Blue Glass

Unlikely Confessions

"I'm going to see my mother at the hospital," I announced to Svetlana over breakfast one day.
Svetlana lowered her newspaper. "Well, that's a first. I usually have to prod you into going to see her."
"I don't have anything else planned on the weekend," I said. "Sitting at home knitting like an old biddy is hardly appetizing to me."
I noticed she continued to stare at me even as she nodded her approval. Not without a growing sense of unease did I brush it off.
I had more important things to think about, anyway. I had overdue paperwork to catch up on at work, my mother was sick in the hospital and that was sure to rack up hefty bills—and, most importantly, there was Manfred.
Up to this moment, I still couldn't put my finger down on what it was that had made him cut our kiss short that day. I had been relieved that I was leaving that day, as it would have been painfully awkward to have a follow up conversation after that incident.
I could only imagine that he felt the same way.
Had the fact that what we were doing defied almost every rule of social conduct been the reason he had pulled away so fast? That was one possibility. As much as I wanted him to understand my tendency to rebel—and even share it—I knew I had to understand that he was a nobleman, an aristocrat, and rebellion and defiance in all its forms was strictly frowned upon.
He hadn't looked angry when he let go of me to cover his face, furiously rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes flared with a much deeper emotion, almost like embarrassment...or shame.
Shame...
That made sense. He hadn't been shy about making hints about his inexperience with women. I couldn't help but feel honored that he trusted me enough to speak openly to me about that.
It had clearly been something unexpected, something that had come upon him suddenly—a realization, perhaps, of what he was actually doing. And although it pained me to come to terms with it, it wasn't his fault. I was everything he was taught to abhor, possessed all the qualities his class was taught to shun and despise. I was a low born girl; he was an aristocrat.
And still...
The torrent of longing that drenched me every time I thought of him hit me full force, even more so now for some reason. Whatever it had been that had caused him to act the way he did, I wanted to say I was sorry. I just wanted things to go back to the way they had been, back when we had both deliberately blinded ourselves to reality and immersed ourselves in this new, exciting, dangerous thing called love.
Manfred von Richthofen. Alluring, mysterious, picturesque. Literally everything I could ever want or ask for.
I couldn't help feeling a sharp stab of pride every time I looked at him, or thought of him. Countless German girls threw themselves at him, collected his photograph—and he was mine. Just the sheer knowledge of that stoked my ego like petrol on smoldering coals.
"What are you thinking about?" Svetlana asked me as I hastily swept away the breakfast dishes.  "You've has this starry eyed look on your face for quite a while now."
Svetlana would never understand. No one would be able to comprehend why I would give myself to a man of higher standing. They all believe that the only thing a baron or higher would want from a working class girl is her body—and only temporarily. They don't know that the "baron" I'm dealing with is one of a kind, the kind that only comes around once and never again...
"I'm wondering what I'll say to my mother when I see her," I said—a lie so blatant it may as well have been a joke. "It's been quite a while since we've had the opportunity to speak properly."
"I see." She raised her newspaper again, obscuring her face. "Any new mail from your uncle or Heinrich?"
I flinched. How many letters from them hadn't I responded to because I was too busy gallivanting in Silesia?
"Not that I know of," I said as nonchalantly as I could. "I'll check the mail soon, though."
"You should." Svetlana's voice held something more in it than a slight admonition. "They're your family, too."
I brindled. "Of course they're my family. What makes you think I'd forget about them?"
"Did I say you would?" She deftly snapped the newspaper shut and stood. "I'm just reminding you: blood is thicker than water."
Does she know???
The idea of anyone, no matter how close to me they were, finding out about Manfred and I chilled my blood. He hadn't said so explicitly, but I could tell that our relationship wasn't the sort that could afford to be made public—at least for now.
She can't know. She has no way of knowing.
"What a useful reminder," I said, giving Svetlana a measured glance. "Thank you. Now if you would please do your job and refrain from meddling in my affairs, that would be very much appreciated."
A wounded expression came across Svetlana's face. She opened her mouth to reply but then quickly snapped it shut, turned on her heel and bustled into the kitchen.