Susan was in labor in her room, while the rest of the household waited in the small parlor. Young Anna, unaccustomed to such events, was terrified and wept openly. Vivienne held her tightly, stroking her hair gently.
"Don't be afraid, Anna… don't be afraid…"
Vivienne tried to maintain a calm demeanor, but her hands trembled slightly. She repeated her comforting words, trying to soothe herself as well.
Despite her usual maturity and composure, she was still a young girl, not yet twenty and unmarried.
They huddled together like two fledglings in a storm, shivering and powerless in the face of adversity.
When Mike and Vincent entered, Vivienne looked up at them in alarm, then slowly exhaled in relief.
"Uncle Mike, Mr. Thomas."
Vincent nodded slightly. Mike's stubbornness left him in no mood to show gentlemanly courtesy. He held Mike's waist, letting the feverish man lean against him to ease his burden and slightly calm his own impatience.
Mike, weakened by illness, paid no heed to Vincent's less-than-proper behavior. The short walk had left him exhausted, yet he forced a smile and said, "What's wrong with our little princess?" He called for a maid. "Heat some milk."
The maid quickly brought some milk from the kitchen. Anna sipped it slowly and gradually calmed down.
Vincent helped Mike to sit down, not moving his hand from Mike's waist. Mike discreetly pinched Vincent's hand, but it had no effect, so he let it go—there were more pressing matters at hand.
"When did it start?" he asked Vivienne.
With her dear uncle present, Vivienne felt much more at ease. "About an hour ago, Mother started feeling pain. We called Dr. Smith, and he said it would be today."
"Has the baron been notified?"
"I sent someone to look for him. Who knows where he is?!" Vivienne said angrily. "And in such heavy snow…"
Anna finished her milk and looked at them nervously. Vivienne used a handkerchief to wipe her face.
"An hour, you say…" Mike calculated. "It might still take some time. Anna is too young; she should go back to her room."
"I'm not going back!" Anna cried, lowering her voice only after a sharp look from Vivienne.
"Please let me stay. I'll be good," she pleaded with tearful eyes.
Mike sighed.
Vivienne called for some brandy. Mike took a sip before setting it down. No one spoke in the small parlor. Susan's labor continued, and all they could do was wait.
Time seemed to stand still.
Anna grew drowsy and leaned against the sofa. Mike also dozed off in Vincent's arms. Vivienne had a servant bring blankets to cover them. Vincent adjusted Mike's position and thanked Vivienne softly.
"No, we should be thanking you."
Vivienne said quietly, "I'm grateful you're here with Uncle Mike during such a time."
Vincent looked at the young lady. The Hilde family seemed to possess a sharp intuition.
He was silent for a moment, then smiled kindly.
"You are a wise young lady."
"Your wisdom will benefit you greatly in the future."
It snowed all night.
Susan gave birth to a healthy baby boy at dawn, despite her difficult pregnancy. The new heir was healthy. The baron finally returned and was ecstatic to hold his first male offspring. "Thank God! Thank God!" he exclaimed, his face flushed with joy.
Susan's condition, however, was not good.
Her prolonged labor had left her utterly exhausted. "The lady might need a long recovery," Dr. Smith said.
But Mike finally felt relieved; after all, she had survived, hadn't she?
He passed out with relief, unaware of what was to come. When he woke up again, he heard the devastating news.
Susan had died.
Within a day of giving birth.
"That's impossible…"
Mike murmured, the sudden blow shattering him. "That's impossible…" he repeated.
Vincent tried to comfort him but was harshly pushed away.
"Where is she? Where are Vivienne and Anna?" he shouted, running barefoot out of the room in a fit of hysteria. "Stop it!" Vincent caught him by the arm. "Calm down, you're still sick!"
Mike panted heavily.
"Let me go, you liar!" He struggled to free himself from Vincent's grip. "Not a word of truth from you, all lies!"
"I didn't lie to you!" Vincent said, both pained and frustrated. "Wherever you want to go, I'll go with you. But first, put on your shoes, okay?"
His voice was gentle, like a soft piano melody.
But Mike was beyond listening. He thrashed about, treating Vincent like an enemy. "Liar! Liar!" he screamed, drawing curious servants who were quickly sent away by Vincent's stern orders.
"Shut up!" Vincent's patience finally snapped. He pinned Mike against the wall, their bodies pressed together in the narrow space, casting a dark shadow. "Listen, darling." He squeezed Mike's face, his voice menacing. "If you want to stand at the baroness's funeral, you need to behave."
"Do you hear me?"
Mike, unable to speak from the pressure, nodded slowly, his tear-filled eyes regaining focus.
The floor was bare and cold, and Mike curled his toes against the chill. Vincent let go and carried him back to the room, setting him down on a chair.
It was a solitary chair, without armrests, only a high backrest. "Sit still," Vincent instructed before going to fetch clothes and shoes for Mike.
The room grew quiet.
Mike stared at his bare feet, feeling the cold seep in. He cautiously lifted his feet and hugged his knees.
It was so cold.
He was so thin, light as a skeleton. The flimsy robe and his own skin offered no warmth, and the cold crept over him in waves.
He was freezing.
"Vincent,"
He called out softly, then, without warning, said:
"I love you."
A sudden confession, a love with no way out.
Susan's death had taken the last straw Mike clung to. It seemed there was nothing left to lose, nothing to care about.
The dignity and responsibilities he had held onto so tightly now seemed meaningless.
It was too cold.
Vincent remained silent. It didn't matter anymore. It was irrelevant. Mike curled up, maintaining his uncomfortable position, resting his chin on his knees, silent.
"I know."
Vincent approached, kneeling on one knee. Mike stubbornly stared at his toes, holding back tears with all his might.
He didn't want to cry, at least not now.
His tears were reserved for the funeral.
"I lack the etiquette of love, like an actor in his first performance, forgetting his role in the chaos."
"Your love is sincere, untainted by the world's deceptions."
It had been a long time since they spoke to each other in this manner, with flowery phrases and false affection. These once captivating words had been shattered long ago. Now, they felt like a facade.
My love swears that he is made of truth, I do believe him, though I know he lies.
That he might think me some untutored youth, unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
Mike's tears fell onto his knees.
This was the funeral of his love.
Yet, it was not the end.
"I have sinned, and heaven will no longer have a place for me. This sin is beyond redemption; only your punishment can offer me some peace."
Vincent kissed Mike's cold feet lightly.
"Please rely on me, chastise me, command me, take my heart and my love."
"Then love me."
"Keep loving me, use me, take me."
"My heart, my love, my life."
His words were sweet, like a jeweled dagger, a fragrant poison. They were a light in the night, a fire in the snow. They were love and lies.
Mike still did not believe him.
Vincent was smooth-tongued and cunning. His heart, if pulled out, would surely be rotten. His love, if spoken, would certainly be false.
But Mike wept and threw himself into Vincent's arms,
He was too cold, and even if this fire would burn him to ashes, he couldn't care less.
If love could mask his misery, then let it deceive him.