Hilda's negative feelings carried on until the week after, and it was when she sat at her vanity table to get ready for Hans birthday party that she truly saw the sadness in her reflection. Peering closer into the mirror, she saw that her eyes looked morose and somewhat fatigued. Spending eight years with Emilio as her lover seemed tiresome all of a sudden, and because she knew that she had done nothing wrong, she didn't quite feel guilty or shameful. Hans was a very nice young man who had talents similar to hers, and he seemed to like her a lot. How could Emilio love her as much as he said he did and not trust her enough to have friends of the opposite gender?

Mathilde came in and closed the door gently behind her, walking toward the friend who sat sadly in the chair. Before Hilda could reach for her draws, the maid opened them for her and pulled out her makeup, tapping her shoulder lightly afterwards. The young woman sniffled and looked up at Mathilde with sad, vacant eyes.

"Cheer up," she told her. "You're going to have fun tonight!" The maid smiled at Hilda, who stared into her reflection in the mirror. Realizing she had failed to cheer her up, she crouched next to her, looking at her friend with pity.

"Are you still upset with Emilio?" she asked. Hilda nodded.

"I don't know how he can say he loves me but expects me to not do certain things," she told her. "I can't believe he actually thinks I would cheat on him after all of our years together."

"Hilda, I know you love Emilio," Mathilde told her, finally making eye contact with her friend. "I tried to talk to him yesterday. He actually pulled me aside to speak to me about that to see if I knew anything." Hilda pulled her eyebrows together and looked at Mathilde strangely.

"What did you tell him?" she questioned suspiciously.

"I told him that I had no idea that you and Hans knew each other," the maid responded. "If it makes you feel any better, I can go to the party with you so you are not alone."

"You would do that?" Hilda asked.

"Ja," she said, standing up and walking to the door. "I'll go get dressed in something nice and—"

"No need, Mathilde," Hilda said, holding her hairbrush. "Borrow something from my closet."

"Really?" the maid asked, looking at her strangely.

"Well, as long as they aren't too big," Hilda told her. "I have to wear one size up due to obvious reasons."

"Oh," Mathilde said, keeping her eyes on Hilda. "I forgot about that."

"Ja, go get dressed in something your size," her friend said. "The party is in another half hour, so hustle."

As Mathilde sped out of the room, Hilda looked at her reflection as she brushed her soft blonde hair gently. It took about five minutes for the maid come back, and once Hilda heard the door close, she saw her stand there dressed in a peach-colored dress with a modest sequined bodice and a pleated chiffon skirt that came down to the knees. Her hair was not done, nor was her makeup, but she still looked very beautiful. Hilda, on the other hand, was already clad in a royal blue chiffon dress of a similar style, but it didn't have sequins and it had a dip of fabric on the neckline. The color looked beautiful with her hair color, and the dip of fabric accentuated the size of her bosom.

"That is very beautiful on you, Mathilde," she said as her friend walked toward her. She took the hairbrush from her hand and brushed Hilda's hair gently before she began on her makeup. Once the two were ready, the two left the house and into a cab for the address stated on the invitation given to Hilda.

They arrived at an old-fashioned blue house that looked to have only one floor, but it had white railing around the porch and bordering the stairs. Lights were on in the inside and the two young women could hear laughing and talking, as well as music and the sight of people going in and out of the quaint structure. The two women walked up the front steps to find Gottfried standing there with Hans, his nephew. Both men were dressed respectably in suits, and once they saw the two young women, the older man smiled and greeted them excitedly.

"Fraulein Bielschmidt! Fraulien Mathilde!" he squealed. "I am so happy you could come! Hans told me he invited you, Hilda, and I must be honest—I was so happy to hear that!"

"Ja?" Hilda answered. She was somewhat intimidated by him coming on too strong to a guest. Hans stepped forward and greeted her more casually than his uncle had.

"Guten abend, Hilda," he said, holding her hands as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. Hilda gasped upon feeling his lips brush her smooth cheek, but if he saw any pain in her face, then he was helping somewhat to make it go away. His eyes turned to Mathilde, remembering her from the week prior.

"I see you have brought a friend," he said, looking at Mathilde.

"Ja, this is my maid, Mathilde," Hilda said.

"We have met," Hans told her. "She actually let me into your house last week. You both look extraordinary tonight. Help yourselves to any drinks or refreshments."

Hilda and Mathilde walked in through the front door and stopped to look at everybody; men, women and a few children dressed in finery enjoying Hans' birthday festivities. The children ran around playing with each other, women gossiped and laughed, and the men stood talking casually but seriously. Mathilde stopped to look at her friend and she smiled—Hilda didn't look very amused.

"Hmm, looks like somebody likes you," she told her with a chuckle.

"Ja," her friend answered morosely. Mathilde's expression went blank, looking at her with her eyebrows raised.

"Hey, why are you so sad? This is a party. We are going to have fun," the maid told her, placing her arms gently on Hilda's shoulders. "Speaking of which, where is the wine?"

"I am unsure," Hilda told her as she sat down on the empty part of the sofa.

The main room had blue pinstriped wallpaper with dark wood furniture and light green upholstery on the sofa and chairs. An archway across from the front door led to the living room, from which Hilda could see the fireplace burning brightly in the dark room. She could hear voices in the dark living room, but then she saw a small metal cart coming out with a large birthday cake, drinking flutes, and a champagne bottle. Candles were already lit on the cake, and there were twenty-five total sticking out of the creamy white frosting. In response to the loud cheering by the guests, Hans and Gottfried went into the house and walked toward the cake, which was placed in the center of the main room. A German version of "Happy Birthday" was sung by everyone, and when it came time for Hans to make a wish and blow out the candles, his eyes wandered his guests until he saw Hilda, whose great blue eyes looked at the large cake. Hans smiled, knowing what he wanted and blew out the candles in the single breath.

