by Holly Rayner
There are probably no words there at all. I’m probably imagining things, just like I have been all along when it comes to Tomas von Meyer. I know who he is. I’ve seen the evidence with my own eyes. I know what he does with women.
He hands me my weekly envelope—it’s fatter than any other envelope I’ve ever received—and holds out his hand.
“Thank you for your work this week,” he says. “Lara looks forward to seeing you again on Monday.”
Always “Lara looks forward to seeing you.” Never a first-person pronoun. Well, what do I expect? He and I don’t have a relationship. He doesn’t look forward to seeing me.
And I don’t want him to, I remind myself. I feel like I constantly have to remind myself of this fact. I don’t want him thinking of me like that. We said we’d keep it professional, and that’s how I want it, because I don’t trust him.
“How was your tutoring session today?” Karl asks me as I get into his car.
“It went well,” I say. “She’s a smart little girl.”
“That she is,” he agrees. There’s a pause, as if he’s deciding what to say. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but you do seem unhappy sometimes when you leave the manor. Is everything all right?”
I let out a sigh. “Everything’s fine, Karl. Thank you for asking. I’m just a little homesick, that’s all.” If only that were all.
He nods knowingly. “I’m sure it must have been hard to come to a new country all by yourself to take this job. I know Mr. von Meyer is very grateful for your service. He absolutely dotes on that little girl. He’d go to the ends of the earth for her.”
It’s funny the way Tomas’s employees talk about him. I know they must be aware of the articles that have been written about him and the reputation he has, but all they ever seem to say about him is that he’s a good boss and a wonderful father. I suppose they don’t want to risk falling out of favor with him. If my salary is anything to judge by, they’re probably all very well paid.
I wish I could believe in the fantasy of the man I met in New York. I wish I thought that was the real Tomas von Meyer. Even though knowing the truth about him is safer and allows me to protect myself against his inevitable attempt to sleep with me, it would be nice to let go of my constant negative thoughts about him and be able to enjoy the crush that, despite everything, I still feel. It would be nice to enjoy the spark of chemistry that exists between us.
But it would be foolish. I can’t allow myself that. I have to keep my guard up at all times. I can’t let myself fall under his spell.
Chapter 9
Emma
At the end of my second week with Lara, I can hardly believe how much she’s progressed. “You knew English the whole time,” I tease her, packing away my things.
She laughs. She’s grown confident enough that I can speak to her in English without a translator and she can almost always understand the gist of what I’m saying. Her own sentences are still halted and pieced together, but speaking is always harder than listening, in any language. The speaking fluency will come, and if her current rate of progress is any indication, it will come quickly.
I exchange journals with her, as we do at the end of every session.
“I wrote you a long message this time,” I say. “You can use your dictionary to figure it out, but don’t ask Dad or Anne for help unless you’re really stuck, okay? I want to see if you can do it.”
She nods eagerly.
I shoulder my bag. I’m looking forward to a quiet weekend. I might get out and explore the city a bit, but for the most part, I plan to spend my time relaxing in my hotel suite, ordering room service, and catching up on my reading. Maybe I’ll even make an appointment for a massage at the hotel spa. It would be nice to release some of the stress I’ve built up coming to Tomas’s house every day. Much as I hate to admit it, I haven’t been able to let go of my crush yet.
“Do you have to go?” Lara asks.
She asks me this at the end of every session. It’s occurred to me to wonder whether she has any playmates her own age. Anne is significantly older than me, and Tomas is clearly busy a lot of the time. Busy hitting on supermodels, my traitor mind thinks, but I push that thought away. It’s none of my business what he does. My concern is for Lara. Maybe she’s so eager for me to stick around because I’m the closest thing she has to a friend.
“You know I have to go,” I say. “Our session is over. It’s time for me to go home.”
“Stay,” she insists.
I feel a tugging at my heartstrings and almost wish I could do as she asks. Whatever I might think of her father, it bothers me to see this little girl on her own. I bet she doesn’t go to school with children her own age, either. Tomas travels so much; he probably hires private tutors for her year-round.
“I’m sorry,” I tell Lara. “I’ll be back in just a couple of days, though, I promise.”
She shakes her head. “Dinner. Stay for dinner.”
“What?”
“Daddy’s cooking,” she insists.
“Is he a good cook?”
She nods vigorously. “Eat with us!”
A part of me honestly wishes I could. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal since arriving in Luxembourg, despite the kitchen facilities in my hotel room—I’ve been getting by on one-step dishes like microwave dinners. And I’m also curious to see if Tomas really is talented in the kitchen or if it’s just the rose-colored perspective of an adoring daughter. Still, it wouldn’t be appropriate. Having dinner together definitely doesn’t come under the heading of keeping things professional.
“Come on,” I say. “Why don’t you walk me out.”
She groans with exaggerated disappointment and huffs her way over to the door. I laugh. Lara can be a drama queen at times.
As we make our way down to the foyer, I detect a delicious blend of herbs and spices on the air. Lara perks up, grabs my hand, and pulls me through a door I’ve never entered before. I find myself in a majestically appointed kitchen, all wood and chrome, face to face with Tomas von Meyer.
