Page 8 of Take A Chance

The inside of the house was more lavish than the outside, with marble floors, intricate woodwork, and artwork that must have been centuries old, both sculptures and paintings. My eyes followed the line of the winding staircase upward toward the second floor where a massive crystal chandelier obscured the view of the landing.

“Let me show you around.” Marta seemed to understand I was shellshocked and led me past the staircase through a large dining room toward the kitchen. “Here is the kitchen. You can make Katelyn her snacks here. Greta and I handle meals.” She talked as she walked, but my head was spinning. The kitchen looked more like it had been designed for a five-star restaurant, not a home. “And through here is the back exit.” She swung open a set of French double-doors.

The sight did not disappoint. An expansive patio stretched at least half an acre where a pool and hot tub occupied the space, surrounded by patio furniture. The yard itself stretched several acres in every direction, more trees and bushes planted strategically to block the view from neighboring properties. They seemed so far away that no one could possibly see with their naked eye what was happening, but Blake seemed like a private person.

“Wow...” I was still in awe. A waterfall poured over a brick fountain into the pool where a single rubber ball floated in the clear water. It was the only sign I’d seen that a child even lived in the house. In fact, even getting a tour of both wings of the home made me wonder where Katelyn was. There were no toys, no outlet covers. The furniture looked like it had been selected by an old miser, not a father. The more I saw, the more I was shocked and even appalled at the striking lack of evidence that a child lived here.

“Uh, where is Katelyn’s room?” I asked as Marta opened the door to my room. It, like all the others, was decorated in floral wallpaper, large, clunky wooden furniture, and dim lighting.

“We’ll get you settled first then show you the rest of the house. Greta will be back soon. I have to get off to my morning chores. Apologies.” Marta bowed and ducked out before I could question any more, and I noticed that my suitcases and the single box I owned had been delivered.

The room felt empty and cold. It was most definitely not my style. I’d have to make personal touches to it, but at least it was a roof over my head. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the two suitcases that looked like a vagrant’s bags against the backdrop of luxury I was in. My phone vibrated, and I fished it out of my purse. I paused for a moment. The message was from a number I had not saved in my phone. I had changed my number when I left my father’s house, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t find me. Brushing away my irrational fear, I looked at the notification. It was a text from Blake.

Blake 9:17 AM:I trust you’ve been delivered to my home safely.

I chuckledand wondered if he was always this proper when texting. He was most definitely not a proper gentleman when he went out, though his house screamed “socialite.”

Emma 9:18 AM:This isn’t a house. It’s a castle.

Blake 9:18 AM: And I’m the king...

I staredat that message in shock. I wanted to say something smart back to him, make a comment about his being a king of his own castle, but three dots appeared on the screen. He was typing. I waited, wondering what he’d say next, but the dots disappeared. He would be a difficult man to figure out. The dots reappeared, and this time, the message came through.

Blake 9:20 AM:See you at dinner after Katelyn goes to bed.

Once again,I wanted to make a cutting remark, but I’d been too overwhelmed by the entire day so far, and by the time I thought of something appropriate, the moment had passed. I put my phone in my purse and decided to unpack.

After a short nap and unpacking my things, I spent several hours doing some research on Blake on my phone, only to realize that Katelyn—whom I thought might have been an older child based on the lack of children’s things around the house—was actually only five years old. I found a photo of the two of them only a few months ago at a charity event for children with disabilities. Her bright blue eyes and jet black hair differed from her father’s, but the shape of her face and the dimple in her chin were identical to his.

I thought I heard a car pull up, and I glanced at the clock. It was nearly four in the afternoon already. I had been so entrenched in my research that I hadn’t stopped to think about when Katelyn would be arriving. I raced down the stairs to the entryway, where I noticed the petite young girl race in and stop. She wore a black backpack, her hands firmly gripping the straps. Her school uniform fit perfectly, her hair pulled into a ponytail befitting a teen, not a child.

“Snack?” she announced loudly, and the woman who had followed her in waved her off.

“Yes, yes,” the woman said. She had her back to me as I descended the last few steps. Katelyn looked at me and cocked her head. Her brows furrowed and she smiled. Then without a word, she darted toward the kitchen.

I stood waiting for the woman, whom I could only assume was Greta, to turn and face me. She wrestled with a few plastic sacks, dropping her keys at her feet. I rushed over to help her, and we nearly knocked heads as she bent to retrieve them.

“Gosh, I’m sorry,” I apologized, slowly rising to my feet with the keys in hand. Her eyes traced up my body, and she mumbled something in Italian I didn’t understand.

The moment her eyes met mine, I knew who she was. She was terrified. “Giada? I thought you were dead.”

“Mama mia!”

6

Blake

Icouldn’t hear what Emma said to Greta, but it looked like they were shocked to see each other. They shouldn’t have been. Greta knew Emma was coming today. I strained to hear their voices, but it was as if they whispered on purpose. Katelyn had stopped only briefly to notice Emma on the bottom step and then ran off toward the kitchen where I now stood tucked behind the swinging door. Katelyn had run right past me to Marta at the counter near the sink to ask for a snack. It was only a matter of seconds before she turned and saw me home, so I took advantage of those seconds to try to gauge Greta’s reaction to Emma.

“Father!” Katelyn’s squeal was music to my ears, despite interrupting my information gathering mission. I turned to see Marta talking softly to her. She pouted for a second, then her face calmed. “I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean to screech. I am happy you’re home.”

Marta nodded at me and retreated toward the fridge as Katelyn climbed on a stool at the island and grinned. She had dropped her backpack on the ground and leaned over the island with both elbows firmly planted on the marble top. “Why are you here? It’s not dark out.”

“Katelyn, don’t be rude,” Marta chided, and I waved her off. The nannies and maids had her so prim and proper, which was excellent for social gatherings, but I thought maybe she could be a little more fun at times.

“Hello, Katelyn.” I sat next to her, though my elbows were tucked at my side, hands clasped in my lap. “I came home because you have a new friend here, whom I want you to meet, and I wanted to be here when she got here.”

“A new friend?” She screwed her five-year-old little face up and scrunched her nose. “My friends go to school with me.”

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