Masquerade [Kuskovo Estate]

[Nesrin Aziz]

No one was likely to remark upon the open awe of a simple waitress, even if they saw the way she looked at him then. Unprofessional, sure, but not unexpected in a young woman. She was fairly certain he heard at least, for he stood astutely still as he watched Konstantin Vasiliev speak. Nesrin turned her gaze away the moment she realised he meant to ignore her. Irony laced the bitterness, even as she recognised the necessity. It was far from a bad outcome, actually, only how long had she spent praying for her father’s ignorance as a child? Creeping around the pitfalls of his unexpected anger, hoping to stay as invisible as she truly felt now? It said something that she'd always preferred the safety of the whorehouse to his protection when she was growing up.

Brandon didn’t deny her out of hand though, which meant it really was still possible. Well, unless he was simply avoiding the spectacle of her removal because it would be poor form to interrupt his hosts – she couldn’t discount that either. An interesting test of her skills, if such proved the case, but she had no real doubt about her capability to slip back into the shadows if this all went to shit once the speech ended, and she didn’t waste time worrying about it.

But what to do after? Regroup, or flee? That would be the question; one she already began considering, because the Asquiths were not likely to let her go if she suddenly proved resistant to them after all the years they had invested in her. Their recent claim of her birth seemed the most unlikely fiction, albeit one that was an opportunity to exploit, but she’d be lying if she didn’t admit it had also stirred something in her; to wonder at its truth over these last few months.

Only she’d never been certain what she actually felt about it.

She’d long ago lost the only evidence she’d ever had of her mother’s existence; a photograph folded and unfolded so many times the colour leached from the creases and the paper had begun to tear. Trapped in Cairo’s slums, in a life that cared little for the wellbeing of a little girl, let alone her dreams, what child wouldn’t imagine an angel in the place of a dead parent? For a long time Nesrin had used every resource she’d ever won for herself to discover more. But she never had. Though it was a face burned into her memory, it seemed probable she didn’t even know her mother’s real name.

When she finally realised it was hope stirring in the space behind her ribs, Nesrin was quick to contain it – to burn it to ashes before it ever rooted. Lies founded in truth were the most potent kind. But cons with sentiment attached were doomed to failure.

By now Konstantin Vasailiev was talking about family like it was something to want; something to protect, and cherish, and build upon. She didn’t move or shift her attention, just listened politely alongside everyone else, but she hoped Brandon was listening; that the seed of doubt took root. She didn’t watch him move on. Nor did she stay, to risk becoming ensnared by the woman on Marveet’s arm. She was on her way back to the kitchen when a quiet word was placed in her ear. She only nodded, and continued on her way.

[[Continues at A Little Chat]]