RUBY
"Hey, what's wrong?" Ember asks, startling me.
I was so immersed in my thoughts while stirring the jam that I didn't realize she had approached me from behind and was looking over my shoulder at the pot.
"Nothing," I reply.
Dad points at an unopened packet of gelatin sugar.
"Something's not right; I agree with your sister."
I roll my eyes.
"You both are the ones who make me nervous."
As I stir with too much force, apple jam splatters onto my hand.
I inhale sharply.
"Put it immediately under the cold water tap," my mother instructs, taking the spoon from me and handing it to Ember. She pulls me to the sink and turns on the faucet.
"Let me deal with my troubles on my own," I grumble.
"As far as I'm concerned," Dad says, "you surely can handle them yourself. But you've been like this since Saturday, and I'd like to know the reason."
I just give a grunt. Even at home, I'm not at ease.
I've never understood why everyone complains about Mondays. To me, Monday symbolizes a fresh start, a chance to set sail toward a great week. Usually, I love Mondays. But today everything seems to be irritating me. The thought of people at school, memories from Saturday, Ember's inquisitive glances. Even the small, infernally painful burn on my hand. Stupid apple jam.
What I'd really like is to lock myself in my room and bury my head in the material for the next three months, but my family has forced me to help with canning. Although I'm sure the jam is just an excuse for them to finally get me to talk.
"Why don't you tell us what happened?" Ember asks a second later, confirming my suspicions.
"Because you don't actually want to know how I am," I reply. "You're only asking because you want to pry information about Beaufort out of me."
"That's not true!"
"Isn't it?" I ask provocatively. "So you're not interested in what he's like?"
Now she shifts her weight from one leg to the other, looking uncertain.
"Yes, of course. But one thing doesn't exclude the other. I can be interested in one of England's top men's fashion houses and also care about your well-being. There's room for both in my heart, little sister."
"How sweet," my father says, wheeling past us toward the stovetop. He grabs a clean spoon and dips it into the boiling jam. Watching him taste it is always fascinating. When I try a dish, I look... normal. But with Dad, you can immediately tell he's a professional. The expression on his face changes as if he's discerning all the ingredients and considering if anything is missing and what it might be.
Like now. He tilts his head, and we watch intently. A second later, his face lights up, and he wheels the chair back slightly toward the metal cart where all his spices are kept, picking up a mixture of cinnamon and sprinkling a pinch into the iron pot. The smell reminds me of Christmas, my favorite holiday.
"There's nothing to explain, Ember," I reply a little later, and my sister sighs in frustration. "You know everything there is to know about Beaufort."
"I'd love to visit the tailor shop someday," she sighs, resting her chin in her hand.
"Wouldn't that be boring for you? You want to specialize in women's clothing, right?" Dad interjects.
The doorbell rings, and we all look surprised.
"Who could it be?" Mom asks, leaving the kitchen to go into the hallway.
"It's about the atmosphere, Dad. About seeing how people work, with what materials and patterns. Despite everything, it would have been super interesting."
It pains me to see Ember so anxious to know. I understand that she finds it unfair that I was given the opportunity to visit the main headquarters of a top designer without any effort, something she probably couldn't achieve as quickly. On the other hand, I also think about how the excursion ended for me. And I definitely don't want my sister to feel as humiliated as I did at that moment.
"I have an idea. Can't you ask James if he could take me on a visit too?" Ember asks, and the fact that she's not entirely joking unsettles me.
"You can ask him yourself, Ember," Mom suddenly suggests.
I turn to her with a furrowed brow.
"How?"
"The boy is standing in front of our door," she explains, pointing her thumb over her shoulder. "Also hey, you hadn't mentioned how handsome he is."
I stare at her, my protective instincts kicking into high gear.
"Did you let him in?" I ask.
"Of course not. You can do it yourself... or not? Whatever you prefer.." Mom says, approaching me and planting a kiss on my crown. I feel the curious glances of my family on my back as I cross the kitchen and head to the hallway.
I make my way to the front door, feeling disoriented.
James is on the staircase leading to our house. It's the first time I've seen him in regular clothes. Dark jeans and a white T-shirt give him the appearance of any other guy. If I had bumped into him like this on the street, I probably wouldn't have recognized him.
A large protective case with the Beaufort logo hangs over his arm. I stare at the twisted B for a moment, suddenly overwhelmed by indescribable anger.
He has no business being here. I don't want him near my family. My life here has nothing to do with my life at school, and I won't allow him to blur the boundary I set years ago, especially after last Saturday.
Just as I'm about to demand answers, he averts his gaze from our rose bushes and spots me in the doorway. An emotion glimmers in his eyes-an emotion I can never quite identify-and then he ascends a step, aligning our eyes at the same level. He clears his throat and extends the protective case toward me.
