Page 43 of The Baron Takes a Wife

As the opera was not until much later in the evening, he spent the rest of his afternoon with Sophie, who, he was quite sure, would someday rule them all.

Chapter Thirteen

Finally, a social engagement Elena and Irene were actually excited about. Elena had never been to the opera and had trouble imagining what Irene described to her with the sets, singers, and musicians. She had been to a few musicales, but they were not in a grand theater like this one was supposed to be.

As she regarded herself in her mirror, now her ritual before facing the world, she saw a woman in a silk gown of deep purple trimmed with a darker lace. Irene had pronounced it “aubergine,” which seemed like a mouthful to Elena. Her hair was pinned and curled into a very sophisticated hairstyle Elena could not have recreated if she tried. Her fingers brushed her eyebrow as she ran her hand across her hair.

The scar was still there and would always be there. Sometimes, she would forget about it for long periods, but then she would look in the mirror and remember again. It had made her feel so wretched for so long, a constant reminder of the foolish girl she had been and what she had lost. And yet, lately, it was becoming part of her. She would likely always despise it, but she was coming to accept it more these days. She lightly ran her finger down the white line etched permanently across her temple and felt a slight push against her leg.

Goliath really ought not to be in her room, but she couldn’t help herself from spoiling the great beast.

“Will I do, Goliath?’ she asked.

“You’ll more than do. You’ll outshine everyone else there.”

She hadn’t heard her husband enter. In her mirror, she could see him in the doorway, though her body had an awareness of him that didn’t require sight. He gestured as if asking permission to come past the door, and she gave a slight, nervous nod in the mirror.

“All this flattery can’t be good for my disposition.” As she turned to face him, she was grateful her skin did not give away much of a blush as she felt heat creep up her neck.

“It’s not flattery if it’s true.” She saw his gaze start at her hem and travel up her body, lingering at every curve. She took a deep, shivering breath as his eyes met hers.

“I have something for you this evening. Well, two things. First this.” He pulled out a small plate from behind his back. On that plate sat a small triangle-shaped pastry that Elena thought she would never see again.

“Baklava! Wherever did you find it?”

“After meeting with the ambassador, I asked him where to locate some. I remembered you had mentioned it on my first day back.”

Elena was too moved to speak. She rose, picked up the triangle, and broke it in half. Carefully, she lifted one-half to her husband, who took the piece. She then lifted the other half to her lips, and even before it brushed against her tongue, the smell brought back a hundred different memories. Suddenly, she was breaking fast on Paștele with her sisters, trying to cut the smallest piece so they could make it last longer. The taste was so familiar yet bittersweet despite the layers of honey.

“I cannot find the words in English to thank you. It has been so long since I have had anything of home. Sometimes, I fear I will lose it. The memory, the sense of it, the little things we did. And then one day it will all be gone, like a candle being snuffed out.” Something caught in her throat, and she coughed. “Forgive me. Sometimes the words get away from me in your language.”

“You have, um.”

David ran his finger along the top of Elena’s lips, then slowly drew it to his mouth, licking and then sucking his fingertip. Elena’s breath caught.

“Honey.”

She nodded, touching her finger to her upper lip, unable to put into words what this meant to her. Then she remembered something he had said.

“You met with the ambassador?”

His light expression grew heavy as he wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “I made several inquiries about your family. I should have done so years ago. I’m sorry, Elena.”

She shook her head. “David, there is nothing to be sorry about. You had other things you had to deal with.”

“I should have thought of it then.”

She looked at him, searching his expression for good news or bad news. She could feel her heart swell with hope, even as she tried to quash it down.

“And?”

“And he doesn’t have any news yet, but he will contact me immediately if he discovers anything.” His face fell. “He said it was like finding a needle in a haystack.” He must have noticed her confused expression because his lip curled up ruefully. “It’s an expression. It means it will be rather difficult.”

“No, you don’t need to explain. That one makes sense.” She put on a brave face to hide her dashed hopes, though she felt silly for setting herself up for disappointment again after all this time.

“Was I right to tell you? I didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”

Elena took hold of his hand. “I would rather know. I think honesty is usually best, yes?”