He’s holding a bundle of what looks like cilantro in his hand, but on seeing me he shakes it quickly over the sink and places it on a paper towel.
“Is everything all right?” he asks.
Lara ignores him. “See?” she insists. “It’s good! Stay! Eat with us!”
Tomas laughs. “She must really like you if she’s inviting you to family dinner!”
“She’s just feeling lonely,” I say quickly. “I could take her out on a walk with me next week or something? We could spend some more time together that way…”
“Why don’t you just stay?” Tomas asks. “I always make more food than the two of us can eat by ourselves anyway. We’ll be having leftovers for weeks. You’d be welcome to join us. If you don’t already have dinner plans, that is.”
“No, I don’t have plans.” I laugh self-consciously. “I don’t even know anybody else in this country.”
“Then stay. Why not? You’re doing such a good job with Lara, and I’d love to hear more about how she’s doing in her lessons.”
We’re about to cross a line. I’m sure of it. I should say no to this invitation. And yet…what’s the big deal, really? Surely Anne has had a meal with them in her time working here. It’s just dinner. Maybe it will be helpful, actually. Maybe spending time with Tomas and Lara will help me to get over my crush and start viewing him as nothing more than an employer.
Besides, I’m curious. I’ve been thinking of him as a privileged rich man who never does anything for himself, who cavorts with supermodels and hires staff to take care of all the normal everyday responsibilities the rest of us have to deal with. It’s hard to picture that man cooking a meal, and yet here he is in the kitchen. He’s even wearing an apron.
“I guess I can’t turn down the chance to try this meal Lara’s raving about,” I say.
Tomas nods and grins. “My cooking is legendary,” he says. “You’re in for a feast.”
Lar
a skips to the cupboard and pulls down plates. I move to help her, but Tomas waves me back.
“No, no. You’re our guest. Lara can set the table, can’t you, Lara?”
Lara nods.
“You’re speaking to her in English,” I notice.
“As you suggested. She’s much better at it than I realized when I sent away for a tutor.”
I nod. “She’s grown up hearing it. I think she knew more than she herself ever suspected.”
“There’s a bottle of red wine on the counter over there,” Tomas says, pointing. “Would you like a glass?”
“That would be nice.”
I grab the bottle and bring it over. Tomas uncorks it and pours a bit into a couple of glasses, then hands one to me. I take a sip.
“This is good wine.”
“It’s French,” he says.
It occurs to me to wonder how expensive it is. Definitely pricier than my usual five- and ten-dollar bottles. I sip more slowly, determined to make it last.
Tomas moves from pan to pan. In one, he carefully lays out sausages to grill. In another, a sauce simmers, and Tomas plucks and shreds his cilantro bunch over it. A third pan holds a pancake, which Tomas flips, sprinkles seasoning over, and then transfers carefully to a stack on a platter.
“You cook like a professional,” I observe, leaning against the counter. I remember what he said to me the first time we met about hobbies being windows to the soul and wonder what his cooking prowess says about him. Every time I think I’ve got this man figured out, he does something to surprise me.
“I learned growing up,” he says, giving the sauce a stir.
“From your parents, then?” I ask. I flash back to summer evenings spent in my own parents’ kitchen, watching my mother put our dinners together. I remember the mystery that seemed to live in the spice cabinet, the way she seemed to me to be a genius, always knowing which spice to pull down and use when to me they all looked the same.
“Not exactly,” Tomas says. “We had kitchen staff growing up. They prepared our meals for us.”
“Oh, I should have figured.” The words slip out before I can catch them. Immediately my cheeks grow hot. “I’m sorry. I just meant—”
Tomas laughs. “I know what you meant. And you’re not wrong. My parents were…well, they were elitist snobs, to tell you the truth. They never wanted me ‘mixing with the help,’ as they put it. But I’d sneak into the kitchen anyway. The staff was always glad to see me—they’d give me bits of food as they cooked, and they’d let me help sometimes. I always wanted to know how the fancy meals that ended up in front of me under a dome every night were put together.”
“Under a dome?”
“I know,” he says. “It’s such a cliché, but that’s how it was.”
I think about his royal heritage and wonder how close his parents were to the throne. Insisting on dinners served under a dome like that sounds like something one might do to feel closer to a noble lineage.
And Tomas has deliberately moved away from that behavior, going so far as to prepare his own dinners.
Am I ever going to understand him?
“Dinner’s ready,” Tomas declares in a ringing voice and lifts his platter of pancakes and his tureen of sauce, one in each hand.
I grab the plate of sausages and follow behind him, certain he would tell me it wasn’t necessary for me to help, determined to do so anyway.
The dining room table is a glossy mahogany, and Lara has already set three places and is sitting at one of them, swinging her legs and giggling with excitement.
Tomas and I set the dishes down on the table. I wait for him to take a seat at the head of the table before I move to my own chair, across from Lara. It occurs to me as I sit down that I’m dressed in a very casual sundress—an outfit chosen with tutoring in mind, not a dinner in this incredibly fancy dining room with Tomas von Meyer, descendant of royalty.
Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed after all.
“So,” Tomas says, distracting me from my thoughts. “Are you enjoying Luxembourg?”
“It’s a beautiful country,” I say.
“I’m sure you’ve taken the opportunity to go exploring with your camera.” He smiles, as if the two of us are sharing a private joke.
“I have,” I confirm. “I like to go in the morning, before I come over for Lara’s lessons. But in the past couple of days, I’ve been going out in the evenings too. The city is beautiful at night. Mornings are better for landscapes.”
He nods, sipping his wine. “If you’d like, I can send you Karl to drive you into the countryside so you can get some really good pictures. He knows the area well, and he can take you to some of the most beautiful places.”
“Oh, that isn’t necessary,” I say hurriedly. “Karl doesn’t have to do that.”
“It’s really no trouble.”
I’m sure it isn’t any trouble for him. I wonder if he’s thought about the extra work it would be for Karl. It’s quintessential Tomas—in one breath he’s charming and puts me at ease, in the next he shows absolutely no regard for the personal lives of his employees. And yet I have to admit I’m touched by his offer.
“I like to go on my own,” I say. “I’d feel like I wasn’t getting an authentic experience if I had someone chauffeuring me around while I took pictures.”
Lara has clearly been listening. I don’t know how much of the nuance of our conversation she’s understood, but now she pipes up.
“Daddy takes pictures.”
“I’ve seen them,” I say, smiling, although I’m not sure making reference to the day Tomas showed me his pictures is considered appropriate. “They’re very good.”
Lara jumps up from the table and runs out of the room.
I look at Tomas. “What did I do?”
“I’m sure she wants to show you her own pictures,” he says, chuckling and taking a sip of wine.
Sure enough, when Lara comes back, she’s clutching a tablet. She opens an app and holds it up to me, and I see a butterfly perched on a flower. She swipes to the left and shows me another picture of the same insect.
“That’s very good,” I tell her. “You must have learned from your father.”
She nods happily.
“She’s always excited to try new things,” Tomas says, beaming.
I can’t help it. The pride he has in his daughter is moving. I favor him with a smile, and he smiles back. Once again, I get the feeling that what’s passing between us is an inside joke that no one else would understand.
“Can I…” Lara hesitates, then turns to her father and speaks rapidly in German.
Tomas answers her briefly, then turns to me. “She’s asking if you might take her with you on one of your photography outings,” he says. “She’s really very excited about taking pictures.”
“She wants to be like you,” I tell him. I’ve seen enough of young children to understand that.
To my surprise, he looks delighted, as if I’ve told him something he wasn’t sure about. I wouldn’t have thought there was anything Tomas von Meyer would be unsure about. He continues to take me by surprise.
“Do you think it would be all right?” he asks. “Could she accompany you sometime? It would be good for her to get out of the house.”
He doesn’t call it a manor. I file that one away. Maybe it means nothing, but maybe it means he’s not as arrogant as I originally thought.
“It’s up to you,” I tell him. “I never take children out without the permission of a parent.”
He nods. “Of course. And you don’t know the city well. Maybe it would be best if I came along with you.” He turns to his daughter. “Would you like that? We could all go together.”
Lara bobs her head eagerly and answers in German. From her tone, I understand that Tomas’s proposal is very much to her liking. I’m not surprised. Of course an opportunity to spend more time with her father is one she would jump at.
“Will you have time, though?” I ask. “Can you ge
t away from work for something like that? I know you’re busy.”
“Oh, I can make time for my little girl,” he says. Then he looks up at me. “Is it all right? I don’t want to intrude on the time you two have together, especially if it’s going to interrupt her learning.”
“Yes,” I say. “I think it would be nice for her if you came along.” I don’t tell him what I’m thinking, which is that my stomach is starting to flutter at the prospect of a day out with him. It might be nice for more than just Lara to have Tomas out with us. It might be nice for me as well.
God, I really need to get my feelings under control.
We finish our dinner, and Anne comes in to clear the plates. By the time they’re gone, Lara is yawning widely, covering her mouth with both hands, clearly mindful of a behavioral guideline someone has given her.
“Time for bed,” Tomas announces.
“Oh, no!” Lara tries to look dismayed, but her face doesn’t hold the expression. She’s too tired. Her eyes are drifting closed. It’s adorable.
I shoot her father another covert smile, and he winks at me again. A moment later, Lara has her head down on the table and her breathing has become deep and even.
“Would you excuse me for a moment?” Tomas says. “I’d better get this little princess off to bed.”
“I should be heading home anyway,” I say, getting to my feet and pulling my phone out of my pocket to look at the time. It’s almost nine o’clock. I’m surprised I let myself stay this late. The food and the conversation were so good that I allowed myself to get swept away.
“No, no,” Tomas protests, waving a hand at me. “Sit down. Please. Stay. There’s no need for you to rush off. I have another bottle of wine I’ve been dying to share with someone. If you liked that last one, you’ll really like this.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“No, I insist. It’ll only take me a moment to put her to bed. Why don’t you head into the living room and make yourself comfortable, and I’ll join you there in a minute.”