Chapter Text
Donovan’s desire to visit was eagerly accepted by Eleanora’s family, mostly because Mama and Mariposa seemed to have mutually decided that he was there to see Mariposa, and that his affections for Eleanora would wane the very moment he was presented with a girl who looked just like Eleanora, only with long, gorgeous hair and appropriate attire. Eleanora would have felt insecure about this if not for the fact that she knew Donovan had wanted to visit before this, and that she’d only agreed to let him visit after months and months of covert correspondence had solidified her conviction that it was really only her for him, and, as such, she wasn’t even slightly worried about Donovan’s affections changing. No matter what everyone in the family was saying, and had been saying, ever since Donovan had agreed to come for the outdoor family dinner that Mama hosted on alternating weekends.
This did not actually mean that Eleanora enjoyed watching Mari act like a blushing bride, or Tati, who was too little to know any better, listening eagerly to Mama and Mari talking loudly about how perfect, how wonderful Donovan would be as a husband for Mari, and how obvious it would be as soon as he met Mari, and how any man worth their salt would choose demure, polite, ever-obedient Mari over—well, it wasn’t about choosing, really, because that implied that there was a choice to be made, and this was just good sense. And Donovan was from a good family, and by all accounts he was a well-behaved young man with an incredible work ethic, and Mari would love Colorado when she moved there to help the family with the grocery store. And of course Tati thought this was all horribly romantic, and kept on insisting that she help Mari with her hair, and Mama and Mari indulged her with laughter and delight, and, and, and—
“Elya,” said Augustin softly. “You’re going to break that plate if you scrub it that hard.”
Deliberately, Eleanora slammed the plate down in the sink and broke it. She waved a hand, knitting the plate back together. “And don’t hover,” she said. “It isn’t manly.”
“You’re just trying to get a rise out of me,” Augustin observed, leaning against the kitchen counter and watching Eleanora stack dishes. “You could talk about it, you know.”
“Why?” said Eleanora.
“Because what they’re doing isn’t fair to you,” said Augustin. “And is, in fact, perfectly awful.”
“Have I ever cared about what Mama chooses to think is going to happen?” said Eleanora tightly. “Donovan’s going to show up, he’s not going to be interested in Mari, and this whole thing will eventually become my fault, as I will have ruined the opportunity for Mari to have a perfect husband. Best to get it all over with before they get comfortable with the delusion.”
“And you’re not even slightly upset about that?”
“No,” said Eleanora, and broke another plate.
Augustin waved his hand. The plate came back together, but he had left the cracks visible, which Eleanora pointedly corrected. “You should leave it like that,” he said. “I think it would serve Mama right, actually.”
“I either break dishes or I don’t,” said Eleanora. “I refuse to be indecisive about it. Will you help with some of this, or do you intend to just stand around and make pointless comments about morality?”
“You could try to be at least a little bit nicer,” said Augustin, a slight edge to his voice.
“Why?” said Eleanora.
Augustin left the kitchen. Eleanora broke and fixed five more dishes in rapid succession. Normally, she’d just leave them broken, but today was different.
Aunt Eva had arrived, and appeared to be bothering Janna about something. Janna sent Eleanora a look that was all eyes. Eleanora ignored it. “Dishes,” she said, and set them down a bit too hard in front of Mama, which was her version of good behavior. She didn’t like it.
“Eleanora,” said Mama. “At least try to act a lady about this.”
He’s mine, Eleanora wanted to say, and you’re acting as though you can just take him from me, and I’m supposed to act as though I don’t care about that, because all of you think I don’t care about anything. But she could say none of this, because Mama would be furious at her laying claim to someone like Donovan. Mari hasn’t laid claim to Donovan, she’d say. Mari holds hope in her heart, but she never presumes to be chosen. And of course Eleanora couldn’t tell Mama about the letters hidden under her bed, because that would probably start a third world war in their house. There were so many things she couldn’t say if she wanted tonight to at least start smoothly.
“This,” said Mama, “is the sort of behavior that Donovan would find supremely unattractive. You two have met all of twice. I’m sure he’s been charmed by your beauty—” she said it in a way that implied Eleanora had done things with Donovan, which made Eleanora’s stomach turn over, “—but there is no world where he will want used goods. Don’t be taken in.”
