20. Rules of Survivaccommodation pt1

In the morning, help arrived. Just like in the good old fairy tales, a fairy came to the house and brought order to our chaotic, hungry lives.

“I rushed here as soon as you called. Who would have thought that your father would send you to our country so suddenly? How could you live here without me, poor dears?” Midea, the Cirkul's housekeeper, kept saying.

It was the first time in my life that I had seen such a kind-hearted and talkative woman, her red curls bouncing with every step and movement. In spite of her advanced age, she managed to bore us with her sweet bustle at breakfast, and her energy and life seemed more vigorous than Grant's and mine.

‘How could such a good soul be working for the Circuls?’ I thought as I looked again at the freckled miss with the funny thick-rimmed glasses, flour falling from the wide sleeves of her jumper. It always seemed to me that there could be no decent people in the president's entourage, only crooks, sinister types in black spectacles and clever but overly cruel and disciplined villainous servants.

“Refills, darling?” she asked.

I nodded, staring at Midi. It had been a long time since anyone had treated me with such affection and care. The smile on her face made my heart race with the unreality of the moment. My plate was filled with another pile of toasted pancakes topped with condensed milk.

I cut off a large piece and put it in my mouth, my tongue immediately drowning in the sweetness. Oh, holy cakes, this is indescribably delicious.

Grant was more reserved and did not roll his eyes in pleasure as me, but it all was clear from the lightning-fast dance of knife and fork, from the lively work of his jaw, from the drop of condensed milk dripping down his chin.

Midi put the pan in the sink, dripped some detergent on the sponge and was about to reach for the tap when she remembered something and turned to us.

“You already know what you're going to do after breakfast, don't you?” A mischievous smile played at the corners of her plump lips.

Grant raised a questioning eyebrow and I froze, a lump rising in my throat, my gut telling me that the housekeeper's sweet voice had a reason for being so high-pitched.

“Clean up the mess you've made,” she looked around the kitchen, which was a sorry sight after our failed attempt to fry fish and cook the unfortunate dumplings – we didn't have time to tidy up. And we weren't in the mood.

Now I wanted to cry – I felt sorry for the kitchen, but most of all for myself. I was already ‘anticipating’ how I would wipe the greasy splatters from the tiles, the floor and the stove with a cloth soaked in baking powder. Yes, the oil sizzled and bubbled with enthusiasm and fire yesterday.

Grant frowned, his fork stuck in the air for a moment, but then he made a decision for himself, the wrinkle on the bridge of his nose smoothed out and he resumed his breakfast with a calm expression.

I rested my head on the table, my forehead kissing the cool surface. I was ready to do anything right now: escape from prison, betray my country, save the world, or go to war to do heroic deeds and get people out of stalemates, but not to clean up.

“Otherwise you won't get any more food,” she threatened, smiling.

I banged my head on the table a few times, moaning and groaning, trying to elicit sympathy. But Circul just said in a low, murderous voice, “Siri, don't you remember what you had done at the library?”

I stared at him from under the fringe of my hair, but my beastly look was ignored. Midi, her hands fluttering with emotion, whispered, “Ah, it's been a while since we've had such passion brewing in our kitchen... how beautiful you two look together!”

To my surprise, my worst enemy, hearing the housekeeper's words, did not become angry, but lifted the corners of his lips. Grant moved my stool with me, put his arm around me and rested his chin on my shoulder.

“Midi, how about this? More beautiful?” he asked, and I was taken aback by the sweetness in his voice. “Take a picture of us.”

The woman reached for her phone, while I finally came to my senses. I kicked the leg of the chair Circul Junior was sitting in, but instead of knocking it over, I lost my balance and fell to the floor.

“Ouchie...” I rubbed my elbow, red from the collision with the tiles.

Midi mumbled worriedly, Grant bent down and held out his hand, “Does it hurt?”

I pushed his palm away and, gasping, climbed to my feet. “Don't touch me! Don't you dare violate my privacy.”

“Or what?” he asked with a challenge and a hint of curiosity.

“Otherwise, my fragile mental apparatus will break and I'll turn your nose into a mosaic. Then you'll collect your bones and cartilage with tweezers under a microscope.”

Grant grinned, but didn't move his paws towards me again, Midi walked around me, examining me.

“You'll have to put something cold on it,” said she, her fingers tickling my skin.

I pulled away immediately, fleeing from the extra touch. The heat of another person's warmth turned my insides upside down. I was still reeling from this morning's bedtime embrace with Grant, and I hated any contact with strangers, especially those my heart considered enemies. No matter how nice and friendly they seemed at first glance.

“No need. Thanks for breakfast.”

“Well, since it's not a big emergency, I'm going to do some weeding. Look for me in the greenhouse if you need me.”

“Thank you, Midi. It was delicious,” Grant smiled warmly at the woman and watched her until she disappeared behind the garden door.

“She's kind.”

It was the first time I had seen the president's son in such a complacent mood since I had met him. He treated the housekeeper better than my father had treated me.

“Yes, Midi had been in the house since before I was born. She started out helping my mother with the household, but after Mum died she stayed on to raise me,” Grant's eyes flickered with a haze of memory, but he shook his head and grinned, shaking off the nostalgia. “Her ultimate dream is to see me get married and settle down. She said she would haunt me as an angry ghost even after she died if I didn't give her a chance to look after my children.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I'm warning you,” Circul didn't take his eyes off me. “Don't be swayed by her whims. She'll make you think I'm the favourable groom in the world, and she won't stop until she sees you in your wedding dress or the wedding ring on my finger.”

“Why?”

“She seems to like you. She'll ship us until her last breath. But don't you dare hurt her. Not even a word.”

“I won't assault other people if they don't assault me.”

“Good,” Grant was satisfied with my answer. The guy yawned, put his fork and knife down on his plate and stood up. “Time to think about lunch. If Midi said we wouldn't get food until we cleaned up, then we wouldn't really get food until we cleaned up everywhere.”

With a sigh I stared at the mountain of dirty plates, a couple of frying pans and the pot in which the ill-fated dumplings had been cooked.

Grant came a little closer to me, looked around the front of the work as well, and when he caught my eye, he smiled venomously, “Don't want me to touch you?”

He raised his hand, his fingertips almost touching my neck, which was bound by the collar. I jerked back, nearly tripping over the chain.

“What are you trying to do? You want me to redesign your nose?”

“Nope,” he grinned even wider and said with hidden amusement in his voice, “Then you do the dishes.”

I had to agree. But I didn't deny myself the pleasure of splashing the guy next to me, who was concentrating on wiping the plates dry.

As the last drop dripped from his fringe onto his nose, he closed the tap with the palm of his hand and turned the cold spray on me without warning. As soon as I spat out the water I'd swallowed at the suddenness of it, he laughed with boyish directness.

“That's it, Grant Circul, you are so dead...”

I grabbed the bottle of detergent from the sink, squeezed the plastic, and the green sludge splashed through the man's hair and onto his eyelashes. He slapped his palm across his forehead, caught the liquid and used the same hand to wipe my face.

“Ouch, it burns!”

The soap stung our eyes and made us want to cry. When Midi heard us screaming, she burst into the kitchen, hit us with a towel and sent us off to wash and change. For the rest of the day we decided not to show our faces to her, so we sat in the library with red, swollen eyelids, afraid we'd be deprived of dinner as well, since we hadn't been served lunch as punishment.