After the movie, which was unexpectedly fun, I went downstairs, with almost all the lights turned off. The kitchen had no light, the dining room was dark, and the living room was also dark. The movie wasn't that long, but probably because of Irin's special investigation into me, she had already fallen asleep.
I am about to leave the house when I see a black figure from the corner of my eye, where only the faded orange light shines through the back door of the house. I turn my face to look again. My eyes haven't manipulated me these days, and I appreciate that, but now it happens again. The idea that someone would follow me like a shadow—but not a particular shadow. It was a ghost. Sometimes it was Winston, the guy whose head I cracked open, and sometimes it was my mother. And sometimes I hoped they wouldn't carry anything with them, like a knife, a helmet, or a gun.
My right hand touches the door handle, and I'm about to push the heavy door gently so I won't wake anyone in the house.
"Hey."
"Geez!" I cringe and scream at the same time. I turn toward the guy's voice, and my eyes scream even louder. My mouth opens slightly, but my words won't come out.
"Are you stealing something?" He asks.
"No," I say as I look into his bright silver eyes in the dark room. "Are you?" I ask.
"Heh." He chuckles lightly as he steps closer to me. "Done with movie night?" He asks.
"How did you—what are you doing here? Where's Ivan?" I ask.
He shakes his head with a smirk. "You always answer my question with a question," he says, looking at me properly. "He just went upstairs before you came down—we were just catching up in the backyard," he says, answering both of my questions.
I nod slowly and push the door. His shadow covers my back. He places his right hand above my head and pushes the door open for me.
"I can do that—but thank you," I say lightly and walk outside. I glance at him and see his tiny smile as he leaves the house.
As I see him beneath the streetlight, I think about how real and unreal he is. My heart pounds more slowly after he gave me a heart attack. I say nothing and walk in my direction. As I walk, the wind grows stronger each day. It's telling me that winter is coming and fall is almost over.
"So, have you broken up with him yet?"
"For God's sake—Zygmunt." I flinch and quickly turn around after he whispers beside my ear from behind, out of nowhere. "You can't approach people like that," I say.
"Then you should stop strolling through the streets alone this late at night," he says.
I turn toward him as he moves to walk beside me. "I'm not strolling," I say, watching him walk ahead of me. "This isn't the way to your house," I say.
"I know," he says.
I watch him standing there, waiting for me to walk with him. Then I take a step closer. This is the second time we have walked together. We keep silence as our friend—easy and calm. He doesn't mind. I didn't mind before, but now I want him to break the silence.
As my eyes lurk and sneak toward the background, especially the woods, Zygmunt catches my behavior. He chuckles, a lighter laugh in his throat—and glances at me.
"What are you looking for? Or who—are you looking for?" he asks.
"Nothing," I say, turning to look straight toward my house, which isn't far from sight.
"Your boyfriend?" He asks.
"No," I say.
"Who, then?" He looks at me for an answer, but I say nothing more. "So, did you break up with him?" he asks.
"No," I say.
"Why?" He keeps asking.
I stop walking and turn toward him. "Because I like him," I say.
Then he stops and turns toward me. "But you don't love him," he says.
My eyes glare deep into his sparkling, snow-like eyes. Wondering and frustrated, he gives me mixed feelings—what does he want from me?
"Why do you want me to break up with him so badly?" I ask.
He steps closer. "I don't think you're ready for my answer yet," he says.
Intriguing—intriguing indeed. "If I say I'm ready, will you tell me?" I stare at him and ask.
He uses his tongue to poke the inside of his left cheek and smiles—a tiny one, but somehow it has a big impact on my body. He leans toward me.
"Don't forget to lock the door."
I glare at him, soften my eyes, and sigh into the wind flowing through the tiny space he leaves between us.
The feelings and the chills. I don't know whether it is the cool weather surrounding me, the air, or the atmosphere around his body that freezes me the way that man does.
Dinner with other families has started to become more common to me than having dinner with my own father, since I can't even remember when we sat at the dining table and had a fabulous meal or even typical spaghetti and meatballs. That will be an awkward moment when the time comes. But still, the idea of gathering with strangers who have high manners means I need to be proper and careful with my actions all the time, which makes me feel a bit awkward, especially with the Oskar family.
Tonight, I'm wearing white thigh-high tights with clips under the ivory dress—the second favorite. The first favorite was stolen, I assume, if I wasn't mistaken. I let my hair down and neatly tuck the front sections behind both ears. My high heels, which are only three inches, hit the floor—not too loudly, but enough to announce that the guest has arrived at the house.
Tytas holds my hand through the hall to the glamorous dining room. I see Mr. Oskar sitting at the head of the table with the newspaper. Even the bouquets and different flowers in the beautiful vases and the glimmer of candlelight can't dim the businessman over there. He lowers half of the newspaper after hearing our presence. He greets me with a smile and is about to put it down when Mrs. Oskar enters the room and gives him a look, so he hands the paper to a servant and secretly rolls his eyes.
Mrs. Oskar greets me with an elegant expression, matching the way she is dressed this evening. She also compliments my dress and appearance, and she seems more pleased with my presence than usual.
The excellent meals and dishes are fantastic, and some are a bit rare to have as I admire all the food arranged in front of me. Mrs. Oskar explains which dishes were prepared especially for me. I am very grateful that she took the time to tell the cooks what would be good and what would suit my taste better, and I think she probably remembered my preferences from when I was younger. However, I'm still grateful.
