Chapter 863: A Weird Date...?

Chapter 863: A Weird Date…? [Bonus Chapter]

Silas listened to the frantic patter of her retreat and let out an amused fond sigh.

’Well…’ he thought, heading for the bathroom. ’Let me take a quick shower and throw on something casual…’

He caught his reflection in the tall mirror on the closet door on the way past, the broad shoulders, the sharp jaw and the dark blue eyes looking back at him.

He didn’t mean to brag, but he was a very handsome man and so he didn’t need a tailored suit or flashy accessories to make an impression.

“Hm… what can I say?”

Dark jeans, a fitted charcoal henley, a black leather jacket for the chill and his favorite broken-in boots would do just fine.

…Silas could let his looks do the work.

Down the hall, Martha’s room was in the middle of a crisis.

The doors of her big walk-in closet were thrown wide open, and inside, under soft strip lights, hung row after row of identical black-and-white maid uniforms.

There were long-sleeved winter ones, short-sleeved summer ones, a few with lace cuffs for formal occasions, and plenty of sturdy everyday ones with reinforced apron ties.

…Black dress… White apron… Black dress… White apron…

Martha stood in front of the racks, frantically shoving skirts aside, her eyes darting back and forth in rising panic.

“I know I packed at least one pair…” she muttered, digging into the back corners of the shelves. “I must have! It was at the bottom of the old trunk from the apartment… where did it go?!”

Before she’d started working for Silas, money had been tight, painfully tight.

She’d sold almost every piece of everyday clothing she owned just to scrape together enough to buy her first proper maid uniform, so she’d look neat and respectable enough to be hired then, once Master Silas started paying her, she’d spent her salary on more uniforms, better ones, so she could represent the Graves household with dignity.

That was why her closet looked like this.

Finally, tucked into the far corner of the top shelf beneath a spare winter blanket, her fingers brushed against something unfamiliar… It was a zippered garment bag of dark blue fabric that she hadn’t opened in a long time.

“Found it!” Martha gasped in relief.

She pulled it down, laid it across the ottoman in the middle of the closet and unzipped it then she lifted the clothes out, held them up against herself in the mirror, and her face went pale.

“Isn’t this…” she whispered.

It was a high-waisted indigo denim pencil skirt that hugged the hips and stopped just above the knee, with a soft fitted ivory sweater with a wide boat neck that showed off the collarbones.

It was modern and stylish, the kind of thing a fashionable young woman like Miss Harper would wear strolling down a shopping street.

She’d bought it a while ago on a whim, just to see how something like that would look on her.

She’d tried it on once in front of the mirror, turned bright red, folded it straight back into the bag and hidden it where she hoped no human eye would ever find it.

“…This doesn’t fit me at all…!”

She turned back to the racks, desperately scanning the uniforms however Master Silas had given her a direct order… No maid uniform.

Disobeying him was unthinkable but stepping out in this felt like walking through the city square in her underwear.

She looked at the ivory sweater, then at the clock ticking on her nightstand.

…Seven-fifteen.

Master Silas was waiting.

With a soft whimper of helpless surrender, Martha began to unbutton the collar of her black dress.

“Heavens forgive me…” she whimpered to the empty room.

A few minutes later, Silas strolled into the living room downstairs. He looked sharp with his dark hair still damp from the shower.

In the middle of the plush rug, curled into a tight glossy black ball, was Nitocris in her cat form. Her tail flicked lazily, and her violet eyes opened into narrow crescents as he walked up.

“Alright, Nito…” Silas said, looking down at her with his hands in his jacket pockets. “Martha and I are heading out for a couple of hours. I need you to keep an eye on the house… If any of the girls wake up, just keep them company until we get back.”

Nitocris let out a deeply offended huff.

“I am the First Per-aa of Khemet,” she said, her voice dripping with royal condescension. “Ruler of the golden sands and conqueror of the southern wastes. You dare order an empress to babysit sleeping mortal children, Silas Graves? The audacity of you is an insult to the sun, Nyaa~”

Silas didn’t even blink.

