Belinda

The year was 1780 in a city known to all. The foremost aristocracy was gathered in expansive ballrooms, featuring towering windows and impeccable chandeliers. The beige of the walls mixed with the deep red of the curtains signified royalty, a theme highlighted by crystal glassware and imported furnishings. Much like the décor, the guests at these parties hailed from various corners of the most powerful empires. The etiquette, however, was leveled far beyond personal origins, an unseen line that determined each individual’s capacity to be truly accepted as a member of this nobility.

Amidst conflicting smiles, manipulative whispers, and false alliances stood Christina de LaBonche, in the flush of eighteen, consumed by the imminent fear of social rejection due to the absence of any marriage proposal. Her mother was a Spanish aristocrat from a wealthy family of landowners, and her father, an English nobleman with a title as big as his fortune. The paternal inheritance gave her the right to be present at the year’s most famous ball, surrounded by the most prominent heirs. They all were seeking a wife to continue the tradition of unfaithful husbands and unhappy women.

“Christina, dear, has any gentleman caught your eye yet?“

“Lady Longevile!” Christina curtsied, compelled to by the woman’s imposing title. “We’ve only just joined the celebration; I barely had time to choose my first drink, much less a suitor.“

Her sarcastic tone was often ignored or went completely unnoticed. She knew, as with so many other balls, that the possibility of her being genuinely interested in anyone was improbable. For some reason, every man present could be easily categorized: Mama’s Boys, The Entitled, The Pseudo-Intellectuals, and The Politicos. One way or another, none of them seemed interesting enough for her to waste more than a single dance.

The opportunities she had to step outside her minuscule social circle to meet people from different empires were few, and she did not want to squander this chance on obligations—at least, not until her mother absolutely forced her to.

Looks were certainly not lacking, due to her natural beauty. Long black hair and wide eyebrows accentuated her serious and curious expression. Her thin, yet ruddy lips complemented her delicate chin and long nose. Many said her features made her appear determined, or even intellectual, which they believed was the ultimate reason gentlemen avoided her.

“Do they fear me?” she once asked her father, who firmly answered that gentlemen desire to meet kinder women, capable of listening to their instructions with obedience and femininity. For Christina, being her authentic self was an affront to her ability to secure a good marriage, leaving her with few options but to mold herself to others’ expectations.

These were her thoughts on the night that would come to change her life forever.

A part of her genuinely wanted to meet new people, to discuss the diversity of hobbies, books, dresses, and even parks that women enjoyed walking. Another part knew that appearing quiet, measured, and disinterested, however, offered her a far greater chance of ending the evening with a suitor.

Her head was swirling with indecisive thoughts, all scrambled by the sound of the violinists and the pianist. Men and women danced in sync at the center of the hall, while others talked over wine. Mothers gathered in groups of affinity, certain their daughters were the best options, and the fathers, alienated from the hall’s gossip, conversed about business and political matters.

Never, in her five years attending these balls, had Christina seen women discussing politics or finances, though she knew very well that behind the curtains, they were the great administrators of the family inheritances and the organizers of the house’s staff. Something made her believe that women enjoyed playing up the facade of being mere decorative items, while the men pretended to believe they held the final word.

---

Amidst the clinking of toasting glasses, the melody of instruments, the scuffing feet, and the bursts of genuine or scandalously fake laughter, stood Christina. Her attention, until then focused on the Lady of Damascus as she recounted her latest adventure with her husband in India, was suddenly captured. A figure who should have passed completely unnoticed caught Christina’s eye. Her red curls escaping from beneath a white cap were too scandalous for such a formal ball, and for that very reason, a vision of an oasis in desert lands.

There was something fierce about that hair, something that made her seem intensely real within that scene of perfect porcelain. Following her with green eyes, Christina noted the stranger also had red dots covering her otherwise white face. Unlike all the women Christina knew, this one had long, unshaped eyebrows, so natural they seemed to possess a life of their own. Her short, pointed nose gave her an air of innocence, a purity that was almost savage, like an untamable animal.

Intrigued by this figure no one else seemed to notice, Christina excused herself from her group and followed the stranger to the back of the mansion, an area no aristocrat, noble or otherwise, would typically frequent.

