August 8, 1943

Last night, when Edwin brought me home, Papa came out of the house in his robe. "I'm inclined to approve of you," he said drily to my companion, who had gotten out of the car to open my door for me. "This is earlier than I was expecting."

Edwin smiled and nodded. "Anna was flagging, and I didn't want to tire her out." By that time, I'd come around the car and stood next to him, no doubt grinning idiotically. "Good night," he said, bending down and kissing my forehead unabashedly, in full view of my father.

"Good night," I said. "And thank you." He winked at me and got into the car, speeding off into the dark night.

"When should I expect grandchildren?" my father asked, earning him a light punch in the arm as I accompanied him into the house. "The man is clearly taken with you."

"He's very respectful," I said.

"I have little doubt of that, my dear," said Papa. "I'd like to be a fly on the wall to see what happens if any man ever tries something with you." I grinned and sat beside him on the sofa.

"The question is," he continued after a while, "whether you are taken with him."

"I think—I might be," I answered.

"Good," he said, then got up to go to his bed.

A mother might have asked about the evening. She'd have probably made me tell every detail of the party and the horrible confrontation and the way Edwin had comforted me and how the grass of the courtyard had felt beneath my bare feet. My father did not ask any of those things, but what he did say was, I thought, absolutely perfect.

I tried to go to bed, but sleep was a long time coming. I was too happy. It wasn't a frenzied kind of happiness; it was a quieter kind, like the warm euphoria of finding something you've lost and have been looking for a very long time.

This morning, I awoke to hear my father singing while he cooked breakfast. Mr. Jonas's shop is closed on Sundays because so many of our Gentile customers go to church, so I always have the day to do as I please. I knew I wouldn't see Edwin, but I didn't really mind too much. I've always enjoyed spending time by myself and getting lost in my own rambling thoughts. Besides, I needed time to sift through my thoughts and feelings about the week.

That's why, toward midday, I took a walk in the city. I knew very well that it might soon be too dangerous to move around Budapest freely, as it had been sometimes already, so I took advantage of the relative quiet and peace.

I walked down to the flower market and then through the stalls where jovially yelling men tried to sell large cuts of meat to red-faced housewives. Without really meaning to, I walked far enough to be in the part of the city that contains Edwin's hotel.

I wondered what he might be doing. He'd told me that he attended a Protestant church in the morning, but I had no idea what his afternoon would contain. Perhaps he was busy working; did officers have to work on Sunday? After all, war doesn't stop for the weekend. I realized I knew very little about Edwin's actual duties, and I determined that I would remedy my ignorance when I saw him again.

Truthfully, I couldn't get my mind off Edwin Jarvis for any length of time. It wasn't a loss of identity or autonomy or personhood on my part. I'm strong enough; I don't need to prove that to myself. But he is tall and kind and funny and gentle and all the things I haven't found in a man (other than my father) for a very long time.

I miss him I admitted to myself some time after the noon hour had passed. It felt silly to miss someone I'd seen the night before, and perhaps it was. But love is allowed to be silly.

Love.

I think I am falling in love with Mr. Jarvis—with his voice and his hands and his wonderful eyes. And with the way he looks at me when he thinks I'm not paying attention. There's something in me that wants to resist, because it's scary to give in, at least it is for me. I like feeling invulnerable. Perhaps Papa is right, however, when he says that we can't truly love without risking part of ourselves. And, I am learning, there can be joy in the risking.

Tonight I have spent the evening trying to read the novel Edwin gave me, Great Expectations by Dickens. Instead, my mind keeps wondering to the feeling of my head resting against his shoulder and the heady weight of his strong arm around me.

I had not—I gave up ages ago thinking I would ever find a man who didn't mind my sharp opinions and short stature, but Jarvis leapt right over not minding. I think—I think he actually likes how quickly I speak and the fact that when we're next to each other, we look like an art student's out of scale painting.

I keep telling myself that I can't know what's going to happen, that it doesn't make any sense to think about an uncertain and unknown future. But love is silly, and I am falling in love. I can't help it.

A/N: Thank you for the lovely reviews and feedback. Apologies for the delay in updating. I haven't been well, and Wednesday, February 25, I'm having my third surgery in a year. Hope to have another chapter up soon for you all.