Annie sighs in relief as I stumble into the kitchen. "Are you okay? Gosh, Maureen, you're so pale!"

To be frank, she's not far off. Seeing Cato in the flesh dizzies me. His presence infects my nerves, irking me like an itch I can't scratch. When our gazes struck each other like matches, I expected to see a glimmer of anger and resentment on him for eavesdropping. Instead, he smirked at me with those perfect lips that I've only dreamed of tasting against my own.

"My knuckles were worse than I thought," I lie, flashing the fresh bandages at her.

She shrugs, brushing off my ill-excuse. "Augustine wasn't impressed that I had to cover for you. Just be happy you can get away with that since you're his favourite."

"Don't be saying that too loud," I retort.

Annie sticks her tongue out. "What? Are you scared we're going to gang up on you because of it?"

"My life is already hell outside of the estate. I don't need to make enemies here."

"Nobody here is your enemy. We're like one giant family," she laughs. "You just happen to be the favourite."

"Annie," I grit. I love her to pieces, but she really doesn't know when to keep her mouth shut.

Augustine interrupts and stands before us, setting down a set of instructions for the evening. He's a shorter man with the beginnings of a gut on him, probably from all those times he secretly bakes cakes and tells us jokingly to 'not tell his wife'. Not that we'd ever meet her, but he'd always speak it with a smile.

"This is how the meal will go. You will take these platters out first and then return to me," Augustine begins babbling about directions for the meal, and I nod my head, despite not registering a word of what he says. Instead, my mind fixates on anything green that resembles Cato's irises.

"You will not converse with the guests, nor will you interrupt them unless they are finished their meal," he adds. "You understand who our guest is this evening, correct?"

Annie and I nod our heads.

Augustine cooked for Cato back when he was a child, but with Cato's new prowess of the skies and wealthy demeanor, the last thing Augustine wants to do is to give him a disappointing dinner. The astronaut deserves a feast made for a king.

Augustine smiles, fidgeting slightly from nerves, before handing us pitchers of water. "I doubt they'll request water since I put the best champagne on the table, but it still must be done. Everyone should be seated by now. Fill each glass and then return back here to deliver the first round of appetisers."

His orders swarm around in my head like a hive of bees. If I can't keep my composure in the kitchen, then I'll certainly fail at doing so in the dining hall.

Annie and I wander over to a set of double doors that lead into the dining room. We hold our breaths, knowing what man sits on the other side.

"He's here," she bursts with a gigglish excitement.

I bite the insides of my cheeks to refrain from smiling. As much as I hold that boy dearly to my heart, I know the consequences of falling for him will hurt more than my chapped knuckles.

"Does my hair look good?" Annie asks, brushing down the stray coils of her dark hair.

"It's a little wild, but it's good," I smirk. "You'll certainly catch his eye." Which I doubt, but her ego needed the boost.

"He better, because after tonight's party, I bet he'll be drunk out of his wits. Then maybe I'll gain enough courage to talk to him. Maybe he'll even offer to take me back to his bedroom."

I scowl. "He's not staying here overnight. His estate is only across the city."

"Come on, Maureen. Let me dream a little, okay?" She sighs and turns towards the door. "You don't mind if I go first, do you?"

"Be my guest."

Annie pushes through the set of doors, a spring in her step as she eagerly bends over to the far side of the table—the side where Cato sits. At the head of the table sits Audwin, who pays zero attention to Evelyn who sits beside him. There are others at the table as well, others who look unfamiliar, but are most likely close friends to the Leveque's.

I follow in behind her and fill the cups on the other end of the table. Nobody seems to notice, only Evelyn who glances at me with a motherly supportive smile as I fill her glass to the brim. Annie spends extra time around Cato, letting the water pour delicately into his glass as she basks in his presence. Somehow, I finish before her and exit back into the kitchen, only to have her follow behind moments later.

She squeals, her face scrunching up and eyes alive like fireflies. "He's dashing! Have you seen his eyes?"

Oh, I've seen his eyes. They're all I can see.

Green. Lucious. An endless forest that possesses a whole new world inside of them.

"I didn't even glance at him," I answer, which isn't entirely a lie. "If I did, I'd spill the water everywhere."

"His cologne is just to die for," she breathes in deeply, as if to inhale him. "I'd buy a thousand candles of his scent."

I raise a brow. "Do you hear yourself right now?"

"He looks way better up close. Trust me. I'll let you serve his side of the table, just this once."

"Only once?"

"I thought I was the one trying to get into his pants for the night."

