by A. Zavarelli
It’s dark in her room, but she sleeps with the curtains open, and I don’t have to adjust the light to see she’s wearing her shoes again. I find it unsettling for a variety of reasons, but mostly because I want to know why. I want to know a lot of things about her that I shouldn’t. Since we met in New York, she has been occupying space in my mind far too often. I have questions about her. Now, I want answers.
I go over the footage of her day, watching her emerge from the bathroom and wiping away what appears to be moisture on her face this morning. Was she crying? I replay the video over and over. Pausing and slowing it down, searching for a solid explanation, but I don’t produce one. It feeds my interest, and I look for any other footage of her throughout the day. I find her sitting by the water, lost in her thoughts. At the pool with Nino. Helping him with his homework. Tucking him into bed. And then, I move to the kitchen in search of their dinner together. But first, I catch a clip of her run-in with Angelina.
I adjust the volume so I can hear, listening to the conversation, and my jaw sets. Angelina can be problematic. This isn’t the first time I’ve had an issue with her, but it’s the first time I’ve found myself truly considering her value as an employee. She’s here because she’s a Society daughter and she volunteered for the position. Her philanthropic gesture wasn’t out of the kindness of her heart or her passion for running a household. She saw an endgame that was never possible with me, and I’ve allowed it to continue because I respect her father. But I won’t stand for her interference in Nino’s care, and this situation will need to be addressed.
I crack my neck from side to side and shut down the computer, locking up the office for the night before I head upstairs. On the second landing, I pause, aware that Natalia is asleep. Something pulls me in that direction, and I stop outside her door, considering how much she has disrupted my life already. From the beginning, my gut told me she was hiding something. Liars are my least favorite life form. If I’m honest, I don’t know why I hired her. I wanted something simple and uncomplicated, but already she is complicating things with her inane requests and observations. She’s in my thoughts more than I’d care to admit, distracting me from my work and now my free hours too. I consider what I would do in this situation with anyone else. Pests must be squashed. That has always been my motto. It would be very easy to walk into her room right now and smother her to death. It would be quiet and fast, and tomorrow, things could go back to the way they were. It wasn’t perfect before, but I’d find a way to make it work.
My hand settles on the knob, turning it slowly. Everything slows as I step inside, closing the door behind me and moving to the end of the bed. I stare down at her sleeping form, her shoes hanging out from beneath the comforter. They look out of place there, uncomfortable, yet I feel like I understand it better than anyone. You never know what lurks in the night.
I reach out and touch the laces, grazing them with my finger. I listen to her breathing, soft and steady. I inhale her clean scent that lingers in the air as my eyes focus on the scarf around her neck. I could choke her with that. It would unravel easily between my fingers before I squeezed it against her throat. In the morning, she’d be gone, and nobody would be the wiser. I could wash my hands of this mistake and hire a Society daughter as much as the thought might irritate me.
Natalia’s breathing changes, and she stiffens suddenly as if she can sense my presence. When she opens her eyes and glances up at me, she freezes for a few seconds before she bolts upright, her hand snaking beneath the pillow. I already know what she’s hiding under there, and my dick becomes irrationally hard as I imagine her trying to use it on me. There’s a part of me that hopes she might. It would give me a viable excuse to sever this cord between us. Admittedly, I would like to know exactly how much fight she has in her.
The lamp light flips on, and she meets my gaze, her expression tight with irritation and confusion. She’s waiting for me to speak. Social convention dictates I should have a reason to be here, an explanation for my intrusion into her personal space. Internally, I’m still debating if I need to bother with one or focus on keeping her quiet as I take her life. My mouth seems to decide before I do.
“You gave Nino a granola bar.”
She stares up at me, blank.
“He’s not allowed outside food. If it doesn’t come from the kitchen or the pantry, he doesn’t eat it.”
She reaches for her phone, her fingers stiff as she writes a response.
This is what you came here to tell me in the middle of the night?
