
“Did I?” He sighed, running a hand through his hair and grasping at the curls. “The truth of the matter is I’ve never given much thought to what I would be if I had the choice. It’s all been rather… set in stone.”
“I know that feeling.” She paused. “Do you like being a servant?”
Pip took a moment to reply. “There are parts to my role I enjoy,” he admitted. “I like helping people. I just sometimes worry it isn’t enough, you know?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
If she told him that she was working with the rebels now, would he report her? He wouldn’t, surely—not if she told him she was trying to save the life of his prince? He would want to stop that, to help them—
Unless, of course, he didn’t believe her. Unless he thought she was lying. Or that the rebels were lying to her. Perhaps he’d feel honour-bound to tell someone else, or let the appropriate authorities deal with the threat.
You do not know this man,she reminded herself.There is too much at stake.
Pip turned his face towards her, his pale face glowing in the false moonlight, his skin pearl-white, eyes bright as stars. “Are you all right?” he asked.
The look he gave her made the next lie easy. “Yes.”
His fingers inched through the grass, searching for hers. His skin was as soft as the memory of satin. He ought to be disgusted over how rough and coarse hers were, but he laced into them as carefully as if they held a fragile baby bird.
Elena’s breath hitched, and she inclined her face towards him, charting the constellations in his eyes.
Howlonghaditbeen since she had held another’s hand? She used to do it with her friends all the time, with her parents, with people who’d lived with them on their old estate, who’d raised her as family. She had done it with Alejandro, too—even stared at the stars with him. She remembered that the grass was damp. She knew her heart must have skipped a beat, she recalled a memory of giddiness—but she couldn’t feel it.
The imprint of Pip’s fingers stayed with her long after they had parted. That night as she lay in bed, she clutched that feeling against her chest, took it out again to inspect it like a statuette, admiring the curves and contours. His hands had been so warm and soft, silk next to sandpaper of hers.
He’d not complained about her rough palms and calluses. He’d said nothing, his fingers slowly sliding into hers at the slightest pressure.
He’d held them very tightly, and they were slow to leave as they said goodbye.
Foolish, foolish, stupid.She was only clinging to him because he was the first person in years who’d been any sort of interested in her. The only one other than Snowdrop who noticed her.
And Snowdrop wanted to use her. Nice as she was too, that shimmered under anything else. Snowdrop had been kind to her because she needed her help, first and foremost.
But Pip didn’t seem to want anything from her at all. He hadn’t even tried to kiss her.
To kiss her.
She wanted him to kiss her. If he had tried, she wouldn’t have stopped him. If he had tried, she would have kissed him back, would have clung to him, pressed her body to his, inhaled him like fine wine and memories of happiness that twitched like ghosts in the back of her mind.
“Tomorrow night then,” he’d said, as they said goodbye at last. “If we can both get away.”
“Tomorrow night.”
His phantom arms encased her now, a living vision of his lips numbing her mouth. She imagined his breath inside her, the pressure of his fingers on the back of her spine, his hands in her hair. She imagined them in other, deeper places, places that were hers but that she'd never shared with anyone.
Elena turned over in bed and smashed her face into her pillow. She didn’t know if she never wanted to see him again—if she wanted to run away from this feeling before it choked her—or if she wanted the hours to pass in an instant, just so she could see him again sooner.
Alas, when the next evening came, Pip did not meet her in the gardens. Elena tried not to be disappointed, but she felt his complete absence more on her one day off. Not, of course, that Elena was permitted a break. The Baroness had her scrubbing the apartment from top to bottom. Mariah slunk out of the kitchen after dinner to help with the dishes. She was hopeless at washing, but she dried well enough, and Elena was secretly glad of the company.
“You seem different,” Mariah remarked, sliding away the chipped china plates. They’d been a wedding gift from someone—Elena couldn’t remember who—and they couldn’t be worth much if the Baroness had managed to hold onto them, but the quality was fine. The patterns bore symbols of sunflowers and pumpkins and suns—signs associated with Navarra—alongside gears and peacocks… symbols of Petragrad. The coming together of two families, two cultures. There were other little nods to the idea, a sword, representing the family of Hernandez, and a lily which had something to do with the Baroness’ birth name. Elena couldn’t remember it now, but she remembered receiving the plates, how she thought it meant something.
What would someone put on a plate for Pip, she wondered? She hadn’t asked his surname. She imagined a teacup would be on there somewhere.
“Elena?” Mariah nudged her elbow. “I said, ‘you seem different.’”
“Do I?”
