Dark Secrets

Lessons Part 1

I sat on the other side of the desk, glaring at her. She had her eyebrow up in that infuriating way, her legs crossed.

"No," I snapped.

"I'm probably more stubborn than you are," Viveka said. "You'll do it or we're not moving forward."

"I said no!"

"Very well," she said and looked at her nails.

I groaned and pulled at my hair. She was being impossible! Then an idea occurred to me. I closed my eyes and I focused on her mind. But I hit that damn wall again. This time, though, it hurt. My head jerked up and I stared at her.

"Am I to take that as you're finally going to cooperate?" she asked.

She hadn't noticed anything....

"Fine!" I growled and huffed. "You look lovely today, Viveka," I grumbled.

"Why, thank you Lord Cian!" she said in a high pitched voice that made me cringe. "You're looking quite well, too!"

"Now what?" I snapped.

"Well, it depends on why we're meet in the first place," she said.

"For lessons, minx," I snapped.

She rolled her eyes. "I mean outside of here and- Did you just call me a minx!?"

"Yes."

She glared but didn't say anything about it. "If we were meeting randomly on the street, you would probably ask me about my family."

"Why?" I asked. "I don't give a damn about your family."

She sighed. "Definitely do not say that," she said. "It doesn't matter if you care or not. It's about being polite. Now, here's the part you're going to have trouble with."

"Easy," I warned but she ignored me.

"You'll have to actually listen to whoever you're speaking with," she said. "For example, if you asked me about my family, I would respond with something like... 'My mother is doing well. She's started taking up sewing again.'" I was still trying to figure out that damn wall. "What would you say to that?"

"To what?" I asked and she snorted.

"I figured. I said: 'My mother is doing well. She's started taking up sewing again.' What would your response be?"

"I don't know. I hate sewing!"

"About as much as you hate manners," she sighed and leaned forward. "Lord Cian, it's not about whether or not you like it. It's about showing a woman you're listening to her. That's what we want more than anything else when speaking with a man: to know we're being heard."

I frowned. "I guess I would ask if.... Um...." She was watching me with a curious expression on her face as I struggled. "I guess.... 'Why did she stop?'"

"Very good!" she said, taking me by surprise. "I'm impressed!"

"Why?" I asked.

"You achieved two things there: not only did you show you were listening to me, you also made me feel like you cared."

"But I don't," I said.

She held up a finger. "But it seemed like you did. Like I said: that's all we want."

I sighed. "You're making my head hurt."

"Now, I'll respond with something like: 'She had to stop when she gave birth to me.'"

"Gross. Can we move on to something else now?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're like a child," she grumbled. "Fine. Let's assume you're speaking with a man. You bump into each other on the street. What do you say?"