He didn’t like beingmanaged.
But then, right after, hewasmore forgiving when I pushed him about taking a walk. I’ll drop the work persona, since he hates it, but I’m still socuriousabout him. Kneeling there for him during lunch was humiliating in the very best way, and made me rethink a lot of my own prejudices about service that I dragged in here along with my suitcase.
What would he be like in bed? He’s so formal,icyeven, but the way helooksat me sometimes…
There’s molten lava there just under the surface, waiting to explode out of him, I’d bet my butt.
And if he wants to explodeintomy butt, I definitely won’t object.
“Why are you here, my lord? In Los Angeles, I mean?” I ask.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “No personal questions, Oliver.”
Damn it. Thatwasone of the rules in the handbook.No personal questions should be asked of staff or guests. “Right. Guess I’ll mark that one up as an infraction when we get back. But since I’ve asked, whenwereyou here last?”
Okay, I’m pushing him again. Seeing how far these rules can bend before breaking. The no-personal-questions rule can bend pretty far, it seems, because he replies, “I pay a visit every year. For the masquerade. Though this year, I also have some business in Hollywood with my entertainment agent.”
“And do you come into the maze every time?Itotally would. Daniel was talking this morning about how they’ll start decorating the maze soon for Halloween, plus everywhere else around the grounds. This whole place is amazing.”
“Zee and Nik have made it a wondrous escape, that much is true.” He sounds almost wistful.
Before I can push that no-personal-Qs rule a little further, we suddenly step into a clearing. “Omigod,” I gasp. “We found it! The middle!”
Before me is a marble statue of a twink and a gigantic eagle with one wing spread as though embracing him. The twink has a bowl and a jug, and is holding the bowl up to the eagle’s sharp beak.
“Wait—Ezra told me the statue at the middle of the maze was lying down.” I turn to Lord Arden in confusion.
“That’s correct, yes. The statue in the center of the maze is Eros reclining. But this is not the middle of the maze.”
“Is this by a famous artist?” I ask, walking around to take the sculpture in from all angles.
“It’s a replica of an eighteenth-century piece by the French sculptor Pierre Julien. This is Zeus, King of Olympus, in the form of an eagle, and his cupbearer, Ganymede.”
“Cupbearer? So…kind of like…us?”
When I glance over at Lord Arden’s face, I can see I’ve said the wrong thing.
Instead of answering my question, he says, “I’ve been too long away from my work. I must…we must return at once.”
Yep, I’ve definitely said the wrong thing. “I’m sorry,” I try, but he’s already disappeared out of the clearing. I have to hurry to catch up with him, and we make our way out of the maze and back up to the house in silence.
No hand-holdingthistime.
“I won’t need you this afternoon,” he says abruptly, when I begin to follow him back to his room once we’ve reached the house.
I stand there watching him dash up the stairs like he can’t wait to get away from me.
What the hell iswrongwith him?
* * *
This morning, after I cajoled Daniel into taking Lord Arden’s breakfast up to him, I helped some of the cleaning staff with the dusting, vacuuming and tidying. So far, during my brief time in service, I’ve discovered I really hate dusting.
Now that I’ve been dismissed for the afternoon, I spend it in the kitchen helping out with meal prep, and it’s a little more fun than cleaning, although I have to consciously not think about upending wine all over Haughty Hottie last night at dinner. I could, according to the terms of my contract, laze around in my bedroom, but since I have no phone and no internet and no TV there, I figure I might as well make myself useful. I don’t try to help with the cooking, but I can at least wash the boards and knives Chef Henriette uses in dinner prep, and then I learn more than I ever wanted to know about boot-blacking from Amelie, who takes an hour over one pair of Zee’s stiletto boots.
At the end of that hour I have a whole new appreciation for boot-blacking as a kink, and a deep-seated certainty that it’s notmykink. Still, since Haughty Hottie threatened it—or maybe joked about it? I can’t tell yet when he’s kidding around, orifhe kids around—at least I know exactly how to do it, now, if and when he asks for his shoes to be cleaned.
I clean up and change into a fresh uniform—boot-blacking is messy work—and come back into the kitchen to wait for serving orders. “I swear I won’t drop anything, spill anything, or accidentally assault anyone tonight,” I promise Daniel, who chuckles, along with everyone else in earshot.
