He smirks. “All in good time.” A wince replaces his cocky smile as he gets to his feet. “I’ll have my breakfast at five. Grapefruit, orange juice, coffee, and omelette with chili. Make sure it’s ready.”
Adjusting his pants over a hard-on impossible to miss, he limps from the room. I wait a good five minutes after the clack of his heels on the kitchen tiles has disappeared before I shut the door, leaning against it with wobbly legs. My shoulders shake with more unwelcome sobs, but I can’t stop them. It takes me a few minutes to find my control. I want to have another shower to wash away the remnants of Gabriel’s touch, but a glimpse at my phone tells me it’s past midnight. I have to wake in four hours, so I slip into bed and give myself over to the escape of a shallow and fitful sleep.
* * *
It’s torture when my alarm goes off at four. Oscar is stretched out on the foot of the bed, purring like an engine. He must’ve jumped through the window during the night. I can only spare him a quick cuddle, or I’ll be late. I put last night out of my mind, making a conscious decision to not dwell on the shameful memory. Torturing myself with the details won’t change anything. I’ll only make it harder on myself.
After a shower, I dress in the morbid, black dress and tie my hair into a ponytail. Knowing I’ll be on my feet all day, I slip on my trainers. Half an hour later, I’m in the kitchen, chopping chili for Gabriel’s omelette while the coffee percolates. Cooking comes easy for me. I’ve fed Charlie and myself since I was fourteen. I miss my brother so much. We’ve never been apart. It feels as if my anchor has been dislodged, and I’m floating aimlessly in a dark and treacherous sea.
My back is turned to the door, but I know the minute Gabriel walks into the kitchen. I first feel and then smell him. Heat creeps up my spine, making me break out in a cold sweat. The air becomes thick like smoke hard to breathe. My body registers his scent from where I’ve categorized it in my brain, connecting the dots to the sensual experience from last night, an experience I’d rather forget, but I can’t help the powerful association. The clean, spicy fragrance of his skin triggers an unwanted reaction in my belly, contracting my womb with a fluttering echo of my first orgasm. My cheeks flame at the thought. I hope he’ll think it’s from the hot stove plate.
“Good morning, Valentina.”
That voice again. Now that I’m less frightened, it leaves a complex mixture of sensory impressions on me––dark, smooth, bittersweet, and deep. Like burnt sugar. I glance over my shoulder. He’s dressed in a dark suit with a white shirt and red tie. His hair is damp and his beard trimmed.
I fold his omelette, doing my best not to let my nerves show. “Good morning.”
He comes to stand next to me, so close that our hips almost touch, and reaches for two mugs in the cupboard above. As he pours the coffee with a steady hand, mine holding the spatula starts shaking.
“Sleep well?” He pushes one of the mugs toward me, angling the scarred side of his face away.
Of course not. “Yes, thank you.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Later.”
“We can share the omelette.”
“I can’t eat this early.”
I’d rather die of hunger than share his omelette. It’s an illogical thought, since he gives me the allowance that pays for my food, but I have to hold on to whatever pride I can salvage.
“The doctor emailed your blood test results. You’re clean.”
Our eyes lock when I involuntarily jerk my head in his direction. We both know what this means. As soon as the birth control takes, he’ll fuck me. Unless he uses a condom to do it sooner. Before he can say anything else, I serve his omelette on the plate I heated in the warmer drawer and carry it to the dining room. Then I disappear to start my duties for the day, trying not to think about what he said in the kitchen or that I’d become a maid with benefits. A whore.
* * *
I quickly get a handle on the house routine. Carly gets up at six and leaves the house at seven without breakfast. Marie comes in at eight, places the grocery orders for the day, and starts preparing lunch. I give her my habitual shopping list. My staple diet consists of instant noodles and apples. Apples are cheap, filling, and nutritious. The noodles give me a boost of energy when my blood sugar levels drop too low. I need the bulk of the money I save for Charlie and my studies.
