Chapter Text
When Elena awoke the next morning she lay still, feeling like there was something important that had happened and she had somehow forgotten what it was. She tried to think of it for several moments, then her eyes lighted on her shawl draped over a chair, and the memories of last night came rushing back. The Festival, Blanche, Maxime, her wet dress, Gleb’s expression as he considered just how much force it would take to fold Maxime’s face in half, them dancing, standing there with her hands braced against his chest, face closer than it had ever been…
Elena sat up hurriedly. It was just dancing, she told herself. I-I let myself get carried away. Despite this admonishing thought, a tiny voice in the back of her mind whispered that there had been a flicker of…something in Gleb’s dark eyes, something that made a tiny curl of hope spiral in her stomach. She shook her head, squashing the feeling to the best of her ability, and got up, unbraiding her hair. Oh, things just always had to be dreadfully awkward for her, didn’t they?
xxxx
Well, this is just dreadfully awkward, isn’t it? Gleb thought as he paused at the foot of the stairs. The kitchen was already bustling with early morning preparations for the day’s meals. Marianne flourished a wooden spoon a Jean for stealing a taste of her compote and Mme. Dassin’s fingers were flying across the top of an intricately shaped pastry. From the far end of the room, Elena looked up and caught sight of him. Her eyes widened slightly, then she gave a taut smile and resumed her work. Gleb’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer, taking in the renewed energy with which she was attacking her kneading. She reached up and tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear, leaving a smudge of flour on her cheek. The exertion had made them flushed, and she looked…well, beautiful. Gleb realized with a strange sense of guilt that he had never truly admitted to himself how beautiful Elena was.
“Good morning! How did you like the Festival?”
Vera bounded up and hugged his leg, looking up with a sweet smile. The expression was counterbalanced by the rather sharp-looking paring knife that she was holding in her free hand. Gleb chuckled, brushing her delinquent wisps back from her face.
“The Festival was lots and lots and lots of fun, Vera, just like you promised it would be. What did you like the most this year?”
Vera launched into a complicated account of all the things that she had done the night before without any particular timeline, being interrupted by Vincent every few seconds, and gesturing animatedly with the knife. Gleb stepped back a few paces for his own safety.
“Vera! Careful with that! We don’t need him injured again!”
“Oh, there’s no danger of that.” Gleb made his way around the chopping block and kissed Mme. Dassin’s cheek, stealing a glance in Elena’s direction when he did so. She was resolutely ignoring him
“What do you have in store for me today?”
Mme. Dassin gave a tired smile.
“Mostly harvesting. Do you think you could help Marianne with serving this afternoon and maybe do a bar shift tonight?”
Gleb gave a two-fingered salute.
“Not a problem, ma’am. Where do I start?”
He was sent out into the tomato patch with an enormous basket and came back with it completely filled a few minutes later. Mme. Dassin had finished with the pastry and began cutting up the fresh tomatoes, adding them to a large kettle to be boiled into sauce. There was already one full kettle on the stove, in addition to the obligatory soup pot. Elena joined her mother once she had finished with the bread. Whenever Gleb came in with a new basket of produce, there was a strained silence between them that neither seemed to know how to break. It wasn’t until Elena was sent to call Gleb in for lunch that they spoke at all.
“Mama says come in for food. The lunch crowd will be arriving soon.”
“Sure thing. Oh, Lena?”
Elena, who had already started to jog back to the house, turned around again. Gleb came closer, setting down his full basket, and looking at her with a squint that was almost a wince, his hands fiddling together.
“Listen. About last night, I’m sorry if I…made you uncomfortable. I didn’t’ mean…to…to…”
He looked so worried that she actually smiled.
“No, no! You didn’t do anything wrong! Please, don’t think I’m upset with you.”
Gleb nodded, still unconvinced.
“You sure?”
Elena walked closer and laid a gentle hand on his arm. She couldn’t help but notice how he tensed slightly at the touch.
“I’m sure, just as long as you’ll forgive me for having two left feet.”
Gleb scoffed.