“I’ll bring you back a pint of that pistachio gelato from the fancy creamery down the hill,” he offered casually. “The one with the salted caramel swirl and the waffle crumbles…”

Nitocris froze.

Her ears twitched hard as her tail, which had been whipping with royal irritation, instantly curled into a neat peaceful loop around her front paws.

She lifted her small black chin, her violet eyes narrowing with grave calculation.

“Two pints,” she declared firmly. “With extra caramel, Nyaa~”

“Deal,” Silas laughed. “One word from you and you’re bought for a scoop of sugar.”

“Silence, peasant,” she sniffed, turning her head away. “An empress simply accepts her proper tribute, Nyaa~”

A soft hesitant rustle came from the top of the grand staircase.

Silas turned his head toward the steps, and Nitocris’s ears swiveled up as her eyes followed his.

Both of them went completely silent.

Martha was coming down the curved staircase, one slow painfully self-conscious step at a time.

The black dress and white apron were gone.

The indigo pencil skirt hugged her hips and stopped just above her knees, showing slim calves in dark stockings and modest black heels.

The soft ivory sweater draped over her small frame with its wide neckline showing the pale curve of her collarbones.

Her hair, usually pinned in a tight bun, had been loosened into a soft knot at the back of her neck, with a few curled strands framing her flushed face.

She looked lovely and yet…

’H-huh…?’ Silas thought while blinking.

Nitocris blinked too.

The outfit was expensive and stylish, but it looked a little bit odd on her.

It was cut for a trendy young heiress strutting through a boardroom, someone exactly like Harper… On Martha, who dressed like a proper housekeeper twice her age every single day, it had a charmingly mismatched energy, as if she’d been dropped into someone else’s closet against her will.

She reached the bottom step clutching a small leather handbag in front of her stomach with both hands.

Her cheeks were burning scarlet, and her eyes darted all over the floor, unable to meet his.

’Why are they staring?!’ she panicked. ’It’s terrible, isn’t it?! I look ridiculous! I should run back upstairs and lock myself in the linen closet!’

She stopped three steps away and ducked her chin into the soft collar of her sweater.

“I… I’m sorry, Master Silas…” she squeaked, her lower lip trembling. “I don’t really own normal clothes… This is the only thing I have that isn’t a uniform… If it looks bad, I can go change back right now…”

“Don’t you dare,” Silas said softly.

He walked over, and his teasing smirk was gone, replaced by a warm genuine smile that reached all the way into his eyes.

“You look beautiful, Martha,” he said, his deep voice completely sincere. “Really. It’s nice to see you dressed up for once instead of running around with a duster… You look great.”

Martha’s breath caught.

The mortified blush on her cheeks softened into a glowing pink, and a shy flustered smile broke across her lips as she pressed a hand to her chest.

“Thank you… Master Silas,” she murmured, dipping her head. “You’re far too kind to me.”

“I’m just telling the truth,” Silas smiled.

He turned toward the front doors and held out his hand with his palm open.

“Should we go?”

Martha looked at his hand, and her heart gave a little flutter. Carefully, she slipped her small hand into his, and his fingers closed around hers, warm and solid.

He glanced back over his shoulder at the rug. “Watch the house, Nito… Be careful.”

“Hmph. Go, barbarian,” the cat purred, closing her eyes. “And don’t forget my pistachios, Nyaa~”

The front doors clicked shut behind them and alone in the huge quiet house, Nitocris opened one violet eye.

’What do I do…?’ she wondered with her tail flicking lazily. ’The children are unconscious, the barbarian has run off with his maid, and Harper’s busy…’

She hopped up onto the coffee table, sniffed at a sleek remote lying on the corner, and accidentally stepped on the power button.

CLICK!

The huge TV on the wall blazed to life, and dramatic music boomed out of the speakers so loudly that her ears slammed flat against her skull.

