She decided to go. Without the wig. She disgusted touching artificial hair. Sure, if it was real hair, she would be disgusted too. Maybe even more. She wore big glasses to keep her incognito. She also dressed differently than usual. In a very rarely worn dress. Of course, she didn't dress up for him! Never! The idea was to make her look as unlike her as possible!

He was already waiting on the bench under the tree. He looked around nervously. It seemed that he wasn't so sure that she would come. She smiled under her breath. So, he wasn't so confident of himself as he posed!

"Hi!" she greeted at ease. "Jerome..."

"Hi, Chloe." He smiled and jumped up from the bench. "Yet you've come."

"I've come because I'm going to cut intruding upon me." She announced haughtily.

"I'm not intruding upon you." he answered quickly.

"And that rose came on its own to the threshold of my room?" she asked sarcastically.

"Well, I helped it a little. You're right." He admitted, but with a smile that Chloe felt that it would be quite difficult for her to play a role of a mean heiress.

"Such practices are called stalking." She said, trying her best not to lose her self-assurance.

"I'm not stalking you." He replied simply. "I didn't mean to offend or impose you. That's why I decided to send you a letter first. If you wanted to meet, you would come. If not, well, your decision. But I'd like you to know that I'm a friend, not an enemy, Chloe."

"OK then. Let's assume I believe you." She sighed and sat down next to him. "I don't have much time."

"Right, it's school tomorrow. You have homework to do."

"Pshaw! Sabrina will bring mine in the evening." Chloe shrugged lightly.

"Homework?" he asked to make sure if he understood correctly. "She does your homework?"

"She offered it herself. And I let her do it. That's what friends do. Right?"

"And you never wanted to do it by yourself?"

"What for?" she was surprised.

"Well... Maybe to learn something?"

"I have people to be informed about everything I need to know."

"And you've never wanted to know something just for yourself?"

"But what for?" she repeated.

"Uhm... To be able to talk to other people, have something to say, form your own opinion."

"Oh, everyone in this city knows my opinion on all possible topics!"

"Wouldn't you like to have something to say?"

"I don't understand you." She sighed irritably. "We are talking. If I had to, I would know what I should say."

"But..." he hesitated. "You don't become broad-minded."

"You think I'm stupid?!" she shouted at him and her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Not at all." He replied calmly, and Chloe once again noticed that he was the only one who didn't react on her moodiness. "But you will not always be the mayor's daughter. What will you talk about with your husband in the evenings? What will you teach your children?"

"It's none of your business what I'm going to do with my husband." She answered back.

"Maybe." He smiled. "But in spite of that all, it's important for me that you..."

"What someone like you knows about life of people like me?!" she interrupted. "You're just a dispatch runner!"

"Just a dispatch runner..." he repeated slowly and then he looked her in the eye and said: "I can observe people. As a messenger I have this opportunity quite often. I can see some things. And the wheel of fortune rises and falls. I've already seen the rich who lost their assets in one day. I've also seen those who, despite wealth, don't despise other people. Sometimes they even show them respect and help. You know, Chloe... I think..." he hesitated.

"What do you think?" she asked him frankly.

"I think that if you weren't so hurt by your mom's leaving you would be a person from the second group I described."

Chloe glanced at him and quickly looked away. How did he guess it? Or rather – how dared he say it aloud? Nobody was allowed to talk about her mother. And about any feelings associated with her leaving! Only why she couldn't take offense at him? Why, instead of tapping him and going away, she wanted to cry and be hugged by him. That he could comfort her. He – the ordinary dispatch runner. An observer of life of rich people.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" she asked in a strange voice to cover up feelings he had woken up by those words about her mother.

Again – her frankly question. Why couldn't she talk to him differently? But he apparently didn't care.

"About your mother's letter." He replied seriously.

"How do you know about it?!" she exclaimed leaping from the bench. Her eyes narrowed – she was furious.

"I delivered it personally." He exclaimed, again calmly like he wasn't afraid of her anger.

Chloe opened her eyes in surprise and sat down. At once, she forgot all the questions and arguments she had wanted to destroy him. She didn't remember him at all. Had that messenger really looked like him? She closed her eyes to recall that moment in her memory. But nothing. She couldn't see a face of the messenger who had delivered the letter.

"I... I don't remember you." She whispered.

"I'm not surprised." He smiled. "Most people I'm delivering letters don't pay attention who is a messenger. They wouldn't recognise me on the street even if I talked to them or... dance..."

"So, you did it on purpose?!" she hissed offended. "You wanted to prove something to me?!"

"No, of course not!" he denied immediately. "Are you crazy? Why would I do this?"

"To show me that I'm cold and selfish."

"I'm just trying to show you something completely opposite!"

"I don't believe you." She snorted. "You made fun of me!"

"Chloe... Don't say that. It's not true!" He assured her warmly and took her hand.

At first, she wanted to take her hand back, but at the same time she realised she didn't want to do that. What did it mean? What was happening to her? She was confused. She forgot about her anger again. This boy had a strange influence on her.

"What do you want to prove then?" she asked conciliatory, avoiding his eyes and ignoring the fact that he was still holding her hand.

"That you're sensitive." he answered simply – the same way she talked to him. Directly and to the point. No smart talk, circling around the subject, digression. And Chloe liked it.

"I'm not." She denied.

"But you are. And that's why you wanted to read this letter in private. And that's why you were sorry at your party. And that's why you agreed to dance with me."

"I agreed to dance with you, because you promised to leave me alone. You're not reliable."

"I didn't promise. I honestly warned you that if you agree to dance with me, I couldn't promise to go away."

"Oh, maybe. I might forget about it." She said casually, though it was an obvious lie. "I wasn't sorry at all! I told you that I was angry."

"You know, Chloe... I think that..." he hesitated.

"What do you think?" she urged him to finish the sentence.

"I think that this is the reason you're angry. I mean... When someone makes you upset, you turn it into anger."

"Are you a psychoanalyst?" she asked sarcastically.

"I'm sorry." He replied nonsense, squeezing her hand. Such a simple gesture and she again forgot about her anger.

"What? Why?" she asked surprised.

"I made you upset and you became angry at me."

"No way! Are you serious?" she laughed unpleasantly, hiding the whole typhoon of feelings that he woke up with this explanation.

"You were so hurt by your mother's leaving?" he asked.

She felt frightened that he came back to this. What was he trying to find? She jumped up from the bench and looked at him with cold fury saying:

"Don't you dare mention my mother ever again!"

After that she left. And she didn't look back.