My eyes move over her face, and I wonder what she’d look like with her hair down completely. Right now, it’s braided, and during the day, it’s in a bun. I can tell that it’s long, but I don’t know how long, and it bothers me that I don’t have that information.
“I need an assurance that you understand,” I clip out. “No outside food.”
She looks at me like I’m ridiculous, but why wouldn’t she? She’s not Society. She doesn’t understand the danger that comes with being a Sovereign Son. Nino might not fully comprehend it yet, but he is a Sovereign Son. That makes him a target for anyone who might see him as a threat. It might seem crazy to her, but she doesn’t know our world.
I understand. She writes. Anything else?
“Tomorrow afternoon,” I blurt without thinking it through.
What?
“We’ll go shopping for a new bed set.”
She’s still sitting there as confused as I am when I walk toward the door. I don’t know that I’ve ever been shopping in my whole life, not really. If I’m not delirious, I believe I just made an arrangement to go with her tomorrow.
So, I guess she’s not dying tonight after all.
Nino is noticeably quiet during the car ride to school. By the way he glances at me, and then Natalia, I can tell she senses something is off.
“Why did you come to school with us today?” Nino peeks up at me, and my spine goes rigid when I glimpse the familiar uncertainty in his eyes.
He doesn’t like me. Despite my best efforts, I have not been able to gain his trust. I eat breakfast with him every morning. I ensure all his basic needs are met, in addition to a veritable buffet of activities to ensure a well-rounded childhood. Still, he cannot look at me without revealing his displeasure at my presence.
“I have something to do this morning,” I bite out.
My tone silences him, and I don’t miss the sharp look Natalia directs at me before turning her gaze back to him. She does something with her fingers, and Nino smiles, copying the action with his own. It takes me a moment to realize she’s teaching him ASL. She’d mentioned it in her file, and I never objected to it, but now I’m not sure why I didn’t. I don’t know what they’re saying to each other, and I find that bothersome too.
I direct my attention outside the window, wondering again why I decided to do this when Manuel pulls up to the parking space reserved for us at Nino’s school. Other than to enroll him, and the occasional parent-teacher meeting, I have not been here to drop him off myself. My requirement of Manuel is that he delivers Nino inside personally, but my mood darkens when Natalia exits the car along with them. Nino holds her hand again, not bothering to look back at me, and I sit in silence, stewing in my growing frustration as I wait for her to return. When she finally does, I turn away from her and ignore her for the remainder of the drive.
Manuel pulls up to the curb at the shopping mall in Bellevue Square. It’s close to Medina, one of the few retailers in our neighborhood where privacy is preferred over box stores. I exit the car first, waiting for Natalia as she slides across the back seat and gingerly steps out behind me. She seems as uncomfortable as I am about the prospect of shopping together, and I’m glad for it.
“I’ll wait here for you, sir.” Manuel shuts the rear door and returns to the driver’s seat.
I nod at him and head for the entrance, holding the door open for Natalia. She dips her head and seems to draw a large breath as she enters. Betwe
en the two of us, I’m not certain who’s wound more tightly.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
She doesn’t bother to write a response but points at the Macy’s just around the corner. We walk there together, and she finds the home section, examining the offerings while I check my watch several times over. I don’t have anywhere to be today, but it’s a habit. After what feels like an eternity, she settles on one of the bedding sets, gathering the package by the handle. I stare at her in dismay.
“Aliens?”
She nods firmly. Our eyes lock in a war of wills, and I’m waiting for an explanation. When she clenches her jaw, I can see that she doesn’t feel she owes me one. To my horror, her resistance sends a strange thrill through me. I don’t know what it is about her stubbornness that fascinates me. Perhaps it’s the fact that looking at her, you wouldn’t think she’d have such a backbone. She appears to be delicate, even skittish at times, but then she gets an idea in her head and pursues it like a dog with a bone. That tenacity is what got her the job. That steel in her gaze is what I reluctantly admired the first time I met her, and I find that admiration is rapidly transforming into something else. The shopping trip I had been dreading all morning is now more interesting as I imagine how she’d react if I were to bend her over and fuck her right here on one of these display beds.