I laugh at this. "I never thought you'd be the desperate one."

"It's been awhile since I've gotten any sort of action," she huffs. "I need to stay optimistic. My target's locked on Cato."

"Good luck with that."

Platters of soup rest on a cart for us to take out to the guests. Annie takes hers in her arm, giving me a brisk wink before twirling back into the dining room. She serves the opposite end of the table away from Cato.

I hold the silver tray with small saucers of soup in my palm. With my posture straight, I enter into the dining room. Almost immediately, the heat radiating from a pair of green eyes begins to warm my cold heart, but I don't dare look his way.

I start farthest away from Cato as the guests converse with each other. I can ease into him, right? It's not like he recognizes me, anyway. It's not like that little moment of eavesdropping made him realize that I still exist.

None of guests bat an eye at Annie and I as we place the saucers of soup by them. It's like we are nothing but shadows dancing around them. Or like fairies that deliver soup.

Or perhaps, far from it.

As I turn to place Cato's soup down next to him, my feet betray me as I trip over a notch in the wooden dining room floorboards. I stumble forward, eyes wide as the saucer of soup falls from the silver tray and onto Cato's trousers, fortunately missing his crotch and landing on his thigh.

"For fuck's sakes—" he curses. His attention swings to me like a weapon. Rage flares at the edges of those forest eyes.

My heart sinks into my stomach.

Oh gods, no.

Then at once, his expression softens. "Maureen?"

Our eyes meet, and I lose myself in his forests for only a moment. I no longer feel like the twenty-one-year-old woman that I am. Now, I feel like that fifteen-year-old girl, counting her stars and wishing that her best friend would return to her.

I stumble backward. I can't. I can't do this.

Using the silver tray to shield the tears streaming down my cheeks, I bolt from the dining room.

A couple stray servants wander the hallways, flashing questioning glares at me as I push by them. Of course it had to be him. Any other man and my feet would've never done such a thing, but Cato's allure tripped me.

The soup would have burned him, because Augustine serves everything straight from the stove. Gosh, I burned Cato Leveque with spilled soup.

I was betrayed by soup.

He probably despises me for being so careless. How could he ever think of me as more than a clumsy good-for-nothing handmaid?

I rush out the doors and into the Leveque courtyard. The cool evening air alleviates the embarrassed shameful blush on my tear-coated cheeks.

I hide myself in the garden, surrounding myself by the immaculate hedges and flowers. It's the first time since Cato's return that I force myself to calm down with deep breaths.

I take a seat at the edge of the fountain, but my mind only wanders back to the soup incident in the dining hall. My mistake will be the talk of the estate. Audwin would demand I be released from work. Evelyn would convince him to let me stay, that I know, but Cato's influence would be enough to persuade her to dismiss me.

I would have no choice in the matter.

The sun sets well below the horizon by now, and the sounds of guests arriving fill the once quiet air. I should be in my room where nobody can see my shameful self. Annie will be furious when she finds me, but how could I possibly show my face in that dining room after spilling soup all over Cato?

"I don't think there's any guests out here for you to serve."

A man's low, humbling voice breaks the silence. When I look over my shoulder, it's not who I expect it to be.

A young man stands there dressed in a black dark suit with a loose crooked tie around his neck. He's handsome, in a rugged sort of way, with his luscious dirty blonde hair pulled back in a small tail. His lean, yet muscular physique fills his suit out well. And those eyes. A heavenly shade of blue.

"I'm sorry! Is there something you—"

He cuts me off with a laugh. "Take a seat, daffodil. I'm not gonna rat you out for not doing your shit."

He pulls out a cigarette and takes a seat on the edge of the fountain just enough to be within arms reach. I stare at him—or rather, I stare at his sharp jaw. I fear if I drag my finger against it, I'd leave with a bloody cut.

He takes a quick puff. "Mind if I sit here? Can't really smoke inside."

"It's not really the cleanest of habits."

"Calms my nerves," he grumbles, flashing me a sly smirk.

Judging by his attire, he's an invited guest, but there's something genuine about him. Maybe it's the way he has his tie a little crooked, or the faint scars that decorate the edges of his features.

"So you work for the Leveque's," he mutters with the cigarette perched between his lips. "How's that?"

Nobody talks to the maidservants. Nobody. So why is he?

"It's good," I answer. I shouldn't be speaking with him. He shouldn't be out here, whoever this dreamy man is.

