Page 18 of The Silent Princess

“Let’s go, Mads,” I sign to her. She follows Nate and me while our mom calls after us, “Drive safe.” We leave our family home, Maddie trotting after us and mimicking a horse running.

“Want me to go with you?” Nate signs, holding Maddie’s hand outside the front of the house, where freshly cut greenery frames the terracotta tiles, and our mother’s black sports car sits gleaming beneath the stars.

I sign back, “You’ve got better things to do. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Alright, but I’m here if you need me.”

“I know. I know. Alright.” I look down at Maddie, signing. “Bye, Mads. See you tomorrow, chipmunk.”

“You’re the chipmunk!” she signs back, sticking out her tongue.

Nate snaps aloud, “What did I say about doing that, Mads? That’s rude as hell. We don’t do that.” I wink at her, and she offers me a wide grin before rolling her eyes. We part ways, and for once, I carry the ghost of a smile on my face. My world needs more of this. Lightness. But I cannot find it. The skyscrapers are too high to let the light in.

Ignoring the lie I told everyone, I drive back to the Ashford Building, but I do not enter my office. Instead, I go to the thirty-third floor, the IT department, and Rhys Calder’s office, my IT director. His office is large and airy, smaller than mine, but sufficient. I slide my pass through the reader, the only one granting me access to every computer in the building, and open the surveillance software.

Floor: 32nd

Cameras: CEO Office

Select: 4

The thirty-second-floor cameras are never used, but I had them installed in case of a hostage situation, which, statistically speaking, is not impossible. I would hate myself for being unable to help the authorities because of such a careless, easily avoidable weakness in our security infrastructure. I have never used them to surveil my associates. Not once. But tonight, four rectangles appear before me, each showing my office from a different perspective, empty and dimly lit, waiting for her. And so I wait. I wait through the dark hours of the night, hoping to see her, hoping for a glimpse of sweetness in my broken world.

Ella.

Let me look at you one last time.

Ella

“You forgot the syrup,” Valeria sneers, throwing the bowl of popcorn at my chest. Half of it falls onto the floor I vacuumed and cleaned only a few hours ago. The twins came back from their private Pilates coaching session earlier this evening, the one they do every day of the week after Emily’s internship at Mara’s company and Valeria’s classes at university, where she studies fashion design. They came home around seven in their sweatless gym sets, pastel pink for Valeria, baby blue for Emily, with high ponytails and even higher cheekbones since they already started baby Botox, which, according to Valeria, is a must in your early twenties.

I do not blame them. If I could afford it, there is no doubt that private coaching and treatments meant to make yourself even prettier would not be an issue. Except we are not on the same floor of Maslow’s pyramid, so I can only look at them from below, keeping my focus on my reality and theirs far away, like a movie out of reach and unrealistic to my situation. I have changed into jeans and a light blue wool sweater, so I am already ready to sneak out tonight and go to work. A drop of dread covers my nape like a heavy hand.

There’s five thousand dollars in my bag upstairs. I am going to take the bus with all that cash. Exhale. Inhale. It will be okay. Nothing has ever happened to me after months of commuting by bus at night, so why would anything be different tonight?

The twins and Mara are all sprawled on the couch, watching a 2000s rom-com while I add more syrup to their popcorn. It must be nice to have a girls’ night. Instead, I bring them the bowl, still warm in my hands, while inhaling the tiny bits of flavor.

“Took you long enough,” Valeria snaps, eyes on the screen, her phone open to a photo of a model in a bikini.

“Is it her?” Emily asks, pointing one long pink coffin-shaped nail at the screen.

“I think so. Look, he liked her photos. Urgh.” Valeria groans as Mara shushes them.

“Go to bed, Ella. I don’t want to see you until morning.” She motions the back of her hand at me, the signal for me to disappear. One I have known for a decade now. And since I am used to the circus that is my home life, I sneak out and boldly take a small bowl of popcorn I had set aside from theirs, and escape the kitchen with it. With light steps, I make my way to Dad’s room. The TV is still on, but his face is turned into the pillow. My gaze focuses on his chest.

Up.

Down.

All good.

I sneak in and sit on the chair beside him, knees below my chin, then change the sports channel to the same rom-com the girls are watching in the other room. I mute the sound because I am not allowed to be here, and God forbid Mara finds me. I would clean chandeliers for weeks as punishment. My phone vibrates—eight p.m. And I thought I could steal a few minutes to myself. I have five minutes before I really need to get going; otherwise, I will miss my bus. The movie is full of colors and pretty people dressed in eccentric clothing. Everyone is smiling, and the love interest is not so bad. Alright. I will run to the bus instead of walking if it means I can steal two more minutes.

Once my mental countdown is empty, I whisper silently, “I love you, Dad,” and kiss his forehead, leaving the bowl on his bedside table. It is not like she is going to check on him. The thought pinches my heart, and I give Dad one last glance before closing his door, the TV still on. It’s just a movie, with actors and fake scenarios, but it is better than being alone in the dark. In less than three minutes, I climb the stairs, grab my bag, and close the front door, knowing no one will be looking for me. God forbid anything ever happened to me. Mara would not even care if it did. I quicken my step, warmed by a thick lavender sweater I added under my blue jean jacket, where I sewed a little butterfly patch on the fabric of the left pocket. Squeezing the handle of the bag on my shoulder like a vice, I try to regulate my breathing. Don’t look like you have five thousand dollars in cash in your bag. It is not a big deal. At all. The bus pulls in the moment I cross the last street, and I run to it, stepping inside one second before the doors close. Phew. That was close.

There are not many people, as usual. A shady man with a hood on at the back, looking down. A guy my age with a backpack and glasses, which, strangely, reassures me a little. And an old lady, who I like to imagine is the boss of a cartel hiding in plain sight, since no one would ever suspect an old woman with a silk scarf of having a thrilling life. Or maybe she is just coming home from bingo night. I sit near her, hoping to appease my beating heart, and focus on the road and the stars, glowing across the city, shining a warm hello to us, workers of the dark hours, invisible and silent.

“The moonlight,” I hear the lady murmur, pointing at the glowing light in the sky. “Pretty like the moonlight.” She smiles at me, wrinkles at the corner of her eyes, kindness radiating from her. I let out a silent chuckle, point at the moon, then at her. She huffs with amusement, and we remain there, in comfortable silence, until my stop.