Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
“Yes, it’s the money, but not how you think. I can’t give up this job, even if I want to.”
“You don’t belong here. I want you gone.”
“So badly that you’ll endanger your life?” I ask with a note of anger.
“Oh, come on. Why are you so upset? It didn’t work, did it? You’re still here.”
“I have every reason to be upset. What you did was foolish and irresponsible.”
“What’s your problem? You’re acting like you’re the one who almost died.”
“My problem is that if you had died, I would’ve carried your death on my conscience for the rest of my life. Have you considered that?”
“Who do you think you are to speak to me like this?”
“Is it the attention? Is that the only way you can get your parents to show you they care?”
She draws back her arm and lashes out. Her palm connects with my cheek, leaving a burning sting. “You know nothing about me.”
In that moment, her guard is down, and a vulnerable part peeks out from under her bitchy veneer.
I cup my cheek, pressing a cool palm on my heated skin. The fight goes out of me as I only feel pity for the poor, rich girl who, underneath it all, is just a girl.
I sigh. “Listen to me, Carly. You’re young, beautiful, privileged, and healthy. You have your whole future ahead of you. You can have anything you want. It’s more than most people get. Don’t waste it. Even if you don’t see it now, your parents would’ve been devastated if anything happened to you, and I would never have forgiven myself.”
“Yeah?” Tears glisten in her eyes. “Like you know me or my family. Don’t you dare preach to me. Maybe you would’ve liked to be a psychologist, but you’re not. You’re a maid, so stick to your trade.” Her eyes turn hard. “I’ll be outside. Bring me a turkey sandwich and lemonade. Plenty of ice. When you’re done, you can clean my bathroom again. You missed a spot. Then you can iron my new blue dress. I want to wear it to school tomorrow.”
I want to say I don’t answer to her, but that’s not true. By the rules of our kind, I’m lower on the hierarchy than the cat.
* * *
That afternoon, Carly doesn’t touch her lunch. It’s a delicious looking lasagna, but she’s not to be persuaded to take a bite. Magda and Gabriel treat her with kid gloves. Gabriel goes out of his way to drag a conversation out of her but gives up after a while.
After clearing the table, I salvage the portion from Carly’s plate and set it aside to eat later. The rest I scrape into a plastic container I store in the staff fridge for the street dogs. I hate wasting, and I’m famished, hungry for something other than apples and noodles. I’m sure no one will mind if I eat a leftover portion destined for the trashcan.
During my lunch break, I put a cushion from a patio chair on the deck steps and make myself as comfortable as I can on my bruised butt. Then I dig in. The lasagna is rich with white sauce and cheese, the meat dripping with fresh tomato and oregano. I close my eyes as I chew, savoring every bite. Marie knows how to cook.
I’m almost finished when barking draws my attention. Quincy stands at the edge of the pool with a vicious looking Boerboel. The beast is straining on the leash, baring his teeth.
Quincy jerks on the chain. “Quiet!”
The barking stops, but the dog still growls at me, his lips pulled back over his teeth.
“What the hell are you doing outside? I told you to call. You shouldn’t be in the garden when the dog is out.” Quincy takes a few steps toward me, but stops a safe distance away. “I told
Marie I was taking him for a walk.”
“I guess she forgot to tell me.”
“I’ll have a word with her.” With a tight nod, he continues on his way, the dog hopping along on three legs.
“What’s wrong with his paw?” I call after them.
He pauses. “Don’t know. I’m taking him to the vet tomorrow.”
It looks painful. I leave the plate on the step and get to my feet.
Quincy looks mildly surprised when I approach, but when I’m almost within reach of the leash, he holds up a palm. “Don’t come closer.”
The dog goes ballistic, barking and straining toward me.
“Down, boy,” I say in a stern voice.
The dog reacts immediately. He stops barking and sits down.
“That’s better.”
As I reach for the dog, Quincy looks like he’s going to have a heart attack. “Valentina!
Stay––”
His words are cut short when the beast flops down on his side and turns on his back, all four legs in the air.
I go down on my haunches to stroke his belly. “That’s a good boy. It’s not polite to make so much noise for nothing.”