The warmth of the wine and Victoria's unexpected presence had settled into something comfortable and intimate. James found himself studying her face in the soft lamplight of his living room, the way her usually perfect composure had given way to something more genuine, more accessible.
"You know," James said, setting down his wine glass, "I should probably offer you something to eat. I wasn't expecting company, but I think I can manage something."
Victoria's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Actually, I brought those apples for a reason. I was hoping you might demonstrate your kitchen skills."
James laughed, standing up. "Apple preparation? That's hardly a demonstration of culinary prowess."
"Sometimes the simplest things reveal the most about a person," Victoria said, settling back into the couch cushions. "How someone handles basic tasks, their attention to detail, their care."
The observation struck James as quintessentially Victoria, finding deeper meaning in everyday actions. He moved to the kitchen, retrieving a sharp paring knife and a clean cutting board.
"Are you going to supervise?" James asked, glancing back at her.
"Absolutely," Victoria replied, her tone playful. "Consider this a performance review."
James selected the best apple from her bag, a perfect Honey crisp with unblemished red and yellow skin. The weight felt substantial in his palm as he positioned it on the cutting board.
"The key," James said, aware of Victoria's attentive gaze, "is maintaining consistent pressure while following the apple's natural curve."
He began peeling, the knife moving in smooth, deliberate strokes. Each ribbon of red-streaked skin fell away in an unbroken spiral, revealing the pale flesh beneath. James found himself taking extra care, wanting to demonstrate the precision Victoria seemed to value.
"Very impressive," Victoria murmured, genuine appreciation in her voice. "Most people hack at fruit like they're in a hurry to get somewhere else."
"Where's the pleasure in that?" James replied, continuing his careful work. "Good food deserves attention."
When the apple was completely peeled, James cored it with the same methodical care, then sliced it into perfect crescents. He arranged the pieces on a simple white plate, fanning them out with an attention to presentation that made Victoria smile.
"Beautiful," she said as he set the plate on the coffee table between them. "Thank you, James."
Victoria selected a slice and bit into it, the crisp sound audible in the quiet apartment. "Perfect sweetness," she said, offering him a piece.
As James accepted the apple slice from her fingers, their hands brushed, a brief contact that sent warmth shooting up his arm. Victoria's eyes met his, and he saw something shift in her expression, a deepening of the intimacy that had been building all evening.
"James," Victoria said after a moment, her voice taking on a different quality, more direct, more purposeful. "I've been curious about something since our elevator conversation. You mentioned Marcus Aurelius among your favorite authors."
"The Meditations," James confirmed, settling back beside her. "I find his perspective on maintaining inner tranquility compelling, accepting what you cannot control while focusing on what you can."
"I'd love to see your copy," Victoria said, her request carrying the weight of genuine interest. "Would you mind getting it?"
James felt a flutter of pleasure at her curiosity about his reading habits. "Of course. I think you'll appreciate the translation I have."
He moved to his bookshelf, scanning the philosophy section until he found the worn paperback copy he'd read countless times. The cover was faded, the spine creased from years of handling, clear evidence of a well-loved book.
"Here it is," James said, returning to the couch. "Gregory Hays translation. I prefer his approach to the more formal Victorian versions."
Victoria accepted the book with reverence, running her fingers over the cover. "I can see this has been well-read. What draws you to Marcus Aurelius specifically?"
James considered the question, aware that his answer might reveal more about himself than simple literary preferences. "I think it's his practicality. He wasn't writing abstract philosophy, he was trying to figure out how to live well while dealing with real responsibilities."
"The philosopher emperor," Victoria mused, opening the book and scanning the pages. "Managing an empire while contemplating the nature of existence."
"Exactly. There's something appealing about finding wisdom in the middle of practical demands rather than in academic isolation."
Victoria looked up from the book, her expression thoughtful. "Would you read something to me? I'd love to hear your interpretation."
The request caught James off guard, intimate in a way he hadn't expected. "Any particular passage?"
