Page 63 of Luka

It’s mid-morning now, and an hour ago I watched Mila leave. As far as I’m aware, I’m allowed to walk the property as I see fit, so this is the best chance I have of not running into anyone. And Ihaveto get out. The space feels cramped, but honestly, Luka’s negativity feels like it’s lingering in the room, soaking into my soul, and I need a break. Just for a little while. Half an hour tops.

I shut off the sink then dry my face with a towel before facing the mirror. The bruises Leo left on my neck are yellowed now and hardly disturbing, but still, I pull my hair forward and tug Mila’s high-necked blouse up higher to conceal what little remains.

Flipping off the light, I make my way out of the room, my skin crawling with the sensation that danger lurks just outside the door.

But no one waits on the other side.

I peek around the hall and listen closely. There’s music coming from downstairs, faint and instrumental, but I don’t hear any voices. I tiptoe to the staircase and lean over the railing to glimpse below.

No one.

My heart thumping against its cage, I take the stairs, darting my gaze over the bottom floor, but it’s above me that footsteps sound.

I freeze mid-step without turning around. Clunky heels click on wood as a woman hums, and when she reaches the stairs, her humming stops.

“Oh,” she says to my back, sounding surprised to see me.

Biting my lip, I turn and peer up at the woman as she comes down the stairs carrying a bucket of cleaning products. A yellow apron is wrapped around her curvy waist, and her graying hair is tied back in a bun.

“You are Mr. Luka’s girl, yes?” she asks.

This was a mistake.

Why did I leave the room?

Her mouth moves as she looks off, a stutter passing her lips. “Uh, se nombre esLucia?”

I blink. “Sí.” My brow furrows, and I shake my head when I realize the confusion. “I mean,yes, my name is Lucia.”

“Oh.” The woman frowns like she’s puzzled. “Mrs. Petrov said you don’t speak English well. Should I inform her otherwise?”

She did?

Is that what Luka told her?

My mouth opens, but I don’t know what I should say, so I just shrug.

The woman studies me for a moment, but then smiles kindly. “Is there something I can help you with, dear?”

My instinct is to say no, but my eyes drift to the bottom floor. This place is a monstrosity. I know how to get out the front door, but where are the other exits? Thesaferexits?

“I was just … hoping to get some fresh air.”

Her smile widens as she nods and interlocks her arm with mine. “Come. I’ll show you the garden.”

She leads me down the stairs while I roam my gaze, searching for people. We pass four as we weave through the house, three women and one man, and I make a point to meet none of their eyes, though I can feel them staring at me. I’m suddenly grateful for the woman’s escort service.

I spot the garden the moment we step outside. It sits at the back of the property, and although the rest of the house is impressive, the garden makes my eyes pop. I’m used to large estates. Fine architecture, expensive furniture, sparkly jewelry. I’ve never seen anything like this. Not even in photos.

An arch wrapped in ivy is the only entrance to the lush greenery that’s otherwise full with trees and bushes surrounding it. The huge amount of lilies, mostly purple and white, mixed in with the other variety of flowers give it a colorful appearance that looks like something out ofAlice in Wonderland. The creator is an artist.

The woman pats my arm and leaves me while I watch her go back inside. I almost protest. I’m a little afraid to be left alone, but I memorized the path to the room, and I’m confident I could always walk around to find the front door if necessary.

I turn back to the garden and start down the path, admiring the assortment of flowers that change as I walk. It seems themed, separated by different mixes of colors and species of plants. I’m so impressed that I don’t notice I’m being followed until a throat clears behind me.

My feet pause as my heart stops. I don’t turn around for several seconds. Not until the man speaks.

“Hi. It’s Lucia, right?”

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