Page 55 of All's Well that Friends Well

I’ll be honest:I’m not proud of myself for what’s happened in the last twelve hours.

And yet…

I can’t bring myself to regret my actions, either.

I slip back down the hallway on light feet as I hear the lurch of the front door opening, after which a chorus of voices pipes up, most of them confused and worried. Luca grunts some sort of vague reply, but once I’ve returned to my room, I can’t hear details. I sit on the edge of the bed, looking around, trying to figure out what to do.

I’m not going to hide up here until everyone leaves, obviously. So what are my other options?

I guess I could sneak downstairs and make it seem like I was just arriving? Coming out of the bathroom, maybe? Or I could climb out the window and down the tree, but there’s a chance everyone will see me, and that would be a hard one to explain.

I nod and stand up. “Front door it is,” I say, taking a deep breath.

Once again, sneaking makes me nervous. I wipe my hands on my jeans—Aurora’s jeans, actually—and pull out my phone. Then I shoot a text to Luca, who had better read it pronto if he knows what’s good for him.

ME

Can you get everyone to go into the kitchen or even out to look at the backyard? I’ll sneak down and go out the front door and then knock so it seems like I’m just arriving!!

Also I can hear you being grumpy from all the way up here!! Smile please so people will like you!!!

It takes a minute or two for Luca to reply, but when he does, it’s so typicallyhimthat he may as well be standing next to me.

Luca

I don’t want people to like me.

But fine. I’ll bring everyone to check out the back. Count to thirty and then come down. Be quiet.

I nod at his response, even though he can’t see me. Then I sneak out of the room and down the hall, hovering at the top of the stairs, listening carefully; sure enough, I hear strains of Luca’s deep voice speaking, followed by a faint chorus of assent and the back doors opening.

This is my chance. So I take a deep breath and slip down the stairs as quietly as possible, step, step, step, down to the bottom, feet safely onthe cool tile floor, when?—

“Miss Marigold?”

I jump so violently at the gruff, ancient voice that my hair briefly leaves my head. Then I whirl to look at the speaker, who’s just emerging from the bathroom. It’s Rod, the man who hired me, the one who wanted an assistant for Luca to help him become more personable; he’s some sort of manager, according to Susan Miller, and he’s catching me in this situation. Crap.

“Hi,” I say automatically, my voice high-pitched and nervous. “Hello. Hi.”

Rod’s bushy gray brows are climbing his forehead as he looks at me, then up the stairs, and then back to me.

“Ah,” I say as my skin grows clammy, my cheeks heating. “Um. So. It’s a funny story?—”

But he holds up one hand, a simple action that’s somehow authoritative. “Does Mr. Slater know you were up there?”

“Yes,” I say. The truth feels like the best option here, especially because despite how intimidating he is, I like this man. I even trust him, in a way I can’t explain.

He nods slowly, his gaze shrewd on me. “And he allowed you to be there?”

“Yes. But—” I crane my neck to listen for the sounds in the kitchen. “I’m sorry.” I give him a little bow and then point apologetically at the front door. “I really do need to?—”

“Of course,” he says wryly, and although I have no idea why, there’s something faintly amused in his voice. He waves one ancient hand at the front door. “By all means.”

“Thank you,” I whisper. I pause and then go on, “And if you’d be so kind as to not mention this?—”

But Rod just waves his hand at the door again, and I have a feeling that’s all I’m going to get for now. So I hurry to thedoor and open it, stepping outside and inhaling the breeze like it’s the first oxygen I’ve had all morning.

That was close. And possibly very bad. He didn’t seem upset, but what do I know? There’s no situation in which it’s appropriate for me to be upstairs in my boss’s home.

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