Page 49 of Save You

Everyone nods and smiles at her, most of us secretly feeling relieved to be letting someone else do it. Truthfully, I think we’re too emotionally numb to organize anything with the justice it deserves. Riley remains silent, having not looked up from the floor the entire evening. In fact, the only time he spoke, was to coo and whisper over Rosie. After that, he became like a ghost to us all, lost in his own memories of his big sister. I wanted to offer him some reassurance, but I can honestly say, I just don’t have any at the moment.

Casey lets out a contented sigh and smiles when I mouth ‘Thank you’, in her direction. I then close the gap to sweep her up in my arms. I don’t think we’ve ever been more affectionate than before all of this, but I guess that’s what tragedy does; it brings you all together in collective grief over the person you’ve lost. Selfish, though it may seem, I’d trade it all to have her back again.

Beth

The moment I set eyes upon our new house that is located on the Upper East Side, I’m overwhelmed by the grandeur of the old-fashioned exterior. The sound of traffic and inner-city noise pollution swirls around my ears, threatening to give me an instant headache. I long for the suburbs of back home, safely hidden away from all the unknown faces, including the ones who are ferrying our things in and out of the front door.

Oliver leads me inside by my elbow, all the while watching me as I cast my eyes over everything with silent anxiety. He mistakes it for a sense of awe, which he shows by putting on one of his smug smiles before he lifts me up and carries me over the threshold. He gently laughs when I grip hold of his shoulders to stop myself from falling.

The housekeeper watches our over-the-top entrance into the chintzy-looking hallway and smiles, no doubt under the false impression that this is nothing more than a romantic act between her employer and his new fiancé. Her hands remain firmly clasped in front of her dress while she patiently waits for Oliver to put me back down. Only when he is clear of me, does she then offer her hand for him to shake.

“Good evening, Mr Lawrence, I hope your flight was pleasant?”

The woman, who must be in her forties, looks friendly enough. She is very pretty, but also motherly looking; the type who will run a strict and ordered household but offer affection if she deems it necessary.

“Perfect, Pru, thank you” Oliver beams at her, “may I introduce you to my fiancé, Angela Steele.”

He pulls me forward from behind my elbow, smiling smugly while his eyes remain fixed on mine. The lady, Pru, shakes my hand but looks at me with a strange expression, one that tells me she knows who I really am. She recognizes me, but I have no idea how. Before Oliver can see it too, she shakes it away and returns to her fake smile to hide it. She takes our coats, nods, then shuffles back into what I can only assume is a cloakroom. She returns shortly after, seemingly waiting for Oliver’s orders.

“Pru, would you run my fiancé a bath?” he instructs, “I need to make some phone calls. I would like her ready for dinner within the next hour.”

My mouth hangs open, strangely shocked that he is openly talking about me like I’m a pet to be primped up, all ready for his disposal. Even though I know the lengths Oliver will go to, to make me feel like I am merely his plaything and nothing more, I still glare at him and ready myself to argue.

“Of course, Mr Lawrence; follow me, Miss Steele,” Pru smiles at him before leading me away, stopping me from saying anything as we walk out of earshot.

I suddenly feel as though I’ve wandered into a Victorian thriller whereby the child bride is ordered around by the staff as well as the Lord of the Manor. Silently, I fall into line behind her, watching her short, black, silhouette as she sways from side to side in front of me. Her hands appear to be clasped in front, and she does not attempt to make conversation with me in any kind of way.

After we ascend a flight of stairs, we walk down yet another long corridor until we reach a double set of doors that are far too ornate for my taste. She pushes both open at once to reveal a grand, master bedroom. A four-poster bed with red and gold satin linen sits against a green, floral wall, right the middle of the room. A baroque-style dressing table sits directly opposite, and there are two sets of leaded windows, both narrow and tall, providing a good view of the street.

Pru still says nothing as she walks past the furniture and shows me the inside of the en-suite with only a wave of her hand. Once inside, she begins to run a bath on Oliver’s orders. When she finally turns to address me, she merely smiles and holds out her arm, looking expectant for something, though I have no idea of what it is.

“Undress for me, deary,” she says in a perfectly innocent, yet nauseating cheery tone of voice.

I frown at her like she must have forgotten to take her medication that morning. There is not a chance in hell I am undressing for this old-fashioned fictional character from a nineteenth-century novel. My refusal to move seems to turn her cheery disposition a little sour, and her smile soon drops altogether.

“Mr Lawence has instructed me to look after you like one of my own, so I expect you to behave like one of my own.”

“Do you have children, Pru?” I ask, folding my arms in frustration over her attempts to bully me.

“I have two sons and a daughter, all of them grown and respectful members of Mayfield. In fact, my Faye is already a wife to one of the elite members of the council. You are to be married to the next president, so you may need some guidance over how it all works, which I am more than willing to give you.”

Her wide, toothy smile remains fixed as she walks toward me, her hand still stretching out before her, waiting for my clothes. My patience is now at rock bottom, so I stand up to my full height, thanking my lucky stars that I am a few inches taller, and return the sickly-sweet smile.

“Pru, I am eighteen, an adult, and to be the wife of the president. I have been bathing myself since the age of seven. I do not need you or anyone else to show me how to clean myself. Any lessons I do or do not need will come from Mr Lawrence, not the hired help!” I look at her with my most threatening don’t-fuck-with-me gaze, while simultaneously cringing over the fact that I just referred to her as the ‘hired help’. “Do we understand one another, Pru?”

If this were a cartoon, the poor woman would have steam billowing out of her bright red ears, but it does the trick. After a moment’s standoff, she steps away, dropping her head down to the floor before muttering, “Of course, Miss Steele.” I bet she’s going to spit in my food at dinner time, but at least she appears to be leaving me alone to have my own bath.

As she opens the door, I see Leo standing on guard outside with a strange smirk on his face, having apparently heard our little exchange. I can’t help smiling when her back is turned, and inwardly high-five myself for being able to stand up to at least one of them, even if she was only following Oliver’s orders. Little wins, Beth, little wins!

That evening, at dinner, Pru silently serves our food, obviously avoiding my eye contact and hurrying around the dinner table so she can get out of the room as soon as is humanly possible. It’s uncomfortable and I almost feel sorry for her, as well as a pressing urge to apologize for being such a bitch. However, this would only lead to Oliver questioning me, thus risking his wrath, which is something neither of us deserves to witness.

“Well, I wonder what on earth is wrong with Pru?” Oliver says out loud, snapping me out of my guilt-ridden thoughts. He’s wearing one of his smug smirks, clearly already in the loop as to why his housekeeper is out of sorts this evening.

Slurping on his deep red wine, which leaves a pattern of spider’s legs down the sides of the glass, he stares intensely at me from the head of the table. I have nothing to say, so smile tightly while bracing myself for some form of punishment over the whole, awkward situation.

“A little bird told me you told her off. Now said little bird is very cross with you, my darling. Not that she would dare show it in front of me. I have to say, Beth, I’m impressed.”

“You are?” I stare at him dumbfounded, now completely at a loss as to how he wants me to act. “I thought I was supposed to be submissive; to do everything that I am told.” I frown and clutch at my temples, rubbing them over and over with a painful feeling of complete confusion. “Oliver…I don’t know…”

---