The Uniform
1141 Words
Kylian slowly let go of Evangeline’s chin. His hand dropping back to his side, as he turned to Vanessa.
"You're in my apartment, and you laid a hand on my staff."
Vanessa’s smirk faltered, but she kept her chin up, taking a step forward. "She was disrespectful, Kylian. I asked her a simple question about where you were, and she gave me attitude. I was only reminding her of her place."
"I don't remember inviting you here today, Vanessa."
"I came to see you! You weren't answering your—"
"Get your things," Kylian cut her off. "You have five minutes to leave before I have security throw you out."
Vanessa’s face went pale, as she marched foward. "Are you serious? You're threatening to throw me out over a peasant? After everything we’ve been through—"
"Four minutes," Kylian muttered.
He pulled out a chair, sat down, and pulled the warm bowl of porridge toward him. He picked up the spoon and started eating, completely ignoring her presence.
Vanessa stared at him, her chest heaving. She turned towards Evangeline, then snapped her gaze back to Kylian. "Fine. Keep your charity case then."
She spun on her heel and marched down the hall to his bedroom. Less than two minutes later, the front door of the penthouse opened and slammed shut.
Evangeline remained pressed against the refrigerator. Her cheekbone throbbing where the rings had cut her.
Kylian kept his eyes focused on the bowl of porridge in front of him. Then he looked up and saw Evangeline still standing in the kitchen. "Go to your room, Evangeline," he muttered.
"I need to clean the stove, sir," she whispered. "And the dishes—"
"Go.”
Evangeline didn't argue again, she wiped her hands and walked out of the kitchen quickly. She headed straight to her room and locked he doors behind her.
Standing in her small bathroom, she turned on the light to examine the dark purple bruise forming under her left eye. She winced slightly as her fingers brushed over the wound while she applied ointment on it.
With a sigh, she turned off the light, walked back to the room, and laid on the bed.
About twenty minutes later, a loud knock broke her out of her thoughts. Evangeline stood up and opened the door slightly.
Kylian was standing in the doorway with a small tube of cream and an ice pack in one hand, the other hand holding a large box.
"Sir?" she whispered, keeping the door mostly closed to hide her face.
"Open the door."
"I am fine, Mr. Moreno. I have applied some—"
"I didn't ask about you anything."
Kylian pushed the door open and walked in stretching the ice pack and cream towards her.
"Put the cold pack on first," he said. "Then the cream, it will reduce the scarring if you use it tonight.”
Evangeline slowly reached out to take them. "Thank you, sir," she said, looking down. "You shouldn't have bought this."
"She hit you because of me, it’s the least I can do." Kylian said.
"Mrs. Gable is off today," he continued. "She told me she spoke to you before she left, and that you agreed to handle any household tasks I required in her absence."
"Yes, sir. She did tell me."
"Good. Your new uniform is in the box, change into it immediately. My black suit is in the garment bag in the laundry room, I need you to steam it and bring it to my room when you are finished."
With that, he turned on his heel and left the room.
Evangeline pressed the freezing pack against her cheek, letting the cold numb the ache of the bruise. Once the swelling eased, she carefully dabbed the cream onto the cut. It stung, but the throb in her face began to reduce.
She stood up and looked at the big box he’d left behind. Sliding her fingers under the tape, she opened it and pulled back the white tissue paper inside.
She lifted the garment out, and gasped. It wasn’t a regular work clothe, it was a long-sleeved dress made of grey wool, accompanied by a white linen apron.
The fabric was soft and clearly expensive, looking modest, and entirely proper. But as Evangeline pulled it on, her stomach tightened.
The dress revealed her curve instead of hiding it. It defined the fullness of her chest, narrowed at her waist, then fell just below her knees. Nothing about it was revealing, yet she had never felt so exposed.
She tried to pull at the fabric around her hips, but it simply fell back into place, hugging her curves.
Swallowing the lump of anxiety in her throat, she picked up the steam iron and left her room.
In the laundry room, she found his grey suit hanging from the door. She turned on the machine, and pressed the iron over his trousers and jacket, trying to keep her mind from racing.
When the suit was perfectly pressed, she zipped it back into the garment bag. Holding the bag over one arm and the iron in her other hand, she walked down the hallway toward the master bedroom.
She stopped outside the doors and knocked.
"Come in."
Evangeline pushed the door open, and the strong scent of smoke hit her as stepped into the large, dimly lit room. Kylian was sitting in a low armchair in the corner, a joint resting between his fingers; he had changed into a robe, his chest totally bare. He kept his eyes on the window as she entered.
"Your suit is ready, sir," Evangeline said quietly, her eyes focused on the floor. "Where should I hang it?"
"The wardrobe. On the left," he murmured hazily.
She walked across the room and hung the bag on the hook inside the walk-in wardrobe.
Kylian drew in a deep breath, but the smoke caught in his throat and he suddenly started coughing frantically.
Shocked at the scene, Evangeline’s eyes darted to the bed, where a glass of water sat on the bedside table. She hurried across the room, grabbed the glass, and turned quickly to bring it to him.
By the time she reached him, his cough had stopped but his chest was still heaving at the stress. He reached up to take the water, but as his hand hovered inches from hers, his eyes looked up… and he completely froze.
He couldn’t move or speak as his eyes trailed down her face down to the linen of the apron that emphasized her narrow waist, and lingered on the full curve of her hips.
Evangeline stood frozen, as she watched him take her in.
Then slowly, Kylian’s gaze moved back up to her face, his eyes locking onto hers in the dim light, unable to look away.
- Writer
