It’s almost eight. I told Anya I’d say goodnight.
I walk down the hall, and the house swallows my footsteps. There isn’t much in the world that makes me nervous. But choosing the right governess just might be the closest I ever get.
When it comes to my daughter, there can be no mistakes.
I won’t allow another woman to disappoint her.
And I’ll swear that on my life.
5
ELLIE
They send a black car to pick me up.
Well,darkis a more apt description. Whatever ultra-expensive paint they used on the thing seems to literally absorb light. I swear the afternoon light darkens as it pulls up to my building at two o’clock sharp.
I’m standing on the sidewalk with my purse pressed against my hip and my hair down, covering my neck.
The driver steps out. Dark suit. Earpiece.
He approaches to open the door, and I have to crane my neck to take him in. He has dark, intense eyes and a small, faded scar across his face. He’s well built, not too broad, but definitely muscular under the suit.
Despite the stoic — and hell, maybe even a little scary — energy coming off him, he’s not bad looking at all.
In fact, if I weren’t so nervous, I’d say he’s incredibly handsome.
I brush the thought away. There’s no room for that today.
“Thank you,” I whisper as he holds the door open for me.
I must have been too quiet, because I don’t get a word in response. Not even a polite smile.
“Hi!” I try again, nerves rising. “I’m Ellie. Ellie Calloway. I have an interview at the Belov?—”
“I know.” He gestures toward the open door. His face is professionally blank. The earpiece catches the light.
“Oh, okay. Uh, thank you.”
My cheeks threaten to flush with embarrassment, so I tilt my head down and get in.
The interior smells like leather. It’s not unpleasant, but clinical. The seats are cold despite the heating, and there’s a tinted glass partition between the driver and me. For a moment I have the disorienting sensation of being sealed inside a petri dish.
“Deep breaths, Ellie,” I mutter, gripping my purse tighter.
We pull away from the curb, and I watch my building shrink in the rear window. My stomach shrinks with it.
The drive takes just over thirty minutes. I’m a bundle of nerves the entire time, but it helps to take in the world outside the window. The neighborhoods change like chapters in a book. Dense and loud, then commercial, then residential, then green.
Trees appear, tall and evenly spaced. I imagine them as soldiers standing at attention along a road that gets progressively more private.
And then comes the gate.
It appears through the trees, and I sit up straighter. I expected wrought iron, maybe, or a stone wall with a buzzer that indicatedprivate property.
Instead, I get a gate that screams,Turn Around.
It’s pure steel. Tall, ten feet, maybe twelve, and flanked by stone pillars with cameras mounted on top, angled to cover every approach.