"Something that speaks to you. Something you return to when you need perspective."
James took the book back, flipping through pages until he found a section marked with years of re-readings. "This one," he said. "Book Two, passage eleven."
He cleared his throat and began reading, his voice taking on the measured cadence appropriate to the ancient text:
"'How much trouble he avoids who does not look to see what his neighbor says or does... A person's worth is measured by the worth of what he values.'"
James paused, glancing at Victoria, who was listening with complete attention. "'Remember that very little disturbs the balance of a well-ordered mind. When you wake up in the morning, tell yourself: The people I deal with today will be meddling, ungrateful, arrogant, dishonest, jealous, and surly.'"
"That seems rather pessimistic for a philosophy of acceptance," Victoria interrupted with a slight smile.
James shook his head, continuing to read: "'But I have seen the beauty of good, and the ugliness of evil, and have recognized that the wrongdoer has a nature related to my own not of the same blood or birth, but the same mind, and possessing a share of the divine. And so none of them can hurt me.'"
Victoria had grown very still, her wine glass forgotten in her hand. "He's talking about choosing your response to others."
"Exactly," James said, warming to the discussion. "Marcus Aurelius understood that we can't control other people's actions, but we can always choose how we respond. It's liberating, in a way."
As he continued reading, James became aware that Victoria had quietly set down her wine glass and moved closer to him on the couch. She was now seated beside him rather than across from him, close enough that he could smell her perfume, something subtle and expensive that made his concentration waver.
"Keep reading," Victoria said softly, her shoulder now touching his. "I want to see the passages you've marked."
James tried to focus on the text, but Victoria's proximity was making it difficult. She was leaning slightly into him, ostensibly to better see the book, but the contact felt deliberate. Her hair brushed against his shoulder as she peered at the pages.
"This is beautiful," Victoria murmured, pointing to an underlined passage. "The way you've annotated this...it's clear you don't just read philosophy, you engage with it."
James felt the warmth of her arm against his as she reached across to turn the page. "I've always believed books are meant to be lived with, not just read," he managed to say.
Victoria was quiet for several minutes as James continued reading, but he could feel her attention shifting, not away from him, but toward him in a different way. The philosophical discussion was becoming secondary to something else, something more immediate.
Finally, Victoria reached out and gently took the book from James's hands, closing it with deliberate care.
"Why..." James began, but Victoria's expression stopped him.
"Because," Victoria said, her voice taking on a new intensity, "I don't want your attention on Marcus Aurelius right now. I want it solely on me."
The directness of her statement sent a jolt through James. But more than that, he noticed the immediate change in her countenance, the way her blue eyes sharpened with focused intent, the way her entire demeanor shifted into something more aggressive, more determined. It was that side of Victoria he was still getting used to, the way she could transform from appreciative companion to someone who knew exactly what she wanted and wasn't afraid to take it.
"Victoria," James said carefully, aware they were crossing into territory that would fundamentally change their relationship.
But Victoria wasn't retreating. Instead, she shifted to face him more directly, her blue eyes holding his with unwavering intensity.
"James," she said, her voice steady but charged with something he couldn't quite identify. "Where do you see a courting lady visiting a man in his home while he reads books to her?"
The question hung in the air between them, loaded with implications that made James's pulse quicken. He started to respond, to say that she had wanted him to read, that she had asked but something in her expression stopped him. This wasn't about the book anymore. This was about something much more fundamental.
Instead of defending himself, James found himself hesitating, the weight of what he was about to ask settling over him. This was a question that could change everything between them, and he wasn't entirely sure he was ready for the answer. But the moment demanded honesty, and James had never been good at avoiding difficult truths.
"Victoria," he said finally, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable. "Do you like me?"
The question seemed to surprise her with its directness. For a moment, Victoria's composure wavered, and James caught a glimpse of something almost uncertain in her expression. But then her face settled into something more determined, more resolute.
She looked at him steadily, her blue eyes never leaving his face, and without hesitation, she said:
"No."