Page 48 of The Housemaid
I clear my throat. “Well, as I said, I was in my room at that point. I have no idea what he was doing.”
“Hmm.” Her pale blue eyes darken as she stares at me across the living room. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll have to ask him.”
I nod, relieved she isn’t questioning me further. She doesn’t know what happened. She doesn’t know we drove into the city together, saw the show she was meant to see with him, and then spent the night together at The Plaza. God only knows what she would do to me if she knew.
But she doesn’t know.
I grab the shopping bags and heave them the rest of the way up the steps. I deposit them in the master bedroom, then rub my arms, which seem to have gone numb during the journey. My eyes are drawn to the master bathroom, which I cleaned this morning—although since Nina was out of town, it was unusually clean already. I slip inside the room. The bathroom is nearly as large as my room upstairs, with a full-size porcelain bathtub. The tub is higher than most tubs, the rim at the level of my knees.
I frown down at the bathtub, imagining what must’ve happened all those years ago. Little Cecelia, taking a bath in the tub, as it slowly fills up with water. Then Nina grabs her daughter, forcing her under the water, watching her gasp for air…
I close my eyes and turn away from the tub. I can’t think about this. But I can never forget how emotionally fragile Nina is. She can never know what happened between me and Andrew last night. It would destroy her. And then she would destroy me.
So I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. I punch in a message to Andrew’s cell number:
Just a warning: Nina called the house last night.
He’ll know what to do. He always does.
THIRTY
The house is quieter with Cecelia gone.
Even though she stayed up in her room a lot, there was a certain energy she brought. With her gone, it seems like silence has descended over the Winchester household. And to my surprise, Nina seems more cheerful. Thank God, she hasn’t brought up the phone call on the night we went away.
Andrew and I have been meticulously avoiding each other, which is difficult when we live in the same house. If we pass each other, we both avert our eyes. Hopefully, we can get past it, because I don’t want to lose this job. It’s bad enough that I have no chance of a real relationship with the first guy I’ve liked in a decade.
Tonight I’m hurrying to get dinner ready so I can have it on the table before Andrew comes home. But as I’m carrying the glasses of water to the dining room, I run smack into Andrew. Literally. One of the glasses slips out of my hand and shatters on the floor.
“Damn it!” I cry.
I hazard a look at Andrew. He’s wearing a dark blue suit with a dark tie, and yet again, he looks devastatingly handsome. He’s been at work all day and he has a five o’clock shadow on his chin that only makes him more sexy. Our eyes meet for a split second, and against my will, I feel a jolt of attraction. His eyes widen, and I’m sure he feels it, too.
“I’ll help you get this cleaned up,” he says.
“You don’t have to do that.”
But he insists. I sweep up the large pieces of glass, and he holds the dustpan and disposes of them in the kitchen. Nina would never help me, but Andrew isn’t like her. As he takes the broom from me, my fingers brush against his. Our eyes meet again, and this time we can’t ignore the fireworks. It’s physically painful that I can’t be with this man.
“Millie,” he says in a husky whisper.
My throat feels really dry. He’s only a foot away from me. If I leaned forward, he would kiss me. I know he would.
“Oh no! What happened?”
At the sound of Nina’s voice, Andrew and I jump away from each other like we were lit on fire. I grip the broom so tightly my fingers turn white. “I dropped a glass,” I say. “Just, you know…getting it cleaned up.”
Nina’s eyes drop down to the floor, where little tiny shards of glass are glistening under the overhead lights. “Oh Millie,” she says. “Please be more careful next time.”
I have worked here for months and I have never once dropped or broken anything. Well, except for that night she caught me and Andrew watchingFamily Feudlate at night. But she doesn’t know about that. “Yes, I’m sorry. I’m just going to grab the vacuum.”
Andrew’s eyes follow me as I return to the utility closet (which is slightly larger than my bedroom upstairs), stuff the broom back inside, and grab the vacuum. He has a pained expression on his face. Whatever he wanted to say to me a minute ago, he still wants to say it. But he can’t—not with Nina in the room.
Or maybe he can.
“We should talk later,” he murmurs in my ear, just as he follows Nina into the living room to wait for me to clean up. “Okay?”
I nod. I don’t know what he wants to talk to me about, but I take this as a good sign. We already agreed never to speak of what happened that night at The Plaza. So if he wants to revisit that…