Mama seemed to have no intention of letting Eleanora forget about being caught out with a boy whose name she still couldn’t remember, in large part because, as Mama also knew, there had been a lot of boys. Eleanora thought that Donovan had to know, with the way gossip traveled, and he was such a social person—but he was still writing her, and he was the sort of upstanding Romany boy that every mother wanted for their daughter, so she still didn’t really know how he might feel if he knew—
“Mari,” said Mama. “You’ll bring out the apple cake.”
Janna sat up in her chair. Usually Janna wasn’t really anywhere, lately; she was eerily quiet and didn’t say much of anything to anyone, which made sharing a room with her much more bearable than Eleanora had anticipated. Eleanora remembered in that moment that Aunt Danica made the best apple cake in the family—had made, she corrected herself—and felt something almost like sympathy, which was unusual and upsetting. She busied herself with setting the table.
“Would you like apple cake, Janna?” said Aunt Eva, sickly sweet and overly solicitous.
Janna went back to staring at nothing. Eleanora resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“Maja,” said Mama, in that warm, sharp tone of voice she always got when Aunt Maja came calling, and bustled off to go accost her. Mari sat daintily down at the table and smiled beatifically at Janna, then at Eleanora, in what was clearly an attempt to demonstrate her saintly compassion for her terrible older sister.
Eleanora had no patience for this. Leaning over the table, she said, voice low, “Do you really think he’s going to marry you?”
Mari’s smile did not waver. “Mama said you’d be jealous,” she said, her voice taking on a recitational quality. “She said you have trouble with the notion of the world not revolving around you all the time, just because you’re slightly more naturally talented than me at magic, and you also have trouble with how much prettier I am, because I don’t sully my looks with an overabundance of makeup and chop my hair all to bits for no reason.”
“Do you have a single original thought in your head?” said Eleanora. “That isn’t hers?”
“Don’t antagonize your sister, Eleanora,” said Aunt Eva, who, for some reason, always thought she knew things about how to handle familial conflicts.
Eleanora sat down on the bench at the only empty space, which, unfortunately, happened to be next to Janna, who turned to her and gripped at her sleeve. “Oh, stop,” said Eleanora, shaking her off. “You’re ten years old, that’s hardly child enough to be clinging like that.”
Solemnly, Janna said, “Your sister is a horrible person.”
“You’re a horrible person,” said Eleanora. “I won’t be condescended to by a ten-year-old. Go bother someone else.”
Janna took this in, let her hand drop, and went back to staring into space. Eleanora told herself very firmly that she did not feel bad about this at all, and really, it was Janna’s fault for trying to be kind about things in the first place. This was not a house for compassion. Mari was likely the closest thing to compassion that the house had.
Aunt Maja came in with the boys, who all tried to look like they weren’t staring at Janna. One of them, the littlest, came over and said, earnestly, “Janna, do you want—” but Janna turned her face away, and the boy looked crushed.
“Luka, she’s still adjusting,” said Aunt Maja pointedly. “Why don’t you go and see what Ciprian is up to?”
Eleanora decided not to pay attention to any of this. She didn’t have room for it tonight, anyway. She got up from the table, stepping carefully, keeping an eye on the rest of the family to see if anyone would notice, but they were all circling around Mari tonight as though it was her future husband coming to dinner and not Eleanora’s. It was as though they found new ways to be awful about things that mattered, ways that Eleanora had never so much as anticipated, had to always be on the lookout for.
She stepped into the woods surrounding their home, and hands closed around her waist.
“Oh,” she said, all of the miserable anger draining out of her, and pressed her face against rough denim, allowing herself that one moment of vulnerability. When she looked up again, Donovan was smiling, and she didn’t know what to do about that. “They’re not going to like it if you come out of the woods with me,” she said, trying to sound cold and vicious, but the words came out with that specific kind of stiffness that suggested held-back tears.
“I’ll walk around to the front,” said Donovan, and kissed her forehead. “Don’t let them get to you about this, Elya.”
“I wasn’t,” said Eleanora, miffed.
“Even if you don’t believe them,” said Donovan, “it can’t be easy to hear.”
She didn’t like how often he was right about her heart. It felt dangerous, having someone who knew her like he did. “Maybe you will fall hopelessly in love with Mari,” said Eleanora somewhat petulantly. “And then where will I be?”
“Marvelously yourself,” said Donovan, “as the inimitable Eleanora Laska does not depend upon anyone to make her whole.”
“And what if—” She didn’t want to say it, but after everything today, it felt important. “What if I want you here?”
