The White Countess
He was what one would call a direction-less intellectual.
Forever wandering, searching for perfection, searching for something to catch his fancy and engage his passion. He was intelligent and capable, able to apply his mind to whatever venture he pleased. And for this particular man, it has been a longtime dream to open an establishment of his own. A bar, if you please. Since coming to Shanghai for political reasons, he had frequented and acquainted himself with various haunts in the vast multicultural city. He had hunted and gathered for the perfect blend of elements. He saw everything in his mind's eye: the atmosphere, the music, the dancing, even the bouncers. And of course, his centerpiece. It wouldn't be the place in his dreams without his centerpiece. He needed her. Needed her to realize his dream.
The Countess Sofia. There were many like her in Shanghai at the time. Driven from their comfortable homes among the Russian aristocracy. Thrown into common society, forced to work for survival, and all the while not permitting themselves to reminisce about the past. A past without worry. A past of happiness and white dresses and enchanting balls where the most important thought on a countess' mind was whether her earrings matched her gown perfectly. And now she was reduced to this. It pained his heart. And yet what could he do? There were so many like her, he would never be able to help them all. But somehow, she was special. She caught his attention, he knew what she was like, even before meeting her, without touching her. She was his centerpiece. She was perfect. Everything that he had planned hinged on her. Everything, his investments, his hopes and dreams, his existence, all depended on her. And he had fallen in love with her.
Did she know that she radiated elegance and beauty every time she stepped into a room? Did she know how protective he was of her? How concerned he was? He would have fought a man to the death for insulting her. Somehow, her honor, no matter how small the insult, was worth more than his life, more than the lives of many. For it was her honor that distinguished her. Even when reduced to working as a dancer in a seedy nightclub in the bad district of Shanghai, she kept her dignity. Even when she was forced to please certain men in return for money to feed her daughter, she maintain an air of superiority. That old Russian blood will forever course through her veins, giving her the strength to walk straight and carry herself with pride.
He wanted her. Not in a carnal sense, he did not lust after her. But somehow he needed assurance that she belonged to him and him alone. When that lowly Frenchman had made a pass at her, he had been so jealous. Granted, it was true that he had had a little too much to drink, but nonetheless the words of that man had made his blood boil. How dare he talk to her like that? Like she was some stupid prostitute. Did he know who she was? It was inconsequential whether or not he knew if she was a former Russian countess, but did he really know who she was? She was above him in every sense of the word. She was better and more superior in both manner and spirit. And if he had not realized how special and rare she was, he deserved to die for that low and insulting pass. He had the Frenchman thrown out, and had been led upstairs to cool down.
And he had kissed her.
Forcefully.
He wondered, did she feel anything for me at all? Was our relationship purely platonic in her eyes? Or was she too afraid to ask for more? Because she should have known, all she needed to do was ask, and he would have given her everything. The kiss was hasty, hurried and uncouth in a way. He hated himself for it afterwards, in the cold sober light of day. He was too embarrassed even to utter an apology.
Once again, it was proven that she is above the traversings of other humans. He had kissed her in an attempt to discover if she had felt anything for him. All he found was a transcendence in her. She had deigned to kiss back only because she felt his pain and understood that this was the only way to assuage it. This was not the way to win her love, and he knew it, and regretted his actions the moment afterwards.
Oh but the kiss had been so wonderful. She molded so perfectly to his embrace, fit so well into his body. Her lips had been warm and soft. It had been a private moment, something he will always keep locked within himself, a moment he never hoped to share with another woman. The intensity of love he had felt at that moment overwhelmed him so much that he was convinced that no one before this had love at all.
But it was not to be so. His dream nightclub was complete, but his dream life had yet to be determined.