Just as busy as the main hall, the kitchen also played music, though less refined. The violin was replaced by a viola, and the piano by a percussion box. The choreographed dance gave way to a physical freedom of movements without determined direction. While they cooked, cleaned, or organized the trays, everyone laughed and danced, like free beings, liberated from any expectation.

This is a delightful moment of warmth and discovery, providing a stark contrast to the formality of the ballroom. I’ve translated it to maintain the charming, genuine interaction and the sense of unexpected pleasure

“Is the young lady lost? Do you need any assistance?”

An older woman approached her, looking nervous.

“You can call me Christina… or even better, just Chris.”

She smiled, and the older woman’s shoulders relaxed; she even seemed able to breathe again.

“I know just what it is! You’re looking for some real food, aren’t you? If you only knew how many ladies sneak back here to the kitchen, when no one’s looking, to eat more than the little nibbles they serve.” She laughed, pulling Christina toward a table. “What do you want? I have cakes, soups, and even a roast chicken.”

Looking around, Christina searched for the woman with the red hair until she heard the words roast chicken, betrayed by her own stomach. Laughing at the girl’s rumbling, the woman didn’t hesitate, immediately fixing her a large plate of rice, lentils, and chicken. Forgetting the reason for her adventure, Christina reveled in that unexpected dinner. The seasoning was something she had never tasted before.

“How? What did you put in here? It’s delicious.”

The older woman laughed, speaking in a language Christina had never heard before.

“A legacy from my mother in the Americas. A little bit of everything mixed together.” She laughed again, the sound contagious, prompting Christina to do the same.

“Rita!” A new voice interrupted them. “Interacting with the guests again? I wish I had half of your charm.”

Christina now had a voice to associate with the face that had hypnotized her and led her into this unknown world. Frozen, more from not knowing what to do or say than from any incapacity, Christina was paralyzed, sitting at a wooden table with strangers staring at her.

Confused, the woman approached the elderly servant, kissing her forehead before taking a tray of drinks to circulate in the ballroom.

“Wait!” Christina shot up quickly, startling the girl, who nearly dropped the tray if not for her quick reflexes.

“What is it, Miss?”

“Um… Nothing! Actually… My name is Christina…”

“Right,” the woman said, confused as to why someone of the upper class would bother to tell her their name.

“And you? I mean, what is your name?”

Never, in her nineteen years of life, had anyone from the upper class truly seen her, much less asked her name outside of instructions related to her service. Perhaps that’s it. She must be trying to offer me some employment.

“Belinda,” she said cautiously. “Does the young lady need help with something?”

Christina didn’t know what she wanted; she only felt an enormous urge to know everything about Belinda—her favorite food, what she liked to do first thing upon waking, her greatest fears, her preferred season.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Excuse me?” Belinda glanced at some of her colleagues—the few who weren’t distracted by work or the music—who were equally confused by the strange question.

“Your favorite color. Mine is green, and not because of my eyes, but because I love walking among the trees, and their green color makes me feel safe.”

A genuine smile filled Belinda’s thin lips, an image Christina instantly knew had become her favorite thing in the whole world.

“And yours?” she insisted.

“Purple. Could you guess why?”

“Because it’s peculiar?”

“Peculiar, perhaps. But they also say that if sensibility had a color, it would be purple. Isn’t it strange to think that feelings could have colors?”

Christina lived surrounded by intelligent men and women who discussed art and music, but no one had ever said anything that touched her soul or made her genuinely reflect. Captivated by how Belinda aroused her curiosity, Christina moved closer, and without knowing quite why, whispered in her ear as if sharing a secret capable of landing her in prison forever.

“Where can I see you again?” she abruptly asked. At this point, her thoughts weren’t controlled by her brain anymore, only by her heart.

Belinda, for her part, knew very well the effect a woman’s touch had on her skin. Past experiences gave her complete clarity that a woman’s voice in her ear meant trouble she was not willing to face; not again. Battling her own body, which yearned to stay and know more about the black-haired girl, Belinda took a deep breath and simply retreated toward the ballroom. She blamed herself for having given Christina even the slightest opening.