“Then I stay forever,” said Donovan, squeezing her hands. “Easy answer.”
“And what if I’ve—”
“I,” said Donovan, “am going to go around to the front, and meet your terrible mother and your awful sister, and make it very clear to both of them that you’re the only one I’m interested in. And then we are going to sneak out back together, and you are going to tell me all about how horrible your day has been, and I am going to tell you about how much all of my sisters want to meet you, specifically, and not Mari, because Mari isn’t important, nor will she ever be my wife.”
Eleanora just looked up at him, and tried, so hard, not to imagine a world where he did marry Mari and she had to live with seeing that happen.
“Place some trust in me,” said Donovan. “Just some. Not all of it, if you’re not ready for that, but trust at least that I mean everything I say—”
“Right now,” said Eleanora.
Donovan looked like he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes. “Okay,” he said, squeezing Eleanora’s hands again. “Well, then, I guess I will go marry your sister, who by all accounts has been trained very well by your mother to have the emptiest head in all of creation, because that does seem like exactly the kind of person that I would want to spend the rest of my life with. Someone simple, who agrees with everything I say.”
“I don’t like what you’re implying,” said Eleanora, pursing her lips to try and hide the smile.
“Do you ever?” said Donovan, tugging at a strand of her hair. Eleanora batted his hand away, thought better of it, and caught it in hers, heart pounding. He looked down at their interlaced fingers like they were the eighth wonder of the world, looked back up, let go of her hand, and said, “Off to go meet my future wife,” extremely seriously.
“You are,” said Eleanora, “insufferable.”
“Thank you,” said Donovan. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Farewell forever, Eleanora Laska,” he said solemnly. “We shall see each other only at family gatherings, always from a distance, you with no one at all and me with the thousands of children I’m sure I will have had with your sister, who I obviously love more than you.”
“Shut up,” said Eleanora, refusing to let herself smile, and shoved a laughing Donovan out of the woods.
Eleanora had expected Mama to love Donovan. What she hadn’t expected was for Donovan to meet Mama frostily, move past an eagerly waiting Mari, and take Eleanora’s hands like she was the only person in the entire world. Loudly enough for them to hear, but not loudly enough that it sounded like he was trying to get them to hear, he said, “Elya, it is so good to see you. Did I tell you about how badly my sisters want to meet you? I’ve told them in great detail about your strength of character, particularly your individuality. I find it so refreshing and attractive that you aren’t just some unimaginative little girl who wants to get married off to someone she doesn’t even know.”
It was about as subtle as a brick through a window, and Eleanora had never been more in love with anyone in her entire life. “You are an imbecile,” she said, smiling and smiling and unable to stop. “Go meet the rest of my family.”
“No interest,” said Donovan. “I came here to see you, as supervised by your family.” He turned to Mama, who looked as though she was doing fast mathematics in her head and not coming up with any coherent sums. “I want to marry Eleanora,” he informed her. “I am not asking for your permission, I am letting you know that it is going to happen.”
This was very clearly not what Mama had planned for at all. She seemed to default to what she had planned, which was to nudge Mari forward and say, somewhat helplessly, “My daughter, Mariposa,” as though this would at all salvage any of the situation.
“Yes,” said Donovan, looking blankly at Mari. “I see that.”
Eleanora’s prior idiocy was being made clear in the most wonderful way possible. “My husband,” she added, tightening her grip around Donovan’s waist and staring directly at Mari. “Find your own.”
“Oh, Elya, do be nice to the poor, simple little girl,” said Donovan, overly sympathetic. “It really must be hard for such an uninspiring little thing to grow up in your magnificent shadow.”
There was a choked laugh from the table. Eleanora was the only one who caught it; she glanced towards its source to see Janna hastily hiding her face in a napkin.
“Well!” said Mama, who seemed to be finding her bearings. “I hardly think it appropriate for you to say such—things—about—”
“So it’s fine if it’s my Elya, but it’s an unimaginable insult if it’s your Mari, is that it?” said Donovan, in a dangerous tone of voice that Eleanora had absolutely never heard him use before. “You can spend an entire day telling my Elya that I don’t love her and I’ll throw her over at a moment’s notice, but I’m not allowed to call your daughter uninspiring and simple for believing that my affections are that fickle, without even knowing me? Does she want a husband who would throw over someone he says he loves for the sake of someone he doesn’t even know?” He stared flatly at Mari, who looked on the verge of tears. “An uninspiring little thing,” he repeated.
