Page 84 of Lethal Legacy

She doesn’t look up, just nods again, then gives a telltale sniff. I look around at the flushed faces and shoot Roman a warning look. “Can you give your godfather and me a little time to talk about this, guys? You can go downstairs and ask Chef if you can take your dessert into your rooms, if you like. Tell him not to bother serving us.”

All three children stand, then pause, looking between Roman and me. “What is it?” Roman asks brusquely.

“Is she—will Lucia still be here after siesta?” Mickey asks, his pale face coloring.

Great question, kiddo.

Let’s just add today’s infractions to the list of difficult conversations I’m about to have. All I want to do is reassure him, but it’s not my place to do so, and I won’t give them false promises.

“Of course she will.”

I stare at Roman in surprise. But he isn’t looking at me or Mickey. He’s staring at Ofelia’s lowered head. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think he looked concerned.

The children file out, this time with Ofelia in the center, Mickey and Masha each holding one of their older sister’s hands.

Roman frowns as he watches them go, then turns to me. “Make sure one of the guards is with them,” he says curtly, “then come up to the penthouse. We need to talk.”

24

LUCIA

Unsure exactly what to expect, I shower and dress again before taking the elevator upstairs. The last thing on my mind should be sex. Unfortunately, it seems to be almost the only thing on my mind, especially now that the end of my employment looks uncomfortably in sight.

The elevator doors open to a quiet penthouse. I can hear the shower running and almost turn and leave again. The thought of a naked Roman only a few walls away is extremely disturbing. In the end I hover uncertainly in the corridor, checking my appearance in the tall mirror. I’m wearing a white halter-neck sundress with a blue floral print. It’s conservative enough, if you don’t consider the lacy underwear beneath it, or the fact that it doesn’t allow for a bra.

Stop thinking about him taking it off.

It’s more likely that this will be the last of my new wardrobe I’ll ever wear. I sigh and bid a mental goodbye to the endless unexplored hangers in my closet downstairs.

“Take a seat.” I spin around as an unsmiling Roman, clad in denim jeans and a white T-shirt, hair still wet from the shower, leads the way into the dining room. He pulls out a seat at the formal dining table and I sit down, swallowing uneasily.

This feels uncomfortably formal.

“Do you think what Ofelia said is true?” Roman asks without preamble. He’s sitting off to my side, facing me, one ankle slung over the opposite knee. He’s barefoot, drumming his fingers on the table. “Has she been getting kicked out of school just so she can be home with the other two?”

“From everything I’ve seen so far, I’d say the answer is yes. She’s very protective of them both.” When he doesn’t immediately answer, I continue tentatively. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize what the rehearsals were for. I was working off the notes left by the last au pair, who said the security detail had been taking them to and from rehearsal. The kids told me I wasn’t required, and I believed them. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

“It isn’t your fault.” Seeing my surprise, Roman half smiles. “I might be a ruthless employer, Lucia, but I’m not an unfair one. We both got played on this one. I think the real question is, what do we do about it now? It’s not safe for them to be in that procession. Holy Week crowds are huge.”

“I’m sure a security guard could sit with Mickey,” I argue. “And I could always ride the float with Masha, who, let’s not forget, will be disguised as a cactus.”

I attempt a smile.

“Security would be able to walk beside us, I’m sure.” I remember belatedly that I’m supposed to be having a much different conversation right now, one that would certainly eliminate the option of me riding the float with Masha. But somehow that seems less important than mending the uncomfortable rift that opened over lunch. I’m rather taken aback that he’s asking for my opinion at all. It’s not like CEO Man to bother consulting anyone else. “Please let me fix that cut for you,” I add. “The shower’s made it bleed again.”

Roman touches his eyebrow, looks at the blood on his finger, then wipes it impatiently with the back of his hand. “I told you, it’s nothing.”

“Nothing that should probably have stitches.” I look around the penthouse. “I assume there’s a first aid kit in here somewhere?”

He tilts his head in exasperation. “You’re not going to let this go, are you? In the kitchen, over the stove.”

I walk in and fetch it, then come back. He’s still frowning at the table, fingers playing a rapid tattoo. I take out antiseptic and a cotton ball and approach him with caution, holding both up. His mouth twists wryly, but he doesn’t argue as I set to work cleaning it.

“Ofelia is booked into school here for the final term,” he says as I work, “but I have her registered at a London boarding school next year. Mickey, too.”

I dab away, but don’t answer. There’s a packet of butterfly stitches in the kit. I open them while I wait for the antiseptic to dry.

“They need to get a good education,” he says. His breath is warm on my skin, his jeans rough against my bare leg as I lean over to apply the stitches. “And they’re better off not getting used to being here. They’ll move back in with their mother as soon as she’s finished in the US.”

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