Page 24 of Vicious Temptation
I like that he applies that to Cecelia, as well. That it’s not just Danny that he wants to grow up to have his own independence, but also his daughter. It only underlines my earlier thought that Cecelia won’t be pushed into an arranged marriage—a girl who grows up with that kind of upbringing isn’t going to quietly walk into a situation like that. And Gabriel, I think, is smart enough to know that.
I didn’t eat as much of dinner as I know I should have, but I manage about half of the dessert, taking small bites and trying to ease the nervous queasiness in my stomach. If Gabriel notices that, he doesn’t say anything, clearing the dessert afterward and then coming back into the dining room where I’m still sitting, my hands twisted in my lap.
“I’ll handle cleanup and putting the children to bed tonight,” he says, giving me a look that makes me think he knows I need a minute to adjust. “Go ahead and spend your evening however you like, Bella. You can start your official duties in the morning.”
I nod gratefully, getting up from the table. “Thanks,” I manage. “I think I’m just going to make it an early night. Try to get some rest before tomorrow.”
“That’s a good idea. The children sleep in a bit later than usual now that it’s summer, but you can still expect them to be up around eight or eight-thirty. Agnes handles preparing breakfast, but you can help her serve it and oversee the meal.” Gabriel pauses, taking a slow breath. “I’m sure this is all overwhelming,” he adds. “But you’ll settle in before you know it. I know it will take a minute to get used to the routine, so don’t worry if you make mistakes at first. Agnes is happy to help, and in time, you’ll relax, and it will all feel like second nature.”
I’m startled to feel the prick of tears behind my eyelids at how patient he’s being. He hired me to do a job, after all, and he’s giving me plenty of time to adjust to that new job. I can’t imagine all employers would be like that.
Gabriel leaves me to go back into the kitchen, and I head upstairs. It’s my first night away from home, and I go to stand at the window, looking out over the view of the front yard. There’s the half-moon driveway in front of the house, empty now, the gravel smooth. That driveway leads out to a fringe of trees, keeping the house back from the road beyond, shielded from anyone who might drive by. I feel a sense of peace at that, of being hidden, and I let the curtain fall closed. I have no reason to think anyone will come into my room, but I go and lock the door anyway before I start to get undressed, folding up my clothes before I wander into the bathroom.
Once I saw it earlier, I was even more grateful that Gabriel picked this room to give me. There’s a large shower and a clawfoot tub, and I go to the cabinet where I unpacked my toiletries earlier, finding a bottle of jasmine bath oil. I turn on the hot water, pouring a generous amount of the oil into it, and sigh as the fragrant smell starts to fill the bathroom, the air turning warm from the water.
I lock the bathroom door, too, for good measure, and then slide into the tub. I know it’s a foolish thing to do—Gabriel is hardly going to come into my room without an invitation, much less my bathroom, and no one else is going to wander in by accident either, especially since the children are about to go to bed. But the locked doors between me and the rest of the house finally allow the tension to drain out of my muscles, the only way I feel comfortable being naked and exposed in a house where I’m living with near strangers. Even so, I have to actively push away the thoughts that try to crowd in—the feeling of unwanted hands on my skin, of hot breath and rough stubble against my face, of fingers touching where they weren’t invited to go. The memories surge up, threatening to choke me, to send me fleeing from the comfort of my bath and into a small ball in my bed, but I take a slow, deep breath, trying to calm myself down.
I focus on the silky heat of the water against my skin, the smell of the jasmine, the cloying warmth all around me, wrapped up like a blanket. I tilt my head back against the cool porcelain, feeling the hard shape of it against the back of my head, running over all of those sensations until the bad memories slip back into the shallow darkness where they always lie in wait, and I feel like I can enjoy my bath again.
When I finally get out, I feel calmer. I slip on a pair of soft pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt, unlock the door, and slide into bed. Next to me, in the nightstand drawer, is a small orange prescription bottle. I take it out, looking at the tiny white pills inside.