“I think you should carefully consider what you say to my daughter,” said Mama sharply.
“Should I?” Donovan tapped his chin, then turned to Eleanora. “Elya, I love you,” he said. “You, and only you. Your sister is a dime a dozen, and my only feelings towards her are sympathy that she thinks herself something remarkable. Not to mention—”
He was very clearly gaining steam. Eleanora had to head him off before it got worse. “Thank you, Donovan,” she said hastily, trying her best to muscle him over towards the table. Donovan dug his heels in. “I’d thank you to remember that they are still my family, and there’s no reason to pick fights—”
“If you show up miserable and half convinced that I won’t love you, there is every reason to pick fights,” snapped Donovan, eyes on Mama, “and if they don’t see that, they don’t deserve a thing to do with you in the first place!”
Eleanora gave up. She wasn’t overly invested in stopping this trainwreck, anyway—more concerned that Donovan would burn bridges he might want mended later—but she was beginning to get the sense that these were people Donovan wanted absolutely nothing to do with. “Mama, this is Donovan Kovacs,” she added belatedly, though it seemed wholly unnecessary now.
Mama was clearly still trying to reconcile “good Romany boy from a well-respected family” with “did not immediately realize Mariposa to be a better option than Eleanora.” Her hands fluttered up, then back down; she searched for words and landed, finally, on, “If Eleanora has left you with some—poor impression—of us, or of our family, I do hope you’ll at least give us a chance to—right any falsehoods she may have told in an effort to make herself look more sympathetic.”
Eleanora’s cheeks burned.
“I’m going to kill you,” said Donovan.
This was not precisely de-escalation, Eleanora thought, grabbing his arm and towing him into the woods. “We’ll be back later!” she called, more out of habit than anything, even though at this point the situation was utterly unsalvageable. Shoving Donovan in front of her, she hurried them through the trees, far enough that Mama and Mari wouldn’t follow for fear of mud and bugs and other such things. Once they’d reached a particularly woodsy area, she pushed him up against a tree, then waited. She thought she could hear footsteps.
“Elya—” said Donovan, but Eleanora put a hand over his mouth. The voices were male, and angry. She had a feeling that Papa wouldn’t take kindly to any daughter of his out with a boy in the woods, even if that daughter was a troublemaker.
“Elya,” said Donovan against her hand.
Rolling her eyes, Eleanora raised her hand, bringing a bubble of magic up and around them, then letting it expand to include the rest of the empty thicket. That would keep them hidden for as long as she wanted, which, honestly, might be for quite a while. “Yes?” she said.
Donovan smiled a little sheepishly, which Eleanora was appalled to realize that she found horribly charming. “Uh,” he said. “Sorry?”
“You threatened to murder my mother,” said Eleanora.
“Don’t you do that all the time?” said Donovan.
“I’m not mad,” said Eleanora, “I’m just—” She threw her hands up, trying to figure out the words for it. “You’re such a sweet boy!” she said. “Since when do you go around making murder threats and making my sister cry? It’s in your nature to charm absolutely everyone you meet with pretty words! You’re so gentle, and kind, and thoughtful—”
It was hitting her exactly as she said it, but it was almost too big to be believed.
“Elya,” said Donovan, in a very different tone of voice. Not put out at all.
“If.” Eleanora almost hiccupped. Her fists closed tightly around the fabric of his denim jacket. “If you’re like this. If you can be like this. Then that means—”
She didn’t know how to say it. She had met a thousand and one effortlessly charming boys, boys who knew how to put aside all feeling to look like what they felt was respectable and true. She had assumed that, on some level, Donovan was one of those boys, who knew how to get what he wanted by saying what everyone wanted to hear. But he hadn’t said the right things, which meant that when he was with her, being kind, it was because—
She didn’t know how to say it. She was so scared that saying it would make it go away, somehow.
Donovan leaned forward, brushing his nose against hers, and closed his eyes. He didn’t try to kiss her. He just wanted to be close to her, which always made her feel so special every time he did things like that. He was the first boy she’d been with who wasn’t trying to push for more than what he was given.
“You know,” he said, whisper-soft, “when I saw you for the first time, my whole heart opened up and the world came to life.”
Eleanora tucked her head under his chin, felt his arms go up and hold her against him. The knot in her chest was loosening.