Determined not to end the night without an address, Christina followed her to the ballroom, only to be immediately dragged away by her friends. They were anxious to know where she had disappeared to. Smiling and agreeing with every comment about which man was the handsomest of the evening, Christina, in reality, had her eyes glued to Belinda.

Belinda’s curls were even more rebellious over her shoulders, making Christina think it was a reaction to her steady gaze. It was no coincidence that every time their eyes met, Belinda instinctively adjusted her cap, only to make her hairstyle look worse.

For some reason. Christina still didn’t understand her feelings. She loved knowing that her gaze caused such a physical reaction in Belinda, though. Her breathing seemed more intense, her eyes flitted between Christina and the other guests, her face flushed red, and her lips became the target of her own teeth. Everything about Belinda felt like a fantasy novel: unreal, magical, and completely addictive.

“Excuse me. I must greet a family friend.”

Without giving her friends time to reply, Christina headed toward Belinda, who was positioned in a corner, now responsible for ensuring the other servants were acting appropriately.

Upon noticing the young aristocrat walking toward her, Belinda silently prayed for God to make that girl leave her alone. She had allowed herself to be seduced by upper-class women before, only to end up with a broken heart and jobless. Both things she could not afford to let happen again.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

Both kept their focus on the environment around them, careful not to show they were conversing with one another.

“The right question is why are you insisting on knowing my address? What do you want?”

That was the only question Christina didn’t know how to answer. If Belinda had asked her anything else, Christina would have had a rehearsed response, but the reason for her recent obsession with a stranger was something she was still trying to understand.

“Honestly? It’s the fault of your red curls. Look around you, do you see any woman with a single strand of hair out of place? Everything is impeccably planned, and it gives me a headache. But you? Your hair is all over your shoulders, and you don’t seem to care. To make matters worse, you have those ridiculously adorable freckles, which make your expression look genuine. And what about that answer concerning the color purple? Now I want to know your opinion on everything in the universe, because I’m certain it will be far more intriguing than any book I’ve ever read.”

The sincerity in the stranger’s voice made Belinda’s heart beat so fast that her capacity to reason was completely clouded. It had been years since someone had left her legs so weak that she wanted to sit down and recover her sanity. What Christina’s apparent innocence and authenticity caused in her was dangerous, as if a red light were flashing, urging her to run as far away as possible.

“Belinda!” Christina’s voice, now calmer and softer, was an appeal. “Please! I don’t want to leave this ball with the possibility of never seeing you again. I need to know where to find you so we can talk more. I don’t want to hurt you, or do any of the malicious things women of my class might have done to you. I want to be your friend! I want to know your thoughts and opinions, because you are the most authentic and real person I’ve met since I started to understand society and etiquette.”

“Friend?” Belinda asked, confused. “Is that all you seek from me?”

Now it was Christina’s turn to look shocked. Her eyes tried to read Belinda’s features, like a student poring over a book before the final exam.

“What else would it be? Are you worried that I might be interested in your services and would exploit you? Or even take advantage of your friendship for fleeting entertainment? I know you don’t know me, but believe me, I’m not like my friends. Malicious or even prejudiced.”

Christina, who had been speaking to Belinda shoulder-to-shoulder as if trying to disguise their conversation, now moved to stand face-to-face, and with a smile, she completed her plea.

“I, from the bottom of my heart,” she said, pressing both hands dramatically against the left side of her chest, “want to be your friend. Would you do me the honor of accepting my friendship?” Christina, dramatically and deliberately, made her green eyes sparkle like a helpless kitten.

Belinda couldn’t resist Christina’s genuine childishness. Her innocence was a rarity amidst so much posturing, something that should be preserved at all costs. Perhaps this could be her mission: to look out for this girl who had the makings of a rarity and prevent her from being consumed by the demands of a failing society. She could be friends with a woman without developing romantic feelings. She had done it before, never with someone as attractive as Christina, but that was irrelevant.

“George Street, number 2. That is the home of my employers, where I work in the kitchen, and they provide me with shelter, food, and a wage. My reality is different from yours, Christina. I have hours for coming and going. Explanations to give for my absence. If you want to see me, it will have to be after seven at night, when everyone retires. I cannot let you into the house, because it is not mine.”