On the screen, a man in a sharp charcoal suit stood on a brightly lit stage in front of a screaming studio audience, holding a big manila envelope.

Across from him, a weeping woman in heavy eye makeup and an enormous muscular man in a tank top glared at each other with pure murderous hatred.

The host raised his hand, and the audience dropped into a breathless hush.

He opened the envelope and leaned right into the camera.

“Mr. Coleson…”

Dramatic strings screeched.

“…when it comes to eight-month-old little Brayden…”

Another pause.

“…you are… NOT THE FATHER!”

The audience exploded.

The muscular man leaped out of his chair, threw his fists at the ceiling and broke into a wild, back-flipping celebration dance across the stage, while the woman shrieked and hurled a throw pillow at his head.

Nitocris sat frozen on the coffee table, her violet pupils swallowing her irises.

’What… in the nine desert hells… is this…?’ she thought, her mind locking up completely.

She slowly sat down on her haunches and wrapped her tail around her paws, utterly mesmerized as the show continued.

“Mortal civilization is magnificent, Nyaa~” she whispered to the empty room.

Outside, the Zenith IVR purred to life on the driveway.

Silas opened the passenger door for Martha, made sure she was buckled in, and slid behind the wheel.

The supercar glided through the gates and down the switchbacks of Celestine Heights with its headlights carving through the golden maples arching over the road.

Silas glanced over at his passenger with a teasing grin.

She was sitting perfectly upright with her handbag in her lap and a faint pink glow still on her cheeks.

“So, Miss Martha,” he drawled. “The night is young, and this is your reward… Where do you want to go first? A rooftop restaurant? A tea house in the gardens? Name it.”

Martha hesitated, her fingers tightening on her handbag, and looked at him through her lashes with shy earnest eyes.

“Master Silas…” she began softly. “If you don’t mind… could we go to the big supermarket on the northern boulevard?”

Silas’s foot nearly twitched on the pedal.

’Oh…’ he thought. ’The supermarket?’

What did she want to do at a grocery store at night? Was there some special imported candy she’d been craving? A particular tea she couldn’t find anywhere else? He wondered what she wanted to do there…

“Why not? Let’s g—”

…

About thirty minutes later, Silas stood in the middle of Aisle 4 of the Starlight Mega-Mart, completely speechless.

In front of him were three heavy-duty shopping carts hooked together, and Martha was moving between the shelves with the terrifying efficiency of a general running a siege with her pencil skirt not slowing her down in the slightest.

THUMP!

A fifty-pound crate of potatoes slammed into the bottom of the first cart, followed by a crate of onions, three sacks of sea salt, four big jugs of cooking vinegar and twelve jars of pickled garlic.

“Martha…” Silas started, raising his hands slightly. “I have an Inventory, you know. I could just…”

“Not these potatoes, Master Silas!” she called over her shoulder, inspecting a display of winter squash with razor-sharp focus. “These are the red mountain kind! The skins are thick, so they’ll keep in the new cold cellar until the middle of winter without sprouting and look at these leeks! Perfect for soup stock!”

Silas followed her like a dazed bodyguard as four sacks of flour, three crates of sugar and a whole case of yeast went into the second cart.

Martha was restocking the entire twenty-six-bedroom house from top to bottom so she wouldn’t have to come back to the market for weeks…

Silas leaned against a cereal shelf and dragged a hand down his face.

’I wanted her to be happy tonight…’ he thought, watching her examine a bag of oats like it held the secrets of the universe. ’I took her out in my car, told her she looked beautiful, gave her the whole night off… and she wants to spend it buying vegetables…?’

He understood, of course. Stocking the house was one of her duties, and it clearly made her happy.

Watching her fill their new kitchen with good food was like watching someone else open presents but still…

Looking at her in her stylish ivory sweater, hauling a crate of carrots onto the cart with a radiant blissful smile, Silas slowly rubbed his chin.

’Does Martha even know what actual fun is?’