“My dancing instructor having two left feet? If you have two, then I have eight!”
Elena rolled her eyes.
“Well, Master Eight-foot, if we don’t head in soon then neither of us will be getting lunch.”
Gleb reacted with mock horror, grabbing his basket, and starting off for the house at a run. This, of course, only resulted in tomatoes being spilled everywhere. Elena laughed at him but helped to reload the basket and they started back towards the house, the tension between them beginning to dissipate.
A few minutes later, everyone was seated around the table. The lunch of the day was a vegetable and sausage soup made of the leftovers from the past week. To Gleb, it tasted like home. His mother had always had a pot of soup on the stove. It was a tradition that she had picked up from her own mother and one that her son had quickly grown to love.
“It’s really too bad that you had to go home early last night!” Marianne huffed after several minutes of the appreciative silence that accompanies a delicious meal. “You missed singing the Harvest Song.”
Gleb smiled, blowing on his spoonful of soup.
“Well, I’m sorry I missed it. I guess I’ll just have to stay extra long next year, hm?”
Marianne nodded enthusiastically.
“What happened anyway? Did Elena hurt herself and have to be carried home or something?”
Elena narrowly avoided chocking on a piece of sausage.
“Well, I…” Gleb trailed off, glancing over with mild panic. Elena had expressed a wish that the rest of the family not be made acquainted with what had really happened with Maxime. She intended to tell her mother in confidence, but her siblings would cause a million problems if they found out.
“I managed to get water all over myself, that’s all,” she cut in quickly. “Gleb, being the gentleman he is, was kind enough to walk home with me so I wouldn’t be alone.”
Gleb gave a self-deprecating smile.
“Oh, was your dress ruined?” If Mme. Dassin suspected that there was more to the story, her voice betrayed nothing.
The short amount of time left for their lunch was spent discussing how to best restore water-damaged organza. The subject of what exactly had been the reason for the damage was safely dropped for the time being.
xxxx
“There’s a frost tonight.” Henri came in, bringing a wave of cold air into the kitchen and causing several indignant protests of “shut the door already” from his younger siblings. Gleb looked up with a frown.
“Do you think we’ll need to bring the potted herbs inside?” he asked.
Henri considered this, his mouth twisted thoughtfully.
“All the especially vulnerable ones are already in the greenhouse. The other plants should be alright. I don’t think it will dip too deep tonight.”
Gleb nodded and returned his attention to the book in his hand. It was one on painting that Elena had picked up at a fair. Marianne had always had a love of watercolor and Elena had given her the book as a birthday gift several years ago. It was well used. The pages were worn and there was paint splotches and water stains throughout.
Gleb’s mother had also loved to paint. Some of his fondest memories were when he would sit at her feet and watch as the picture slowly emerged from the canvas.
“The picture’s already there, hiding inside,” she would say. “All it needs is someone to bring it to life.”
The book was (unsurprisingly) in French, but Gleb was pleasantly surprised to find that he could understand a fair amount. Once in a while, he would ask for advice on a word or tense that he didn’t know, but on the whole, he was getting along much better than he had expected.
Elena was sitting near him, working away on a woolen hat. She glanced in his direction every so often, watching the way the lamplight danced across his face. His brows were drawn in concentration as he worked his way through the text, eyes focused intently on the page. Sometimes, during a particularly hard passage, the tip of his tongue would stick out slightly and the effect was absolutely adorable.
Since their conversation by the tomato patch a few days earlier, Elena felt that they had grown closer, like the secrets they shared had added a new layer to their friendship. A deeper one. It was a strange feeling, which she wasn’t quite able to put into words, like a little flicker of warmth, cautious, but there nonetheless.
Gleb looked up, catching her staring and she dropped her eyes quickly to her knitting. She was so focused on not looking in his direction for the next few minutes that she didn’t notice Gleb’s concentration had wandered from his book. He was watching the stiches taking shape under her agile fingers, the light reflecting off the needle-points. It was mesmerizing to watch.
“When’s your birthday, Gleb?” Vera piped up from her chair by the kitchen table.
“The ninth of November. Why do you ask?”