“Wait. You work for Lord Antonell?”

Belinda nodded subtly, still trying to prevent anyone from noticing her conversation with someone like Christina.

“Excellent! Lady Antonell is a loyal friend of my mother’s. I will ask her to arrange a meeting with them as soon as possible.”

And just like that, with her heart full of hope and her mind buzzing with intricate plans, Christina rejoined her group of friends, who were still discussing the same tedious subject: men in suits. The ball ended exactly as it had begun, with zero suitors. However, she now had a new friendship that left her far more optimistic about the future than the idea of marriage to a man chosen by her mother.

Without needing any coercive power, simply expressing her interest in visiting Lady Antonell was enough for her mother to turn it into the definitive plan for her obligations in the coming days. And so it was done. Using the excuse of bringing their daughters closer, both mothers adored the idea of meeting for tea the following weekend, when Lord Antonell would return from his business trip.

To Christina, the thought of waiting a full week to see Belinda suddenly sounded like torture. How could she endure thirteen days, 312 hours, without seeing the woman who had invaded her thoughts like a weed?

---

Three days after the ball, Christina was in her room reading a novel when the clock announced the hour: It was 7 o’clock in the evening. Looking out her bedroom window, she could observe the rush of carriages and the hurried steps of street vendors. She knew Belinda was finished with her duties, and the thought of her freedom was too tempting for Christina to ignore. What was the worst that could happen? Her parents were already asleep, and if she concealed her face well, no one would recognize her on the streets.

Without much thought, Christina put a scarf over her head and climbed out her bedroom window, which opened onto the back garden. With the greatest of ease, she made her way to the doorstep of the Antonell’s family house.

This was the part of the plan she hadn’t considered: How to let Belinda know she was there without knocking? How to avoid attracting the attention of anyone but the one person who had taken up residence in her thoughts? Hidden in the alley beside the house, Christina was brainstorming a plan when she saw the side door open and the elderly woman who had fed her at the ball step out to put the rubbish away.

“Miss Christina. Is that really you?”

“Yes! I’m so sorry if I startled you, Rita.”

“What are you doing here, all by yourself?”

“I’m looking for Belinda. Is she around?”

“Belinda? I believe she just went to bed. It was a very long day, and she didn’t seem to be feeling very well.”

Alarmed, Christina rushed to clasp the woman’s hands, as if imploring her for help.

“Could you please tell her I’m here? If she can’t see me, I’ll understand. But I truly need to speak with her.”

If there was one thing Rita had learned in all her years of intense work across different classes and people, it was not to ask too many questions. Quickly, she pulled Christina inside the kitchen and asked her to wait quietly while she went to speak with Belinda.

Sitting amidst the smell of herbs and fresh bread, Christina only now fully realized what she was doing: escaping her home in the middle of the night, hiding in dark alleys, imploring an unfamiliar cook for help. All for what, exactly? Why this burning need to see a friend? She had many friends throughout her life, but no one had ever made her this anxious just to spend time together, hear their voice, or see their smile.

With a racing heart and a confused mind, Christina’s reverie was interrupted by the sight of Belinda in her nightclothes, her long hair completely unbound. Her honey-colored eyes were wide with surprise, unable to believe Christina was actually sitting in the same kitchen where, for days, she had worked, anxiously wondering if the girl would appear, only to be disappointed. She had just convinced herself that she would never see that courageous girl again and that the encounter was merely the excitement of the ball. But she was wrong.

There was Christina, the hem of her dress soiled with dirt, her hair slightly disheveled, her clothes wrinkled, wearing a smile as vast as the moon that had illuminated Belinda’s window just moments before.

“Belinda, take her to your room. If anyone sees her here, it will be trouble. Go on, go, I need to sleep,” Rita said, ushering the two of them down the corridor.

When Belinda closed her bedroom door, reality hit. Christina and she were finally alone in her humble room, which contained only a bed and a writing desk.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have a chair. No one has ever visited me in my room, so I didn’t think it would be necessary.”

