Page 12 of Fake Dark Vows

I bite back the comment on the tip of my tongue: Time is something I have plenty of these days. She probably already thinks I’m desperate to rock up at a couple of hours’ notice.

She pours coffee without asking if I would like a drink, and I study her perfect makeup and designer suit.

I’m way out of my league here. Jess says I have a habit of talking myself out of opportunities that other people would grab with both hands, and I can feel myself doing it already.

I don’t belong here in my store-brand dress and my best shoes. I don’t belong on a private island with a billionaire family and their billionaire friends even if I am only filling a temporary role. I might not be expected to talk to them, and they might all be genuinely lovely people, but I know I’m not one of them, and they’ll know it too.

“I’m not sure how much Julia told you,” Mrs. Weiss begins, sliding her phone inside a discreet purse, “but my family and I are relocating to our private island in the Keys to celebrate my husband’s seventieth birthday. My housekeeper has been called away for personal reasons, and well”—she raises her cup to her lips and takes a sip— “you’ll be doing me a huge favor by filling in for her. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“What would I have to do?” I find myself asking.

“Just make sure that everything is running smoothly.”

Her smile makes it sound as easy as turning up on time, so I wait for the punchline.

“Make up the bedrooms, keep the coffee flowing, ensure that the guests are where they’re supposed to be. They have a habit of ignoring the itinerary and showing up late for breakfast.”

“What would I do in those instances?” I mean, it’s not like I can tell them they skipped breakfast so they must wait until lunch is served.

“Wrap up their breakfast and point them in the right direction.” Mrs. Weiss sets her coffee cup down on the table. “Don’t look so worried, Rose. We don’t bite.”

I can’t help smiling at that. I add sugar and cream to my coffee and stir it slowly while I think of an appropriate response.

“Your father tells me that you completed your bachelor’s degree in early childhood education,” Mrs. Weiss says.

“He did?” I swallow a mouthful of coffee as heat floods my cheeks.

It’s hard to imagine my father in any other context than making sure the air conditioning is working and that the elevator is serviced regularly. I certainly can’t picture him sitting on this couch in his work overalls drinking coffee with the elegant woman in front of me.

“Yes.” I hope that she won’t notice my flushed face. “I’ve always wanted to work with children.”

“So, why don’t you?”

Where do I begin?

“I took some time out of college when my mom got sick.” I keep my eyes on the coffee table. It’s easier that way. “When I finished my degree, I thought it would be easy to step into a job in a preschool or kindergarten, but it turns out the government has other ideas.”

Mrs. Weiss waits for me to elaborate, her legs crossed neatly, her expression unfathomable.

“Jobs in early education are difficult to find, and when I did eventually get offered a role in a school across town, the government decided to pull the funding. So, here I am.” I smile at her. “I’ve been doing some childminding while I search for something else.”

“I had a feeling you’d be perfect,” Mrs. Weiss says. “I never worry about these things, and I realize that I’m in an extremely fortunate position where I don’t have to concern myself with bills and the price of groceries, but from experience, situations always resolve themselves. You came along when I needed you. We can help each other out, Rose. We both need each other.”

What can I say to that? I’ve never met anyone quite like Mrs. Weiss before. Coming from someone else, it might’ve sounded arrogant, pompous even, but the way she talked about her position of privilege was almost an afterthought, as if she doesn’t want it to define her.

“My son’s three children will be on the island,” she continues without waiting for a response. “They’ll find the celebrations a little dull at times, so it would be wonderful if you could keep them entertained. Do you think you could do that for me, Rose?”

“I-yes, of course I can do that.”

The words are spilling out on autopilot while my brain is still chewing on the words ‘my son’s three children’. He has children. I don’t know why I’m surprised. I’d bet they’re all boys, athletic kids with wide smiles and strong jawlines, and their names already on the future attendance list for Harvard.

“My son Damon and his wife Kelly won’t expect you to babysit them night and day, but you’ll know how to make the party fun for them. Encourage them to take part in the shell hunt, take them swimming, make sure they don’t raid the larder for cake and Seltzer when our backs are turned.”

“Okay.”

I nod along with the conversation while the context behind the words floats right over the top of my head. The familiar insecurities come rushing back at the mention of shell hunts, and swimming—because it’s a private island, right, which means it will be surrounded by water—and raiding the larder, when most kids climb onto the kitchen counter and open a cabinet door to find a secret stash of cookies.

“Excellent!” Mrs. Weiss claps her hands together softly like a child. “Your food will be supplied of course. You’ll stay in one of the guest bedrooms, and I’ll provide a uniform for you to wear.”

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