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“I think . . . I just need to take things a little slower,” I say gently.

“Sure,” he says quickly, his expression tight with concern. “No problem.”

Tension lingers between us for the rest of our time at the cove. Eventually, we head back. As we glide through the sea, I keep stealing glances at Luka, wondering what he’s thinking, what I should do. I still want to spend time with him, but I’m also worried what might happen if I let my guard down. Something about Luka is different than other guys I’ve dated. Maybe it’s our similarities, or the fact we’re both intrinsically tied to the same place. I think of how my dad fell for my mom so quickly. Something tells me I might make the same mistake.

I need to be more careful.

Yet I worry I’ve disappointed him somehow. Maybe he won’t be interested in seeing me again.

My anxiety fades, however, once we reach the harbor. As he helps me off his boat, he asks, “Are you free tomorrow evening at ten? That’s when I’m done with work. We could take a walk. Something simple.”

His tone is relaxed, nonchalant, but his eyes smolder like they did back at the cove.

Nothing serious, I remind myself. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Thirteen

Magdalena

19 June 1895

I have just come home from a walk. I don’t usually stroll around town, at least not in the leisurely sense. There is always someone staring, their eyes lingering too long, as if I’ve done something wrong by simply existing. But I didn’t sleep well last night, my thoughts tousling like the sea before a storm. I kept thinking of Nikola’s offer to show me the workshop. Why he offered to show me.

Dare I say, but I think I’m . . . excited? It’s been so long since I’ve had something to look forward to.

But now I regret taking the walk, for I’m afraid I’ve made a fool of myself . . .

This is how it went:

When I first started, I strolled without any clear direction. But I suppose my feet could read my mind, because without meaning to, they brought me to Lavender House.

The harvest was still underway. As I spied the workers moving up and down the rows, my first thought was to hide. Even though the field is empty at night during my visits, I felt as though if one of them saw me, they would instantly know my secret.

And so, from behind a cypress tree, I watched. I was a bit curious of the process, after Ana spoke so fondly of it. A part of me hoped to see her among the figures, to see her up and out of bed. But I sadly could not find her. I hope she was merely busy with another task.

I wish I were an artist, Majko, to properly show you how beautiful it was. I know you’ve seen the field before, but I do believe it has somehow grown lovelier over the years since you passed. The sunshine bathed the flowers in a hazy glow, enhancing their vibrant purple hue. The workers bent and rose in a methodical rhythm, grasping and slicing handfuls of lavender with their curved scythes, placing the stalks in bags tied around their waists. A few donkeys trudged nearby, helping to transport large sacks.

Some of the men had abandoned their shirts, their bare backs slick with sweat. I didn’t think much of it—it’s certainly a common sight in the fields and at the harbor—but as one of them straightened, I realized it was Nikola. He was working alongside the other men, shirtless, like a common peasant.

I’m ashamed to admit it, but I studied his figure. The broad expanse of his shoulders, the contours of his torso, the sinewy strength of his arm as he seized each cluster of lavender in his hand. There was something beautiful and also monstrous in his movements, the way his scythe slashed through the air like a claw, severing the slender spines from their roots again and again and again.

I couldn’t look away.

And then the most terrible thing happened. As if he sensed my stare, he paused in his work and looked up, his gaze turning right to where I hid. I dashed quickly behind the tree once more, but I don’t know for certain whether he saw me.

How embarrassing. Now I am even more nervous to see him tonight. I can only pray he will be a proper gentleman and not bring up what he did or did not see, and I will do my best to purge the sight of his sweat-drenched chest from my memory.

I have just returned from Lavender House. I am still trying to decipher what happened, all that I’m feeling, even now as the delightful scent of immortelle and rosemary floats up from my wrist . . .

I was nervous to come face-to-face with Nikola, but luckily it was Antula, the housemaid, who answered the door. My time with Ana went similarly to the day before. She seemed in pleasant spirits again, as she had managed some cooking and cleaning earlier in the day. But as I massaged her and chatted about her travels—before she fell ill—I couldn’t help but notice shadows dancing along the walls, gathering in corners of the room. Perhaps it was merely the candles beside her bed playing tricks. But something is amiss in that house. I feel it in my gut. I was grateful when she eventually fell asleep and I could meet with Nikola.

I met him in his office. My heart started hammering—despite forcing the image of him shirtless in the field from my mind, it came back as soon as I saw him. I had to stare at a point on his desk as I reported on Ana. When I finished, he asked if I was ready to see the workshop. His voice was nonchalant, but I sensed an edge of anxiety lying underneath. Could he have been nervous too? I have no idea how often he takes women on tours such as these, but the whole matter did seem a bit unconventional. Not only would it be just him and me, but it was quite late. I feared he would call the whole thing off, realize the impropriety of it all.

But I did not wish to go home, not yet. I wanted to see the workshop more than ever, to discover what secrets he was hiding there. I wanted to be away from the shadows, the smell of rot, and Antula’s disapproving stare.

I wanted to be alone with him.

“Of course,” I told him. “If you are still willing to show me.”