Smiling shyly, Christina sat on the window sill, watching the street, which was now much quieter.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this. I wanted to see you so badly that I couldn’t bear to wait thirteen days.”

“Thirteen days?”

“You probably don’t know! How stupid of me. My mother arranged a visit with Lady Antonell, but it’s not for another week. I couldn’t possibly go that long without seeing you,” Christina said, feeling embarrassed, knowing how ridiculous this must sound to Belinda.

“I didn’t even know if you would come one day. Imagine how it was for me? In my heart, there was only the hope of one day, and soon that hope turned to sadness, and today I thought I would never see you again. For me, there was no possibility of knocking on your kitchen door. I couldn’t write to you, or even hope to run into you on the street, because I know you don’t go out unaccompanied.”

Christina hadn’t considered the possibility of how Belinda felt. Those words sounded full of resignation, of a lack of power over her own desires. Without thinking, Christina let her heart lead and threw herself into Belinda’s arms. Startled, Belinda quickly moved to hold her, preventing her from getting hurt.

“You’re crazy!” Belinda exclaimed, her face buried in the fruity perfume of Christina’s hair. Her hands held Christina so tightly against her body, preventing any chance of the girl pulling away.

Christina, being shorter, was on the tips of her toes, her arms wrapped around Belinda’s neck, her face resting against Belinda’s chest. She could hear the strong beat of her friend’s heart while she was intoxicated by her scent of mint.

Without counting the time, the two stood like that until the sound of footsteps in the corridor startled them awake.

Taking a deep breath, Christina said, “You need to go! I’ll walk you home, let’s go!”

“Wait, and what about you? Are you going back alone?”

Belinda laughed. “I was raised on these streets; I can handle myself. You, on the other hand, dressed like that? You’ll find trouble on the next dark corner.”

Christina had no way to argue with that. However, as Belinda started to pull away to choose her clothes, Christina grabbed her hand, pulling her in for another hug.

“Christina! We need to go!”

“Am I the only one of us who has trouble letting the other go?” The pitiful sound of her voice was too adorable for Belinda to resist. But she must.

Using every ounce of internal strength she possessed not to pull Christina into her arms and kiss her, Belinda instead squeezed her tight and whispered in her ear, as if the walls had ears and that truth belonged only to the two of them.

“You have no idea how I feel, and it’s better that you keep it that way.”

With a kiss on her forehead, Belinda left to change her clothes.

Stunned by her body’s reaction to having Belinda’s lips so close to her skin, and by the hidden meaning of that final phrase, Christina felt the desire to kiss someone for the first time in her entire life. The sensation of Belinda’s soft lips against her ear made her fantasize about what it would feel like to press them against her own.

“Ready?”

“Um… Of course… yes… let’s go!”

If days had passed like torture before, now, with the possibility of exploring new feelings with Belinda, time seemed to be purposely crawling like a turtle. There was no book interesting enough to stop her from thinking about what it would be like to run her hands through Belinda’s red hair. There was no amount of socializing that kept her from thinking about the possible taste of the mouth she now wanted to devour like dessert. Every minute was a reason for her creativity to run wild, even though she had never before contemplated kissing someone for pleasure instead of obligation.

On many nights, she considered escaping again, but what would that truly mean? Was she really willing to kiss Belinda and risk their newfound friendship? If Belinda pulled away, would it have been worth succumbing to such fantasies, or was it better to repress them in order to keep the friendship? Irritated, and completely out of patience, she would choose to collapse into bed and sleep to forget.

The day scheduled with the Antonell family finally arrived, and Christina didn’t know if she was happy or terrified. Would she be able to see Belinda and ignore her feelings?

“Lady Anna! Miss Christina! What a pleasure to have you here for afternoon tea. Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

Christina and her mother thanked her for the reception, while both husbands retreated to the study.

“I hope you enjoy the cake my cook prepared. She has a gift for desserts like no one else!”

“I’m already convinced by the smell coming from your kitchen.”

A silence settled between Christina and Nan, the Antonell family’s eldest daughter. Nan was known throughout society as a beautiful and refined woman, and it was no surprise she was engaged to a duke. Despite the kindness with which Nan spoke to Christina and the bright beauty of her features, Christina didn’t feel the same attraction that Belinda caused. Observing every feature of Nan’s face, Christina studied her as much as she challenged herself. Was she attracted to any woman, or only to Belinda?

