"My love?" he asked, stopping in the middle of the floor. "And what was that ridiculous story you were telling those girls? I told you to pretend that we are cordial, not paint the ultimate love story."
Alice couldn’t pay attention to anything other than that she had made him laugh. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. He didn’t look as frightening as usual when his face lit up with a smile. In fact, she dared say that, for a moment, he looked almost… charming.
As the music began, Victor gently drew her closer, his hand resting lightly on her waist. For a moment, Alice could onlyfocus on his hand, how carefully placed it was, as if he were cautious...almost hesitant, about the contact. She took a steadying breath, trying to still the erratic beat of her heart. The closeness was unfamiliar, unsettling.
"You’re tense," he leaned in to whisper. "It’s obvious. People will see. We should probably have practiced dancing."
Victor held her gaze, his expression unreadable. His hand tightened slightly on her waist as the dance began, guiding her with an unexpected tenderness that made her pulse quicken.
"I apologize in advance if I step on your feet again," she said to him and averted her eyes. "I haven’t done this in a while."
Victor smiled. "That’s all right."
As the dancing continued, Alice began to relax in Victor’s arms. Everything else seemed to blur as she found rhythm in their movement. She could tell Victor was guiding her, making it easy for her to follow his movements. It was hard not to get flustered by it. How considerate he was starting to be. Almost as if he was lowering his walls.
"Do you truly think that I am ashamed to be seen with you?" Alice asked him, lifting her head.
Victor lowered his head, his face only inches away from hers. "Would that be entirely unfounded? I know the circumstances ofour marriage, Alice, and I am also well aware of my reputation in society. It would be...typical."
Alice felt a pang of guilt. "We have only been out like this once. On our wedding day. I’ll admit?—"
"Alice, you don’t have to explain it to me," he said to her. "I understand."
"I think I still need to," she insisted. "I was…frightened by you at first, and confused. Before our wedding day, I had never met you, and all I’d heard were rumors—stories of the terrible things you’d done to those who crossed you. I didn’t know what my future would hold, marrying a man who seemed to have no need or desire for a wife. So, yes, I was afraid. And honestly, there are times when I still am."
"Is it the rumors that scare you, or me?" he asked, his face barely inches away from hers.
Alice swallowed. "Both?" she answered.
"Both?" he repeated and squinted his eyes.
"I still don’t know if the rumors are true or false," she explained, then let her eyes drift to his arm, recalling the scars that always intrigued yet troubled her just imagining where he’d gotten them. "Also, Victor, you have all these scars and they are quite frightening. I have tried to imagine what could have possibly caused them, and the curiosity is killing me."
"Did you ask me about the scars?" he said gently.
"Well…" she stammered. "I couldn’t ask before. But I’m asking now, because… you seem to be in a better mood today. How did you get your scars? Did you fight? Did you hurt yourself on purpose? Or did… someone hurt you?"
As the words left her lips, Alice felt her whole body tense. It was a question she’d never thought she’d voice, but the curiosity kept battling against the nervous energy running through her. She had to know. She had to understand something about Victor that would give her a better perception of him.
But yet, as she looked at him, she could already feel the answer slipping through her fingers. Victor wasn’t smiling anymore. He had that same look as he did at breakfast when he didn’t want to talk about something anymore. She sensed he wouldn’t answer. He never spoke of his past, much less of something as private as the scars.
"I got them from the late Duke," she heard him say. "From my father."
Alice could swear that they paused in the middle of the dance floor, and the music began to fade, but that wasn’t the case. Nothing paused, but she froze inside, completely startled by his response.
"Your father?" she repeated, unable to believe her ears. She searched his expression, hoping to find some sign that he was joking or that she didn’t hear him properly. But Victor’s eyeswere somber, reflecting a pain that seemed to reach far beyond the surface. It was the first time she was seeing the look in his eyes, and in a way, she quite understood why he chose not to speak of it.
Slowly, she could see the wall around him breaking. He didn’t look as confident anymore, and he avoided her gaze.
"To attain perfection, one must endure pain. That’s why steel has to go through fire," he continued. "My father probably said that to me over a hundred times. It was his justification for the punishments he believed were necessary to mold me into a perfect Duke. So, every time I made a mistake growing up, I got a few scars."
"Every time?" she asked with widened eyes.
"He believed every weakness can be beating out of a man," he explained. "So, that’s what he did. When he wasn’t around, he would assign someone to punish me. I think back then, I got punished more for the things I didn’t do than for the things I did."
"Do you believe that?" she asked softly, her heart aching for him. "That pain is necessary for perfection?"
"I do believe it was his twisted justification," he replied. "But I’ve come to realize that pain can forge strength and resilience, things that can be mistaken for perfection. It can teach you what truly matters. I’ve learned to appreciate the good that has come from my suffering."
