The Housemaid(30)

Just before Andrew enters the dining room, Nina pushes her plate of food away. She stands up and smooths out her blond hair, which lacks its usual shine, and the dark roots are even more visible than before.

“Hello, Andy.” She offers him a dazzling smile. “How are you this morning?”

He starts to answer her, but then his eyes dart down to the bit of egg still clinging to her blouse. One side of his lips quirks up. “Nina, you have a little egg on you.”

“Oh!” Her cheeks turn pink as she dabs at the egg on her blouse. But it’s been sitting there several minutes, and a stain still mars the delicate white fabric. “Sorry about that!”

“It’s okay—you still look beautiful.” He grabs her shoulders and pulls her in for a kiss. I watch her melt against him and ignore the twinge of jealousy in my chest. “I’ve got to run to the office, but I’ll see you tonight.”

“I’ll walk you out, darling.”

Nina is so freaking lucky. She’s got everything. Yes, she did have a stay at a mental institution, but at least she wasn’t in prison. And here she is, with an incredible house, tons of money, and a husband who is kind, funny, wealthy, considerate, and… well, absolutely gorgeous.

I close my eyes for a moment and think about what it would be like to live in Nina’s shoes. To be the woman in charge of this household. To have the expensive clothing and the shoes and the fancy car. To have a maid I could boss around—force her to cook for me and clean for me and live in a tiny hole in the attic while I had the big bedroom with the king-size bed and zillion-count sheets. And most of all, to have a husband like Andrew. To have him press his lips against mine the way he did to hers. To feel his body heat against my chest…

Oh my God, I must stop thinking about this. Now. In my defense, it’s been a really long time for me. I spent ten years in prison, fantasizing about some perfect guy I would meet when I got out, who would save me from everything. And now…

Well, it could happen. It’s possible.

I climb the stairs and get to work making the beds and cleaning the bedrooms. I’ve just finished up and am returning downstairs when the doorbell rings. I hurry over to answer it, and I’m surprised to see Enzo at the door, clutching a giant cardboard box in his arms.

“Ciao,” I say, remembering the greeting he taught me.

Amusement flickers over his face. “Ciao. This… for you.”

I understand immediately what must’ve happened. Sometimes delivery people don’t realize they can enter through the gate, so they dump heavy packages outside the gate, and I have to heave them into the house. Enzo must have seen the delivery man leave the package, and now he’s kindly carried it in for me.

“Grazie,” I say.

He raises his eyebrows at me. “You want I…”

It takes me a second to realize what he is asking. “Oh… yes, just put it on the dining table.”

I point to the dining table and he carries the package over there. I remember Nina freaked out that time when Enzo came into the house, but she’s not here and that box looks too heavy for me to lift. After he rests it on the table, I glance at the return address: Evelyn Winchester. Probably somebody in Andrew’s family.

“Grazie,” I say again.

Enzo nods. He’s wearing a white T-shirt and jeans—he looks good. He’s always out somewhere in the neighborhood, working up a sweat in the yard, and a lot of the rich women in this neighborhood love to ogle him. Truthfully, I prefer Andrew’s looks, and of course, there’s the language barrier. But maybe having a little fun with Enzo would be good for me. It would relieve a little of that pent-up energy, and maybe I would stop having wholly inappropriate fantasies about my boss’s husband.

I’m not quite sure how to broach the subject, given he doesn’t seem to speak any English. But I’m pretty sure the language of love is universal.

“Water?” I offer him, while I’m trying to figure out exactly how to go about this.

He nods. “Si.”

I run to the kitchen and grab a glass from the cabinet. I fill it halfway with water, then I bring it out to him. He takes it gratefully. “Grazie.”

His biceps bulge as he drinks from the glass. He has a really good body. I wonder what he’s like in bed. Probably fantastic.

I wring my hands together as he drinks from the glass of water. “So, um… are you… busy?”

He lowers the glass and looks at me blankly. “Eh?”

“Um.” I clear my throat. “Like, do you have much… work?”

“Work.” He nods at a word he understands. Seriously, I don’t get it. He’s been working here three years, and he really doesn’t understand any English? “Si. Molto occupato.”

“Oh.”

This isn’t going well. Maybe I should just get right to the point.

“Listen.” I take a step toward him. “I just thought maybe you want to take… a little break?”

His dark eyes study my face. He does have pretty eyes. “I… no understand.”

I can do this—language of love, all that. “A break.” I reach out, place my hand on his chest, and raise an eyebrow suggestively. “You know.”

I had expected at this point, he would grin at me, scoop me off my feet, and carry me up to the attic, where he would ravish me for hours. What I did not expect is the way his eyes darken. He leaps away from me like my hand is on fire and lets loose with a string of rapid, angry Italian. I have no idea what he’s saying, aside from the fact that he’s not saying “hello” or “thank you.”