“Belinda, you may withdraw!” Lady Antonell’s firm voice made Christina turn quickly and stand up. All the ladies shifted their attention to her, as Christina watched Belinda leave the room with an expression of discomfort.

“Christina, are you all right?”

“Yes, I just… I actually need some water.”

Belinda kept her eyes lowered, focused on the potato she was peeling and torturing with the sharp knife.

“Belinda?” Christina said, sitting down next to her at the table.

“Christina, please. You should go back to the drawing-room; they’ll come looking for you soon.”

“I will, but only if you look at me.”

Taking a deep breath, Belinda lifted her eyes to meet Christina’s.

“Satisfied? Now go.”

“Why are you angry? If you don’t tell me, how will I know not to do it again?”

“Oh, so you need me to tell you how…” She stopped, lifting her left hand to her face.

“Talk to me, please!” Christina took Belinda’s left hand in hers and brought it to her lips, kissing it quickly with a little peck, eyes resting on Belinda’s face without hesitation.

Completely shaken, and unable to pull her eyes from Christina’s, Belinda surrendered to the rationale of those who love:

“Do you look at all the women you see like that? It’s a little disappointing.”

Her white face, dusted with freckles, were now flushed even darker, especially as she felt Christina’s smile against her skin. Her lips were still caressing her hand.

“What if I told you I was just staring at Nan while I was thinking that, despite her stunning beauty, she doesn’t make me feel the same things you do?”

The surprise of those words made Belinda’s heart beat even faster. Could it be possible that Christina felt the same way she did?

“That I do?”

Moving her lips from Belinda’s hand to her ear, Christina took her time, first savoring the scent of the skin that drew her so intensely, before finally whispering:

“Oh Belinda… Only if you could read my mind . . . I’ve been thinking about what it would be like to kiss you ever since I was in your room… and nothing I do seems to distract me enough.”

A cold dread seized Belinda’s senses. She knew that feeling, but never with such intensity. The difference between Christina and all the other women was her sincerity, the tone of innocence in her confession, an authenticity that was too good to be true. Closing her eyes, Belinda spoke the only rational thought left in her mind.

“Don’t do this to me, Christina. You are a young woman of the upper class, beautiful, educated, perfect in so many ways. Don’t make me believe that I could be loved by you.”

“Christina!” Lady Antonell’s voice calling from the corridor was like the universe dragging her back to reality.

“Wait for me at the side door, three days from now, at 8 o’clock in the evening. I will be here!” Christina quickly placed a peck on Belinda’s cheek, who, taken by surprise, ignored the butterflies in her stomach.

---

And so she rejoined her family and friends, leaving a piece of her heart in Belinda’s hands. The three days passed filled with commotion in Christina’s family home. All the feelings she had developed so rapidly for Belinda crystallized into a fact. She knew she could never truly love a man, even if she only ever fell in love with this one woman in her entire life. Perhaps she might never even fall in love with another woman. Belinda was the person she wanted to share her routine with, travel the world with, and hold hands with while watching the sunset.

There was only one way out for Christina: to convince her parents that she could never be happy in a marriage. Of course, she could never confess the full truth of her heart, but only the essential parts to make her cause more plausible.

The formalities passed, and finally, it was the day to meet Belinda. Even though she was running late, she held onto the hope that Belinda was waiting for her. Running through the city’s alleys, without caring what others might think, all Christina wanted was to convince Belinda that she could love and protect her.

“You waited for me!” Christina said, panting.

“Are you alright? My God! Come on, get inside quickly before someone sees you or you faint.”

As soon as the kitchen door closed, Christina threw her body against Belinda’s, pinning her against the door in surprise. The desire reflected in her gaze was a sight Belinda knew she couldn’t resist the second their eyes met.

“Christina…” Belinda pledge while Christina’s hand were now holding her waist firmly.

“I want to kiss you so badly, Belinda! How many nights of sleep have I lost imagining what you taste like.”