She couldn’t make a sound as I shoved my cock as deep as she could take it. There wouldn’t be a noise from her disobedient mouth as I tangled her hair in my fist and shoved a hand into that god-awful suit jacket to grope her tits.
The image in my mind causes my dick to swell painfully, and I wonder if she can sense it. Does she have any clue what I’m thinking about doing to her? My eyes blaze a path over her body, and she swallows audibly, the sound getting lost behind that ugly fucking neck scarf. I want to tear it off. I want to rip it to shreds. And I think if I keep standing here staring at her like this, I just might.
She seems to understand I’m teetering on the edge when she sets the comforter near her feet and pulls out her phone.
He likes aliens, she types. He mentioned it to me yesterday when he was swimming.
Aliens? I consider the idea and shake my head. Who the fuck likes aliens?
Somehow, Natalia can sense my disapproval, and she narrows her eyes at me for the second time this morning. Her fingers move faster across the keypad, typing out a note with more force than the last one.
Children need creativity in their lives. There’s nothing wrong with a little imagination.
I’m tempted to argue that there’s plenty wrong with believing in things that aren’t real. There’s a reason I’ve never told Nino Santa Claus exists or given him money from imaginary fairies when he loses a tooth. It’s not my job to perpetuate lies. I’m preparing him for the real world, and as such, I keep him rooted in reality as much as possible. It isn’t out of cruelty. Rather, I want him to understand that fairytales don’t exist.
With this in mind, I’m on the verge of telling Natalia to forget it. He already has a suitable bed set at home, but as I’m standing there at war with myself, my eyes drift to a colorful display of children’s artwork. The piece in the front looks familiar in a way, and I don’t realize why until it stirs a memory of my mother. I can recall a time when she was painting a mural on my wall when I was a boy. The colors were vibrant, much like this piece, with blues and oranges and yellows. I asked her what it was, and she smiled, telling me I’d have to wait and see. She never got the chance to finish it, so I don’t know what it was supposed to be.
The agony of that lost moment in time steals the oxygen from my lungs and makes me freeze. It isn’t until Natalia gently touches my shoulder, and I glance down at her concerned expression, that I realize time has passed. I’ve been oblivious to my surroundings, dragged back to the past, and it’s the strangest feeling. I can’t remember the last time I had such a vivid recollection of my mother.
My eyes collide with the woman in front of me at present. For the briefest of moments, I consider if my mother would have liked her. Then, I try to forget the idea entirely. I reach down and seize the comforter and then walk over to the art display, grabbing one of the colorful pieces as well. I can feel Natalia’s gaze on me as we head for the checkout, but I decide it’s best not to acknowledge her. The sooner I can get her back to the house, the sooner I can forget this ever happened.
7
Natalia
The next two weeks pass in a blur of racing from one activity to another. I’ve always considered myself an organized person, but between martial arts, Italian, piano, scout meetings, swimming, and chess instruction, even I can’t keep the days straight. On Sundays, the one day Nino has to relax, Alessio takes him out of the house, and I have no idea what they do together. Nino barely has time to take a breath, and I’m exhausted just trying to help him keep up.
It’s a problem that needs to be addressed, but I've scarcely seen Alessio since the bizarre mall incident. Initially, in his schedule, he stated that he would be present for breakfast with Nino on most days of the week. However, I’ve only found that to be true on a few occasions. I don’t know if he’s intentionally avoiding me, or if he’s busy with whatever his work entails, but Nino has informed me he’s come to say goodnight to him every day this week, so I’m guessing it must just be me.
