From unknown to unknown- Mixte 1963

Chapter 9- Intimacy

Edith entered the bath Joseph had asked his maids to prepare. His maids. She wondered how rich was this family, exactly. She saw her reflection in the mirror and stared a bit. She was on the chubby side, tall, un-ladylike. She wasn't gracious, or cute. Maybe elegant, if you pushed it. But not beautiful in the way Annick was beautiful, just voluptuous.

The bath warmed her and the event of how she got into this situation came back to her. She probably should have turned down the offer right then and there. She should get out, put on her wet clothes, and run outside into the pouring rain back home. Instead, she sank further into the warm water.

Joseph was so weird. How did the boys think? How exactly did their brain work? Screw that, how did his work? How did he see her? Was she truly that ugly? She knew her best qualities resided in her mind, in her intellect, and to find her beautiful or like her, somebody would have to know her mind. And it was good, being like for what you are and not for what you look like. It was good, but not sufficient.

Never had she aspired for somebody to see her attractive physically. Edith had never liked being the center of the world, to have all attention on her. However, at the moment, she wanted his attention on her. Was it bad to wish for something she had pushed away less than days ago?

She stood up and headed into the shower to wash her hair. She desperately wished the water would rinse her thoughts away. She dried with a towel and again passed in front of the mirror. A pimple had appeared on her left cheek. Her lashes weren't long and beautifully brushed. Her green eyes seemed dead.

She looked around the products they had given her and found the necessary to at least make her hair look presentable. For her face, she oiled it and with her fingers, tried to brush her eyebrows.

But don't misinterpret, Edith didn't want to look like Annick or Simone or Michèle. She didn't desire those stunning eyes or perfect head shape. She found beauty in her imperfections. But not everybody did, and the boy next door certainly didn't, she believed.

She found the clothes left on the bed of the room she had been allowed to use. A white dress, of a quality only her fancy attire rivaled. So he just found those somewhere, when they were as beautiful as the dresses she only wore to marriages and important functions. The ones her mom kept in a locked box.

But again, do not misinterpret Edith. She didn't desire wealth. Wealth was responsibility, and responsibilities were tiring. It dragged you down, put dark circles under your eyes, and kept you away from your family.

She wore a white dress, with puff sleeves and a prominent cleavage. The waist was snatched and it flew down to her ankles. It made her remember those dresses in the Victorian era. The dress was grandiose.

She made her way back to the study, where she saw Joseph already working on the project. The door was half-open and he hadn't noticed her yet. She admired the way he held the books, then his hands. They were much bigger than hers, even if hers were not small. She remember them around hers, calloused and strong.

Then she opened the door and walked inside. As he looked up, she felt herself blushing. That one eye was roaming everywhere. It was embarrassing, and she didn't even understand why.

He made a rotation with his index, and she blinked twice before turning around slowly. When she came back to her original position, she saw that glint of mischief in his eye. He smirked when she squinted, highly on guard.

She came to take the chair that was sitting next to him and brought it to the other side of the table. As it scarped the floor, she knew he was intensively staring. She sat down and took one of the books he had gathered, and opened to a random page. She didn't look up as he stood up. She didn't look as he walked to the other side of the table, where she was. She didn't look when he picked her chair and her in both hands and dragged them back close to him.