As I make the bed in Gabriel’s room, I try not to gawk at his private space, but my curiosity outweighs my manners. Like him, the room is overly masculine. Heavy, silver-gray curtains drape the windows, and his furniture is bulky, modern, and square. The bed is bigger and longer than a king size. The monogramed initials on the sheets indicate they’re custom made. The fabric is soft between my fingers. A glance at the label tells me it’s a high-thread Egyptian cotton. There are many black and white photos of landscapes and buildings on the wall. The pictures are of foreign places and cities, maybe places he’s visited.
A walk-in closet connects his bedroom to his private bathroom. The closet is bigger than my room with suits organized by color and shelves for shoes and ties. Gabriel is painstakingly neat. There are no dirty clothes or towels on the floor. Whatever toiletries he uses are stored in the cupboards. Nothing stands on the shelves, not even a toothbrush. His bathroom tiles are black and white with a gray border running above the twin basins. The taps and fittings are brass, and it’s a bitch to polish them to a shine. I scrub until my nails are chipped, but that’s the easy part. The not-so-easy part is trying not to feel the shame of my reaction to him as, even in his physical absence, his lingering presence taunts and torments me, forcing me to remember.
Oscar follows me around, keeping me company. By the time the morning deliveries arrive, I’m shaky with hunger. After wolfing down a bowl of noodles and an apple for breakfast, I feel better. Walking into my room for a quick bathroom break, my gaze falls on a box on the edge of the basin. I pick it up to read the label. Birth control pills. My face is ablaze with heat, even as my stomach turns to ice. I’ve never used birth control. Never needed it. With a shaky hand, I take out the leaflet and read the instructions. It feels like I’m crossing the last line by accepting the pills, but falling pregnant will be a disaster, and as crazy as it sounds to appreciate any gesture from my captor, I’m thankful to Gabriel for his consideration in this regard.
* * *
I’m hanging out the laundry when a whistle catches my attention. The driver from yesterday enters through the courtyard door.
“Morning.” He offers me an uncertain smile, eyeing my uniform. “How are you?”
I don’t know what to make of his greeting, so I simply say, “Fine, thank you.”
“I’m Quincy.”
I tug a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Hi.”
When I resume hanging the washing, he cuts the small talk. “I came to warn you not to come outside before clearing it with the guard house.”
“The guard house?”
“We live in a staff house at the back of the estate. There’s a phone in the kitchen. If you dial the button marked guard house, one of us will pick up.”
“Oh.”
“Next time, if the door is open,” he motions at the garden access, “call before you come outside.”
“Why?”
“Gabriel keeps a guard dog. He patrols the garden, and we’ve had an accident before.”
“Okay.”
“Well then, have a nice day.” He must realize what a stupid thing that is to say, because his cheekbones turn a shade darker. “See you later.” With an awkward salute, he hurries away.
Picking up the empty basket, I notice Marie in front of the kitchen window, watching me.
* * *
Sometime during the day, Gabriel and Magda must’ve left, because they’re gone when Carly comes home at five. Judging by her casual clothes and the late hour of her return, she attends a private school. Public schools require uniforms and are out before lunchtime. Marie has already left when Carly finds me ironing in the scul
lery.
“Valentina, right?” She leans on the wall and bites into a peach.
“That’s right.”
“My dad didn’t say he was hiring a maid.” She regards me from under her lashes. “Can you bake?”
“Yes.”
“Will you bake me a cake for dessert? Marie made flan. I hate flan.”
I crane my neck to check the time on the wall clock in the kitchen. I need to finish earlier tonight so I can do my homework, but I can fit something in if it’s not too complicated.
“What do you like?”
She swings the fruit by the stalk. “Anything with coconut.”
I know a simple recipe for honey and coconut cake that doesn’t take long. The ingredients are common enough. The chances are good I’ll find everything I need in the pantry. I switch off the iron. “All right.”
