Her hair, while tied back in a luxurious chignon, is dry and brittle. Her skin doesn’t have a healthy flush but a pale almost jaundiced shade to what should be creamy skin. I know, because with her coloring and the softly arched, almost feline exoticness of her espresso-brown eyes, the way she looks tells me immediately that she’s Zane’s sister. Her cheeks are gaunt and false rouge merely accentuates the grayness of her skin. Her collarbones and shoulders are exposed by the boat neckline of her scarlet red dress. Painfully sharp knee bones are neatly tucked together with one foot resting behind the other. Her high heels make her too-thin ankles look all the more slender.
The guy is wearing a camel-colored suit with a cream, open-necked shirt. He’s brawny, tall, and decent to look at. His hair is thinning on top, but he’s taking good care of it. He must have spent a good hour before the mirror trying to create that artless quiff. His eyes are slightly sunken, making the gray orbs seem all the darker as they’re set in shadow. A beaky nose, but a rather mobile mouth… I can tell he’s a charmer. Talk his way in to or out of anything with a too-ready smile. At this moment, he isn’t charming anyone. Whatever’s going on here doesn’t concern or interest him in any way.
I instantly dislike him. And her.
There’s an awkward silence passing between the four of them. The couple is seated on the sofa, and Jake and Zane are separated but residing in the armchairs. No one is really looking at each other. Even the charmer. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s looking at his reflection in his polished, brown leather loafers.
Just as I’m about to sneak away to clean up, because in the face of this couple’s elegance, I look like crap, the woman’s head jerks up, and she pins me with an imperious stare. One eyebrow lifts and she tilts her head to the side to study me and my clothes and to generally make me feel like a bug under a microscope.
My dislike of the woman increases.
“Would you make us some coffee, please? My brother seems to have lost his manners.” Her eyes flicker to Zane and she shakes her head. “It seems you’ve forgotten even the most basic of teachings if I have to instruct your staff.”
While a part of me recognizes that I was correct, this is Zane’s sibling, the other part is pissed off at her assumption that I’m a maid. My cheeks flush in offense and I suddenly feel very, very hot with annoyance. And not in a good way. I’m not unaware that Jake and Zane are staring at me, their glances trying to convey something but I’m not entirely sure what. That they haven’t rushed to alter the woman’s perception of my status in the household confuses and hurts me.
About to open my mouth to shoot her down, Jake clears his throat and says, “Mona, I’ll have tea, please.”
My mortification is complete. For a second, I hover in the doorway, my brows lowered in astonishment. His chin jerks up slightly, urging me into action and as pain, honest-to-God hurt, rips through my belly; I spin on my heel toward the kitchen.
Eyes stinging with tears, I make it to the central staircase that leads to my room, a few doors away from the kitchen. As soon as I grip the banister, I grimace at my foolishness. There’s no way in hell I’m perpetuating that lie.
“If you want coffee, you can make it your fucking selves.” My mumble makes me feel better, but the ache isn’t disappearing the further I distance myself from the foursome.
A part of me wonders what to do next. How dare they just treat me like the staff?
Is that all I’m good for?
All of a sudden, the weeks I’ve spent here taking care of the house seem to take on a mind of their own. I wanted to do it, wanted to look after and care for the place, but I didn’t hear an argument or complaint from the guys then.
They didn’t stop me.
What am I? A free housekeeping service? As well as on-call slut to service their other needs, too?
A knot of emotion that feels very much like heartache lodges itself in my throat. I can’t swallow and my nose feels bunged up. Only as the tracks rolls down my cheeks and a few tears drip on to my hand, do I realize that I’m crying.
Each step seems to take a lifetime and as I reach my bedroom, staring at it in dazed uncertainty; I just hover in the doorway. Do I pack my things together? Or what? Give them the benefit of the doubt?
But what doubt is there?
I’m not a maid. I live here, or have at least been staying here for nearly a month now.
So why have they treated me like that? Why did Jake silently urge me into compliance?
