I remain in the boy’s room for about half an hour before going downstairs. After I finally summon the courage to exit, I duck right back into Leo’s bedroom because I catch sight of Val’s robe fluttering over the top of the stairs. I hear the family chatting in the kitchen.
The way to the guest house at the back of the property is through the mud room in the kitchen, and there’s no way I’m going to disrupt the family reunion. I want Leo to eat ice cream out of the container the way he tried so hard to stay awake for.
This means I must wait.
I sit back down in the chair, leaving the bedroom door open so I can hear when they leave the kitchen area.
* * *
I openmy eyes and gasp at the numbers on the white neon clock. It’s four minutes past midnight, and I fell asleep in the rocking chair. Shit. I get up and rub my eyes as I descend the steps, hearing voices coming from the direction of Alessio’s office, which is opposite the kitchen.
At the bottom of the step, I stare at the large, luxurious foyer, knowing I should take a right toward the kitchen and the mud room. Instead, I pause at the bottom of the steps and tip-toe toward the entrance, where I turn and face the office.
Leo sits on Alessio’s desk eating ice cream from a little green container while Alessio leans all the way back in his chair with his legs on the desk beside Leo, his feet crossed at the ankles. The unbuttoned, crisp white shirt reveals his tanned chest as he scoops ice cream from a beige container. They’re chatting quietly in French.
Leo leans toward Alessio even as he eats, and Alessio is turned toward the boy. Their seating arrangement as well as their body language tells me they’re comfortable with each other. It makes me wish I could take a picture.
But I can’t, because I no longer own a phone.
Even if I had one, I doubt I would violate their privacy in such a way, but nevertheless, the moment they share should be documented.
Alessio’s eyes snap up.
I freeze. I’m not breathing. If I could stop my heart from beating so loudly, I would.
It’s the middle of the night, and I doubt he can see my face from that distance. But I’m intruding on him. Spying on his private moment with his nephew. And I can’t leave because Alessio is pinning me with those striking blue eyes.
I’m afraid to move. I’m afraid that if I walk, my knees might buckle, and I’ll stumble and slide down onto the foyer floor like a newborn calf that hasn’t learned to walk yet.
Alessio licks his spoon. “Good night, Ms. Wilder.”
A dismissal if ever I heard one. Thank God.
EIGHT
WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?
Lake
007
Zero hours of sleep last night
Zero chance Alessio will let me stay when he finds out I put Kahlúa in my blueberry oatmeal at six o’clock this morning because I needed something other than marijuana to calm my nerves. A Kahlúa shooter isn’t much for most people, but my low tolerance for alcohol makes me all warm inside.
Or so I tell myself.
And I can tell that to myself because Alessio hasn’t come downstairs after waking up at dawn and working out for two hours.
I spied on him and cracked the secret of how he maintains his physique. I’ll take that to the sadist in case he wants to improve his body sometime.
Oh, and the seven from 007 is that it’s been seven days since the sadist made contact and told me I need to deliver something useful by tomorrow morning or else. It’ll have to be “else” unless I remain in the house and find something he considers useful. Which I have yet to find.
This is a typical wealthy household. Val shops and bakes. The staff works around the house. I teach Leo geography and history in English, and we write stories about space cruisers.
That’s it.
Since there’s no chance I’ll stay here after Alessio recognizes me this morning, the sadist will execute me tomorrow on the beach. Do you see why I put Kahlúa in my oatmeal?Do you?Wait, do I need more Kahlúa? I purse my lips, wondering how I’ll sneak into the liquor cabinet in the middle of the workday, when I hear a man’s shoes tap the marble.
