Midnight Confessions

Charles, eyes wide, tossed the book into the fire bin.

The pages curled and blackened, the words disappearing in a puff of smoke. Lillian watched, biting her lip. Regret pricked at her—she’d spent hours on those silly rules. Still, she couldn’t help a rueful smile. What a way to go.

Lillian lunged for the book, trying to grab it back. “No, I spent forever writing that… Ah-choo!”

She reached out, but the cloud of sage and burning paper hit her like a wall. Her sneeze was loud and sudden, and she staggered back, blinking tears from her eyes. The staff burst out laughing, the last bit of tension gone.

As she spoke, the smell of burning paper mixed with sage smoke hit her, making her sneeze again. She muttered, “Why does this smell so familiar?”

She rubbed her nose, half-dazed, half-amused. The scent was oddly comforting—a flash of childhood bonfires, autumn leaf piles, and smoky memories, even as it stung her eyes.

Victor, worried she’d get burned, grabbed her wrist to stop her from getting close. “What are you writing that for? I never told you to read ‘The Good Wife’s Guide,’ and you turn around and give me…”

He pulled her gently away from the fire, his grip warm and steady. His voice was stern, but his eyes were soft. He couldn’t hide his worry, not from her.

“Give you?” Lillian shot back, indignant but with a spark in her eyes. “Who said it was for you? I wrote ‘wife’ on it—who’s your wife?!”

She tossed her hair, chin up, defiant. The staff stifled their laughter. Victor just shook his head, exasperated, but clearly charmed.

“You…” Victor blurted out, poked her forehead, then coughed and changed his tone, “You’re getting bold, aren’t you?”

He tried to sound stern, but the affection in his eyes gave him away. He poked her forehead gently, just like he used to when they were kids. Lillian stuck her tongue out at him.

Lillian shook off his hand and turned to leave, but accidentally bumped her hurt foot against the fire bin.

She winced, a sharp gasp escaping. The pain shot up her leg, and she hopped on one foot, trying to play it off. But the grimace on her face gave her away.

She immediately shook her ankle, “Ow—”

She gritted her teeth, blinking back tears. The pain was sharp, immediate, and she glared at the fire bin as if it had done it on purpose.

Victor hurriedly pulled her back, then crouched down to hold up her foot, lifting the sock and bandage to check her wound.

He moved quickly, brow furrowed, his hands surprisingly gentle. He handled her foot with care, his touch steady. The staff hovered nearby, torn between wanting to help and not daring to interrupt.

Lillian saw the room full of staff and tried to pull her foot away. “What are you doing?”

She blushed, mortified by all the eyes on her. She tried to tug her foot back, but Victor held firm, focus locked on her injury.

Victor didn’t let go, unwrapped the bandage to look at her ankle, saw the wound had scabbed over and the swelling had gone down. “It’s healing. Can you shower tomorrow?”

He looked up at her, his voice softer now. The question hung in the air, equal parts concern and teasing. Lillian felt her defenses slipping, just a little.

Lillian yanked her ankle back. “You… what are you doing?”

She crossed her arms, trying to look annoyed, but her cheeks burned. The staff pretended not to notice, suddenly very busy with the bedding.

Victor lifted her arm to his nose. “Smell yourself. If you don’t shower soon, you’ll start growing mushrooms.”

He grinned, eyes dancing with mischief. Lillian rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw her own brain, but couldn’t help laughing.

Lillian pushed him away and stormed off to count her savings. Victor tried talking to her a few times, but she turned away and ignored him.

She stomped off, muttering under her breath, her limp betraying her injury. She retreated to her room, slamming the door with a satisfying thud. She pulled out her old tin box of savings, counting the bills and coins, hoping the task would distract her from the embarrassment still burning in her cheeks.

That night, she felt itchy all over, tossing and turning in bed for ages before finally sneaking quietly to the guest room.

She lay awake, scratching at her rash, the moonlight painting stripes across her ceiling. Sleep wouldn’t come. Finally, she slipped out of bed, tiptoeing down the hall, the floorboards creaking. She paused outside Victor’s door, heart pounding, then eased it open.

She crept up to Victor, saw his eyes closed, and muttered, “You just think I stink, don’t you?”

Her voice was a whisper, half accusation, half plea. She hovered by his bedside, nerves jangling. The shadows swallowed her uncertainty.

She gently sat beside him, brought her wrist to his nose. “Take that, serves you right for complaining!”

She waved her arm under his nose, lips twitching in a nervous smile. The gesture was childish, almost playful—a peace offering wrapped in defiance. Her pulse thudded in her ears.

Victor’s eyelashes fluttered, the corners of his mouth twitching.

He shifted, a faint smile ghosting his lips. For a second, Lillian thought he might wake, but he just settled deeper into the pillow, breath slow and steady.

Seeing he didn’t react, after a long while, she got bored and got up to leave.

She lingered a moment longer, then sighed. Her shoulders slumped as she rose to her feet, disappointment heavy in her chest.

She’d sat too long; when she stood, her legs were numb, and she stumbled right back onto Victor’s bed, her hand landing on his arm.

Pins and needles shot up her legs, and she nearly toppled over, catching herself on Victor’s arm. The touch sent a jolt through her, and she froze, breath caught.

Awkwardly licking her lips, she raised her hand to leave, but as she looked up, she met his eyes.

Their gazes locked, and for a heartbeat, the world shrank to just the two of them. The silence crackled with energy, her heart thudding in her chest.

He held her arm, lips curling as he asked softly, “Lillian, what are you doing sneaking into my bed in the middle of the night?”

His voice was low, teasing, but there was something softer underneath—a kind of warmth that made her breath hitch. Lillian’s heart skipped a beat.

Lillian immediately closed her eyes. “Sleepwalking.”

She blurted the word, cheeks flaming. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could disappear, hoping he’d let her off the hook.

Victor sat up. “I just heard you say you wanted to smother me.”

He raised an eyebrow, playful, but his gaze lingered on her face, searching for something she couldn’t name.

Lillian opened her eyes, nervously scooted back. “You misheard.”

She tried to sound casual, but her voice wobbled. She edged away, putting a little space between them, but couldn’t quite meet his gaze.