We mainly discuss the future, since there isn't much going on in the present, and Mr. Oskar doesn't want to bore us with his business. He congratulates me on the position—volunteering at Apollon Hospital—and tells me how much it will help and support me in the future.
Then there is a topic I never thought they would bring up. Mrs. Oskar opens her mouth and gracefully mentions my mother while still sounding down-to-earth. They were friends, but I can't say they were besties like Mrs. Meride and my mother were. Honestly, my mother's relationships and connections were quite a mystery. She seemed like herself and had fun with Mrs. Oskar, and she looked at ease—safe—with Mrs. Meride, so I never really knew what the actual relationships were or which one was more profound. As likely as not, they were both real and deep, but in different ways.
After dinner, Tytas takes me to a place I have never been to in this house. The place behind his bedroom, outside the hall, cannot be accessed easily, and the door is the most neutral compared to the fancy, elegant interior. He slowly leads me inside, and my heart pounds nervously and excitedly at the same time. My hair senses something inside—something Irin has told me about.
"I want to show you something," he says as he pushes the door open, holds my hand, and leads me inside. As I place my right foot in the middle of the entrance, he turns toward me. "I don't want you to be scared."
Here we go.
He looks me in the eyes and is about to say something, but he doesn't. He steps aside and reveals the dark-red wall covered with guns—handguns, rifles, and shotguns. Name it, and I bet it's here in this room—the gun collection Irin told me about.
I pause almost at the center of the room, look around, and am about to step farther inside. My body hits the couch; the massive couch is more like a bed to me. Tytas approaches me slowly from behind, touches my fingers, and I flinch a little.
"They're all yours?" I ask.
"Yes," he says lightly.
I glance at him. "Why do you want to show me this?" I ask.
He holds both of my hands and turns my body to face him. "I don't want you to imagine things from someone else's point of view," he says, looking at me gently and gliding his hands along my arms. "I saw the picture—my picture—in your room that night."
My pupils shrink instantly, but I try hard not to react any more than that.
"The picture of us," he says, leaning closer. "I don't know whether you found it or someone else did. I want to explain, and I want you to see my point of view."
He knows that if it wasn't me, it must have been Irin.
I shift my eyes away, turn around, and begin walking around the room as I look at the weapons—the worst kind, the kind that shoots through my heart every time I see one, even without pulling the trigger. Guns and I are each other's worst enemies, and I don't know whether he knows that. And if he does know, he has the balls to show this to me.
"So what's your point of view, then?" I ask.
"It's a collection—I started collecting them last year. I like the design of each one, how each one works, the gimmicks, the devices, especially the vintage ones, and how the mechanisms work differently." As he speaks, he follows me from behind.
I look at him. "How does each one work? Do you use them?" I ask as I walk toward the center.
"No," he says and stops in front of me. "I learn from collectors, and I'm fascinated by them," he says.
I say nothing because I don't know how to respond. I shift my eyes and notice another door inside the room. I walk toward it, and as I'm about to push it open, Tytas grabs my hand and lightly pulls me back toward him.
"That—I'm not ready to let you see yet," he says.
Looking at him with his sparkling green eyes and the dark-red room surrounding him makes his colors appear even more charming, but this man has more secrets beneath his gentle, royal presence than I thought, and I'm kind of scared a little bit.
He sits on the edge of the couch, holding my hands, and locks his eyes on me.
"How are you feeling, Zia?" he asks as he looks up at me.
I breathe in. "A bit shocked," I say lightly as I exhale.
Tytas holds my hands properly and licks his bottom lip. "But you're not running away," he says.
Well, if I run, he will catch me in only five seconds. I barely ran away from Vik. How could I run away from Tytas?
"I'm also shocked that you knew about this, but you're still allowing me to be with you," he says and rests his face against my stomach. "Even after—what happened with Vik," he says lightly before looking up at me. "You're not scared of him or me. I don't know the reason. You hardly ever say what you feel or think... Why don't you run away?" he asks in a whisper.
Because—I live through my fears every damn day. Possibly, I'm used to them, but that doesn't mean I'm not scared.
"You make me fall in love with you even more—Letizia," he says, holding my waist. "You say nothing, but your actions tell me that I'm—important." He glides both hands along the sides of my body. "Am I important?" he asks.
I raise my hand to touch his face, rub his cheek, and stroke his hair back toward his neck. "I—"
His eyes move all over my face as he stretches upward to bring his lips closer to mine. "He's—still in your heart," he says as if asking a question. "It's been years—I'm so jealous," he says, his lips gently and accidentally touching mine. "I can't compete with him, right?" He looks up into my eyes. "Please tell me, Zia, you must be swayed at least a little when we're together."
He gently presses his lips against mine, kisses me softly, and slowly pulls them away.
"Or when we kiss," he whispers. He purses his lips slightly and waits.
"I like you, Tytas," I say, and I know this isn't the perfect answer for him.
But he quickly kisses me despite that. He moves his lips and hands together like he knows what he's doing. His tongue is under mine, and he kisses my entire mouth crazily.
"Ha—" I gasp,
He pulls his tongue away and slides his hands under my dress, over my thighs, and feels my tights. While his fingers touch the clips on my high knee tights, he looks at me, likely stunned, and not afraid to grab my asses and then pushes my body to him.
"Your parents," I say softly,
"They're gone to bed," he says and kisses my neck.
Is he going to do it here? And now, I am really curious why he had that picture in this room full of guns.
He keeps on kissing while his hands are under my dress and pulls out my panties.