"I wanted to bring you the dress. Tristan fixed it. It has to be perfect now."
I made no move to take the dress.
"You came here for that?"
He inhales deeply and then exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.
"I also wanted to talk to you about Saturday. I acted like an idiot, and I regret it."
For a few minutes, I can only look at him. It's the first time I've heard him say something like this, and I can't help but wonder how many times in his life he's apologized. When I think about all the things he's allowed himself to do, especially at school in recent years, I conclude that his moral compass must be quite different from mine. But now, he genuinely seems remorseful.
"I don't understand why you did what you did," I murmur. Especially after he held my hand and we shared that moment of complicity. I saw how warm his gaze became, and I felt the sparks between us. It wasn't just my imagination.
He makes a regretful expression. For a long minute, he says nothing, just gazes at me with those inscrutable eyes. Then he murmurs so softly that I can barely hear his words:
"Sometimes even I don't understand myself, Ruby Bell."
I'm about to say something, but I hold back. It feels like he's being sincere with me for the first time, and I don't want to ruin it by rejecting his apology. So I stay silent. We remain like this for so long that with anyone else, it would probably be an uncomfortable situation. But James and I... I think we could stare at each other for hours, trying to breach each other's walls.
"Why did you really come?" I ask.
"What you said at noon..." He hesitates. "What if I don't want to go back to how things were?"
I let out a muted laugh. "You kicked me out. And before that, you embarrassed me in front of your parents. You acted as if I wasn't worthy of being introduced."
He shakes his head. "That wasn't my intention." Almost imperceptibly, he sways forward and backward. He seems nervous. "I actually had a good time on Saturday."
James's words linger in the air, and for a moment, I'm caught between disbelief and a flutter of excitement. How did we go from not knowing each other, to bribery, to outright animosity, and now this?
"I don't understand what you expect from me now, James," I say in a hushed voice.
"I don't expect anything," he replies. "I just don't want to go back to how things were. Can't we... get to know each other from now on?"
I stare at him, half expecting this to be some elaborate trick. He can't be serious. I'm not naive. I know James can't stand me, even though we had a good time together on Saturday. I'm the reason he got benched from lacrosse, and I hold the biggest secret about his sister-a secret that could endanger him and his family. Surely, he just wants to keep an eye on me.
"If this is one of your tricks t.." I start incredulously, but James cuts me off.
"No," he says, ascending the last step.
I shouldn't read too much into his words; I know that. I can't decipher what's going on in his mind, and I doubt anyone else could either. Yet there's something in his eyes right now-something honest and regretful-that leaves me momentarily breathless.
How did we get here? How did we transition from strangers to adversaries, to this point, all in the span of a month?
The door opens behind me.
"Ruby? Everything okay?" my sister's voice breaks the charged silence.
I stiffen. In front of me stands James Beaufort, holding a dress from a century and a half ago, and his gaze makes my knees wobble. Behind me is my sister, with whom I was bickering over our father's jam just minutes ago. My two worlds collide with force, and a shiver runs down my spine. I don't know how to act- Ember watches us curiously and incredulously, but I just signal to her silently that she should leave. She retreats, closing the door behind her.
Turning back to James, I need a moment to collect myself. There's still an unanswered question hanging between us.
"I don't know," I say honestly.
James nods thoughtfully. "Fair enough. I actually came here solely to apologize for Saturday."
"Only for Saturday?"
He smiles audaciously. "Certainly not for inviting you to a striptease."
His words make it difficult for me to accept his apologies. I can't tell if he's serious or merely trying to smooth things over to prevent me from revealing Lydia's secret. Yet part of me acknowledges that life would be easier if he didn't constantly disrupt it. Maybe we could even talk about school matters occasionally. On Saturday, I realized he's not just sharp-witted but also intelligent. I enjoyed our conversation. And there's something else-a flutter of curiosity-that makes me want to know more.
I recognize the folly of trusting him even a little. But the more I think about it, the more I realize I don't want to revert to how things were.
I lock eyes with him, conveying my seriousness. "I won't allow you to pull something like that on me a second time."
"Understood," he replies softly, handing me the dress.
Suddenly, it starts to rain. It's not heavy, but it's enough for me to worry about the dress despite the protective cover. I grab it hastily and run to put it away in our closet.
When I return, countless raindrops have already gathered in James's hair, tracing paths down his face. He wipes his cheek with the back of his hand and then runs it through his hair, never taking his eyes off me.
My good manners tell me I should invite him inside before he gets soaked by the rain, but I can't. It doesn't come naturally to me. I can't introduce him to my parents and my sister. Maybe I'll never be able to.
"I accept your apologies," I finally say.
His eyes light up. It's the first time I've seen this expression on his face.
So there we stand in the rain-him on the staircase of my house, and me by the door-unable to invite him in. But it's a start.
It's..something. I turn around to walk back.