Flaneur ✅💋

5. Ourse

March 28, 1942

The sound of the approaching engine made her take a breath. Surely this would be it. The day the colonel made an example of her. She peered out her window from her bedroom upstairs and saw the glossy black Mercedes pull in front of her house, followed by three motorcycles. Seven green uniforms, and the black one she dreaded seeing above all others.

Colonel Roemheld stepped out of the car, straightening his uniform and searching the exterior of her home with a confident aura about him. He happened to look up and see her, standing dutifully at her window. He took off his hat and inclined his head, before marching up the steps. She noted the way his men stayed back while he let himself in. Not even a courtesy knock, before she heard the door open and shut. The sound of his boots on her stairs made her breathing quicken. She turned to face her bedroom door, thankful that it was shut to buy her a moment longer where she wasn't in his presence.

The thudding of his footfalls halted just outside her door and she swallowed hard at the shadow that loomed in the crack beneath it. She watched with bated breath as the golden knob turned tortuously slow until the door swung open. "Bonjour." He greeted her with a deceivingly chipper attitude. He looked over her form in the sunlight filtering through her closed window. "I see you aren't wearing your robe today. Was it able to be mended? I can send a tailor to fix it, if you'd like." He spoke in German. She chose to follow suit.

"I burned it, so that won't be necessary." She said the words in a respectful tone, not ready to set him off.

"Hmph, no matter. I quite like what you've chosen today." She felt her hands subconsciously rise to cover her cleavage. She had worn a knee length pencil skirt in a deep violet that hugged her figure, paired with a flowy white blouse with long sleeves and a low neckline. She tucked it into the high waistline of her skirt and finished it off with a pair of white strappy heels. Her hair had been braided down her back and tied off with a white ribbon. When she didn't reply the colonel smiled wider. "Don't tell me you've lost that witty tongue of yours, bärchen?"

"Of course not."

"Good. Did you get the gift I sent you?" He leaned casually against her doorjamb.

Genevieve didn't hold back her scorn as she replied, "You mean the brutes that nearly hit me when they barged in the front door?"

Colonel Roemheld frowned. "Brutes? I think you are mistaken, fraulein. I'm sure you didn't mean to refer to my men as brutes."

"No, of course not." She gritted through her teeth.

He smiled triumphantly. "I didn't think so. Regardless of their manners, it would appear that they did an excellent job in tidying up for you. You had mentioned that you were out of help, so I thought it was the perfect time to extend an olive branch, so to speak." She folded her arms and kept her mouth shut. "If you'll accept it, I have another gift for you."

"A gift for what?" She seethed.

The colonel pushed away from the door and stepped closer to her, slowly making his way tactically towards her. He stopped just in front of her and raised his hand. She flinched away from his touch and he chuckled. "It occurred to me that I may have not been the perfect gentleman yesterday. You see, I have two sides. I'm afraid I have shown you the officer, rather than the gentleman. I would like to give you a gift as an apology, if you'll take it."

She swallowed when his eyes flickered down to her lips. She kept them pressed in a firm line, not giving anything away. He leaned in closer, until she could smell his cologne. She stepped back to create space between them, but he pressed forward, walking her back until she hit the sill of her window. She didn't dare say a word as he trapped her between his arms. One hand lifted to rub up her arm, while the other reached out and opened the window. "Private!" He barked, and she heard the startled response from below. "Bring it up!"