Swallowing hurts, as the knot in my throat seems to have reached gargantuan proportions and I have to clear it repeatedly to take the discomfort away. I feel almost pitiful as I stagger into the room and sink down on to the soft mattress. Staring a little blindly at my feet, I jump when I hear Jake’s voice in the doorway.
“Mona.”
My eyes flicker sideward to look at him, but as far as he can see, I’m staring resolutely ahead.
The heels of his shoes clip against the bare, waxed floorboards and I stiffen as he nears me. His arm lifts to curl about my shoulder as he leans over but I shrug it off and dart away from him.
“How could you do that, Jake? How could you let her think I work here?”
My whisper is filled with every ounce of pain I feel. It’s harsh, low and utterly unlike my regular voice. From the corner of my eye, I see him flinch but he doesn’t say anything, merely sits down and keeps a fair distance away from me.
After a good two minutes of staring ahead, he sighs. “Mona, I always assumed you knew Zane’s past, but maybe you don’t.”
“I know his family disowned him when he married you. He told me that only his great-grandmother speaks to him now.” The idea that his sister is here, bridging that distance has my brow puckering. Logic dictates that something’s happened, and that something is why she’s here for Zane. It doesn’t bode well.
“Yes. He hasn’t spoken to any of them for years. Well, that isn’t distinctly true. He’d love to talk to them, but they just don’t acknowledge him. He’s the black sheep, because of his sexuality. As well as the fact that, in their eyes, he humiliated them.
“When he met me, Zane was set to become engaged to the daughter of one of his mother’s best friends. They already viewed his writing as peculiar but they dismissed it out of hand as a hobby, especially when he had some success with it. His early works were crime dramas, not a whiff of homosexuality on any page. And then, he was researching a case and met me and, according to his family, Zane ruined his life from there on out.”
“Why are you telling me this? I already know most of it.”
The hands resting on his lap suddenly grow white with strain as he tenses them into tight fists. “They can’t accept me, Mona. They won’t and already Zane’s been made to pay a thousand fold for daring to love the wrong person. What do you think they’d do if they found out he was loving two wrong people.”
Even though I can understand where he’s coming from, I can only do so to a point. “Did you have to make me a maid? Couldn’t I have been a guest? For Christ’s sake, I could have been anyone, but you had to choose a menial role.”
“Technically, Caroline, Zane’s sister, did that.”
“That’s no excuse, Jake. You could have corrected her. How do you think it makes me feel that I’m only good enough to be in this house, in the eyes of the world, if I’m the help?” My hurt has transmogrified into self-righteous anger and I jump up off the mattress and start to pace, my inner agitation only powered by the sheer rightness of last night and how I’d felt as though we were finally merging together into a unit.
Even knowing that we’ll have to lead our lives with a certain amount of discretion, that we’ll never be acknowledged for the family we are, this doesn’t excuse it.
Being titled as the staff makes me feel inferior and a part of me already feels that way. I’m in the house of two men, who separately are millionaires and who together are worth a small fortune. And I’m only good enough to be seen in their vicinity if I
’m the maid.
The fucking maid.
I can’t help it. My eyes start to sting again and to stop the tears from rolling; I press my fists to the sockets and push down. The pressure hurts, but in a good way. It’s either that or debase myself by sobbing.
Jake jumps up and even though my eyes are covered, I know he’s heading my way. Feeling pathetic, because I should push him away, I let him wrap me up in his arms. His presence doesn’t soothe like it would have done an hour ago. Instead, it makes me feel more wretched.
“I’m sorry, Mona. I—I didn’t think. I just leapt on the excuse, because his family can’t know what you are to us. They’re here with an olive branch, honey. Not for me, but for Zane. His father’s had a heart attack and while he’s better and out of hospital, I think he’s realizing what he’s lost by not having his son as a part of his life. It’s why he has sent Caroline and her husband, Stefan, along. We can’t jeopardize that, Mona.” He tightens his clasp as I try to push away from him, my head jerking from side to side in rejection.