When the base cake comes out of the oven, I pour the melted butter, honey, and shredded coconut over the top, and caramelize it to a crispy brown under the grill. Carly leans on the kitchen counter as I remove the cake, her blonde hair hanging in a braid down her back. She’s a stunning girl. She doesn’t take after her father. Her mom must be gorgeous.
Carly sniffs appreciatively. “That smells good. I’ll have a slice now.”
She’s not a child, but I say what I’d say to Charlie. “You’ll spoil your appetite for dinner.”
“Come on, Valentina.” She pouts. “My mom never lets me have sweets. It’s bad for my figure.” She motions at her body on which there isn’t an ounce of fat. “Daddy will be home any minute now, and I don’t want him to know I’m snacking before meals. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“You’re a big girl.” I push the cake toward her. “Don’t say it’s my fault if you’re not hungry for proper food later.”
“Oh,” she winks, “I won’t.” She cuts a generous slice and bites into the warm cake, humming her approval. “Oh, my God, this is so good.”
“I’m glad you like it.” I return to my work, happy that I pleased her. Instinct tells me getting on with Carly won’t be smooth sailing.
Twenty minutes later, I’m folding the last of the ironed shirts when Gabriel’s thunderous voice bursts through the house.
“Valentina!”
Oscar scoots off the top of the tumble dryer where he’s been sleeping and escapes to my room. I jump, burning my arm on the still-hot iron. A second later, Gabriel storms into the kitchen, almost knocking me off my feet as I exit through the scullery door.
He grabs my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh. His face is pale, making the red scars stand out more. “There’s a first aid kit in the pantry. Top shelf on the left. Get it and bring it to the television room.”
4
Valentina
I jump to execute the command, running through every lounge on the ground floor with a big screen in it until I find Gabriel on his knees in front of the couch in what must be the television room. Carly is lying on the couch, panting through an open mouth. Her skin is blotchy and puffy, and the glands in her neck are swollen. The sight shocks me to a standstill, but Gabriel’s calm, strong voice commands me.
“Give me the epinephrine auto-injector. It’s a yellow and white box.” He loosens his tie and pushes a cushion under Carly’s head.
I find the box and hand it to him with shaky fingers. Contrary to my trembling hands, his are steady as he opens the box and retrieves the injector. He removes the gray cap and pushes the red tip against Carly’s thigh, then counts out loud to ten. When he’s done, he checks that the needle has extended and caps it with the protective cover. I’m a vet student, not a doctor, but I know what epinephrine is for, and I know a severe allergic reaction when I see one.
There’s underlying panic in Gabriel’s steady voice. “The ambulance is on its way, honey.”
“Allergy?” I force from a tight throat.
The only answer I get is his cold, frightening glare. I want to ask what she’s allergic to, but the ringtone of a phone cuts me short. A mobile vibrates on the coffee table. Gabriel holds out his palm in silent instruction, his eyes back on his daughter.
When I place the phone in his hand, he glances at the screen, and answers in a flat tone. “The ambulance is on its way.” His expression turns hard as he listens to a reply. “Yes, I take full responsibility if anything happens to her, and no, now’s not the time to threaten me with sole custody. Come over if you want to see for yourself how she is or wait for us at the hospital, but stop calling every two minutes. It’s not going to change a damn thing.” He cuts the call and dumps the phone on the couch.
Before I can get my bearings, the doorbell rings. I run to get it, but the door opens to reveal one of the men from yesterday, the one who shot Puff. He leads two paramedics pushing a stretcher inside. A private ambulance is parked in the circular driveway.
“Where?” one of the men asks tersely.
“Follow me.”
I lead them to the television room. The medics go inside and shut the door on me. Puff’s killer gives me a hard look before he exits the house. While I’m pacing the corridor, a model-pretty woman rounds the corner and stalks my way. Her blonde hair is twisted into a French roll. A white two-piece suit clings to her body, defining her curves. There’s a striking resemblance between her and Carly.
“Where are they?” she asks with regal calmness.
I indicate the door. “Through here.”
