'Wait there.'

Vera keeps close to the shrubs. The garden is quiet, still; the manicured grass and bushes survey with perfect posture. She glances around, almost expecting Mrs. Ashford's disapproving glare just behind her. But it's just her, in the expanse of a lawn larger than her whole cottage. 

Piotr's silhouette appears from the front door and makes it's way into the darkness. He approaches Vera quietly. She can't see his face, only the outline she knows so well. When he reaches her, his hand encounters hers, and gently tugs for her to follow him. Together they make their way further around the house, further from the other side with it's guests and his parents; further away from his life.

He leads her in silence, and she can't see the expression on his face. 

In the far corner of the garden is a small cove of trees, a patch of darkness lightly outlined by a dim light coming from the house windows. There tower a few Streletzia trees, a tall palm tree and thick green bushes. He leads her across the lawn, and at the base of the trees finds a concrete step and then another, leading them into darkness of the cove. Piotr's hand is firm as he walks her along the steps, onto a round floor of concrete in the center of the trees. Then he stops. His hand leaves hers as he pulls a lighter from his pocket and strikes it.

In the sudden light Vera flinches, but when her eyes reopen she sees Piotr's alight in the small flame, looking intently at her. Immediately she can tell that he looks gaunt: his cheeks more sunken than usual with puffiness beneath his blue eyes. 

In the dim light she appreciates the small area: a reprieve among the thick trees in the corner of the garden, a small island of paving and two concrete benches, hidden from the outside world. A small bird bath sits quietly hidden in the bushes. Piotr lights a candle on one of the benches, already halfway melted down. He places the lighter on the bench and turns to face Vera. Not a word has passed between them yet.

Vera steps forward and wraps her arms tightly around him.

'I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I only just found out. I'm sorry.'

Piotr drops his face onto her shoulder, she can feel his breathing change. She rubs her hands up and down his back as he quietly wraps his arms around her shoulders.

A few moments later, he lifts his head. His hand finds the back of her elbow, and he leads her down onto the concrete bench alongside him. Piotr's shining eyes watch her.

'What happened?' she asks.

He clears his throat roughly. 'He just got too sick.'

Vera's hand finds his and she squeezes. 'I am so sorry.'

He smiles ruefully. 'We knew it was coming. Just didn't want it to.'

'When did it happen?' she asks quietly.

Piotr glances up into the darkness of the trees. 'Three days ago. He was in the hospital already. Not in any pain anymore.'

Vera squeezes his hand. 'He loved you so much. You were a wonderful brother to him, the best he could have asked for.'

'Thank you,' he murmurs, holding her hand with both of his. 'I wish it had been me instead. He deserved to live.' He glances down at their intertwined hands.

'I know.' She siddles up and lifts her other hand to his face, guiding his head to lie on her shoulder. But Piotr's eyes glance up, and his face directs towards hers. His lips fall gently onto hers. There is a moment of stillness, of warmth and his breath on her lips. A touch of electricity sparks where their lips touch.

Piotr pulls back, rests his forehead on hers and closes his eyes.

For a while they sit together quietly. Vera calms her beating heart. Piotr breathes softly. The night continues around them, in a melody of sounds. Crickets chirp, leave rustle in the breeze, a night bird calls eerily in the distance. Life flows and ebbs around them, in this little retreat of alone-ness. 

And then out of the wonderful peace that had settled about them, a voice emerges. It's difficult to tell at first, but then Vera realizes that its Piotr's mother.

He springs up from his seat, dropping Vera's hand. But it's too late. She is striding along the garden path into the cove, she's seen Piotr, she's making her way over. Vera's heart jumps, twists; she feeling the overwhelming desire to run, to hide.

'Darling, Stacy has been looking for you. Have you been hiding out in your favourite secluded place again?'

Piotr stands in front of Vera, blocking her. 'Mother, yes, I...'

Vera sees her feet hesitate on the path before she gets to the concrete in the center of the cove. 'Best blow out the candle dear, but-' she notices something, she edges nearer, then in a quieter voice, she says 'is someone in here?'

'Mother... please,' he says.

'Oh.' She stops. Vera can hear the tension in her voice, cutting through the air, silencing everything. Her voice is chilled when she says, 'Best that you leave her, tell her to leave, and get back to your fiance.'

Something cold and sharp pierces through Vera. Fiance.

'Mother, it's nothing. Please. I will come inside.' Piotr stands firm where he is, so Vera still can't see his mother.

'I told you that you are not welcome,' his mother sneers, 'I told you to leave. My boy is high society, and you are nothing.' The words slither through the darkness and meet Vera, their intended target.

'You'd best make sure she's gone,' she says to Piotr. 'I thought I'd seen her off, but she lured you out here, now didn't she?' the venom in her voice was unmistakable.

Piotr turns slightly, says in a soft voice, 'thank you for coming, you can go,' before he takes his mother's arm and drags her towards the house. Mrs. Ashford's face turns, and Vera can see the hatred glowing in her eyes. 

Vera sits in the shadows like a filthy secret. The feeling of his lips still lingers on hers. But his words linger in her ears much louder. She blows out the candle and stands. Through the dark, empty garden she sneaks away, out of the gate; aching with the sting of Mrs. Ashford's words.

Out on the street, under the accusing lights of the street lamps, she lifts the collar of her coat. She doesn't want to hear the whispers later, about what people think, about what his mother would have to say about this to the neighbors.

Did you see that low society girl leaving the Ashford's late last night?

Those low society girls are always angling for the wealthy young men. Doesn't she know this isn't a fairy tale?

A tear blooms in the corner of her eye, and she brushes it away. Only when she reaches the parking spot does she realise her car has been clamped. She cries out in frustration, before storming down the street. It will take her ages to get home, over and hour. So she takes her phone from her pocket and makes a call.