I don’t really like taking the sleeping pills I was prescribed. The sleep they throw me into is strange, one where I’m completely insensible until I wake up, without any dreams at all, not just the bad ones. When I wake up, I always feel a little groggy, like coming out of an anesthetic sleep.
But I don’t want to have nightmares here. I’ve woken up crying, even screaming from them before, and I can only imagine what Gabriel would think if that happened. More than likely, he’d send me straight back home, and any chance of this job working out would end. He’d be furious I didn’t warn him in the first place, and that would be that.
Just the thought makes my chest tight. The thought of going home already and having to submit to whatever arrangement my father wants for me, sending panic coursing through my blood. So I pour a glass of water from the covered pitcher next to the bed, and shake out one of the tiny pills into my palm, quickly swallowing it.
It only takes a matter of moments for it to take effect. I slide down under the covers, sinking into the soft pillow beneath my head, and disappear into a dark, dreamless sleep.
8
BELLA
When my alarm goes off, I’m jolted awake so sharply that it takes me a minute to remember where I am and why I’m here. I look at my alarm, realizing that I’ve hit the snooze button a number of times—I remember now that I set it for seven-thirty, and it’s ten minutes after eight now. Gabriel said Danny and Cecelia wake up around eight or a little after, and I throw back the covers, all of the grogginess from the sleeping pill instantly vanishing as I jump up, panicking that I’m going to be late to get started on my very first day.
I throw on a pair of jeans and a loose, long-sleeved shirt, tossing my hair up into a bun on top of my head before going to the bathroom to wash my face, brush my teeth, and quickly put on some moisturizer. It’s the quickest possible version of my morning routine, and I bolt out of my room as soon as it’s done, hurrying to Cecelia and Danny’s rooms. I knock on Cecelia’s door first, and she opens it a second later, already dressed with her face scrubbed pink and her hair braided. She looks at me narrowly, with an expression too sharp for a girl her age. “You slept in, didn’t you?” she asks, her gaze quickly sweeping over my clothes and hair.
It’s pretty clear that I’m not going to get anything over on her, and I have a feeling she’ll respect me more if I don’t try to. “I might have,” I admit, and the smallest of smiles appears on Cecelia’s face.
“You’re not used to getting up early, are you?” She crosses her arms over her pale pink shirt, as if she’s interviewing me for a position I’ve already gotten. But I play along, because there’s a part of the nanny position that I don’t already have—the part where the children I’ve been tasked with taking care of actually like me, and are happy to have me here.
“I’m not.” I lean against the door, giving her a small smile. “I usually sleep in pretty late. But now that I’m here to take care of you two, I’ve just got to get used to it.”
Cecelia gives a small nod, as if accepting my explanation. “I don’t like sleeping in. I’m a morning person,” she informs me firmly. “But Danny isn’t. He complains every day when he gets up for school.”
“Is he sleeping in now?” I ask, and Cecelia shrugs.
“Probably. But we should go down for breakfast. Agnes gets grumpy if we let the food get cold.”
She pushes past me out of the room, and I follow her to Danny’s room, where she knocks on the door. “Danny! Hurry up!” she insists, and the door cracks open a few beats later, Danny sticking his head out. He has a toy car in one hand, his hair sticking up wildly, and he’s still in his pajamas.
Truthfully, I don’t really know how to take care of kids. All of this is entirely new to me. So I just go on instinct.
“Breakfast is just about ready,” I tell Danny, nudging the door open a little wider. “So why don’t we pick out something for you to wear, and then we’ll go find out what Agnes made for us this morning?”
He considers for a moment, and then nods. “Okay,” he says cheerfully, letting the door swing wide open. “Look at my Batmobile!”
Danny holds up the car, waving it at me, and I take it to inspect it as he goes to the dresser to find clothes. His first attempt is wildly mismatched, but fifteen minutes later, we manage to make it downstairs with him respectably dressed in jeans and a Batman t-shirt. Cecelia leads the way, taking us down to the dining room, where I smell pancakes.