His voice turns low as he says, “If Zane visits, I won’t be allowed to go, Mona. How do you think that makes me feel? Shitty. As shitty as you’re feeling right this minute. This situation is one big pile of crap, but bigots that they are, Zane loves his family and it’s killed him to be cut off from them the way he has been. If I can do anything, anything to help him return to the fold, then I’ll do it. Even if it means staying in Maine like a good little boy, so they can forget their golden child is married to a man.”
Feeling selfish for only just realizing that my pain is not unique, that Jake shares it, I release the grip I had on my elbows and burrow my face into his chest, slowly letting my arms come up to embrace him in return. My breathing is still shallow in reaction to the tears that had been ravaging my system but I feel calmer. My rational side, while still stung, can accept the veracity of Jake’s words.
Zane has been punished by his family for daring to be something that is outside of the mold they created for him. How can I add to his burden by revealing who I am to them?
Sucking in a shaky breath, I whisper, “In the future, let’s have a nicer lie ready to tell people, okay? Like I’m a friend? Or a guest? Anything but the goddamn maid.”
Jake’s head rests against my temple and as he nods, the stubble on his jaw scratches the delicate skin. A part of me is still pissed off, still hurt, regardless of Jake’s justification. I know it makes sense, logic dictates that, but the soft, inner core of me, the part that reacts to emotional stimuli, just can’t stop quivering.
“I’d best put the coffee on.”
My shaky statement has Jake bussing me on the temple. “I already set it, before I came up. I wasn’t sure if you’d be willing to go along with the charade or not.”
Uncertain as to whether that’s a good or a bad thing; I merely pull out of his arms and turn on my heel without waiting for him. He follows a few steps behind and together, we descend the stairs. Before I can retreat to the kitchen, he grabs my hand and presses a kiss to my fingers. “You can tell me how your first day at work went later, okay?”
A wobbly smile graces my mouth in answer to the warm one beaming my way, but I don’t answer, just pull away and enter the kitchen. The room that caused me so much pleasure is now tainted. Silly, perhaps, but I’m still in shock and hopefully with time, that feeling will go away.
We must have been upstairs for quite a while, because the dripping of liquid into the coffee pot came to a halt the instant I stepped into the doorway. Taking a firm hold of my discontent, I move to the cupboard where I know there’s a tray. I get out the paraphernalia stored in a little used cupboard, which the guys bought for just such an occasion. A porcelain coffee pot, sugar bowl, cream jug as well as teacups and saucers. Patterned with little flowers around the gilded rim, they’re pretty but definitely for best.
Hell, the guys have chipped and battered mugs for their regular cups.
They definitely don’t stand on ceremony.
My movements are wooden, leaden as I maneuver around the kitchen to set up the tray. My limbs feel heavy, something that only worsens when I heft the tray into my arms. It’s surprisingly weighty and as I trudge down the hall to Zane’s lounge, I can’t help but think that dropping it and having scalding hot coffee over me would be a great way to end a shitty afternoon.
Once again, the sitting room is quiet but something must have been said because the atmosphere has shot up to a barely veiled hostility. Zane’s sister, Caroline from what Jake said, is now scowling. The toe of her red-soled heel is tapping against the floor in irritation, and the annoying tapping sound oscillates around the room.
As I set down the tray, I make to leave and then wonder if I’m supposed to ‘play mom’. Hovering, I bite the bullet and prepare Zane and Jake’s coffee first. Not strictly polite, but I don’t feel very polite. Adding the sugar to Jake’s and the cream to Zane’s, I hand them their cups and look at their guests. Caroline’s eyes are flashing as they rake over me. At first I think it’s because of my impolite gesture in serving the guys first, but to my questioning look, she answers, “Black for me. And Stefan has cream and two sugars.”
Handing them their cups when the coffee is to their taste, I’m on the brink of stepping away when Caroline’s almost-horsy voice whinnies across the room. “You’re that woman in the papers, aren’t you? The surrogate?”
