Spain had given his favourite little maid a pretty green dress with a matching bow.
It wasn't like her work dress, all mossy-coloured and dusty, smelling like beeswax and damp. It was fresh and bright, when she looked at it she could almost smell peppermint, or dewy grass, she wasn't sure which, because the colour would change depending on where the light hit the smooth, shimmery fabric. There was a little white sash to go around her waist, and a white and green bow for her hair, and Spain had asked Belgium to tie it all back nicely with little curls at the sides, to go down to the docks and wave him off.
Lovina had kept her white patent shoes pristine that whole morning, through Belgium taking her by the hand through the dirt roads past the stalls and yellowed brick buildings to their cart (as they were heading north, away from Spain until he returned), where she sat in Netherlands' lap while Belgium read her book. Lovina curled up in his scarf for hours and hours while he slept, fiddling with the stitches. A nap later was time enough to have her pretending she wasn't tearing up and starting to miss that stupid, stupid horrible boy, who was too busy having adventures to say goodbye, too busy gathering up his crew to tell her how pretty she looked in her dress before he forgot about her for months on end. Again.
Another nap came and went, and she was absolutely livid – she didn't want the stupid dress if it was supposed to mean she'd be fine with being left on her own. As soon as the horse stopped and the wheels rolled to a halt, (and she had been lifted out of the carriage, of course, her legs were still too short to give her total control) Lovina ran across the yard for the nearest, muddiest puddle, near a tree by the gate. The thick, oozy mud reached half-way up her calves and the dark water splashed her front. She jumped, and the stain leapt further over her skirts. Belgium stared at her, horrified, and no one moved, so she pulled the bow out of her hair and dropped it into the slurry, too.
And so, Lovina found herself back in her old work dress. Her eyes were still red and stinging from her row, hunched over and glaring on the back porch with her round little face in her chubby little hands. Belgium had told her to go and think about how inconsiderate she had been. If Lovina had been older, and had understood the meaning of the word, she might have laughed at the irony.
Wood smacked on wood on the other side of the garden, and she wiped her eyes quickly and scowled up. Netherlands smirked at her, it fit so well on his long, thin face, closed the fence properly and crossed the grass, which was still dewy and sweet-smelling. Unlike Lovina, he dodged the puddles.
"That was funny, gekkie," he told her, squatting down in front of a big wooden box and opening a hatch, his long limbs all folding strangely, as if even he didn't quite know how to work them any more efficiently. "Think of his face when he sees that."
"That's what Belgium said," she muttered guiltily, but Netherlands just laughed, husky in his throat, and put his hands into the box, a look of concentration on his young face. Lovina thought he was quite scary, but he had yet to direct any of his infamous mischief towards her, so she would find herself agreeing with him mindlessly to stay on his best side.
He stood up with his hands tucked gently against his chest, and she leant forward to try to see what he was hiding, sitting back sharpish and watching her lap when he turned towards her, finally sitting on the porch beside her.
"Look," he told her, more softly than she often heard him speak, but then, she did often hear him speak to Spain, so she did as he asked. There, on the porch between them, nibbling on a dandelion in the young Dutchman's hand was a little black and white rabbit. Its tail twitched near Lovina's hand and she smiled, sniffing and wiping her nose quickly.
"This is Vlekje," explained Netherlands, picking his pet up in his hands again and holding her up to Lovina. "You can pet her if you like. She only sometimes eats fingers."
After hesitating (because she didn't want to upset Netherlands by hurting his pet), the little girl put a tentative finger on the rabbit's back and stroked down her fur carefully, slow and calm, until she felt its tiny heart stop thrumming in its chest, more peaceful, and finally she was allowed to have the little animal sit on her skirt.
"She's pretty, isn't she? Spain doesn't like her," she heard Netherlands tell her, and she looked up to his face. He handed her another weed to feed the rabbit while he talked. "He says she eats all the vegetables, he won't let me keep her down there. Isn't that mean of him? She's all alone here."
Lovina watched the rabbit's sharp little teeth nibbling away, her black, shiny eyes focused on her treat. Of course, someone was around to feed and water the rabbit, but she didn't have to know that. She believed most everything she ever heard. Netherlands liked that about her.
"That's not fair," she agreed after a while, and Netherlands hummed.
"No, it isn't. He can be very thoughtless," he nodded, taking Vlekje back carefully and sitting her on his lap, looking across at Lovina. "He doesn't think about her at all. Makes her feel like no one even notices her."
Lovina scowled and she felt her curls fall over her warm ears. She wanted to cut them off so Spain never had the chance to compliment them again. That would teach him. "She's just a rabbit," she spat, frowning into her lap.
"I don't think so," he muttered. "I like her. Belgium likes her. Just because Spain has the loudest voice doesn't make him right."
He watched little Lovina stare at the rabbit. She went quiet, and that was rare enough to make him worry that he'd struck a chord somewhere. She followed the idiot around like a shadow when he was at home, and to say that he never noticed her was a lie, but to say that he gave her the attention she obviously craved from him was even bigger slander. Netherlands could even understand that he had a lot more on his plate than Lovina's feelings, even if he didn't agree with him, but she was just a little girl.
"You looked very pretty in your dress," he mumbled, and she craned up to his face. "And if someone makes you feel like that, you let them know," he added. His voice was back to normal, now. More wicked. "You don't let people hurt you just because they act like they didn't."
"I'm not hurt!" She insisted stubbornly, looking a little wet and defeated. Netherlands edged closer to her.
"No, you're not, that's right," he nodded encouragingly, holding out a hand. "We don't let him get to us, agreed? It's me and you. Shake on it."
She blinked and put her little hand on his long fingers, and he closed them around her fist and shook firmly, before handing the little rabbit back to his new ally for her to play with again. Lovina gave him a rare little smile. There was something behind it, something devilish, as if she was matching his smirk. A silent little agreement to cause the trouble he did.
He'd never been so proud.
"Lovi, I can do it, stop fussing…"
Lovina tutted and tugged Antonio's tie into place, going to smooth his suit over, too. "Obviously not…" she muttered, finding that his collar was stuck up and folding it over for him. It was his turn to host a conference, and he hoped his speech was better than his personal presentation.
"Stop looking at me like that," she warned him, glaring up through her eyelashes, feeling his dopey grin. He leant forward and pecked her lips, tucking her hair behind her ear on his way back up.
"You look beautiful," he told her quickly, before fishing into his pockets for his speech notes. She sighed, fixing her shirt when he glanced away towards the door. When he turned back, he took her hand for a final reassuring squeeze. "Wish me luck, darling."
She let him in on the slightest of smiles. It had been a very long time since he'd hurt her, and a very long time she thought his kindness was shallow or selfish. He had matured nicely. Very nicely indeed, in her opinion. She gripped his fingers. "You don't need it," she promised him, and gave him a quick kiss before they parted, and she made her way to her seat.
She found a single red tulip waiting on the table in front of her chair, a white tag tied carefully to the stalk. She looked around and shook her head to herself when she read it over.
'We had a pact, gekkie. Not cool.'