She opens and slams the door, causing it to shake in the frame. Through the door, I hear the heated tones of an argument, but I can’t make out the words. Carly’s mom must live close by to be able to get here so fast.
Not sure if I should wait or leave, I decide to stick around in case they need me. Why didn’t Carly call for me? Maybe she did, and I didn’t hear. It can’t be the cake. Carly would’ve told me if she’s allergic to eggs or honey. It can be a bee sting. The sliding doors to the pool deck are open.
Seconds later, the paramedics exit, pushing Carly on the stretcher. Gabriel and the blonde woman walk next to the stretcher, Gabriel’s face tense.
At the front door, the paramedics stop.
“Only one of you can accompany us in the ambulance,” the older man says.
“You go.” Gabriel drags a hand through his hair. “I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
When Gabriel’s guard helps the men to lift the stretcher down the stairs, the woman I presume to be Carly’s mom turns to Gabriel. “I expect you to deal with this.”
“I will,” he says tightly.
She looks down her nose at me before clacking a path down the stairs to the waiting ambulance. At the bottom, she throws her keys to Puff’s killer. “Rhett, bring my car to the hospital.”
Rhett glances at Gabriel, who gives a small nod. Carly’s mom gets into the back of the ambulance, and the door is pulled closed from the inside. As the vehicle pulls off with blaring sirens, Rhett gets into a Mercedes sports model and follows.
We are alone in the entrance now, Gabriel and I, and fury replaces the coldness in his eyes.
“You have a lot to explain.”
Panic speeds up my breathing. “What?”
“The cake.”
To say I’m shivering in my shoes is an understatement. “Oh, no, Gabriel.” This can’t be happening. “I’m so sorry.”
His eyes drill into mine. “Why did you do it?”
“I just wanted to make something nice for dessert.”
“Nice could’ve gotten her killed. Or did you know all along? How did you find out?”
“I swear I didn’t know. I still don’t know! Was it the honey? The eggs?”
“Carly is allergic to coconut.”
“What?” My mind is reeling. “She specifically asked for it.”
He looks at me with an expression that stops my heart before sending it into overdrive, the beat pounding in my ears.
“If you’re lying, you’ll pay dearly.” He grabs my arm with such a strong grip it hurts to the bone. “You don�
��t want to know what I do with people who threaten my family, let alone try to kill them.” He shakes me hard. “Next time, stick to what’s expected of you and leave the menu planning to Marie.” He shoves me away and takes his phone from his pocket.
I’m hugging myself while he barks out a command into the phone.
There’s a dark threat in his words. “Stay with Valentina until I return.” After putting away his phone, he hisses, “Be very glad she’s not dead and be even gladder Magda is at a dinner party tonight.”
A guard comes jogging up the path, an automatic rifle in his hands.
When he reaches the porch, Gabriel says, “Don’t let her out, and if Magda returns, don’t let her near Valentina.”
The guard nods, taking up a position by the door.
I try to calm my breathing as I meet Gabriel’s livid stare. He has all the reason in the world to be angry, and the fact that he doesn’t hit me makes me fear him more. It means he has control, and men with control are the most dangerous.
“Go inside.” The words sound like an ice lake cracking. “Don’t even think about running. The windows and doors are protected with an alarm.”
I bite my cheek to still my chattering teeth and do as I’ve been told. I’m scarcely inside when I hear the tires of a car shooting up gravel. Through the lounge window, I see a Jaguar convertible clear the gates.
I’m shaking all over when I get to my room. Oscar is my consolation, offering me affection as I sink down on the bed and sit in the dark until my breathing is more normal. As the minutes roll into hours, I try to calm my mind by studying, but I can’t concentrate on what I read. One hour becomes two, then three, four, and five. I don’t have the courage to shower or change. All I can do is wait for Gabriel and Carly’s return. Not able to stand the tension any longer, I take up a post in front of the window in the dining room that overlooks the street-side of the property.
Dubious Page 6