That one word is induced with utter loathing. Clearing my face of all expression, I say nothing until her eyes shift to Jake and Zane. The dislike in those dark brown eyes is palpable, when she glances at Jake. Her top lip has puckered into a scowl and her bony hands, having just dumped the expensive porcelain on to the table, are clenched together. When they clash with Zane’s, she leans forward and hisses, “You do realize that’s what put daddy in the hospital in the first place. Just think what it will do to him when he realizes you’re trying to get the maid pregnant.”
She barks out a laugh, and after getting to her feet, wanders over to the window, obviously content that the attention is all on her, as she looks out toward the yard. Her chin tilted upwards in self-righteous indignation, as though she can’t stand to look at Zane for a moment longer.
But if she could see the men’s faces, she wouldn’t be so content.
Stefan looks bored, his eyes are once again focused on his shoes. Jake seems to be more weary than anything else, as though he’s playing the charade but is as uncomfortable with it as I am. And Zane is looking… the only way I can describe it is stony.
But then, I guess that makes sense. His bitch of a sister has practically accused him of instigating his father’s heart attack.
Even though I still feel hurt, now, I’m hurting for Zane. What kind of… cow would suggest such a thing? Offload such guilt on to her brother like that?
Jake’s voice is calm, rational, as he says, “I’m sure that’s not true, Caroline. As far as I’m aware, your father has had heart issues ever since that explosion in Vietnam—it’s been well documented in the press. In fact, wasn’t it one of the major reasons he won the Medal of Honor? Having a piece of shrapnel lodged into it can’t have done it much good. So it’s hardly fair to place the blame on Zane’s shoulders.”
She huffs at that, not turning to face Jake, almost as though he doesn’t exist. As though his words don’t matter.
That’s two blows the guys have taken from this little bitch.
I’ve never seen Zane so quiet. I want him to defend himself, want him to say something, but he doesn’t. His gaze is fixed on Caroline’s skinny spine, the nodules of her vertebrae are clearly visible through the fine wool of her dress.
At first, I’d thought his reaction to her words to be offense. But now, I can see from the bleakness etched into his face he’s devastated. His lower lip keeps tensing and flattening out and it wouldn’t surprise me, if he was on the brink of tears.
Furious that this woman can come into my home—Yes, my home—and fling these accusations about
, I bite out, “From what I’ve heard, your family is one big mass of joyless conservatives. The inference that your father reads the gutter press is obviously your feeble attempt to make Zane feel guilty. Well, it won’t work.”
Swiveling away from Caroline who gasps at my words, almost as though maids should be seen and not heard, and failing that, incapable of uttering words with more than one syllable, I stare at Zane, willing him to look at me and not his Gorgon of a sister. Christ, Medusa has nothing on this bitch. Yet with a few lies, Zane has seemingly turned to stone.
Silently pleading with him to look at me, I can feel the sting of yet more tears as he finally does, his gaze clinging to mine as though I’m the only one capable of sending him a life vest in the stormy seas of his turbulent relationship with his family.
Gently, I murmur, “Zane, this isn’t your fault. If they didn’t care enough about you to accept you for who you are, then why should what you do now affect them?”
Caroline hisses, “Because his name is still Matthews. And even though he’s dropped it, everyone knows he’s a Jefferson-Matthews. His behavior affects the entirely family’s reputation.”
“Some reputation. What is this, the eighteenth century?” I spit. “You disown a man from your family, a good man, a man who fought for his country, simply because the partner he chose didn’t fit the bill.” Sniffing, I stare pointedly at Stefan. “Well, if this daughter of your mother’s best friend is as great a catch as yours, then no wonder he turned gay.”
I ignore Caroline’s gasp and Stefan’s lackluster, ‘Now, look here.’ since he can’t even look away from the reflection in his shoes long enough to take proper offense.
I continue with, “You can’t just erase someone out of your family because he doesn’t fit the mold. I’ll bet people think worse of you and your lot than they do Zane. Especially if they knew all of the details. The way your bigoted and prejudiced family has acted is far worse in the eyes of society than Zane coming out.
Sinfully Theirs: Naughty Nookie Part I Page 30