Three flights of stairs in shoes that pinch my toes. Fantastic.
I push through the building's front door—the lock has been busted for weeks, another thing the super ignores—and start climbing. The difference between this building and the Sartori mansion is obvious of course.
Don't think about the marble floors. Don't think about the chandeliers. Don't think about?—
Nico's face. The way he stood there in the kitchen doorway, watching me make a complete fool of myself.
I grip the railing tighter and take the stairs faster.
After he caught me singing, I didn't speak to anyone for the rest of my shift. Not really. Yes, ma'am. No, ma'am. Of course, I'll handle that. I made myself small, quiet, invisible. A ghost drifting through rooms.
I'm good at being invisible. Years with Jack taught me that skill.
You were singing. Dancing. With a feather duster.
My face burns even now, hours later. The memory plays on loop like some kind of personal torture device.
He didn't say a word. Just... looked at me. Then he walked away.
He was angry. He has to be angry.
I reach the third floor landing, slightly winded. My legs ache. Tomorrow, they'll ache worse. And the day after that. Two months of this. Sixty-ish days of climbing stairs and avoiding eye contact with Nico Sartori.
I can do this. I've survived worse.
Have you, though?
My key sticks in the lock and I have to jiggle it three times before the door swings open.
"MOMMY!"
Lily launches herself at my legs before I'm fully inside. I drop my bag and scoop her up, burying my nose in her hair. She smells like strawberry shampoo and the grape juice my mother always lets her have too much of.
"Hey, baby girl." I squeeze her tight, letting some of the day's tension drain away. "Were you good for Grandma?"
"I was the goodest." Lily pulls back to look at me. "We watched cartoons and I only spilled juice one time and it was a small spill, Mommy, really small."
"One time is pretty good."
Lily tugs at my hand, pulling me toward the kitchen. "What's in the bag? Is it food? It smells yummy."
The bag. Right.
I'd almost forgotten about the container Giulia pressed into my hands before I left. She'd caught me at the door, her weathered face set in that expression that doesn't accept arguments.
"You take food home every day," she'd said, pushing a heavy container into my arms. "We cook for many people. There's always extra. For you and the little one."
I'd tried to refuse. Jack hated when I accepted anything from anyone. Said it made us look weak, made him look like he couldn't provide.
"Every day," Giulia repeated. "You hear me? Every day."
So here I am, unpacking enough lasagna to feed us for two days, plus garlic bread and some kind of chocolate dessert that makes Lily's eyes go wide.
"Is that cake?"
"I think so." I peer at it. Definitely cake. Fancy cake. The kind with layers and what looks like real chocolate shavings on top. "We can have some after dinner."
"Dinner and cake?" Lily clasps her hands together like I've just promised her a pony. "This is the best day ever!"
