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I’d only end up getting caught in the crosshairs of their eternal conflict.
Besides, I have my own guest to think about.
“What would you like to do for New Year’s Eve?” I asked Theodora the evening after everyone left.
We were eating pizza out of a box in the Blue Lounge, Christmas movies on the TV. Theodora would pick a slice and tear it in two, and then tear those slices again, and then take tiny bites. I was just happy to see her eat.
“I’m not sure,” she answered, delicately wiping the corner of her mouth with the tip of her ring finger. “What about you?”
“I just want to make you happy,” I told her in complete honesty. “Anything you want to do, anywhere in the world—I’ll take you.”
She thought for a moment. “I’m happy here.”
It made my heart ache to hear it. I might have thought she was lying if I couldn’t see the difference in her. The slight flush in her cheeks, the ease with which she relaxes into chairs and cushions, the glitter in her eyes and the way I’ve never seen her smile as often as she has in the past few days.
“Alright, then. Let’s do New Year’s Eve here. Just the two of us? No parties?”
She shook her head quickly. “Oh, no. I’m all burnt out on parties.”
“Yes, I suppose my parents’ social calendar is overzealous, to say the least.”
“Not just this holiday,” Theodora replied. “Just in general.”
I frowned at her. “Really?”
She nodded. “Yes, really.”
“If you haven’t been enjoying the Spearcrest parties, why go?”
“If I only went out of enjoyment, I’d never go at all.”
We stared at each other, the lights from the TV plunging us in blue then orange, then blue again.
“Theodora, darling—not a party girl at heart? Who would have thought,” I said, more gentle than mocking.
She laughed, dispelling the emotion that had suddenly settled upon the conversation.
Overthenothingdaysbetween Christmas and New Year, we settle into a comfortable routine: meeting for breakfast, going on long walks around the grounds, then spending the dark afternoons and evenings working on our various assignments. Later, we have dinner, something easy and wholesome, and then, sometimes, we sit and do nothing, playing cards or chess or just watching television together.
“If you don’t like parties, why do you go to all the Spearcrest parties?” I ask her one evening out of the blue because it’s been playing on my mind.
“Because it’s what’s expected of me,” she answers.
I turn to her with a frown. “Since when do you do what’s expected of you?”
She’s lying draped on her stomach on the sofa in blue satin pyjamas, her hair a long fishtail plait dangling off the side. She props her chin up on her hands to throw me an incredulous look.
“What are you talking about?” she asks in a haughty tone. “Since when do I doanything butwhat is expected of me?”
I stare at her, waiting for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t.
“How so?” I prompt her.
She gives a laugh bereft of any amusement or warmth.
“Oh, where to begin? I behave as expected, I go to Spearcrest as expected, I look as I’m expected to look, I say the things I’m expected to say. At home, I behave just as my father expects, and at Spearcrest, I behave as everybody expects me to behave. I spend time with girls I have nothing in common with, I go to parties when I barely even drink, I dance to music I don’t even like. All because it’s expected of me.”
I’m seized with the same disorienting sensation I experienced when finding out about Iakov’s personal life from Zaro. A feeling like realising someone who’s been standing right at your side was mortally wounded the entire time.
