Chapter Twenty-Nine: WARMTH
1261 Words
Xenia
I was beginning to suspect Mr. Winslie’s parents had secretly decided to adopt me.
It was the only explanation.
A very strange explanation.
But still an explanation.
Because nothing else made sense.
I sat at the enormous dining table trying very hard not to embarrass myself.
Across from me sat Mr. Winslie’s father.
Beside me sat his mother.
At the end of the table sat Mr. Winslie.
And beside him sat Kira, who was currently stealing cookies she absolutely was not supposed to have before dinner.
Unfortunately nobody seemed interested in stopping her.
Especially her grandmother.
“One more.”
“Grandma.”
“Just one.”
“You said that three cookies ago.”
“Details.”
I hid a smile behind my glass.
Kira looked delighted.
Mr. Winslie looked tired.
His father looked amused.
And Mrs. Winslie looked completely unapologetic.
I already understood where Kira learned half her behavior.
The answer was sitting directly beside me.
Mrs. Winslie turned toward me.
“Xenia.”
My spine straightened immediately.
“Yes?”
“Are you comfortable?”
“Very.”
A lie.
A terrible lie.
This house was so large I was afraid of getting lost.
I had already taken three wrong turns since arriving.
One of them had somehow led me into a library.
Another into a music room.
The third into what appeared to be an indoor greenhouse.
Rich people truly lived differently.
Mrs. Winslie smiled.
“You look nervous.”
I nearly dropped my fork.
How did everybody keep noticing that?
Was I that obvious?
Apparently yes.
Wonderful.
“A little.”
“A little?”
“A lot.”
She laughed.
Not at me.
With warmth.
The kind that reminded me of Mama.
Instantly, some of my anxiety faded.
Just a little.
“There’s no reason to be nervous.”
I looked down at my plate.
“Maybe not for you.”
The words escaped accidentally.
Mrs. Winslie laughed harder.
Even Mr. Winslie’s father smiled.
Wonderful.
Now I was accidentally making jokes.
I wasn’t sure whether that was progress.
Mrs. Winslie gently touched my hand.
“You know, Eli used to be nervous too.”
I blinked.
Then looked across the table.
Mr. Winslie froze.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
“Nonsense.”
His mother ignored him.
“At your age he once hid from guests.”
Kira gasped dramatically.
“Daddy?”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“I was twelve.”
“You hid in a closet.”
I bit my lip.
Hard.
Very hard.
Trying not to laugh.
Mr. Winslie noticed.
Unfortunately.
“Miss Kingsley.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t.”
Too late.
I laughed.
A small one.
But still.
A laugh.
The look he gave me suggested he regretted bringing me to Europe.
I considered that a personal victory.
Dinner continued.
Stories were exchanged.
Mostly stories about Eli.
Which I discovered was one of my new favorite things.
Apparently Mr. Winslie had once attempted to build a treehouse and accidentally trapped himself inside it.
Apparently he had broken his arm trying to jump from a roof.
Apparently he had once cried because a stray puppy followed him home and his parents wouldn’t let him keep it.
The last story shocked me the most.
I stared openly.
Mr. Winslie looked horrified.
Good.
Now he knew how it felt.
“You’re lying.”
His father chuckled.
“No.”
His mother nodded.
“You cried for three days.”
Kira looked absolutely delighted.
“Daddy cried?”
“Kira.”
“Daddy cried.”
“Kira.”
“Daddy cried.”
I laughed again.
This time I couldn’t stop it.
The expression on Mr. Winslie’s face almost made it worth dying from embarrassment later.
Almost.
After dinner, Kira disappeared to explore the house.
Mr. Winslie followed shortly after.
Something about checking on luggage.
Or hiding.
Possibly both.
That left me alone with his parents.
A dangerous situation.
At least for my nerves.
Mrs. Winslie poured tea.
Then handed me a cup.
The room grew quieter.
Softer.
More intimate.
And suddenly I found myself missing my own parents.
Just a little.
The thought must have shown on my face.
Because Mrs. Winslie spoke gently.
“You miss home.”
I looked down.
“A little.”
A lie.
I missed them a lot.
Mama.
Papa.
Their tiny kitchen.
Their loud conversations.
The smell of fresh bread.
Everything.
Mrs. Winslie smiled sadly.
“I understand.”
For a moment nobody spoke.
Then Mr. Winslie’s father leaned back in his chair.
“Your father must be proud of you.”
I blinked.
The statement surprised me.
“What?”
“You’re studying medicine.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
“You work while studying.”
Another nod.
“You send money home.”
I froze.
How did they know that?
Mrs. Winslie smiled softly.
“Kira tells us everything.”
Of course she did.
The tiny traitor.
My cheeks warmed.
Embarrassment.
Mostly.
“He works very hard.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
“My father.”
Silence.
Then:
“I want make his life easier.”
Mrs. Winslie’s eyes softened.
Dangerously.
The kind of softness that made me want to cry.
“I know.”
The words were simple.
Yet somehow they hit harder than expected.
Because so few people actually understood.
Most people only saw my mistakes.
My accent.
My awkward grammar.
My clumsiness.
They didn’t see the reason behind any of it.
The pressure.
The responsibility.
The fear of failing.
Yet somehow these people did.
Or at least they tried.
And that mattered.
A lot.
Mrs. Winslie reached across the table.
Taking my hand gently.
“You’ve done wonderful things, Xenia.”
My throat tightened.
Immediately.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I make many mistakes.”
“We all do.”
I looked away.
Because suddenly my eyes burned.
A little.
Only a little.
“I am not special.”
Mrs. Winslie smiled.
“That’s one of the reasons we like you.”
The room fell silent again.
Warm silence.
Comfortable silence.
The kind I’d never experienced with strangers before.
And maybe that was the strange thing.
Because they didn’t feel like strangers anymore.
Not really.
Not after the letters they sent through Kira.
Not after the phone calls.
Not after this.
The realization settled quietly inside my chest.
For months, I had worried they might dislike me.
That they might see me as an outsider.
A temporary nanny.
Someone passing through.
Instead they treated me like I mattered.
Like I belonged.
And for someone who spent most of her life feeling out of place…
That feeling meant more than they could possibly know.
Later that night, after everyone retired to their rooms, I stood by the bedroom window.
Snow drifted slowly outside.
The grounds glowed beneath soft golden lights.
The estate looked like something from a fairy tale.
For once, my heart felt lighter.
Not because my problems disappeared.
They hadn’t.
My exams still existed.
The bullying still existed.
My family’s financial struggles still existed.
Everything still waited for me back in New York.
But tonight…
Tonight I wasn’t thinking about those things.
Tonight I was thinking about warmth.
About kindness.
About finding people who welcomed you without asking for anything in return.
And downstairs, somewhere in the massive house, was a family who had somehow opened their hearts to a nervous Italian girl with terrible English.
A girl who still wasn’t entirely sure she deserved it.
Yet somehow…
They loved her anyway.
- Writer
