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Chapter 34

Meg

I ate dinner with Raoul, but we didn't talk very much. I was grateful for it. I wanted quiet. If I'd been made to talk, to have a semblance of normal conversation, I would have broken down.

In fact, I nearly did break down once or twice during the meal. I found my throat thickening, needing to put my fork down and swallow whatever was in my mouth. Tears would prick at my eyes. I would take a shuddering breath and force down the rising emotion - the terror for my mother and the worry for Christine. I hoped that they were both all right.

When this rise of fear would bubble up, he merely gave me an understanding nod and looked down, not saying a word about it. Pretending, when the moment passed, that it had never happened at all.

It warmed me even more to him.

But that warmth wasn't enough to keep me from retiring back to bed the moment I'd finished eating, feeling vaguely guilty that I was taking this man's bed. But I'd think of that later, when my mother came back.

If.

When.

If.

My face contorted. I curled up on the bed and sobbed. I'd forgotten to lock the door. But I didn't suspect Raoul would barge in on me. I didn't see him doing that.

The following morning, I awoke with the dawn. With the very beginnings, the whispers, of a headache. Not really because I was tired, or even because I slept too much. Not hunger or thirst. It was due to the fact that I had barely left this room in a day and a half. I did not do well trapped within walls. I had to have a change of environment to feel even vaguely functional.

I went to the dresser full of clothes that Janelle, the maid, had bought for me. A full wardrobe, Raoul had purchased for me, not actually knowing how long I'd be staying. He was a gentleman. I'd have to remember that today when I spoke to him.

I changed into a pretty pink dress, pulling back my hair with a matching ribbon. I stared at myself in the mirror, the yellow light of dawn illuminating the world with more brightness than my mind could currently process, and I sighed. Worrying, fretting, panicking, and crying would do no more good. I had to hold myself together. I had to. And I had to be a good guest to M. Deleon.

Moving to the bedroom door, I took a steadying breath, set my shoulders back, and opened the door.

Immediately the smell of bacon wafted to my nose, making my mouth salivate. I had barely eaten last night at dinner, and was very hungry this morning. I walked through the parlor and into the kitchen, where Janelle was making breakfast, humming to herself. Raoul was at table reading a book. Not the paper, it seemed, but a novel. My movement must have caught his eye, for he looked up.

His eyes lit when he saw how I was dressed. I smiled. "Good morning, Raoul."

He returned the expression. "Good morning." He nodded to the chair across from him, and closed the book. "Would you like to sit?"

I nodded. "Thank you." And took a seat across from him.

We didn't say much as Janelle finished cooking the bacon, placing two pieces on a plate for each of us, along with toast and fresh fruit. She told us to holler if we needed anything, and asked me if she could tidy up in the bedroom. I said yes. She nodded and set off to work.

I turned to Raoul. "Has she already eaten?" I asked.

"This morning, yes, before she came and cooked here. She gets here early."

"How long does she typically stay in a day?"

"Twelve hours, give or take. Gets here at seven and leaves at the same time in the evening."

I nodded. "Is she paid well?"

He gave me a funny look. "Of course."

I blushed. Was that an inappropriate question. "Sorry."

He shrugged. "It's no issue." I picked up a strip of bacon and chewed on it, staring at me. "Are you...feeling..."

"Better," I said quickly. "I'd rather not talk about it." I picked up toast and nibbled.

He nodded. "I see." He paused. "I know what it...feels like."

I cringed. "I said-"

"I won't talk about you," he said. "I'll talk about me. Is that all right?"

I considered this, and decided it was acceptable. I nodded.

"I know what it's like," he said. "To worry about the unknown."

I watched him.

He continued, "My brother instilled in me a sense of...perfection, I suppose. To constantly present myself in a professional yet charming manner, and I...well, I think I'm simply not naturally like that. So anytime I would...make a mistake..." He said the last three words slowly. "He would tease me. A bit cruelly, really. Saying I was pathetic, or awkward, or clumsy. And it...worked, actually. In public, I manage to present myself fairly well. But with women-" He reddened.

I finished for him: "You stumble."

He nodded and looked down. "Yes, that's a good word for it. Courting women has always terrified me, because it involves a level of vulnerability, and that's something I'm scared to..." His gaze went back up to mine. "It's different, for some reason, with you. I pushed past it and took a chance."

"I'm glad you did," I whispered. "Or I'm not sure where I would be right now."

He smiled sadly. "Yes, I think I agree." He seemed to remember what he'd been talking about, for his smile wiped away. "I know it's not the same level of anxiety that you're facing, that it's a different kind of unknown, but-"

"It helps," I said. His hand was on the table. Boldly, I reached for it with my own. He jumped a bit, but immediately relaxed as he stared at my fingers brushing his. "It actually does, to know that you understand, at least on some small level. To know that you're not brushing my worries aside." I smiled at him. "It helps, and I know what that need for perfectionism is like, as well. Thank you for telling me."

We finished breakfast, and we moved to the parlor, both of us picking up a book to read. We sat in silence across from each other, a bit more comfortable in one another's presence. We'd look up every ten minutes or so and smile at each other. Things between M. Deleon and I had eased further into friendship, and I liked it very much - especially given my current situation. I wanted - needed - a friend right now.

Janelle went outside to collect the mail later that morning. She brought in a letter, gave it to Raoul, and went into the kitchen to start on lunch.

Raoul's brows stitched.

I tilted my head at him. "Everything all right?"

"Speak of the devil and he shall appear," he murmured, and looked at me. "It's my brother."

I watched as he opened the letter. He pulled out the parchment and read. His expression gradually paled. He appeared to read it twice.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"He's sick." He closed the letter. "My brother is ill with scarlet fever."

My eyes widened. "Is he...very..."

"It doesn't say."

"Should you go to see him?"

He swallowed. He closed the paper and put it back in the envelope. "No, I was tasked with keeping you safe, and he doesn't know you're with me. I'm not sure if he'd...allow it. It's his name on the apartment, not mine." He grimaced. "Besides, all that will do is possibly put me or you at risk of becoming sick too."

Raoul looked off into nothing for a minute, then sighed and opened up his book again, not before putting the letter on the coffee table. His face was wan, as though he were the one with the illness and not his brother.