“Well, you’ve been here for ages, and you haven’t mentioned it. I wouldn’t want us to miss it.”
Gleb smiled.
“It’s been a long time since I celebrated my birthday.”
“What!” Vera stared at him, eye wide with shock. “Why is that? When was the last time you celebrated?”
“Well…” Gleb trailed off, tracing a knot in the side- table with one finger. “I’ve been on my own for a while. My life was…pretty busy. I was a little younger than Jean the last time I really celebrated.”
Vincent, Vera, and Marianne looked at Gleb in something akin to horrified amazement.
“So….do you even know how old you are?” Vincent asked.
Gleb chuckled.
“Of course! Just because I didn’t celebrate doesn’t mean I don’t know my age.”
“Well, how old are you?”
“Marianne! You can’t just go around asking questions like that!” Elena scolded.
“I’m twenty-two. It’s not great secret or anything.” Gleb shrugged. “Don’t worry, I’m not secretly a grandfather.”
Marianne paused, meeting Jean’s eyes and something about the look they exchanged made him suddenly, irrationally nervous. They looked like they were up to something.
“Marianne, have you finished that border I started for you?” Elena broke in obviously sensing the same thing.
Marianne visibly rolled her eyes.
“Almost, mother.”
Vincent was still in a state of shock.
“Wait, if your birthday is November ninth, then that’s in…” he did some calculations on his fingers, “…four weeks! No, three week and six days.”
Vera wiggled in excitement.
“We’ll have to make you the best birthday celebration ever!”
“Yeah, I mean without your birthday, you wouldn’t exist and then I’d have to be the one lugging tomatoes!” Marianne made a disgusted face.
“You should be lugging too! You’ve been leaving Gleb with all the hard work recently!” Jean shook his head sagely.
“Why don’t you help him then?” his sister retorted.
“I was helping Henri with the root vegetables!”
Henri looked at Gleb and rolled his eyes
Gleb grinned back, mimicking the other boy’s expression.
Elena saw the exchange and smiled as she started a new row in her knitting. Lately, Henri had been warming up to Gleb. All things considered, relations between him and her brothers were going surprisingly well. She sighed happily and then dropped a stitch. She murmured a mild Russian curse under her breath.
Gleb looked at her scandalized.
“Lena!”
“Oh, shut up,” she growled.
Gleb shook his head with an expression of over-done disappointment.
“And you kiss your mother with that mouth?”
Elena looked up with one eyebrow raised witheringly. Gleb held up his hands in surrender, pretending to bury himself in his book. He peeked up at her meekly from under his lashes and she chuckled and slapped his arm lightly, a smile tugging the corners of her mouth.
“You are absolutely impossible, Gleb Vaganov, you know that right?”
Gleb dropped the meekness and smiled charmingly.
“Of course! That’s what makes me so special.”
There was a return of the Withering Eyebrow and Gleb grinned.
“You look exactly like your mother when you do that.”
“Where do you think I learned it? I watched and copied from the best.”
Elena glanced over to where her mother was sitting sewing the hem of an apron.
“She really is, isn’t she?” Gleb smiled again, winking in Mme. Dassin’s direction, and leaned forward to run a finger along the row of stitches that Elena had just completed. “It’s so beautiful, how do you do it?”
“Well…it’s just a bunch of loops intertwined together. There’s nothing really special about it.” Elena smiled, a gentle flush creeping into her cheeks. Gleb looked up and his eyes were warm.
“Well, you made it, so of course it’s special.”
Elena smiled and swatted his hand away.
“Hands off my work, you flatterer!”
Gleb chuckled quietly and reached out to touch the yarn again, eyes locked with Elena’s in challenge. She brought the edge of her hand down sharply on his knuckles and he jumped back with a yelp.
“Owwoowww! Lena!”
“I said don’t touch!”
There was a general chorus of laughter and joking warnings from the others.
From her corner by the stove, Mme. Dassin smiled as she watched Gleb and Elena arguing playfully. They are so happy, she thought. I wonder how long it will take for them to realize it.