Christina, though shorter, leaned in slowly, as if asking for permission.

“We need to talk before anything else, Christina…”

“And we will, but before that . . . “

Surrendering to her desires, Christina’s body was now completely aligned with Belinda’s. Her left hand held Belinda by the waist, while the right pulled Belinda’s neck closer. When their lips finally touched and Christina tasted the flavor of red berries on her beloved’s mouth, every fear vanished. It was as if the two of them had kissed multiple times before. The harmony was perfect between Christina’s ferocity and Belinda’s delicate nips.

It didn’t take long for both of them to lose track of where each other’s hands were, when to push or press their bodies, or how many bites were enough. The desire was so palpable, it was as if the entire kitchen had transformed into a sauna. For Christina, the taste of Belinda’s tongue deep inside her mouth was a new addiction she had just acquired. It was so intoxicating that the simple touch of their tongues wasn’t enough for her; she immediately began to suck her lover’s tongue between her own lips, as if she could never get enough of her.

Belinda knew that if she allowed herself to be carried away by the moment, she would take Christina right there in the kitchen, against that old wooden door. But Christina deserved far more than that, and Belinda wanted it to be special, a moment her beloved could remember forever, even when she was far away in the arms of a man.

Taking a deep breath, Belinda gently held Christina’s hands and led her toward the bedroom. Christina’s effect on her was something so wild, especially when compared to the pretenses of a rigid society. As much as it was frightening, it was also refreshing.

“Sit on my bed.”

Christina obeyed.

“You know our love is impossible, don’t you?”

Christina agreed with a nod of her head.

“You’ve never had your heart broken, but I have. It’s an unbearable pain that feels like it will never disappear. By kissing you, Christina, I knew I could never stop. I will want to kiss you every day of your existence, and not being able to will destroy me. That is already a fact. But I cannot take you down this path with me. If I know you feel the same pain because of something I did, because I let myself get carried away, I would never forgive myself. You deserve all the joy in the universe, even if it’s not with me.”

Christina listened in silence, her thoughts intensely focused. When Belinda seemed to have vented all her fears, Christina’s hands firmed on her neck, massaging her long red hair.

“Part of my nightly fantasy was to feel how soft your hair was.”

Surrendering to the sensation of intimacy and affection, Belinda wrapped Christina in her arms.

“I am not going to get married, Belinda.”

Christina’s words caught her by surprise. Still in her arms, Christina now looked at her, perplexed.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve already told my parents that if they don’t want a depressed or miserable daughter, they should let me live my life as a single woman. I am an only child, and my father’s inheritance will be more than enough to maintain me for the rest of my life. I have loyal servants who would care for me like family.”

Surprised by what she was hearing, Belinda’s eyes read every expression as if she were savoring a delicious dessert.

“What exactly are you telling me?”

“During tea with Lady Antonell, I asked her if she would allow me to take you with me to my house in the English mountains, as my governess. My mother was confused, but I spent the last three days convincing my parents. My mother has always been a well-read woman, which is why our home has always been a meeting point for artists, musicians, and writers. My father learned to love the arts and different ways of expression from her. To avoid scandal over having an unmarried daughter, my father’s condition was that I retreat to our country house for a time. For that, I would need a governess I trusted, and that would be you. Of course, that’s just for appearances, because for me, you would be much more than that…”

“What are you saying, Christina? I don’t understand.”

Between tears and smiles, Christina knelt before Belinda in that small, dark room, hidden away in the cold, large city.

“Would you accept to be my wife? I know it won’t be the way we dream, publicly recognized as a couple, but in the intimacy of our home, you would be my companion, and I promise to respect, love, and care for you in the same way I would promise before the altar of a church.”

With a ring given to her by her maternal grandmother, Christina opened her heart without fear—a bravery Belinda didn’t know existed in the world, much less one directed at her, a poor woman without a name, family, or money.

“Are you serious?”

“So serious that if you say yes, we leave tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, a million times yes!”

Belinda said, throwing herself into Christina’s arms. Both women laughed, embracing on the cold floor of that humble room. The stars in the window bore witness that love, even in the most improbable circumstances, could bloom fiercely, like desert marigolds.