Page 11 of Monster Among the Roses (Fairy Tale Quartet 1)

Except, nope, I wasn’t going to think about that right now. My mother’s safety and security depended on this, so I’d behave.

I would.

“Okay, so, uh…how do you want me to do this, exactly?”

Mr. Nash shrugged again, no help whatsoever. “We’re calling you a handyman, so go do something…handy.”

Something handy. Wow, that was specific. Seeing the look on my face, Henry snuffled out his impatience. “I’m sure you can find something to clean or fix around this old place.”

Old? He was calling this immaculate piece of state-of-the-art architecture old?

I came from a totally different world than this guy.

He fluttered out a hand as if to shoo me along. “Just go where Izzy is and start fixing or cleaning…or organizing whatever is around her.”

My mouth fell open. He really didn’t plan on being any more helpful than that, did he?

“How do I know where she’s going to be?”

This place was huge, and apparently Izzy had exiled me from her precious rose garden.

“Oh, that’s the easy part.” Mr. Nash seemed entertained to inform me. “My girl’s religiously predictable. If she’s not in her garden, she’ll either be in the library reading, the theater watching a movie, or in the kitchen.”

chapter

FOUR

So there I was, lost in a mansion I totally didn’t belong in.

I wondered if all millionaires—or was Henry Nash a billionaire?—let broke, unknown guys like me wander through their homes unescorted? It would be too easy for me to pickpocket something and resell it. I mean, a single painting, or clock, or statue could pay for months’ worth of rent or groceries.

Not that I would ever do that, but I had to wonder what everything I passed must’ve cost. It was crazy how much unnecessary crap rich people collected. Yet the place still looked frightfully bare, the complete opposite of my cramped apartment where all of Mom’s bakery shit sat piled into every nook and cranny we could possibly fit it into.

Maybe that’s why Isobel felt so lonely. There was simply too much empty space here. Each footstep echoed, and echoes seemed like such lonely things. The hallway itself must practically tap out the rhythm of seclusion right through her chest whenever she walked down it.

Not that clutter filled loneliness, per se. Sometimes I lay squished on my sofa sleeper at night, feeling as if no one else in the world could ever really reach me, or understand me. Which must mean my theory that big houses brought out loneliness was all wrong. Rich or poor, crowded or spacious, we were all in danger of falling into isolation.

But seriously, where was everyone? Isobel had fled to who-knew-where, the creepy cook’s son was long gone from the patio outside, and Constance, the housekeeper, had disappeared without a trace. Even if

I could find his office again, I refused to return to Mr. Nash and ask where the library, kitchen or theater was—God, really? They had a theater? I’d already interrupted him enough. I didn’t want to risk termination by bothering him again.

So I continued to meander down large, echoing halls and into rooms, filling my gut with jealous injustice.

It wasn’t fair that some people had so much, while others—

Muted conversation echoed down the next hall I entered. I paused, cocking my head to determine its origin. When I decided it was straight ahead, I hurried my pace.

“…Just saying. The guy’s utterly gorgeous,” Constance was spouting to some woman as I entered what was—yes!—the kitchen, an industrial-sized kitchen with a ridiculous amount of cabinets and counter space, but a kitchen nonetheless. The other woman stirred something on one of the three stovetops while the creepy kid from outside sat at the table, watching some video on an iPad, probably a documentary on the goriest torture devices ever invented.

“Like ten out of ten on the hotness scale,” Constance ranted. “He looks like Robbie Amell, I kid you not. No way did Mr. Nash suddenly hire some no one from nowhere for his handyman skills. I think he’s been brought here to—”

Before Constance could finish her assumption, the cook turned from the stove, only to catch sight of me standing in the doorway. She gasped, cutting off whatever reason Constance had for my presence.

While the cook clutched her hands to her cheeks, Constance whirled around, her eyes going big with guilt. “Oh, God.”

I gave an uncomfortable wave, wishing I could back out of the room and flee but needing their help navigating this damn house.

Wincing, I said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just trying to get the lay of the land. And…this must be the kitchen,” I added lamely as I spread my arms to encompass the room around me.

---