I tell myself it’s for the best. I can’t forget the way he looked at me in the department store when we went shopping. The intense heat in his gaze was unmistakable, yet I find myself questioning if I imagined it. Why would a man like him ever want someone like me? I’ve done everything in my power to make myself as boring as possible. I wear plain, shapeless clothing and minimal makeup. I never style my hair. I hide away under the cloak I’ve created so men don’t seek me out. They don’t see me as a potential source of pleasure, but for a brief moment, Alessio did. I can’t forget the shiver on my skin when I felt the heat of his focus on me. Even knowing the danger he presents to me, I find that my curiosity about him only grows. It’s been a long time since a man has touched me. I swore to myself it would never happen again, but something changed between us that day. I felt it. He felt it. If I’m honest, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.
I can’t go there. I can’t. Not unless it becomes absolutely crucial to my plan. I’ve fallen into a routine here. I’ve learned the layout of the house and the property. I’ve gone to the library in my free time and studied subjects I can’t look at on my phone. I’ve avoided Angelina at all costs, trying to fly under her radar at every opportunity. I’ve searched for weak spots in Manuel’s routine, and I’m continuing to learn more about Nino every day. The one person who evades me is Alessio. I don’t know what he hides on the third level of his home. I don’t know what he does, or where he goes, or even when. I need to if I’m to pull this off. I need to know everything about him. I’m debating exactly how I will do that when Manuel pulls up to the school, and we go inside to retrieve Nino.
Right away, I can tell something is off. He looks flushed, weak, and tired. My lips press together as I glance at the teacher, wondering why she didn’t notice. Manuel seems to be aware, too, as he looks at Nino and frowns. We usher him back to the car together, and I sign to him, asking him if he’s okay. Over the last two weeks, we’ve continued to progress his ASL, and he’s picking it up at record speed. When he doesn’t know the words, he’ll opt to spell them out, which keeps us signing often.
“I don’t feel good,” he tells me.
I gently touch his forehead and realize he has a fever. Before Manuel can pull away, I touch his arm and then write a note for him.
No piano lessons today. He’s sick. He needs to rest.
His features tighten slightly as he glances at Nino again. I’m half expecting an argument, but he doesn’t say anything else, opting to drive us home instead. When we arrive, I take Nino by the hand, prepared to lead him upstairs to his room, but Manuel stops me.
“No outside medicines are allowed. I’ll br
ing him up some Tylenol and call for the doctor. He’ll be here shortly.”
I nod, imagining that they must keep the over-the-counter medication under lock and key here too. It says something about their world that they are so concerned about outside food, drinks, or pills. It doesn’t take much of a stretch of the imagination to understand they believe something could be poisoned. The very idea strikes fear in my heart as I glance down at Nino and squeeze his hand in mine. I don’t know exactly what I’ve stepped into here, but I can only hope I figure it out soon.
Once we’re upstairs, I help Nino out of his school clothes and into his pajamas. Manuel comes in a few minutes later with the children’s Tylenol, which he portions out and watches Nino drink. Then he disappears with his assurances the doctor is on his way. I wet a cloth from the bathroom and use it as a cool compress on Nino’s forehead. When he’s comfortably settled in bed, I type out a note for him and then sign the words as well, just as we’ve been practicing.
Don’t worry. I’ll call for your father to let him know you’re not feeling well.
He reaches out and touches my arm, gently tapping his fingers over the sleeve of my jacket. “What if he’s mad?”
I shake my head. He won’t be.
A moment passes where he’s quiet, lost in thought, his eyes heavy, and his body in need of rest. I’m about to tell him it’s okay to sleep when he speaks again.
“Natalia, can I tell you a secret?”
Of course.
He seems to think about it for a while before he signs the words back to me, spelling some of them out.
He’s not my father.
The blow of that delivery nearly knocks me off balance. My brows furrow together, and I study him, searching for signs of distress or confusion, but there are none that I can see. He’s just a little boy, casually telling me that the man he lives with is not his father. I can’t help myself. I have to ask.