"Just good?" he removes the cigarette and meets my eyes. He reaches up, brushing his thumb underneath the ridges of my once-teary eye. His touch leaves a trace of warmth on my soft skin.

"You shouldn't be talking to me," I mutter under my breath, not looking away from his blue eyes.

He chuckles and scans the courtyard gardens. We're hidden from the view of any guests. "I can talk to whoever the hell I want to talk to."

Then there's only one other reason a man like him would want to speak with a woman like me.

"I'm not sleeping with you," I blurt out. "I'm not my mother."

His brow crooks a little. "Like I know your fucking mother, daffodil."

"Then... then why do you want to talk to me?"

He takes a puff of his cigarette, his blue eyes now locked on the garden of daffodils in front of us. Maybe that's how he acquired the nickname for me, or maybe it's because of my blonde hair.

He wanders over to the garden and plucks the stem of one of the flowers, then hands it to me. The whole time he keeps the cigarette between his lips.

"Can we start over?" Not once does he break eye contact. "Just forget that you're a servant for the Leveque's this time."

I nod my head and sniff the daffodil in my hands. The stranger extends his hand to me. Black tattoos crawl up his hand, and more most likely hide beneath his tuxedo.

"The name's Thomas."

"Maureen," I take his hand, and he holds it tight.

His attention drifts to the bandages around my fingers. "What the fuck happened to your fingers?"

Do I dare tell him the truth? I've avoided telling him about the soup incident so far, and if he ever figured out about that, he'd laugh. But my fingers? He'd mock me for being a cleaner at the hospital. It's a job that nobody else desires, and it's only meant for those who have nowhere else to go.

He told me to forget about being a servant, and what's the worst that can happen?

"I scrub floors at the New Aberdeen hospital," I fiddle with the edges of the bandages, then the petals of the daffodil he gave me. The petals are soft to the touch, so unlike anything I've felt before. "The headmistress is quite an ass about not getting blood on the floor, but it's a hospital."

He drops his cigarette and snuffs it out with his foot. "Then why go there?"

"The answer's simple: I need the money."

Thomas tucks his hands in the pockets of his black pants. "You should quit."

"Quit?" I laugh at this. "You know nothing about me. My only other option for money is to sell myself on the streets."

"The Leveque's don't pay you?"

"Not exactly. It's complicated."

Thomas raises his eyebrows at me and crosses his arms across his chest.

He wants me to further explain.

Why am I trusting this man? Desperation, maybe? He's the first one in so long that's willing to hear me out.

I release a deep breath. "Evelyn took me in when I was younger and raised me like a daughter. My mother was one of the most well known prostitutes in the city, and because of that, she could never adopt me. Instead, I had to grow up in servanthood. Evelyn was the one that told me to find daywork outside the estate, and the hospital was the only place that would accept me."

He smirks, and it's bloody attractive. His whole face transforms from this terrifying man into this giddish little boy, and I find myself smiling back.

"You grew up with Cato then?"

I nod. "We were close, but not so much. It's... strained."

"Work for me, Maureen."

I stare at him, mouth agape.

"I— um —I can't," I stutter, then spit out the most unbelievable lie: "I'm quite happy at the hospital."

"You're gonna go back to that shithole and scrub the floors until your fingers fall off?" he tilts his head down towards me and lets the stray locks of blonde hair fall into those blue eyes. "You sure that's what you want, daffodil?"

"I need the money."

"I'll pay you."

"My answer is no."

He kneels down to my level and lets his fingers cup my chin. He smells of smoke, but whiffs of sweet daffodil seep through. His blue eyes fall to my lips, and there, his gaze lingers.

"In my circles, I usually don't accept 'no' as an answer."

"You should learn too," I snap back at him.

"I will," he smirks. "For now."

He stands up to his feet, fixing the jacket around his shoulders. It's now he notices that his tie remains incredibly crooked. He fixes it—I don't have the heart to tell him it's still crooked.

He winks at me. "I certainly will not forget about you, Maureen Harradan."

With those words, Thomas exits the courtyard.

Who is he? I bring the daffodil to my nose and bask in the sweet springtime scent. His final words ring through me with such eloquence like a melody.

I certainly will not forget about you, Maureen Harradan.

Only this time, every vessel in my body freezes at the thought of his voice. We'd only just met, and I've hardly revealed any details of my personal life.

Maureen Harradan.

I never told him my surname.

━ ◦ ❖ ◦━

Thomas—our second eligible bachelor and a mystery to be solved.

The big question: would you trust yourself with soup around Cato?

Updated August 5, 2022.