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"You have quite the mouth on you, Kira."
I faux a melodramatic gasp at her quick remark as I tighten my hold around my friend's dangling arm, "and who might you be to comment on my colourful vocabulary? You are not so modest with that tongue of yours either."
Alice Mondrich, a young mother with whom I had developed an unforeseen yet much-cherished friendship. Prompted after her high-spirited son, Nicky Mondrich, unintentionally launched himself into my abdomen as I was skimming for harvested fruits at an open market— resulting in him and myself with shallow scratches on the hand and elbow. Since the day of that short incident, we would frequently notice each other in different places, leading us to talk often and to where we are today.
"Oh, I merely jest! You know well that I adore you for your forthright personality," she laughs as we walk towards the boxing auditorium. Taking a last whiff of smoke, I release the dark content out of my system with a puff, then extinguish the short remaining life of the cigarette with the sole of my fading brown shoe.
"Of course you do," Will Mondrich, her husband, speaks from my left, entering the -presumed empty- boxing auditorium, "my wife is not exactly subtle."
"You don't love me for my subtlety, husband," Alice reacts with a knowing grin. My spirit gradually falters as I smile wistfully at their chemistry— it reminds me too much of Anthony and me as we would have moments of infantile banter ourselves.
Lightly kissing my teeth, I bring myself to focus on the fellow that is on the threshold of smashing the punching, "Simon, my brother!"
The Duke of Hastings, Simon Basset, immediately turns around from the punching bag to the sound of my voice. The deep frown on his face loosens into a grin as he spreads his arms out to me with a knowing gaze, "Only you would be bold enough to call me by my name, Kira!"
"As much as I enjoy ogling at sweaty muscular men, please, for the love of God, Simon, don't— Simon!" I screech, absolutely improper as a woman on my end, as he wraps an arm around my waist, smushing my body against his. I struggle under his grasp as the sweat on his body attaches to my garments. My attempts become futile when he finally releases me, the stench now clinging to my light dress.
I grimace to myself, erupting a laugh from him as he discerns the disdain on my face. "I do apologize. I couldn't help myself."
"Oh please, at least try to appear sincere when you apologize," my glare hardens at the prideful smile seamed on his appearance.
"Remind me, Will," Simon initiates before he looks at the said man, "are you participating in a boxing exhibition today, or is it a comedy exhibition?"
"I was afraid you had forgotten."
"I had not," he sighs, glancing at me before looking back at Will, "although I am afraid you will have to soldier on without your greatest admirer present this afternoon."
"Alice will be present."
"You are leaving England," I say, noticing his sluggish movement and choices of words as Simon's eyes soften at my low tone and nod at my observations.
"Indeed. My business is concluded," The Duke states.
"Will's is not," Alice chimed. I block out their voices as I glance away from them, not wanting to intrude anymore in their conversation. The thought of Simon leaving England clouds my mind as he is someone I had truly grown attached to— someone whom I had seen as an older brotherly figure, and bidding him farewell felt impossible to do without tears rolling down my cheeks.
"Has anyone ever told you how uncannily similar you are to The Empress of Russia?"
"Hm—!" I withdraw in surprise when finding Simon peering at me, his brows suddenly furrowed and lips puckered out "c-can you repeat that?"
"I said, 'Has anyone ever told you how uncannily similar you are to The Empress of Russia?'" Simon repeats, his gaze still fixed on me, eyes now gleaming with newfound curiosity. He tilts his head, giving me his infamous single raised brow.
"Wh— me?" my laughter disguises my sheer bewilderment, lightly smacking his arm as a response, "the Bridgerton gentlewoman made you lovesick, not delusional."
Simon rolls his eyes, "could you just answer my question?"
"No, Your Grace," I state, putting emphasis on my answer, "no one has ever resembled me to The Empress of Russia because nobody I am acquainted with, aside from you and Anthony, knows of what The Empress looks."
"Right, of course," he shakes his head, examining me after screwing his eyes and rapidly blinking them, "I— it is downright frightening how much you look like Her Imperial Majesty. I had met her on a few occasions, and it feels as though I am speaking to her whenever I look at you, Kira."
I snort, crossing my arms above my chest, "I might as well be her lost daughter if you declare we are that alike."
His face snaps back towards me, emotions morphing from confusion to wonder, and as he was about to open his mouth once more, I was quick to give a pointed look, "Simon, quit this nonsense. I am merely jesting. You cannot believe that I am the lost Grand Duchesse—"
"—Vasilia Romanov disappeared from the imperial family a year after her birth," he interrupts, clearly preferring not to heed my words, "you are six and twenty, are you not? Lady Dunbary told me the incident occurred 25 years ago on August 10th."
I felt frustration immediately build up within me from his continued persuading, and without much thought, my lips started moving in their accordance, "For fuck's sake, Simon! I-I am a happy woman who owns a bakery with her mother and lives a decent life. I am not some missing daughter of an Imperial family. There is no possibility of it being true, no matter how much you believe otherwise. I am where I am supposed to be, so drop this absurdity."
Silence looms in the boxing auditorium after my outburst, Simon seeming regretful with his eyesight downcast while the couple remains muted from the sidelines. I sighed heavily, cooling my searing head and glanced at Alice and Will, "I apologize, I shall visit you and the children another day. Have a good day, everyone."
