Page 83 of Nanny and the Beast

I’m still aching between my thighs.

My body feels like it’s slowly being scorched from the inside out.

Ireallyneed that glass of water now.

An eerie feeling wraps around my spine as I walk down the staircase. As I head to the kitchen, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

I fill a glass with cold water. Instead of drinking it, I press it to my cheek. The coldness of it feels good against my fevered skin.

The kitchen door slams open. The glass slips from my hand, but I catch it before it can shatter on the floor.

A figure stands in the doorway. Their face is covered by a giant umbrella.

“What are you doing here?” It’s Helena.

I press my hand against my chest, where I can feel my heart racing. I don’t know how I’m ever going to fall asleep now. This is all too much for one night.

“Helena, you scared me,” I force a laugh, but it’s too loud. It echoes against the high ceilings, breaking the unnatural silence of the night.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she says. “Why did you leave your room?”

“Um, I came to get some water.” I lift the glass in my hand.

She closes the umbrella and puts it aside. A gust of wind follows her into the kitchen, making mist sprinkle on my face. I didn’t realize that it was raining outside.

She closes the door behind her.

“Isn’t there a carafe by your bed?” she asks.

I remain quiet.

“The rules at Sinclair mansion exist for a reason,” she says. “You’re not a child, so I don’t understand why I need to keep repeating myself to you.”

“It won’t happen again.” I drink my water quickly and then rinse the glass in the sink.

I glance over at Helena.

She looks tired to the bone. There are dark circles under her eyes, and her shoulders are slouched like they’re carrying some invisible burden nobody else can see.

“Are you okay?” I ask her.

“I’m fine, sweetheart.”

“Where did you go in the middle of the night?”

She looks away.

“I had some housekeeping things to take care of,” she says.

She’s being vague on purpose. Whatever she was up to tonight, she doesn’t want to talk about it. She’s entitled to her privacy, of course, but there’s one more thing I want to ask her.

“Was it you?” I ask.

“Pardon?”

“I heard footsteps outside my room tonight,” I say. “I came out to investigate but didn’t see anyone.”

She stares at me for a beat.

---