Wesley was waiting for me, early as usual. A little too early, in fact. The maid knocked on my door, quietly letting me know he was outside the gate. My headache stubbornly persevered; I had neither the will nor strength to paint my disguise properly. As I grabbed my purse and headed to the door, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror.
Pale as a ghost, I shook my head.
He was pacing outside the gate with his head down, had one hand in his pocket and the other holding a burning cigarette.
"You're smoking more often now," I startled him.
He shrugged.
I mirrored him and got inside the car. He didn't move. I watched him finish smoking his cigarette, throw it on the ground, and stomp it.
The scent of tobacco was carried into the car with him. He was brooding. I thought of asking what was bothering him but decided against it.
He drove a different route. A route that led further and further from the destination. At first, I had no intention to inquire. Perhaps, he just wanted some time to gather his words and tell me about his troubled mind. As the hands of the watch moved closer and closer to the set time, he left me no choice but to speak.
"We have to be there at two," I said, turning to see the side of his face.
"Yeah," he said, "yeah."
-----
"There you are," Thomas dragged on his words, swirling his half-full glass. It was too early to be drinking, even for him. The clock on the wall said it was a minute past two.
"Sorry," I apologized half-heartedly.
He squinted.
"Well," he smacked his lips. Pushing his chair back, he rested his legs on the table, "What brought you here?"
"The De Rossi job," I said flatly, "I think you know what it's about."
"Right," he lifted his glass, "it's difficult for you, isn't it?"
He sounded nonchalant, sarcastic, and entertained.
"I can't do it," I said, staring into those apathetic eyes.
"Dilemma is an interesting thing," he raised his eyebrows and ignored my claim. "So, would you rather Wesley gets into trouble?"
"You aren't listening to me," I kept my composure. "I can't do it. I won't."
"No, you are the one who isn't listening," he hastily put the glass down, making a loud thud when it hit the wooden table. I stood still. I heard Wesley quietly sigh behind me. "Are you hearing yourself?"
Thomas came to stand in front of me. I glanced past his shoulder to the wall.
"De Rossi said you won't intervene if he hands Wesley to the Russians," I refused to meet his eyes. "Is that true?"
"Yes," he said. I knew he was staring at Wesley. He sounded cunning, and I resented it. "It would be a shame, though I'd like to keep my business intact."
"I was expecting you to be less heartless," I said.
"No, Anne, no," he shook his head, acting as if he was dismayed, "I was expecting you to be less heartless. After everything Wesley has done for you and what you've done to him, I can't believe his life is worth less than Ferguson's to you."
I hastily glared at him before avoiding him again.
"You owe him," Thomas whispered into my ear, "be good and do what's right, will you?"
-----
It was clear that I shouldn't be seeing Wesley, especially when Thomas had given the strict order of staying away. I tried and failed miserably. There was a desire to see him. He was a friend. I needed a friend.
The day after I turned down Laurie on the pier, I went to see Wesley. When he opened the door, his smile was met with a sob. I didn't plan to cry. I had held myself together on my way to him. However, the thought of seeing him and telling him what happened brought me excruciating grief. And in that grief, I could no longer stay brave.
He hurried me inside. The gramophone was on, and the classical music had become blues to my ears. Worriedly, he asked what was wrong. Sitting on the couch with my face buried in my hands, I couldn't mumble a word.
Patiently, he waited. His hand was on my back, and he kept saying it was all right in a caring and soft tone like a whisper. Eventually, I managed to tell him.
"Did I do the wrong thing?" I asked, desperate for affirmation of my decision.
"I can't tell you what's right or wrong," he said justly and thoughtfully. "However, if you ask for my honest opinion, then I'll have to say that you'd be happier with Lawrence."
"I know," I lowered my head. "I worry that Thomas won't let me stay in the family if I accept Laurie's proposal. I can't throw it all away after I've worked so hard in this family. Laurie is too young, sensitive, and emotional. He will never go against Thomas. He's just not strong, willful, or mature enough. It won't be good for either of us if we married."
"You don't have to explain yourself to me," Wesley frowned. "Let me ask you this: If you had met Lawrence under a different circumstance, would you marry him?"
I hesitated at first but ended up saying firmly:
"Yes."
"Then I guess you're able to overlook his imperfections," he followed up. "Perhaps you can find what you lack in him."
My sarcastic chuckle soon turned into tears: "What's the point now? It doesn't matter anymore. Laurie won't even look at me. In a night, I lost the only one I trusted and could be open to in the family. I don't know what to do."
Wesley's frown deepened. He was put on the spot. His solemn and reserved nature had always shied him away from emotional matters. Unlike Thomas, who didn't want to deal with this sort of thing because he considered it a waste of time, Wesley was innocently clueless even when he tried to help.
"I don't know what to say or do to make you feel better," he said after a long pause. "But I'd like to tell you something few people know about me."
"And what may that be?" I asked puff and red-eyed.
"My real name is Hyuk, Lee Hyuk. And that's how you supposed to say it," he said without looking at me as if he was embarrassed. "I don't tell people that because I want to distance myself from my past. The people who called me by that name, the ones I cared for and cared about, are all dead. Calling me by that name is like holding onto a piece of my soul; it makes me feel vulnerable."
"You didn't have to…." I stuttered. "Thank you for telling me."
"You can call me by my real name," he looked into my eyes determinedly and earnestly. "I want you to know that I care for you, and you can trust me."