Page 14 of Monster Among the Roses (Fairy Tale Quartet 1)

“Oh yeah?” Able to reach the top of the window, I sprayed the cleaner then wiped it away smoothly. A screeching sound to cut across the glass, letting me know I was doing my job well. Squeaky clean. “Your dad called you Izzy.”

“Well, you’re not my father.”

I almost snorted, Thank God. I’d consider it a personal failure if I ended up with a daughter as snooty and rude as her. But what I said was, “Fair enough.” I liked how Isobel sounded in my head better, anyway.

I must not have made any more cleaning mistakes because the critique queen stayed quiet. Pleased about finally doing my job right and meeting the high standards of the window-cleaning police behind me, I threw myself into my task until sweat collected on my brow and more trickled down the center of my back.

Just as I thought how much cooler it would feel to take my shirt off, I realized, hey, I probably should take my shirt off.

Mr. Nash had hired me to play man candy, after all, hadn’t he? Maybe I should earn my keep. Besides, the sunlight coming in through the glass just kept growing warmer.

But mostly, if I wanted to be honest with myself, I was curious what Isobel would do. Would she be the uptight, prissy type and demand I put my clothes back on? Would she silently ogle the muscles in my back and ass as they stretched and shifted with each move? Would she like what she saw?

A rush of anticipation flowed through me, and before I could question myself, I tugged my shirt over my head, then tucked it into my back pocket.

She said nothing. I held my breath, eager to know if her silence meant something good or bad. One thing was certain: this suspense was killing me.

Unable to help myself, I glanced back as I moved down to a lower step.

But I never got my answer as to what Isobel thought of my bared torso. She was no longer in the library.

chapter

FIVE

I didn’t see Isobel again for the rest of the morning. She wasn’t in the theater, which I found after washing the library windows, and I didn’t spot her through the French doors that led into her garden. I meandered my way back to the kitchen just in time for lunch, but neither she nor Mr. Nash showed to eat.

So I sat down with Constance, Mrs. Pan, and Kit, wondering, “Where do the Nashes eat?”

“Mr. Nash has already taken a tray in his office,” the cook replied.

I nodded and waited to hear what the rest of the family did or would do, but no one spoke again.

Just as I began to feel awkward from the brutal silence and bit into a homemade roll to combat the feeling, Constance said, “I noticed you were cleaning the windows in the library earlier.”

I lifted my eyebrows and chewed before wiping my mouth. Mrs. Pan’s rolls tasted good, almost as good as one of Mom’s creations. Then I answered, “Yeah. Was that okay? I didn’t steal your job from you, did I?”

“Oh, no.” She swung out a hand, absolving me from guilt. “Not at all. I don’t often disturb Miss Nash’s spaces, and besides…” She flushed before admitting, “I’m a bit afraid of heights. The windows in there go way too high for my taste.”

I nodded, relieved I hadn’t stepped on anyone’s toes…except maybe Isobel’s, but that was kind of why I was here, so she’d have to deal.

“Actually, I was wondering…” Constance started before she discreetly cleared her throat. “Since you seemed okay on a ladder, would you be willing to change a few lightbulbs in the foyer’s chandelier? I usually hunt down Lewis to help, but if you’re willing…”

After Mr. Nash’s reluctance to assign me any specific task, I was surprised—and grateful—for a little direction. “Sure,” I said, smiling my appreciation at the housekeeper. “I’d be happy to.”

Constance’s face bloomed with pleasure. “Great. Thank you.”

I nodded just as Kit finally broke in, watching me closely. “How’d you escape the monster in the rose garden?”

“Kit!” Mrs. Pan chastised, her face going beet red with embarrassment. “Hush. We don’t speak of Miss Nash that way.”

I glanced between mother and son, wanting to defend Isobel and yet not wanting to alienate myself from my coworkers on my first day on the job by calling one of their kid’s a rude little shit.

So I smiled tightly at the boy. “Turns out, there was no monster after all. She’d transformed into a beautiful princess who pardoned me from death by thorn.”

The two women seemed pleased by my answer, while Kit wanted to hear more about the mysterious princess.

“How did she turn into a princess? What’d she look like? Why didn’t she kill you?”

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