Next came the serving of champagne, and Gottfried took the liberty of popping the cork off the top, allowing off-white fluid to emanate from the glass bottle at an alarming rate. Hans poured the champagne into the flutes and took two—one for him, and the other for Hilda. Approaching her, she noticed his presence and looked at the drinking flute as he handed it to her.

"Would you like some champagne?" he offered.

"Ja, sure," she said, still morose from the events of the past week. She took a sip and took a few moments for her tongue to absorb the flavor. She actually liked it.

"There's cake over there, too, if you like vanilla," Hans told her.

"Nein, danke," she told him politely. It didn't take long for him to notice that she was sad and had been for the past week. Their eyes met, and Hilda could feel herself melting from his magnetic blue-gray stare.

"You don't seem like you're having fun," he told her. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, it's nothing," she answered. "It isn't you, really." Hilda gasped when he took her hand and stared at her calmly.

"Come with me. We'll go in private," Hans told her.

She was taken into the dark living room, where dark green floral wallpaper plastered the walls and it was much bigger than the main room. An upright piano stood against the wall near a large bookcase made of a similar material. In front of the fireplace was an elaborate burgundy sofa that looked as though it got new upholstery. The two sat down, and Hans looked at her curiously.

"Please tell me what's bothering you," he pleaded kindly. Hilda sighed and looked up into his blue-gray eyes.

"It's Emilio," she told him sadly.

"Your boyfriend?" he asked.

"Ja," Hilda answered. "He and I have been fighting for over a week, I guess you could say."

"Why? What's going on, Hilda?" Hans questioned, drinking from his champagne flute.

"He had since left for Italy with his Uncle Feliciano, but once you left that day, he came up to me and started yelling at me," Hilda told him frankly. "A few nights before, he had proposed marriage to me, but I didn't accept it because I am not really ready to get married yet. I told nothing but the truth to him, but he still doesn't believe me."

"Marriage?" Hans asked, feeling nervous inside. "So what happened after that?" Hilda took a sip from her flute and continued to speak.

"Well, because he and I live in different countries and don't see each other very much, he thought that us becoming friends was something more, if you know what I mean. He assumes I am cheating on him," she told him in a calm whisper. "He also blamed you and said that my friendship with you was the reason why I didn't accept his proposal." Hans looked at her, beginning to feel deep sympathy for her, and he cupped her delicate face with one his large, strong hands.

"What else did he say to you?" he asked, deeply engaged in deep thought as he listened attentively.

"He told me that if I truly loved him that I would accept his proposal and visit him in Italy, and that he wished that the girl he hit while drunk was me," she said, tears beginning to form in her great light blue eyes. Hans' eyes widened in shock at her statement. What kind of man gets drunk like that, he asked himself as the fires of anger burned in his heart toward the Italian.

"He hit a woman?!" he asked emphatically. "What kind of man is he? He doesn't deserve you!"

"He used to be a really bad alcoholic a few years ago, but I remember him sending me a letter saying how miserable he was that his mother locked away all of the liquor his family had," Hilda told him. "He was never really drunk around me, but he was close once. He even admitted that while he was out with his friends, he struck a random girl in the middle of the street and had to be escorted home by the police."

Hans couldn't believe his ears—Hilda was suffering from the unreasonable wrath of her Italian lover, and somehow he felt like he could do nothing but feel bad for her. Shaking his head, he held her close, gently cradling her in his arms as she reciprocated his loving, warm embrace.

"That is terrible," Hans told her. "If I had known in advance, I would have done something about it."

"Nein, I doubt there is anything that can be done," Hilda told him, on the brink of crying. "It is so strange how we fell in love the first day that we met, but our relationship lasted for about eight years."

"That is a long time," Hans said with shock in his voice. "How old are you?"

"I am twenty-two," she told him. "I have known him since I was fourteen. He was seventeen when we met. I had known his uncle since I was a baby, though, and his father hates my father. That caused even further tensions between us, considering my father is a prejudiced person."

"He is?" Hans asked.

"Ja, he hates anything that isn't German, but he had told me that he liked to visit Italy during a point in his life," Hilda told him. "He was a soldier during World War II, and he still has the…doctrine…in his head."

"Nazi doctrine?" he asked, uncomfortable saying something like that of his country.

"Ja," Hilda said, hating the word he used. However, she couldn't argue with facts; it was true. "He even told me once that he'd rather me marry a German than an Italian. That just goes to show that he is prejudiced."

Hans took this thought into mind and knew that he could use her father's prejudice to his advantage. He didn't want any harm to Hilda or anybody at all, but he knew that if her father wanted her to marry a German, Hans knew for a fact that he'd be more than happy to be Hilda's husband. Look at her, he thought, she is so beautiful, smart and talented. She is ideal for me. He let her go from the embrace and looked into her eyes, noticing that she looked as though she felt better after telling him about Emilio and the problems she had with him. He cupped her face in his hands, still keeping his eyes locked on hers.

"Don't worry," he whispered softly. "If Emilio isn't there for you, then I will be. You can trust me, Hilda. That is a promise."

The young woman felt strange, but wonderful feelings surge through her body as he let those words roll off his tongue. She still had feelings for Emilio, but she felt a whole new can of worms opening that only left her wondering what would be made of Emilio and her.